Raw Winter

Chapter 44: Tigers

Rawintr felt the knife sliding through the air inches from her face and snarled like an angry dog, fumbling to get her knife out. She knew soon enough Whistle would stab the old man himself, or else shoot him. It would be that fast. In the background, the room seemed to shake with building pressure and a hammer crashing to the floor. She spared a glanced and felt the knife skid across her cheek. Whistle was still staring past her, and none of them seemed to know what to do as Mesmar bled out on the floor.

She pushed forward and reached to stab the old man, but he darted back and in again. She barely got out of the way. The cut on her face was trickling fresh blood, and she swiped again and again as he continued to dart in and out, faster than she could imagine a man his age could.

She tried to lunge at him, her knife extended, but he glided to the side. In her attempt to follow, she felt her foot catch on Mesmar. The gardener grinned madly through his thick beard as she tumbled to the floor. He leaped with his knife held over his head and brought it down to stab into her side as she struggled to scramble away from him. The movement made Mesmar scream in pain and she froze, staring into his insane, milky eyes.

Before the knife could score flesh, Chresher's arms went around him, tugging him back. She felt the knife's tip tug at the cloth of her coat. It had gotten caught in the fabric and she took a deep breath in and out to prove to herself she was whole and her lungs would still hold air. The man struggled and kicked hard as Chresher lifted him into the air, but Chresher's dark arms squeezed and the old man's face grew darker and darker, mouth wide and gasping. Rawintr wasted no time, springing to her feet and taking her knife to drive it into his heart, twisting it back and forth angrily, the blood trickling down to Mesmar. She then realized no one was holding Varnett.

"Catch the boy!" She hissed, turning her head to get a glimpse of where he might be, but Whistle was already on it, racing after the teen. He tackled him to ground, gripping his legs as he screamed and tried to kick him off, but Whistle was persistent, climbing up his body. He dragged himself up until they were face to face. He didn't stop screaming until Whistle started punching him over and over in the face. They weren't as hard as they could have been, but they were hard enough to remind him of his place and left bruises blossoming on his face. Whistle's face still showed signs of the bruises he got when Captain Derevi boarded their ship. He had enough control to stop and dragged him back to his feet. It would be harder for all of them if he couldn't walk.

All the while, the sound of Kircan fighting the tall man echoed like thunder in the background. The only assurance it was going well was that it was still happening. If Kircan was already dead, there would be no need for the man to continue attacking, or at least his strikes would muffle hitting his broken body.

The hairs stood on the back of her neck and she felt almost afraid to check, but there was no reason not to. They had killed the threat. And was Mesmar? Her heart sunk when she realized and kneeled beside him. Her fingers curled in his hair as she lifted his head.

"Captain, we knew it was going to happen to me," Mesmar said, smiling dully up at her. "It was only a matter of how and when. I'm glad to do it for you."

"I meant for none of you to die," she said, her hand pushing against the wound as if enough pressure was all it took to stop the tide. That was all it was supposed to take. He grimaced and wheezed even as her fingers dug into him. So many loud crashes were echoing behind her, and she refused to turn her head even a little as she continued to push.

"Captain," Mesmar said, his face paper pale, "you can't fight for a dead man. Fight for the living. You knew the story before you told it." He reached up and shoved her stomach. She screamed like a lion, all pain and panic where he pressed the scar under his hand, and stumbled back, back to her feet.

She screamed at him again, face red with rage, but looking now she saw he was dead. It looked like he had been dead for a good ten minutes at least. She clenched her jaw, felt lost, and felt the solemn eyes of Chresher looking at her.

"What are we going to do, captain?" He asked. She couldn't be sure if he was looking at her, or the fight happening beyond her.

"My mistake to fix," she barked. "Get the damn boy and I'll get Kircan."

She turned and marched away from them, stars in her eyes that wouldn't go away. She shouldn't have left the sea. She belonged to the sea. The closer she got, the clearer the fight was becoming.

Kircan had his scimitar in his hand and the man had a war hammer longer than his body slammed down to fall on Kircan, but he was agile and easily leaped out of the way. Rawintr didn't need to see clearly to know he was wearing down and growing slower. The man seemed to sense his advantage and went at it with a new fury, and Rawintr wondered if he had a limit, and where it was.

There seemed to be something strangely intimate and familiar with the way they attacked and dodged each other like they were partaking in a dance they had rehearsed countless times despite how Kircan was slathered in so much sweat his skin glistened. He just kept going.

Rawintr considered where she might come in. She knew if she interrupted the rhyme at the wrong time, she might get herself hurt or make Kircan lose his rhyme. She considered if this was the right time to use her pistol, but something felt inherently wrong about that, and she wanted to save her bullets for Catinol. She couldn't be sure she wouldn't need them later.

Instead, she stepped back and pulled her dagger. She knew she didn't throw the straightest and didn't have the best sense for distance, but thought as long as she could hit him without hurting Kircan, it would be enough. With a deft flick of her wrist, she sent the dagger spinning. Icy dread flooded her, imagining she threw too soon or it would hit hilt first as she watched its spinning arc.

What followed was akin to pulling the bottom card out from a tower of cards. It could have been one that only partially undid what was built, but this seemed to be fundamental.

The dagger sunk in his arm, the one holding the head of the hammer as he lifted it over his head. It didn't quite slip, but it was close as his grip loosened and the weapon slid down and hit his shoulder before crashing to the ground.

Kircan needed no further indicator that this was his chance, and every muscle in his body tensed. His blade plunged fatally into the man's stomach, and it was nearly all he could reach. The tall man retched and growled, glaring down with amber eyes that grew vibrant as blood dribbled down his chin.

"Do you notice me now?" Kircan asked, looking up at him with eyes that glistened, and Rawintr could only guess what these two men shared as he slowly slumped to his knees and their eyes drew even.

He reached out, and it seemed he might strangle Kircan as one last act. Instead, he told him, "I'm proud," before crumbling to the floor. After he was dead, it left over the biggest tiger either of them had ever seen, and would ever see again.

"Why didn't he fight you like that?" Rawintr said.

"It's not our way," Kircan answered.

"Maybe you should change your ways," Rawintr replied, frowning as she stared at the tiger. "It's a waste to die like that."

"Sure, Captain," he mumbled, pushing his hands in his pockets and bowing his head.