After the Fire (After the Fire: Book the First) (9 page)

“Oh,
he's real enough,” said Fin. He rubbed his left shoulder. “I've
had my tangles with him, too. He hit me three times with that damned
lightning of his before he realized I wasn't a threat. The gods call
me the Traveler, you see. I help them all. I'm loyal to none.”

Eleni
grunted, nodding and stuffing rabbit meat into her mouth. She wiped
the grease with the back of her hand. She chewed thoughtfully and
swallowed. “Why is he attacking gods that want to enter?”

“Some
of the more powerful fellows, they get territorial. They don't want
other gods coming in and taking over. And since the fire,
well...there
are not as many people, are there?”

“I
do not know,” said Eleni.

Fin
smiled. Eleni noticed his mouth went lopsided when he smiled. One
canine had been chipped and looked sharper than the rest. She liked
the way he smiled.

“No,”
he said. “There are not as many people to worship. Some places,
the people were wiped out. Some gods crave the worship like your wolf
craves meat and blood and killing. It makes them strong, invincible.
So they walk around like specters, looking for humans, anyone to
worship them. Perun doesn't like the other gods coming here. Everyone
knows what will happen if they come anyway, but some don't care. They
only think that there could be mortals about. Perun gives them one
chance to turn around, then he defends his land.”

“It
is not his land,” said Eleni. “The land is the land.”

“Indeed,”
said Fin. “But he calls it his. And none have yet beat him to
prove otherwise.”

“It
sounds like a great waste of time,” said Eleni. She looked
toward the sky again. “We should go. It will be light soon.”

“How
can you be so sure?” said Fin.

“The
wolf is gone,” said Eleni. “The sun always comes up right
after she runs off.”

They
walked the rest of the way without stopping, arriving at a ridge
jutting between the thick of the trees just before mid-morning. The
mist was still rising off of the ground, as if in one great sheet.
Eleni could not see her own feet. She had never been this far into
the forest. She had always turned back before this point to get back
to the village before daylight. The trees wore long, flowing moss
like jewelry, the green almost glowing in the sunlight. The colors of
the day overwhelmed her senses. The red of the berries in a currant
bush, the blue of the sky just visible between chattering leaves and
needles, the cool dew glistening like stars in the sunlight on a
branch. She had forgotten about the color and beauty that the day
brought, so long had she been permitted out only at night.

Eleni
followed Fin to the ridge. There was a short drop into a low area
that Eleni saw spread out in front of them, as if a flood long ago
carved the land like a knife. The trees were sparse below, spindly,
young, and undeveloped. Between the small trees were houses, dozens
of them. They were not like any houses Eleni had ever seen. They were
colorful and bright and seemed to be made of heavy cloth or leather.
Some of them had pictures painted on them, large symbols that Eleni
didn't understand, similar to the Daci symbols that warded off evil.
The symbols hadn't done much to help her village, and Eleni doubted
they would be any more effective here.

There
was a bright red house almost exactly in the middle of the camp.
Eleni squinted. Black birds perched on top and all around it. She
startled when she noticed dozens of eyes looking back at her from the
trees. They were ravens – normal ones, not like the strange
white one – but they were watching her in perfect silence. She
looked at Fin. He shrugged.

“Magda's.
You'll get used to them.”

She
could smell the scent of the Reivers,
but she only saw people. Small from this distance, she could see men
draped in something that looked like furs over their shoulders, and
women in dresses as bright as the strange houses. There was a flash
of white and a screech that made Eleni's ears throb, and then the
white raven was sitting on Fin's shoulder.

“Hello,
Mati,” said Fin.

“Why
do you call him a name?” said Eleni. “He is an animal.
Animals do not have names.”

“Do
they not?” said Fin. “How can you be sure?” Eleni
frowned at him. “Do you not call your wolf by a name?”

“She
is not mine,” said Eleni. “She is her own. And she has no
name. I call her nothing, just as she calls me nothing.”

“Nothing
it is,” said Fin, smiling with his eyes again. Eleni always
thought he was mocking her when he looked like that. She stiffened.
“Next time I see your...er,
the
wolf, I shall call her Nothing.”

“You
can do what you like,” said Eleni. “It will make no
difference to an animal.”

Fin
smiled at her. “Are you ready?”

Eleni
nodded. “Yes.”

They
set off down a trail tamped down on the ridge, muddy from the dew and
the mist. Eleni could see her breath. It wasn't smoke this time, but
fog from the cold of the air. Above the smell of Reivers,
she could smell the coming snow.

As
they neared the camp, the movement stopped. The people
stopped
to gape at the newcomers, frozen where they had been gathering wood
or tending to the children or, among the men, talking in a huddle and
occasionally hitting each other. There was whispering, and more men
and women trickled out of the makeshift houses to look at Fin and
Eleni. Eleni was sure they were focused on her. The white raven
called Mati flew up off of Fin's shoulder and flapped across the camp
to land on another shoulder. Eleni peered through the people to see
an old woman, older than anyone Eleni had ever seen. Her spine was
curved and her hair hung down her shoulders long and gray. She was
dressed in black that contrasted with her raven. When she saw Eleni,
she stood up as straight as she was able to. The black ravens Eleni
had seen from above seemed to watch the old woman, a half dozen of
them hopping along behind her.

But
Eleni's eyes shifted away from the crone she knew to be her aunt. She
looked around at the strange village. Everything was temporary. The
houses she had seen from above were just sheets of tanned hide
wrapped around round wooden frames. Most looked as though a good wind
would topple them. The women were painfully thin, the skin clinging
to their bones; the children's eyes dark and bruised, their skin
sallow. The babies didn't make a sound but just hung limply in their
mothers' arms. The men, all big, tall and almost awkwardly broad,
looked healthy and well-fed and strong. Many had wolf skins draped
around their shoulders, some with the heads still attached. They
carried weapons made of polished boar in slings on their backs, the
handles jutting out of the leather. The men looked at each other,
blinking nervously, then back to her.

Eleni
stepped forward, looking over the crowd. The smell of Reivers
filled her nostrils, making her want to spit. With resolve, she
stepped toward the first man, whose eyes shifted around at the others
around him. He seemed afraid to look at Eleni. She could smell fear
in his bitter sweat. She forced herself to lean forward and breathe
in his stench. She looked up at him and he finally met her eyes.
Eleni shook her head.

She
walked purposefully toward the next man, passing a mother whose
breasts lay empty and flat under her shift, in her arms a jaundiced
baby almost as thin as she was. Eleni turned her attention to the
man. He took a step back, but Eleni took another one forward. She
leaned forward and breathed in the smell of unwashed Reiver
and old grease. She shook her head again. Again she walked to the
next man, the largest one that she could see. He stood a head above
the others and had a pompous look on his face that reminded Eleni of
Cosmin.

“Eleni,”
said a sharp voice, and the old woman emerged through the crowd, the
women making way for her. “What is this?”

Eleni
turned, ignoring her. She sniffed the large man. He was cleaner than
the others, though the smell of Reiver
was more pronounced. Eleni met his eyes and saw he was not as afraid
as the others. He just stared back at her, bemused. Eleni turned
away. She approached the next man. He was shaking, she saw as she
moved to confront him. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead. He was
thinner than the other men and had the look of a weasel about his
eyes and nose. He was clutching a pouch. Eleni could feel something
radiating from him that she couldn't quite understand. Something
familiar and welcome, though it was disarming coming from this man
that smelled of rotten meat and urine. He had a fur slung over his
shoulder, though the hair was matted and dirty, encrusted with food
and something brown that looked suspiciously like dried blood.

Eleni
knew before she inhaled that she had found what she sought.

“Eleni,”
said the old woman again. “Is this how you treat family? Will
you not greet me?”

“I
will,” said Eleni, not looking away from the man's twitchy
eyes. She held out her hand to the man. “You have something
that belongs to me, small man,” she said. The man shook his
head. “If I have to look for it, it is going to hurt,”
said Eleni.

The
man feverishly reached inside his shirt and pulled something over his
head. He held it out to Eleni. She took it, her eyes drawn to it. It
was a round, clear orb, like a bubble in the stream, and was no
bigger than an acorn. But inside, tiny bolts of lightning flashed and
forked and hit the sides of its prison, seemingly desperate to be
released. The flashing bauble felt hard and cool, but a feeling came
over her, a feeling she associated with her mother. A feeling of
safety, of feeling protected. But there was more. The small lightning
also hinted at a memory of pain that throbbed in Eleni's chest.

The
Reivers
were staring at her. She dropped the leather strap over her head and
tucked the pendant under the fabric of her dress. She looked back at
the weasel in front of her. He had been staring at her, but looked
away when she looked at him.
“You
hurt a friend of mine,” Eleni said. “His name was Alin.
He is dead now.”

The
man swallowed, his eyes flickering from Eleni to someone standing
behind her. Eleni turned to see the ancient woman. One of her eyes
was dead and white, but her other eye, a vibrant blue that had
clouded slightly with age, seemed to be boring into the man.

“You
were told,” said the old woman in a controlled, tight voice,
“to leave the old man alone.”

The
weasel's jaw moved like he was trying to talk, but no sound came out.
His eyes were wild with fear, small and darting. They reminded Eleni
of a cornered pig. Magda turned her good eye on Eleni.

“Child,
my apologies. If you wish to kill him, I will not object. But I would
ask you to let his brethren do it in their own way.”

Eleni
looked at the old woman for a long moment. “Thank you,”
she said. “I do not wish him dead.”

Magda
shook her head, misunderstanding. “Why not, child? You have
every right to kill him.”

“Alin
died because he wanted to,” said Eleni. “I could have
saved him. But for the pain caused to him...” Eleni turned to
the man, who looked scared and now bewildered by the conversation
going on. “Give me your weapon,” said Eleni.

“Wh-what?”
he said.

“That
weapon,” said Eleni. “On your back. What is it called?”
Eleni looked at Magda.

“Falx,”
said the old woman, looking at Eleni with wonder. “It is called
a falx.”

“Falx,”
said Eleni to the man. “Give it to me.”

The
man shook his head, but lifted the leather strap that held the blade
safely at his back. Eleni took it. She pulled the handle out of the
leather pouch and turned it this way and that. It was a long blade,
as long as Eleni's arm, and murderously curved at the end like it had
been bent in on itself. Eleni replaced it in its leather and slung
the strap across her chest. “This will do,” she said. But
she didn't look away from the man. He had sweat soaking his hair and
running down his face. Eleni looked around her at the crowd gathered.

“Why
are these people starving?” she asked the man in front of her.
He shook his head, his mouth moving soundlessly again. Eleni sighed.

The
biggest man stepped forward. Eleni had to look up to see his face. He
was glowering. He looked to Magda. “I mean no disrespect,
Grandmother,” he said, “but our ways are our own. Not for
this
kivul
to judge.”

“Men
that refuse to feed their children are not men at all,” hissed
Eleni, looking up at him with disdain.

The
big man's eyes widened with rage. He clenched his fists. Magda
stepped in front of him. “Elek,” Magda said. “I
think you forget yourself sometimes. If you do not want Eleni to burn
your own village to the ground with you all in it, I suggest you show
the goddess some respect.”

Eleni
watched the exchange without emotion. It meant nothing to see a big
man angry. They always thought they could hurt her until the very
end, when they came to regret their decisions. She had no reason to
shrink from this man who thought he was as a wolf. The thought was
almost laughable to her. Wolves were quiet and noble. This man was
garish and had a cruel glint in his eyes.

Eleni
turned back to the weasel. “You will fetch food for the women
and children,” she said. “Do this, and I will not kill
you.”

“B-but...”
said the man, looking indignant. “You took my weapon.”

“Yes,”
said Eleni. “You will find other ways. I have been hunting for
my village for many years. The men were too afraid to do it. Are you
too afraid, small man?” Her tone was not confrontational, but
casual, as if commenting on the weather.

The
man's eyes flicked to the big man. Eleni looked at him. He had his
head down, but was glowering at her. Eleni looked at him curiously.