Esmeree closes her eyes as she enjoys the fresh air blowing through her hair. The breeze carries the rich scent of fresh grass and lavender and sounds of distant bells. It is good to get out of Ceilbyrig. The filthy place stunk worse than the Heap, and its occupants were almost as desperate. Being the largest Seven Kingdoms settlement in the Ymyl Gwland Territories, it proved to be a great disappointment to her. The unpaved streets were barren, the gaslights dark, and the food nothing short of repulsive.

Hiisi rides ahead of her, leading the caballos packhorse he bought in town. The animal carries some of their supplies plus the shackles and charms they will use for restraining sorcerers. She regards the large Brack’s back with growing affection. The man really seems willing to come through for her. That debacle on the God’s Traveler, for example. After she won the card game, things might have turned very ugly for her if Hiisi hadn’t been there. The cing cracked a few skulls, and by nightfall, the losers were huddled in the steamer’s hold, hunting koboldes by lamplight, while Esmeree enjoyed the Captain’s fine bed in comfort and solitude.

The hills of the Bracklands are gentle and rolling, the gullies between filled with cool mist and clear running streams. At their tops, when Esmeree stands in her stirrups, she feels like she can see forever. But there is nothing really to see. Nothing but mile after mile of emerald grass on rolling hills. In terrain like this, maintaining roads and trails is nearly impossible. Instead, the crests of some hills are marked with small traveler’s altars. Hanging from a tall pole, a bell swings gently in the breeze, it’s clapper ringing mournfully. About a mile distant, she can just make out the next altar. She can just barely hear its bell carried in the wind.

They are 2 day’s travel out of Ceilbyrig when they pass through the gates. Climbing the rise of a hill, Esmeree is surprised to find two monoliths rising from its top like giant antlers. Hiisi has stopped his epos and stares reverentially at them. Drawing his gully knife, he cuts off one of his braids and tosses it between them with a Brackish oath. Then he passes through.

Esmeree stops her pony at the mouth of the monoliths. They appear to be made of tiny bones, pressed tightly together. Shards of bone litter the ground everywhere. "Hey! Hiisi! What in the Hells are these?"

"They’re the gates," he calls back, not bothering to turn around, "The equoranda."

She looks back the way they came. This hill isn’t especially tall. There is nothing obscuring her view. "Why didn’t we see them until now?"

"Kinda sneak up on yä, don’t they, yäh?" He hasn’t stopped and is slowly disappearing behind the slope of the hill. "Interestin’ how, na matter where yä goes, yä always pass through them."

Esmeree stands in her stirrups in effort to keep Hiisi in sight. "What are they the gates to?"

Hiisi passes out of sight, but his voice still reaches her. "They be the entrance intä the rraakk lands. They know we’re here now."

 

***

 

At night, the wind carries noises stranger than the ringing of bells. Having passed through the gateway, things seem different, darker, less friendly. Despite the warmth of the night air, Esmeree huddles closer to Hiisi’s fire. He grins at her as he chews a piece of jerked mutton. "T’ain’t like na city of yers, yäh inigena?"

She shakes her head.

"Yä ever been out in the wilds? Yä ever stepped outside that prissy man-city of yers?"

She shakes her head again. He chuckles to himself and sighs. Something alien cries into the night sky.

He watches her from across the fire for a long time before finally leaning closer. "The nights here are strange, I know," he says somewhat sympathetically. "It’s best if yä just don’t worry yerself about it. T’ain’t much out there that’s any different from any other night."

Esmeree shudders, "Why doesn’t that reassure me?"

"Perhaps because yer a wise adgarios, yäh?" He smiles. Thanks to her ember, his teeth and general hygiene have improved greatly since he began travelling with Esmeree. He’s a much more handsome man than she originally estimated.

Her face sours, and he waves his hands apologetically as he laughs. "OK! OK! I’m only jestin’." He sighs, "We can share Fée Tales, uh?"

She frowns, her hands wringing her blanket nervously. "You mean like ‘Be a good Medianist, else the Fée will take you away and cook you in their ovens?’ Those are just stories parents told their disobedient children in order to frighten them."

His eyes glitter in the firelight. "They take on a whole new meanin’ out here, uh?"

She looks away. "I’ll pass, bratos."

Laughing, he gestures to her and pats the ground next to him. "Come here, come here. I promise, na Fée Tales."

Scowling, she wraps her blanket around her and circles the fire. When she sits, he says, "Now close yer eyes and listen."

She closes her eyes and listens as he speaks. With each sound, each rustle, each cry, he identifies its likely origin. Soon, she’s begun playing on her own, Hiisi correcting her only occasionally. There is a pride of capalus passing by on a nocturnal hunt, attracted by their horses but carefully avoiding their smoke and fire. To their left, hares rustle nervously in the grass, sensing the presence of the cats and the humans. Overhead flies a stray isean fowl. Deep down, she knows this is just a child’s game, but she has to admit, it makes her feel a lot better, though she’s not sure whether it’s the game or simply Hiisi’s close presence.

She’s fallen silent for a long time, listening to the sounds of the night and the fire and enjoying the warmth and musky odor of Hiisi’s body. When she realizes that Hiisi has been quiet too, she opens her eyes. He is watching her closely. His eyes are disconcerting and intense.

Her hand rises to her face self-consciously. "What is it?"

He raises his hand, and his thumb brushes against the small crescent scar on her cheek. "Yer nose, yer cheek. When did this happen tä yä?"

She looks away, her hand covering her old scars. "I got beat once when I was a little girl. A bunch of Crimson Rraakks jumped me in a bar in the Homestead Neighborhoods."

"Yer fortunate, inigena, tä come away from the Black Embers sä mirain. Few inigena are sä lucky, uh? Most oainjyr are used up and worn down by yer age."

"My ember protects me."

"Yäh."

He continues to look at her, and when she finally meets his eyes, she smiles. Without prelude, he leans forward and kisses her. Not in the Medianist way–not on the lips–but a hard, tight-lipped suck at her neck. At first, she freezes in surprise as his lips and beard send shivers through her body. When she recovers, she manages to push him away. "No, Hiisi," she says, looking at the ground, "I’ll not be forced to be anyone’s sellâria any more."

His stare never wavers. "Methinks, yer confused, inigena. I never have, nor shall I ever lay with a bna fer pay. If yä lays with me, Esmeree, yä do sä because you want tä, uh? I’ll not pay yä as a fuckin’ oainjyr or a sellâria or whatever else yä fuckin’ call yerself."

He straightens and turns back to the fire. "There is a long journey ahead of us, Esmeree, and I am the man guidin’ yä, protectin’ yä. Would be a terrible thing tä wake one mornin’ and find yerself alone in these hills, yäh? The choice is yers."

She watches him as he sits by the fire. What is he trying to tell her? He’s saying she doesn’t have to lay with him, and he’s saying she does. He is a proud man, and though he tries not to show it, she knows her rejection has embarrassed him. "I’m sorry, Hiisi."

He blinks and smiles, "Yäh, yä should be. You missin’ out, uh?"

She is confused. Why did she reject him? Perhaps she was just caught off-guard, or it may be as simple as because he made the first overture. That kind of control she likes to reserve for herself. Rising, she places a kiss on his cheek. "You’re a good man, Hiisi."

"Yä think sä?" He grunts and shakes his head. "Methinks yä don’t know me very well, inigena."

She sits back in her place by the fire, and before she realizes it, Hiisi is next to her, his mouth pressed against hers. His grip on her arms is irresistible as his tongue presses into her mouth. As he falls on top of her, Esmeree considers trying to struggle, trying to push him away, but she fears how he would react. Would he beat her? Kill her? Would he really leave her out here alone? Besides, she thinks as he fumbles with her clothes, wasn’t this what she wanted just a couple seconds ago? Didn’t she just kiss him?

As she begins removing her own clothes, he pulls away to watch. He smiles. "Yäh, that’s a good oainjyr."

 

Esmeree lays cradled against the massive form of Hiisi’s body. As the night progressed and the fire died, their cries replaced those of the animals in the darkness. Now, all is silent except for the wind and the bells. Occasionally, their three horses whicker to each other comfortingly.

Hiisi’s big hands cup her breasts, and she wishes she enjoyed the feel of his hands on her body as much as he seems to enjoy placing them there. Perhaps, in time, she will.

Suddenly, a realization strikes her. She rolls over to look at him with surprise. "You kissed me!"

"What?" he murmurs sleepily. The fire is a mere ember now, but she can still make-out his confused, sleepy expression.

"You kissed me," she whispers. "Bracks don’t kiss."

He grunts. "Yer a Palpi inigena, with Palpi airs. I figured I should court yä in the Palpi way."

He touches noses with her in a very traditional Brackish manner. "Besides, Bracks do kiss. Just not on the lips."

She grimaces. "You’re picking up boduus bad habits."

"Perhaps."

"It doesn’t matter," she laughs, "Kissing isn’t a Palpi tradition anyway. It isn’t even Medianist. It comes from the Synesi."

"What, those boduus boy-fuckers?" he sighs, trying to go back to sleep.

She nods. "You’d be surprised what those boy-fuckers invented. They can bring water right into their homes instead of having to carry it."

"Sure, like yä’ve seen such things!"

Not to be dissuaded, she sits up and points at the sheathed sword hanging from his epos. "That sword of yours! The design came from them. The Bracks even kept the name!"

"What?" he moans, at least temporarily giving up on the idea of sleeping. "Me spatha is Synesi?"

She shakes her head. "Not the sword, just the name and design. They look the same, but the Bracks make them bigger, longer. The Synesi spatha is a little thing for their mosac cavalry." She straightens in response to his skeptical expression, "And they did invent the kiss! Two thousand years ago, everyone rubbed noses and cheeks just like the Bracks."

"Huh," he grunts, unimpressed. "And where has that gotten them? The cualls fuck better than any other man? They fuck better than Hiisi?"

She shrugs, unwilling to bruise his ego again. "The priestesses of Connus created a whole form of love-making just from kissing." Laying back down, she presses herself closer against him, "They can bring a man to ecstasy using nothing but kisses. Hundreds of kisses."

Hiisi thinks about this for a long time. She can feel his growing interest in her hand. Like a good Brack, he is ready to go at a moment’s notice. At last, he grunts, "Sounds like buachar tä me."

She laughs, raising herself so their faces are level. "You might be surprised. There are many kinds of kisses, Hiisi."

"Such as?"

She kisses him chastely on the cheek. "This is the bâsium. You’d do this whenever you are meeting a polite lady of distinction. You can also kiss her on the fingers."

"Hmmn…" he rumbles, unimpressed.

"Mothers give their babies osculums," she says, demonstrating by kissing him at the corner of his mouth. She tosses her hair. "It means ‘pretty mouth’ in the Synesi tongue."

"They’d better be getting’ more interestin’, inigena." He sounds stern, but she can tell he is warming to the game.

She moves close and kisses him hard, her tongue caressing his. "A suâvium is a passionate kiss for lovers," she says breathlessly when she finally pulls away. Then she kisses him again for good measure.

"Better," he admits. "These Synesi might know a thing or two after all."

Laughing, her lips gently brush against his. "This is the prælîbâtio. The sellâria of Connus are very good at it."

She brushes her lips down the line of his throat to thick hair of his chest. When she reaches his nipples, she switches to tiny kisses, and these she leaves all the way down to his belly. "To columbor is to kiss or peck like doves."

"Hmmn," he moans appreciatively, "Nice."

She can feel his body responding to her touch. He is a perfect specimen of the Brackish cing. His muscles are huge and solid, his chest built like a barrel. She explores each curve with her hands. He is so different from Drake! The fine Darkblood was hard and chiseled like a Söderkarl, with a narrow waist and defined stomach muscles. A Brack cing would never have such a body. Esmeree wonders which she prefers?

"Then," she whispers, "there is the morsiuncula."

His eyes open slightly, "What is that?"

Smiling, she answers by gently biting the sensitive skin of his belly and the inside of his thigh. His eyes roll into his head as he moans. His fingers coil and grip her hair with excitement. His arousal is turgid, and taking it into her hands, she says, "And lastly, there is the fîgo… or the erotic kiss…"

But before she can apply it, he sits up with alarm. Esmeree rolls away quickly and has to force herself from cowering in fear of any threatened blows. "What is it?" she says in panic, "I’m sorry if–"

"Ssssssh!" He waves her into silence. "Listen!"

Sitting naked by the dying fire, she suddenly feels very frightened and vulnerable. She listens hard, but doesn’t hear anything other than the wind.

Hiisi leaps to his feet and throws on his braca and boots. "What is it?" she pleads, likewise reaching for her clothes.

Hiisi checks his sword and then begins to quickly load his pistols. "The bells," he hisses. "They’ve gone silent!"

With a terrified chill, she realizes he’s right. They were so busy together, she has no idea how long the bells have been silent in this wind.

"What does that mean?" she asks as she struggles with her clothes. "What’s happened to them? How could that happen?"

He doesn’t answer. Tucking first one flintlock into his belt and then the second, he kicks dirt over the glowing embers, crushing them under his boots. She is still half-dressed and struggling with her shirt when he jerks the garment away from her. "Forget about that!" He points to her horse. "Get yer marka over here!"

He gives the leads of both his epos and the caballos packhorse to Esmeree, and she huddles beneath the large animals, hoping their size and strength will lend her some courage. Her proximity to the caballos is disconcerting, as she feels the anti-magic charms it carries sucking at her ember’s power. Hiisi stands nearby, holding his spatha in one hand and a pistol in the other. He lifts his head and seems to sniff the wind.

She notes it too. A tang in the air, like rotting meat. "They’re comin’," he sighs.

"What are?"

He looks back at her. "Rraakks."

A pit opens in her stomach. "What’s going to happen?"

He shakes his head. "Whatever happens, don’t run. Whatever happens tä me, don’t run! Try tä hold the horses, but if one gets away from yä, let it go. Don’t chase after it. Don’t ever fer a second think that yä’ll be safer by runnin’ away…"

There’s a new noise now, similar to the sound of rock grinding against rock. Slowly, the rasp echoes from hilltop to hilltop, all around their camp.

Despite her proximity to the charms, her ember tingles. She wishes she could curl up in a ball and hide in the Lady’s gowns like she used to as a little girl.

Suddenly, she remembers something. Whenever she cast her magic detection spell on Andelliza, she would come up with nothing–not just that Andelliza had no ember–but nothing at all. Somehow, Andelliza blocked her magic, creating some kind of shield or barrier around her. The Lady used a similar spell to allow her to walk the streets without interference.

Quickly, Esmeree drops the horses’ leads and steps away. Her power begins to return. She begins rubbing her ember as encouragement.

"Yä stupid oainjyr!" Hiisi barks, "What’re yä doing? Get back there!"

The magic builds. "Hiisi!" she whispers.

"Shut up, yä cuall!"

"How is it that they’re finding us?"

"What?"

"How are they finding us? Is it smell? Sound? Sight?"

"What makes yä think I know?"

"Think!"

As the noise gets louder, Hiisi looks around him. He faces into the wind. It carries both the smell and sound of the approaching rraakks. "They ain’t smellin’ or hearin’ us. Not in this wind," he decides.

Though the power isn’t fully restored, Esmeree begins to summon, imagining a blanket of magic surrounding them and their camp. "Can it be sight?"

"Na," he says immediately.

"Are you sure?"

"Yäh!"

"With those damn charms, it can’t be my ember! So what is it? I have to know!"

He thinks hard. The noise is loud, the smell overpowering. Looking down the slope of their hill, she imagines she can see several large forms slowly making their way up towards the crest.

"Hiisi!" she whispers urgently.

"Heat," he says at last. "Perhaps it’s heat."

There aren’t many other things left, but heat is as good a guess as any. Feeling her ember’s power with her mind, she unleashes it into the magical blanket surrounding them. Cold, she thinks. Frost instantaneously spreads across the grass, and their breaths billow from their mouths in great white clouds. Shoeless and shirtless, Esmeree immediately begins to shiver. Steam rises from the horses’ flanks and Hiisi’s bare chest and shoulders. She has to concentrate hard to maintain their bubble of anti-heat. Strange winds whip through her hair.

There is a pause, like a deep sigh.

The rasping noise stops abruptly, only to be replaced by the distant chimes of the shrines’ bells. She blinks. Though it is hard to see in the darkness, she can no longer make out the rraakks climbing the hill. They’ve just vanished.

 

***

 

The Chroani party doesn’t see them. It was Hiisi’s sharp eyes that spotted the small procession, and after Esmeree determined that there is indeed a sorcerer present, it has taken the two of them nearly a full day to circle around behind them. Hiisi is pleased. He’ll be able to attack from the west out of the setting sun.

Hiisi checks his pistols and glances at Esmeree. "Sä, which one is it?"

Pursing her lips, she looks back at the group. There are two adult men, younger and elder warriors–in all likelihood, father and son–two women–mother and daughter–and a little boy. She summons her spell. The sorcerer is the older of the women, the mother.

Hiisi grunts, tucking his pistols into his belt muzzle-up–to ensure the ammunition and powder doesn’t fall out–and draws his spatha. Without a word, he spurs his epos into a gallop, leaving her quickly behind with the packhorse.

He rides low and fast, and the Chroani never see him coming until it is too late. The young warrior in the rear must have heard the approaching horse at the last moment, because he is turning in his saddle just as Hiisi arrives. The speed of the epos and the power of the spatha’s swing cut the Chroani in two. Esmeree hears distant screams as Hiisi plows through the rest of the riders. Spinning his sword overhead, he brings it down in a glancing blow against the sorceress’s horse. The beast staggers, bucks the woman from its back, and tumbles to the ground. The shock of the collision knocks Hiisi off-balance, and his horse skids to a stop as he struggles to stay in the saddle.

The elder Chroani warrior wheels his horse around and charges. He rams Hiisi’s epos, sending the Brack sprawling to the ground. As the elder struggles to draw his strangely curved sword, Hiisi leaps to his feet and draws a pistol. Running from the Chroani father, he cocks the pistol’s doghead with his thumb and fires. A cloud of red mist and flesh explodes from the side of the daughter’s horse as she tries to flee. Horse and girl crash to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.

The Chroani child makes a brave front as he attempts to run Hiisi over with his horse. Tucking his spent pistol into this belt, the cing easily plucks the boy from his saddle and, with a massive overhand swing, throws him into the arms of his incoming father. The warrior loses his sword in an effort to catch the boy, and both Chroani tumble from the horse.

Hiisi kicks the boy out of the way as the father scrambles in the dirt for his dropped sword. Pulling out his second pistol, Hiisi aims and pulls the trigger. With a hiss of nasty black smoke, it misfires. Coughing and cursing, Hiisi waves at the smoke and hefts his sword. Stepping forward, he impales the man through the back with his spatha, pinning him to the ground like a bug.

When the action began, Esmeree spurred her marka forward. She can’t gallop yet, but she still tries to catch up with Hiisi as quickly as possible. When she arrives, she is horrified by the carnage. The grass and dirt are sticky and wet with blood. The two Chroani warriors lay dead or dying. Both women moan where they fell, and the little boy stands in the open and shrieks hopelessly, blood running from his nose and eye. One horse is dead, and another is seriously injured.

Muttering to himself, Hiisi wrenches his sword free and cleans it on the Chroani’s trouser leg. Then he sheathes it and tends to his malfunctioning pistol.

The older Chroani gasps in the dirt, his spine severed and blood filling his lung. His curved sword lays just inches from his outstretched hand. Dismounting, Esmeree picks it up and inspects the blade. Curved and meant for two hands, the edge is on the inside of the blade like a scythe. It feels awkward in Esmeree’s grip, and the iron looks inferior, so she throws it away without hesitation. Looking down at the dying father, Esmeree says, "I didn’t expect you to do it this way."

Hiisi grunts as he shoves his pistols back into his belt and walks to the caballos, "What’d yä expect? Askin’ permission all polite-like?"

He begins rummaging through the packhorse’s gear. Esmeree sighs, not sure what she expected. The Chroani daughter moans, and as Esmeree approaches the fallen girl, she sees her shoulder is twisted in an unnatural way. "Hiisi!" Esmeree calls back, "This girl is hurt! Looks like her shoulder’s broke."

Hiisi walks over, iron shackles in his hands. "Damn. That’ll make it hard fer her tä travel."

"Well, what’d you expect would happen when you shot her horse out from under her?"

Hiisi pins her with cold eyes. "I expected the boduus bitch tä die."

"What?"

He snorts as though offended. "I was aimin’ at the damn graney oainjyr! Yä think I’d shoot the epos? Both these horses would have been worth at least a couple silver Guilders in Ceilbyrig." He crouches for a closer look and pulls the Chroani girl’s head up by its hair to inspect the face. Then he spits in it with disgust. "This inigena’s hardly be worth the coppers it’ll take tä feed her."

"What?" Esmeree tries not to let her voice betray the anger she’s feeling. "Why not?"

Hiisi lets go of the hair as he stands. He shakes his head as he looks down at the whimpering girl. "Ceilbyrig is full of Chroani sluts like this. Too many of them comin’ in over the past years. Even the poorest Ubandi išha has a stable-full. Inigena bitches." He nods over at the little boy who is now crying over his father, "Same with the mosacs."

He glances at Esmeree and smiles ruefully, "When it comes tä bein’ slugs, the walkin’ dogs’re worse than the Palpi. I hear yä have tä teach ‘em everythin’. Damn boduus whores don’t even know how tä fuck right." He spits on the girl again. "Barbarians."

The girl begins to cry, bleating in that meaningless "bah-bah" sheep-like tongue of theirs. Hiisi grimaces in disgust. "See what I mean?"

When Esmeree doesn’t respond, he shrugs and hefts his shackles. "Where’d our witch land then, uh?"

Esmeree swallows and points to where the other Chroani woman fell. "The mam’a is over there."

Hiisi stalks over to the other woman. Esmeree looks back down at the girl and makes the sign of the Median over her. "Hiisi?" she asks tentatively.

The cing doesn’t respond. The older woman is still senseless from her fall, and he is busy tying a leather thong tightly around her neck. Hanging from it, she sees a small wooden charm. He then begins riffling quickly through the woman’s clothes.

"Hiisi?"

The Brack grins up at her. "Yäh, she’s the one, alright!" He partially wrenches down the woman’s trousers, exposing white skin and a V of public hair, and indicates to Esmeree the tiny stone in her thigh. "T’ain’t as big as yers," he laughs, "by na means, but she’ll do!"

He immediately begins shackling the Chroani by her wrists and ankles. Esmeree is reminded unpleasantly of her houri’s setras.

As Esmeree approaches, Hiisi finishes his work. "Hiisi?" she asks again, "What are we going to do with the other two? The boy and the girl?"

Hiisi glances up from the bound woman and looks from the crying boy to the injured girl. He shrugs, unconcerned. "I shan’t take care of them, inigena. Yä can feed ‘em, yä can clean ‘em, and when we get back tä Ceilbyrig, we’ll sell them fer whatever they’re worth."

Esmeree is suddenly angry. She had hoped he would just let them go. "I’ll feed them? What do you mean, I’ll feed them?"

Hiisi looks at her frankly. "Yer the inigena here. Yer na cing. I don’t see yä chargin’ off with a spatha, riskin’ yer neck tä catch these boduus witches. What, yä think all yä has tä do is point, and old Hiisi fetches?" He laughs. "Yä takes care of the stone-summoners we catch, and if yä wants tä bring along any pets," he gestures to the boy and the girl, "then yä takes care of them too, yäh?"

Esmeree clenches her fists. "I can’t take care of all these people if I’ve got to deal with the witches too!"

Hiisi shrugs as he rises to his feet and dusts off his braca. "Fine. I’ll kill them now then, uh? Yä can watch."

As he draws his spatha, Esmeree shrieks, "NAGE!"

He looks at her with a bemused expression as she backs away, her hands gesturing for him to hold off. "OK! OK! I’ll care of them, Hiisi. I will."

He nods at the packhorse. "Then yä get two more sets of shackles off the caballos, and yä string the mosac and inigena up."

Esmeree is aghast. "Why’s that? They’re no witches!"

Hiisi’s eyes turn mean, and he points down at the woman at his feet. "Yä, yerself, knows how fragile these damn charms are. We can’t afford just one of these pets of yers tä get their hands on one. Imagine what the vitchoor caragus would do tä us if they get loose?" He shakes his head, "Nage. That’ll not happen, see? Because yä’ll make sure each of these pets is properly fettered, yäh?"

Esmeree sighs. "Fine."

He doesn’t seem to like her tone. He points his sword at her breast, "Yä cook the food, yä share me bed, yä take care of the slugs. Yä pull yer weight, inigena, else we’re goin’ tä have problems, uh?"

Esmeree clenches her fists as she walks towards the packhorse. "Yes, Hiisi."

Coept-inigena, indeed.