A note was left for Gogonji in his safehouse:
Master Gogonji,
I haven't had a report from K in two days. I'm going to try and figure out what's happened. I will be back soon.
An
She didn't return that day, nor the day after, nor the day after that.
* * *
"Can I see her?" Mamluk quietly asked the guards outside of Hannah Blackroad's tent.
The two men exchanged glances, clearly uncertain. Mamluk's fall from the Sandfox's grace neatly mirrored Miss Blackroad's own; he'd lost his right to carry weapons, and stood before them now barehanded and humbled. But he hadn't been publicly accused of attempted desertion as she had, nor punished as she had been; it was being whispered about now that Mamluk would be part of the Heavensfury team, as would Miss Blackroad despite her shaming, something many of the fighters envied. They also were said to be lovers. Mamluk knew the source of that rumor, however.
At last, the guard nodded. "Ten minutes," he said, holding the tent flap open.
They had stripped out all amenities, all comforts. Miss Blackroad was chained by the wrists to a thick stake driven deep into the ground; Mamluk doubted there was even enough slack in the chain for her to stand. He knelt next to her, putting a hand wordlessly on her upper arm in greeting, and examined her back.
Ten thick, nasty-looking welts of badly burnt and blistered flesh striped her pale skin from shoulders to waist. At least they'd allowed her a shirt now. She hadn't cried or recoiled when the Sandfox had ordered her dragged out into the center of camp for her shaming and flogging; stripped to the waist, bombarded with jeers and raked over with lustful stares, she had endured it all without a word, not even reacting as the Sandfox denounced her as a sinner and a coward, a blight in the eyes of the Destroyer.
The Sandfox had only ordered ten lashes, but Mamluk recognized the kind of whip they used for these things - Garlean, electrified, favored because it cauterized the open wound it left behind, or so they liked to say. The Sandfox himself had wielded the lash, flogging Miss Blackroad without mercy, as the crowd watching howled its approval. Mamluk had kept his eyes only on her face throughout, and he shared within himself each flinch, each grimace, each muffled cry of agony. He thought of the Arbiter, and of Ornh.
Mamluk took a jar of salve from his belt pouch now and carefully dabbed it along each welt with his fingertips. She sighed in immediate relief at the easing of pain. "These will scar, and badly," he warned her.
She gave a trembling laugh. "Oh, so I'll have to live with it, what - three more days? Damn."
"We told you not to try and escape. Ornh told you. I told you."
"He's mad, Mamluk... he burned three men alive for no reason than - dating an Au Ra, having mixed heritage! H-how could you expect me not to try, after seeing that...?"
Mamluk said nothing to that. There was nothing he could say. She reached back and gripped his hand tightly in hers. "Heavensfury is in three days, huh...?"
"Yes."
"Can you do me a favor?"
"Alright."
She turned toward him, and he saw tears shining in her eyes. Her hair was stiff with dirt and touched here and there with dried blood; her face was bruised and filthy, drawn and pale from exhaustion and endured pain. She had never looked more beautiful. She leaned up to him, whispering in a low voice for him alone, and withdrew her hand from his.
"Time's up!" the guard called, and Mamluk stood.
"Can you do that for me?" she asked, turning her face away - so he wouldn't see those tears slip from her eyes, he thought.
"I will," he promised, and as he stepped from the tent, his fingers carefully hid the linkpearl she'd returned to him.
I will, Hannah.
* * *
An straightened from the pile of sand and ash, the hot desert breeze stirring the pale turban and dustveil wrapped around her head and her long hair. Sand, ash, bits of bone, buckles and other metal pieces from clothing and boots that fire couldn't burn. And a metal canteen with a partially-melted linkpearl concealed in the cap.
"Kelar," she whispered, her eyes closing tight. She stood like that for a long few moments, lost in grief and regret.
Then she dropped the canteen back into the shifting sands where the desert would soon erase the lingering signs of the atrocities done here, and went to follow the faint trail that pointed the way toward the Embers' new camp.
Time spent with Master Gogonji had taught her the value of a sense of vengeance.
Master Gogonji,
I haven't had a report from K in two days. I'm going to try and figure out what's happened. I will be back soon.
An
She didn't return that day, nor the day after, nor the day after that.
* * *
"Can I see her?" Mamluk quietly asked the guards outside of Hannah Blackroad's tent.
The two men exchanged glances, clearly uncertain. Mamluk's fall from the Sandfox's grace neatly mirrored Miss Blackroad's own; he'd lost his right to carry weapons, and stood before them now barehanded and humbled. But he hadn't been publicly accused of attempted desertion as she had, nor punished as she had been; it was being whispered about now that Mamluk would be part of the Heavensfury team, as would Miss Blackroad despite her shaming, something many of the fighters envied. They also were said to be lovers. Mamluk knew the source of that rumor, however.
At last, the guard nodded. "Ten minutes," he said, holding the tent flap open.
They had stripped out all amenities, all comforts. Miss Blackroad was chained by the wrists to a thick stake driven deep into the ground; Mamluk doubted there was even enough slack in the chain for her to stand. He knelt next to her, putting a hand wordlessly on her upper arm in greeting, and examined her back.
Ten thick, nasty-looking welts of badly burnt and blistered flesh striped her pale skin from shoulders to waist. At least they'd allowed her a shirt now. She hadn't cried or recoiled when the Sandfox had ordered her dragged out into the center of camp for her shaming and flogging; stripped to the waist, bombarded with jeers and raked over with lustful stares, she had endured it all without a word, not even reacting as the Sandfox denounced her as a sinner and a coward, a blight in the eyes of the Destroyer.
The Sandfox had only ordered ten lashes, but Mamluk recognized the kind of whip they used for these things - Garlean, electrified, favored because it cauterized the open wound it left behind, or so they liked to say. The Sandfox himself had wielded the lash, flogging Miss Blackroad without mercy, as the crowd watching howled its approval. Mamluk had kept his eyes only on her face throughout, and he shared within himself each flinch, each grimace, each muffled cry of agony. He thought of the Arbiter, and of Ornh.
Mamluk took a jar of salve from his belt pouch now and carefully dabbed it along each welt with his fingertips. She sighed in immediate relief at the easing of pain. "These will scar, and badly," he warned her.
She gave a trembling laugh. "Oh, so I'll have to live with it, what - three more days? Damn."
"We told you not to try and escape. Ornh told you. I told you."
"He's mad, Mamluk... he burned three men alive for no reason than - dating an Au Ra, having mixed heritage! H-how could you expect me not to try, after seeing that...?"
Mamluk said nothing to that. There was nothing he could say. She reached back and gripped his hand tightly in hers. "Heavensfury is in three days, huh...?"
"Yes."
"Can you do me a favor?"
"Alright."
She turned toward him, and he saw tears shining in her eyes. Her hair was stiff with dirt and touched here and there with dried blood; her face was bruised and filthy, drawn and pale from exhaustion and endured pain. She had never looked more beautiful. She leaned up to him, whispering in a low voice for him alone, and withdrew her hand from his.
"Time's up!" the guard called, and Mamluk stood.
"Can you do that for me?" she asked, turning her face away - so he wouldn't see those tears slip from her eyes, he thought.
"I will," he promised, and as he stepped from the tent, his fingers carefully hid the linkpearl she'd returned to him.
I will, Hannah.
* * *
An straightened from the pile of sand and ash, the hot desert breeze stirring the pale turban and dustveil wrapped around her head and her long hair. Sand, ash, bits of bone, buckles and other metal pieces from clothing and boots that fire couldn't burn. And a metal canteen with a partially-melted linkpearl concealed in the cap.
"Kelar," she whispered, her eyes closing tight. She stood like that for a long few moments, lost in grief and regret.
Then she dropped the canteen back into the shifting sands where the desert would soon erase the lingering signs of the atrocities done here, and went to follow the faint trail that pointed the way toward the Embers' new camp.
Time spent with Master Gogonji had taught her the value of a sense of vengeance.
People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.
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