Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (13 page)

Othella, one of the older girls, jumped to
her feet, taking great interest in something on the far side of the
camp. “Oriana!” she exclaimed in a quieted breath.

Brynlee followed her gaze to see a
raven-haired girl in a ratty blue dress who could not have been
older than thirteen. Her posture looked despondent as she crawled
out of a beige tent shivering against morning’s chill.

Behind her, a bear of a man, with arms as
thick as Brynlee’s waist, emerged from the tent’s opening. He tied
the drawstring around his pants, yawned a massive yawn, and blinked
his eyes against the morning light. He slapped a beefy hand on the
young girl’s shoulder and pushed her ahead of him.

He led her to the wagon cage where he rapped
the bars with his knuckles. “Get back, you scrawny mutts.” He
unlocked the door and shoved Oriana inside.

The stocky soldier regarded Othella with
bright blue eyes that were full of lust and madness. “And you’re
going to keep me warm tonight,” he said with a crude grin. He made
a kissing noise at her, then slammed and locked the door.

Oriana fell into her sister’s embrace,
burrowing her head into the dingy white sleeve of her dress where
she unleashed a torrent of sobs.

“What happened?” asked one of the younger
girls.

“What do you think happened, dummy?” Cadha
answered.

Brynlee tried to conceal her shudder at the
thought of any of the soldiers coming to take her or Scarlett away
for the night. Her imagination conjured all sorts of torment
involving spears and knives and ropes with pulleys, things she had
read about in books that, according to her mother, were far too
grown up for her to read. But as to what really happened between
the girls and the vipers that took them, Brynlee couldn’t say, and
she was too timid to ask.

“Shh,” Othella cooed as she stroked her
sister’s hair.

Of all the girls in the wagon cage,
Othella’s beauty stood out more than most. She had rich brown eyes
typical of the women of Aberdour. Her long silky hair, almost as
dark as her sister’s, was pulled away from her elegant face into a
swift plait down her back. The soldiers had already taken Othella
into their tents many times since leaving Aberdour.

Cadha sat back against the bars of the cage
and folded her arms. Narrow eyes glared out between auburn bangs
and freckled cheeks. “That’s it. I’m getting out of here. The next
time they open that door, I’m running.”

A couple of the other girls concurred with
remarks like, “I’m not letting them take me again,” and “The
bastards can go to the hells if they touch me.”

“They’ll fill your back with darts,” said
another girl.

“You’ve got chains on your feet, remember?
How far do you think you’d get?”

“I’ll take short steps,” Cadha said, her
whisper growing louder. “I’m quick, you know. Faster than any of
these dogs.”

“Nobody’s running anywhere,” Othella said.
Her calming voice brought a hush to the hot emotions brimming among
the group. “She’s right, they’ll kill you if you try.”

“So you want to be raped every night?” said
Cadha. “Just let them take you again and again until one of them
gets a little too rough and kills you?” She vented a huff of a
laugh. “They’re not touching me anymore.” Cadha wrapped her arms
around her knees before falling silent.

The company’s cook, a slow-witted man named
Efrem, lumbered up to the wagon cage with a pot of steaming
porridge. His fists bore scars befitting a slave or a fighter, and
Brynlee noticed that just under his mop of black hair his left ear
looked like a piece of shriveled cauliflower.

Efrem dipped a ladle into the pot. “Some
breakfast for you.” His accent, combined with his dark eyes, skin,
and hair, made him appear Efferousian.

The girls stretched their dirty hands
through the bars of the cage for the hot food.

Captain Fess Rummick strode up to Efrem’s
side and swatted the ladle, spilling the lumpy oatmeal all over the
ground. Fess looked more imposing than ever in his black angular
armor, fine chain mail with gold links in the shape of a serpent on
his chest. His black cloak edged with a blue stripe swayed behind
him as he positioned himself between Efrem and the wagon of
prisoners.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Fess
asked.

“Givin’ food t-to the prisoners, Cap’n
Fess,” Efrem answered. “Mungo said we are to feed them p–porridge
until we get to—”

Fess slapped Efrem across the cheek and took
the pot from him. “Sard off, you useless halfwit. Give the whores
some stale bread and save the hot stuff for the high king’s
men.”

“B–but, my Lord—”

The captain made a quick gesture as though
he were about to poor the entire pot of steaming slop over the
halfwit’s head.

Covering his face with his hands, Efrem
blurted, “No, my lord!”

Fess tipped his head back and laughed. He
walked off with the pot, scooping out gooey slops of porridge with
his fingers and swallowing it down.

Efrem looked shamefaced at the wagon packed
with disappointed girls. He sulked back to his cart with his head
sagging between the collars of his brown leather coat.

He returned a few moments later with two
loaves of stale bread, which he passed through the black bars to
Othella.

“Thank you,” she said.

Efrem’s face reddened a trifle as he looked
at her. Then he shied away and returned to his cart.

“At least he’s nice,” Maidie said.

“Don’t let him fool you,” replied Cadha.
“He’s a part of the high king’s army.”

Thunder rumbled over the distant snowcapped
mountains by the time the inhospitable soldiers of the high king’s
company moved out. They were a mean-spirited bunch, Brynlee
thought, even despite the celebratory feel they carried from their
recent victory in Aberdour. About two hundred men occupied the
unit, and Brynlee could only guess as to how many units made up the
vast army. Each unit consisted of many separate divisions, each
riding under a different colored banner. She had counted five so
far.

The girls had spent their first night in the
company of blue division, a rough-and-ready group of loud foot
soldiers with too much looted wine and not enough dignity. After
the soldiers had made camp, they came and took all but the youngest
girls into their tents for the night.

From that point on the wagon of female
captives was carted around to the various divisions like a buffet
table. Some nights many girls were taken. Other nights, just one or
two. Some of the soldiers were gentle, but many more were not—girls
returned with bruised cheekbones and sore hips.

“Why doesn’t she speak?” Cadha asked. She
pointed at Scarlett who was curled up against Brynlee’s chest as
the wagon cage bumped down the road. “She hasn’t said a word since
we left Aberdour, and when she cries she doesn’t make a sound.
Something wrong with her?”

“Nothing’s wrong with her,” Brynlee said,
quick to defend her baby sister. “She just doesn’t speak.”

“Sounds like you could learn a lot from her,
Cadha,” said Maidie.

“Shut your face,” Cadha said.

Brynlee caught Maidie’s glinting blue eyes
and the two shared a private, unspoken laugh. She wished they were
back in Aberdour playing games of chase outside the castle,
braiding each other’s hair, and passing secrets between
themselves.

She felt Scarlett heaving gentle sobs
against her chest. “Are you all right?” Brynlee asked, peering down
at her sister’s face.

Scarlett tapped her fingers against
Brynlee’s chest, near her heart—tap, pause… tap, tap.

Brynlee smiled at Scarlett’s familiar
gesture of affection.

“I love you, too,” she whispered. “Come.
Let’s do our flags.” She pulled her sister up so she could look her
in the eyes.

Scarlett shook her head, no.

“Please do the flags with me,” she pleaded.
Brynlee loved reciting the flags of the nine kingdoms on Edhen. She
knew them by heart, and had been trying to get Scarlett to learn
them also. “Turnberry. A green banner embroidered with the shape of
a bear, right?”

Scarlett said nothing. She played with the
unraveling fringe on the lapel of Brynlee’s dress.

“Right?”

After a moment, young Scarlett shook her
head.

“No?” Brynlee feigned disappointment. “Is it
green with a yellow fox head?”

Scarlett nodded and smiled.

“That’s very good!” She ran her fingers
through her sister’s rich brown hair. “How about Tranent? Is it a
orange flag with a pink falcon?”

Opening her mouth Scarlett jiggled as though
she were laughing, except no sound emerged.

“A pink falcon is kind of silly, isn’t it?”
Brynlee said. “Um, is it white?”

Again, Scarlett nodded.

“I’m getting pretty good at these.”

Her eyes fell to Scarlett’s torso as she
noticed how tattered and dingy her ivory dress had become since
they were taken from Aberdour. “You’ve gotten so dirty.” The hem
was almost as brown as the boards they were huddled on, and the
laced back and smooth front were smeared with dim stains. She
brushed her hand along the fabric in a vain attempt to wipe some of
the dirt free, but quickly gave up. “Oh, never mind.”

Brynlee cleared her throat, and said, “How
about Perth. Is it red with a golden viper?”

Scarlett’s eyes looked out beyond the bars
of the wagon, to the banner men carrying the red and gold colors of
High King Orkrash Mahl.

“Hey, that’s cheating,” Brynlee said. “Oh
well. I shouldn’t have asked you that one. Silly me.” She tickled
Scarlett’s tummy. “Do you remember the capital’s old flag, the one
before the new high king? Do you remember that one, little
sister?”

Scarlett lifted up her hands like bear claws
and made a snarling face.

“The enorbear, that’s right,” Brynlee said.
“Did you know Papa used to say that the reason the Allgod chose the
enorbear was because the enorbear is the strongest of all the land
animals and at the same time the gentlest of all the animals?”

“You don’t really believe that stuff, do
you?” asked Cadha, who had been eavesdropping just a few feet
away.

“Papa said the Allgod protects those who are
faithful,” Brynlee said.

“Some good it did him. And enorbears aren’t
that gentle. I saw one rip through a cow like butter once.”

“They are gentle,” said one of the other
girls. “My grandpa used to keep two in his barn to help plow his
field. Stronger than a couple of oxen, they are, and smart.”

“And soft too,” Brynlee added to ally
Cadha’s wide-eyed look.

“You’ve touched one?” she asked.

“My grandpa used to have one too,” Brynlee
said, “but it didn’t do any work, just lived in the field outside
the castle.”

“You’re such a liar,” Cadha said.

“I am not!”

“Are too! And look at you now.
Princess
Brynlee. Just like the rest of us, being carted off
to—”

“That’s enough,” said Othella. She stood up
from her position at the rear of the wagon. “We’re all in a bad
place right now. There’s no point in getting angry with each
other.” She stepped over the girls to sit down next to Brynlee and
Scarlett. “And if any of you calls either of these two by their
proper names or titles again, I’ll shut your mouths myself.”

“Why?” Cadha said. “Who cares?”

“Just don’t!”

Brynlee felt a small wave of comfort wash
through her when Othella sat down and put a gentle arm around her
shoulders. “He hates you the most, you know?”

“Who?” Brynlee asked.

“The Black King.” Othella lowered her voice.
“You’re a Falls of Aberdour. Your father aided cities under siege,
harbored refugees from all over the realm, and even helped rally a
rebellion. Truly, the Black King hates your family most of all.
That’s why you need to keep who you are a secret. Can you do that?
Don’t tell anyone who you really are. All right?”

“My sister told me to pretend to be someone
else. That’s how you deal with hard things. You pretend to be
someone stronger, and then it might not seem so bad.”

Othella offered a half smile and tucked some
loose strands of hair behind Brynlee’s ear. “That sounds like a
good idea.”

The army continued its long march west,
trudging down grassy hillsides that overlooked majestic mountain
valleys, and through rich green forests alive with the chatter of
birds and the flowery scents of spring.

Early in the afternoon, with the sun barely
visible behind gathering clouds, Brynlee noticed a group of six
girls huddled together at the back end of the wagon. They were
talking in hushed voices, heads together.

After a while Maidie crawled over to Othella
and sat down next to her. “Listen,” she whispered, “some of us were
thinking—”

“Don’t do it,” Othella said. “They’ll kill
you all, or find other ways to punish you that will make you wish
you were dead.”

Maidie’s expression went from hardly
contained enthusiasm to fearful disappointment. “We have to do
something.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Othella said.
“We are too far from anywhere. Just wait.”

“Wait for what? Cadha’s right. We can’t just
sit around.”

But Othella had no answer.

The knot of fear in Brynlee’s stomach had
just started to subside when the wagon lurched to a stop.
Throughout the company of soldiers there were murmurs of, “Can’t go
no further,” and “Best wait until nightfall.”

The girls pressed their faces to the sides
of the cage, trying to look ahead.

“What is it?” Cadha asked.

Brynlee answered first, “The Divide.”

Cadha and a couple of the other girls shot
her a disbelieving look. “There’s no such thing as The Divide,”
Cadha said. “That’s a children’s tale.”

Brynlee was taken back by her disbelief. She
had read about The Divide numerous times. Her tutors and the nuns
of Aberdour’s sanctuary, along with her father and Captain Khalous
Morloch, had told her so many stories about it that she had never
questioned its existence.