The Infernal Lands (The Aionach Saga Book 1) (3 page)

The mirror above the sink was so clean, Raith could see every
age line in his face, the wrinkles above his bristled brow, and each graying
hair that conspired against him in display of his years. His broad shoulders were
yoked to a stout neck and strapping flanks, tapering down to an abdomen that
wasn’t as muscled as it used to be.
Not many things are like they used to be
,
he reminded himself.
Tomorrow is set to be the most pivotal day of my tenure
as Head Councilor. Maybe even the most pivotal day in Decylum’s history. If the
council accepts Loren Horner’s plan, we will have consigned to send our best
hunters to their deaths. So I must hold to whatever hope I have that my fellow councilors
are wiser, in the end, than I believe them to be
.

CHAPTER 3

The Mulligraws

Lizneth peered out from her hiding place among the
beanstalks as the Marauders were shouldering the last few sacks of grain.
Rotabak was with them, the brown-and-white buck who was always gawking at her
with that lazy eye of his. When he turned toward the village, she drew back
into the shadows.
Is it his good eye, or the one askew he sees better with?
She couldn’t remember.

Soon the Marauders’ footsteps were clunking over the river
bridge and starting down the gravel path toward their stronghold in the rime
caves. Lizneth twitched her whiskers and scented for their
haick
on the
air, emerging from her hiding place only after she was satisfied they were
gone. Kroy the miller was getting back to his feet by the time she got to him.
She helped him dust off his leather jerkin and clean up the mess of boxes and
burlap sacks the Marauders had left.

“Did you see that? I wasn’t even giving them trouble this
time,” said Kroy, as if Lizneth needed convincing. “I give them the goods nice
and easy and they’re just as rough as ever.”

“Don’t pay them any mind, Kroy. It makes no difference
whether you give in or not. They push us around because they think it’s their
right.”

Kroy sniffed and looked around nervously, running his fingers
down his snout. The fur on his neck was standing on end, his longteeth
chattering as if he’d caught a chill. He wiped away the drop of blood running
from his wet pink nose. “It
is
their right,” he said. “They’ve made it their
right. That’ll be the way of things as long as we’re us and they’re them.”

Lizneth didn’t know what to say. Kroy was right, and he
didn’t need her consolation to be certain of it. “I’d better be getting home,”
she said. “I should make sure everyone’s okay.”

Kroy gave a brief nod, perking his ears to listen for
trouble. “Be safe,
cuzhe
.”

Lizneth snatched up her wicker basket and darted past the
mud-and-thatch cottage that belonged to Skrikkit, the old banded roan who
tended the mushroom pads. He had a damp, earthy
haick
about him, and she
didn’t want to smell like mushrooms, so she always hurried by and hoped he
wasn’t in the mood for one of his discourses on the intricacies of fungal
farming.

The river bridge’s ironwood planks croaked beneath Lizneth’s
feet, old things, but sturdy. Fisherfolk waved to her from the burbling waters
below, their tails swishing in the shallows, hooked and baited for glowfish.
Rows of silkvein were budding in the north fields, its bitter, sweet smell
mingling with that of the blooming red leaves of heart’s cress, starchy
broadroot, plump bittermelons, and shoots of orenseed. None of the crops were
ready for picking yet, so the Marauders had only been able to lick their lips
and count on their fingers how many days it would be until the harvest.

Gazhakk was sitting on the old bench in front of his hovel, grinding
spices with his mortar and pestle. He had a meager dwelling, a small cave set
into the cavern wall next to the rusted metal monstrosity the villagers called
the Dead-end Door. The door had been there for longer than anyone knew; so long
in fact, that the strange lettering on its surface was as dingy and faded as
the cavern itself. The savory tang of Gazhakk’s spices wafted to Lizneth’s
nostrils, and she couldn’t help but stop and pick up a pinch or two of this or
that before she went on. The Goatbrothers, Nurnik and Skee, were guiding their
herds across the cliffside, bickering at each other in perfect harmony with the
bleating of their animals. They suspended their argument long enough to wave
down at Lizneth as she passed.

All the villagers in Tanley were cordial, but their smiles
couldn’t outshine the gloom that hung over them.

The tiny cottage Lizneth shared with her parents and twenty
siblings was simple but well-fashioned. A comforting warmth greeted her as she entered
and closed the thick ironwood door behind her. Lizneth was taller than both her
parents, and she had to lower her head to avoid the rafters as she crossed the
worn cobbled floor to the hearth. Her brothers and sisters were crowded around
the gnarled ironwood table, gorging themselves on a thick stew of meat and
vegetables. The youngest nestlings had missed more than they’d eaten; the fur
on their snouts was matted, and scraps of food clung to their faces like beards.

“A good harvest today,” Papa said, nodding towards the basket
under Lizneth’s arm. He hobbled across the room to join Mama, his kind face
stiffening as he lowered himself into his chair.

“Rotabak and his brutes were here today,” Lizneth said,
setting the basket on the small block table near the hearth. She spooned a
helping of stew into a wooden bowl and took a seat facing her parents. Little
Raial lost a chunk of broadroot and squirmed up onto the table to chase after
it. Lizneth snatched him up by the scruff of the neck and took him into her
arms. “Sit still while you’re eating,
cuzhe
,” she said, giving him a
tickle before she set him back on the bench.

Mama gave Lizneth a concerned look. “Are you alright?”

Lizneth nodded. “I hid in the mulligraws until they were
gone. They pulled Kroy out of the mill and made a spectacle of him in the
street. They took
so much
of his grain.”

“Better his grain than him,” Papa said.

Mama sighed. “I was beginning to think they’d forgotten about
us.”

“Sniverlik will never forget about Tanley,” Papa said. “He
grew up here.”

“Fortunate for us, isn’t that? The orphan turned warlord. Not
even a family here to make him stay his hand against us.”

Papa disagreed. “Rhi and Taznik raised him. They’re as good a
family as he’s ever had, but you don’t see him giving them special treatment.
Sniverlik’s a bad seed, is all.”

“He didn’t used to be. It’s the scepter that makes him that
way,” Mama said.

“That’s a myth. Every new warlord the Marauders raise has wielded
the Zithstone Scepter, from time and time before. It’s a symbol of leadership.
A useless trinket.”

“Your Papa thinks I’m a
quinzhe
for saying this, but I
think it’s the scepter that turned Sniverlik sour. He was such a pleasant
little nestling.”

Papa curled his upper lip, exposing his longteeth. The
firelight made the incisors gleam like frozen waterfalls. “Do you know how
Sniverlik became warlord? He had Ankhaz stretched by the tail until
lahmech
.
That’s how he took power and earned the privilege to bear the scepter. He was
corrupt long before he ever touched the Zithstone. Besides, he’s got sons of
his own now, and they’re as rotten as he is.”

“I heard he sired each of his litters on a different
ledozhe
,”
Lizneth said.

Mama shot her a look. “Lizneth. Not in front of the
cuzhehn
.”

“None of those
ledozhehn
were willing participants,”
Papa said with a smirk.

Mama glared. She checked to make sure none of the nestlings
were paying attention. Several had wandered off into the recesses at either end
of the room, slumping into naps, scurrying about, or staging wrestling matches
in the fresh straw bedding. Raial slid beneath Lizneth’s arm and laid his head
on her lap, giggling and writhing as she scrunched her fingers across his
scalp.

“How were they today?” Lizneth asked, catching Malak by the
scruff just before he scrambled under the bench.

“It was a madhouse,” Papa said. “Your brothers and sisters
are too wild for us to keep up with anymore.”

Mama laughed, but it was a tired sound.

“I’ll take them down to the river for a while tomorrow and
give you two a rest,” Lizneth offered.

Papa gave her a kind smile. “You’re too good to us,
cuzhe
.
It would be nice to have a moment to ourselves. You and your Mama are just the
same, you know that? You do far more than what’s expected of you, and you never
raise a fuss.”

“Should I raise a fuss?”

“You already do everything you should and nothing you
shouldn’t. Don’t go changing things on your old
kehaieh
now.”

“I almost let them see me today,” Lizneth admitted. “I wanted
to ask them about Deequol.”

“No, hiding was the right thing to do,” Papa said. “Never let
them see you if you can avoid it.”

“Papa and I miss Deequol and everyone else very much. But
Lizneth, you must promise never to put yourself in danger like that. You’re the
last of your litter, and Papa and I need you here. They’re more forgiving
during the harvest when our yields are high. If they ever took you—”

“I know. The nestlings aren’t old enough to work in the
fields yet. It’s too much for you and Papa to do by yourselves anymore. I know.
I’m doing the best I can. I just wanted to know how Deequol is getting along.
I’m sorry.”

“Deequol has another life now.” Papa was firm, verging on
angry. “We don’t worry over him or Nawk or Vikkish or Craik or Ritin, or any of
the others. As hard as it is, this is the way of things. We can’t do anything
about the children we’ve already lost, but we can work hard to keep the rest of
the
cuzhehn
with us.” His voice softened. “Having you here is such a big
help. We’re so proud of you. But please,
cuzhe
. As much as you love and
miss your brood-siblings, you must forget about them. We may see some of them
again, but there’s no use holding out hope for it.”

Lizneth had often wondered why her parents were so content to
live like this. Whenever she asked them why they put up with Sniverlik and his
Marauders, they said it was because many villages had it even worse than Tanley
did.
Sorry for myself is the last thing I should feel
, she often
thought.
I’m doing what makes my parents happy and I’m working to keep our
family together.
Still, she knew her parents didn’t always say how they
really felt. “Don’t you ever feel trapped here?” she asked.

“We try not to look at it that way. We have a good plot of land
in Tanley. In any other village we’d have to start over from nothing. And there
are only so many patches of good soil in the below-world.”

That patch of soil had become the entirety of Lizneth’s
world. Every time she woke, she nursed it, nourished it, tended to it…
resented
its existence
. She had learned long ago to suppress those feelings of
resentment, pouring herself into her work as a means of finding relief from the
pressure. But the discontentment still tugged at her, unraveling the delicate
fabric of her circumstances. In time, she found it wasn’t the hard work she
hated; it was the fact that she had no choice.

“Your brothers and sisters will be
parikuahn
in a year
or two,” Mama said, “and they’ll ease the burden you feel now. Things will be
better.”

“Yes, they will.” Lizneth looked down at her stew. The table
was a mess of overturned bowls, tipped mugs, and puddles of split broth. She hadn’t
taken a bite yet. She took up a spoonful and let it splash back into the bowl.

“But, you…” Papa began, and thought better of it.

“But I what?”

“But you wish for another life,” Mama finished. “A life
that’s more than planting and harvesting.”

Papa laughed. “Is there a
parikua
in all the Aionach
who hasn’t wished for more? This life is no adventure.”

Lizneth sighed. “I suppose there’s a part of me that wishes I
could see places far away. To just go somewhere, and live. Live for the sake of
living, not just for the sake of meeting someone else’s demands.”

“Then perhaps your old Papa should take you on a travel one
of these days,” Papa said with a meager smile.

“That’s thoughtful of you, Papa. But there are only two
places you can ever be at the end of a travel… somewhere else, or back where
you started. And you would mean for us to come back.”

Papa’s brow wrinkled. “Of course I would. Where else would we
go?”

Lizneth knew they would never understand her, despite any
attempt she might make to explain. “Never mind,” she muttered.

“What, then? What is it that you want?”

“Only a little independence.”

Mama’s apprehension showed through a flimsy mask. “That’s a
natural thing, dear. But you must be patient. You know this. There will be
consequences for all of us unless you put this family ahead of your desires,
for now.”

“I have, and I will. I’m not going to leave you and Papa on
your own. Sometimes I want a break from it all, just like you do. I’d like to
know what it’s like not to be responsible for anyone but myself, even for a
day. I don’t think that’s so much to want. Is it?”

Her parents hesitated, glancing at one another.

“No,
cuzhe
. But know that whether you are
parikua
or the mother of your own family, or both, you will be bound by a duty to
others,” Mama said.

“Maybe I don’t want to be either of those things, then.”

“Someday you may see it differently.” Papa placed his hand on
Mama’s, where it rested on the arm of her rocker.

I’m sorry Papa, but I won’t.
Lizneth wanted to say the
words, but she didn’t see the point. She didn’t see the point in letting some brash
buck sire his brood on her, only to watch her children taken from her one by
one. She decided she wanted to drop the subject, so she said nothing in her
defense. But as always, her parents were two, and she was only one.

“Lizneth, we raised you this way because this is the only
future we have.”

“This is no future, Mama.”

“Not the one you prefer, maybe. But we have more of a future
here than you’ll ever find out there.” Papa gestured toward the door.

Something in the way he did it made Lizneth clench up like a
stuck jar.
Out that door is exactly where I want to be
, she thought, and
she found herself becoming too upset to bear her parents’ company any longer. “I’d
rather fail making my own way than be stuck here without a choice,” she said,
rising to her feet. She scampered across the room and let herself outside
without looking back. Even after she’d whipped the door shut with her tail, she
could hear her parents’ cries coming from within.