The Huntsman and the Nix Ch. 02-03

Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head. "Block Eight has been used mostly as storage for equipment for the institute since the Nix were killed. That's why it was a good hiding place. It's locked down and can only be opened from the control center. You couldn't fit through the ducting."

She was tense again, not looking at him. Probably wondering what he was going to do with her. If he brought her to the institute, the little Nix believed Bruja would kill both of them. If he got on the shuttle and left her here, she knew she wouldn't survive.

"There's one thing rights-of-privacy can't protect Bruja from," he said. "If a huntsman goes missing, they'll send another huntsman after me, eventually, if I don't come back."

"Don't come back from where?" she said.

"Nowhere. I'm staying out here so you're safe."

She stared at him. "You'd do that? Stay here to protect me?"

"Contrary to what you might believe, huntsmen are usually the good guys. But first I need to speak to Bruja."

"What for?"

"To tell her you're dead, killer."

"She might still kill you, Huntsman."

"Don't worry, killer. I'll be back."

#

Sutter strode across the field toward the main gate of the institute, seeing guards in the security towers with scope rifles. His eyes were roaming, his nape prickling. Sutter was thinking about Isobet's scenario, him shot in the field he'd just crossed, her unable to flee because of the shackles, them getting hold of the tag trigger. Passing through the gate, Sutter stopped, facing at least ten armed guards.

They melted backward as Bruja laReine stepped out of a guard tower on his right, the men letting her through. "I'm pleased to see you're safe, Huntsman. Were you successful?"

Sutter retrieved and flipped his pad around, showing the image. Isobet looked dead, for sure.

"The body?" Bruja said.

"Not recoverable. I wasn't interested in dragging bloody meat through that jungle with the predators. I did find this on her," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Isobet's heart locket. It was his second piece of evidence, and hopefully Bruja would buy it.

Bruja held out her hand, her shoulders relaxing and her eyes lighting. "In the locket. Of course," she said under her breath. She opened the catch and pulled out a small data ring. Sutter always kept a couple on him.

It was blank, but Bruja laReine wouldn't know that until she loaded it into a reader. The director put it in her pocket. When she accessed it, she would be disappointed, but what was she going to say? I blew a huntsman and he didn't deliver on our deal? "I've prepared my report to system authorities," he said. "I'll need the communication enhancer in the control center here at Forsyte Institute to forward it to the justica on Corsa. It's ready."

He wanted communications, if she'd give it to him.

"I'd be happy to send the report for you," Bruja said, offering her blotter. "I'm going there now."

"I should do it myself," Sutter said.

Bruja's eyes shifted very briefly to one of the guards behind Sutter and then back to him, probably not even realizing she'd done it.

Sutter's nape prickled and he suddenly had the strangest feeling that he had a rifle aimed at his back and someone's finger on the trigger, waiting for her signal. It was probably paranoia, but they could dump his body out there and claim Isobet had killed him, and he didn't like the silence. Sutter shrugged and held out his pad, in range. "As long as it's there when I arrive."

Bruja nodded, releasing her breath a little. She passed the blotter in front of his pad, capturing the file, looking at her screen. "I have your report and will send it immediately. Thank you for your services, Huntsman. Is there anything else you require?"

"No."

"Then I've already had the shuttle programmed to take you back to Belit. Safe journey, Huntsman."

Sutter turned and walked toward the building through which he'd come in, feeling their eyes on him, his nape prickling again. The shuttle building was by the front gates, making up one corner of the wall and leading to the shuttle pad on the roof.

He went through the door and up the stairs, getting to the shuttle pad. There were two shuttles there, one readied, the door open. He boarded.

He'd spotted the cameras coming in. They were facing side-on to the shuttle from the main tower. He stayed low, going out the opposite door of his shuttle, carrying his pack, walking behind the other shuttle and around the perimeter of the pad outside their range.

He watched his shuttle lift off, standing in a recess and waiting. He would go back down the stairs when the people watching the feeds believed he was gone. Then he'd get himself back to--

The shuttle exploded.

From here, it was a ball of fire and a muffled explosive sound, smoke and glass glittering in the sunlight. Sutter stared up at the sky.

Son of a bitch. Bruja laReine had just tried to take him out.

* * *

[Isobet]

It was late afternoon before the huntsman came back. But he did come back. Isobet hadn't been at all sure, sitting where he'd left her, alert because nowhere in this jungle was really safe. Her shoulder hurt, a throbbing ache.

She was alive, and she really hadn't expected to be, not since she'd found institute guards at the door to her rooms. Not since she'd learned her father was dead. The huntsman would want to bring her into system authority eventually. She was still a fugitive. It was better than being given to Bruja and the guards.

System authorities had already sent the huntsman to kill her. They had all the power. Even if they didn't kill her, they might put her in prison. Or a hospital, maybe, for her own safety, deemed unstable or something. And maybe they wouldn't. She couldn't tell. The huntsman seemed to think they'd look at the evidence and let her go.

She'd still killed Speculo. In self-defense, yes, but to her, that just sounded like the system authorities were being handed the perfect excuse to lock her up and the huntsman was trusting them not to do so.

Isobet knew he was there right before he startled her.

"Hey, killer," he said, materializing out of nothing.

She released her breath. "I thought Bruja might kill you anyway, Huntsman." Isobet still had difficulty believing he'd stayed for her, to save her life, in part because she'd thought that the fact that she was a Nix had disgusted him. Maybe she did disgust him, but he had a code or something.

"You were right," he said. "She arranged to blow up the shuttle I was supposed to be on. I'm sure it'll be passed off as an unfortunate accident. I think she didn't want to risk that I'd learned the truth out here."

Bruja had tried to kill the huntsman. If he'd done like Isobet had suggested and left on the shuttle, he'd be dead.

Now he was stranded out here just as much as she was. "So system authority thinks you're dead and not just missing? They're not coming?"

"They might and they might not. I'm chipped, but I don't know if they'll receive the signal from Tilles because of the interference. Here."

He held something out to her. She looked down. He had her knife--Speculo's knife--in his hand. She put her hand out and he gave it to her. Looking up at him, she nodded, her shoulders relaxing. He believed her. It was good to know someone did. "Thank you."

He was holding out a cloth. "Wrap it so you can carry it. For now, we stay out here. If nobody comes, then we'll figure something else out."

"What happens when we run out of food?"

His glance was assessing, those deep brown eyes. "Barring an accident or bad luck, I could live out here indefinitely, killer. I'll show you. Bruja will suspect I lied to her when she sees the data ring I gave her is blank. I predict she'll send others to look for your body, to try to get confirmation you're dead. We should go. Follow me closely and keep your eyes on your surroundings. I don't want to turn around and find you gone."

"Yes," she said.

He set off and she followed him. He went in a loping run she had no difficulty keeping up with, and he signaled her with his hands when he wanted her to move in a particular direction, or stop, or go more slowly, and when. She watched him, interpreting, and then they were in and out of the river.

About an hour later, he let them stop. Her heart was pounding with a dull sick thudding she could feel in her shoulder, her head hurting again, her joints aching. She felt far too warm.

He set down the pack and looked at her. "You're flushed. How are you doing?"

Isobet was trying to control her fast breathing. "Just from running. I'm fine, Huntsman." She didn't want him to be forced to stop on her account, not when they weren't safe yet.

"All right, killer," he said, opening his hand.

She looked. The analgesic pill. "Thank you," she said, taking it, the huntsman handing her the water.

"We needed distance, but I want to rely less on speed. If you can push for the next couple hours, we should have a place to hole up safely for a few days."

"Yes."

"Then let's find the river."

They ran for hours. She kept going. He was always ahead of her, the path endless. Isobet had never been so exhausted, shivering even with the jacket, her pants wet from the river.

He finally stopped. "Stay here," he said.

Leaving her briefly, he went toward the cliff wall ahead. Isobet was just hoping they'd arrived at wherever he wanted them to be, swaying where she stood.

He returned, looking at her closely. His mouth tightened. "Come on."

The place he'd found was against the cliff face, a large recess with a deep overhang, a generous space. Grateful not to be running anymore, Isobet went and sat down, putting her head on her knees, her heart racing.

The huntsman came over, squatting in front of her. He reached for her and she drew back, but he ignored her. She didn't move as he felt her forehead, his hand cool on the back of her neck, Isobet leaning into it a little, so tired.

"Your fever is back almost as bad. You should have said something." He rose and activated his bedroll. "Take off your pants before you get in. They're wet. You can leave the underwear on. I'll get a fire going and bring you some food."

He walked away, getting wood and returning, releasing it. He walked away again. She was simply too tired to help him. And cold. Her shivering was getting worse.

She waited until he came back, the huntsman dropping the wood. "I don't w-want your b-bed."

"You need it and I don't," he said, walking away. He came back with more wood.

"I'm n-not...going to take your bed," she repeated, getting hold of it, clenching her teeth.

"Because you'd rather make yourself even more sick out here so I have to take care of you."

She frowned at his back as he walked away again. He was right. When he returned, releasing the wood, she'd removed her pants, glancing at him. He wasn't looking at her. She left her underwear on, which were dry, and crawled into his bedroll. He brought her food and she ate a little and then gave up, too cold.

Her body didn't seem to have any warmth to trap, and she shook and shook. Sitting by the fire, he turned his head to look at her.

"I don't know why I'm s-s-so c-cold," she said.

The huntsman rose and started undressing, Isobet frowning at him. He took off his coat and then his shirt, and then his undershirt, leaving his pants on. He was strong-looking, broad shoulders, his chest naked and his belly, a faint trail of dark hair from his navel that disappeared into his pants, the muscles across his back moving, big arms. But he had scars all over his torso and back, his arms. She realized she was staring and looked away.

He approached the bedroll. She watched as he dropped to his knees and moved over her and then behind her, his body suddenly against hers, radiating heat, solid and so much of him. Molding to her, his hand went to her arm, big and warm. Isobet was shuddering with cold.

"You're chilled. Your body is still fighting the infection," he said. "It's the fastest way to warm you, killer."

She turned and looked at him, his face close. He didn't even like her. But he wasn't being friendly or unfriendly. It made her feel better about it. She moved so he could pull her close, aware she was only in her underwear. He crossed his arms in front of her, careful of her shoulder. His smell was earth and spice, warmth.

It had been days since she hadn't been cold, long shivers that got more infrequent and shorter as his heat went all through her. Her breathing got deeper. "Thank you for letting me go, Huntsman," she said, sleepy.

"It's Sutter," he said, holding her tightly

Sutter. Strange to think the huntsman had a name. "Okay," she mumbled.

* *

CHAPTER THREE

[Isobet]

Sutter threw the punch at speed. She evaded as he'd taught her, her hand coming up to redirect his strike.

"Good," Sutter said. "Do you still have to think about it?"

"Sometimes," she said as he threw another.

They were barefoot, on the soft mossy ground by their camp. Isobet still only had the undershirt, but he never seemed to notice.

#

They'd been out here for weeks. There was nothing else to do, waiting to see if someone would come for them. She thought the chances were getting more slim every day, but he hadn't said anything.

Sutter had first taught her what he called the basics: fire; shelter; food and water; first aid. Then it was navigation, identifying plants, tracking, moving quietly, storing food, and knots. Some of it was boring, but she listened, and she practiced.

Making a fire was more difficult than they'd made it look in the fictions.

"Teach me how to defend myself," she'd said to him one day early in their time here, remembering how easily he'd taken her knife from her.

His eyes had swept her. "Run away," he'd said.

"Very funny, Sutter."

"I'm not being funny. Don't get caught. Run away. Hide. You're fast and smart."

"Then teach me how to get away if I do get caught."

He'd studied her and then a small smile had come to his mouth. "I can teach you how to get out of holds," he offered.

"Yes," she'd agreed.

#

He grabbed her with both hands, but Sutter was always careful of her shoulder. Her fever had come back for a few days, but not so high, and it had broken on the fourth day. During that time, he'd kept her in his bedroll with him. He'd never told her to sleep somewhere else after that, and she hadn't stopped going to bed there. He joined her after she was asleep and was usually out of it before she woke. It was still cold at night, and he was like a heater, and she didn't think he noticed her that way anyway.

"Get your arms up and protect yourself so I don't hit you in the face," he said, Isobet evading again.

They were deep in the wild jungle of Tilles Moon. She'd never imagined coming out here and staying. Sometimes they walked for days. Sometimes, Sutter liked a place for some reason that made sense to him and they stayed.

Sutter was a patient teacher, but he had a few things that he was adamant about. One of them was hesitating. "Right or wrong, take action in a fight, killer. Evade or attack. Those are your options. There are no others."

After hesitating, there was the other thing he didn't like, which was what he called "half-assing," a failure to commit after having decided on an action.

If he judged she was doing either, he would let her know. This time, he reached and shoved her, Isobet getting her balance as he shoved her again, following her, back and back until she staggered and fell. He stood over her. "What're you doing?" he said. "Run, if you're not going to attack, but don't just stand there looking pretty."

She rolled to her feet, glaring at him. Isobet hated it when he did that and he knew it. Closing with him side-on, tucking in, doing something, like he said, she yelled and he brought her down, rolling on top of her. She bared her teeth at him. He never let her win.

He surprised her when he grinned. It always made her belly flip-flop when Sutter did that, because it changed everything. You liked Sutter when he smiled, all that cold remoteness in his expressiojn disappearing and more warmth in his face than she'd ever thought could be there.

"You have to control the distance," he said.

He was heavy, his face close. "What distance?" she grunted.

At first, it had been strange to have him pressed against her, touching her, his smell and the feel of his body, the intimacy of it. But he never seemed to notice her that way. He certainly hadn't kissed her.

She, on the other hand, thought about it. Isobet thought about it when they were training. She thought about it when she would wake in his bedroll in the night. More than she'd like to admit, given he didn't like her, not that way, although he was friendly enough. But she was sure he could feel her heart pounding sometimes, and not from exertion.

She tried to turn her mind away, humiliated that he might know, because Sutter might not seem like it, but he noticed everything.

He wouldn't be interested in someone like her anyway. She still thought he didn't like Nix, not forgetting how he'd said the word to address her when they'd met. And he would want to be with a woman who looked more like her stepmother, Bruja, anyway, tall and beautiful.

"What happened when you met Bruja?" she'd asked him.

He had shrugged. "She tried to get me to agree to find the data ring when I captured you."

"You did try to find it. You looked for it in my clothing."

"She was persuasive," he'd said, but he hadn't elaborated.

He was so heavy.

"Getting out from under is going to be even more difficult for you, and on the ground with me on top of you is the last place you want to be," he said.

Isobet blinked up at him, thinking about that, but she tucked her elbows in as he'd taught her, her right hand going to grip his right wrist, her left above his elbow, her left leg moving to the outside of his right, and she twisted, Sutter going with the roll as she shoved away, onto her feet. If she did something right, he would allow it to show her the result.

She'd thought she was away enough, but he lunged and swiped her foot, long arms, bringing her down again. She rolled, trying to crawl away, and Sutter got hold of her and was on top of her, letting his weight trap her on her belly.

Isobet could feel him against her butt. His sex was stiff in his pants. It was often stiff. He didn't seem self-conscious about it, treating it like what it was, she imagined--a physical reaction to rolling around with a woman. But her belly flipped over again, reminding herself he didn't think of her that way. She threw her leg between his and tried to throw him off, bucking against him, feeling herself rubbing against his sex, a deep sinking going through her belly.

He laughed, getting better hold of her, wrapping around her. "Wrong side, killer."

She made a frustrated noise and tried the other side, turning and curling up, getting out from under him and to her feet, bouncing away.

Sutter rolled to his feet. "Good. We're done. Go get some water in the filter. I'm going to check the snares and we'll go."

#

Four days later, they camped again, this time for a couple days, he said. She was sitting and winding rope, twisting two strands together in the opposite direction they were rolled, the tension creating the strength of the final length. They were from the framework of smaller roots under the trees. Sutter just seemed to know how to do everything.

They had retted the roots in one of the deep pools--which was to say, they had soaked them and then beaten them, breaking up the stiff layer between the inner and the outer shell, as he'd explained it, showing her, his movements sure, leaving a pliable and strong line.

She watched him a great deal. There was a reason Sutter was so confident. He was never at a loss, never unsure, and he didn't seem to be afraid of anything. She'd never once seen him afraid. It made her mad.