People of the Fire(130)

She felt the one on top of her stiffen, groaning, his organ pulsing inside. She swallowed hard, enjoying the taste of the blood in her mouth, taking strength from her life.

He lay limp on her while they chattered among themselves in their guttural tongue.

How long would this continue? Hadn't they exhausted themselves? She kept her eyes pressed closed, bloody lip pinched in her teeth. She felt him rise, cool air drifting over her sweat-dampened chest and belly.

Was he the last? Was he the—

Another body dropped on hers, almost driving the air from her lungs with its weight. They'd ceased holding her legs and arms long ago, figuring her resistance had broken. She bit her lip as he thrust.

She'd lost count, but there hadn't been that many, only seven in the party that had captured her. Only seven, but they'd been young, eager, with that keen look in their eyes. This way they could hurt back, do to her what they couldn't do to the Red Hand.

She bit her lip again as he hurt her, stifling the scream, feeding herself on the taste of her blood, battling the pain they caused by drowning it in pain she controlled.

I'll live. I swear, I'll live and repay them all. She swallowed again, subsisting on the strength she drew from herself.

Finally, he lay spent on top of her. He didn't rise. She waited, suffering to breathe under his weight. Through slitted eyes, she saw they had seated themselves, talking in a desultory way. A fatigue had crept into their faces, dulling the eyes, sagging muscular shoulders. Each clutched his weapons, the camp dark lest a fire bring the Red Hand down upon them.

She lay quiet, unable to move, feeling the warrior on her relaxing, drifting off to sleep. Did he lie like this on his woman at home? Was that his weakness? She opened her eyes in the darkness, carefully searching for anything to use.

Someone called. She clamped her eyes shut again, hearing feet in the grass, feeling the man on top of her start as he was nudged by his leader.

The man raised himself, and the toe nudged her. She looked up, seeing him gesture, pointing toward a blanket.

The chill of the evening iced the man-sweat on her skin. She fought the groan as she sat up, knowing how she'd hurt the next morning.

The leader spoke in gravel tones, gesturing toward his bedding. She waited.

In response, he kicked her hard and she couldn't stop the pain cry. Numbly, she crawled to his blanket and pulled herself into a ball, hugging her knees to her wounded breasts, aware of the burning inside. Her captor stood tall, well muscled and poised, the braids of his black hair hanging down | over his shoulders.

From a pack he took a thong, gesturing that she extend her legs. She did, and waited.

Satisfied, he laid his darts to the side and bent down to tie her.

In that moment, she moved, powered by the strength she'd garnered from her blood. She snatched his darts, kicking out, whirling, using all of her anger to drive the sharp point into his flesh and up.

He shrieked, backing away, grabbing futilely at the feathered shaft that stuck out from his lower ribs.

She stood, nocking a dart in his atlatl, knowing the balance would be different. She held a man's weapon, awkward for a woman's muscles. Nevertheless, she drove a dart into the next man on his feet and, turning, bolted for the trees and the safe haven of the darkness.

They shouted in the night behind her. She gripped the darts, pounding through the trees, head down as the branches tore at her, lashing her bare skin. She used the branches as scourges to keep her fear charged, to spur her flight into the night.

Her feet ached from the bruising of rocks. She stubbed unprotected toes on sticks, stone, and deadfall. Still she ran, lungs heaving, body burning. Nothing remained now but pain and escape.

The first blind panic drained as she staggered on. They couldn't track her until morning. She slowed, taking note of her surroundings, trotting into a clearing to study the pattern of the Starweb. Finding her bearings, she pushed onward* climbing a ridge to stare across the jumbled landscape. She picked out Cloud Peak, realizing where she was. Not that far from Blood Bear's camp—if he still remained there during the raids. White Calf's would be closer. She turned, locating the valley of the Clear River and changing her direction, staying to the rocks and pine duff where it lay thick under the trees. Her bare feet wouldn't make a track—so long as they didn't bleed too much.

In her hands, two darts remained.

"You know, if we can't stop the Short Buffalo People, you're not safe either." Ramshorn met their gazes one by one with his own. "I've heard the stories. You're all fleeing from this Spirit Man, this Heavy Beaver and his new way. Just because your relatives are among his warriors doesn't mean they won't skewer you. I may not be much of a judge on why humans act like they do, but I'd bet they'd love the chance to kill people who had the nerve to leave."