Author: Elizabeth Hunter
Date: 2014-02-04 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Paranormal; Vampires; Fantasy; Urban Fantasy; Paranormal Romance; Adult; Novella; Romance; Fiction; Short Stories
Description: Librarian Note: Previous cover for ASIN: B00HUVO5NA "You may call me Tenzin, if you like." A girl. A mother. A slave. A monster. A survivor. Descended into madness. Forged in fire and darkness, she became one of the fiercest warriors the immortal world had ever known. But in the beginning, there was a girl. THE BRONZE BLADE is a novella of approximately 100 pages. WARNING: The Bronze Blade contains scenes of graphic violence and abuse, and is recommended for adult readers only.
Publisher: E. Hunter

Contents

The Bronze Blade

Copyright

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue: Tell Me a Story

Chapter One: The Girl

Chapter Two: The Monster

Chapter Three: The Madness

Chapter Four: The Fire

Chapter Five: The Warrior

Epilogue: The Heir

About the Author

The Elemental World

Other Work

An Elemental World novella:

THE BRONZE BLADE

“You may call me Tenzin, if you like.”

A girl. A mother. A slave. A monster. A survivor. Descended into madness. Forged in fire and darkness. She became one of the fiercest warriors the immortal world had ever known.

But in the beginning, there was a girl.

“Brutality. Death. Madness. Retribution. This is the origin story I’ve been dying to hear, and Hunter more than delivered. This is how a legend is born.”

—Colleen Vanderlinden, author of LOST GIRL

The Bronze Blade

Copyright © 2013
by Elizabeth Hunter

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: Damonza

Formatted by: Elizabeth Hunter

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THE BRONZE BLADE:

An Elemental World Novella

ELIZABETH HUNTER

For every one who has survived

Prologue: Tell Me a Story

“I want you to tell me before I die.”

The old woman’s eyes were bright with fever, but her grip was strong as she held the immortal’s hand. Tenzin gently uncurled the fingers from around her palm before she dipped the cloth back in the scented water, the aroma of eucalyptus suffusing the room in her sire’s house where Nima lay.

“There’s time,” she said softly.

“No. There isn’t.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Tenzin brushed the white hair from Nima’s forehead, remembering when the hair had been shining black and the forehead smooth. Nima had always been proud of her fair skin. Had teased Tenzin that following her into the darkness had kept her young. It wasn’t true, of course. Nima had been her human companion for over seventy years. She’d sheltered Tenzin and protected her during the sunlight hours, even though the immortal no longer needed to sleep. It was Nima who had dealt with the humans. Nima who had fed her rare thirst. “Always so dramatic,” Tenzin said again, stretching out next to the old woman on the bed, pressing Nima’s forehead against her cool cheek. It burned.

Her body fought to live even as her life drifted away. Nima was dying. Tenzin knew it. She’d known this day would come. It always came. But for the first time in a thousand years, the loss angered her.

Nima whispered, “I’m sor—”

“Don’t apologize again. We’re past that now.”

“Please tell me.”

“Why?” Her heart ached. Of all the stories that Tenzin could tell her, the fantastical tales she could spin, why did her friend ask this of her? Tenzin could tell her about the rise of the pyramids and how the moonlight shone off the snow that topped the Holy Mountain. She’d watched the Great Wall being built and hovered silently over a stage in Vienna as Mozart played. “Let me tell you a beautiful story.”

“I don’t want that. I want your story.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

Tenzin tried not to sigh in frustration. “Why do you ask this of me?”

“Why do you hold it back?”

Tenzin’s brow furrowed. “I am no longer that girl.”

“I know you’re not.”

“It was thousands of years ago. I barely remember her.”

“Don’t lie to me now,” Nima said, her voice stronger. “Not now.”

They waited in silence as the soft voices of her father’s servants passed in the hall.

“Why do you want this burden?” Tenzin whispered. “It is not a good story.”

“I want it because it is not a good story.”

“Human, why do you search for meaning in pain? There is no meaning in pain. It is. You endure it. That is all.”

“I am dying, Tenzin. Give this to me. Let me know you as you were.” Nima’s voice fell soft as she leaned her head on Tenzin’s shoulder. “Give me this burden, and I will take it from you. Not all of it. But some. Give it to me, and I will take it with me when I go. Then, there will be just a little less darkness for you.”

“I am darkness.”

“You were.” Nima took a deep, rattling breath. “But I see light for you now. Give this to me, so there is a little more.”

There was no light for her—she knew that—because Tenzin loved the darkness. But that, she would never tell Nima. Let the woman believe there was some kind of happiness for her to come. If that would ease her pain, Tenzin would give her that.

“Are you sure you want my story?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I will tell you. But you must promise to stay awake, my Nima, so the nightmares do not come until I am finished. And when they do come, I will wake you, so you will see that nothing is real. Do you understand?”

“Tell me. And tell me the truth.”

Tenzin thought for a moment, then said, “I will tell you, and you will decide if it is the truth.”

Nima took another deep breath and said, “Tell me a story.”

She stared into the rafters of her sire’s house on Penglai, and a dragon stared back at her, surrounded by clouds and holding a pearl in his mouth. His gold eyes glistened in the low lamplight and, as she stared…

Tenzin heard the sound of cold wind as it swept over Northern plains.

The sound of the night breeze shaking the trees.

The low bleating of goats and a child’s laugh.

“A long time ago, there was a girl…”

Chapter One: The Girl

The girl didn’t rush to the goat pens. Despite the chill in the spring wind and the late hour, she walked slowly, rhythmically patting the baby tied to her hip. She sang a low song for the fussy child, patting his back as she followed the path toward the pens where the mother goats were meant to drop their kids. The raiders had been there that day, but some of the goats would be left. They always left some. Then they rode away on their stout ponies, fat and feasting on the village’s food.

Seasons would pass. The herd would grow. The caves would fill with storage jars again.

Then the raiders returned.

As long as the girl could remember, it had been like this.

The last time they’d come, she couldn’t even find the energy to hide what little she owned. She had been alone and sick, the only survivor of the fever that killed her man and her daughter. It had been spring that year, too. The raiders had come and taken the dried meat the girl’s mother had brought and hung from the thatch roof in her small hut. They didn’t pay her any attention. She was still too weak to notice. Thin and sallow, she’d lain on a pallet near the fire, the skins her man had given as a wedding gift were piled over her emaciated frame. The raiders took some of the skins, the meat, and a string of shells the girl had collected from the riverbed. Then, they left.

She’d survived.

Fortunately, First Wife had noticed her and taken her to her husband to give him the children the other woman could not. The next winter, when her belly grew swollen, the girl did not sing. Nor did she pause in her work to place her palm against the kicks that grew stronger with each passing moon. The Old Woman told her she carried two babes, but the girl paid no attention. She would birth in the spring, like the goats. And the child would belong to the man and First Wife, also like the goats.

The Old Woman was right, of course. There had been two. Two living boys with eyes like their father.

Her new husband had been pleased that his blue-green eyes, uncommon among their tribe, had been passed on to the two children the girl had born him. It was a sign of his ancestors’ favor. The straw-haired people had long ago wandered back to the west, but their blood had mixed with those tribes who had stayed. So the girl’s babe bore the startling eyes that shone blue-green in the twilight, as did the other child who rested, fat and pampered, in First Wife’s arms.

The child she carried had been born alive, but small. And so silent, the Old Woman thought he would probably die. No matter. First Wife had already taken the oldest boy, red-faced and screaming, to show her husband. They were pleased with the healthy male, and told her she could keep the other for her own if she wanted it.

She wanted it. She wanted him.

The girl’s arm tightened under the round bottom of the little boy on her hip, and he turned his eyes toward her, no longer fussy, but content and cooing, reaching for the long plait of hair that hung over her shoulder, gnawing on his chubby fingers. He was still small, but healthy and tough, crawling around their hut so quickly, he’d almost rolled into the cooking fire more than once.

The walking path wound through the bottom of a ravine, close enough to the village to check the flocks easily, but far enough out that the low grass still grew. The goats had stripped all the pastures near the huts.

The baby reached over and pulled at the girl’s lip, tugging at the corner of her wide mouth until she turned and caught his fingers between them, pretending to bite while the boy let out a high pitched giggle.

Perhaps, if he hadn’t giggled, they might have been able to escape, but she heard the panicked bleating too late.

The ravine opened up to her right, and the girl saw them, standing in a close circle under the pale moonlight. The boys in the village had said they were all gone, but they’d been wrong. The raiders remained. She tried to disappear among the rocks, but one had already turned and spotted her, no doubt searching for the unexpected laugh that drifted on the night wind.

Her heart raced, but the baby paid no heed. He continued to babble and throw his arms out, reaching for the goats. He liked the animals and wanted to be let down to play.

The girl panicked.

“Tsh, tsh, tsh,” she tried to soothe him, throwing a blanket over his face as another one of the men turned. She heard shouts in a language she didn’t understand. She noticed a pool of blood that the men were standing around. She tried to look away, but her eyes were fixed on it, along with the pile of grey and white bodies that lay in the middle like so many stacked stones.

She turned and ran.

By now, the baby had picked up on his mother’s panic, and he was crying, clutching the side of her breast and burrowing his face in her tunic.

“Mama!” he cried, his voice thin and high in the dry Northern air.

“Tsh!”

Every stone in the path, every branch and root, reached up to trip her as she ran. She heard a noise above her, like a great bird of prey, but she didn’t look back. She kept running.

Then, impossibly, she couldn’t. The path fell away beneath her churning feet as some monstrous thing grabbed her shoulders. A pale hand reached down and yanked at the sling her child rested in, and she felt it come loose.

No.

No!

“Ma! Mama!”

His screams reached the girl’s ears as she rose higher and higher in the sky. She heard the baby’s cries of pain as he tumbled back to earth, and the last glimpse she caught of her son was his vivid eyes, shining bright with tears in the moonlight as his tiny arms reached up.

“Ma!”

She didn’t breath until a sharp yank on her hair let loose her fury and pain. The girl screamed long and loud, kicking her legs and biting at the arm that held her. She kept screaming as the creature dragged her higher into the starry sky.

Then something struck her temple, and everything was black.

When she woke, it was in darkness and her arms were bound together with twisted strips of leather. She’d been left in a tent that reeked of old animal hides and rot. Stones dug into her cheek, and she could feel something—probably blood—dry and crusted at her temple. Her lips were split. She could see nothing, because black hair hung over her face.

The old women talked about it, occasionally. Sometimes, the raiders took more than goats. Sometimes, some or all the girls in a village would disappear. They were never seen again. The raiders were men, after all. And what could one small village do? That was the reason girls didn’t wander at night. But First Wife had wanted to know how many goats the raiders had left them, and the girl didn’t argue.

Mama!

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to rid her mind of his terrified cries.

Ma!

Despite her physical pain, the bitter tears had not fallen until that moment.

She heard someone walk into the tent, then her arms were jerked up, and the bindings bit into her wrist. He grunted and brushed the thick mane of hair away from her face, muttering under his breath.

It was one of the raiders. His hand was cold when he pushed her forehead back to examine her. His grimy fingers lifted her lip to check her teeth, then he pulled off the tunic she still wore, though it had been ripped in many places and barely clung to her frame. She shivered in the sudden cold. He was a tall man, and stocky. He looked her up and down, seemingly satisfied by her appearance. His dirty mouth turned up at the corners, and the girl’s stomach churned with a dreadful fear.

It wasn’t a man at all, but a demon from childhood nightmares.

Fangs hung over his lip, and his gums were stained red with blood. His skin was pale and bloodless, but the eyes were like two black pits, reflecting her own panic back to her as she trembled before him.

A high keening sound came from her throat. In the back of her mind, she saw her son’s eyes, wide in the moonlight, glassy with tears as he reached for her. Would someone find him? When she didn’t return, would First Wife send another to check? Perhaps, the baby would crawl toward the pens where he played, and someone from the village would take him.

Probably, he was dead. At least he had been spared whatever horrors this demon would inflict on her.

The monster barked out some words she didn’t recognize, and slapped the girl’s face until she quieted her cries. Then he grunted and reached for something in a pile behind her. It was another tunic, which he pulled over her head, snapping the bindings on her wrists with two fingers. He was inhumanly strong. The girl wondered how easily he could snap her bones. He pushed the hair back from her face and tugged on her arm until she stumbled after him.

As she walked through the camp, the girl wondered what she had done to deserve this fate. Perhaps, she had been too happy once. Perhaps she had tempted the gods, as her mother had warned her. The gentle man who once met her eyes had died. The girl child had died. The boy would die too, if he was not dead already. Surely, it would be better to die before Fate caught her in some other net.

She was not afraid of death.

They passed two raiders, standing around a fire. They eyed her with blatant glee, but she ignored them, staring at the red flames that tossed sparks into the night air.

Fire was too uncertain. People fell into cooking fires all the time, but they didn’t die unless the wound became angry and swollen. Then, a fever might take them. She needed something more than fire.

Perhaps they were near cliffs or a river. Either one would be a more certain way to die. And the girl knew she would rather die than exist for whatever purpose the demon chose for her. She did not know her child’s fate, but she knew her own. Life was short and brutal for those who lived on the plains, and she’d lived longer than many.

She burned with the need to find a quick death.

The raider pulled her past some tents. They were thick and heavy, low to the ground, with no flaps to let in light. She saw no cooking fires and no women or children. The camp reeked of blood and spoiled meat. Filthy rags hung over the backs of the tents; some of them seemed to be washed, but only a few.

As they approached the largest fire, the monster turned to her and slapped her cheek again. The girl didn’t make a sound. Her mind was occupied with how she might kill herself as quickly as possible. Perhaps if she angered the creature—

“Tshhh,” he hissed, putting his finger over her mouth. He wanted her to be silent. He lifted a brow, looking at her as if she was dumb livestock, then he said it again. “Tsh.”

She gave him no response, purposely making her eyes as dead as possible. He scowled at her, but the girl didn’t care. Then he turned and continued walking toward the large fire in the middle of the tents.

The camp was not large, she saw no more than a dozen tents. There were no houses like the mud and thatch roof huts her people had built by the river, but a few of the tents were larger and sat higher off the ground. She saw a grouping of ponies near the largest tent. The animals were decorated with bright cloth saddles and beads in their manes. The girl had only ever seen ponies from a distance and had always wondered how the nomads rode them. But the one who had grabbed her had come from the sky.

Perhaps these monsters also rode some monstrous birds, as well as the four-footed, stomping beasts.

Her captor had hooked an arm around her neck as they walked. A few men parted before him. She saw two more raiders nodding at him with respect. Whatever he was, the demon that held her was a being of some importance.

The girl ignored all of them, until she saw a metal blade at the waist of a man nearby. It was not unlike the scooped stone knives she’d used to clean animal hides with her mother. Her hands were no longer bound. She watched as the knife came closer. Her fingers trembled.

As she passed the man, her hand darted out, yanking the knife from his waist as she twisted her thin frame from under her captor’s arm. There were a few wretched laughs around her as some of them noticed.

Before the monster could grab her again, she fell to her knees, bringing the sharp edge of the blade up to her throat and pressing in. She felt it bite, and her mouth spread into a relieved smile, but before she could drag the knife deeper, her hand was yanked back and the snickers turned into roars of laughter around her.

Her captor knocked her to the ground with a cuff to her temple, but the girl didn’t go down quietly. She screamed and clawed to her hands and knees, scrambling toward the knife that had fallen into the dirt. Her captor kicked her stomach, but she kept going. Her only thought was the sweet relief of death that waited on the edge of the bronze blade.

He yanked her up by the hair, and the knife fell from her fingers. Her dark eyes followed it down to the dirt where it landed, blade dug into the earth, out of her reach as he lifted her up by the neck. Then he tossed her toward the fire with inhuman strength as the men around him laughed and hooted.

The girl tumbled to the ground, rolling into a ball to avoid the flames. Flames would not be enough. They would only bring her pain that might weaken her from cheating Fate’s plan. She let out a low grunt when she hit a pair of leather wrapped legs. Her tumble halted, she looked up into the eyes of the most fearsome creature she’d ever seen, all the more terrifying, because he looked nothing like a monster.

His eyes were cold and beautifully sloped; his long hair was pulled back into a neat topknot. His face was severe, as if sculpted from rock, and his skin was the soft brown of newly dried clay. From the length of his beard, he was old, but not a single grey hair touched his temples.

He looked at her for a long moment, then he looked up and the other men fell silent. The girl understood immediately. He was their chief. Or god. Perhaps the beautiful monster was a god come to earth, though his legs certainly felt solid. The chief said something to her captor in a low voice. He responded in the same mysterious language. They went back and forth for some time, with another voice—a younger one—occasionally sounding between them.

The chief did not sound pleased. After a few more heated moments, the girl felt herself yanked up by the hair again, then she hung in front of the god-like creature as he peered into her eyes. She did not break her stare, but met his eyes boldly. After all, she didn’t want to show respect; she was hoping the monster would kill her. Quickly.

There was a faint lift at the corner of his eyebrow, then he said something to the girl she didn’t understand. She didn’t know how she was so certain he was speaking to her, but there was not a doubt in her mind that it was so. He put a hand to her jaw, then gripped her neck, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. Her head swam and her eyes closed. The raucous sounds of the monsters’ camp picked up again, and she thought she heard more cackling laughter. Or perhaps it was only the fire popping. As the wave of numbness swept over her, the voices drifted to the back of her mind.

She didn’t know, and for the first time, she didn’t care. She was peaceful. Swimming in oblivion. The last thing she remembered was a sharp pop at her neck, and then she knew nothing else.

As she woke, she curled around him. Her child’s little warm body was wrapped in her arms, and he clung to her. She was warm, and morning thirst pressed against the back of her throat. Her boy smelled sweet, as if he’d spent the day playing at the edge of the river in the sun while she washed their clothes. She pulled him closer, pressing her lips to his neck to nuzzle his skin.

But as she drew closer, the burning in the back of her throat became a fire. She clutched the child when he began to struggle in her arms. The girl felt an aching in her jaw, and she stretched her mouth open as her teeth lengthened. Long. Longer. Her mouth dropped open in pain, her nerves woke, and then everything—

EVERYTHING woke.

Pain.

Like a crackling fire along her skin, spreading and digging into her as she curled her shoulders, no longer aware of the body in her arms. No longer aware of her own breath. Her body was an open wound.

Worse than the fever. Worse than giving birth. Like nothing she could have imagined.

She knew she was dying. Her eyes closed against the agony, she threw her head back and howled. Her mind was consumed by the burning in her throat. Her belly. She opened her eyes, but there was only blackness around her when she heard it.

Th-thunk.

Th-thunk.

Th-thunk, th-thunk, th-thunk.

The sound was the beating of a primal drum. The call of panicked prey. Her jaw ached, and hunger tore at her throat.

Th-thunk, th-thunk, th-thunk, th-thunk, th-thunk, th-thunk.

Her lips felt for the soft thrumming of the vein. Then her mouth dropped open, and she plunged her teeth into the flesh, biting down hard as her prey squealed. She rolled over it, trapping the creature under her as she drew even deeper, desperate for the relief the hot liquid splashed against her tongue.

Sweet.

The sweetest taste that had ever crossed her lips. Richer than honey from the hive. It splashed her lips and washed down her throat until the flesh ran dry. Then she sucked at the vein, licking her lips for the last precious drops.

She rolled to her back, staring into the nothingness that surrounded her before her eyes closed again in relief.

As the pain ebbed from her limbs and throat, the girl blinked back into awareness.

She was still surrounded by the scent of animal skins and blood, only it smelled far, far worse. She wasn’t dead, but she was still in the monsters’ camp. Something heavy lay over her arm, but she couldn’t see.

She pulled away and crawled to the edge of the tent until she came to a piece of animal skin that was not stretched as tightly as the others. She pushed the flap out until a low beam of light shone in. It was still blackest night, but even a sliver of light was enough. She could see perfectly in the darkness.

She turned back to see what lay with her, and her mind seized.

It was a child. No more than six or seven years, the small body lay crumbled in the center of the tent, his throat torn out, as if an animal had attacked it. Shaking, she crawled over to him, flipping him over with shaking hands until she could see the lifeless brown eyes.

The girl lifted shaking fingers to her mouth and felt the long, curving fangs that pressed against her lips.

Her mouth dropped open in a mindless roar.

She screamed, and she didn’t stop.

Chapter Two: The Monster

They called her Saaral. It was the word for woman in their language. She thought. She was the only female in the camp except for the human women they would occasionally capture and kill.

Human women, she came to realize, were very breakable. If she’d wanted to live, she might have felt grateful to the solemn chief who had made her a monster.

But Saaral didn’t want to live.

She’d lain in the tent that first night, shaking and weeping as she held the cold body of the boy she’d drained of blood. She would not move until the hunger struck her again, and that was just before the dawn began to break. She fell into blackness with her stomach twisted in knots.

And woke with another struggling victim. This time, it was an emaciated woman. Her hunger didn’t care. By the time she realized she’d killed again, the woman lay with dead eyes staring into the blackness of the small tent where they’d thrown her.

The third night, it was a goat.

Then another child.

Then a pig.

A man.

She vomited up the blood from each kill, only to lap it from the dust when the hunger took her again.

The fourth night she woke in darkness, Saaral tried to hang herself. But though the leather strips she twisted around her neck held and her body hung loose from the tent supports, she did not die. She did not even lose consciousness. And that was the way the girl learned that she no longer needed to breathe.

A few nights later, she snuck out of the tent and found a dull blade stowed in a bedroll. She cut her neck from ear to ear, feeling every inch of the knife as she searched for death. She lost her vision at some point, but woke the next night with her captor grunting between her thighs, her healed throat was burning with hunger, but the flesh between her legs burned with pain. She raged and screamed, beating him with her fists, knowing it was useless. Then she turned her face to the side, and blood ran behind her eyes.

She didn’t try to speak.

The girl they called Saaral was passed from tent to tent after that. Mostly, it was her captor who fed her and raped her. Other times, it was one of the men who seemed to please him. She never saw the frighteningly beautiful chieftain again. Within the small camp, her captor led the men. Most of them were human, but they followed the monster’s every command.

Saaral spent most of her first summer searching for death, only to be disappointed. Once she learned the sun could burn her, she tried to crawl outside, but exhaustion took her before she reached the searing rays. Her captor tied her from that night on.

His name was Kuluun, and he was powerful. His fangs were thick and long. When they weren’t covered in blood, they glowed like small white blades in the night. Saaral tried to smother him once. He’d looked like he was sleeping. He wasn’t. Kuluun laughed and slapped her across the tent. Saaral felt her jaw unhinge, then slowly shift back into place. Then he tossed her to one of the humans who had pleased him by driving a small herd of ponies into the camp the night before.

The human kept her for two nights. On the second one, Saaral snuck out of the tent, tying a rope from her neck to one pony’s saddle before she kicked it and hoped her head would pop from her body before anyone noticed she was gone.

Kuluun caught her before she reached the edge of camp, dragging her back as the men laughed around her. Her rage-filled screams were shredded by the wind as Kuluun beat Saaral in front of the fire until the blood ran from her back and she fell silent. Then she felt her back knitting together as she lay in the dirt and he raped her again.

By the time the leaves began to change, the hunger for blood had eased, and Saaral had stopped screaming.

When the first snow fell, she gave up any hope of death.

The monsters called themselves the Sida, and they could fly.

Not like birds. They moved through the air as if they were swimming in invisible streams. They caught rivers of wind that carried them over the plains, often dropping from the sky to capture and kill the way that Kuluun had taken her that first night. There were only three of them. Kuluun, along with his brothers, Suk and Odval. Their chief, the monster who had bitten her neck, and another of their brothers were traveling on other parts of the plains. It was Kuluun who was in charge while they were gone. The others in the camp were humans who followed the Sida, hunting and offering up captives and animals to the monsters as if they were gods.

Saaral knew they were not gods, for she was one of them now, though she could not fly and she barely held control of her body and senses.

Why they had decided to keep her, instead of killing her like they did most women, was a mystery. Why was useless. She was one of the Sida, even if she was unwilling. She began to listen to the language, though she still spoke to no one. She listened when she washed clothes for the camp. She listened when they growled and grunted between her legs. She listened as she roasted the meat they ate and when she rode next to them as they moved south to warmer places. She listened to everything.

The humans rode ponies, like all raiders did. The ponies also carried the tents and skins that they used to shelter themselves from the sun.

The tents weren’t like the large dwellings made by the people of the plains, who moved from place to place with their families and animals. These tents were far smaller. For shelter, not living. Kuluun burrowed into the ground like an animal, then put the low tents over the opening, sometimes he buried himself completely with dirt before the sun rose. Saaral often woke to find herself buried next to him or one of his brothers, when Kuluun let them borrow her. It terrified her. But as winter grew more bitter, Saaral grew stronger and more coordinated. She watched how Kuluun moved. How he fought with Suk and Odval. She watched silently from the dust, though she still did not speak.

Soon, there were more.

Seasons passed. The band grew. Some of the humans who followed them, the strongest and most vicious, were turned into monsters as she had been. And though Saraal was raped nightly, she never grew heavy with child. Kuluun made children his own way, picking the humans who pleased him most to turn into Sida. The new Sida were given the fattest captives to drink while Saaral was fed just enough to keep her alive. This was the way she learned that the best blood made the Sida stronger. She was never given the best blood.

As the new Sida were made, Saaral was given to each in turn. She was long past protesting their lust, even feebly. She lay nightly as the monsters took what they wanted of her body, then tossed her back to Kuluun’s tent like a dirty skin. If he had no other task for her, she was bound until the next night. Usually, she was put to work washing their blankets or cleaning their tents.

Saaral no longer thought of herself as human. She didn’t remember the name her mother had given her. She didn’t recognize the land they passed through. One day, she looked into a river on a moonlit night, noticed her reflection, and realized that she still looked the same as she had the summer after her son was born, though she’d seen more than ten winters under Kuluun’s hand. The only difference was her eyes, which were some light color she barely recognized. She couldn’t see clearly in the moonlight, but they were not the rich brown her human husband had admired.

Saaral was not surprised. She was no longer human. She was a monster, too.

She looked over her shoulder at one of the humans near the fire, her eyes seeing clearly in the dark.

Though she was thin and weak for a Sida, her senses had been honed. She no longer clenched hands over her ears when the animals were near. Her stomach did not turn at their scent. She had become accustomed to her new body, though Kuluun limited her to pony blood, keeping her just short of starving, so she did not become too strong.

But though she wasn’t strong, her senses were as keen as any other Sida as she watched the human.

Saaral remembered laying with him when he was only a young man, his black hair thick and shining in the lamplight. He had not been as cruel as some. Now, there was grey in his hair, and his shoulders were stooped. Soon, she knew Kuluun would give him to one of the new Sida, who would drain his blood until he was only a husk.

She put down the clay dish she was washing in the sand near the riverbank where they had camped.

The man looked up. “Saaral?”

She didn’t speak, but crouched down in front of him. She lifted a hand to his temple, tracing the silver she saw there as her eyes dipped to his neck.

“What do you want, Saaral? You know that Kuluun told the men not to touch you without his permission.” A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

Saaral still said nothing. She never did. As far as most of the men knew, she was mute. Kuluun was the only one who had heard her speak because he forced her to ask him for her nightly ration of pony blood. He liked to hear her beg, and blood was the only thing Saaral would beg for.

But now, she wondered why.

Why beg, when she could simply take it? She might not have been strong for a Sida, but she was still far stronger than the humans. There was no one around to see. Neither Kuluun nor his brothers was even close.

She leaned forward in a crouch, letting her senses absorb the delicious scent of fresh human blood. Her fangs were already down, aching to bite.

“Saaral?”

She wished he would be quiet. She had no desire to hear him talk. Or cry. Slowly, she brought her eyes to his. Then she put a finger over his lips and whispered, “Tssssshhhh.”

The rough sound left her mouth like a hiss. The human’s eyes widened for a moment, and he opened his mouth to speak. Saaral clenched her hand around the nape of the man’s neck, and she felt it.

Like a current of air, her will caught his and held.

Quiet.

She thought it, and the man fell silent. His watery gaze was locked on hers.

Interesting.

Give me your neck.

He leaned forward, offering up the wrinkled skin to her mouth. Saaral bent and took.

As the rich blood hit her tongue, the human arched his back and let out a grunt of pleasure.

She pulled her mouth away and scowled. She had no desire to please him. Had this human cared about pleasing her when he’d used her body like a vessel? Her hand tightened on his neck as she remembered the terror of her first years in the camp. The man’s grunts of pleasure turned into whines of pain. His mouth dropped open, so Saaral sent the thought again.

Quiet.

He said nothing, frozen in fear. She took his neck again, taking gulps of blood fresh from his body. Live blood. She could feel her body grow strong as the old man grew weak. Her energy mounted. Her senses came alive. She could feel tiny currents of air teasing her skin. Her hair. The night wind caressed her body with eager fingers. Her skin grew flush and pink as she drank.

The human’s heartbeat slowed.

Then stopped.

Saaral looked down in disgust. Surely he had more blood than that! Her hungry eyes swept the creek bed, only to see that none of the other humans was about. In the back of her mind, she knew Kuluun would not be pleased, but she ignored the fear for a moment, reveling in the rush of energy and strength. For a moment, her toes left the ground, and something she thought might be laughter bubbled in her chest.

Then her feet came back to earth, and she cocked her head, considering the lifeless human body that lay in the dirt. She bent down and threw it over her shoulder. Jumping easily across the stream, she worked her way back into the brush where the branches of the trees grew thick and no goats could graze. Then she found a small clearing and stopped. She tossed the old man’s body to the ground and began to dig.

In a few minutes, the hole was deep. Saaral barely felt the exertion. She kicked the body into the hole and buried it, brushing the earth from her hands as she stood.

Then, she calmly walked back to camp. For a moment, she considered walking away as she did every night, but where would she go that Kuluun would not find her? He told her every night.

“If you leave, I will fly out and find you. Send one of my sons in every direction until they track you down and drag you back. Then I will bind you in my tent every night. I will bury you when you sleep, so you wake with the earth in your mouth.”

If there was any threat that Saaral feared, it was waking with the earth in her mouth. It struck a primal fear into her that bordered on madness. She froze even at the thought, and Kuluun knew this.

But as she crossed the river, she saw him. His glare chilled the blood in her stomach, and she suddenly felt like vomiting up every drop of blood she’d taken. He knew. He would be able to see her energy. See the flush in her face. See the life in her eyes.

In the blink of an eye, Saaral ran.

She ducked back into the copse of trees, darting this way and that, running under the branches where the monsters could not sweep down from above. But in too short a time, the trees ran out and she faced a broad meadow. She could hear them behind her, the humans crashing through the brush, the swirl of Sida above. She had nowhere to turn. Going back into the brush put her in the path of the humans. Going forward put her at the mercy of Kuluun.

She felt her fangs drop, and she ran into the meadow.

Perhaps, the blood of the old man would make her strong enough.

Perhaps, she would make the distant stand of trees that promised shelter.

Perhaps—

“I told you, Saaral.”

He grabbed her by the hair.

“No!” she screamed, her voice rang thought the cool night air. “Let me go!”

Kuluun swept her up, jerking her closer as she struggled against his hold. She tried to reach for the blade at his waist to cut off her long braid and release herself, but she couldn’t reach. He saw her trying for the knife and backhanded her, causing her vision to blacken and stars to flash at the edges of her vision.

“I told you.”

“Just let me go.” She twisted and fought, desperate as she hadn’t been since the first night she’d been taken. “Please, Kuluun,” she begged. “Let me—”

He cut her off and pulled her to his face, baring his teeth and hissing in her face. “You are mine. You do what I tell you. You drink what I give you. And you will not forget it again.”

Then Kuluun shook her so hard, her brain rattled and she heard the bones in her spine crack. Her body fell dead as she lost the feeling from her neck down. Her limbs hung loose, flapping in the cold wind as Kuluun circled and turned back to the camp.

She stared helplessly at the stars, letting her mind go blank.

Dark.

Quiet.

In the blackness, her senses clarified.

Everything in her stilled. She focused on one sensation.

One thought.

She enjoyed the feeling of the wind in her hair.

Saaral woke with the earth in her mouth and a burning hunger in her belly.

She tried to scream. She tried to struggle. But as she desperately dug her way to what she thought was the surface, a hand plunged into the earth and grabbed her neck. It twisted until her spine cracked again, and she lost the ability to move. Then she lay still and terrified in the darkness as distant voices walked away from her, leaving her alone.

She panted, the dust creeping into her lungs until she was forced to close her mouth. Forced to stop breathing. She lay in the silent earth, unable to move as her body, starved of fresh blood, slowly repaired itself.

Hours later, the voices approached again, but they did not come close. She could hear the screams of human captives. She heard children crying and men laughing. The humans had gone on a raiding party that day, and Saaral recognized the sounds of fresh slaughter. Her throat burned in hunger, but she had no relief. Little by little, the feeling returned to her legs.

She felt a hand reach down for her, testing to make sure she remained in her living grave. Then it withdrew, and she was alone again.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the wind.

Nights passed.

Weeks.

Months.

Saaral woke every night with the earth in her mouth. She did not move. She no longer struggled. She never spoke. She left her body, watching from above as Kuluun, Suk, or Odval checked her each night, sometimes giving her pony blood to keep her alive, sometimes giving her nothing. Always twisting her neck so she was captive to her own useless body as they had made her captive to the earth.

And she watched from above as they dug her out, raped her, then buried her again.

As the months went by, she watched more often from away, leaving the prison of Saaral’s body and drifting above, rising out of the tent and into the skies above until she was part of the darkness. The moon spoke to her. The stars embraced her. The night wind whispered its secrets as her seasons in the earth passed.

By the time Kuluun dug her out of the ground, Saraal had become nothing.

Chapter Three: The Madness

Saaral watched her flit around the tent as Odval grunted between her legs. The laughing creature pointed silently, mimicking the look of pained pleasure the Sida wore as he found his release.

“Ungh, Saaral,” Odval said. “So tight. Not like the humans.”

Odval was so hairy, Saraal wondered whether he’d needed to wear clothes when he was human. Perhaps he had run naked like a pony. He had that much hair.

“Give me your neck.”

Wordlessly, she tilted her head back. Then the laughing creature’s eyes flashed with rage, and she drew a hand across her throat, glaring at Odval as he took her blood.

Saaral lay silent and weak on the floor of the tent. Odval tied his trousers and lifted the tent flap, but not before tossing a skin of pony blood toward her. It lay in the dust. Saaral stared at it, wanting to reach for it, but not giving Odval the satisfaction of seeing her eat.

Saraal would let no one watch her drink. No one but the laughing creature who followed her around the camp.

She had come to Saraal soon after Kuluun finally pulled her from the earth. Saaral did not know how long she had been buried, though she knew they had moved many times. Those flights were her only sliver of life. When Kuluun or one of his brothers would carry her still body in the air as they moved camp, she would feel, for a brief moment, the wind in her hair. She had glimpsed the laughing creature on one of those flights. Saw the corner of her grey eye peeking from behind a cloud. Then she was gone.

She’d appeared again in the moonlight, creeping into camp to sit next to Saaral as she washed clothes in a stream. It looked like a girl around her own age, but Saraal was suspicious. No one else reacted to her, though. They ignored the creature just as they ignored Saraal.

It followed her everywhere. Through the tents. By the cooking fires. She even hovered in the corner of the tent when Kuluun or one of his brothers rutted with her, making faces or looking bored. At first, Saraal was afraid. Afraid that the laughing girl would be captured as she had been. Eventually, she realized that no one saw the creature but her.

She must have been an older Sida because she could fly. She hung in the air and swooped like a joyful bird. One night, Saaral began to talk to her as she washed the clay cooking pots in the sand.

“What is your name?”

“My name?” The creature looked confused for a moment, then she looked up at the full moon. “You can call me Aday.”

It was a name from her human language, and it made Saraal smile. “You’re a Sida like me.”

“Yes.” Aday’s smile grew wide. “And no.”

“What do you mean? Why can no one can see you except me?”

“Can’t they?”

“You know they can’t. That’s why you mock them.”

Aday didn’t respond; she flew up in the air when Kuluun approached Saraal, towering over her.

“Who are you talking to, Saraal?”

Saraal put on the dead expression she wore for him. “No one.”

Aday came back, hovering behind Kuluun and mimicking his angry stance, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed in anger. Saraal saw her, and an unexpected laugh left her throat.

“What is wrong with you?” Kuluun asked. “You don’t speak to anyone but me.”

Then Aday began to sing, though Kuluun ignored her.

“Not true, not true!” Aday’s voice floated in the wind. “She talks to me, you old goat.”

Saraal felt it again, a burst of laughter so high and clear she thought it must be coming from someone else. Kuluun backhanded her. But Saraal didn’t stop laughing because Aday kept singing.

“Old goat! Hairless goat! Do your balls drag behind you, old goat?”

Kuluun glared at the laughing Saraal. “What is wrong with you? Disgusting bitch.”

“She’s disgusting?” Aday flew over and hovered in front of Kuluun, but he paid her no attention. “Do you like it when the other goats lick your sagging balls, Kuluun? They must get so dirty in the pony shit.”

Saraal couldn’t stop laughing. Tears came out of her eyes. She didn’t even feel it when Kuluun’s fist connected with her jaw. The pain was inconsequential. The joy of hearing Aday insult Kuluun made any pain he inflicted a pleasure.

Suk must have heard Saraal’s peals of laughter because he wandered over and pulled Kuluun’s arm back, stopping him from hitting her more.

“What’s wrong with you? It’s my turn with her tonight. And I’m tired of fucking a dead thing. Leave her alone, Kuluun.”

The glowering Sida wiped spittle from his mouth, his fangs cutting the back of his hand before he swung at his brother. “Shut up, you stupid shit, or you’ll get no turn with my woman tonight. She’s mine to do with as I like.”

Suk cocked his head, watching Saaral, who was still giggling on the ground.

“What is wrong with her?”

“I don’t know.” Kuluun kicked her, but Saraal just rolled in the sand, laughing.

“She’s mad. You’ve made her mad with your stupid punishment. I told you. She’ll be no good to anyone now.”

Odval wandered over. “At least she’s laughing. Maybe she’ll be a better fuck now that she’s mad.”

“I doubt it.”

Odval shrugged. “I don’t care. I’ll take her if you don’t want her anymore.”

Kuluun punched his brother. “She’s mine. You get a turn with her when I say so.”

“Fine,” Suk said, pulling Odval away before the brothers began fighting again. Saraal just watched them from the ground, smiling when she caught Aday behind them making rude gestures. Soon enough, the brothers wandered away, and she began washing the cooking pots again.

Some of the human women who belonged to the other Sida wandered over to do their chores alongside her, but no one spoke to Saraal.

The human women the Sida collected—those they didn’t kill right away—thought of her as a mute. She wasn’t human so she couldn’t be trusted. But they knew she was a captive too, so she wasn’t respected. They treated her with fearful disdain. There was no friendly chatter as the women did their chores, like Saraal faintly remembered from her human life.

The brothers had made many children over the years. Saraal would guess there were over fifty of them. Maybe more. But none was very strong. Not like Kuluun, Suk, and Odval had been. And the brothers were growing weaker. Saraal could sense it. Like water sapping from a leaky skin, every time one of the brothers sired another child, their strength depleted. She wondered what their own sire would think of it, but then she never saw him. He was only a rumor, like the sun.

As if reading her mind, Aday came to sit across from her.

“Who is their master?”

“Kuluun and his brothers?”

“Yes.”

“They call him Jun. I never see him. Only once, when he made me.”

“What do you remember of him?”

She thought back to that night, but the memory had become more and more hazy as the years passed.

“He was frightening.”

Aday glanced around at the human women, who were staring at Saraal. She hissed like a snake, but the humans paid no attention.

Then she asked, “Do you think Jun keeps women, too?”

“I don’t know.”

“How many other children does he have? Many? Like Kuluun and his brothers?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know much.”

Saraal shrugged, oddly hurt by the insult from the laughing creature. “I don’t ask questions.”

The women stood and walked away from her, moving downstream, though they kept their eyes on Saraal. She bared her fangs and they sneered. They also walked faster.

“You should ask questions,” Aday said. “You never know what they might answer if you do.”

“Why does it matter?”

Aday floated to her, curling around so that she could whisper in Saraal’s ear.

“If you don’t know how many there are, you don’t know how many you’ll have to kill…”

“I can’t.”

“You can.” Aday floated above her as Saraal washed her clothes in the creek. She was wearing Suk’s cast-offs, which were huge on her, but not as bad as Kuluun’s or Odval’s. “Why couldn’t you?”

“I’m not strong enough.”

“Not yet.” Aday swooped down and hovered over the running stream, her long hair floating in the breeze, lifted by unseen currents. Saraal stared at her longingly. What would it be like to fly? To soar over the earth and feel the wind holding her body as a mother carried a child?

For a moment, she hated Aday. Then the moment passed and she thought about what the other woman had said.

“I’m not strong enough because I only drink pony blood. The others drink from the humans they capture.”

“And why do you drink what they give you, Saraal?” Aday’s grey eyes were playful. “You took from the vein once. Don’t you remember?” The woman’s seductive voice whispered, “How sweet was the blood on your tongue? Do you remember how it made you strong? You could join me, you know…” Aday did a slow flip in the moonlight. “You’re older than most of them now. And you could be stronger. If you drank enough from the humans, you would fly, too.”

A chill wrapped itself around her heart. “And if Kuluun saw it. He would break me.”

Until I become nothing again.

“You’re not nothing,” Aday hissed.

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m—”

“Not!” Aday sang out, swinging her body up over the water, dipping a hand in the current. “Not, not, not!” she sang some more. “You are mighty, my girl. A warrior in slave’s clothing. A wolf hiding in the brush.”

She hummed an old song Saraal thought she remembered her grandmother singing when she was a child. How the laughing girl knew it, she had no idea. They were many mountains away from her tribe. So many seasons had passed that her son would be grown.

If he’d lived.

“Go away, Aday.” The thought of her green-eyed boy pulled forgotten sorrow from her chest. “I’m tired of you tonight.”

Without a whisper, the flying woman disappeared, and Saraal looked up to see two human women watching her, their eyes wide and frightened. She bared her fangs. It was easy to frighten the humans, and she didn’t like their company anyway. They were more fearful than sheep.

She plunged her hands back into the freezing water. It was spring. Thin shoots of grass fought their way up from the earth, only to be ripped up as the animals fed. The water ran clear and ice-cold from the mountains.

It would take many hours for her clothes to dry. They might not even be done by the next night. No matter. She didn’t feel the cold. Often, Saraal wondered why she wore clothes at all.

Then she would catch a glimpse of one of the human captives, who were tossed naked into piles as they were drained. Like stacks of wood. Jumbled pottery shards. Waste. Their clothes were gone. Wool was not wasted on the dead. Then Saraal would wrap her torn clothing around her more tightly and shove the image from her mind.

She bent over, and her braid dipped in the water. There was a flash of memory, as the stream gripped her hair, pulling it.

“No! Let me go!”

Kuluun grabbing her hair, yanking it as he captured her, dragging her into the darkness.

The water swirled around the long braid. A stick caught in it as she stared.

A new leaf.

Saraal could see quicksilver fish dart to the surface, cautiously testing the black threads that hung in the water like some alien weed, then darting back into the shadows.

How long had she looked into the dark water? She stared at her reflection, the glittering sweep of stars behind her head. The black night beyond.

Nothing.

Saraal let herself absorb the dark sky as she felt her body dissolve, until the stars shone through her and not around. Her hair—that loathsome rope that had bound her to her captor—drifted in front of the vision, marring her view of the sky.

She sat back on her heels, searching the camp.

Kuluun was drinking from a human at the edge of the fire, four of his sons surrounding him. They hoped for his cast-offs. Usually, Kuluun would let them feed after him. If there was any blood left.

Odval was in the corner, fucking a human woman who no longer cried. He’d kept her for almost a week. The woman’s eyes were dead. He would drain her blood soon. Saraal felt relief on her behalf. Odval had no gentleness in him.

Various other Sida strolled around the camp. Some drinking. Some fighting. Others polishing weapons or saddles, since most of them still rode the ponies they stole from the humans. They weren’t strong enough to fly.

Saraal’s eyes finally fell on Suk. He was leaning against a rock, sharpening his bronze sword on a black rock they’d found in a human’s bag. It was smooth, and when you wetted it, was excellent for sharpening blades.

She walked toward him, feeling bold.

“Saraal.” He eyed her. Suk was not as dumb as Kuluun; he wasn’t as powerful, either. But if there were any kind of challenge to the leadership of the tribe, it would be Suk and his keen eyes. He saw far more than his brothers.

“What do you want, Saraal?”

She was silent, eyeing his sword.

“Did your invisible friend leave?” He looked amused. “You’re not talking right now?”

She held out her hand toward the blade.

“No.” He looked around and tossed a sharp-sided stone toward her. “Use this.”

She ignored the rock that hit her chest and kept her hand out, eyes on the bronze.

“No, Saraal.”

She sat down across from him, saying nothing.

Suk continued sharpening the blade on the wet rock, dipping it into a jar of water when it dried. He studiously ignored her.

Scrape. Turn. Scrape. Turn.

The metal caught the edges of the cooking fire the humans tended.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

Suk sat back and sighed. “You really want my sword, don’t you?”

She said nothing but thrust her hand toward the blade again.

“For what? You’re not going to try to kill yourself again, are you? You know it doesn’t work.”

Saraal narrowed her eyes, still not speaking.

Finally, Suk shrugged and held out the sword.

“Fine. But don’t mar your face. You’re in my tent tonight, and I don’t want to find extra blood for you because you’re healing.”

Saraal didn’t even stand up. She sat across from Suk, eyes on the ground, holding the blade in her hands. Then she reached back, grabbed onto her braid, and cut.

The sharpening stone worked. The sword sliced through her think shank of hair with ease. Saraal immediately let out a sigh of relief, then she brought the blade back to her head and cut again.

Over and over, she grabbed fistfuls of her thick black hair, cutting it as close to the scalp as she could.

She left nothing to grab.

As she lifted the piece behind her ear, she felt it—just for a second—her son’s tiny fingers twisting in the black strands as he nursed from her breast. Then the bronze blade sliced through the last of the girl’s hair, and he was gone.

When the warm seasons passed, the flying girl did not leave Saraal. And despite her misgivings, she began to trust her appearance. It was never predictable. Aday would alight on the top of a tent as Saraal passed by on her way to whatever stream, creek, or lake they were camped near. She could keep Saraal company on long nights when the others ignored her. She didn’t question it when they began having conversations, though Saraal was always cautious what she said.

No matter how Aday coaxed her to rebellion, Saraal was resolute. This was the fate she had been granted. She would exist for as long as she existed. And perhaps, if death finally found her, her ancestors would be pleased. Or if not pleased, they would at least grant her rest.

Rest was all she longed for.

Some nights, Saraal thought she could lay for a thousand years, staring at the sky and listening to the wind. The night was her blanket. The stars, her family. They wrapped her in their precious silent glow, even when the camp erupted in violence around her.

“Psst!” Aday hissed in her ear. “Go! Run now!”

Saraal blinked and let her eyes come back into focus. She was laying on the edge of the camp, hidden behind some rocks as the other Sida feasted on the humans from a village they had ravaged. They were becoming more and more violent as their numbers grew. Fewer captives were allowed to live. Whole villages were being wiped out. For some reason, Saraal knew this was wrong. Some instinct from her human life told her so, but she pushed back the feeling and turned her eyes back into the night. She didn’t care about the humans. Why should their lives be any easier than hers?

“Saraal! You stupid girl! Where are you?”

She heard Odval’s voice drift on the wind. He was quiet, trying to remain quiet, anyway. She didn’t respond, but she didn’t move, either. Aday stayed with her, crouched on the top of the rocky outcropping, watching Odval approach with narrow eyes.

“There you are.”

He said nothing else, pulling her by the ankle until she was away from the rocks. Then he shoved up her tunic and began to untie his trousers. “The human women die too fast.”

Aday sneered. “And you care if they’re dead?”

Saraal only turned her face to the side and stared at the stars. At least she could still see them; Odval hadn’t pulled her into the tents. She no longer allowed herself to wince when they raped her. She felt the pain each time, because her body renewed itself with every sleep. Her skin would bruise and mottle, but in minutes, the marks would be gone. Her flesh would tear if they were too rough—as Odval usually was—but by the next night, her body bore no trace.

She lay still and stared into blackness while he fucked her.

Aday appeared, hovering over Odval’s shoulder, as if she was perched on his back. Then she rolled off and lay next to Saraal. Reaching out a tentative hand, the girl squeezed her cold fingers. Then she rolled to her side and met Saraal’s eyes.

Her fangs ran down, and Saraal realized, for the first time, that Aday’s fangs were beautiful. Curved like tiny twin blades. Delicate. Like a hawk’s claws, they curved back into her mouth.

Saraal lifted a hand and let one finger run down the girl’s fangs. She felt Aday’s lips move.

“Kill him, Saraal.”

Odval grunted and groaned. He was almost done. Finally.

“I can’t.”

“Yes. When he leans down to take your blood. You must strike first; he won’t be expecting it. Strike first and bite him. Drain his blood. It is older than yours. Powerful. Drink and be strong. Then you will kill him.”

“Sida cannot be killed.”

“You know they can. You’ve seen Kuluun kill the younger ones. You know how.”

“I can’t—”

“You will take this.” Aday’s hand ran down Saraal’s side to the dagger that she had concealed beneath her breasts. It was a bronze blade, like Suk carried, but shorter. She had found it among the bodies while she was scavenging. She knew she shouldn’t have kept it—Kuluun would be very angry—but Aday has teased and coaxed until Saraal had hidden it away.

“You will take this, my girl, and you will kill Odval. Slice the back of his  neck. Sever his spine, then drink every drop of his blood. When you are finished, you must cut off his head.”

As Aday spoke, Saraal could see the blood-soaked vision. It tempted her. She could scent the blood in her nose. Feel the rich syrup on her lips.

Saraal reached for the dagger. Or Aday did. She didn’t know anymore. She felt the girl’s hand close over her own.

“Good, Saraal,” Odval rasped. “Ungh.”

They pulled the dagger from its sheath as Odval neared his release. His eyes were closed, lost in his own pleasure.

“Give me your neck,” he said. “I want to drink.”

“Don’t let him,” Aday whispered. “Do it now. Reach up and—”

“Yes!”

Saraal hadn’t ever moved so fast, not even when she was running from Kuluun. Odval was still spilling inside her when she grabbed his hair and pulled his head forward, plunging her fangs in his neck as her dagger sliced across the back of his neck.

“Aaaargh!” Odval’s inhuman scream shattered the night. But there were too many screams that night. The village was being systematically massacred around the fire as the Sida roared and laughed and feasted.

His legs stilled as she took great, gulping mouthfuls of his blood. Only a strangled whine came from his throat. No one would hear them at the edge of the camp.

“Good,” Aday whispered. “Very good. How does his blood taste?”

So sweet, she wanted to weep. It was sweeter than human blood, sweeter even than the child she’d killed her first night. Odval’s blood should have tasted like piss and dirt and pony shit, but it didn’t. The Sida’s blood held none of the filth of his personality. It was the most delicious nectar to ever pass her lips.

“Saraa—gghhll…” Odval choked as the lifeblood poured from his body. Saraal tugged his head to the side and met his mouth in a murderous kiss, biting off his tongue and spitting it out before she sucked the blood that he tried to cough up.

So much blood.

It filled her. Fed her. Saraal felt as if she would drift away from the earth as she took it, but Aday lay at her back, curling around her body and crooning her approval as Saraal drained Odval.

Finally, when he lay still, she pushed his body away, shoving her tunic down until she was covered. She ripped the sleeve from his shirt and wiped his bloody seed from her legs, then kicked at his lifeless legs when she stood.

Saraal took a deep breath and looked up. The stars were brighter now. The sounds from the camp clear and clanging in the cold air. The other Sida were fighting. It would last until dawn as each warrior tried to prove himself the strongest. She let her eyes drift down to Odval, who lay weak and silent at her feet.

She knelt beside the once mighty giant, licking his cheek where a dribble of blood had escaped. Then she spoke directly to him for the first time, and her voice was low and smooth, resonant in her own ears.

“What should I do with you, Odval?”

He said nothing.

“Perhaps I should bury you like this and dig you out tomorrow night, break your neck again, so you can’t move. Maybe you’ll have more blood to give me then.”

A high whine.

“No?” She lay her cold cheek against his and spoke in his ear. “I should do that, Odval. Perhaps it is your fate.”

Aday lay in the grass next to Odval, her hands folded casually behind her head. “I think you should find a human even bigger than him to rape him every night. I think he would like that.”

“No…” Saraal whispered, her mind suddenly clear. Aday was right.

She could kill them all.

“I don’t want to drag him with me. He’s so big and ugly.” She sat cross legged in the grass and cocked her head at Odval, who watched her with silent, panicked eyes. “What will happen when I cut off his head?”

Aday sat across from her and shrugged. “I don’t know. He’ll die. You’ve seen how Kuluun does it. Just leave his body somewhere the others won’t find it. Won’t it burn up in the sun?”

“Of course.”

Saraal rolled Odval to his stomach and began cutting the hair at his neck and tearing his clothes to expose his skin. “Do you remember?” she asked the silent monster. “Do you remember how you liked to take me this way when you kept me in the ground? I wouldn’t even be awake from my day rest when you’d dig me out, Odval. Then you’d shove my face in the dirt and fuck me like this, so I woke with dirt in my mouth and dirt in my cunt.” She leaned forward, shoving his face in the rocks and dust. “Have some dirt before you die, Odval. You do not deserve a warrior’s death.”

His skin was pale and bloodless from her feast. It didn’t even bleed when she began to cut. His body spasmed for a few moments, then he was still as she finished, hacking at his head until it rolled from his body. Saraal sat back and smiled.

Aday sat next to her and held her hand.

“You need a better sword. How do you feel?”

Saraal felt her body float slightly off the ground. Her smile grew wider.

“Strong,” she said. “I feel strong.”

Chapter Four: The Fire

No one ever asked about Odval.

After his death, Kuluun eyed her with suspicion, but Saraal knew he didn’t mind that one of his brothers—who were really his rivals—had disappeared.

Suk, however, wasn’t pleased. He treated her more harshly than he had before, and he never allowed her to spend the day in his tent.

The brothers had moved north again, following the warm weather to more heavily populated areas along the hunting routes. They moved at night, and their ferocity did not cease.

Villages were emptied, then burned. It was a waste, she thought, to destroy the hard work of the humans. Stupid. But then, Kuluun was never all that bright, and now he had a cheering group of sons who all praised him, no matter what he did. Odval’s children had given their loyalty to Kuluun, as well. And Suk had never sired as many children as the others. More and more frequently, Saraal would see him keeping his own company with his dozen or so sons and the humans they had collected.

Saraal also kept to herself, with Aday’s more silent presence keeping watch. She tended her own meager belongings. She serviced whichever brother shoved her into a tent. She didn’t speak to anyone except Aday anymore.

She had also started drinking human blood.

“You can make them forget,” Aday whispered to her one night, months ago.

“What?”

“Do you remember the human you killed? So long ago, before Kuluun put you in the earth. Do you remember?”

How did Aday know about that? Saraal had never told her. She avoided the memory, instinctively shying away from something that had felt so good, then gone so wrong.

“I don’t—”

“You can force your will on them. The humans.” Aday slid closer as they sat beside the cooking fire. “You’ve seen Kuluun do it. Suk does it all the time. You have only to touch them, and you can control them, my girl.”

She remembered. She remembered the human falling silent. She’d thought it, then he had done it. She’d felt the trickle of energy leave her and go into him. The same pricking heat that ran over her skin now when the wind stroked her.

It had woken after Odval, like a long-forgotten friend. After she’d taken his blood, the wind came to her more. It wrapped around her and held her. She had only to stand in its bracing power to feel her body strengthen. At one point, she’d even experimented with hovering off the ground. But as time passed, her new friend grew quieter. She could no longer hover.

Saraal was not surprised by this. She had become accustomed to disappointment.

“You must drink from the humans to be strong. Then the wind will be at your command, as it is for Kuluun.”

“How do you know?” Saraal asked.

“I know.” Aday’s grey eyes were lit with mischief. “And you do, too.”

She did.

Saraal tilted her head and listened to the camp. It was a relatively quiet night. A few women were busy around the cooking fire, and the others were entertaining the Sida.

“That one,” Aday whispered, nudging Saraal’s side. “Drink from that one.”

‘That one’ was a fat old human Kuluun had decided to spoil. She must have been someone important in her village because she had immediately began ordering the other women around once she’d been captured. Kuluun doted on her as if she was one of the wild dog puppies that followed their wandering tribe. She slapped and intimidated the other women into doing what she wanted. She ignored Saraal.

“I don’t think she would taste very good,” Saraal said with a shrug. “She has to taste dirty since she fucks Kuluun and seems to like it.”

Aday rolled on the ground with laughter, but still managed to say, “Just look at her, though. So fat. He gives her the best meat. She has plenty of blood to spare.”

The woman walked past her, carrying a bowl of stew. No doubt she was heading toward Kuluun. Though Saraal and the other Sida didn’t need food to survive—she’d learned that when she was in the earth and given nothing more than pony blood—they did eat some. An empty stomach triggered the same pains in a Sida belly as a human one. Luckily, a small meal lasted long in their stomach; Saraal relieved herself only rarely.

But she enjoyed food, and she wanted some of the stew. More, she wanted some of Kuluun’s woman’s blood. Aday was right; it would be rich. The woman was plump with life, like the berries she remembered once grew along the riverbanks near her village. In the summer, they swelled fat and red like the woman’s cheeks.

Saraal caught the woman’s eyes and held out a hand. Sneering, the woman came closer.

“What do you want, Saraal?” The human knew not to ignore her completely, as Saraal suspected everyone knew what had really happened to Odval.

She held out a hand, and the human huffed out a sigh. “This is for Kuluun. Tell one of the others to get a bowl for you.” Then she curled her lip. “I’ll allow it, even though it is my own meal.”

“She eats the meat of a razed village and boasts,” Aday said. “Maybe you should kill her.”

Saraal shook her head, the ghost of a smile turning up her mouth.

The human’s eyes widened and she stepped back, but Saraal was too fast.

One touch.

That was all it took, and she felt the faint energy leave the tips of her fingers, which were banded around the woman’s wrist. The energy wound up the arm, the neck, until it grasped the woman’s mind like a viper and sank its teeth to hold on.

“Should I tell her to come back?” Saraal asked Aday.

“No. He will know you hold her mind. Do it now.”

Bend down and give me your neck.

“Wait. Take her behind the tent,” Aday said softly. “You don’t want the others to tell Kuluun.”

Saraal stood and took the woman to an empty tent. Then she gave the command again.

Give me your neck.

Wordlessly, she tilted her head back and Saraal felt her fangs grow long. They pricked her own tongue before she folded herself down and sank her teeth into the soft neck of the human.

Bliss.

It wasn’t as sweet as Odval’s blood, nor as rich, but the human’s blood was pure and clear, like water from a spring stream. She drank in, not thinking until she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Aday.

“Not too much,” she whispered. “Now heal her neck and tell her to forget.”

“How do I heal—”

“Think, Saraal. What heals you if you have a cut?”

Her own blood. It was something she’d learned accidentally after Kuluun had beaten her bloody. The areas where her blood trickled into her wounds closed faster. Saraal pricked her finger with a fang and spread the red blood over the bite marks in the human’s neck.

Within minutes, they were closed.

“Now, tell her to forget.” Aday’s voice sounded bossy to her ears.

Saraal stood up and met her eyes. “I know what to do, Aday.”

“Do you?”

She glared at Aday and turned to the woman, tugging on the thread that connected them.

Forget this. Forget the tent. Forget my bite. You’re back at the cooking fire and taking a bowl of stew to Kuluun.

She thought that would work. If it didn’t, she’d find out soon enough.

The human ducked out of the tent and Saraal heard her scurry away. Her ears were open. Her eyes took in every corner of the dark tent, which belonged to one of Suk’s older children.

She inhaled deeply and escaped into the night.

“How do you feel?” Aday asked, as they walked along the dark edge of the camp.

“Good.”

“Only good?”

Saraal shrugged. “Good is enough.”

“No, it’s not.” Angry fire lit Aday’s eyes. “Good is never enough. Nothing is enough for you. This starts tonight.”

“What are you talking about?” Saraal was annoyed and wanted to remain unnoticed for a while. As much as the other Sida were avoiding her, she still didn’t want to court Kuluun’s wrath.

“What am I talking about?” Aday was grinning like a madwoman, her curling fangs and cloudy eyes alight with humor. “You’re walking on air now, my girl. And you’re not going to stop.”

“I know… you’re… drinking… it!” Each pause was punctuated by a fist as Kuluun straddled her, holding her to the ground as her ears rung and her eyes swam. “I saw you flying. I smell you on her!”

Flying was probably an exaggeration. The most she could do was hover. But Saraal had no doubt that Kuluun could smell her on his human, who became very affectionate when she was bitten. Who knew it could be a pleasurable experience for humans? Saraal found the touching distasteful. She only humored the woman because she enjoyed the blood. Unfortunately, it was the woman’s moan of pleasure that alerted Kuluun to Saraal’s drinking. Or at least, confirmed it. He’d grabbed her from her tent as she woke and taken her to his.

Kuluun’s fist caught Saraal under her ear, and she felt a trickle of blood leak out. She’d have to drink extra later. If she was still conscious.

But she wasn’t going to stop drinking.

“Ungrateful bitch! I should have killed you years ago.”

How was Kuluun still so strong? With all the children he’d sired, he should be weak. Saraal guessed it was a combination of brute force, blood gluttony, and pure hate. It occurred to Saraal that he was so enraged, he might actually kill her. If he took off her head…

“And if you think I don’t know what you did to—”

He broke off when he heard the sound of pony hooves in the distance. Saraal heard them, too. In fact, she’d heard them before Kuluun did.

Interesting.

The humans were in camp that night. They’d taken a village during the day, and they were enjoying the spoils that night. Cooking fires roasted fat spits of meat. Sida laughed and women cried. No one should be approaching the warriors’ camp that night. No one should have been coming that fast. No one—

Kuluun muttered a curse and stood. There were cries of surprise. Then cries of pain. Kuluun left the tent in a blur.

Saraal curled into herself and stared into the shadows. Aday came to rest beside her, stroking her back.

“Not long now.” She stroked Saraal’s messy cap of hair. “Soon, you’ll be strong enough to kill him.”

Saraal said nothing. Her mouth was swollen, but already healing. She felt two teeth come loose as the new ones grew in behind them. She’d lost so many teeth over the years from the brothers’ fists, she was surprised her body still produced them. Luckily, her fangs were rooted. She’d still be able to feed.

The sounds outside the tent were chaotic for a few minutes—ponies snorting, humans crying, grunts and the metallic clang of weapons. Then, it died down and there was silence.

“What is happening?” Saraal quietly asked.

“I don’t know.”

“That sounded like fighting.”

“It was. You should get up,” Aday said. “Leave.”

“I… I’m sore. I’ll just wait a few moments.”

“Leave, Saraal.”

Aday’s voice was growing panicked, but Saraal’s eyelids were starting to droop.

“In a minute. Promise…”

It happened occasionally. If she bled too much, her body would shut down and repair itself in sleep. She always woke the next day with barely a bruise, no matter how violent the beating. She could feel her tongue grow thick, her eyelids droop.

“Leave! Leave now!”

“Can’t. Can’t…” She remembered a rhyme her mother taught her. It was a playful song she was supposed to sing when she was hurt. To distract herself from the pain. So much pain…

“Saraal, you must get up. Wake up. Run now!”

She was drifting. She should get back to her tent. Back to safety…

“RUN!”

Why was Aday so loud?

Saraal gasped awake when someone grabbed her neck and pulled her up. Her eyes flew open at the clash of scents.

“What is this?” There was a commotion outside the tent, then the whole low structure was torn away and Saraal was tossed in the air.

Aday was screaming and flying in circles over her head. The creature was enraged.

“No! No no no no no!”

Saraal could do nothing, bloody and broken, she hadn’t had time to heal. Hadn’t had time to plan. She landed in a pair of burly arms. Who held her? She had no idea, though there was something oddly familiar about his scent.

“What is this creature?”

“We found her in your brother’s tent. She was talking to herself.”

“Why would a human…” There was a long pause, then whoever held her yanked her back by the hair. He cursed. “I thought it was a boy. She didn’t used to look like this.”

“What should we do with her, Temur?”

Silence. Saraal forced her eyes open, only to find herself looking into a pair of black eyes. Demon eyes. They flared red with fire.

But no…

No, it was only a reflection of the fire burning through the camp. She could smell the smoke. She blinked and her eyes cleared. The dark eyes still stared.

“She’s one of us. Sida.”

“A female?”

The man grunted. “Kuluun said he wanted a wife, as he’d had when he was human. A mate who would be like him.”

Saraal started to laugh. High, hysterical laughter burst from her bloody lips. Her belly shook with it. The pain tore through her, but she couldn’t stop laughing. The men kept talking over her laughter.

“What have they done to her?”

“A better question might be, what haven’t they done?”

One of them threw her over a shoulder and started walking. Saraal kept laughing as Aday flew behind, hovering and scowling at the two men as they talked.

“She’s mad.”

“Clearly.”

“Should we just kill her now? It would probably be a mercy.”

“No. She’s a child of Jun.”

“Directly sired?” Saraal stopped laughing at the surprise in the man’s voice. Was it so unusual for Jun to sire children?

“Yes. My father turned her himself.”

The other man let out what sounded like a curse, but in a language Saraal didn’t recognize.

“I know,” the man carrying Saraal said. “Kuluun has always been stupid.”

“What a waste.”

“Well…” The two men stopped at a tent. Saraal could see it through one swollen eye, which was also aching, trying to heal. The tent wasn’t like others she knew. It was round, stretched skins wrapped tightly around stakes driven into the ground. It was so tall that a man could walk upright under it. The roof was rapidly taking shape as humans bustled around, setting up camp in a familiar rhythm. The roof was made of more skins and blankets. Richly woven and heavy, they would keep out even the smallest sliver of light. The tent flap was thrown open and a human woman stepped out.

“Tend to her,” the man carrying her said. He stepped inside the tent and put Saraal on the ground. “Wash her and find some new clothes. She won’t need much to heal, just some blood. You or one of the girls may give it to her. She is a child of Jun.”

The human nodded with respect. “I will feed her my own blood, Master.”

Aday lay next to her and stroked her back. Saraal sighed and said, “Should I run now, Aday?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me if I need to, please. I’m going to sleep now.”

“Stay awake for a while longer. Feed from the woman, so you can be strong.”

“Should I kill her?”

“No.”

A pair of knees hit the floor in front of her face.

“Listen to me,” the dark-eyed Sida said. “I have let you shelter in my tent. My humans will feed you. You will not kill any of them. They are my property, not yours. Do you understand?”

His hand reached over and tugged her short hair. Saraal hissed and he let go, but he still glared at her.

“I know you’re mad, but do you understand me at all?”

Saraal curled her lip, revealing a vicious fang.

The other man was standing at the tent flap. “I don’t trust her. She needs to be guarded.”

“I think if we feed her, she’ll become more lucid. She’s barely conscious right now.”

Aday stretched out on the ground and threw an arm around Saraal’s waist. “We’re not mad. Why can’t they see that? There’s a difference between madness and anger.”

“Put a guard on her, Temur. Or put her in the ground.”

Saraal screamed and rolled away. She felt her body leave the ground as she scrambled to move away from the man called Temur. She had to get away. Far away. Away from the ground. Into the air where she could dissolve into darkness. If she could only become nothing, perhaps they would leave her alone. Perhaps—

“Stop!”

Four hands pulled her down from the corner of the tent, where she was trying to tear through the skins. They pushed her down to the ground, holding her arms and legs. The screams froze in her throat. Saraal let her body go dead. She let her limbs fall still. Then she closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, spreading her legs to that it would be over more quickly.

The man who’d been standing by the tent flap grunted. “I think we know one of the things they did to her.”

“Are you surprised?”

“No.”

“Obviously, they buried her, too. My guess is that is what caused this. So let’s not mention the ground again. Eh, Roshan?”

The man’s voice dropped. “She’s powerful. Do you feel it? Even in her condition—”

“I know.”

They slowly let go of her arms and ankles, and Saraal curled into a ball again. Safe. She went to the black sky in her mind and flew, humming a tune her grandmother had taught her.

A soft hand stroked her head. “Girl, we will not bury you.”

She rocked back and forth, and Aday sang along with her.

“Do you understand?”

She felt a wrist pressed to her mouth. She didn’t think; she just opened her mouth and drank.

Sweet, sweet, sweet. Sweeter than Kuluun’s woman, even.

Someone pinched her nose and pulled her away from the wrist.

Saraal gave into her instincts and slept.

When she woke, the tent was empty. She was healed. Her hair was clean and her clothes were fresh. She looked down at herself, barely recognizing what she could see. She opened her senses, but she couldn’t hear Aday anywhere.

The tent flap was partially open, letting fresh air invade the stuffy shelter. Saraal crept closer and peeked out.

Half the camp was gone. Tents burned. Animal and human bodies scattered. A huge fire was burning in the cooking pit. Though she smelled humans around, she did not hear any screaming. Voices drifted from around the fire, so she crept closer, staying in the deep shadows. The moon was full and the air smelled of smoke, roasted meat, and blood.

“—too much attention. Our father is not pleased.”

“What does he care if the humans die?”

Kuluun was still alive, but clearly was being questioned by the Sida called Temur. Saraal recognized him now. He was the other Sida who had been there the night Jun had sired her. He’d been there, but had left with Jun. Years had passed, but now Temur was back. And Saraal could hear the anxiety in Kuluun’s voice. He was trying to mask it with arrogance, but she could hear through it.

“Jun doesn’t care about the humans. He cares about discretion. You have become a terror over these plains. Stories spread. They spread about the god who flies, burns villages, and steals food. They spread along the trade routes where they meet stories of a god in the west who commands fire from heaven. Do you want this god to hear of us?”

“Who are we to fear some myth from the west?” Kuluun scoffed.

Temur’s voice rose. “Are you so stupid you think we are the only of our kind? Jun commands this place, yes. But there are others, Kuluun. I have seen this Sida from the west, and he is frightening to behold. You kill with a sword, but this immortal kills with fire from his hands. He and Jun avoid each other, and you are testing your father’s patience with your actions.”

Saraal heard a low murmur and realized that many other Sida were also listening. She peeked around the corner of the tent and saw Kuluun and Temur staring at each other from across the fire. Kuluun’s sons stood at his back, but Temur had his own men, and they looked far more dangerous. Saraal also noticed that many of Kuluun’s sons were gone. Where there had been thirty or forty before, no more than a dozen joined him now.

Had they fled? Or had something else happened to them?

She allowed herself to drift on the edge of the gathering. Unfortunately, Temur must have caught her scent.

“And what have you done to the woman?”

Kuluun puffed up his chest. “What do you care what I do to my woman?”

The crowd had parted when Temur’s eyes landed on her. Saraal tried to run, but the man from Temur’s tent, Roshan, was there. He must have been able to fly, because he appeared out of nowhere to block her escape.

“You’ve driven her mad, you idiot. Jun’s child. You told Jun you wanted a woman. He gave you one. He made an immortal for you, and you have driven her to madness with your cruelty. Humans are one thing, Kuluun, but she is a Sida. Not a human for you to play with.”

Kuluun’s eyes narrowed on her. “What has she said to you? Saraal lies. Constantly.”

“She says nothing. She talks to herself. She laughs at nothing and bites like an animal.”

“She is my woman. It’s none of your concern.”

Rashon herded her to the edge of the fire. Kuluun’s eyes found hers, and Saraal curled her lip.

Temur laughed. “Yes, she’s obviously your woman! Well done, Kuluun.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

Rashon released her arm, but stood behind her, clearly prepared to grab her again. Now that she was closer, she could see that Kuluun and Temur where not talking. Kuluun was bound and two of Temur’s guards stood behind him. His sons were pale and frightened, their eyes darting between their sire and the new Sida with the powerful energy and the longer sword. Temur was as tall as Kuluun, but leaner. His figure was striking and Saraal saw the human women who remained eyeing him appreciatively, so she guessed they considered him handsome. To Saraal, he exuded a threatening power.

“I’m not going to do anything to you, Kuluun.” Temur stepped around the fire, eyes fixed on his brother, and a smile curled the corner of his mouth. “I promised Jun that I’d do nothing to you without consulting him. And he is away in the east somewhere. I have no idea when I will see him again. So, Kuluun, I may have killed your children. I may have burned your camp. But I will do nothing to you.”

Then Temur’s gaze left Kuluun and swung over to Saraal. He nodded once and she felt a weapon pressed to her side. She turned, and Roshan met her eyes. He said nothing, but pulled out her hand and slapped the handle of a bronze blade into her palm. Then he closed her fingers around the hilt and stepped back.

Saraal looked at Temur. His eyes told her nothing. Luckily, at that moment, Aday came to her side.

“They give you a weapon to kill him, my girl.” Aday’s voice was gleeful. “You may kill him so they don’t break their word to their master.”

Kuluun started, but Temur’s men held his arms. “What are you doing?”

“I told you, brother,” Temur said. “I will do nothing to you.”

“You gave her a weapon, you ass!” Kuluun screamed. “You can’t give her a weapon!”

“She is a child of Jun. A female, yes. But a warrior by his blood. Are you saying you never trained her with weapons as all his children must be trained?”

“She’s crazy!”

Temur bared his fangs at his brother and hissed, “She wasn’t when he made her, was she?”

“She killed Odval! We never even found his ashes.”

Temur looked at her with new respect. “Well, then giving her a weapon hardly seems necessary. I suppose at this point, I’m merely curious what she can do with it.”

Saraal approached Kuluun as if he was a banquet laid before her. A harvest feast, like those she remembered as a girl. Temur’s men stepped away. Kuluun’s sons deserted him, clearly understanding where the power had shifted.

She stood before him, and he vibrated with anger. “You stupid bitch. You won’t do anything. You’re a mindless sheep. Too stupid to even—”

In a blur of movement, Saraal bent down and cut behind Kuluun’s knees, slicing the tendon as if she was preparing a goat for the spit. He cried out and fell to the ground, but Saraal immediately grabbed the tongue out of his mouth and pulled, cutting it off as he retreated into enraged gurgles. He spit up blood, and Saraal did not waste it, licking up his chin to capture it before she bit his neck.

She heard the crowd behind her, but she ignored them. Aday was at her side, coaxing her on.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she crooned. “Powerful blood. You will be strong, my girl. Drain him. Kill him like Odval.”

She drank and drank, latching her fangs into his neck and sucking as he tried to jerk away. She plunged the short sword into his kidney and held him still. She could hear laughter around her, but she didn’t stop.

Eventually, his veins ran dry. Saraal pulled away and looked down. The front of her new clothes were dripping with blood. She could feel it falling from her chin, smeared over her face. Her hands dripped with it; she had stabbed Kuluun over and over any time he tried to move. When she pulled away, his body fell to the ground and Saraal turned to Temur, licking the blood from the fingers of her free hand.

Her voice was rough and wet when she spoke.

“Fire destroys us?”

“Yes,” Temur said, glancing toward the burning pit.

“Good to know.”

She turned, hefted Kuluun’s body over her shoulder, then tossed it into the fire. It jerked and sputtered, but soon went up in flames. Saraal watched it for a few minutes, then turned and walked away, still gripping the bronze blade.

Chapter Five: The Warrior

“You’ve got to stop killing Kuluun’s children.”

Saraal lifted her eyes when Temur swept into the tent. “Why?”

“I let you kill him because he was defiant and a problem. But you’re killing off perfectly good warriors at this point.”

“Do I have to tell you what he let those ‘perfectly good warriors’ do to me after he turned them?”

Temur sat across from her. Saraal was cleaning her blade. No doubt, there were still traces of blood on it from Kuluun’s fat son, who had laughed when he ripped her hip from the socket as he raped her. Her leg had hung useless for almost a week because it was winter and blood was scarce. It had been a painful healing.

His fine mouth was frowning. “Enough, tseetsa. Or I’ll stop your lessons.”

Temur was born farther west than Saraal’s people. She didn’t understand the language he spoke to her sometimes, but she was learning. He’d told her tseetsa meant bird. It was not a bad name. Better than Saraal. He told her she should choose her own name, as he had done. Perhaps she would use tseetsa.

“I’ll stop,” she said quietly.

“For now,” Aday whispered from the corner with a secretive smile.

She was quieter now. Still present, but often Aday kept to the side, particularly when Temur was with her. She didn’t rage or make faces when Temur stayed in her tent. Temur wasn’t as rough as other men. He was quiet when he took her. He used softer hands. Once, she’d even felt stirs of pleasure under him, but he finished and rolled away, so Saraal hadn’t said anything.

Most importantly, he didn’t share her body with the other men. The others didn’t ask. Not even Rashon, though he was Temur’s most trusted warrior. Saraal was surprised by this, but then, she was learning every day how different Temur was from Jun’s other sons.

“But if we ever find Suk,” Saraal said, “I’m killing him like I did his brothers.”

“Suk and his children fled. They haven’t made any trouble.”

“I warned you,” Saraal said in a low voice, “Suk is different. He’s dangerous. And mean. Not as mean as Odval, but close.”

“He’s always been weak.”

“But smart.”

Temur shrugged and stretched out next to her. “I suppose.”

He lay quietly like that for a while, watching her methodically clean and sharpen her sword.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

It was the same sword she’d killed Kuluun with. During the day, she slept with it under her pillow. More than once, Temur had cut himself on its edge, but he never said anything about it. She knew he kept one with him, as well.

His hand reached up to play with the raw edges of her hair, which was slowly growing out. “What is my tseetsa doing tonight?”

“This. Then a lesson with Rashon.”

“He’s a good teacher.”

“He doesn’t trust me not to hurt him when we spar.”

Fingers tightened on her hair.

“Good. Neither do I.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Temur.”

Aday whispered, “Not while he still has things to teach you.”

His smile was slow and wily. “My tseetsa speaks with secret eyes.”

Saraal didn’t disagree.

She had stayed in Temur’s camp, even though they’d never tried to bind her. She’d stayed for the same reason she’d stayed with Kuluun. Where would she go? She couldn’t fly yet. Not like Temur and Rashon. With a steady diet of fresh human blood—which she didn’t need to drink nearly as often as pony blood—she was starting to get her flying. She could hover at will, but no more than that. Temur said there was something she was missing. If she could hover, she should be able to fly. There was some link her mind needed to make the jump, and she just wasn’t seeing it. Until she did, she would learn other skills.

Temur taught her hand to hand combat. He said he trusted no one else to do it. Rashon taught her weapons.

Their band of Sida had moved on, north and east until the forests surrounded them and the air changed. They were closer to where Saraal’s human home had been. She guessed. There was no way to be sure. So many years had passed that nothing seemed clear anymore. Temur and his men were raiders, like Kuluun. But unlike him, they didn’t destroy where they raided. When she had enough skill, she went along with them. She quickly became one of Temur’s best. Temur’s Sida were far more like the raiders Saraal remembered as a child. They came. They took. They moved on. They did take humans, but no more than they needed in order to survive. No villages were burned, and no one took the children.

For this small mercy, Saraal was grateful.

After she’d killed Kuluun, the nightmares had started. She’d never dreamed before. Not after Jun had made her Sida. She was awake; she was asleep. There was no memory or consciousness during day rest. Her mind was completely blank. But after Kuluun had died, she’d dreamed of killing him. Then different dreams came. She dreamed of the child she’d killed the first night she had woken as a monster. His dead eyes blinked at her and his silent mouth gaped.

“Mama?”

She woke screaming, even though the sun still shone. After a second of terror, she was dead to the day again.

It was the first time it had happened, but not the last. Sometimes, Temur was with her, and she roused him, too. Once, he had stabbed her, not understanding that she was the one screaming. She’d blacked out in pain, but when she woke, the wound in her stomach was already healed, so she didn’t speak of it.

Throughout it all, Aday was still with her, but she was more of a quiet shadow than she had been. A guardian. She watched and warned Saraal sometimes. She was the one who told Saraal which of Kuluun’s sons needed to be killed. After she reminded Saraal of all the man’s wrongs, she cheered when she killed them. One by one, Saraal was killing any man who had touched her. There were many, and some were very skilled. She needed her lessons from Temur.

“What do you want?” Saraal asked Temur, who was still laying beside her.

His hand slid up the inside of her thigh and cupped her between the legs. “I want this.”

“This” was never as quick with Temur as it had been with Kuluun or his brothers.

“Rashon will be waiting,” she said quietly, though she set her sword to the side and lay back as he began to remove her leggings.

“Rashon can wait,” Temur said. “While I enjoy what is mine.”

The sword clattered to the ground, and Rashon leaped on her, pressing his dagger to the back of her neck.

“You’re dead. Again.”

Saraal sneered and shoved him off. She’d bested him the night before, and he seemed intent on teaching her a lesson that night. He’d been vicious. He’d fought dirty. And he’d been winning. He had her pinned to the ground, her face in the dirt and his hips held her down. He was holding onto the back of her hair, which had grown past her shoulders in the years she’d been with Temur and his warriors.

She needed to cut it again.

Saraal twisted around and tried to kick him in the balls. He blocked her, but he didn’t notice her hand, which had crept back and under his hip. She grabbed onto his testicles and pulled. Hard.

Rashon screamed and slammed her head into the ground, over and over, but Saraal did not let go. Her grip was unyielding. She squeezed harder. She felt his blade press into her spine, and she twisted. Eventually, the blood dripped into her face and she couldn’t see. But she could still feel his balls in her small hand, and she would not let go. Rashon’s blade left the back of her neck, then he yanked on her hair as he was pulled off. Saraal let go of him and immediately rolled into a crouch.

Temur was holding Rashon by the hair. The Sida was guarding his sore testicles and his fangs dripped blood where he’d bit his own lip.

“I’ll kill her!” he growled. “You won’t stop me this time!”

“You’ll do nothing,” Temur said, shaking Rashon by the hair. “You were sparring. You came to a draw. You’re finished.”

Until the next lesson. Saraal eyed Rashon with suspicion.

Aday whispered in her ear. “He’ll kill you the next time you fight.”

Temur must have agreed with Aday because he said, “And you’re done giving her lessons. You’ve taught her all you can, and obviously, she’s strong now. You’re finished.”

“But—”

“Go.” Temur slapped his child on the back and smiled a little. “Find a human to tend what is sore. Leave Saraal alone. My orders, Rashon.”

Rashon limped away, and Temur grabbed Saraal from her crouch. Then, without a word, he held her and took to the air. She sucked in a cold breath at the shock of the wind. Then she closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel.

Cold ripping air did nothing to calm her blood. She could feel her heart beating in excitement. Could feel her mind racing. Within moments, Temur had landed them in a thick stand of trees, out of earshot of his Sida children.

“What were you doing?” he hissed.

Saraal cocked her head, surprised by his anger.

“We were fighting.”

“You almost ripped his balls off, Saraal. They would have grown back. Eventually. Do you know how painful that is?”

She sneered, “You’ve seen me naked, Temur. Do I have a pair I don’t know about? He’ll be fine. He was fighting dirty. I fought dirtier.”

“You can’t do that to my men. You’ve already killed all of Kuluun’s children. My men are off limits to your rage.”

“Then they shouldn’t pin me down and put a dagger to my neck.”

“You will show respect!”

“To who?” Her chin lifted. “To you? Fine. To Rashon? No.”

Temur’s eyes flashed. “He is my second in command.”

“And I, as you so often remind me, am Jun’s child.”

His eyes narrowed. “So you are.”

For once, it didn’t sound like a compliment.

Saraal did everything she could to soften her voice. “I meant no disrespect to you. Perhaps it is better that I avoid Rashon. He does not like me or trust me.”

No one liked her except Temur. And Saraal often thought he only liked her because he could fuck her. But she knew he didn’t trust her. She could see his eyes cutting to her every time she mastered another skill. The long sword. The bow. The spear. Would he still put up with her once she could fly?

Because Saraal knew in her gut, once she could fly, she would be stronger than Temur. She sired no children like Temur did. Her strength was growing as his waned with each new warrior he made on his father’s orders.

Temur stepped closer to her, and his eyes narrowed. “Give me your neck.”

Saraal took a step back. In all their time together, all the times she had allowed his body into hers, he had never taken her blood. He’d never even asked.

“No,” she said in a small voice.

“No?” His eyes were starting to glow in anger again. “You don’t tell me no, Saraal.”

“I don’t want you to bite me.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Her heart began to race, and she saw Aday peeking from behind a tree. “Why are you doing this?”

“Respect, Saraal.”

“I give you my body anytime you want it.” She hated the quiver of fear in her voice. “I give you my respect. I don’t want to give my blood. If you’re hungry, take a human.”

“I don’t want a human.”

He was closer. Boxing her in. She looked to the sky, but she could not reach it, even though it called her.

“Don’t. Do. This.” Saraal clenched her jaw and turned her head to the side when Temur backed her up against a tree. His large body pinned her in.

“Give me your neck, Saraal.”

She had allowed him to touch her. She had grown to enjoy it at times, since Temur seemed to care. She’d begun to reach for him, which he enjoyed even more.

“Please, Temur,” she whispered, dread coating her throat. “Don’t do this thing.”

He bent down, put a hand to her throat, and sunk his fangs in her neck. Saraal closed her eyes at Temur’s groan of pleasure. The small portion of her heart that had softened to him died, even as the sensual pleasure of his bite washed over her.

“Tseetsa,” he groaned. “So sweet.” He tugged at her clothes. She did nothing to stop him. He pushed her leggings down and untied his own, then he lifted her against the tree and slid his body in hers. The pain wrapped around her heart as he took her.

She saw Aday leaning against a tree on the other side of the clearing, watching them both. Her mouth sneered, but her eyes reflected Saraal’s pain.

“Just like the others,” Aday whispered. “I told you. He is just like the others.”

When Temur was finished, he kissed her neck and licked the drops of blood from it. Then he kissed her again and ran a soft hand over her hair.

“That was good, Saraal. I can feel you in me now.” He put his arms around her and took off into the air. Aday followed them. “I can sense you now. This is good.”

But he hadn’t offered his own blood to her. No, Temur didn’t offer that kind of trust. After all, she might have been Jun’s child, but she was still just a woman. That much had always been clear.

He flew them back to the camp, and left her at her tent, walking off in the direction of the humans. His hunger was piqued now. He would probably drink from at least one more human. Possibly more. And then he would fuck some human women. He usually wanted three or four in a night if his blood was running. Saraal was just glad he didn’t seem to want her again.

She was distracted, but it still wasn’t an excuse. By the time Saraal sensed him, she was already in her tent, and Rashon had her by the neck.

“Let’s see what makes you so special, little bird,” the monster whispered, then he cut her throat before she could scream.

Aday woke with the earth in her mouth.

Enough.

She could sense the girl with her. The girl didn’t feel the wind as she did. Didn’t sense her power. The girl was broken. There was no repairing her this time. She huddled, terrified as the dirt became her grave.

Enough.

Aday felt the air around her, even underground. She felt the fine particles flowing through the soil, just as they flowed through the trees and the water. She knew there was no place the air did not live. No place she could not draw power. None. She had felt it long ago when she woke beside the girl. Felt it when she followed her through her years with Kuluun. With Temur. She had given the second a chance, but the girl had not found her power. Had not flown. She still didn’t understand.

Enough.

She could hear Rashon over her, stepping on the earth, leaving footprints over the spot where he’d buried the girl after he’d raped her viciously. After he broke her neck. After she was close to death. Rashon knew Temur would punish him. Taken by his own rage, he had forgotten it, but as the sun set and the moon rose, he remembered again.

Aday closed her eyes and pictured what she knew of Rashon’s tent. She had been in it many times, choosing a weapon from his chest before practice. She focused on one she had seen him polish, a new blade with a vicious curve that he’d picked up from traders in the west. It was new. It would be near the top of the chest. Wrapped in good leather, if she had to guess.

She would claim the blade. It would be hers when she killed its master.

Aday held her breath, but sent a curl of energy out, touching the air that permeated the soil. The air moved and shifted, pushing the soil down and lifting her up through the thick mass, obeying her command until she lay at the surface, naked and dusted in dirt, her body perfectly healed as she knew it would be.

She heard Rashon rifling through the chest, his back to her. She rose, her feet light upon the ground as she felt the wind cushion her. It swallowed the noise of her steps. It hid her movements from her enemy until she’d picked up a dagger he had laying beside his pallet.

Without a word, she went to him. He sensed her a second before she struck. He turned, mouth open, eyes gaping in horror at the monster she had become. The monster they had made.

Aday struck swiftly.

She drove the dagger through his throat so he could not scream. Drove it all the way through his neck until it pierced his spine. Then she yanked it back and forth, making sure Rashon’s backbone was severed. His body gave a jerk, but that lasted only a few seconds as she hacked off his head. Aday shoved it to the side and wiped away the blood that had spattered on her face. She kicked his body away from the chest and searched for the curved blade.

She smiled when she found it. The sword gleamed in the low lamplight. Its handle was wrapped in fine leather, and the bronze blade was burnished to a sheen. It was hers. Hers alone. Rashon had traded for it, shown it to others, but he’d never spilled blood with it.

“Saraal,” she whispered, giving her sword the dead girl’s name.

She slipped out of the tent in the early evening light. The moon had not risen, and the black sky conspired with her to block out the stars. No one saw her when she moved to the next tent.

The warrior was feeding from a human when he saw her. His fangs were down and his body hard. The girl had stopped struggling, but the bruises on her body showed Aday how she’d been used.

He sat up, but Aday had already moved. Flipping in the air, over his head, to land on his back. The blade swept out, slicing easily through the thick cords of the Sida’s neck, cutting it cleanly before he could make a sound.

It was a good sword.

Aday sat with the body between her legs, staring into the dead eyes of the woman. Her lips were split open. Her eyes were black. She tipped back her chin, baring her throat to Aday.

Enough.

She brought the blade to the woman’s throat and gave her a quick death, then she moved to the next tent.

She killed a younger Sida next, one of Temur’s newest children. Then an older one, who she’d seen eying Saraal with lust. He’d wanted her. And Aday knew it was only a matter of time before Temur would start passing the girl through the camp.

By the time she’d killed five warriors, the bodies were beginning to be found. She could hear cries of surprise and anger. Somewhere in the distance, Temur yelled out for the girl.

She’s gone, Aday thought as another warrior’s blood dripped cool down her breast. There is only me now.

“Saraal!” he yelled. “Come here now!”

Aday stepped out of the tent and saw torches coming toward her. She flew straight up, avoiding the fire, before sweeping down and grabbing a burning stick from one of the humans who guarded the warriors during the day. He gasped when he saw her and fell to his knees. She flew over the camp, touching the flame to the tents as she passed.

Like a row of dead trees, the tents went up in flames, and she smiled when she heard the cries of the warriors inside as they met their end.

A few had taken to the air to look for Saraal, but the girl couldn’t fly, so they were looking down. Aday could, so she snuck up behind them, the wind holding her aloft as she overpowered the flying Sida and took their heads.

One.

Two.

Three.

She laughed at how easy it was, in the end. They were finished. All but a few of Temur’s warriors were dead. A couple had fled into the trees with the humans. Most were burning in their tents. Aday took a deep breath and reveled in the smell of death around her.

She was almost finished.

She saw Temur heading toward her, so she dropped to the ground out of respect for the girl, who had cared for him in her own way. Aday watched the Sida as he landed across from her, his camp burning in the background, humans and animals still running for their lives as the air filled with smoke.

“Why?” he yelled, bloody tears running down his face. “What have you done, Saraal?” His hair was singed and his clothes black.

“You killed her.”

Aday began to walk toward him. She could hear the girl somewhere, whimpering in protest.

“What are you talking about? You killed my sons! Their sons. When I would not let them touch you.” He screamed into the night, “They feared your madness and I trusted you!”

Aday shook her head. “You shouldn’t have.”

Temur’s face melted in rage, and he flew toward her, his sword held out. Aday met him in the air, embracing him and kneeing him in the gut at the same time. She was stronger than Temur. The girl didn’t know it, but she did. She’d known for some time. He folded over in the air, and when she put the knife to his neck, she felt surrender wash through him.

His children were dead.

His camp in flames.

“I trusted you,” he said quietly, the wind muffling his words.

“No, you didn’t,” Aday said, pressing her cheek to his as she held the knife to the back of his neck. “Not really, Temur. You killed her last night. You didn’t even know.”

“Finish it, tseetsa,” he murmured, dropping his sword as she flew them higher and higher. He put his arms around her, and held on. “Fly me to the stars and finish it.”

Aday heard the girl screaming as she pressed the blade to Temur’s neck and cut. She would give the girl that. Temur would die quickly. His eyes closed as the curved blade caught his neck. With one pull, his head was gone. She held his body, dripping blood onto her chest as she flew to the clearing where he had forced the girl to give up her blood. She landed there and set Temur’s body down, stretching across it as his blood flowed into the earth where the girl was buried.

She lay there, wrapping his arms around her back to see if she could feel what the girl had felt for him, but there was nothing. No energy. No comfort. She wondered if there ever had been, or if the girl’s feelings were an illusion.

The moon rose over Aday as she held Temur’s corpse and the stars watched. Then she felt herself leave her body again, absorbing the black night. She surrendered to the space inside, letting the darkness fill her. Claim her.

And when the sun rose, Aday smelled Temur burning over her from her hollow in the earth.

Epilogue: The Heir

She left the plains and flew far, taking shelter in the mountains. She felt the sun rise and set from beneath the earth. Seasons passed; her hair grew long again. And when the frost came, she left the cave where she had sheltered and drifted among the humans, feeding on more than the birds and small creatures that populated the dark. The bronze blade never left her side.

She found clothes. She learned languages. She flew. She hid. Few noticed her, and those who did avoided the small woman who wore men’s clothes and wandered the trade routes at night.

She wandered over the plains again, tracking Suk and his sons. When she found them, she killed them in their tents, then she set fire to the last of those who held the girl’s memory.

She became no one. Nameless. Though she passed others of her kind on the trade routes, she did not speak to them. She only engaged them if she needed to defend herself.

She existed.

Then one night, she realized she felt something. Not in her body, in her mind. It was a feeling that had crept up on her, as much a result of her years on the earth as the length of road she had traveled.

She was tired.

She found another cave, higher in the mountains where the winter was long. Bright flags rippled from the trees, like colorful birds. She found a cave where humans had been. A small statue sat at the back in a niche, hidden from the light. She crawled next to it and lay down, stripping off her clothes to cushion her flesh from the rocks, rubbing snow over her body to clean it.

She lay down with the bronze blade under her head, and for many seasons, she did not rise.

Humans came to her, first frightened, then curious, then reverent. She was high in the mountains, but the tribe who tended the small statue came regularly. She didn’t move, but they fed her, reaching out to touch her gently. She caught them with her mind, so they held out their wrists, letting her drink as she needed. She never took too much.

A tree took root near the mouth of the cave.

She watched as the years passed. Her eyes rested on the tree. Each day, it grew a little more. Each night, she watched its progress. The humans came. They brought finely woven blankets and laid them over her, so she did not feel the bite of cold. They brought food for her to fill her stomach, though she did not eat. She existed on blood, and she survived.

Years passed, the tree grew tall as a man. The humans brought polished stones and purple shells. Bits of carved bone and pottery.

When the tree was as tall as the mouth of the cave, they brought brightly colored beads and rings made of a shining metal that did not tarnish. Her bronze blade grew dull beneath her head, but still, she did not move.

To them, she was a god. Never aging. Never moving. Many years passed, and they whispered to her. Dreams and prayers. They asked for wisdom. For blessing. For answers to questions she did not know. She listened and thought about their lives, these humans who tended her. She listened, and when she was tired, she closed her eyes.

One night, she woke and he was there, sitting at the edge of the cave, perusing the treasure the humans had brought. There were jewels and scrolls. Colorful blankets and food. Intricately painted pots. Pounded metal vessels and carved wooden screens. The humans had painted the walls of the cave with beautiful designs they hoped would please her.

She sat up and spoke for the first time since the tree took root.

“Are you here to kill me?”

Her sire looked up from the scroll he had been studying. “Why would I do that?”

“I killed your sons.”

Jun shrugged. “Then they deserved to be killed.”

“Did you make more?” she asked, her rusted voice dripping with scorn. “Shall I kill them, too?”

Jun looked at her, then smiled. Then his smile grew wide; he threw his head back and laughed. The cave echoed with it. His beautiful face was suffused with glee.

“You are my finest warrior,” he said when he stopped laughing. “Who would have thought?”

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “How did you find me?”

“It took many years. You are a rumor in these mountains. A legend. The Sleeping Goddess. They tell stories of you on the roads. I followed the legends when I decided to look for you.”

“Why did you decide to look for me? Do you want to fight me?”

“No, my daughter.” He shook his head. “To tell the truth, I do not know which one of us would win.”

Her eyes flashed with arrogance. “I would.”

“You might.” But the glint in his eyes told her that Jun did not believe her.

Despite her pride, she had to acknowledge he was probably the greater warrior. Power poured off him in waves. The air around him was suffused with it.

“You asked me why I wanted to find you,” he said after some silence had passed.

“Yes.”

“I am tired of wandering. I am going to an island with others of our kind. Do you want to come with me? It will be a place of peace and reason.”

“Why?”

“I am tired of war,” he said. “Aren’t you?”

“No, why do you invite me to come with you?”

He stepped closer, but she did not shrink back. She never would. Never again.

“You are my only child,” Jun said. “Clearly, the most worthy. And you are the only one who speaks the language of my birth.”

She blinked. “Have so many years passed?”

He smiled sadly. “Yes, they have.”

She thought about his offer. Then she said, “You do not know me.”

“And you do not know me.”

“I have no desire for a master,” she said. “I will not answer to another again.”

“I will always be your sire.”

“I do not know what it means for you to be my sire,” she said. “Do you?”

He stared at one of the paintings on the wall. “I thought I knew what it meant, but perhaps I didn’t. Perhaps you will teach me.”

“No,” she said. “You will learn, or you will not. I do not think it is my place to teach you.”

“I think…” He paused and turned to her. “I think I would like to sit with you and talk. Someday, I would like that.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But not today. Today, I will stay here. I am still weary. I will stay here until I am not.”

Jun paused and watched her, then he rose and gave her a small bow.

“If this is what you want, I will hold your treasure until you join me.”

“Treasure?” She had grown to like beautiful things as the humans surrounded her with them.

“You are my child, and a warrior of legend now.” His chin lifted with pride. “I am honored to give you half of everything I have gained, daughter. Until you come for it, I will hold it in your name.”

“I have no name.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, turning to leave. “Those who worship you call you Tenzin. They believe you show them the wisdom of their god, for to them, you exist in perfect harmony.”

She thought back to the humans who cared for her. They offered their dreams and secrets to her. If she offered them anything, then she was grateful.

“Tenzin?”

“Yes,” he said. “Tenzin. It is your name if you want it.”

Tenzin?

She tried out the name in her mind, and the wind whispered that it was good.

The girl looked at her father, who waited on the edge of the cave.

“You may call me Tenzin if you like.”

Penglai Island

Present day

Tenzin stretched out next to Nima, whose breathing was the only sound in the room. Her heartbeat was slow. Her breath shallow.

“I told you, my Nima.” Tenzin stroked her silver hair. “It is not a happy story.”

Nima said nothing. At some point, her eyes had closed. Her frail body had gone still. The mortal’s life was slipping away.

“There will be no nightmares for you,” Tenzin whispered, placing a soft kiss on the old woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Not anymore.”

Nima had shown her love. For years, even when Tenzin had been ungrateful. Even when she’d been angry or petulant. Nima asked for nothing and gave everything. Like the humans who had made her a god, Nima had been faithful.

So Tenzin would do the same.

She held the woman as she took her last breaths on the earth. She washed her body and sang the song she had sung to the father of her child—the song she had sung over her own mate’s body. Tenzin held Nima until her sire came and took the mortal’s body to be burned as Nima had wished.

Nima’s body was put to flames by the Immortal Woman. It was a great honor for a valued member of her father’s household. Then her ashes were scattered in the gardens of Penglai, and her friend became everything and nothing on the earth.

After eight days of mourning, Tenzin lay down in her room at her father’s house as servants and immortals hurried around her. Nima had occupied an important position in her father’s house. None of the humans were immune to her loss, but each one honored Nima in his or her own way. Mostly, by quietly continuing the tasks she had given them.

But Tenzin was tired. And though she no longer slept—not even during the day—the immortal lay in her bed, reached under her pillow, and felt for it.

It was there, as it always was. Aday’s blade was heavy and smooth to the touch. Shaped by time and battle, it lay like a lodestone in her hand.

She clutched the bronze blade and closed her eyes.

Tenzin held the old sword in her hand, and she rested.

THE END

ELIZABETH HUNTER is a contemporary fantasy, paranormal romance, and contemporary romance author. She is a graduate of the University of Houston Honors College and a former English teacher. She once substitute taught a kindergarten class but decided that middle school was far less frightening. Thankfully, people now pay her to write books and eighth graders everywhere rejoice.

She currently lives in Central California with an eight-year-old ninja who claims to be her child. She enjoys music, writing, travel, and bowling (despite the fact that she’s not very good at it). Someday, she plans to learn how to scuba dive. And maybe hang glide… but that looks like a lot of running.

She is the author of the Elemental Mysteries and Elemental World series, the Cambio Springs series, the Irin Chronicles, and other works of fiction.

Website: ElizabethHunterWrites.com

Elemental Mysteries fan site: ElementalMysteries.com.

E-mail: elizabethhunterwrites@gmail.com.

Twitter: @E__Hunter

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THE ELEMENTAL MYSTERIES

A Hidden Fire ~ This Same Earth

The Force of Wind ~ A Fall of Water

“Elemental Mysteries turned into one of the best paranormal series I’ve read this year. It’s sharp, elegant, clever, evenly paced without dragging its feet, and at the same time emotionally intense.” —NOCTURNAL BOOK REVIEW

Welcome to the Elemental Mysteries, where history and the paranormal collide, and where no secret stays hidden forever. Join five hundred year old rare book dealer, Giovanni Vecchio, and librarian, Beatrice De Novo, as they travel the world in search of the mystery that brought them together, the same mystery that could tear everything they love apart.

~~~

Continue reading in the ELEMENTAL WORLD

Titles available from all major retailers

Building From Ashes is what I have been waiting for ever since I read A Hidden Fire! Carwyn is one of my favorite of Elizabeth's characters and it was wonderful to read his story.

The way Elizabeth Hunter weaves the past and present to deliver this story as a whole is genius. 5 STARS.

—Rebecca, BENDING THE SPINE

In a world teetering on the edge of change, two beings struggle to find their purpose. Will their paths lead them closer together or tear their worlds apart?

For a thousand years, powerful earth vampire Carwyn ap Bryn has served others. God. His family. His friends. But tragedy and loss disrupt his peaceful existence, causing him to question everything he has committed his eternity to. Brigid Connor has known about vampires since they rescued her from a painful childhood. But not even their vast elemental power can save her from the demons that torment her. As loyalties are tested and new paths are forged, a lurking danger slowly grows in the Elemental World. Carwyn and Brigid learn that even secrets revealed can come back to haunt you when you least expect it.

"Hunter is an absolute pro at giving us steamy, heart melting romance."

—Mandy, I READ INDIE

wa-ter-locked

adjective

Definition: enclosed entirely, or almost entirely, by water

Example: What happens when the water vampire you've promised yourself to actually wants you to go through with the wedding? For Gemma Melcombe, her engagement to Terrance Ramsay was a political maneuver. For Terry, it's something much more. Rough waters may be ahead for these two headstrong lovers, but until they come to an agreement, Gemma will be WATERLOCKED.

"...filled with saucy dialogue, plot twists and turns, a cast of familiar characters, and one very argumentative yet passionate couple...

Ms. Hunter is getting better by the book."

—Victoria, ZEMFIRKA BLOGS

What choice do you make when those you've vowed to protect refuse to be protected?

Dead women are showing up in the desert east of San Diego, and no one understands why. When the story comes to the attention of reporter Natalie Ellis, she can't help but make comparisons to the tragic deaths she'd investigated years ago. Are these women the victims of a serial killer, or something even more insidious?

Bodies may be piling up in his sire's territory, but water vampire and feared enforcer, Baojia, is stuck entertaining the rich and clueless at a club in San Diego. He's taken his exile with all the grace he could muster, but his patience is starting to thin.

Sparks fly when mortal and immortal are thrown together, and Natalie comes face to face with a reality that was lurking in the corners of her life. Pursuing the truth could cost Baojia everything, including the mortal woman who has earned his grudging respect.

The Irin Chronicles

The all new fantasy series from Elizabeth Hunter

NOW AVAILABLE

From all major retailers

"THE SCRIBE is a perfect marriage of urban fantasy with tinges of romance." —Killian McRae

~

"Hunter's finest work to date.... This book is simply stunning.”—Leisha O'Quinn, Rolopolo Book Blog

~~~

Hidden at the crossroads of the world, an ancient race battles to protect humanity, even as it dies from within.

Ava Matheson came to Istanbul looking for answers, but others came looking for her. A reckless warrior guards her steps, but will Malachi's own past blind him to the truth of who Ava might be? While ancient forces gather around them, both Ava and Malachi search for answers.

Whispering voices. Deadly touch. Their passion should be impossible... or it could be the only thing that will keep them alive.

THE SCRIBE is the first book in the Irin Chronicles, the new paranormal romance series from Elizabeth Hunter, author of the Elemental Mysteries.

~~~

The Cambio Springs Mysteries

NOW AVAILABLE

From all major retailers

"Take a simple contemporary plot, add a pinch of paranormal, sprinkle with insightful, down-to-earth, wry characters,

mix with a murder mystery, shake vigorously and enjoy Cambio Springs! "

—NOCTURNAL BOOK REVIEWS

~~~

Somedays Jena Crowe just can't get a break. Work at her diner never ends, her two boys are bundles of energy, and she's pretty sure her oldest is about to shift into something furry or feathery. Added to that, changes seem to be coming to the tiny town of Cambio Springs, big changes that not everyone in the isolated town of shapeshifters is thrilled about.

Caleb Gilbert was looking for change, and the quiet desert town seemed just the ticket for a more peaceful life. He never counted on violence finding him, nor could he have predicted just how crazy his new life would become.

When murder rocks their small community, Caleb and Jena will have to work together. And when the new Chief of Police isn't put off by any of her usual defenses, Jena may be faced with the most frightening change of all: lowering the defenses around her carefully guarded heart.

FOR MORE INFORMATION, PLEASE VISIT:

ElizabethHunterWrites.com

Or

ElementalMysteries.com