Spiral: Book One of the Spiral in Time (39 page)

“And as I see into you, so do the gods see, for I serve them. They are all watching. Harm me, and they will find you and seek their vengeance.”

He wanted to kill her. She saw it clearly in his eyes.

She grasped the amulet with the small piece of the Matrones in it. His greed for the riches of the Durotriges would shield her; for without her, he was powerless.

He looked at her as though an evil spirit lay before him. His eyes jumped around, staring wide-eyed into the recesses of the hut, where the gods might be waiting to jump out and strike him down, burn him alive, or cast him into the deep ocean.

“I will still keep you,” he cried, defiant still, in the loudest voice his damaged throat could make. “As long as you are my queen, I have no need of a child.”

He clearly did not want to touch her now. The power of the unseen cancelled all lust.

Vodenix raised his arm to hit her, and then stopped. He was not afraid of the gods as long as he thought his actions went unobserved. But here, in front of him, was a seer who saw into his heart and deeds. He might not fear the gods enough, but they were very powerful.

And, much worse, she had just seen into his deepest, most hidden thoughts. His body rocked back and forth as he glared at her, his urge to kill thwarted. His hands opened and closed as if he longed to clench her throat.

“... You may not like your gift but it is a power.”

Sabrann closed her eyes. As though Maigrid and the Matrones had spoken in chorus in her ear, she knew he would not touch her again. She had won.

Vodenix turned on his heel and slammed the door as he left. The wooden bar dropped down with a heavy thud.

She kissed the Matrones amulet.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and turned on her side and wept.

CHAPTER 26

The pungent smell of Artemisia filled the slave hut. Sabrann’s head jerked up. Awake all night, huddled against the rear wall, she lay still, everything in her sickened by this all too easily remembered smell—this new threat.

“You should have come with me,” a soft voice said.

Rosmerta. A wave of revulsion passed through Sabrann’s body. Rosmerta had branded her with a tattoo that forever bound her to the prophecy; she could never escape. How could she ever forget that voice?

“How did you know I was here? How did you get in? There is a guard.”

“There
was
a guard, and all the gods know you were here.” Rosmerta laughed

Her eyes gritty with sand and tear swollen, Sabrann turned to face Rosmerta. “Did you use magic?”

“No, simple one. Many things are done without using magic. It only looks like magic to people who know nothing. The guard sleeps. I did not have to kill him. I could show you how to make a strong man fall suddenly asleep by pressing at a certain place on your neck, but it would make you fall asleep, too. And we have much to discuss before the guard wakes up.”

Rosmerta turned and looked outside. The dark blue night sky had faded and grayed, and a setting moon shone through the open door.

“We have until dawn, I think.” She held a small, pine torch in one hand and raised it high; a flame leaped up, lighting the dark hut.

“As I said, you should have come with me. There is much that I, and only I, can teach you. Look around you at this godless place. I can protect you so this does not happen again.” She slowly moved the torch around as though that was all that need be said.

Scattered about the hut were the remnants of last night’s violence. Sabrann’s tunic lay ripped and torn on the ground. Akmu’s cloak lay trampled in the dirt. Her belt and empty knife scabbard were tossed in one corner. And the precious things Sabrann always carried in her belt bag lay scattered on the ground, the bag empty and crushed in the sand.

“But it’s not too late. At dawn’s light the guard will awaken. We must hurry. Here, cover yourself.”

Sabrann stood. Unclothed, she shivered and looked down. Lines of dark blood ran down her thighs and Vodenix’s seed stuck between her legs. Rosmerta wrapped her cloak around Sabrann and handed her the belt and scabbard.

Artemisia!—the cloak reeked of Rosmerta’s scent.

Sabrann touched her tattooed cheek; someone wanted to kill her because of it. In her mind’s eye she saw the great round farmhouse burning again. Rosmerta had brought death to Maigrid’s family as surely as if she had hung the bodies and lit the fire herself.

Sabrann flung the cloak to the dirt floor. She would rather go naked.

“No, Rosmerta,” she cried. “Glas is on the ship. I must go and get him. He is mine now. It was because of this tattoo you gave me that all his family was lost. They were my family too! Now only I can take care of him.”

Sabrann grabbed the torn tunic and wrapped it around her with the belt. She began picking up the bits and pieces of all the things she had saved that were part of her life—each one was special! She would not leave anything behind.

Rosmerta reached down and picked up two amber beads.

“Don’t touch them,” Sabrann screamed, as she grabbed them and then darted out the door. She could not bear to look at Rosmerta anymore. Outside the hut lay the stunned guard and, in the center of the corral, the dead deerhound sprawled with flies crusted thick on the wound in its side. Sabrann ran around the carrion and saw her knife in the sand. With a sob she put it in her belt and fled towards the open gate and freedom.

It was still dark below the black pine trees, but above, the sky lightened. It was dawn; the guard must be awake. The eastern sky brightened to a soft pink as she sprinted along the path toward the harbor. If only the
Astarte
was still there—she must reach it! Shouting and faint voices came from behind her. She ran faster. Her chest hurt as she gasped for air. Ahead lay the harbor, rosy light from the rising sun gilded the rippled surface making the dark waters glow.

The ship was still there! She called as she ran along the shore, past the gardens and shell middens, past the Veneti ships at anchor.

“Wait! Don’t leave me, wait!”

Her call echoed in the quiet morning and someone heard. Just pulling away from the shore was the ship’s boat. She ran faster, almost by its side. They backed oars, coming in close to the shore, and threw a rope to her. Wild with fear, she grabbed the line and leapt into the boat.

Loud shouts came from the shore. Vodenix’s warriors were in pursuit. Barbed shale arrows flew and long spears arched in the air as they reached the
Astarte’s
deck. Climbing over the railing, she turned and saw Vodenix running with his warriors, his face livid, and his hostage and riches gone.

Concealed by a large rock dolmen, the grave of a long dead Veneti, Rosmerta watched Sabrann reach the small boat, the raging Veneti warriors close behind her. Rosmerta’s home was far to the north of this bay, on the Isle du Raz, and her own boat waited up the coast. Adept at moving unseen, she was not afraid of being caught. She moved her fine hands, blue-lined with magical signs, in prayer to her goddess, Brigantu.

“You can run from me, Sabrann, but you will need me again ... As I need you.” Her pale eyes widened and grew dark, as though that thought filled her with fear. But she would not dwell on that now. She had something to help. It was not what she came for—it was not Sabrann. But, it was almost as good.

“And I will keep watch. What is yours will guide me, your soul to mine—close as my hand. I will not lose you.”

She opened her fist and looked down at a smooth, white soulstone. It would lead Rosmerta to her heart’s desire.

CHAPTER 27

“Faster!” Isis snapped his whip of leather strands above their heads. Seagulls screeched, the capstan creaked and groaned as it turned, every seaman strained hard pulling. It was dawn and the tide ebbed. The
Astarte
was leaving Vannes.

Admiral Himilco had returned from the Veneti council meeting late last night, his face a dark storm. The girl was not with him. The only thing he said to his captain was an angry, “In the morning, go with the tide and fast.” Adonibaal knew better than to ask why.

The last boatload of Veneti women had just left the ship and as soon as the ship’s boat returned, the
Astarte
would be on her way home. The crew was silent, but beneath the sweating and tugging, the coiling of brails, and checking the ballast, the shifting and repositioning of the tin and trade goods in the hold, there was an air of excitement. They were going home.

A deep hum close to his ear startled the captain. He turned and watched in horror as an arrow pierced the forehead of the young seaman standing next to him. No one had noticed the archers concealed on a nearby Veneti ship. The sound of the capstan turning masked any warning sound as the crew worked the horizontal poles that lifted the rear anchor.

The lookout, high in the mast, blew the conch shell three times.

Adonibaal cursed his wisdom in lowering the heavy anchor. It wasn’t really needed in this sheltered bay and now it kept them from leaving. The only way out of the harbor was by running a gauntlet between the arrows coming from the Veneti ship, floating ominously close to the
Astarte
, and, now, a new danger from the land.

The shoreline was alive with running Veneti warriors, shouting and throwing spears; the air thick with arrows—silent death, except for the soft humming sound. But when you heard that sound it was already too late. Shrieks filled the air as more arrows hit the crew. The band of Libyans, still naked but armed, formed a cordon around Admiral Himilco’s cabin door. Long body shields provided a shield, but the Admiral wasn’t staying inside. He crashed his way through them to come and stand next to Adonibaal.

“Bastards!” he shouted. Himilco’s face was even darker and angrier than last night. The Libyans moved to encircle him, using the body shields as a screen above the Admiral’s head.

The anchor finally splashed up and over the rails, dripping with weed and muck. The ship bobbed a little with the tide.

“The boat, wait!” Isis screamed, as the ship’s boat drew near. It flew to the protected side and banged against the ship, safe. The mast made a creaking sound as the brails were let loose and the big square sail flapped down.

And hung motionless. There was no wind.

Adonibaal glanced at the Admiral. Something had changed! His face was bright as the fresh, new morning all around them—not a trace of anger remained. The sun broke free of the horizon in a rare, cloudless, coral-hued dawn. And a big smile covered the Admiral’s face as he watched the occupants of the ship’s boat climb up the
Astarte’s
ladder. Two seamen and one extremely valuable girl.

“We’re caught. Get down,” Adonibaal yelled as arrows flew low over the
Astarte’s
side.

Someone shoved Sabrann to the deck and called out a rough sound as an arrow struck his back. She squeezed herself down tight, against the side of the ship.

The air hummed with arrows and the shouts of the men on shore. They were too close—the Veneti had an easy target in the narrow channel that led to the ocean.

Still no wind! The sails hung flaccid, barely stirring. Captain Adonibaal looked on in impotent anger. His crew was armed with lethal axes, good for hand-to-hand combat, but no match for a barrage of arrows. Every free hand was below deck, pulling hard on the great sweeps. But not fast enough. Another Veneti ship was raising its leather sail, chains clanking. Soon they would be cornered.