The Rage Read online

  There was no judgment in her voice, just a hint of sadness that caught Trib off guard. She didn’t understand how anyone could not condemn the shameful things Aoifa had said about her mother.

  Still uncertain whether she should trust the priestess, she said brusquely, “How did you survive the ambush? I thought the Puritanics killed everyone.”

  “They left me for dead,” Morrigan said.

  She lifted her chin so Trib could see the ugly scar that ran from her right ear across her throat. Trib shuddered at the sight of it, remembering what she had done to the Puritanic boy.

  “I thought I was dead too,” Morrigan continued. “But the Goddess had other plans. She gave me the strength to stand up and start walking. I followed the river south and was found by the search party that came looking for us.”

  “Oh,” Trib said. The story seemed legitimate, but Trib still wasn’t sure. For all she knew Aoifa had sent the priestess to test her loyalty.

  As though the priestess could read Trib’s mind, she said, “I know you don’t trust me. But I have known for a long time that there is something wrong with Aoifa and the way she runs the settlement. I know this because I pray to the Goddess all the time, and She often replies. The Goddess I speak to is nothing like the Goddess from whom Aoifa claims to gain her power.”

  Trib couldn’t deny that some of what the priestess was saying rang true. What the head priestess had done to Kwineechka had been wrong.

  “Aoifa told me that the Goddess has granted the resources of the New World to the New Murians because the Puritanics took everything from us.”

  “Aoifa is exploiting the name of the Goddess to her own ends,” Morrigan replied. “What about all that your Native friends stand to lose at Aoifa’s hands? Should they be sacrificed for our well-being?”

  Three weeks earlier Trib would have answered yes immediately. Now she wasn’t sure.

  “Your friends are in grave danger if they stay here,” Morrigan said softly. “I know what Aoifa will do to them because I’ve seen her do it to countless men before. She will use her siren magic to drain them of their wills. She will take all that is sacred to them and use them as slaves.”

  “I can’t allow that,” Trib said. She stood up and began buckling her sword onto her back. “The Scath wouldn’t allow any of this if she were here. But I reckon there’s no time to wait for her.”

  “No,” Morrigan said. “The Scath can’t help us.”

  “Us?” Trib said. “You ain’t coming with me?”

  “You’ll need me,” Morrigan replied.

  “No offense, priestess, but like hell I will. Never had much use for praying and such.”

  The priestess went to the door of the cabin and pushed it open. Trib saw two warriors lying on the ground, unconscious.

  “Aoifa set a guard on you,” Morrigan said. “The siren can do things other than enslave. A deep and instant sleep for one. It attracts less attention than the Rage. There will be more guards at the cabin where Aoifa is holding them. Then I can show you how to get your friends out of the fort.”

  “Then I’d be much obliged for your help,” Trib said, impressed. Her only plan had been to swing her sword at anyone who tried to stop her.

  She stepped out into the darkness with the priestess close behind. Dawn wasn’t far off and the fort was quiet. She was worried about the watch but they encountered no one until they arrived at the cabin where Peyewik and Kwineechka were being held. She hid in the shadows while Morrigan crept up behind the guards. The priestess sang so softly Trib couldn’t hear her, but the guards were slumped on the ground within moments. Trib went to the door of the prison, noting angrily that it was barred from the outside, as if Kwineechka and Peyewik were animals or criminals to be penned in. She started to lift the bar and paused, her heart pounding.

  “What is it?” Morrigan whispered.

  “They got no reason to trust me,” Trib replied. “They’ll think I’m here to hurt them more.”

  “We must try,” Morrigan replied. “It’s their only chance.”

  The eastern sky was growing lighter by the moment. They were losing the cover of darkness. Trib lifted the bar, pulled the door open, and stepped inside.

  eyewik woke to find the door of the windowless room open, and Flame Hair standing in it. Her face was pale in the lantern light, with dark smudges under her eyes. She stepped inside followed by a figure in black robes, but it wasn’t Crow Woman. It was a yellow-haired girl about the same age as Flame Hair. She looked at Peyewik, and he instantly felt the presence of her spirit animal, a deer. Peyewik had never sensed a Pale One’s spirit animal so quickly and easily. Even more surprising was the way the deer spirit seemed to reach out, not in a clutching, hungry way like Crow Woman, but in a gentle, welcoming way. Deer Girl smiled at Peyewik, and then she was gone back outside at a word from Flame Hair.

  Flame Hair was closing the door behind her when Kwineechka sprang. She did nothing to defend herself, allowing him to knock her to the floor and pull her head back by her hair. He grabbed the knife from her belt and held it to her throat. His hand shook, and a red line appeared against her pale skin. Flame Hair still didn’t speak or move, but she met Peyewik’s eye with a look of pleading.

  “Kwineechka,” he said softly, “Flame Hair is here to help.”

  The storyteller looked up at him, his face twisted with a fury that made him unrecognizable. “She betrayed us,” he hissed. “She should die for what she let Crow Woman do to me.”

  Without thinking Peyewik called out silently, summoning the storyteller’s spirit animal the way he had summoned the thunder spirit. The spirit came to him almost at once, filling the room with the sound of a finned tail swishing through water. It was Carp, and in his presence Kwineechka remembered himself. The fury left him and he threw the knife away. Peyewik thanked Carp, and the sounds of water faded away.

  The storyteller pushed away from Flame Hair. He leaned against the nearest wall and drew his knees up. “I have never wanted to kill anyone before,” he said quietly. “Snakebrother is gaining power over me.”

  “But you did not kill her,” Peyewik replied. “You did not listen to Snakebrother.”

  The storyteller dropped his face into his hands without replying.

  Flame Hair spoke then, her voice tentative.

  Kwineechka did not raise his head to translate.

  “What is Flame Hair saying?” Peyewik had to ask.

  “She says she will show us the way out,” Kwineechka mumbled into his hands. “It is a trick. She came here with one who is like Crow Woman.”

  “Deer Girl is not like Crow Woman,” Peyewik said.

  Kwineechka finally looked up.

  “I saw her spirit animal,” Peyewik explained. “I think we can trust her, even if we can’t trust Flame Hair.”

  Kwineechka stared at him for a moment, then nodded and stood up. He said something to Flame Hair without looking at her. Peyewik saw the relief in Flame Hair’s face as she got up and went to the door. She opened it a crack and peered out, then gestured for Peyewik and Kwineechka to pass through.

  Deer Girl met them outside and pointed to a place where the giant wall being built around the camp was not yet finished.

  “On her signal we will run for that gap,” Kwineechka translated her whispered instructions. “The river is on the far side and a ferry that will take us across.”

  Deer Girl and Flame Hair did one last check to make sure none of the Fighting Woman were nearby, then Deer Girl waved for them to go. Kwineechka took Peyewik’s hand and they ran together. Peyewik turned for one last look at Deer Girl. Her hand was lifted in farewell, and he got the sudden feeling that he would see her again someday. Then he was running flat out, giddy at the feeling of fresh air on his face. The ground beneath his feet was muddy from the storm the evening before but the sky overhead was clear.

  Flame Hair ran behind them, her longknife drawn, turning every few steps to look back. They reached the river bank without incident. Th
e camp of the Fighting Women was silent as the stars near the eastern horizon began to disappear. Flame Hair ushered them onto a raft that was tied to a rope spanning the river. She put her longknife on her back and untied the moorings, then began poling away from the shore.

  At the last possible moment a figure lumbered out of the shadows and leapt for the raft, landing heavily and nearly capsizing it.

  It was a large, middle-aged woman with wild yellow hair and scars on her face. She held a longknife in her hand. Peyewik knew her from his dream. It was Bear Woman.

  rib reached wearily for her sword. For weeks she had longed for nothing more than the Scath’s presence and guidance. Finally the old warrior had appeared only to find Trib defying all her teachings of loyalty and honor.

  “Leave your weapons till the far shore and man the boat, girl,” the Scath growled.

  Trib left her sword on her back and tried to focus on keeping the ferry moving across the current.

  “I knew you were lying!” the storyteller spat at her. “I knew you wouldn’t set us free.”

  Before Trib could answer, the Scath spoke up, surprised. “Aoifa didn’t tell me the primitives could speak civilized.”

  “She didn’t wait to find out,” Trib replied.

  “Trib ain’t lied to you, boy,” the Scath told the storyteller. “I reckon she aimed to set you free, just like she said. It’s me and my sister she’s betrayin’ now, not you.”

  The storyteller said nothing, his golden eyes darting back and forth between Trib and the Scath.

  The Scath gave him an appraising once over. “He’s a pretty one. Almost can’t blame you for trying to keep him outta my sister’s claws.” She chuckled as Trib flushed.

  They finished crossing the river in tense silence. There was no movement on the shore behind. When the ferry bumped the landing, Trib waited for the Scath to make the first move.

  “Off the boat,” the old warrior ordered.

  When they were all on shore, the Scath severed the line and set the ferry drifting downriver.

  “Why’d you do that?” Trib asked warily.

  “Need privacy for what comes next. Follow me to level ground.” The Scath led the way up the river bank.

  “Stay behind me,” Trib whispered to Kwineechka. “Run at the first chance you get.”

  The Scath led them to a place that was flat and clear of underbrush. Then she turned to face Trib, feet planted, arms crossed, her sword still sheathed on her back.

  “My sister wasn’t sure of you, so she set me to watching,” she said. “Betraying us for the sake of men-folk seems to run in your blood.”

  Trib said nothing but watched the Scath carefully, her body tense and ready. The Scath was old and heavy, but she was the commander of the New Murian Warriors, and still the fiercest fighter among them.

  “Your ma would still be alive if she hadn’t treated that Puritanic husband of hers like an equal,” the Scath said. “Refused to summon the Rage, much less use a siren song to keep him in line.”

  “I know the price she paid for it,” Trib said bitterly. “Whatever price you want from me, I’m willing to pay it, but this man and this boy didn’t deserve the treatment they got at Aoifa’s hands. They’re good men, from good people. They deserved friendship and respect. Not to be locked up and abused.”

  Trib glanced at the storyteller. He was watching her, but his face was unreadable.

  The Scath nodded slowly. “You might be right,” she said, surprising Trib. “I don’t hold with some of my sister’s ways. She ain’t always honorable. It’s to be expected from one who’s suffered as she has. Life’s been hard on me too, but I’ve had fighting and the Rage to keep me balanced. So I ain’t here on account of the Natives. Judging from my sister’s plan, I reckon their troubles are far from over, but I aim to let them go in peace today.”

  “If you ain’t trying to bring us back, then why are you here?” Trib asked cautiously.

  “To give you the chance your ma never got,” the Scath replied.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My sister told me to deal with you the same way I dealt with your ma, but I ain’t going to do that. This time it’s to be a fair fight.”

  Trib was confused. “My ma was killed by my father and a gang of Puritanics. Aoifa told me. How do you figure to make that a fair fight?”

  “My sister didn’t tell you the truth. I’ll tell you now. It’ll help you summon a strong Rage, keep you from holding back against me. Aoifa wants you dead, and these Natives recaptured alive. If you can best me, she’ll have neither. You have my word, you’ll all go free. If you lose, only the Natives go free, because you’ll be dead. Either way I’ll be free of this guilt I been carrying all these years, reminded every time I look at you.”

  “What in Dess’s name are you talking about?” Trib demanded. The Scath was starting to scare her.

  “I killed your ma,” the Scath said simply. “It wasn’t your father. It wasn’t the Puritanics, like we told you. I summoned a Rage and killed your ma and your sisters.”

  It was such a ridiculous statement that Trib laughed. “You couldn’t have,” she snorted.

  “I did. Your ma was warned about her behavior concernin’ the Puritanic. She carried on, makin’ my sister out to be a fool. So Aoifa made an example of her. Sent me to kill her and make it look as though your father did it.”

  Trib was becoming increasingly annoyed by this joke of the Scath’s. “You couldn’t have,” she repeated. “The Goddess gave us the Rage to defeat our enemies. We can’t use it against good people, or each other.”

  “Anyone can use the Rage to kill anyone,” the Scath said. “Aoifa and I taught you to believe otherwise, but I know its true nature. I used it when I killed your family and you’ll use it now against me.”

  “You…killed my ma?” Trib couldn’t take in the meaning of the words.

  “And your sisters. Would’ve killed you too, but you hid. Didn’t find you till I came back with some warriors. Told them it was Puritanics, and I couldn’t kill you in front of them. It didn’t matter. I already knew I’d made a mistake. Your ma was no warrior. She and her babes were defenseless. It was my duty to protect them. That was the oath I swore when I became a warrior. I knew what I did was wrong. Aoifa wanted me to get rid of you, but I wouldn’t do it. So she used some of her tricks to clear your memories and told me you were my responsibility. I raised you to be a good warrior so one day you could restore my honor in a fair fight. I’d rather you were a little older and more skillful, but the time has come.”

  The Scath drew her sword and moved into an attack position. “Summon your Rage, girl.”

  It was a direct order from the Scath, from the voice that had been telling her right from wrong, and what to do her whole life. For the first time ever, Trib refused.

  “I can’t fight you,” she said in a dull voice. Her hands and feet were numb, her thoughts sluggish.

  “You have no choice,” the Scath replied. “I taught you to obey me in all things, and you must obey me in this as well.” Her blade swooped back and forth as she moved slowly forward.

  “Mary,” the Scath said.

  Trib stared, uncomprehendingly.

  “Your eldest sister,” the Scath explained. “Crucible and Sorrow. Twins,” she said, continuing to move forward.

  Trib felt as though she had been hit in the stomach. “Stop!” she gasped.

  “I killed the youngest last.” At this the Scath’s voice caught in her throat, but she kept coming. “No more than a slip of a girl. She cried for her ma, I remember. Calvary, she was called.”

  Trib’s Rage came fast and furious.

  “Kwineechka, run!” she shouted over her shoulder as she pulled her sword off her back. The blood-red veil was closing over her vision. She had never felt the Rage so strongly before, and she didn’t think she would be able to control it. “Go!” she screamed, and the word became her battle cry as she launched herself at the woman who had been th
e closest thing she had known to a mother.

  e must run!” Peyewik heard Kwineechka say as Flame Hair’s shriek died away. The storyteller was trying to pull him away from the river, into the forest, but it was as though his feet had grown roots. He stood transfixed as the two warriors came together in a clash of weapons that sent sparks into the pre-dawn light.

  The yellow haired woman who was much older and had almost three times the bulk of Flame Hair, was thrown wide by their first contact. But Flame Hair landed on her feet and sprang back, her longknife moving so fast Peyewik saw only a blur. The two warriors seemed to become pure energy, like fire, their fury feeding on the air around them. The older warrior’s form flickered, and Peyewik could see her bear-spirit, its claws slashing at Flame Hair again and again. So far Flame Hair had been fast enough to avoid them. Her form was flickering too, but her spirit animal was still struggling to make itself known. He could see that it was a creature of speed and agility, but its full identity and power were still hidden, obscured by the shadow of the bear. Flame Hair had not come into her full strength yet.

  Flame Hair darted beneath Bear Woman’s guard, and Peyewik saw the first blood as she whirled away again. Bear Woman let out a roar and seemed to grow taller and wider. Her eyeballs bulged in her crimson face, and she bore down on Flame Hair like an angry mother bear, ready to fight to the death. Flame Hair lunged and spun, her movement a thing of beauty, almost a dance, but Peyewik could tell she was beginning to tire. Her tricks of balance and shifting-weight would not be enough against this overpowering opponent. She slowed, and the claws began to graze her flesh. Soon they would tear into her deeply. Years of anger and fighting consumed Bear Woman. Flame Hair was trying to resist, to match the fury with her own, but Bear Woman’s anger was too vast and unyielding. Flame Hair faltered and fell to her knees. Peyewik could see her magical fury dwindling, suddenly turning black and charred as a ribbon of grief snaked its way around her heart. She tried to lift her longknife, but the fury was gone, and her muscles had worked beyond their capacity.