Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

A timeless interval of agony passed, during which Winter found herself looking forward to the Desoltai coming over to slit her throat. Eventually she heard someone calling her name, as though through thick cotton earplugs. She rolled over, fighting another wave of nausea, and saw Bobby’s silhouette against the stars.

“Winter? Sir? Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” Winter croaked. “I’m. . I’m okay.”

That was a bald-faced lie, but she felt obliged to tell it. Her hands came up to explore her face and found it surprisingly intact. The nomad’s head butt had been slightly off target, or else it would surely have broken her nose. Her right eye was already puffy to the touch.

“Where’d he go?” she managed.

“Dead,” Bobby said. “And Feor’s okay.”

Winter sat up.

The Desoltai was indeed sprawled motionless nearby. The hilt of a long knife, presumably his own, stuck up from his throat, just above his collarbone. Nearby sat Feor, huddled protectively around her injured arm.

“We have to get out of here,” Winter said. She grabbed Bobby’s outstretched hand, and between them they managed to get her to her feet. “Everyone for a mile around heard that scream.”

Bobby glanced at Feor. “I’m not sure she’ll walk, sir.”

“Then we’ll fucking carry her.” Pain still throbbed in Winter’s temples, and she could barely open one eye. “Come on.”

The Khandarai girl didn’t look up as they approached. Bobby prodded her shoulder cautiously, and got no response.

“What was she thinking, coming all the way out here?” Bobby looked up at Winter. “Was she trying to go over to the Desoltai? I thought they were going to kill her.”

“They would. Which, I think, is what she wants.” Winter switched to Khandarai. “Stand up.”

“No.” Feor’s voice was tiny. “Leave me.”

“I told you to stand up!”

When she didn’t obey, Winter nodded to Bobby and they hauled Feor to her feet. She hung between them, limp as a rag doll.

“I don’t understand,” Bobby said. “You think she wants-”

“To die,” Winter spat. “Just as her Mother ordered.”

“Oh.” Bobby was silent a moment. “If she’s going to kill herself. .”

“She can’t kill herself.” Winter gave a vicious chuckle. “Suicide is a terrible sin by Khandarai lights. But she can try to get herself killed.”

“Just leave me here,” Feor whispered. “If the Desoltai do not return, it will not be long before the desert takes me.”

“The hell I will,” Winter said in Khandarai. “I need you. We need to know what’s happening to Bobby.” She paused for a moment, then continued in a softer tone. “Besides. Your brother gave you your life back, didn’t he? Are you going to throw that away?”

“I. .” Feor choked back a sob. “He should not have done that. It was not proper.”

“Who cares what’s proper? You’re really ready to roll over and die just because some old woman told you to?”

“She is our Mother,” Feor said. “We sahl-irusk would not live at all, except by her grace. She provided us with our lives, our purpose. We owe her everything.”

“Just because she gave you a place to live doesn’t mean she owns you.”

“It’s more than that.” Feor shook her head. “You are Vordanai. I do not expect you to understand.”

Winter nearly spat at her. “That’s right. I’m just a barbarian, and I’ve given my word I’ll take care of you. Now am I going to have to drag you back to camp, or are you going to walk?”

Feor climbed shakily to her feet. “I will walk.”

“Good.” Winter turned to Bobby, who’d watched uncomprehendingly throughout the argument. “She’s coming. Let’s-”

She was interrupted by the shattering bang of a pistol at close range. Winter ducked, instinctively but uselessly, and heard the whine of the ball going wide. The shot had come from up the slope, but the flash had ruined her night vision, and all she could see against the starlight was two dark shadows charging down the hill. More obvious was the glitter of the faint illumination on drawn steel.

“Die, raschem !”

The lead man closed with a shout, headed for Feor. He charged right past Bobby, and Winter realized that the Desoltai must be as near-blind as she was. The corporal bulled into the raider as he passed, pushing him sideways off his feet. She managed to get her hands around his wrist, keeping his sword out of the way, but he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her down to meet a vicious knee to the stomach. Bobby grunted but hung on.

Winter, meanwhile, blinked away the afterimages of the single shot and dove for the spot where the corpse of their first assailant lay. He had a sword at his belt, too, and after a panicked second of scrabbling she wrenched it free. The second Desoltai had closed in on Bobby, his own sword drawn, but he was wary of striking his comrade. He reached out with his free hand and grabbed the corporal by the back of the collar, wrenching her free and tossing her roughly to the ground.

That left the first raider stumbling backward, off balance, and Winter surged to her feet and went after him. He barely saw her coming in time to bring his blade around in a desperate attempt to parry, but Winter threw the whole weight of her body behind the thrust, wielding the curved Desoltai weapon like a lance. It struck the raider high in the chest and sank half a foot of steel in him, and he went down without a sound. His own weapon dropped from nerveless fingers, and Winter abandoned hers and snatched it up.

She looked up in time to see Bobby on her feet again, backing away from the other Desoltai. He advanced cautiously, burdened by some kind of heavy leather pack, but when he finally understood that she was unarmed he charged. Bobby tried a feint to one side, then dove the other way, but the raider followed with a swordsman’s grace and intercepted her with a vicious overhand slash. The girl hit the ground with a spray of blood.

Winter wanted to scream, but she didn’t have the breath. She came up fast behind the Desoltai. His pack blocked her from a straight thrust into his back, so she went low, swinging two-handed for his legs. The weighted Desoltai blade bit deep, and the force of the blow snapped the bone and took the leg out from under him. He fell on his face with a muffled shriek, sword spinning away. Winter wrenched her blade free and circled him, lining up carefully on the back of his neck, and chopped down hard. The blade bit deep and refused to budge, and so she let go and took a step back while the man’s convulsive throes subsided.

“Shit,” she said, when she had enough breath to speak aloud. Then, louder, “Shit.” She skirted the dead man and hurried to where Bobby had fallen.

She lay on her stomach, surrounded by a dark stain on the dusty ground. Winter knelt and rolled her over, already dreading what she would see. The heavy downward cut had opened her from collarbone to navel, and the tattered edges of her torn uniform fluttered loose, already soaked in gore.

But, underneath the blood, there was something else. Light was seeping out, a soft white glow tinted with aquamarine, all along the cut. It spread as Winter watched, as though Bobby had starlight in her veins instead of blood. Mild at first, it swelled quickly to an actinic glare almost too bright to look at, then began to fade. Bobby twitched, arching her back, fingers scrabbling in the bloody sand; then she drew a long breath and let it out, and her body went limp. The breath caught in Winter’s throat for a moment, but the girl’s breathing was slow and regular, and the flow of blood had stopped entirely.

“Obv-scar-iot.” Winter hadn’t heard Feor approach, but the girl spoke from just behind her shoulder. “She truly has become the Guardian. I did not think. .”