Jay Lake - Green

He was as the rankest of boys.

Facing Federo as I sprawled on the floor, I ran my tongue across my lips. Mistress Cherlise had shown me a number of such little bits of playacting which would arrest a man’s attention.

The Dancing Mistress gripped my thighs hard and kissed me back and forth along the inner line of each leg, working down toward my knees. When she reset her grip to my calves and eased herself farther away, I nearly shrieked. Instead I rolled slightly to my left so Federo could see my right breast.

He wasn’t looking anymore. His eyes were closed, his back arched in his chair as he stroked himself very hard. Outside, thunder rolled almost continuously.

Now, I resolved, before he begins to think again.

I shoved myself to my knees and crawled as best I could toward the door and the satchels that had been dropped there much earlier. Mine, and Septio’s.

The Dancing Mistress rose to her feet to lean over Federo, occupying his vision a moment longer.

Catching at the strap of Septio’s bag, I spilled it open. A pair of small bottles, some spare stockings, breadcrumbs, a box of lucifer matches.

And three more of those paper packets of fire powder.

I had no way to know if these were smokers or exploders. I prayed for the latter as I shoved one into the brazier by the door, then crawled as quickly as I could to my left.

Federo began to call out sharply. Lightning crackled out of sequence to the rhythms that had so recently matched him at his pleasures, but what cut him off was the spew of red and black.

It had not seemed so prodigious out in the open.

The tent filled with smoke and a dry, burning smell. Federo threw the spear aside and jumped up. The Dancing Mistress tackled him from behind. I rose up on my knees and cracked Federo on the temple with my two fists clenched together.

That stopped him completely.

The smoke had become horribly thick. It cloyed at my stomach. Outside, the lightning stuttered and died with Federo’s fading consciousness. Nothing important seemed to have caught fire yet.

I was surprised to still be alive.

“Dress,” the Dancing Mistress hissed. Federo had brought her to me naked except for her chains, but she was already tugging at the tapestries and cloths in search of something to wrap around herself.

My clothes were stiff. I ached at the thought of having to pull them over my unwieldy limbs. Yet there was some chance we might escape, and I could see no profit in running naked into the night. My boots were with our satchels, so I slipped them on, then walked limping back to Federo.

Gathering my breath, unwilling to apologize, I leapt in the air and brought my weight down heels-first upon his chest.

I expected a wet, splintering crunch. Possibly some blood. Certainly a rough cough, followed by the bellows breathing of a man at the edge of death.

Instead I slid off him as if he were made of marble.

I fell painfully to the floor. The Dancing Mistress picked me up. “He cannot be hurt so. It is the aspect of the god upon him.”

“Federo would have had the decency to die,” I said quietly. “This is Choybalsan and none other.”

“Can you help me lift him?”

I did so, wondering how my blow to his head had affected him where the heels of my boots had not. Or was he like Skinless now, impervious to weapons but not to the hand?

We dragged him to the altar. She set about binding Choybalsan to the rough stone. Though we had little time, I had to know. I picked up the ridiculous spear, but could not drive it into his thigh. I stood close to him and pressed my thumbnail hard into the skin of his neck.

A red welt raised there as he stirred.

The Dancing Mistress was finishing her knots as Choybalsan came to himself. “Your death will be far worse now.” He almost spat the words. Thunder renewed outside in a rapid roll.

I leaned close to his ear, remembering the old words. “The life that is shared,” I whispered in Seliu, “goes on forever. The life that is hoarded is never lived at all.”

Nothing happened. This was how the death of the Duke had been completed, but the magic had hung in the balance longer than I thought possible. Sweat trembled on the tip of my nose.

Choybalsan just laughed. The braying shattered the moment. “You are so close to the secret, but you will never find it.” He thrashed his shoulders against his bonds, but seemed more amused now than anything else. “Foolish Emerald. When I finally take your heart, you shall wish you’d let me kill you sweetly tonight.”

Stumbling, I dragged another brazier close to him. The one by the flap, which spat red and black smoke, was too unhandy.

Amusement fled his face. “No fire!”

“I’m not going to burn you,” I told him. I did not know what the other two packets held. If it was more smoke, he might suffocate. If it was another blast, so much the better. “Stop the lightning,” I told the Dancing Mistress.

She boxed his ears, very hard. Choybalsan was stunned again. Outside the thunder rolled once more to silence.

“Now cut open the back of the tent.”

The Dancing Mistress nodded, took up the long haft of his spear and stabbed at the tapestries until she was through them and into the skins of her people. She sawed back and forth for a minute or so, staying as far away as possible from the pelts. Finally she turned to me. “Done.”

I threw the last two packets in the brazier next to Choybalsan’s head. Then I stumbled toward my friend and lover. She shoved me through the ragged slit and followed me into the night. We ran across the open ground to the ring of burnt ground plowed by the lightning forks. The camp gleamed and guttered before us.

The tent exploded with a dull thump that hurt my ears. I stumbled and turned around, the Dancing Mistress catching at my arm. A fireball curled into the night air. It was already spreading to ragged tongues of flame. Part of the tent had collapsed. The rest was on fire.

All around us, a roar of voices erupted.

“Run,” she said. We struggled through the crowd, which washed past us like the tide.

I have never understood how we survived the next few minutes. A storm of spears and swords glittered around. I am not so easy to overlook, unless I am hiding amid shadow. Given that I stumbled like a bandy-legged drunk in company with a pardine through that camp, we should have been bright as a tomato in an olive barrel.

Perhaps it was the hand of the Lily Goddess that covered us. She has never told me, and much has happened since to draw a veil over the moment.

We staggered into an area of fewer cook fires and more scrub. Both of us knew we must be full away from the bandit train before the hue and cry went up. I did not imagine we would live long, but I was willing to run as far as my weakened body would carry me.

In time, we found a stream. I dropped to my knees on round-stoned gravel to drink. The Dancing Mistress knelt beside me, looking as much like a hunting cat as I had ever seen her.

“Can you walk amid these wet rocks?” she asked.

“Of course-” I stopped. There was no of course about it. That I even still moved was amazing. Losing my footing in the dark seemed highly likely. “My apologies. I do not know.”

“It will help your trail. They will not be so fast following you.”

“Can you find me a good-sized stick?” I was ashamed to ask it, me who could leap from rooftop to rooftop like a bat on the wing. Still, such a thing might save my life.

She slipped away into the darkness. I could see lights swarming far behind us. Panic? Or the torches of an army setting out on the hunt?

I sat with my boots in the running stream and wondered how I might survive.

Though it seemed like an eternity, only a few minutes passed before the Dancing Mistress returned. She had a solid stick in one hand. A rabbit twitched broken-backed in the other.