Trek of a Bird-Woman

By Gail Binkly

Growing up in a remote valley on a sparsely populated planet, Shevra doesn't remember ever encountering anyone other than her parents and sister. And she longs to explore more of what she is certain lies beyond. But when tragedy thrusts her out into that world, she discovers that it's a hostile place—one filled with warring tribes, roaming slavers, and dangerous, exotic animals. On her long journey to the city of Tantexlo in hopes of finding her missing sister, she learns that she is not the person she has always believed she was. And Shevra discovers her true identity as one of the legendary bird-women. Her story is one of adventure, challenge, discovery, and, ultimately, profound understanding. Shevra's is a remarkable trek, and this is a novel for young adults that is both captivating and rich with insight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Say Yes Quickly Books
• Release date: Apr 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987229255

Gail Binkly

Gail Binkly is a career journalist who has won numerous awards for reporting and commentary. This is her first venture into fiction. She lives with her husband and their cats in the southwestern corner of Colorado, where she enjoys gardening and hiking.

Book preview

1

FOR A LONG TIME, SHEVRA had ached to meet new people. People she didn’t know, people she had never seen before, people with different things to say. It was a yearning so sharp inside her that it had become like a physical pain.

Now, at last, a group of strangers was approaching her house, the home where she lived with her parents and sister. Men, half a dozen or more. Shevra tried to count them, but for some reason she couldn’t. Maybe it was because they moved too rapidly—almost running.

She’d expected to feel eager and happy when she finally did encounter new people, but instead a vague dread was forming within her. She wanted to peer closely at the men’s faces, but they seemed indistinct.

Suddenly, she rose into the air and began gazing down. Now she should have a better view.

But everything still seemed dim and formless. The image was blurred. All she really knew was a suffocating sense of terror.

With a quick gasp, she sat up in her bed and looked around the room. Darkness filled it, but bird songs were swelling outside. It must be near dawn. Rhana, her sister, stirred in her bed against the opposite wall.

No one new was coming. The image of running men had just been one of those strange dreams Shevra was having lately.

This would simply be another day like all the others, another day of hard labor—hours of digging and scattering seeds in the tedious earth. Shevra heaved a deep sigh as she threw off her blanket.

As she stumbled sleepily to the breakfast table, Shevra felt only the impatient fury that had smoldered in her for months. This morning she was unable to summon even a shadow of happiness. She could not smile back at her mother over their breakfast of stewed kathri.

She didn’t smile even when Rhana sat down at the table  and grumpily asked, "Why do birds have to make noise before it’s light? I could get a little more sleep if they would just wait until dawn."

I’ll go outside and take it up with the birds tomorrow morning, joked their father, a smile stretching across his handsome face. He looked at Shevra, clearly expecting her to chuckle, but Shevra only scowled.

After breakfast, their mother began cooking and baking, while their father gathered the materials he would need to repair the plow they used for breaking the ground every spring. Late the day before, part of the wooden blade had snapped off when it struck a hidden rock while Rhana and Shevra were pushing it. Shevra had secretly been glad, since they had to quit for the day, but it meant even more work today. It was planting time, and until their father fixed the plow, they would have to break up the soil by swinging the daiga, a heavy pointed implement, also made of hard wood. Shevra would have to wield it while Rhana planted seeds.

Can’t we help you fix the plow? Shevra asked slyly.

We have to get the seeds into the ground before the rains, you know that. Unless you’re fasting this winter.

Rhana giggled, but Shevra just sighed.

Take my knife, their father said as they started for the door. "There might be a lanzera, you never know."

Rhana reached for the knife, but Shevra grabbed it and stuck it into the sheath she wore on her belt. The knife, with a 10-inch metal blade, was by far the most precious thing they owned; metal was exceedingly rare. Their father had been given the knife by the ruler of Lexazh, the city they had fled from long ago, before Rhana was even born. Shevra loved to carry it.

Here’s your lunch, their mother said, handing Rhana a bag bulging with food. She extended a leather waterbag to Shevra, who slung it over her shoulder.

But when she and Rhana reached the fields, which were a short distance from their house, Shevra was unable to make herself swing the daiga and start cracking the crusted soil. She stood there, leaning on the handle, looking over the vast empty landscape. No one within miles and miles, not a single other person. Would she ever have friends, would she ever see any faces besides those of her sister and mother and father? Would she ever find a man to marry? Maybe it wasn’t time for that quite yet, but she was certainly thinking of it. Yet here she was, trapped on the far side of a great mountain range, in a tiny valley hidden among steep hills.

Surely by now the war was long over, but how could they know? Every time she suggested to her father that maybe they should move on, seek a small village somewhere, he recoiled.

You girls are too young to understand, he would say, trying to hide what seemed to be anger. You don’t know what you’re talking about, Shevra.

But are we going to live here forever? Just the four of us?

Maybe we are. At least we’ll be living.

It doesn’t feel like it! she had retorted last night, after their dozenth repetition of this argument, and she had seen the hurt in his eyes as she walked away to her bed to sleep. He waited a few minutes, then approached her.

There are some things your mother and I need to explain to you girls, he said quietly. We’ll talk about them soon. Just be patient.

All right, Shevra said, but she did not feel patient, and he had said nothing about it that morning.

Be careful, their mother said as they prepared to leave. Be sure not to stay out past dusk. We’ll see you tonight and have something good for supper.

What, more kathri? Shevra snapped. I’m so tired of everything being the same! She ignored the worried frowns on her parents’ faces as she marched out the door.

Now, Rhana was behind her, nagging. I can’t sow any seeds if you don’t make a furrow!

I’ll do it. Just give me a minute. I’m thinking.

About what?

It’s none of your business! You’re too young to understand! She heard herself echoing her father’s words. Can’t you just leave me alone?

Well, be alone, then! I can swing that daiga better than you anyway, you lazy thing! Just don’t come crying to me in the winter when there isn’t enough kathri to eat!

Oh, ha, ha, like you’re going to save us all. You can barely lift that daiga, Shevra said. She flung the tool to the ground and stomped off.

She strode away from their home and fields as fast as she could, not caring what her parents would say when she finally returned, not caring that they would fall behind in their planting in this short period before the spring rains. She stormed over a low rise and then over the next, a higher one. Finally, she sat down on a flat-topped rock and seethed, ignoring the fluting notes of a bird in a nearby shrub, ignoring Rhana’s faraway shouts. Apparently her sister had learned that swinging the daiga was tough work, not the kind of thing a young woman should be expected to do.

Suddenly the hairs rose on the back of her neck as she recognized something different in Rhana’s cries—not whininess, not anger, but terror.

Shevra rose, but she could not make her legs move very fast. She felt as if she were dragging them through mud, as if heavy weights hung from her ankles. She could no longer hear Rhana or the fluting bird or anything but the pounding in her ears. She had been struggling back toward the house, but now she was down on her hands and knees, moving slowly, slowly, creeping to the top of the hill. She poked her head up to peer over, wary as a lanzera.

The front of their home and the small outbuildings were swarming with men: slavers. Of course, Shevra had never seen slavers—she could not really remember seeing anyone but her family—but she had heard her father describe them often enough—men who stole people to make them into slaves.

As best as she could tell from this distance, about six or eight men—as in her dream –seemed to be fighting with her parents. Shevra could not tell exactly what was happening, but she could see struggling. She felt so stunned that for another moment she could not move. She could not move.

Then her hand touched the hilt of the knife in its sheath at her waist. Something in her seemed to waken. She leaped up to run toward the house, but at that very moment she saw gushes of red coloring the scene.

Her knees gave way, and she dropped back to the ground. She saw her parents fall to the earth as the men swarmed over them.

Creeping backward until her head was below the rise, she lay there, trembling, feeling very small.

The smell of dry dirt filled her nostrils. She heard her breathing, harsh and regular.

She lay there motionless a long time.

Even after the high-pitched screams and the men’s hoarse cries had subsided, she lay on the dirt, not wanting to rise. She sensed that, if she rose, she would be moving into a different life—one that she did not want to enter—so she just lay still.

After a while, she had a new thought. She told herself she hadn’t seen what she believed she’d seen. She must have fallen asleep here, sitting in the sun, and dreamed it. Yes, this had just been another weird dream! She needed to go back and help Rhana with the planting and make sure her parents were all right.

At last, Shevra stood up slowly, on legs that shook. She looked all around. The morning was peaceful. Birds were trilling and cawing again. No strange men were to be seen; no one was in sight, not even Rhana. She must be working beyond a hill, trying to swing the big daiga. Shevra gave an amused snort at the idea of her slender younger sister wielding the heavy instrument.

She shook herself and started back home at a trot. Rhana! she called. I’m coming! Don’t wear yourself out.

There was no reply.

She ran faster, straight toward the house rather than the fields. She began calling louder and louder, recklessly, no longer thinking about men who might hear her. If she just called loud enough, someone would answer.

But when she neared the house, she saw the blood, furiously red against the ground.

And the bodies.

For some time after that, Shevra was not quite sure where she was, or even who she was. Sometimes she rose and saw it was daytime and sat down just outside the door to watch the birds in the grasses. A few minutes would pass, and then she would realize the sky was dark and stars were popping out and one or both of the moons, Erimandu and Morkay, were rising in the east. A buzzing seemed to fill her brain, as if she had been struck a hard, hard blow, and no thoughts could struggle past the buzzing. When she lay in her bed at night, a white light flooded her mind and she could not sleep because of its brightness, but somehow time would pass, and the dawn reappeared.

There were moments of awareness when she seemed to wake from a fever dream and found herself swinging the daiga, drops of sweat tickling her back, and planting seeds and watering them,. She would have no idea how she had come to be in the gardens or how long she had been there. She would return to the shade-cool house and call out, Mother! I’m thirsty! But only emptiness answered her. She was alone, as if she had always been like this.

She must have eaten, must have drunk, but she had no memory of doing so. The only thing that seemed important was planting seeds before the spring showers. That had always been the challenge of living in this arid little valley. Every year, this had been the focus of their existence—the crops.

She hauled water from the small stream near their home, she poured it on the furrows she’d made, she saw the wholesome shoots rising green and eager from the earth.

Then one day, for no reason that she could have given, she stopped.

She went into the house and took a long, long drink from the bucket that was filled with water. She lay down on her mattress of spongy dried stalks. The white light had gone away, and she felt very tired. She did not want to get up anymore.

A smell seeped into her consciousness. It was a stench of sweat and animal hide and old food and other things she couldn’t even imagine. She tried feebly to wave it away so she could just go back to sleep, but it seemed to grow more powerful.

Then she heard a querulous voice calling, Hey-ah! Hey-ah! Anybody in there?

Shevra raised her eyelids and saw a man peering into the room through the open doorway. He squinted into the dark without seeming to notice her; he gave a start when she moved.

Ay! You scared me. What’s the matter, you dying’?

Who are you? she mumbled.

He eyed her speculatively. You alone?

Shevra forced herself to sit up. Dimly she realized this was the first person she had seen in some time. He was short and appeared stocky, but it was impossible to tell his true girth, as he was clad in innumerable layers of torn and tattered materials. He wore a pair of rough sakra pants with another, holier pair of animal-hide pants on top of them. Over his torso he wore several different garments—one of sakra, one of hide, another of old darkened leather—and pieces of fur from different animals hung around his neck.

Who are you? he asked. He had small eyes hidden under enormous eyebrows. A stringy gray beard halfway down his chest dangled from his chin.

She looked at him with utter indifference. She was not afraid. What happened, happened. She did not care.

Shevra, she answered.

Sheff-rah, he said.

Shev-ra. It bothered her that he had said her name wrong.

He shrugged. Where is your food?

She just shook her head.

He lost interest in her and began to move about the house, picking things up and examining them. He snatched up several of her father’s shirts and coats and eyed them eagerly. He here?

Shevra shook her head and swallowed hard. Suddenly she remembered clearly what had happened. Men, shouts, screams, blood, the bodies of her family chopped and flung across the ground around their home. He is dead. My father and mother and sister. Dead. Killed. The slavers killed them. A few tears leaked down her cheeks even as she said the words.

That is life, the man said succinctly, and began looking around again, her father’s garments thrown over one arm. Food? What food do you have?

He started rummaging in the cooking area. He seized a wooden bowl crusted with dried kathri and tried to claw the remnants out with one hand, then threw the bowl down in frustration.

Where did you come from? she asked with a flicker of curiosity. She felt under the blankets to make sure she was dressed, then sat up and swung her legs to the ground.

He waved vaguely to the north as he continued rummaging about the dwelling. After a moment he turned back to look at her.

Why the slavers not take you?

She shook her head slowly, unable to answer for a moment. They didn’t see me. I hid.

Smart.

She began sobbing. He shrugged and resumed his search. He spotted her belt lying on the floor and snatched her father’s knife from its sheath. Smart, he repeated, staring with awe at the metal blade. They take young ones like you. Always take. You are smart.

A door opened in her mind. The bodies—limbs, blood everywhere. She remembered vomiting, collapsing, later wandering the fields until she found the discarded daiga so she could hack a grave in the hard earth. She’d carried the remains of her parents to the grave and covered them, but it had all been very confused, like a dream. Try as she might, she could not remember finding Rhana.

Was Rhana alive?

Had the slavers taken her?

Why hadn’t she thought about this earlier? Was Rhana alive? Shevra tried to focus her thoughts. Had she found Rhana’s body? No, just her parents’ bodies. She had buried them, yes, but she had looked for Rhana without success. She’d thought vaguely that she would find her body somewhere, someday. Then had come the great blankness.

Had Rhana been with the slavers while Shevra was mindlessly planting crops, watering them, lying in bed? If she had known, she would have done something—what, she didn’t know, but she would have done it, or died trying.

The man was heading out the door with the garments and her father’s knife. Wait! she screamed. Come back! I’ll make you a meal—food—if you tell me about the slavers.

He stopped. Food?

Come back, please. I’ll cook. Just wait.

She rummaged through the kitchen. Most of the food was gone, apparently taken by the slavers, but there was some uncooked kathri. She boiled it with young slender spice bulbs from the garden. A rather bland dish, but the grubby man ate bowl after bowl, waxing eloquent as his belly filled.

Slavers come from the north, past the Great Expanse, he explained as if he thought her simple-minded, or perhaps he himself was not terribly smart. War is on the other side. Young ones are needed to help the war. Slavers always take young ones. Mostly sell them to soldiers.

Why? What do the soldiers want them for?

He gave a snort. Boys can fight. Girls make food, join with men. At her bewildered look he made a lewd gesture that reminded her of animals coupling in the spring. She shuddered and he snorted again.

Your sister is with slavers, he grinned. Not dead. A spoonful of the stew landed on his beard, and he pulled the thin strands up to his mouth and licked them.

How do you know all this? Shevra asked.

He hesitated. Then he shrugged, spread his hands, and laughed. I follow them. A way back. See what they leave behind.

Shevra did not understand what he meant at first. Then she realized he was saying he trailed after the slavers, poking into the homes of people they had taken. Anger flamed through her, and for the first time since the slavers had come, she felt alive. She wanted to slap the man.

But she needed to know more. She made herself speak politely, as if she felt nothing but mild curiosity.

Where do they go? Where do the slavers take the young?

Tantexlo, he said, waving vaguely toward the northeast. Other side of the mountains. North of the Great Expanse.

Shevra was stunned. I didn’t think anyone could cross the Great Expanse, she said slowly, half to herself. She knew her parents had brought them here long ago to escape the fighting. But they had come from Lexazh, not Tantexlo. She didn’t know precisely where either city was. She had never asked them for details about such places because they said they would never go back.

Have you ever crossed the Expanse? she asked.

He shook his head. No. The Expanse kills people.

Then how do the slavers cross it?

He shook his head again. They don’t cross. Go around.

Why are they going to Tantexlo?

Slave sale is at midsummer every year.

Midsummer? Shevra tried to clear her thoughts. How long had she been lying here?

She walked to the open door and peered outside. She could see the field she had planted. The shoots were tiny. It couldn’t have been more than seven or eight days since the slavers had come.

She stepped back inside. How far is it to Tantexlo?

I don’t know.

How many days, I mean.

He shrugged. Many months, maybe a year. 

She shook her head, bewildered. How can they get to Tantexlo by midsummer, then?

But the man did not answer her. He was gazing into his empty bowl. All the food?

That’s all.

He got to his feet, picked up his scavenged goods, and headed for the door.

Give me that knife! Shevra cried suddenly. You can take the clothes, but not the knife. But he kept going.

In a fury, she followed him out the door, snatched up a round, heavy stone, and hurled it, smacking him straight in the back of the head. He pitched to his knees with a groan, and she ran up and grabbed the knife and belt from his hand. He shook his head dully, then climbed to his feet and started toward her.

No! she shouted, unsheathing the knife and holding it up menacingly. Her father had taught her and Rhana how to hold the weapon, how to wield it. They had practiced thrusts and feints. The lessons were one of the few activities Shevra truly relished.

The man was at least double her weight, but Shevra was tall, and she stared fearlessly into his eyes. When he didn’t move, she lunged at him with the blade. He dodged, hesitated, then swung away and took off at a trot toward the north.

Don’t ever come back! Shevra shouted. I’ll kill you with this knife!

A decision had formed in her mind. She was going after her sister. It would probably be a futile quest, but at least it would give her a purpose.

2

THE GREAT EXPANSE, that vast uncrossable zone, lay somewhere to the east. Between it and their home was a great ridge of steep mountains. Her family lived—had lived—in a bowl of sorts, a small valley near the ocean surrounded by folds that protected them from other people but, less fortunately, from much of the coastal moisture. Brief, soggy rains came once in the spring, longer rains at mid-summer, and in the winter, cold sleet. The valley, filled with tall grasses and the tiny blooms of hardy flowers, had little else, except the plots that they farmed.

Shevra had never been more than a short way up the slopes of the first foothills to the east. Sometimes she and her father hunted there, but he would never go higher for fear they might encounter hostile strangers. The world was dangerous, he had continually said—better to stay hidden. Now, she believed him.

She found her father’s big leather pack, crafted so it could be carried by hand or slung over one’s back, and crammed it with everything she could think of that she might need. Extra clothing, a heavy cloak, warm blankets woven by her and her mother, what little dried food she could find that the slavers hadn’t taken, all their precious salt, some ropes, two bowls and a few utensils. She thought for a while, then added the knife-sharpening stone and several fire-starting rocks.

She hung the valuable knife in its sheath and fastened the belt at her waist. Grabbing two waterbags, she slung them over her shoulder. She took her mother’s boots and gloves as well as her own—they were about the right size for her.

Then she remembered her mother’s medicine bag, with its many smaller bags of healing herbs. She stuffed that into the big bag as well, along with clean rags. She’d learned much about healing from her mother and knew she might well need those supplies.

Last, she hesitated over her bow and arrows. She had never been skilled with a bow—in truth, she didn’t like hunting at all. She was better using a spear, but spears were long and unwieldy, and the bow would fit over her shoulder. With a sigh, she left the spears and took her bow and arrows, along with a few stone spearheads just in case.

Then she threw open the door and left the only home she could remember.

It was a sharp, hot day, but she knew from the angle of the sun that it was still spring, and the rains had not yet arrived. She walked behind their stone house to the flat hollow where she had buried her father and mother. Already new grasses waved over the disturbed soil, blurring the ugliness of the once-naked mound.

She knelt in the hard light and put her hand to the earth. Her parents had taught her about the four gods—Miresht, Fandor, Torala and Leeshee—although they had never spoken of them with much enthusiasm, and Shevra had never heard them pray. They had urged her and Rhana to pray, however, as good brukesta children were supposed to, and they had obeyed, occasionally kneeling at the stone shrine that sat next to their home.

Shevra did not go to the shrine now. Instead, she knelt at the grave, squinting in the sunlight.

Miresht, she said aloud to the god of travel and change. The word seemed harsh and strange in the silence. For days she had not spoken, except to the strange man this morning. She cleared her throat and tried again.

Miresht, guide me on my journey. Help me find Rhana. Please strengthen my heart and my mind, my legs and my arms, for this trip.

That was really all she wanted to say, but she had better pray to each of the gods.

Fandor, she said to the god of vengeance and anger, "let me have revenge on the slavers for what they did.

Torala, goddess of earth and life, help me to find things to eat.

The most difficult prayer was the one to Leeshee, goddess of mystery and understanding. Grant me a vision of what to do, she said at last.

Then she touched the tops of the tender new grasses.

I’m going to find her, she whispered to her father and mother, but of course there was no answer. So, she began walking east.

It was easy to follow the trail left by the slavers—it was broader than an animal trail. They traveled as if they had no fear, moving out in the open even though they would be visible from far away.

For the rest of the day, she followed the path eastward, reaching the edge of the valley and then slowly climbing the scrubby foothills, careful to avoid the broad patches of dangerous spider bush.

The first few days, she simply ate from her provisions, but they disappeared fast. She started searching out roots, berries, and nuts, but that was time-consuming, and she burned with urgency. Every thought in her mind, every feeling in her heart, was focused on finding the slavers. But she had to keep herself strong.

Struggling through the foothills was slow and arduous. She went up and then down slopes, up and down, wondering at times if she was even making progress. Her muscles ached the first few nights so that she could hardly sleep, until they hardened, and she was able to make better time.

Two days later, the spring rains came. Shevra slogged through the daily downpour, but the ground was too slick. She found a little cave in one hill, built a fire, and waited through the subsequent days, listening to the steady drumming on the ground, she seethed with impatience. Finally, the rains stopped.

Now, the hillsides were thick with new growth. Sweet blood-berries hung from their thorny branches, swarmed over by insects. The spice bulbs she dug from the still-moist earth were fat and tender. She found nuts of numerous kinds, green shoots, tender leaves. Her mother had known everything about the local plants—which were edible, which had medicinal purposes, which had to be cooked before they could be digested. Shevra found herself well-fed even on a diet without meat.

Unfortunately, the rains had wiped out all signs of the slavers’ trail. In the valley it had been easy to see, because the men had trampled the tall grass. Here, amongst the scattered bushes, rocks and slopes, the trail had simply vanished as water poured over everything, washing away tracks and dislodging stones. Shevra was not a skilled tracker, and before long she simply gave up hunting for the subtle signs that might have shown her which way they had gone. They had to have climbed the ridge, so she merely sought the easiest way up.

When the sun went down each night, she wrapped herself in her blanket and slept. She never built a fire, as the nights weren’t cold, and she wasn’t eating anything that required cooking. Besides, someone might see her smoke.

She always curled up far from any spider bush—usually under a tonyon tree, with its many grotesquely twisting limbs disguising her presence.

As the days passed, her mood shifted wildly. Sometimes she was so dispirited she could barely move her feet. Other times she swelled with an almost giddy sense of freedom, and that made her feel strange and guilty, as if she were happy her parents had died.

For the past year or so she had been angry and frustrated at home, tired of knowing only her family, eager for new experiences outside the valley. And she had been troubled by peculiarly vivid dreams that sometimes woke her in the night. Some were cloudy, but in one, she saw people running out of what must have been a city—an enormous collection of buildings. Other people chased the runners, kicking and beating those they caught. Shevra woke shivering from that dream. Another time, she dreamed she was on a high hill far from her home, all alone and filled with a deep sadness—like now.

When she mentioned the dreams to her parents, they gave each other a sharp look. Her mother’s brow furrowed deeply. But all she said was, They’re just nightmares. I’m sorry you’re having them, Shevra. You can wake me the next time if you want.

Shevra was too old to be running to her mother at night over a nightmare, so she didn’t mention the dreams again.

Her childhood had been mostly happy, she realized now. Her parents were gentle and loving. Although they all worked hard, Rhana and Shevra still had time to romp outdoors. And at night, after their chores were done, they all played games or made-up stories or sang to her mother’s stringed lytif. Yet Shevra had chafed for adventure.

Now she was living an actual adventure, and although her feeling of loss hung on her like a heavy stone, the world seemed to expand with every step she climbed away from the valley.

But nighttime was not so pleasant.

The dark hours were bleak. Sometimes she took comfort in the glitter of stars, the glow of the moons, the quiet sounds of insects and birds. Other times even those soft sounds seemed alien and chilling.

Always she dreamed about her family. Sometimes the dreams were filled with blood and horror. Other times, she saw her mother or father still alive, and felt a thrill of relief, but they never spoke. Then she would realize it was an illusion, and she would wake up sobbing until she thought there was no bottom to her grief.

She rarely saw Rhana in her dreams.

Except for the animals she spotted now and then, she was utterly alone. Generally, they ignored her, and she did the same to them. If she thought about killing one, an image of mangled bodies on the ground outside her home flashed into her mind. The thought of eating flesh filled her with a revulsion so powerful it could make her retch if she did not quickly think of something else.

Once she came upon a quamma, a furry gray-brown animal that ate insects and plants, clinging to the underside of a blood-berry branch, snatching at the sweet fruit. Blood-berry bushes were covered in thorns that exuded a sticky substance that was poisonous to the touch, or so Shevra’s mother had always said.

It won’t kill you, but it will make you very sick. Don’t you girls ever try to get those fruits, her mother had warned.

Quammas, however, were adept at climbing the thorny limbs and plucking the berries with their clever fingers and seemed to suffer no ill effects. For days, Shevra had been thinking of trying to get some blood-berries if she came across such a bush. But this quamma showed no sign of fleeing as she approached. Boldly it hissed at her, baring its teeth—which were a lurid red from the berries. 

She started to yell, Get away! but instead she began giggling at the absurdity of the image. She couldn’t stop, and soon she was laughing in great shrieks. Shevra laughed until her belly ached, and she had to sit down and catch her breath. It was the first time she had laughed in weeks, and it felt unnatural but good.

Unnerved by the strange sounds, the quamma backed out of the tree and streaked away.

Shevra went to the bush, wearing her mother’s gloves, and carefully plucked as many berries as she could reach. She worked slowly, with great caution, but a thorn snagged one glove. She reached out with the other hand to try to free herself and another thorn caught the second glove, slashing through the leather and into her skin.

She squirmed free, tore off her gloves and studied the bleeding cut. She needed to rinse the scratch in water while it bled.

But both her waterbags were empty.

Small springs were plentiful in these hills, and she had grown careless about keeping her bags filled. She’d planned to look for a spring later, after she gathered the berries. Now, she began scanning the slope for bright green plants that would indicate water.

She heard a noise from somewhere up the slope, faint yet definite. A sharp cracking sound, as if a rock had tumbled and struck another rock, or a branch had broken.

An animal could have made that noise, but it would have to be fairly large. Perhaps one of the horned togos was climbing and a hoof had slipped?

The only other sizable animal that she knew to inhabit this area was the lanzera, the deadly predator, stealthy, graceful, and silent—larger than a man, with huge ears and great fangs. It would be unlike a lanzera to make any noise, but the rains had loosened the rocks and perhaps even a lanzera could make a misstep.

Or could a person be somewhere higher on the hillside?

Sucking on her scratched finger, Shevra turned slowly in a circle, searching for a hiding-place. She stood among scrubby bushes, none taller than she was. It was mid-day, and the shadows were small. Whatever moved above her on the hillside could see her. She had no idea how far away it was or whether it was even a threat, but she could take no chances.

Bending low, she slunk away, trying not to ascend or descend but to travel to another part of the hill and put some distance between her and whatever moved above. She wove between bushes, avoiding anything that might rustle with her passing.

She scrambled on, pushed by a growing sense of urgency. In all the time she had been traveling, she had not heard another sound like that. She wanted to be far, far away from it. Fear closed her throat; she was breathing harshly, and that panicked her too. Nearly stumbling into a spider bush, she veered away at the last second. That caused her to fall, whacking one knee on a stone, but she leaped up without feeling the pain and hurried forward.

She paused to rest near a tall boulder that had toppled long ago from the cliff above it. Behind it was a shallow space where she could hide. She squeezed behind the giant rock and crouched in the shade, her heart pounding, her hands shaking. She had no idea how long it would be before she could feel safe, but for now she was happy just to be out of sight.

The cut on her finger burned. In the shade she couldn’t see it well, but it felt sore and hot.

Shevra’s heart raced out of proportion to the physical effort she had just exerted and sweat trickled down her back despite the cool of the shade. She took a waterbag from her back and squeezed the last few drops onto her finger.

Somewhere nearby on the hillside she heard a distinct crunching of footsteps.

Panicking, Shevra pushed herself backward into the crack behind the boulder—and tumbled into a bigger space, nearly a cave. She fell heavily on her side, but she didn’t think she’d made much noise. Please, Torala, hide me, keep me safe, she prayed to the goddess of life and safety.

Then she lost consciousness.

3

SHEVRA WAS A BIRD, swooping and soaring in the air. It was frightening yet thrilling. She flew among the stars, and they sang a shrill, clear song that made her shiver.

A long time later, she came back to earth. She was in her home. Her parents stood before her; she could see every detail of their faces, even a streak of dust on her mother’s cheek. Rhana was somewhere behind her. Shevra could not really see her, but she felt her presence.

Your sister is your responsibility, her mother said.

She’s right here! Shevra cried.

But suddenly she realized Rhana was not there after all.

The roof overhead vanished, and she stared into a sunny sky. A strange bird flew across. It was brown, with a long blue tail and flashes of blue on its wings.

Watch for that, a voice seemed to say in her mind.

Then everything was gone, and Shevra slept.

She tossed fitfully, sometimes burning and sweating, sometimes shuddering with cold. She dreamed, but these dreams were hazy and formless. She knew time was passing, but she had no idea how much. She slept and woke, slept and woke. Always it was dark. Would morning never come? Why was she all alone in the darkness?

She woke with the sense that her head was clearer. She was still in the dark, however, and panic seized her. She got to her knees, thrashing around blindly, trying to find a way out of this void. She felt hard rock everywhere she reached, and a dim memory returned of crawling behind a boulder. She tried to calm herself, but her heart was thumping, and she was shaking, covered in sweat, a trapped animal in a sack of blackness.

Finally, she spotted a crack in the void that seemed softer, grayer. She scrambled toward it and emerged from behind the boulder into either twilight or dawn—she wasn’t sure which until she decided the light was coming from the east.

She stood there, sobbing with relief. What had happened to her? For a moment she just rested, hands on her knees, thanking both Miresht and Torala for her deliverance from darkness. Birds twittered on the scrubby hills around her; their songs had never sounded so sweet. 

She realized she was shaky with hunger and thirst. One finger throbbed, and she saw a long-inflamed scratch, scabbed over but still angry-looking—the wound from scratching herself on the blood-berry bush. She shuddered. Her mother had been right—the thorns could cause a terrible reaction.

Her parents had been right about so many things.

She had no idea how long she’d stayed in the small cave beneath the boulder, but she had left her pack, bow and arrows, and waterbags in there. After a few deep breaths, she plunged back into the enclosed space, grabbed her belongings, and hurried out.

As she stood there, reaching into the bag for a handful of nuts, the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly prickled and she whirled without knowing why—but too late. Something landed on her, not fully, catching half her body and tumbling her to the hard ground. She kicked and flailed with all that remained of her strength. A high-pitched screaming rang in the air. She fought with blind instinct, not a single thought in her head. Somehow she managed to shove her attacker away and leap to her feet, scrabbling for her knife.

Then she saw a young woman, looking up at her from the ground.

Shevra was so stunned, she nearly collapsed. The screaming stopped and Shevra realized it had been coming from her, or perhaps from both of them. They simply stared at each other, sucking in great breaths, neither able to move.

The other girl was so gaunt, her elbows made sharp points. Her brown hair hung tangled and matted. Her tunic and leg coverings barely clung to her body, they were so tattered. She wore sandals, but they too were in shreds, and her feet were scraped and bloody.

Shevra felt like she was looking at a reflection of herself—well, perhaps a distorted one. Her clothes were in better shape, and she was taller. Otherwise, the two of them were much the same. Had the young woman been any stronger, she could easily have killed Shevra.

Why did you attack me? Shevra asked at last, when the girl made no move, just lay there staring with luminous brown eyes.

She gave no answer other than a sort of hissing through her teeth, like an animal.

Where are you going?

The girl only stared, still panting from the exertion of the fight.

I-I was just going to eat something, Shevra said more slowly, reaching into her bag. She pulled out a handful of nuts and half-dried berries and held it toward the girl. She snatched the food and crammed it in her mouth, chewing greedily, her eyes never leaving Shevra.

Here’s more, Shevra said, holding out another handful, which was grabbed and eaten just as hastily. Shevra ate a couple of bites herself, but without water, she had difficulty forcing the morsels down. She was fascinated but perplexed by the girl. Didn’t she speak? Where had she come from? She acted as wild as a lanzera.

Why did you attack me? Shevra asked again.

The girl cleared her throat and spoke suddenly, in a strained, throaty voice.

Slavers.

Again, the hairs rose on the back of Shevra’s neck, and she could not answer for a moment, as she tried to gather her thoughts. Where are the slavers? she whispered at last.

The girl waved vaguely toward the top of the ridge.

Near here? Are they close to here?

The girl pondered, then shook her head.

Shevra took a deep breath. She didn’t understand what the slavers had to do with this girl attacking her, but maybe she should start at the beginning and try to hear the complete story. Who are you? What is your name?

The girl lowered her head and was silent a long time, seemingly reaching into herself. Then she looked up and, in her throaty voice, rasped, Delnee.

All right, Delnee, I’m Shevra.

Sheff-rah.

Shev-ra.

Sheff-rah. Like the man who had come to Shevra’s home, Delnee seemed unable to say it correctly.

Shevra shrugged. Let’s find some water and then we can eat the rest of this food.

Delnee looked at her, then nodded.

It didn’t take them long to find a trickling spring. They drank thirstily, and Shevra filled her waterbags and washed her finger before shaking some healing herbs onto a strip of rag and tying it around the cut.

Now we can eat, she said.

Hide first, Delnee whispered.

Shevra looked all around them, but the morning seemed tranquil and beautiful. Birds were singing undisturbed. Still, the girl’s fear was obvious, and it made Shevra uneasy. She remembered the space behind the boulder.

There is a place back there, she said, gesturing. A cave. No one can see us. Let’s go in there and eat and drink.

But when they reached the entrance to the space, neither of them moved. Shevra did not want to go in first, not after the way Delnee had attacked her, and apparently Delnee was equally leery of her. They just stood, eying each other.

I won’t hurt you, Shevra said. Why would I hurt you? You don’t have anything for me to take, she added with a small, friendly laugh. "And you don’t need to hurt me—I’m going to split my food with you anyway."

Delnee thought a moment, then inched toward the boulder and finally slipped behind it. Shevra followed.

With the sun higher in the sky, the space was no longer pitch dark, and it did not seem frightening. It was small but had enough room for the two of them to sit cross-legged, sharing food and water with a growing sense of ease.

Where did you come from? Shevra asked at last.

Up higher, up the ridge, Delnee answered. Her voice had lost some of its raspiness.

Were you following me before? A day ago, or so? Shevra was not certain how long she’d been in the cave, sick.

Yes.

Why?

Food.

You wanted my food?

Delnee nodded quickly. Shevra could just see her in the dimness.

Where did you come from? Before you were here on the ridge, I mean?

Slavers. She said it oddly, and after a moment, Shevra realized that Delnee could not make a v sound.

"You mean . . . you were with the slavers?" Shevra asked with dawning excitement.

Yes.

Did you escape?

Yes.

Did you see—how long were you with them? Did you see—? Shevra had to stop and swallow before she could choke out the words. Was there a girl with them, a captured girl, younger than me, but sort of like me, named Rhana?

Delnee was silent.

Was there? Shorter than me, but with a face like mine? Rhana, her name is Rhana! Please tell me!

We have no names! Delnee spat out. Just ‘Girl’! Light-haired girl, dark girl, ugly girl, those are our names!

Oh. Shevra bit back more questions. She sensed that she needed to gain Delnee’s trust before she would even think of helping her.

How long were you with them? she asked at last.

Months.

When did you escape?

Delnee pondered, then shrugged. Weeks.

Weeks ago?

Yes.

Where were they when you left them?

Farther north. In the mountains.

Shevra sat silent a moment. She needed to know so much more, but she had to be patient.

She let Delnee eat her fill of the food left in the bag without interruption. Then, as the girl belched and leaned back with a weary sigh, Shevra begged her: Please tell me what happened to you.

Delnee’s tale came slowly and with reluctance. Shevra had to coax and pause, press her, then relax. The young woman clearly had no desire to unburden herself, but she also was reluctant to let go of whatever brief companionship Shevra offered.

She had been living with her parents and younger brother in a small village farther north, along the coast. The village was invaded by the slavers. Delnee could not say exactly how long ago except close to a year. Everyone in the village was killed except the children. They were rounded up and taken, dragged along with the marauders as they moved south down the coast, seeking more slaves. All the young men, including her brother, were beaten until they were too weak to attempt escape—but not so weak that they couldn’t march along. They would be sold in Tantexlo, north of the Expanse.

And what about you? Shevra asked. Were the women going to be sold, too?

Delnee stared at the ground. Yes. Most. Some were taken by the masters.

Taken where?

Taken . . . to be with them. To serve them.

Oh. As servants, cooks?

Delnee made the strange hissing sound again and turned her brown eyes on Shevra with a glare that seemed to burn even in the dimness. How can you mock me?

But I’m not—

"Cooks?" she repeated incredulously, and suddenly Shevra’s cheeks flamed as she realized how naive she had been.

I’m sorry, she said. Her parents had explained about men and women, of course. Her father had warned her of bad men’s desires and the possibility of rape, but it had all seemed distant and unreal.

So, a man took you as his . . . ? She couldn’t even think of a word.

"One man? Delnee spat. I wish just one. I wish—" But she stopped.

How did you escape? Shevra changed the subject swiftly.

Why do you care so much?

I just want to know. You must have been clever—I admire you.

Delnee snorted, but she answered. I had a baby. I bled a lot. They thought I was weak, and I would die. They didn’t bind me very well. One night I got up and walked along the trail, back the way we had come.

They didn’t chase you?

They did next morning. But in the night I left the trail. They thought I wouldn’t do that. I left it and walked away.

She’d found a hiding-place in a hole under a cliff ledge. For two days she huddled there, exhausted and crazed with thirst. In the distance she could hear men looking for her, but after that she heard no more. Finally, she rose and began making her way toward the coast. She had no bags, no provisions; she ate and drank when she could find food and water.

Shevra swallowed. She knew she shouldn’t ask, but she had to know. What happened to your baby? she whispered.

Delnee’s voice was flat. They killed it when it was born.

Shevra strangled an outcry. Was this what Rhana was enduring? She couldn’t bear to think of it, couldn’t bear to live in this world that was so wrong and cruel and awful.

I have to go, Delnee said. They may still come back for me.

Where are you going, if your village?

Away from the slavers.

Don’t go yet. Please don’t go! Let’s find some more food. We’re safe here. You hide and I’ll go get some more. Please.

As night came, the other girl grew restless, fidgeting inside the cave. Not long after darkness fell, she scrambled toward the opening.

Go, she said abruptly.

Shevra reached out and clutched at her arm. Now? At night?

Delnee shuddered at her touch and shook herself free. Dark is better, she said.

But surely the slavers wouldn’t—they aren’t following you now, are they?

She shrugged. I don’t know, she said. They may send someone to follow and kill me, so no one else will try to run. I don’t know.

A cold shiver seized Shevra. She realized how little she knew of them. In her short encounter with the other girl, she’d expanded her knowledge tenfold. Now she was to be on her own again, and she realized suddenly how lonely she was.

Don’t go! she cried. Stay and rest. Eat—we’ll find more to eat. You can leave in the morning.

But the other girl shook her head stubbornly.

"My sister. Please. Did you see her?"

Delnee said nothing for a moment, then slowly swung her head back and forth.

How many were there? How many girls like us?

Many. Many tens.

Did you see them all?

Mostly.

There was none like me? Younger, but like me? Her face sort of like mine, but with a smaller nose?

No! Delnee’s voice was harsh. She dead. You go back.

The words seemed to punch Shevra in her heart, but part of her did not believe them.

No, I’m not going back! Why don’t you come with me? Come with me to find my sister and kill the slavers. Wouldn’t you like to kill them?

The other girl snorted. Go, she said, and Shevra knew she could not be swayed.

Here, Shevra said, reaching into her pack and bringing out a small