Interzone Science Fiction and Fantasy Magazine #212 Page 4

  "We'll be wanting these,” she said.

  * * * *

  Weyna stole another glance at him. “We're almost there."

  They had traveled through the night to reach the valleys. The Laughing Rocks still encircled the lands like monstrous teeth, but here the grass stretched low and even, offering Aberrates few places to hide. So Tarrik found his tired thoughts drifting to other matters.

  Like Weyna. She had been glancing at him often. Yesterday he had still suspected she had gone crazy. Now he knew better. So rather than seeing just another Deficient fighting to keep sane, instead he found the battle had become his own, as he fought his growing attraction towards the spitting image of his dead love.

  But such desires were directed towards a ghost of the heart. Nothing would come of this. He wouldn't let it.

  Weyna glanced at him again. “How are your wounds?"

  Tarrik ran his thumb along the scratch on his jaw. “Healing."

  "I mean do they hurt?"

  "No."

  "But the one on your forearm looks—"

  "Far worse than it is,” he said briskly. This girl asked too many questions.

  "Oh.” Weyna grasped her new string necklace. A large ear decorated it. “Who was she?"

  Tarrik clenched his hands, until his leather gloves creaked. “Who?"

  "The one whose memory tattoos your features."

  Anyone else he would tell to mind off. But the two of them had been through much, more than he would expect in so short a time. “Her name was Zaleen,” he said, saying her name for the first time in three years.

  "May I ask how it happened?"

  Three years was a long time to carry pain unshared. “She was a bounty hunter. Best I ever met."

  "Better than you?"

  "Better by far,” said Tarrik, a half-smile playing across his lips. “Seven years ago there was a bounty on this pair of Smellers terrorizing the Meadows of Blood. We both sought the reward and ended up working together. After we delivered their noses and collected our coin, we took to the road. Love followed.” His smile faded and his voice turned flat. “Then three years ago we took this assignment against a Feeler.” He paused. “Her name was Olethia."

  Weyna gasped. “But that's—"

  Tarrik nodded. “Now you know why I reacted as I did to that name.” Briefly he considered telling her about the voice that had touched his thoughts. But these memories of Zaleen had been bottled up for so long. He continued with his tale. “She took us by surprise. Zaleen was killed, but not before her touch was stolen.” He lifted his hat, exposing the X. “I was given this, and I've been hunting Olethia since."

  "For vengeance."

  "To flay her skin,” he said. Sometimes it was good to specify.

  Weyna toyed with the lobe of her necklace. “I suppose her skin will fetch a high price."

  "The Metal King could beggar himself for all I care. Even he couldn't offer enough to part me from her hide."

  "Then you mean to keep it? For what?"

  "Feelers have very durable skin. And in case you've forgotten, I could use a new cloak."

  Weyna shuddered and fumbled at the clasp of his garment. “You should take this one back."

  "Keep it,” he told her. “Something to remember me."

  She nodded her thanks, and several minutes passed before she spoke again. “So once you see me home you'll be continuing your hunt?"

  There was an odd note to her voice. Disappointment or concern? It changed nothing either way. “The hunt is all that matters."

  The girl pressed on though. “And should you kill Olethia? What then?"

  Tarrik brushed his fingers along those pouches containing the ears and tongues. “Keep hunting."

  Weyna made as if to touch him but stopped short of his arm. “You said Zaleen was the better hunter. How will you defeat Olethia alone?"

  Hearing this woman speak the names of the two females who had ruled his life all these years stirred his emotions in ways more complex than he wanted to consider. And he had answered enough questions already. “There are ways if one is willing."

  Weyna waited for him to offer more, and Tarrik realized how much she wanted him to open his world, to let her inside. But his world was his alone. Either this, or risk losing someone else he loved. Still, there was one thing he could do. “And you were right,” he said.

  "About what?"

  "The voice. It spoke to me last night. Told me where to go after the Listener kidnapped you."

  Weyna closed her eyes. “I knew it.” Her body relaxed, as if relieved of a terrible burden. When she looked at Tarrik again determination marked her face. “After I stop home we must go back. Look for the voice. He obviously needs our—"

  "I can't."

  Weyna stopped. Her expression could only be described as betrayed. “Why?” she finally asked.

  "I need to find Olethia."

  "Then I'll go alone."

  Her words held a challenge. They held a plea as well. But three years ago Tarrik had made a promise. “We all do as we must,” he said.

  Weyna removed her necklace and tossed it to him. “Here.” She started walking. “Something to remember me."

  "I'm sorry.” Nothing he said could ease her hurt, but the pain would pass quickly. In a few days he would be another memory. “I'll see you home though."

  Weyna pointed. “I am home."

  Against the horizon a farmhouse had sprung into view. Tarrik's mouth went sour and very dry. “No village?"

  "The nearest village is two days from here. Papa refuses to leave this land. It's been in our family for generations."

  Three days of exhaustion struck at once, and Tarrik wanted nothing so much as to curl up onto the grass and sleep. “We need to get your family to the village,” he said.

  Weyna stopped. “Why?” There was no mistaking the sudden fear in her voice.

  "Because,” he said, bracing for what was to follow, “the farm isn't safe. Olethia wants you dead. I'm certain she set the Tasters on you, probably the Listeners as well."

  "Why would she do this?” Weyna shook her head. “What am I to her?"

  Tarrik pulled his hat low, avoiding her gaze. “You look like Zaleen. And Olethia knows whatever suffering she brings upon you is also mine."

  Silence answered him. When he peered from underneath his hat, he found Weyna staring at the farm, blood drained from her face.

  "She might be there already.” As if someone else instead of she had spoken these words, Weyna gasped as the implications dawned on her. “Mother!” She unsheathed the knives she had collected from one of the Listeners. “Father!” She broke into a run. “Adrew! I'm coming!"

  "Wait,” Tarrik hissed. He reached for her but snatched air as Weyna's long legs left him behind. Swearing, he took off in pursuit, unsheathing his own knives as he did.

  Even before he reached the farmhouse he spotted the telltale signs of death.

  Weyna had been shivering all day but the chimney stood dry of smoke. Laundry flapped unattended on clotheslines. And circling high above it all were several black-feathered birds.

  Crows.

  The farmhouse drew closer. Behind it a mountain loomed. The front door had been broken off its hinges, but Weyna paid no attention to his shouted warnings as she dashed within. Tarrik followed after her, and inside the house clutters of old furniture greeted him.

  "Weyna?"

  A scream answered him. Tarrik ran down the closest hallway and several steps later reached the kitchen. Weyna stood in the middle of its wooden floor, gaze transfixed on the counter. Lying across its blood-soaked length were a butcher's knife and fingers scattered like so much sausage.

  Weyna pointed with her own trembling finger. “Those belong to my parents. I can see their wedding bands."

  Tarrik beckoned her away. “Come.” She complied, following in a daze.

  They found her parents upstairs in their bedroom, their mutilated bodies upon the bed's red-soaked sheets, naked limbs entwine
d one last time. “Let's find my brother,” said Weyna. Her voice was duller than a blunted knife.

  They searched the house. Afterwards they looked outside. Several pigs escaped from their pen wandered about but no sign was found of Adrew. Weyna seated herself on the family well, expression still filled with shock. “Where is he?"

  Tarrik's gaze traveled to the mountain looming behind the house. “Your brother was attractive, wasn't he?"

  Weyna blinked, as if waking from a heavy sleep. “How did you know that?"

  Tarrik seated himself next to her, hands resting on his knees. “Feelers live for the pleasure of touch ... in all its forms."

  Weyna stared at him for a long time. Then she slapped him. The force of the blow twisted his head in the opposite direction. “Afterwards!” she screamed. A pig squealed and ran off. “Always you tell me things afterwards, and I'm forced to dance like a puppet on strings. Once, just once, I'd like to know something beforehand, be treated like I matter."

  The bounty hunter tried to think of something to say. “I'm sorry."

  Weyna stood and jabbed a finger at him. “You're not sorry! To be sorry you need to care. But you only care about yourself."

  Tarrik stiffened, as if she had slapped him again. “That isn't true."

  Her eyes narrowed. “I speak of the living."

  Tarrik shot to his feet. “What gives you the right—"

  She cut him off. “I never asked to be rescued.” Her breathing came heavy as she spoke. “I'm grateful that you saved me, but since then I've been treated as nothing but a burden and an afterthought. Well, I'll admit to the former, but what gives you the right to treat me like a pawn when I'm so involved in this?"

  The anger radiated from her in waves. Tarrik reached inside himself, searching for his rebuttal. But all he did was touch the cheek she had slapped. “She haunts me,” he said. “Three years after her death and her memory still burns inside me like a fire. Even dead she is my life, the spark that lights me."

  Weyna tapped her temple. “Last night you told me there are monsters enough in this world. That I mustn't let them dwell up here.” She lowered the hand over her heart. “You can't let them dwell here either. Because you've turned her memory into a monster ... and it's eating you alive."

  She dared then to grasp his shoulder. But all Tarrik did was stare into her red-rimmed eyes, needing to hear what would be said next.

  "There must be more to life than the hunt,” she told him.

  She removed her hand. Tarrik took a moment to mull this over. Then he stood and started walking towards the mountain behind the farmhouse.

  "What are you doing?” she called.

  "Hunting,” he said over his shoulder. “For your brother."

  * * * *

  Olethia wanted her tracks discovered. Once Tarrik searched near the mountain he found her trail almost immediately. So now he and Weyna endured these slopes once more while crouching outside a cave, staring at the footprints that disappeared into its darkness.

  "A moment,” Tarrik whispered. From his backpack he withdrew a torch brand, and from one of his pouches a pair of flints. Less than a minute later an orange fire danced to the merriment of the winds. With his free hand Tarrik drew his pistol. “Stay behind me.” He approached the cave, Weyna following with her knives drawn.

  Inside the cave proved empty, while outside the winds laughed like children at a game of hide-and-find. Tarrik pushed onwards, his breathing echoing off the stones. The light of his torch fell across a boulder.

  Wet blood smeared it. Weyna hurried to the rock and looked behind it. “Adrew!” Her voice broke.

  Tarrik came behind her. The lad breathed, just barely. Claws had raked his chest and thighs, and chunks of flesh had been bitten off his muscular shoulders. Blood had pooled in his bellybutton, and his bruised phallus was twitching.

  "I'll carry him.” He handed off the pistol and torch, crouched and gathered the body in his arms. Outside, they tended his wounds as best they could—cleansing them with water and binding them in cloth—before continuing on. Weyna held the gun on the way back, guarding their passage. By the time they returned to the farmhouse Tarrik dripped with sweat.

  Weyna spread her cloak by the family well and Tarrik laid her brother on its length. Weyna drew up a bucket of water, and Tarrik made certain it had not been poisoned before letting her use it. Then she tore a fresh strip of cloth from her shirt, soaked it, and knelt beside her brother. She rested Adrew's head on her lap and wrung a few drops of water onto his lips.

  His eyes flickered open. “Weyna?” His bruised face spread into a grin. “I was worried.” He touched her cheek—skin had been bitten off several knuckles. “Are you hurt?"

  "I'm ... I'm just fine."

  "Good. Good.” His eyes flickered weakly. “Where's Olethia?"

  Weyna tensed. “Why?"

  "She showed me paradise. I wish to return."

  Weyna laid a palm over his forehead. “You've a fever. You need to rest."

  "Rest...” and his expression glazed with death.

  Weyna buried her face against his chest and her tears broke free at last. Tarrik did his best to look in her direction as little as possible while still keeping watch. Olethia had taken her time with this one, and Tarrik knew her work well, enough to realize how much pain she had mixed with Adrew's pleasure.

  Yet another reason the bitch would pay.

  "We need to bury him,” said Weyna. She had stopped crying quite suddenly. “We need to bury them all. Now."

  They found shovels in an old tool shed and worked the earth beneath the shadow of the mountain. No words were spoken, and by the time the last heap of soil had been thrown upon the last of the mounds, the stars had awakened. Weyna jammed her shovel into the nearest mound with such force it quivered. “I'm coming with you,” she said.

  Tarrik refused risking déjà vu. “Let me take to you to the village."

  "It's not a request. I want her dead as much as you."

  "Weyna—"

  Above them some pebbles clattered down the mountainside. Weyna took no notice, and Tarrik pretended to consider her words as he scanned the ledges above. The shadows were too thick to reveal anything, but he knew. He raised his voice ever so slightly. “You said there must be more to life than the hunt."

  "But I never said to give the hunt up."

  "You're certain about this?"

  She jerked her head. “You know I am."

  "Then listen. I'll find Olethia's trail from the cave. You wait here."

  "But—"

  "No buts. You know these mountains, but I've been hunting these creatures twenty years. You'll only slow me down. By the time I return I expect your gear packed and fresh provisions gathered for both of us. Understand?"

  At these instructions much of her bluster faded. “But ... I ... you can't leave me here. Please."

  Tarrik knew how difficult this must be for her, but he had to see it through. “Olethia expects me to take you to the village. She won't seek you here. If we're patient we'll surprise her.” Doubts swam over her features. Tarrik removed one of his gloves and touched her arm. “You must trust me."

  Surprise, followed by flickers of understanding, crossed her features. Smart girl. “I will,” she said. “Will you help me board up the front door before you go?"

  "Of course."

  Tarrik whispered as they worked. “She was watching from the mountain."

  "I didn't hear anything,” Weyna whispered back.

  "You wouldn't.” He considered telling her something about his past but held back. Time was of the essence. “She won't come here until she's satisfied I'm not baiting her. She's wary, so it will take a few hours at least. Stay inside the whole time, just in case."

  "I want to fight,” she said fiercely.

  "You will. But you staying here is too good an opportunity for Olethia to pass up. I'll be waiting when she comes. Just wait for me to attack first. It's our best chance."

  They had finished
boarding the front door and had piled several pieces of furniture against it. “After this is over,” he told her, “we'll see about finding this mysterious voice."

  Weyna, sidling between a pair of rocking chairs, stopped and stared through the stirred dust. “You would do this?"

  "There must be more to life than the hunt."

  She nodded briskly and led him to the back door. Tarrik started off towards the mountain, and behind him came the click of a door closing shut, followed by several locks sealing into place. Traveling the mountains in darkness was a dangerous thing. But the trap had been baited and he intended to see it sprung. Tarrik started up one of the paths.

  It ended tonight.

  * * * *

  Mama loved grapes. Born and raised near the Valley of the Emerald Vines, she had been a wine merchant's daughter. From the stories she told, Weyna knows that grandfather taught Mama the names of the hundred best vintages before she could even count to this number. While not wealthy her family's status had been respectable, so grandfather had been furious when she fell in love with a pig farmer who lived near the Laughing Rocks.

  "He's a rarer vintage than he looks,” Mama said while standing on the doorstep of her old home. “He grows on the palate."

  Grandfather slammed the door in her face. While the rain poured down. Or so the story went. Mama had taken up with Papa and soon after they married. She learned the ways of pigs and slop and butchering, never uttering a complaint, even enjoying the work.

  But Papa knew she missed her wines.

  While far from wealthy and a goodly distance from respectable in his financial means, each year he still managed to set aside his grape money. And when the merchants stopped at the village each autumn for the harvest festival, Papa would spend these carefully saved coins on a vintage of his pick, along with a bushel of grapes, imported from the Valley of the Emerald Vines.

  Mama would take this bushel, and with the old family recipe she would make a batch of wine that “could make a Taster's eyes roll up in his skull and never come back.” Or so she always said. Afterwards they would let the vintage age until the first true snow. Then Weyna and Adrew would sit at the kitchen table, while Mama poured her homemade, generations-old recipe, and Papa filled them each a glass of his annual pick. Mama had taught them the finer points of wine tasting, so during the competition she and Adrew knew not to swallow, only swish inside their mouths.