Fifty-seven

Life in the cage had turned from dull misery to outright torture. Where the bindings restricted the blood flow, Seven Skull Shield’s hands had swollen. Looked terrible. The ache in his back and legs just got worse. He couldn’t sleep. At best he could take catnaps, at least until something went numb and he toppled forward, which jerked his arms painfully backward and strained his shoulders.

Unable to stand straight, every muscle in his back, shoulders, and neck pulsed with pain. His captors never gave him enough to drink, leaving him in a constant state of thirst; his hunger was barely cut by the few morsels they passed through the bars.

Worse, naked and restrained as he was, he had no ability to protect himself when the warriors “entertained” themselves. The constant baiting with pointed sticks, burning brands, and the occasional strike from a war club continued. His skin was scabbed, burns untended. So far, he’d been able to keep them from poking out one of his eyes by twisting his head away. But losing strength as he was, groggy as he was getting, the day would come when he didn’t see the stick coming as it speared for his eye.

Worst of all—because of the way the cage was constructed—the warriors could swing a club through the bars. The blows to his head, shoulders, knees, and elbows were bad enough, but one clever warrior had figured out how to aim an uppercut from down low. If Seven Skull Shield didn’t hunch and twist just right, the stone-headed club would hammer into his genitals. His unusual endowment was already a source of amusement and ribald jests; the warriors now made Seven Skull Shield’s privates their favorite target of abuse. Each successful blow to his swollen and bruised penis and testicles brought tears to Seven Skull Shield’s eyes.

Night had become his only limited refuge. During those few hours his tormentors were asleep. He could allow himself the sanctuary of Dreams. In them, he was a boy, slipping through the back ways with Winder, his empty stomach his only concern.

Or he would once again be sneaking carefully into some lesser noble’s palace, tiptoeing past the sleeping chief to reach out and remove some precious statue, a well-crafted bowl, or a remarkably woven blanket from its place of honor. The sleepers still undisturbed, he would pick his way through the great room, past the household staff, careful to drop the occasional morsel of food to the household dogs. That was the thing about dogs. It took time and stealth, but with food they could always be turned into allies.

Then came the Trade down at the canoe landing. His stolen goods—worth a fortune in the south—would earn him the kind of wealth that kept him in food, drink, and enjoyment for days.

But most of all, he Dreamed of Wooden Doll. Not so much of the magic their bodies made when they were locked together, but of later when they lay with their limbs entangled, arms around each other, talking, laughing. In the Dream, her eyes expanded, became dark pools that sucked him in. Adrift in the depth, he sank into her, floated down into her soul to a place where he was warm, safe, and beloved.

Which was about the point at which he’d start to topple over, the short tether pulling his arms painfully behind him. Jerking awake, he’d pull his shoulders half out of their sockets, struggle to find his balance. By then his legs, cramped beneath him, would be numb from restricted circulation.

The fading memory of Wooden Doll’s eyes would shift into Willow Blossom’s. Her soft delight, that eager smile that he’d thought was just for him would hang in the back of his souls, mocking, taunting, torturing him.

I loved her.

In the end, the question was always left for him to ponder: How had she taken him in so completely?

“Was I really that much of a fool?”

But the dark palace beyond his cramped cage gave him no answer. At least, not until morning when the warriors would arise, begin cooking their breakfast, the odors of simmering stew teasing his growling, empty stomach. The knot of thirst tight and desperate in this throat.

He’d lost track of the days since his capture. Time had turned into an eternity of pain. The pain, now a constant, had numbed his soul, drained his senses, weakened him to the point that tears came unbidden and heedless of the moisture they wasted to the air.

“So, there he is.” The contralto voice intruded on Seven Skull Shield’s wheeling thoughts.

He blinked, looked up to see Clan Matron Rising Flame staring down at him. Beside her stood Spotted Wrist, resplendent in a bloodred cloak, his hair in a high bun pinned with a polished copper headpiece. The man’s beaded forelock hung down over his forehead. The sharp eyes were mocking, disdainful.

“There he is. In his proper place at last.”

“What could Night Shadow Star have been thinking? Asking this creature to act as her agent? I’ve had people check. She really did leave this bit of trash in charge of her palace.”

“Matron, you’ve got to understand. That whole line of Black Tail’s lineage is possessed and insane. If Chunkey Boy hadn’t been consumed by the Morning Star’s Spirit, he’d have become another Tharon. And we all know what kind of monster Walking Smoke turned out to be. Night Shadow Star, in her own way, is just as possessed and incomprehensible. Unlike her brothers, she may not have been evil, but she’s always been disruptive. Never understood her place.”

“She was a wild thing when she was a girl.”

“Played chunkey, shot a bow, wrestled like she was just another boy. Failed to act responsibly like a proper female should. For a while her father feared she’d run off to be a warrior, as much as she favored her bow.”

“Knowing all that, and you still want to marry her?”

“It’s not like taking her to my bed would have been an act of undying love or done without full knowledge of the trouble she was capable of causing me. All I needed was her name and to have shot my seed into her sheath. After that, a wife’s been made a wife. Doesn’t matter what happens later. By keeping track of her woman’s flux during those first months, I would have ensured I bedded her during her heat. Once a child is planted in her … Well, if she ever comes back, we’ll see. Until then, she might have humiliated me, but she’s also out of sight and out of mind for the majority of the dirt farmers and Earth Clans who’d care.”

Rising Flame bent down, her curious gaze on Seven Skull Shield. “What? No witty comeback? Interesting, isn’t it? You always wanted to be front and center in Four Winds politics. Now look, here you are, living in the Keeper’s palace. Which, when I think about it, has always been your ultimate goal.”

“Not mine,” Seven Skull Shield rasped. “Piasa’s. He sent Blue Heron after me way back when.”

“Then let me guess.” Rising Flame arched an eyebrow. “You just couldn’t ever get away. Figured you were on a mission blessed by Power. You, a clanless orphan. Oh, I know all about you after that charade with the Quiz Quiz War Medicine last year. You might have bought your way out of a square, but I think your time has run out.”

“Did you really think you could be one of us?” Spotted Wrist asked.

“What could have possibly possessed you?” Rising Flame asked.

Seven Skull Shield gave her a saucy grin through his bruised and swollen lips. “Don’t think you’d understand. It’s a bit beyond your experience. Something you’ve never known.”

“What’s that?”

“Friendship.”

“I’ve had plenty of friends.”

“Good as you are with that lie, you’ve been telling it to yourself for years.”

“I’m not lying.”

The quick way she said it made Seven Skull Shield’s smile widen until it opened a crack in his lower lip. “Sure, Clan Matron. Out of respect, the war leader here and I will nod, wink at each other, and let you keep that mask front and center for the rest of the world to see.”

“Impudent bit of maggot puke, isn’t he?” Spotted Wrist noted, crossing his thick arms.

But Rising Flame was watching him, eyes thoughtful, her souls apparently considering something.

She said, “Where are your friends now, thief?”

“Doing just what I’d want them to.”

“And that is?”

Seven Skull Shield chuckled. “Too bad you don’t have a competent Clan Keeper. But then, I suspect he would just as soon forget about that stolen Koroa copper, wouldn’t you, Keeper?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Seven Skull Shield shot another grin at the woman. “The day will come when you really need to remember he said that.”

Rising Flame waved Spotted Wrist’s protest down. “The Morning Star was embarrassed. Had to send additional copper to the Koroa embassy. Bigger pieces, of even greater value. What would a common thief like you know about it?”

Seven Skull Shield shrugged, ignoring Spotted Wrist’s building anger. “Common thieves hear about uncommon thieves all the time. Famous people get noticed when they’re skulking around.”

“Are you insinuating that I had anything to do with the theft of that copper?” Spotted Wrist’s face had turned an angry shade of red, his eyes almost popping from his face. “Guards! Beat this piece of walking vomit until he understands his place.”

Seven Skull Shield caught that crafty glint as Rising Flame gave the war leader a new and calculating appraisal.

As the Keeper’s warriors came trotting across the room, war clubs in hand, anticipation in their eyes, Seven Skull Shield chuckled to himself.

This was really going to hurt, but he’d just planted a weed in the new Keeper’s garden.

I wonder if I’ll live long enough to see it flower?