The Bronze Blade

  “No! Let me go!”

  Kuluun grabbing her hair, yanking it as he captured her, dragging her into the darkness.

  The water swirled around the long braid. A stick caught in it as she stared.

  A new leaf.

  Saraal could see quicksilver fish dart to the surface, cautiously testing the black threads that hung in the water like some alien weed, then darting back into the shadows.

  How long had she looked into the dark water? She stared at her reflection, the glittering sweep of stars behind her head. The black night beyond.

  Nothing.

  Saraal let herself absorb the dark sky as she felt her body dissolve, until the stars shone through her and not around. Her hair—that loathsome rope that had bound her to her captor—drifted in front of the vision, marring her view of the sky.

  She sat back on her heels, searching the camp.

  Kuluun was drinking from a human at the edge of the fire, four of his sons surrounding him. They hoped for his cast-offs. Usually, Kuluun would let them feed after him. If there was any blood left.

  Odval was in the corner, fucking a human woman who no longer cried. He’d kept her for almost a week. The woman’s eyes were dead. He would drain her blood soon. Saraal felt relief on her behalf. Odval had no gentleness in him.

  Various other Sida strolled around the camp. Some drinking. Some fighting. Others polishing weapons or saddles, since most of them still rode the ponies they stole from the humans. They weren’t strong enough to fly.

  Saraal’s eyes finally fell on Suk. He was leaning against a rock, sharpening his bronze sword on a black rock they’d found in a human’s bag. It was smooth, and when you wetted it, was excellent for sharpening blades.

  She walked toward him, feeling bold.

  “Saraal.” He eyed her. Suk was not as dumb as Kuluun; he wasn’t as powerful, either. But if there were any kind of challenge to the leadership of the tribe, it would be Suk and his keen eyes. He saw far more than his brothers.

  “What do you want, Saraal?”

  She was silent, eyeing his sword.

  “Did your invisible friend leave?” He looked amused. “You’re not talking right now?”

  She held out her hand toward the blade.

  “No.” He looked around and tossed a sharp-sided stone toward her. “Use this.”

  She ignored the rock that hit her chest and kept her hand out, eyes on the bronze.

  “No, Saraal.”

  She sat down across from him, saying nothing.

  Suk continued sharpening the blade on the wet rock, dipping it into a jar of water when it dried. He studiously ignored her.

  Scrape. Turn. Scrape. Turn.

  The metal caught the edges of the cooking fire the humans tended.

  Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

  Suk sat back and sighed. “You really want my sword, don’t you?”

  She said nothing but thrust her hand toward the blade again.

  “For what? You’re not going to try to kill yourself again, are you? You know it doesn’t work.”

  Saraal narrowed her eyes, still not speaking.

  Finally, Suk shrugged and held out the sword.

  “Fine. But don’t mar your face. You’re in my tent tonight, and I don’t want to find extra blood for you because you’re healing.”

  Saraal didn’t even stand up. She sat across from Suk, eyes on the ground, holding the blade in her hands. Then she reached back, grabbed onto her braid, and cut.

  The sharpening stone worked. The sword sliced through her think shank of hair with ease. Saraal immediately let out a sigh of relief, then she brought the blade back to her head and cut again.

  Over and over, she grabbed fistfuls of her thick black hair, cutting it as close to the scalp as she could.

  She left nothing to grab.

  As she lifted the piece behind her ear, she felt it—just for a second—her son’s tiny fingers twisting in the black strands as he nursed from her breast. Then the bronze blade sliced through the last of the girl’s hair, and he was gone.

  When the warm seasons passed, the flying girl did not leave Saraal. And despite her misgivings, she began to trust her appearance. It was never predictable. Aday would alight on the top of a tent as Saraal passed by on her way to whatever stream, creek, or lake they were camped near. She could keep Saraal company on long nights when the others ignored her. She didn’t question it when they began having conversations, though Saraal was always cautious what she said.

  No matter how Aday coaxed her to rebellion, Saraal was resolute. This was the fate she had been granted. She would exist for as long as she existed. And perhaps, if death finally found her, her ancestors would be pleased. Or if not pleased, they would at least grant her rest.

  Rest was all she longed for.

  Some nights, Saraal thought she could lay for a thousand years, staring at the sky and listening to the wind. The night was her blanket. The stars, her family. They wrapped her in their precious silent glow, even when the camp erupted in violence around her.

  “Psst!” Aday hissed in her ear. “Go! Run now!”

  Saraal blinked and let her eyes come back into focus. She was laying on the edge of the camp, hidden behind some rocks as the other Sida feasted on the humans from a village they had ravaged. They were becoming more and more violent as their numbers grew. Fewer captives were allowed to live. Whole villages were being wiped out. For some reason, Saraal knew this was wrong. Some instinct from her human life told her so, but she pushed back the feeling and turned her eyes back into the night. She didn’t care about the humans. Why should their lives be any easier than hers?

  “Saraal! You stupid girl! Where are you?”

  She heard Odval’s voice drift on the wind. He was quiet, trying to remain quiet, anyway. She didn’t respond, but she didn’t move, either. Aday stayed with her, crouched on the top of the rocky outcropping, watching Odval approach with narrow eyes.

  “There you are.”

  He said nothing else, pulling her by the ankle until she was away from the rocks. Then he shoved up her tunic and began to untie his trousers. “The human women die too fast.”

  Aday sneered. “And you care if they’re dead?”

  Saraal only turned her face to the side and stared at the stars. At least she could still see them; Odval hadn’t pulled her into the tents. She no longer allowed herself to wince when they raped her. She felt the pain each time, because her body renewed itself with every sleep. Her skin would bruise and mottle, but in minutes, the marks would be gone. Her flesh would tear if they were too rough—as Odval usually was—but by the next night, her body bore no trace.

  She lay still and stared into blackness while he fucked her.

  Aday appeared, hovering over Odval’s shoulder, as if she was perched on his back. Then she rolled off and lay next to Saraal. Reaching out a tentative hand, the girl squeezed her cold fingers. Then she rolled to her side and met Saraal’s eyes.

  Her fangs ran down, and Saraal realized, for the first time, that Aday’s fangs were beautiful. Curved like tiny twin blades. Delicate. Like a hawk’s claws, they curved back into her mouth.

  Saraal lifted a hand and let one finger run down the girl’s fangs. She felt Aday’s lips move.

  “Kill him, Saraal.”

  Odval grunted and groaned. He was almost done. Finally.

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes. When he leans down to take your blood. You must strike first; he won’t be expecting it. Strike first and bite him. Drain his blood. It is older than yours. Powerful. Drink and be strong. Then you will kill him.”

  “Sida cannot be killed.”

  “You know they can. You’ve seen Kuluun kill the younger ones. You know how.”

  “I can’t—”

  “You will take this.” Aday’s hand ran down Saraal’s side to the dagger that she had concealed beneath her breasts. It was a bronze blade, like Suk carried, but shorter. She had found it among the bodies while she was scavenging.
She knew she shouldn’t have kept it—Kuluun would be very angry—but Aday has teased and coaxed until Saraal had hidden it away.

  “You will take this, my girl, and you will kill Odval. Slice the back of his neck. Sever his spine, then drink every drop of his blood. When you are finished, you must cut off his head.”

  As Aday spoke, Saraal could see the blood-soaked vision. It tempted her. She could scent the blood in her nose. Feel the rich syrup on her lips.

  Saraal reached for the dagger. Or Aday did. She didn’t know anymore. She felt the girl’s hand close over her own.

  “Good, Saraal,” Odval rasped. “Ungh.”

  They pulled the dagger from its sheath as Odval neared his release. His eyes were closed, lost in his own pleasure.

  “Give me your neck,” he said. “I want to drink.”

  “Don’t let him,” Aday whispered. “Do it now. Reach up and—”

  “Yes!”

  Saraal hadn’t ever moved so fast, not even when she was running from Kuluun. Odval was still spilling inside her when she grabbed his hair and pulled his head forward, plunging her fangs in his neck as her dagger sliced across the back of his neck.

  “Aaaargh!” Odval’s inhuman scream shattered the night. But there were too many screams that night. The village was being systematically massacred around the fire as the Sida roared and laughed and feasted.

  His legs stilled as she took great, gulping mouthfuls of his blood. Only a strangled whine came from his throat. No one would hear them at the edge of the camp.

  “Good,” Aday whispered. “Very good. How does his blood taste?”

  So sweet, she wanted to weep. It was sweeter than human blood, sweeter even than the child she’d killed her first night. Odval’s blood should have tasted like piss and dirt and pony shit, but it didn’t. The Sida’s blood held none of the filth of his personality. It was the most delicious nectar to ever pass her lips.

  “Saraa—gghhll…” Odval choked as the lifeblood poured from his body. Saraal tugged his head to the side and met his mouth in a murderous kiss, biting off his tongue and spitting it out before she sucked the blood that he tried to cough up.

  So much blood.

  It filled her. Fed her. Saraal felt as if she would drift away from the earth as she took it, but Aday lay at her back, curling around her body and crooning her approval as Saraal drained Odval.

  Finally, when he lay still, she pushed his body away, shoving her tunic down until she was covered. She ripped the sleeve from his shirt and wiped his bloody seed from her legs, then kicked at his lifeless legs when she stood.

  Saraal took a deep breath and looked up. The stars were brighter now. The sounds from the camp clear and clanging in the cold air. The other Sida were fighting. It would last until dawn as each warrior tried to prove himself the strongest. She let her eyes drift down to Odval, who lay weak and silent at her feet.

  She knelt beside the once mighty giant, licking his cheek where a dribble of blood had escaped. Then she spoke directly to him for the first time, and her voice was low and smooth, resonant in her own ears.

  “What should I do with you, Odval?”

  He said nothing.

  “Perhaps I should bury you like this and dig you out tomorrow night, break your neck again, so you can’t move. Maybe you’ll have more blood to give me then.”

  A high whine.

  “No?” She lay her cold cheek against his and spoke in his ear. “I should do that, Odval. Perhaps it is your fate.”

  Aday lay in the grass next to Odval, her hands folded casually behind her head. “I think you should find a human even bigger than him to rape him every night. I think he would like that.”

  “No…” Saraal whispered, her mind suddenly clear. Aday was right.

  She could kill them all.

  “I don’t want to drag him with me. He’s so big and ugly.” She sat cross legged in the grass and cocked her head at Odval, who watched her with silent, panicked eyes. “What will happen when I cut off his head?”

  Aday sat across from her and shrugged. “I don’t know. He’ll die. You’ve seen how Kuluun does it. Just leave his body somewhere the others won’t find it. Won’t it burn up in the sun?”

  “Of course.”

  Saraal rolled Odval to his stomach and began cutting the hair at his neck and tearing his clothes to expose his skin. “Do you remember?” she asked the silent monster. “Do you remember how you liked to take me this way when you kept me in the ground? I wouldn’t even be awake from my day rest when you’d dig me out, Odval. Then you’d shove my face in the dirt and fuck me like this, so I woke with dirt in my mouth and dirt in my cunt.” She leaned forward, shoving his face in the rocks and dust. “Have some dirt before you die, Odval. You do not deserve a warrior’s death.”

  His skin was pale and bloodless from her feast. It didn’t even bleed when she began to cut. His body spasmed for a few moments, then he was still as she finished, hacking at his head until it rolled from his body. Saraal sat back and smiled.

  Aday sat next to her and held her hand.

  “You need a better sword. How do you feel?”

  Saraal felt her body float slightly off the ground. Her smile grew wider.

  “Strong,” she said. “I feel strong.”

  Chapter Four: The Fire

  No one ever asked about Odval.

  After his death, Kuluun eyed her with suspicion, but Saraal knew he didn’t mind that one of his brothers—who were really his rivals—had disappeared.

  Suk, however, wasn’t pleased. He treated her more harshly than he had before, and he never allowed her to spend the day in his tent.

  The brothers had moved north again, following the warm weather to more heavily populated areas along the hunting routes. They moved at night, and their ferocity did not cease.

  Villages were emptied, then burned. It was a waste, she thought, to destroy the hard work of the humans. Stupid. But then, Kuluun was never all that bright, and now he had a cheering group of sons who all praised him, no matter what he did. Odval’s children had given their loyalty to Kuluun, as well. And Suk had never sired as many children as the others. More and more frequently, Saraal would see him keeping his own company with his dozen or so sons and the humans they had collected.

  Saraal also kept to herself, with Aday’s more silent presence keeping watch. She tended her own meager belongings. She serviced whichever brother shoved her into a tent. She didn’t speak to anyone except Aday anymore.

  She had also started drinking human blood.

  “You can make them forget,” Aday whispered to her one night, months ago.

  “What?”

  “Do you remember the human you killed? So long ago, before Kuluun put you in the earth. Do you remember?”

  How did Aday know about that? Saraal had never told her. She avoided the memory, instinctively shying away from something that had felt so good, then gone so wrong.

  “I don’t—”

  “You can force your will on them. The humans.” Aday slid closer as they sat beside the cooking fire. “You’ve seen Kuluun do it. Suk does it all the time. You have only to touch them, and you can control them, my girl.”

  She remembered. She remembered the human falling silent. She’d thought it, then he had done it. She’d felt the trickle of energy leave her and go into him. The same pricking heat that ran over her skin now when the wind stroked her.

  It had woken after Odval, like a long-forgotten friend. After she’d taken his blood, the wind came to her more. It wrapped around her and held her. She had only to stand in its bracing power to feel her body strengthen. At one point, she’d even experimented with hovering off the ground. But as time passed, her new friend grew quieter. She could no longer hover.

  Saraal was not surprised by this. She had become accustomed to disappointment.

  “You must drink from the humans to be strong. Then the wind will be at your command, as it is for Kuluun.”

  “How do you know?” S
araal asked.

  “I know.” Aday’s grey eyes were lit with mischief. “And you do, too.”

  She did.

  Saraal tilted her head and listened to the camp. It was a relatively quiet night. A few women were busy around the cooking fire, and the others were entertaining the Sida.

  “That one,” Aday whispered, nudging Saraal’s side. “Drink from that one.”

  ‘That one’ was a fat old human Kuluun had decided to spoil. She must have been someone important in her village because she had immediately began ordering the other women around once she’d been captured. Kuluun doted on her as if she was one of the wild dog puppies that followed their wandering tribe. She slapped and intimidated the other women into doing what she wanted. She ignored Saraal.

  “I don’t think she would taste very good,” Saraal said with a shrug. “She has to taste dirty since she fucks Kuluun and seems to like it.”

  Aday rolled on the ground with laughter, but still managed to say, “Just look at her, though. So fat. He gives her the best meat. She has plenty of blood to spare.”

  The woman walked past her, carrying a bowl of stew. No doubt she was heading toward Kuluun. Though Saraal and the other Sida didn’t need food to survive—she’d learned that when she was in the earth and given nothing more than pony blood—they did eat some. An empty stomach triggered the same pains in a Sida belly as a human one. Luckily, a small meal lasted long in their stomach; Saraal relieved herself only rarely.

  But she enjoyed food, and she wanted some of the stew. More, she wanted some of Kuluun’s woman’s blood. Aday was right; it would be rich. The woman was plump with life, like the berries she remembered once grew along the riverbanks near her village. In the summer, they swelled fat and red like the woman’s cheeks.

  Saraal caught the woman’s eyes and held out a hand. Sneering, the woman came closer.

  “What do you want, Saraal?” The human knew not to ignore her completely, as Saraal suspected everyone knew what had really happened to Odval.

  She held out a hand, and the human huffed out a sigh. “This is for Kuluun. Tell one of the others to get a bowl for you.” Then she curled her lip. “I’ll allow it, even though it is my own meal.”