The Smoke-Girl & her Northern Ghost

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TaLtos6
TaLtos6
1,930 Followers

Stealing one was a lot cheaper than paying a bride-price any day. Her grandfather had also known his fantastic luck, for his stolen bride had been happy with him from the first.

Given where she'd come from, he knew that he was very lucky that she hadn't killed him in his sleep, so he must have been doing something right. Or maybe she'd just been elated that somebody had swept her off her feet and taken her away from the drudgery of being a girl in her clan.

Two years after rejoining his tribe, there had been a daughter born, and that had been her mother, of course. Next, she knew that her mother had been courted and won by a Cuman, since they were allied so closely with the Kipchaks that it almost wasn't worth the asking of what the interested young man had been born as.

And there was one thing which had been constant across the generations. The mother of each daughter had her little girls in a saddle and learning to ride as soon as she'd found and bargained for the smallest pony that she could find.

But now it looked as though the last and youngest of her mother's line would either be re-captured, and beaten to death at best, or failing that, she'd probably freeze to death. It was just tidying up the details, that was all.

She ran on, hoping against hope.

Her father was their khan and he'd forged alliances all around, but in this place, far from the steppes, it was difficult to hold any sort of tight rein on anyone and there had been a few intrigues already. Her mother had warned her father, but he hadn't listened. Now everyone was dead.

It had been her bad luck to be sleeping on the other side of the yurt last night and away from where the horses were staked. Oh, how many times had she groaned when she had been sleeping there? Last night when she could have really used her horse to be right outside ...

It had been over in a minute, her parents dead and she'd been dragged off. She cursed her choice to be visiting like that, but it had looked like her last chance for a while, the way things were these days and with the almost constant fighting. She was the last unmarried daughter left and the youngest as well. Now she was long past marriageable age at twenty-eight. She ought to be a grandmother by now or close to it. She had several nieces and nephews, some nearing marriage-choice age, though she guessed that they were dead as well now.

But it had always been her wildness and her way to resist anything which had been expected of her if she didn't like it at first blush -- it was almost a reflex with her. There she'd been, still playing at being a warrior-girl in a male world. She supposed the fact that she'd even been allowed this at all was due to her father doting on her and the fact that he was the khan.

As she saw her own breasts bouncing in her lower view, she cursed her luck and sadness yet again as she felt her tears come to her once more. She'd gone from being the spoiled daughter of a well-known family to a naked and cold woman running for her life.

And running like this was hurting her tits, so she tried to hold them with one hand and arm.

She didn't even know where she was. Where she'd been from, she'd learned to find her way even if she stood on the featureless plains of some of the steppes. Here in this land, she didn't think she'd had a view over more than maybe a league at best, even in the daytime. This crazy land had more mountains and forests to block her view than she'd ever seen.

And it was night now.

And it was late in the autumn.

And she was running for her life as naked as she'd been born.

She knew that she'd die here in any of a few ways.

Whoever had done this had taken everything from her and not even left her the means with which to cover her modesty, not that she's ever had much, she admitted. As part of who she was -- or who she'd been, she decided, she'd had her fun now and then, but having to submit to a man's crude desire simply because, ... well that sort of domination hadn't been something that she'd have ever allowed and it was likely the largest reason for her present predicament.

As she'd huddled naked in a few furs, the flap of the yurt had been lifted and at least one of the pigs responsible had swaggered in. She hadn't recognized him, but she listened as he told her that she would be his, to do with as he pleased, and that she needed to learn to accept her place. Once he'd helped her to do that, he'd said, her life would get a little better.

She didn't believe a word that he'd said. His eyes told a far different tale.

She'd tried to ask who he was, where they were, things of that nature, but he'd opened the game with the back of his hand across her face to send her sprawling before he's seized her ankle and pulled her to where he'd been kneeling. Like everything else in the past two days for her, things after that had happened almost too quickly to be seen and as he'd slapped her several times for trying to keep her knees together, she'd seen the dagger and ...

But there had been only moments after that, not even enough time to look for a fur that didn't have the weight of the dead brute's body on it and from what she'd heard outside the tent, she was to be shared between several of the men here. The last straw -- the final spur of her desperation came when she heard one of them say that he hoped that by the time that it was his turn, she was still at least alive enough to do more than moan for him a little.

She'd lifted the bottom edge of the yurt on the opposite side of the door and then she ran, across the open ground as fast as she could, right into the middle of where the horses which had been staked there. Her appearance in the middle of them had only spooked them, but in the middle of those insane moments, she'd found her foot a little warmed from stepping in fresh horsedung, and she'd found a mare that didn't look to be nearly out of her mind from the suddenness of being startled that way.

She'd pulled the stake and leapt on, spurring with her bare heels to get them going at least.

That had led to a wild ride in the darkness with her being barely able to see the way ahead, but it had raised hell back there, with frightened horses pulling their stakes and creating havoc, running into the sides of other yurts and knocking them down, or knocking over the men who ran around shouting.

It was a good few minutes before she heard the shouting settle as she opened some space between her and her captors. She was thankful that she'd found this one horse who didn't seem to be much bothered, other than not being terribly enthusiastic over being urged to thunder along in the night. At least she was a Cuman horse. She knew it since she could be guided by her knees.

That was when she'd been amazed to find that she still hung onto the bloody dagger.

But it came to an end a little later when the mare slowed to a stop and plainly would go any further. It was clear that she wanted to turn back to seek out her feedbag again, so before the horse broke into a gallop to take her right back to her captors, she'd jumped down.

The horse shook her head and whinnied a little and was gone.

All that there was to do now was run. From their style of living and the way that the horse had been trained, it was clear to her that her captors had been just as used to a nomadic existence as she'd been. That meant that they could track, and that meant that she was still far too close to them by about two days, and that was only if she had a horse who was willing.

At least she'd gotten this far, she thought.

She felt the small and thin dagger in her right hand. It seemed hopelessly small and impotent out here, but it was the only thing that she had. For some stupid and insane reason, she suddenly heard her mother's voice from a time when she'd been a stick of a girl. She knew that there was a lot more weeping in her near future regardless, but right now she didn't want to hear her mother's admonition to never run with a blade.

Well where was she supposed to put it then?

That was the point where she saw the darkness in front of her, the slow moving river. She didn't even slow down. She just gripped the dagger tighter and ran in. It was colder to her than the night air, but she needed this.

She'd already heard the dogs.

-----------------

Gunnar was tired from another day of riding, though it had been a good one and he'd seen a lot of leagues of road slip past his feet. The small meal was almost hot enough and the tent was warm.

He was just thinking of eating and then turning in when he heard a soft and rather distant splash in the river that he knew lay a distance to the south of him and got to his feet. He thought that he could hear dogs baying.

With a sigh, he took up his axe and his sword. As an afterthought, he picked up his hatchet as well and slid the haft of it through the belt at his waist.

He hadn't thought that anyone lived hereabouts. It had been the main reason that he'd decided on this place as where he's spend the night.

He kicked sand onto the small fire and was gone in the darkness.

---------------------

She lay on the bank on the other side, a little upstream from where she'd crossed. The mud on her back and haunch was cold and she had trouble holding still. She couldn't even feel her feet anymore.

She needed to stop shaking, she told herself. There was precious little to hide behind, and something which moved in any way would just draw the eyes of her pursuers.

The large silver hoop earring which now lay against her neck wasn't helping things much either by its coldness. As she listened to the quiet words of the men who were looking for her on the opposite shore, she was almost without hope. She could see them almost clearly from all the way over here. There couldn't be any possibility to her mind that they wouldn't see her in a little time.

The thin moon was at their backs.

At least the dogs had been fooled so far, she thought as her eyes slid along the shore over there seeing that there had been five of the men at first, but that the one who handled the dogs had whistled softly after a moment and taken them to look elsewhere since they were ruining whatever few tracks she'd left them in the mud of the shore.

But the other four must have at least a little experience at hunting humans, by her guess. They hadn't left. They'd only begun looking harder.

She almost gasped, but she'd caught it in time as she heard a few very soft sounds from the bank above and behind her.

She was almost afraid to breathe as she looked up and over her shoulder to her right very slowly.

She saw the head of a horse as he stood stock-still in the darkness there, but aside from her prayer that the horse didn't snort or make any other sound now; she had one other thing to stare at in her fear.

That large equine head was over the edge of the bank by most of the length of its neck and she could see that the animal was looking at her.

------------------------

Gunnar looked at his steed and he knew. This one animal had been a godsend to him so many times the past couple of years. He knew that there was something there below or the animal wouldn't be looking there. From what he knew of his large friend, something or someone was there.

He looked across the river and saw the men, searching for something and not wanting to risk lighting a torch. He wondered what this was about, but he knew what this was. Whatever or whoever lay just out of his sight was the object of this search.

There was a tiny, just barely audible click which came to his ears. He looked at his horse, and thought of the rings which held the leather breastplate on him. They could have made the sound, but he hadn't heard it from there almost beside him. It had come from the bank below. He doubted that it had been loud enough to get past the quiet sound of the river and a look showed him by the actions of the men that they hadn't noticed anything.

As she lay in the mud of the bank, the woman looked over in horror at the silver bracelet on her right arm and the two that had slipped down to her wrist.

Gunnar looked down at the edge of the turf then and decided that he needed to know, so he slid one foot nearer to the bank and testing with his weight, he leaned forward a little and looked down and to his left before he leaned his weight back and thought about it.

There was a woman there.

From the way that she was dressed, or rather, not dressed, he couldn't think of a single good reason for the way that she seemed to be hunted by the men. Well one way or another, he decided that he had only a slim chance of getting his horse turned around and well enough hidden before something happened here, and he doubted that it would be good, whatever it was.

He led his horse off just a ways and into some trees. He took a moment to speak to the animal softly and he knew that the beast was intelligent enough to know when not to make a sound if he did that. He could just hear the animal's breathing as he walked off.

He slid over the bank slowly and he did hear the woman's quiet gasp, so he turned his head and waved his hand in front of his mouth. She looked as though she really wanted to scream, but he did see her nod a little, so he laid his long-axe down next to her in the mud and looked up.

The moon had been hidden behind a thin bank of clouds for a little while, but from what he saw, he'd have only a moment or two to get out of sight.

If the cloud slipped away before that, he'd be clearly visible and he knew it. All that they had to do was look.

He stepped into the water and crouched as he did.

----------------------------

She was trapped.

She saw a large foot come down from above not all that far away from her and looked at it to follow its progress the way that a fly might find itself trapped and be fascinated as it watched the spider approach. She felt as though she couldn't move or do a thing in her defense.

She guessed that it was the same thing, really. The brief period of fearful fascination would come to an end sometime very soon and then, just like the fly, she'd struggle as hard as she could to fight for her life, but this would end with her death all the same.

She saw more of him slowly ease over the edge.

And more.

And still more. The true measure of just how large this man was began to filter through her fear to what was left of her logic.

This was the single largest man that she'd ever seen.

She wanted to stand up so that she could make the best use of the slender means of defense in her right hand, but she felt paralyzed now from fear or the cold or a combination of them as she watched the way that his arms swelled and rippled as he eased down farther so that his feet were on the sloped bank.

There were different units in use among her people, but the median height for men at the time was about five feet, six inches and a man would be considered tall at five, ten. One of the reasons why the youngest daughter of the khan had never been courted very much by anyone was that she stood at an almost impossibly tall five, nine; a good six inches taller than the median height for the women of the tribes.

She watched in awe as the pale monster straightened up and began to quake all over again.

She couldn't make out his face in the darkness for the angle of the moon, but the hair that she saw spilled down far past his shoulders and what hung at the front of him reached to almost his navel, and in the thin light, all that she saw was that it was white.

She couldn't even make out more than his nose, but for a moment, she thought she saw the glitter of two pale eyes. Then he moved and the eyes were in deep shadow again.

She made a half-hearted attempt to raise her dagger in a hopefully threatening way, but he shook his head and pointed to the men opposite from them for an instant. Then his huge hand was in the air between them, waving back and forth in front of where she guessed that his mouth was.

She understood that he was asking her to be still.

What could she do? Call the ones who wanted to harm her over? She gave as much of a nod as her petrified nerves would allow and eased herself back a little against the bank.

She watched as he looked up at the moon, she supposed, and then he soundlessly stepped to the river and began to sink out of sight.

She tried to control her breathing a little and gave it a thought.

She'd never seen a ghost before.

Now she had, and it looked to her that he was some river spirit.

She was thankful that she hadn't been in the water when he'd decided to return to his home there under the waves.

-----------------

The bottom dropped away fairly quickly and he was a little thankful for it and it couldn't have happened a moment too soon. He moved away from the shore, trying to feel for a foothold or something and cautiously swim at the same time. He eased himself lower and moved away a little downstream.

"Look!" one of her pursuers called out quietly, "She is there."

The woman gasped and knew that her number was pretty much up right then. She looked for the huge man and saw little in the current, nothing identifiable, anyway. She wondered where he'd gone and why. She didn't think that he'd have any reason to want to help her. But he'd left his axe there near to her. She looked over at her dagger.

Then she reached for the long-handled axe.

They were in the river and wading out to her already.

She could barely lift the thing. She remembered the horse then and tried to get up the bank. As full of desperation and fear as she was, she couldn't do it. She looked over her shoulder at the men and whimpering a little in her desperation.

She tried again, trying to grapple with some roots there. They let go and she fell on her face.

She also lost the dagger.

She tried, but she couldn't find it by feel in the mud.

One of the men tripped over a submerged root or tree and fell with a quiet curse.

A few moments later, a second one gasped just after there had been a soft thudding sound. What was not visible was that the man tried to gather his breath to scream, but he was pushed under deeper and drew only water into his lungs. Even like that he's have floundered to the surface to struggle for breath, but the sword which now slid between his ribs put an end to his struggles as the hatchet in his back was pulled free.

The other two, who were out in front noticed and turned, but saw nothing. "Go back and see what happened," the one closest to the other bank said, "I can handle the bitch myself."

But by the time that he began to wade grinning out onto the mud, the third one was under the surface and almost dead.

Gunnar saw how things were and swam as quickly as the hatchet in his hand would allow him to while still doing his best to be quiet.

Perhaps it was the effort or the uncertainty that the last man felt, but he was slow in stepping out onto the bank. The woman held the long-axe up a little shakily and her face told that she'd use it.

But the man knew that he only had to get her to swing it once. She'd miss and then he only needed to be a little quick and he'd have her to drag back for his reward and the gold which was offered would go a long way to help him to find new friends to drink with if the rest of them were as afraid of the dark as this.

There was a wet sound almost beside him and he began to turn just as a hatchet drove in below his ribcage. Gunnar wouldn't have time for a second swing to silence him, but he did catch a bit of a glint in the moonlight of something there in the mud. Recognizing the shape, he scooped it up and reversing his hand, he swung his fist to thump the heel of it against the center of the man's chest. The dagger in his fist slammed through the cartilage of the breastbone and slid in to pierce the heart behind that.

TaLtos6
TaLtos6
1,930 Followers