Blue Fire. Janice Hardy

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СКАЧАТЬ louder with every jostle. I rocked as the trunk rocked, banging into the sides as we went down the front steps. I’d never been one for lake sickness, but the heat and the swaying had my stomach flipping.

      I listened, straining for sounds of people who might actually help if I started shouting. I prayed the others were safe and sound and heading for Barnikoff’s.

      Voices yelled – commanding voices. Soldiers or guards for sure. “Settle down or you’ll be arrested,” said someone who had to be a guard.

      “Help!” I kicked and pounded my fists on the sides of the trunk. “Help!”

      The trunk dropped hard to the ground. I kept kicking and yelling, until a six-inch chunk of knife blade sliced through the top, cutting into my cheek. I jerked away and pressed a hand against it. After a heartbeat, the blade was yanked out.

      “Next one goes through the side, where it’s heavy,” Fieso said through the hole. Most of me rested on that side, my back flat against the trunk. “I don’t want to risk the money, but heads don’t try to escape.”

      I stayed quiet. And still, despite the sting in my cheek or the blood trickling down my neck. Smells from the tannery oozed through the cracks in the trunk, mixing unpleasantly with the fish and mould. The smell of fish got stronger. Horses whinnied, wood creaked, and waves swished around dock pilings.

      We had to be at the traveller’s house on the docks, the only one with a stable. Unless you were military or very rich, horses and carriages weren’t allowed on the isles. That never stopped people from ferrying them over, though. Housekeeper Gilnari made a good living stabling both.

      Once I was on their carriage and off the isle I was done for. I had to escape before they boarded the ferry.

       Please, Saint Saea, do something. I’m out of ideas.

      Voices drifted over, but nothing I could make out. Probably Uncle getting the carriage brought around and the horses ready.

      “Let me help you with that,” someone called.

      “No, I got it,” Fieso said, banging on the side of the trunk my back was pressed against. “You scream,” he muttered through the hole in the trunk, “and anyone who tries to help you dies.”

      A minute later someone grunted and I was swaying. The trunk dipped sharply at one end and I crumpled on to my head. A sharp jerk and it righted again.

      My heart and my hope sank. I had to be on the carriage now.

      “Can she breathe in there?” The voice was muffled, but it sounded like Uncle.

      “I gave her an airhole,” Fieso replied.

      “Gonna need more than one.”

      The carriage rocked, then the blade punched through the lid – two, three, four times – then again in the front. I flattened myself against the side.

      “That enough?”

      “Better make ’em wider.”

      The blade returned, twisting in each hole until grape-size shafts of light shone through. “Happy now?”

      “Yeah, she won’t bake to death. Won’t it get messy in there?”

      “Not if we don’t feed her.”

      I shivered, despite the growing heat in the trunk. It was four days, maybe five to Baseer by road. I’d gone three days without food before, but never longer. I’d known folks who had, so I could probably manage, but how long could I survive without water?

      “Ferry’s boarding.”

      “About time,” said Uncle. “Saints, my head is killing me. Wake me when we hit the mainland. I’m gonna nap.”

      A door squeaked and shut, and the carriage lurched forward.

      The shifted pain. How long before it thickened Uncle’s blood and wore out his body? It had taken only a day for Danello and his brothers to get pain sick after I’d shifted their father’s pain into them, but there had been a lot more of it. How soon until Uncle got sick?

       How soon until he died?

      Hope and guilt merged in a very uncomfortable knot in my guts. I’d killed him sure as if I’d stabbed him, only he didn’t know it. I didn’t see any of them going to a Healer. Maybe a pain merchant, but I doubted there’d be any of those along the way.

      I shouldn’t feel guilty. He’d have killed me in a heartbeat. Cut off my head, just for money. Still, Healers didn’t take lives.

      The crowd’s shouts echoed in my ears. Abomination! Murderer!

      I wasn’t a Healer and I never would be. I had other paths: hero or murderer.

      Saints forgive me, but I felt more like one than the other.

      My stomach rolled with every sway, queasy again from the heat and closeness of the trunk. I focused on breathing – in, out, in, out – trying not to be sick. I didn’t think Fieso would open the trunk for any reason, no matter what noises I made or smells I emitted.

      Reins cracked and the rocking got worse as the horses picked up speed. Getting to Baseer faster might help keep me alive, but it was a whole lot more uncomfortable. I banged off the sides, bruising my bruises and opening up the cut on my cheek again. Already every inch of me hurt. My arms and legs burned from being crumpled like dirty laundry, and I doubted my spine would ever straighten up again. At least I’d have some pain to shift when they did let me out.

       And kill more people?

      I swallowed the thought. They weren’t people, they were criminals – real murderers. It should have made a difference, but the knot in my guts didn’t go away. Maybe I could escape without shifting. I always had before, though I’d never been in this much trouble.

      Hours later the light vanished from the holes in the trunk. The carriage slowed and stopped. Not long enough to be Baseer, so they must be stopping to camp.

      Footsteps.

      Someone fumbled with the latch and the lid lifted. Fresh air poured in and I gulped it like water. Night had fallen and stars speckled the sky over Resik’s shoulder.

      “You move even a little bit,” he said, hovering over me with a knife, “and I’ll slam this lid down hard as I can.”

      “I won’t.”

      He dropped a water flask on to my lap.

      “Thank you.” Sweat dripped into my eyes, but I didn’t wipe it away or go for the flask yet.

      He shrugged. “Be a waste of money if you died on us.”

      “Are you really this heartless?”

      He seemed taken aback at that, his expression shocked, then guilty, then angry. “It’s business. Nothing personal.”

      “Trade places with me and see if you still СКАЧАТЬ