Jeanne G'Fellers - Sister Lost, Sister Found (30 page)

“And I’ll kill to keep her,” said Rankil in a low, determined voice.

“I’ve no doubt you would.” Genevic accepted Rankil’s boost up the stand. “But you should have a second for a challenge.”

“That’s not a rule.” Rankil began counting baskets, a continued reason for her presence.

“It’s my rule.” Genevic frowned down between the slats. “Only an ignorant sister throws a challenge in a foreign clan without backup, and seeing as you’re not ignorant—”

Rankil felt fortunate to have such a steadfast friend. Myrla did, too, and smiled up at the skinny broadback. “Genevic, would you come with Rankil?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” And all was in place for Myrla’s liberation.

“Will you wait up? I’m on light duty because of my knee, remember?” Genevic trotted to keep up with Rankil’s hurried gait. They were just outside the Serpent encampment, faint shadows against a moonless night. “Rankil.” Genevic cursed the Autlach who’d caused the ache in her leg. “We have to check in with the watch.”

“Why should we?” protested Rankil over her shoulder. “We’re Powder Barrier.”

“The Powder Barrier is not above manners.” Genevic pulled up the hood of Rankil’s cloak. “If you’re going to do this, then do it right. Give them no reason to doubt your sincerity.”

“I’ve never been so serious about anything in my life.” But Rankil turned toward where the watch stood, leaning on their spears. “Good evening.” The watch stiffened and glanced about.

Genevic stepped up, pushing Rankil behind her. “We humbly request audience at your fire.”

“For what reason?” queried the tallest of the pair, eyeing their uniforms as she spat pilta juice.

“None of your—” began Rankil, but Genevic elbowed her hard.

“It is a delicate matter intended for the clan leader’s ears.” Genevic bowed slightly, honoring Recca’s mention.

“Recca says there’s to be no outsiders.” The second guard, squat and somewhat bent at the midspine, frowned. “But the Tekks say that isn’t supposed to apply to you Barrier types. Let me check.” She wheeled about and jogged toward the background glow.

“We’ll wait.” Genevic nodded at the remaining guard who scowled, turning the glower on Rankil who grinned brazenly back.

“You Powder heads all think you’re something special.” Pilta spit splattered against Rankil’s boot leather. “I say you’re nothing without your muskets. All noise, no skill. So much hype for so little ability.”

Rankil kept silent, grinning beneath her hood until her teeth stood out, knowing it infuriated the guard. Genevic nudged Rankil again, urging her to be chivalrous. The momentary standoff ended as the second guard returned.

“Recca says to make it short. She’s indulging you because you’re Powder heads.”

“As long as she permits it,” said Genevic, again forcing Rankil behind her.

“Hey!” Rankil whispered as they walked. “What’s with taking over? This is my problem.”

“Have you ever seen a mate challenge?”

“No.”

“Then shut up and follow my lead.”

Unable to argue with such logic, Rankil straightened and stared ahead.

The Serpents, downed to a mere thirty-six in number during their escape to the volcano bowl, surrounded a sand ring where a small bonfire lit their tired faces. Rankil scanned the group for Myrla, not finding her where Recca’s mats were located but instead sitting, her knees to her chest, beside an older, sullen broadback with close-set eyes. One of her arms circled Myrla’s slim waist. Myrla pulled against the hold, creating a gap the broadback would close by jerking Myrla close again. Myrla would mumble something, the broadback would reply in a venomous tone then the process would repeat, Myrla pushing away again. Rankil kept her instincts in check while Genevic addressed Recca.

“The Tekkroon send their greetings, Serpent leader Recca, and their wishes for continued—”

“What is it the Tekks want?” said Recca in an acid tone. “And why can it not wait until morning?”

“We are sorry for the hour,” started Genevic, but Recca’s eyes hardened with distrust.

“Out with it, then be gone. The Tekkroon have most of my warriors, half my nassie stock. What do they require now, my gentlewomen for their beds?”

Of all the times for Recca to say such a thing, thought Rankil, observing the emancipated manner in which Myrla was regarding her. She expected this night to end in Rankil’s arms, and Rankil would settle for nothing less.

“We come concerning a sensitive matter,” Genevic was saying. “One that is best discussed in private.”

“There are too few of us left for anything to be personal.” Recca folded her arms across her chest. “Speak before us as a whole.”

“As you wish.” Genevic bowed. “The young are determined creatures, their hearts becoming so wrapped in the doings of love that they seldom think of the consequences. They—”

“You’re challenging a Serpent?” bellowed Recca before Genevic could continue. “You’re challenging outside your own clan?”

“Humbly, clan leader Recca, it is not I who challenges. It is my companion.” Genevic indicated Rankil, who remained deep in her hood. “Her heart cries for Myrla.”

“Myrla is mine!” Leonor leapt from her mat. “Recca’s promised her to me. Who dares challenge such an arrangement?”

“I do.” Rankil stepped forward, pulling back her hood to glare at Leonor in a possessed manner. “Myrla and I were together long before Recca offered her to you. I have right of first claim.”

“You!” Recca’s hand clenched her blade. “You had a child’s fascination and an unhealthy one at that. No abomination will claim a Serpent. I’ll not have it.”

“I’ve no wish to engage you, Recca.” Rankil stepped back. “But forced committal is outdated, slavery for the woman it is pushed upon. It makes us no better than Auts.”

“You speak of Tekkroon liberties.” Recca sheathed her blade but kept her hand close. “Myrla is a Serpent by birth, and now she is promised to a Serpent warrior. Leonor has nassies, gold and status. What do you offer, girl, besides inexperience and the terrored beginnings of a misplaced sister?”

“I bring friendship, love, knowledge of Myrla’s hopes and dreams.” Rankil watched Leonor crouch in a fighting posture. “I bring a heated home in a Gretchencliff family community she already knows. What more could you want for her?”

“You’ve said nothing of wealth, girl.” Recca’s condescending tone revealed her intentions never to release Myrla, not to a Tekkroon, not to one so young, never to someone with the reputation of a misplaced sister. “Have you monetary security?”

“I have over a pass of unspent credits in my account.”

“Worthless outside Tekkroon borders,” spat Leonor, flashing the numerous gold bracelets circling her arms. “Enough questions, Recca. Let me kill her so we can return to our discussion.”

“No, no fighting yet. I’m still trying to determine her right to challenge at all. What else do you offer, girl?”

“She doesn’t have to prove herself worthy to challenge.” Genevic stepped to Rankil’s side. “You know she’s inexperienced in the ways of the challenge, and you are using it to question her ability, which is to your advantage. The only criterion is a willingness to fight for what she desires. Rankil has that. The challenge should take place. Now!”

“Perhaps it should at that.” Recca’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Clear the sands.” And they were as Rankil was of her cloak and knife, Leonor of her hatchet and dagger.

“The rules of the challenge are but one,” Genevic told Rankil as she took her cloak. “There’s to be no outside assistance.” She laid her hand on Rankil’s shoulder. “Leonor’s aging. Losing this challenge will cost her social standing and what may be her last chance for a family. She’s fighting for her life.”

“And I’m fighting for Myrla’s,” replied Rankil in a low, thoughtful tone. Her eyes were open, but she was meditating, preparing her mind and body for what might happen. She could not lose control.

Recca called the competitors to the sand, placing them a dozen paces apart. Myrla stood an equal distance between them. “You have two claims for your affections.” Recca told her. “One is a valued member of your clan.” She indicated Leonor. “She is wise, strong and will provide for you. The other,” she waved at Rankil, “is a lowly foot soldier of an outside clan. You can resolve this conflict without bloodshed by following your clan leader’s and raiser’s wishes. Choose Leonor, and there will be no bloodshed.”

“You won’t put the blame on my head.” Myrla pulled off her headscarf and moved to Rankil’s arms. “My emotions were clear, but you still promised me to Leonor, a decision that would have landed your best warrior dead by my hand before I slept in her bed. You forced this fight. Any injury is your doing.”

“And your loss,” replied Recca in a foreboding tone. “Separate from your choice, Myrla. She must defend your foolish heart.”

Myrla did so after she and Rankil exchanged quick whispers and kisses. Wikkib motioned to Myrla, and she joined Wikkib on her mat, glad to be in the company of another anxious someone. Wikkib, orphaned just before her eighteenth pass and too old to be assigned another raiser, had never taken a partner, detesting the Serpent’s tendency to suppress their gentlewomen.

“Your Rankil will win.” She smoothed the hair escaping her own uncovered braid. “She has a true heart on her side. Leonor is greedy, trying to replace a mate who barely tolerated her in the first place.”

“Mother pray you’re right.” Myrla gripped Wikkib’s hand.

In the circle, Rankil and Leonor exchanged words, Rankil’s calm and curse free, Leonor’s vile, personal and disjointed.

“Bitch child! Insignificant waste of the Mother’s time!” Leonor kicked up sand as she paced. “No scar-faced baby is going to cheat me out of what’s mine!”

“She’s not a belonging.” Rankil remained still, watching her opponent’s movements, the slight paralysis that slowed her left arm, the manner in which she kept reaching for her absent weapons. Leonor was reliant on her arsenal, as was Rankil, giving neither the advantage in this fisticuff.

“Myrla has freely chosen me.” She eyed the other woman’s punch-ready hands. “Why not give her what she wishes? If you cared you’d listen.”

“I’ll have none of your conspiracy! What’s mine is mine!” Leonor spanned the distance between them in a single stride, delivering a heavy downward blow Rankil avoided. She returned the strike with a solid uppercut that stumbled her adversary back a pace. Leonor shook her head a few times then lunged again, this time landing a punch to Rankil’s jaw. Rankil remained toe to toe with her, returning Leonor’s well-placed hits until Leonor dropped, one leg sweeping out to knock her off-balance. The move proved successful, and Leonor took the lead, kicking Rankil’s legs from beneath her when she attempted to rise.

“Blasted, annoying little misplaced bitch!” Leonor spat in her face. “I’ve yet to lose a battle!”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Rankil grabbed Leonor’s leg, twisting as she pulled to flip her onto her stomach.

“Yes!” Myrla’s cheer prompted a fierce glare from Recca. “You forced me to choose my champion,” Myrla called to her. “You’ll not deny me the right to cheer her on!”

Recca took a step toward her then turned, distracted by the fight. Leonor was in trouble, her head in a lock that could easily snap her neck. As it was, Rankil was choking her into unconsciousness. When she fell limp, Rankil released her hold and stood. “To the winner go the spoils. Myrla is mine.”

“I cannot deny you victory.” Recca’s disappointment repeated throughout the Serpents. Leonor was a valiant fighter, the trainer of warriors. For her to lose was a blow to Serpent integrity, shaking their dwindling numbers to the core. But when Recca turned to retrieve Myrla, a small movement caught her eye. Leonor’s open palm closed, gathering a fistful of sand. Recca, smiling ever so slightly, extended her hand to Myrla whose round eyes saw nothing but Rankil. Rankil’s eyes were transfixed as well, until Leonor threw the handful of sand into them. Rankil dropped to her knees, and Leonor launched into her, striking her so hard she fell prone upon the circle. Myrla ran onto the sands, but Recca caught her about the waist.

“A challenge is not finished until the victor has hold of her prize. Rankil doesn’t have you.” She glanced at Leonor’s vicious assault on her disabled foe. “And she never will.”

“Unfair!” cried Genevic, charging onto the circle. “No weapons!”

“Sand is not a weapon,” Recca replied with referee’s decisiveness. “It is the ground beneath our feet—or in our eyes. Rankil made the mistake of assuming Leonor was incapacitated, a decision she is paying dearly for. I suggest you leave, trooper, and explain to your superiors why one of their own won’t be returning.”

“This is a murder!” Guards forced Genevic from the Serpent fireside. She could see Rankil, one arm covering her stinging eyes, trying to fight back. But what good were such moves when one couldn’t see and the enemy moved so quickly? Leonor bounced from one side of Rankil to the other, hitting then bounding away, laughing at Rankil’s feeble retaliations until one succeeded, throwing her from the circle.

“Enough play!” Leonor grasped Rankil by the shoulder, throwing her beside the fire. “Feel the heat, girl?” The hairs on Rankil’s head singed. “Feel your death?” Leonor cracked the back of Rankil’s head repeatedly against the firestones. The observers cried shock, the majority turning away from the sight. Rankil convulsed then collapsed, her blood soaking the sands beneath her head as her chest ceased to rise.