watering. She tugs on my lobe as she twists the wire. “Now sit down and stay put. Hear me?”
“Yes.” I sink to the dirt beside Rimma.
“Don’t be wandering off. Until this is all sorted out, it ain’t safe for a couple doves. Others been fed already, so Rune will bring a bit of food; see you eat before you skinny down to sticks.” She waves Rune off to run her errand. Glory waits patiently, hands at his side, smiling amiably at the frightened faces that happen to glance his way.
“Why do you call us doves?” I ask, my questions starting to tumble from my mouth.
Her eyes narrowed, Mag looks down at me. “Had a man between your legs?” The shock on my face answers her question. “Didn’t think so. Doves are worth a good trade in the north, good trade, especially ones from the bone walls, pretty faces and not about to drop flat dead with sickness or squeeze out children twisted like screws or dumb as Glory here.” She peers up at the big Biter. “That right, boy?”
“Getho,” Glory says with a smile.
“You’re going to…trade us? To who? What do you mean?”
“Could mean a lot of things,” Mag replies. “Different folk got their own ways all through the land. River Walkers is different than Black Dogs is different from Two Timber and the rest. Depends who wants you bad enough.”
“But I—”
“Dove,” Mag raps me on the knee with her staff, “you got a load of questions I’m in no mind to answer. Glory, over here, boy.” The Biter bends down and loads Mag on his broad back. She grumbles instructions and the two lumber off.
“She owns us and plans to sell us,” Rimma murmurs, rolling to her side and struggling to sit. A red knot swells in the middle of her forehead. “That’s what she means. Whoever buys us can do as they wish; sell us, work us, fuck and breed us, maybe kill us.”
“How do you know?” My hand rises to my mouth, my stomach queasy as I swallow down big gulps of fright.
“I need one of those blankets, Angel.”
My shaking fingers claw at the knots, yanking them apart. I shake out a blanket and drape it around Rimma’s shoulders before untying mine. The wire through my earlobe stings and I reach up to touch the small bead.
Rimma’s chin rests on her knees, her arms wrapping her shins, hair a tangled white fall. Her gray eyes watch me, hard as steel, drilling into me as a cold smile crosses her lips. “Trust me, Angel, it’ll never happen.” She sounds so sure.
An hour passes before the muscled Biter, Greeb, appears with a half loaf of hard bread and a slab of dry meat, no doubt left over from the night’s gorging.
A lanky man with wiry brown hair stands behind him, licking his lips and snickering, eyes darting from Greeb to Rimma. “That the one?”
“Shut your mouth, Sloot.” Greeb tosses the food to Rimma and hands her the flagon of water he wore slung on a strap over his shoulder. He squats in front of her, elbows on his thighs, black hair hiding his face from me. “Could be I’ll buy you,” he whispers to her, leaning in and fingering her hair.
“You can’t afford me, Biter,” Rimma snarls, slapping his hand away.
“Maybe not,” he laughs and swiftly grabs her hair, twisting her to the ground, her face just below his knee. I scramble backwards, searching for help, but everyone pretends not to see. Rimma holds his wrist, her eyes wide as he keeps her pinned below him with one hand and rips her blouse open with the other. “Mag better watch her dove, eh? Wouldn’t want your price to drop.” He thumps her head to the ground once, stretches as he straightens, and then strides away, Sloot giggling on his heels.
“Rimma?” I crawl to where she’s rolled to her side, holding her blouse closed. She makes no sound as she cries, her body tightening and releasing her despair and anger in long breathy sighs. I’m almost afraid to touch her but gently stroke her arm. I know she wants to be strong and fierce, to protect me from this broken
“Yes.” I sink to the dirt beside Rimma.
“Don’t be wandering off. Until this is all sorted out, it ain’t safe for a couple doves. Others been fed already, so Rune will bring a bit of food; see you eat before you skinny down to sticks.” She waves Rune off to run her errand. Glory waits patiently, hands at his side, smiling amiably at the frightened faces that happen to glance his way.
“Why do you call us doves?” I ask, my questions starting to tumble from my mouth.
Her eyes narrowed, Mag looks down at me. “Had a man between your legs?” The shock on my face answers her question. “Didn’t think so. Doves are worth a good trade in the north, good trade, especially ones from the bone walls, pretty faces and not about to drop flat dead with sickness or squeeze out children twisted like screws or dumb as Glory here.” She peers up at the big Biter. “That right, boy?”
“Getho,” Glory says with a smile.
“You’re going to…trade us? To who? What do you mean?”
“Could mean a lot of things,” Mag replies. “Different folk got their own ways all through the land. River Walkers is different than Black Dogs is different from Two Timber and the rest. Depends who wants you bad enough.”
“But I—”
“Dove,” Mag raps me on the knee with her staff, “you got a load of questions I’m in no mind to answer. Glory, over here, boy.” The Biter bends down and loads Mag on his broad back. She grumbles instructions and the two lumber off.
“She owns us and plans to sell us,” Rimma murmurs, rolling to her side and struggling to sit. A red knot swells in the middle of her forehead. “That’s what she means. Whoever buys us can do as they wish; sell us, work us, fuck and breed us, maybe kill us.”
“How do you know?” My hand rises to my mouth, my stomach queasy as I swallow down big gulps of fright.
“I need one of those blankets, Angel.”
My shaking fingers claw at the knots, yanking them apart. I shake out a blanket and drape it around Rimma’s shoulders before untying mine. The wire through my earlobe stings and I reach up to touch the small bead.
Rimma’s chin rests on her knees, her arms wrapping her shins, hair a tangled white fall. Her gray eyes watch me, hard as steel, drilling into me as a cold smile crosses her lips. “Trust me, Angel, it’ll never happen.” She sounds so sure.
An hour passes before the muscled Biter, Greeb, appears with a half loaf of hard bread and a slab of dry meat, no doubt left over from the night’s gorging.
A lanky man with wiry brown hair stands behind him, licking his lips and snickering, eyes darting from Greeb to Rimma. “That the one?”
“Shut your mouth, Sloot.” Greeb tosses the food to Rimma and hands her the flagon of water he wore slung on a strap over his shoulder. He squats in front of her, elbows on his thighs, black hair hiding his face from me. “Could be I’ll buy you,” he whispers to her, leaning in and fingering her hair.
“You can’t afford me, Biter,” Rimma snarls, slapping his hand away.
“Maybe not,” he laughs and swiftly grabs her hair, twisting her to the ground, her face just below his knee. I scramble backwards, searching for help, but everyone pretends not to see. Rimma holds his wrist, her eyes wide as he keeps her pinned below him with one hand and rips her blouse open with the other. “Mag better watch her dove, eh? Wouldn’t want your price to drop.” He thumps her head to the ground once, stretches as he straightens, and then strides away, Sloot giggling on his heels.
“Rimma?” I crawl to where she’s rolled to her side, holding her blouse closed. She makes no sound as she cries, her body tightening and releasing her despair and anger in long breathy sighs. I’m almost afraid to touch her but gently stroke her arm. I know she wants to be strong and fierce, to protect me from this broken
Similar Books
