The Bone Wall (26 page)

“It’s the middle of fucking winter, Chantri.”

She shrugs her response. Like she said, it’s only the hundredth time I’ve carped about it.

“We leave one man on the gate to bar the door,” I suggest.

“Someone save me,” she groans and drops her head, earning a punch to her shoulder. “Ow.”

“Five of us patrol,” I persist. “No additional bodies required. We might actually get to kill a Biter.”

“Stop calling them Biters,” Chantri nags. “It’s offensive.”

“Insulting,” Tannis says from further down the wall beside Keyon. “I haven’t eaten a good woman in ages.”

Chantri snorts a wet wad of snot to her upper lip and wipes it off on her sleeve. I can’t help grinning, and Keyon’s eyes nearly bug from his head, at the comment or snot, I’m not sure.

“What’s so funny up there?” Lucky calls up. He’s manning the door while Konnard sees to our lone horse.

“Tannis and sex in the same sentence,” Chantri shouts down with a laugh. “I should know.”

“You and Tannis?” I ask, shocked.

“Why not?” Chantri smirks at me as if I’m daft. “You think I’m hauling a bow and blades around all day in my battle gear? I’m human, and he’s not bad for an old bull.”

“Old?” Tannis barks. Keyon chuckles behind him, earning a swat.

“Old as in older than me,” Chantri explains loudly and rolls her blue eyes.

“Aren’t you afraid of getting pregnant?” I quietly ask, aware that I don’t know this woman as well as I thought I did. She’s the closest I have to an ally, and at the moment, she’s no more familiar than a stranger.

“Afraid?” She furrows her brow in disbelief and studies my face as if she too just discovered a stranger on the wall. “I should be so lucky.”

“What?” Lucky calls up, breaking the thin thread of tension.

“Not you, moron,” Chantri calls down with a laugh. She adjusts her eyes back toward the frozen landscape behind the wall and stiffens. When my eyes track her gaze, I see a woman darting toward us down the trail, tripping and flying to her face in the snow, scrambling up and shouting as she runs.

“Raiders!” She almost stumbles again, her shoes sliding on the icy pack. “Raiders at the paddocks. Hurry, Donnis is there alone.”

“The door!” Tannis shouts as he heads for a ladder, Keyon behind him. Below us, Lucky curses and unbars the wicket. Konnard jogs up with the horse for Chantri as she hops down the other ladder. Impatient, I jump, landing harder than I expected, quiver slapping my leg, crossbow thwacking my back, and thankfully not stabbing myself. I won’t do that again, but I’m first through the door and sprinting up the trail.

The woman slows her run, cheeks red with cold, her breath wheezing puffs of frigid mist. I dash past her, Keyon and Lucky on my heels, Tannis not far behind. The paddocks lie a good mile beyond the canyon’s mouth where the ground levels and starts its slow descent to the waste. Other farms carve the rocky wilderness, scrabbling life from the snow-swept mountainside. How many will the raiders hit? Where will they be by the time I reach Donnis? “Fuck,” I shout at the wind.

Behind me, I hear Chantri’s horse snorting, hooves thudding in the snow. “Rimma,” she shouts, “you, Keyon, and Tannis cut across to the paddocks. Lucky, Konnard, and I will take the road in case they’re on their way. They can’t travel fast if they’re taking part of the herd.”

Without troubling to glance back or reply, I veer off the road, making a dash through the scrappy juniper and pine, my eyes ahead, planning each footfall on the uneven ground. Tannis curses a string of profanities behind me. I glance back; he’s hopping on one foot, face twisted up. “Go on,” he barks, “I’ll catch up.”

As Keyon and I dart through the rough terrain, I hear Chantri’s horse cantering up the road. “When we reach the stead, I’ll cover the paddock,” I instruct Keyon. “You check the house.” At his nod, I break right, slowing my pace and breath when the trees start to thin. Though my fingers are red with cold, I ready my weapon. Gently, the crossbow rises to my shoulder, cocked and loaded. Sheep bleat in the cote and shuffle in panicky clusters against the paddock fence. I’m not supposed to kill if I can run the Biters off or capture them, and that’s a tall order. I have one shot before I’m reloading, exposed to an attack; it’s a shot that needs to count.

My heart hammers, every nerve alert as I press my back to the cote’s wall. The bow feels good, my hands steady, senses keen, blood racing through my veins. I don’t remember ever feeling so alive, so in control, so free, so bloody excited.

Across the paddock the fence lies on its side, snow trampled to a muddy pulp, the theft likely complete. But I hear something besides sheep within the stone and wood building, a horse being saddled, the Biter grunting as he labors, the creak of leather. Closed shutters deny me a glimpse of the interior and the number of enemies I face. One shot, then my knife, no hesitation, no second thoughts, no glory, no mercy.

My step light as snow, I slink around the corner toward the door, hear the scrape of flint on steel, the spiteful laugh, smell the wisp of smoke. One peek through the doorway, I catch sight of a single Biter, the horse saddled, its eyes bulging. The man squats with his back to me, admiring his little fire, straw dancing with orange flame. I creep into the doorway, finger starting the slow pull on the trigger, my aim unflinching.

“Nice fire,” I hiss.

The man jerks up and spins, snarling, a long knife already in his hand as he lunges toward me. My bolt whispers, pounds into the center of his chest, knocking him backward a step. He looks down, confused, mouth hanging open for a surprised, “Uh.” Then his eyes roll and he drops into his fire.

Gripping a foot, I drag the body from the flames, grab a fork and rake the burning straw from the larger pile while the horse rears against its tether. I stomp on the fire, coughing in the smoke, edge past the horse for its water bucket and pour. Outside at the sheep’s trough, I plunge the rim through thin ice for another scoop and kill the rest of the fire, kicking the smoldering straw to the wet earth.

My foot on the man’s chest, I yank out my bolt, pick up my bow, load it, and head to the house. A voice shouts from within the home’s open door, heralding the sound of wood breaking, of glass shattering. Tannis hops on one foot from the trees. I stare at him, open mouthed. “Where’s Keyon?”

Not waiting for an answer, I run across the small yard into the doorway and loose my bolt into the first Biter I see, his knife sliding out of Keyon’s gut when the point punches into his back. My bow slung aside, I’m on him, my knife stabbing into his side before he can fully twist to face me, before I swallow a breath. His knife hand lashes out, his wrist caught in my fist as I stab him again, jamming up with my dagger, blood washing my hands, warming my fingers, my face close enough to his for a kiss. He coughs, splattering me with blood. I jab again, pushing him off me to the wall.

Another Biter struggles with Donnis, the shepherd bloodied, nose smashed into his face. They hold hands, a knife sparkling between them as they dance, slamming against the wall, against a cupboard. The Biter growls and rams his forehead into Donnis’s face, drawing a howl. Donnis lets go, sinking beneath his attacker as I reach from behind, wrench back the Biter’s head by his hair and slash his throat. Ruby blood flies and gouts, pulsing from the man’s neck as I yank him backwards off his feet.

Gulping a breath, I spin for another attack, but it’s over. Tannis kneels by Keyon, pressing on the wound as the young man whimpers, his eyes closed. Donnis clutches his own head, sitting against the wall, blubbering with pain.

“I need something to wrap this,” Tannis shouts.

The shepherd points to a chest where I find a clean blouse, tear it with my teeth and shred it into bandages. We bind Keyon’s wound, blood blooming on the white cloth with each new layer. I hear a horse outside, load my crossbow and sidle to the door. Chantri dismounts, biting her lip at my bloody visage. Lucky lopes up from the scrub with a string of nervous, bleating sheep, his bow over his shoulder. Behind him, Konnard holds a Biter on a leash, the raider’s hands bound at his back.

“What happened here?” Chantri asks, limping toward me.

“Keyon’s down. A knife to the stomach,” I reply, jerking my head toward the home’s interior. “We need to carry him back. Tannis wrapped him, but…I don’t know.” Chantri pushes past me into the house. “There’s a dead man in the sheepcote,” I yell to Lucky as he jogs in that direction, eager to be rid of his muddy charges. “The fence is down. And check for fire,” I add.

“Will do,” Lucky shouts back.

That leaves me, Konnard, and the Biter. I’m shaking, the toll on my body catching up with me. “They may need your help inside,” I tell Konnard. “Donnis is beat up, and I doubt Keyon can ride. I’ll watch the…prisoner.” With a nod, he hands me the end of the leash and disappears inside.

The Biter is a lean man, maybe ten years older than I, his exposed skin chapped and dirty, auburn hair a slick tangle, beard thin and ragged. He smiles at me, or sneers, hard to tell, his brown teeth filed into points. I smell him, the rank odor of his body, his fur cloak reeking of spoiled meat. My bolt thunks into his forehead and his eyes roll up so all I see is the whites, as if he’s praying. He drops to his knees and slumps to his side. I wince. “Oops.”

**

Two days later, we bury Keyon outside the wall, Priest and Chantri warming the rocky soil so we can dig. A stone cairn, encrusted with lichen, marks the spot, one of many. I wonder who lies buried beneath the other piles, if anyone remembers the lost faces and names. How long until Keyon’s forgotten as if he never existed. Another stack of rock along our bone wall.

Everyone who manned the wall that day must face the Council and respond to questions—a result of the deaths, Keyon’s and the Biters’. I am, without an inkling of a doubt, the focus of this inquiry, the guilty party responsible for every Biter’s sudden departure to the dirt.

The Council meets in the cluster of buildings beneath the second domed alcove, in a clay chamber large enough to accommodate a small crowd. Angel explained to me when we arrived that the Colony possesses no written laws, but the rules are common knowledge: no murder, no rape, no theft, no abuse, and contribute to the common good. I think I’ve done an exceptional job of staying within the guidelines, all facts considered.

Well lit beyond the filaments’ dim glow, the room offers few seats for attendees. I drop to one of several sturdy benches placed in a gentle arc before four impressively large, but equally plain wooden chairs. Angel stands at the side wall, looking worried and beautiful, and even happy despite the circumstances. I wonder if she’ll get pregnant with the recurrent fornicating she’s engaged in.

Chantri and Tannis limp in, she in a gathered skirt and he on a crutch. “Quite a pair,” I say as she sits beside me, Tannis sinking to the bench at her left with the groan of an invalid.

“Lucky and Konnard are on their way,” she replies. “Donnis should be here too.”

“How often does this happen?” I ask, waving my hand at the room.

“Not often,” she replies, giving me a smirk.

“What kind of penalties?”

“Depends on the crime.” Hardly ladylike, she leans forward, elbows on her spread knees. “Amends, flogging, banishment, occasionally death. You abuse a child here and you’re done for.”

“How do they decide?” I study the four empty chairs.

“It’s all subjective, Rimma. Sometimes other factors influence the outcome. Except for the abuse of a child. Might as well slit your own throat for that.”

His face a mess of purple bruises, nose an odd combination of flattened and swollen, Donnis enters the room with his wife, followed by Lucky and Konnard. They take the bench beside me and give me a nod that conveys their steadfast support no matter the outcome.

“None of us will lie,” Chantri whispers to me. “This is our home.”

The implication that it’s somehow not mine startles me. “I don’t expect you to lie for an outsider.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she quietly snaps and sits up straight as the Council enters, Priest among them. The other three I hardly know well. Bald and toothless, Cash carries the distinction of being the oldest man at the Colony, hovering around sixty, not terribly old for Heaven but ancient for the broken world. Almost as dark as Priest, Jeph is blind, but a reader of emotional energy, the one I most avoid in my daily life, and at this moment, a man I’d rather not face. Simone I know a little better, a conversation once, a smile and nod in passing. A rare blond among the people, she’s Chantri’s mother, come from the Fortress to save her daughter’s life.

The three men sit, Priest giving my sister a reassuring smile. Simone remains standing and addresses the assembly, “We are here foremost to learn the truth about the events that led to Keyon’s death and the deaths of four of the People during a recent raid, weigh our responsibility, and act accordingly. In a world so full of suffering, it is the duty of each of us to make a covenant of peace within us, with the stones of the mountains and the wild animals, with all those scattered on the hills like sheep without a shepherd.”

Simone’s eyes meet mine. “Do you understand, Rimma, that we wish peace within our borders? That a dry crust of bread with peace is better than a house full of feasting with strife?” She holds up a hand as I open my mouth. “Do you comprehend that righteousness is nothing more than cruelty when divorced from love?”