A Tough and Painful Life

Death In Harmony: Part Fifteen of Twenty-Nine

Death In Harmony is the fifth in the Tales of The Lesser Evil and this is the fifteenth chapter.

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This is a fantasy series—not quite grimdark, but dark nevertheless—with complicated and believable characters doing their best to survive in a world simply indifferent to their existence.

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A Tough and Painful Life

The present: somewhere north of The Pit

The tracks led away from the former road along a fainter trail, into crumbling ruins and thickets of tightly-packed shrubs, perhaps hazel, although Flin was not entirely sure. She was certain they would not be called hazel to the men pursuing her. Wherever she travelled, she found new names for old friends—creatures and plants, all called a thousand different things. They did not seem to care—a sparrow in Youlmouth was the same as a sparrow in Eastsea, Greystilts, or Taura Furnace. It still did its sparrow things, regardless of what those around it called it.

She paused, listening intently, but could hear nothing beyond the birds ending their morning greeting, calling as they searched for food. As she stood, pondering whether to follow the trail or the road, wondering whether the person might help her or more likely wanted no part of her problem, the solution presented itself.

Further down the road she caught a glimpse of movement. An aurochs was approaching, fortunately with the wind blowing from behind, so Flin’s scent had not reached it, then another appeared behind it, this a young calf. One giant cow could usually be scared off, as bad-tempered as they were, but add in a calf and it was not worth the risk, especially not when she had her own additional small life to care for.

Flin stepped off the road, trying to tread in the tracks as precisely as she could, perhaps further confuse those following. With luck, the aurochs would muddy the road too, slow down her pursuers and maybe even charge them if they were not careful. Still five left. Maybe six. Maybe.

As she followed the footprints, Flin could not help but wonder if their maker might be potentially worse than those five or six. What if they shot her on sight, not caring about injuring the baby? What if they took her baby and killed her? Or ate them both? What if, what if? She shook her head, she had long ago learnt that sometimes it was better to jump without studying the distance. Overthinking had nearly cost her life on more than one occasion and, if an idea did not immediately present itself as more fatal than the alternative, it was often wiser to follow that route: often, not always.

She glanced back at the road. The aurochs had seen her, and paused to watch her depart. It gave a loud snort to announce its displeasure at her presence then swung its great, horned head back to the road and continued, effectively ignoring her.

Flin breathed deeply and continued, following the tracks, one foot after the other, always trying to match their placement and stride, pausing every fifteen or twenty steps to check her surroundings, ensure she was not about to blunder into another aurochs, or worse.

The remains of more buildings appeared as she walked, many covered in creepers, others still stark and standing, with surprisingly clean joints, mortar and edges. The forest was less thick here and the buildings more substantial. Large trees were sporadic, but huge, as though they had found exactly the right spot and, without competition, grown vast. Smaller trees and shallower-rooted shrubs were more common, but even these were no longer as tightly packed, Flin wondered if, perhaps, their giant relatives had sucked all the light from the area, or perhaps there was simply too much stone, too many thick foundations and floors.

The wildflower season was nearing its end, but some startling splashes of colour clung to life. Berries were everywhere, whether on bushes, low to the ground, on waist-high reed-like plants, or crowning thorny creepers which covered large areas. She did not recognise all of the species, but had seen some of their fruit eaten in the villages she had passed through since leaving The Pit. Her mouth watered at the sight; once she was safe, once she had escaped pursuit, then she could eat.

Fungi sprouted from fallen logs, on the forest floor and higher on living trees, the acid yellow of the fungus she knew as cock-of-the-woods and the red of the meat-slab bright against their hosts. She loved both of these and remembered collecting them as a child, cooking them with her mother, proud of her contribution to the meal. She paused, knelt, and broke off some black balls from a shed tree limb. She did not know their name, but had seen people use them as an excellent tinder, taking a spark and swiftly glowing hot.

Flin opened her haversack and dropped the fungus into the tinder pouch she had claimed from the fallen man, carefully secured the oilskin cover, and pushed it back into her bag. She picked up her spear, straightened, and saw the woman.

The figure across the glade was tall, all muscle, no fat, and very, very naked. She just stood there, staring back at her.

‘Hello?’ Flin asked, and carefully pulled the cover back from the baby’s head, let the woman see him.

She did not move, nor respond.

Flin tried again, in several different languages, but there was still no answer. She hesitated, then took a step forward, then another. Still the woman stood there, staring. Flin stopped and opened her mouth to try again and two things happened, simultaneously.

The woman smiled, and Flin felt the cold, tickling kiss of a line of steel on her throat, an arm reaching around, blade gently but firmly pushing against her skin, hard enough that she was suddenly aware of the quick pulse in her neck.

‘I think that’s far enough.’ The voice spoke Gateway, a rough voice, tobacco scented and deep, although Flin was fairly sure it belonged to a woman.

‘I mean you no harm,’ she said, and paused to wet her lips and swallow. Her throat moved uncomfortably against the blade, ‘We are being chased by men, men who want to take my baby. Please, can you help us? I can’t keep running.’

The only response was silence. Then the naked woman walked forward, limbs long and lithe, grace, fluidity and menace in every movement. Even with a slight limp, she moved like a feather dancer. Her skin was as dark as Flin’s and decorated with many scars, some appeared deliberate, parallel and precise, others less so. She stopped before Flin, who expected her to take her knives, broken axe, and makeshift spear but, instead, she made no further move.

‘Why are you naked?’ Flin asked, then immediately wondered why, of all the things she should have asked, this was the one she chose.

To her surprise, the woman laughed, loudly and long, displaying gaps in her teeth and a couple of jagged stumps. Whoever she was, she’d lived a tough and painful life.

‘I was washing myself when we heard you blundering through the woods. It seemed wiser to wait to dress,’ she also spoke Gateway, but with a stronger accent. As with so many travellers, Flin knew she was not using her native language.

‘Where are you from?’ The question was out of her mouth through long habit, the woman’s skin, her hair, her bone structure, were all too similar to Flin’s own. Over the years, ever since she had been left alone and lost in the world, she had asked this question of anyone she met with remotely the same colouring as her own. The woman smiled in response.

‘Far away from here, maybe not too far from where you were born.’ She looked her up and down, studied the shape of Flin’s face, her eyes, ‘No, perhaps not too far at all.’

It had been something Rharsle and Flin had discussed on many occasions, why some people had dark skin, others pale, why in some places the average height was much lower than others, why there was a concentration of people with eyes which tilted here, or with chests which barrelled, or shorter limbs, there. Bigger cities held a much larger array of body types and colourings, and most places had variety, even the smallest mountain village. This variation, however, had not stopped Flin from asking. It was all she had.

‘But where is that? I’ve been searching,’ Flin paused and swallowed again, knowing there were unshed tears appearing in her eyes, ‘I’ve been searching, searching for so long. Please.’

The woman remained silent, a strange, unreadable expression on her face. Instead, it was the knife-holder who replied.

‘There will be time to talk later, assuming there is a later and you do not bring violence down upon us. You are being pursued, why? From where? How many? How far?’ All business, no wasted words.

Flin drew a deep breath, all the while extremely conscious of the blade on her neck.

‘I stopped in a village, about six or seven days’ walk south of here, to buy supplies, perform, rest for a time. It was a strange place, something was wrong, different. The men seemed to be in charge, the women scared and subdued. The morning before I was due to leave, they came for me. I ran with what I had on me at the time, leaving my horse, leaving most of my supplies and gear. I even left my fiddle. Usually, a performer is left alone, sacred, we are supposed to have security wherever we go,’ she paused. ‘They told me they wanted my baby.’

‘Why?’ The knife was removed from her skin, but remained in front of her face, hovering above the baby’s head.

‘I do not know.’

‘I think you are lying.’

Flin opened her mouth to protest her innocence, but was stopped by a loud bellowing from the direction she had travelled: the aurochs, warning the men who followed her. They were close, too close.

‘Please help us. They will kill me and take my baby.’

The other women exchanged a long glance. No words were spoken, yet they seemed to reach an agreement nevertheless, the tall naked woman sharply nodding.

‘You will come with me.’ The woman with the knife spoke softly, moving the blade from its position in front of Flin’s face, but still not resheathing it.

The other woman walked back to where Flin had first seen her and bent to pick up a short bow and quiver, which she strapped to her waist, adding a second set of leather straps which held a pair of small axes crossed behind her back, a long knife on one hip, and a short on the other. She nodded, still naked but for her straps, sheathes, and weapons, then disappeared into the brush.

Flin desperately wanted to talk to her about her home, to see what she knew, see if something matched her memories, beg for help and share her story. All of it—the true story, not the version she had so often repeated to her brief lovers and short-term friends. It was rare she ever re-encountered someone she knew, although friends-of-friends appeared as stars in a constellation, points showing a route once travelled, traces of a journey, treading the same roads, the same paths, separated only by time.

‘Will she be alright?’ she asked, and the woman softly chuckled in response.

‘This is what she does. She’ll be fine, trust me. Unless those villagers are highly trained warriors, which I somehow doubt, they shall pay the Poleman.’

To her surprise, Flin nodded—for some reason, she did seem to trust the woman. Maybe it was because these were the first people to freely help her in a very long time, or maybe it was simply the confidence in her voice.

‘My name is Flin, what’s your name?’ she asked.

‘No. We can do names later, when we tell our stories, if we get to that point. Come, this way.’

They walked out of the glade and followed a narrow trail through the crumbling ruins and stunted trees. Here and there, patches of freshly turned earth made Flin wonder if wild boar had been searching for food, but then she realised these were holes with neat edges, obvious cuts in the ground.

‘What are you searching for? Is there treasure here?’ She thought of the tiny, gold-clad figurine she carried in her sleeve.

The woman snorted a laugh, without turning back to face her, but she did answer.

‘Some treasure, yes. I suppose. But not what we are looking for. Like I said, names and talk later, after they,’ she waved her hand over her shoulder, ‘have been dealt with. Let’s just say that for a dead city, this city seems to have no dead.’

Behind her back, Flin slowly smiled. She realised she had a powerful bargaining chip; the women were searching for tombs, for grave goods, and had found none, whereas she knew exactly where to go and, tucked in her sleeve, she carried definitive proof of treasure. She kept smiling, but remained silent.

The sound of the still-bellowing aurochs receded. The woman guided them along well-trodden paths, confident in her direction, as they moved quickly and directly away from the road Flin had been following.

A short time later another sound reached them, men shouting in panic, screaming, roaring.

‘That will be my associate. She enjoys scaring the living shit out of people.’

‘Will she scare them away, on her own?’

‘No,’ she said and paused, turning to face Flin. ‘She will scare them, yes. But they will not get away, no. They will die. Do you have a problem with that?’ she asked and, not waiting for the redundant answer, turned and walked on.

Flin shook her head vigorously, then realised the woman could not see her, ‘No, definitely not. No problem. They want my baby. One has already died, falling from the cliff stairs. Another I think was caught in a trap.’

‘At the eastern gate to the city? Or the north?’

‘The east. I didn’t see it, but I heard the screams.’

‘Then he is dead too. Those spikes were poisoned. We do not want anyone coming here, this is ours, for now.’

Flin felt a shiver of fear course down her spine, what if she was wrong? What if the pair of women simply killed her too? The woman continued, as though she had overheard Flin’s thoughts.

‘You are different. You are still a problem and one we will talk about later, as I said, but you are different.’ Then she added, ‘I’m getting too old for this.’

Flin frowned at the woman’s back. She could not help but notice that she had not explicitly ruled out killing her and something else occurred to her; the woman was obviously confident in her own martial skills, or she would have disarmed and walked behind her. At that moment, Flin knew both women were accomplished killers. Despite the increasing heat of the day, she shivered.

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