PULL ME UNDER - Angel Witch - Twelve
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Angel Witch
Twelve
Due south, Grandfather was nowhere to be seen—just the witch, bounding on horseback, she turned in her saddle to see Tanner gaining fast.
That same ache pounding behind his brow, to look at her—worsening as he neared. He steeled through the pain, spear ready, wind-lashed, almost close enough to thrust. Come on!
The others were either too injured to ride or needed to care for the rest—just him, over the gravel and sand, tufts of pale yellow bushes trampled and desert birds flapping off in surprise, Tanner rode past them with spittle flying from his teeth and his heart in his throat.
He could hear the fabric of her dress whipping itself—she extended both arms—the sound of paper tearing, and he rode the horse right into the middle of the lake, face full of water, up his nose and in his lungs.
A fisherman pulled Tanner out, sputtering and coughing and furious. “You alright, son?”
Tanner couldn’t speak. The horse had dispersed, the little metal bugs spreading thin like an oil slick before sinking, and Tanner just laid back pathetically into the skinny boat and let the stink of fish wash over him. The fisherman shook his head and brought Tanner ashore.
***
Antoll was a great storyteller, Lauren thought—in Ddun’s words, a better braggart— but with Antoll’s ribs broken, Ddun had to repeat the words louder for effect over the gathered crowd. Lauren held a hand at her chest, half listening to the speech. He came for me, he came for me. They all found me.
Though few fighting men remained in the city, the ones at their feet were incensed at the news—how their Grandfather was controlled by a witch, and Ddun and Rudda hoisted up the blackened head of the beast she conjured as proof of their ordeal. The remaining castle guards vouched for them, regretting that they hadn’t known before what their guest was conspiring, and angrier still to be made fools of… Grandfather was cursed by the crowd in turn, to think he would be so easily manipulated. They were riled, angry, and ready to head south to find Meired and see where she hid Grandfather, and maybe kill him too, if he truly had aspirations for kingship.
“Only a witch can crown a Dvarri king!” one called out. It made Lauren shiver to think, the strange sensation in her blood... Would they kill me if they knew? The others had vowed to keep it secret, but she wasn’t sure if that would be possible for long. Meired might find her again.
Lauren gripped Tanner’s hand, afraid, but so grateful that they had found her. She couldn’t remember her stay, only fragments here and there. Whatever Meired had done to her, it had awakened something, and she was frightened of herself more than anything else.
She had taken Tanner aside when he returned, sopping wet and with a knot in his face. “Remember when I went through my wiccan phase after watching The Craft?”
He had nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching as if threatening a smile—doubtless, the ugly pentagram dog collar necklace and the burn she got from fucking with candles were the images in his head.
But this is real. This is all real. The two of them hadn’t understood, the superstitions and fears of the Dvarri all dismissed… she knew now, how arrogant that was, how humbled she became. It was an embarrassing thought.
She could never go home now… But she didn’t want to. Not as she looked up at Ddun on the makeshift dais, not as she remembered Meired commanding “open the portal, take us across!” and everything going dark when she refused.
“We will convene a moot!” another Dvarri in the crowd called out. “Our Chief of Chiefs must lead the men! Not be under the thumb of dark magic!”
“Aye!” A chorus in agreement.
“Spread the word,” Ddun said, repeating Antoll, his voice was so deep and rich she wanted to sink, “in three months time there will be a moot here, not in Kisku. We will need riders—all of you who can—to send the message out to all the corners of the prairie, of the desert and tundra and lowlands, east and west and south. We will put the word out to halt any raiding. We cannot afford clan rivalries, brothers!
“The seasons are changing, let that not frighten you, in the heat of summer or cold of winter, we are Dvarri—”
“And we take no shit!” Tanner crowed with his fist up, earning more cheers from the crowd.
We? She smiled at him, wistful.
Afterwards there was a great impromptu feast outside the city where the clans would camp as they visited, made into a great disorganized mess of tents and cookfires. She devoured the traditional soups, whole heads boiled up for the occasion and Tanner and Ddun sucked the eyeballs into their mouths with carnal glee. Antoll and Rudda completed the circle, Antoll sweating from the pain of his broken ribs. Rudda offered him a leather bag stuffed with what looked like wrinkled cardboard, but Antoll shook his head. He had an angry scar on his chest, threads of purple and red spreading from it, and she worried for him.
“Are you coming back to camp with us, will you be able to ride?” she asked Antoll when there was a lull in the rude jokes and men coming to them for greetings and begging for stories of the great beast they slew. There had been a pilgrimage of sorts for the curious to look upon the head of it where it sat at the castle gate, stinking. No one went through the gate to peer at the rest of it. They didn’t need to.
Antoll looked at her with a warm surprise, as if he didn’t expect her to be concerned. “I’ll stay here a while.” He smiled, hollow. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Don’t tell me not to worry about you,” she squinted at him, attempting playfulness. “What are you going to do about it if I do?”
“To you? Nothing.” He downed a shot of what smelled like gingery vodka, eyes to her brother beside her. “I bet I could still beat him though.”
“At what? You think you could kick my ass?”
“With these broken ribs,” Antoll teased as if Tanner didn’t just spear and ride a giant eagle-lion before shooting it to death. Men were relentless.
“Fuck you bud,” Tanner belched, “get better and we’ll have a go.”
“You’re both morons.” Lauren tasted her gingery vodka, or whatever it was, and recoiled at the strength of it. Then she knocked back the tiny clay cup and it sent a strong shudder through her with how much it burned going down. Ddun laughed at her, inviting her to blush. His breath stunk of spices and alcohol already.
A serving girl passed by with a tray of sweets, Ddun’s face lit up exposing his true age and he grabbed happily at the platter, two honey cakes in his mitts. He handed one to Lauren, and as she held it the honey dripped onto her fingers. It dawned on her sweets like that were rare for Dvarri, she hadn’t had anything like it since they arrived. No wonder her stomach was more toned, not just the exercise but she wasn’t eating Jos Louis whenever she wanted.
Inside the cake was a fruit preserve, and it dripped to her lip, she caught it with a finger and pushed it back up into her mouth. It was delicious, washing out the astringent flavour of the alcohol and she was lost in the sweetness, her whole body relaxed and eyelids falling shut.
When she opened her eyes again, Ddun stared like he was a starving man and she was a prime rib. She couldn’t look at him, but she felt his stare doubly as intense as she licked the honey from her fingers, and she was burning up from the inside out.
The men started talking about games, boasting and carrying on, and Tanner told them about hockey. They promised when they returned in winter, they would play. Lauren enjoyed hearing their voices, keeping quiet, smiling and laughing when she needed to. But she needed sleep more, exhaustion hitting her harder than the shot of spiced hooch. There was a gravitational anomaly where she sat and to not be lying down was torture.
“Tanner,” she worked up the courage to interrupt. “Where do I sleep?”
“We’re all sharing a tent. It’s packed up with the horses.”
“Can we pitch it? I’m really tired.”
“You sure?”
She nodded.
In the morning, she slept late, as did half the city if she were to guess, except maybe the Stenya that kept away from the partying. The crack of the tent flap let in sunlight that was blinding and disorienting, she had been so used to her windowless room in the castle to wake up in. Once her eyes adjusted, rubbing them and squeaking a stretch, she peered out to their little campsite. Tanner and Rudda were wrestling, getting covered in the orange-tinged dirt. She was happy for her brother, to see him carefree, and he looked so healthy. Her heart swelled, and she smiled, before heading back into the shaded interior of the tent to lay back down for an extra wink of sleep. Did she sleep at all when she was at the castle? Did Meired let her?
But falling back asleep was a mistake. She couldn’t recall the nightmare, but Ddun was over her when she woke, shaking her by the shoulder. She was slick with sweat and her throat was parched, raw as if she had been screaming. “It’s just a nightmare,” he said, a tremble in his voice. His eyes shone with genuine concern, blond hair falling from his braid in strands. He had been sleeping too. His nearness—his smell—it made her feel so calm and safe, and she wanted desperately to feel that from a man.
Tanner was at the tent, breathing heavy and face smeared with dirt, his stubble thickening on his cheeks after a two-week long road trip where he opted to try growing a beard. “What’s wrong?”
“A nightmare, just a nightmare,” Ddun said, sitting back with a strange look on him like he was afraid of Tanner. Lauren forced herself to sit. The dress that Meired gave her she still wore, and it was soaked by sweat. She wondered if they brought her clothes with them, but couldn’t manipulate her mouth to ask.
“You okay, Lauren?”
She nodded, wiping her eyes. A long pause to get her voice to work. “Just thirsty.”
Tanner left the tent and returned with a skin of water, and Lauren drank deep, streams dribbling down her chin. She shivered at the coolness of it, sighing at how wonderful it felt. So pure and clean, a hint of the skin it was held in. Ddun was watching her, keeping distance. She held out the skin to him, and he took it, hesitating a moment, and she didn’t understand the look he gave her.
Tanner returned, asking if they were hungry. Ddun said no, Lauren said yes, and then Ddun changed his mind.
“Hungover?” she asked while they waited for food, both comfortable in the darkness of the tent.
He chuckled. “A little. But every time I go out there I worry—No, it’s ridiculous.”
“What is? You started it, say it.”
“I worry… You’ll disappear.”
She had to look away, blinking at a spot of dirt on the canvas near her feet, her stomach fluttering and her cheeks red. The sweetness of his sentiment turned to grief as she thought on it. “I’m sorry.”
He frowned. “For what?”
“Everything.” Then she exploded, sobbing into her knees. “You all could have died for me. And more people are going to die, because of Meired, I know it. And that’s my fault, too.”
He pulled himself sideways to her, laid a hand on her head, warm and gentle, petting her hair in long strokes down her back, so comforting, the pressure of his hand silencing her crying. Then the dirt outside the tent crackled with footsteps and he pulled his hand away. Rudda came in with smoked fish and cheese. The three of them ate in silence.
Rudda cleared his throat when he was finished. “Antoll wants to stay and keep an eye on the Peiransi and Stenya. He says we should have meetings with them, and there should be someone to keep a written account of each meeting. The Peiransi especially, to make sure they don’t ally their clans with anyone else but us. Anyway, I’ve decided to stay with him. Someone needs to stay that he trusts to keep the records safe, in case…”
Antoll was dying, it hit her. They all knew it, no one said it. And that was her fault, too. Her appetite was lost, and she stopped listening to Rudda and Ddun, laying with her back to them, closing her eyes. She didn’t sleep, but they didn’t go away. They just talked as if she weren’t there. Weren’t women ushered away from these sorts of talks? Was she not a woman? She didn’t want to be special. She didn’t want to be ignored, either. She was just frustrated and didn’t know what she wanted. “Can’t you talk somewhere else?”
So they left her alone.
***
It was a cold day as they began their trek back to the prairie, Lauren wore her brother’s jacket, but it wasn’t enough. The few trees along the lake edge were starting to turn colour, the faintest hint of yellow. All the shearling and pelts the women must be stitching up for winter… She tried to remember their calendar, tried to do mental math for when it was, how long since they lost the tunnel… but she couldn’t.
She thought of Ansa, how she missed a woman’s friendly company, to talk about something other than tribal politics and killing people for a while.
Tanner had ridden ahead to scout for bandits, and she shared a horse with Ddun, riding sidesaddle with her leg wrapping awkwardly around the pommel. The leather dug in to her thigh or up into her crotch and she kept having to shift on her seat.
But what happens when they do return to familiar faces, the rhythm of daily life she had gotten used to, if she should use her magic to get there faster, but that would risk Meired finding them—through all these thoughts, Ddun’s muscles rocked against her and it dawned… this was the first time she was truly alone with him. She shifted again, her thoughts gone.
Ddun gave a low grunt.
“Hm?” she asked.
“Hm.”
“What?”
“…Leg hurts.”
“I could chop it off.”
“You could try.”
She turned her face up to his, wanting to continue her joke (I wasn’t talking about your leg, cue laugh track) but instead her mouth hung open, stomach so full of butterflies at the heat of his look they might escape and fly away. Clacking her mouth shut, she looked ahead of them instead, to keep her wits. Lovely rocks over there. Why do you have to be like this, Lauren?
He grunted again, low and long, and slipped a hand up under the jacket, cupping her ribs through the silk, and she let him. He tucked his nose into her hair and breathed her in. Her whole body fluttered. He pulled her, gently, into his chest and she let her head rest on his shoulder, eyes closed, hearing his heartbeat and his rough breathing as if he was trying to keep polite restraint and it was physically painful. Or, maybe it really was his leg.
“Should I check the bandage?”
“The what?”
“Your leg.”
“My leg.”
She pulled away to feign a scowl up at him. “Yes, your leg, you idiot, or we really will have to chop it off. You think you’re going to win the vote for Chief and ride off, if you have one fucking leg?”
The horse had stopped. Or maybe it wasn’t the horse, maybe the world itself stopped. He kissed her and the swell of heat from his lips and his tongue clouded her head and sank down to her guts in sparks and bursts and flowed out between her legs. She found the braincells somewhere to lift her arm up and gripped his shoulder, rubbing her palm along the set of muscles up to his neck and he kissed her harder as she dug in her fingers. She was numb everywhere and he smelled so fucking good, like musk and protection and comfort and sandalwood. He grunted again and the vibration sent a wave through her and she thought she might die.
And then Tanner whistled in the distance and she could finally catch her breath. Ddun kept a hand at her ribs, thankfully, or she might slide right off the saddle for how weak-muscled she was.
He urged the horse onward, and she looked out to the road ahead where Tanner appeared over an outcropping of rock. “Don’t let me disappear again,” she whispered.
His hand tightened on her. “I won’t.”