Instructing the Novice Read online

  “Peace, Brut,” the third male said. “We agreed that Karx would go to the Evil Mountain to learn what he could and to earn us enough credit to buy the outsider weapons we need to defeat the female infidels. He cannot help what he has to do there in order to fulfill the will of the Father Gods.”

  “I know you’re right, Terg—and as Shaman, you must have the final say,” the first male said. “But it still sickens me to think of all he has to do. Putting his mouth on a female’s most filthy parts—and not even one who has been purified by knife and fire as we will soon purify this one…” He nodded down at Lizabeth expressively.

  “Knife and fire?” she blurted, feeling more awake than ever, and not in a good way. “What are you talking about? If you touch me there will be Hell to pay—the Kindred will come after you! I promise you that!”

  “The Kindred, she says! Those female worshipers!” Brut, who Lizabeth now remembered as the leader of the tribe, turned his head and spat again. “I’ve even hard tell they worship a Goddess instead of the Father Gods as is right and proper!”

  “Yes!” the second male exclaimed. “And they let their females run wild and allow them to speak in public and—”

  “They respect women and treat them as equals,” Lizabeth snapped. “Why do you find that so threatening?”

  She’d expected a sharp retort but instead Brut drew back a heavy hand and slapped her. Lizabeth gasped and her head rocked back, hitting the hard platform they had placed her on. The side of her face exploded with pain and she tasted blood and knew her lip had been split.

  “Oh!” She put a hand to her face reflexively—at least her arms were free now, though her feet were still tied. “You asshole!”

  “You dare to speak so to a male?” Brut drew back his hand again but the Shaman—Terg—stopped him.

  “Peace, Brut,” he said again, putting a hand to the other male’s arm to keep the blow from falling. “You must not ruin her face before the ceremony—the Snow Queen’s features must be soft and smooth.”

  “She’s a filthy, unholy female—a whore who speaks to males and looks them in the eye as bold as can be,” Brut protested. “I was only trying to slap the filthy words from her mouth!”

  “We will soon fill her mouth with screams,” Terg promised. “And she will no longer be filthy when we have purified her. She will be a fitting sacrifice and the best Snow Queen we’ve had in a generation. Didn’t Krux say she had been in their magic pool which increases fertility? Surely when you and I have bred her she will conceive a child—a strong son who may become the leader or Shaman of our tribe in his own right someday.”

  Raping me—they’re talking about raping me, Lizabeth realized, feeling sick. After they finish cutting me up, that is.

  She had known that this was the situation she was going into when Karx had told her where he was taking her on the train. But somehow the reality of her plight was much, much worse than she ever could have imagined.

  Brut looked thoughtful.

  “I do not think that you and I should be the only males to breed her, Terg,” he said, frowning. “We should take no chances—I will throw the breeding open to any male of the tribe who wishes to try his luck. That way if she conceives, it will be a credit to the whole tribe.”

  “Very generous of you, Brut.” The Shaman nodded, as though the leader of the tribe had just suggested some philanthropic endeavor that would benefit everyone. “The Father Gods will smile on you for it.” He frowned and turned back to Lizabeth. “Of course, she must be purified before she’s fit to be bred.” He looked at the second man, who was watching silently. “Lurx, are the sacrificial knives ready?”

  “They will be, my Shaman.” The second man bowed his head respectfully. “I have them heating in the fire now. They are almost purified for the ritual.”

  Knives heating in the fire? Lizabeth felt like the blood had drained from her veins as a cold horror overtook her. Oh God this was going to hurt—this was going to hurt so much! And after the pain, she would be used by the entire tribe. What was she going to do? Why hadn’t they just killed her? Death would be preferable to this—anything would be preferable!

  She wanted to kick and scream and plead but she knew it would do no good. She would probably only earn herself another slap for her troubles and the side of her face already felt like it was swollen to twice its regular size. There was nothing she could do!

  “Good.” The Shaman nodded gravely at Lurx, who appeared to be his assistant. “Then let this female be prepared. And may the Father Gods accept our sacrifice of the Snow Queen.”

  “What is this? Who is this?” Mistress Anarrah looked at the mummified figure, dressed in richly embroidered robes, which was lying on the padded cot at one end of the Meditation Grotto.

  It might have been a nice place once, Lone thought. A place of reflection and solitude. But now the marble pool in the center of the round room was scummed with filth growing in the greenish water and the padded cots were coated in dust. The flowering plants and vast, frondy ferns which had filled the space had dried and withered away to nothing, their dead branches drooping over the pink marble floor which was dull with grime.

  And lying all alone, at the far end of the Grotto, was the mummified figure. He had run to the quiet figure the moment he got past the guards and into the room, certain that it was Lizabeth—sure that she had somehow learned to shut him out and block their link.

  But when he turned her over, he found not his Mistress but a body which had been dead for many months—maybe even years. How it hadn’t rotted in the humid environment of the Meditation Grotto was a mystery. Maybe it had something to do with the dried flowers piled all around it on the dusty cot. They gave off a sickly-sweetish smell his sensitive Kindred nose detected even though they, too, were long dead.

  “Mistress Goldahh!” Mistress Anarrah cried, catching her first glimpse of the mummified corpse’s face. “Oh, no! What happened to her?” She looked at Mistress Verlandah accusingly. “You said she was meditating and couldn’t be disturbed!”

  “So she was,” the Mistress Superior said defensively. “At first.”

  “At first? Look at her! She must have been dead for ages—why didn’t you say anything? And look at this place—our lovely Grotto! All the plants are dead—dust everywhere—the fountain filled with slime!”

  “Well, I couldn’t let any of the cleaning staff in to see her, now could I?” snapped Mistress Verlandah. “And I wasn’t about to do any cleaning myself. That’s beneath me!”

  “What I don’t understand is why you didn’t inform the rest of us that poor Mistress Goldahh had passed on to be with the Goddess!” Mistress Anarrah exclaimed. “Why would you keep such a thing a secret and just cover her in Sweet Lymel instead of letting us plan a proper passing ceremony?”

  “I think I can tell why.” Joren, who had come in with Mistress Anarrah, walked to one curving wall of the round room which was covered in a long tarp. Grabbing the flapping tarp, he ripped it down, revealing a huge hole gouged in the smooth, polished pink marble.

  “Oh no!” Mistress Anarrah gasped. “What in the Universe?”

  “It’s clear someone had been digging here—mining for precious metals and gems, no doubt, my Mistress,” Joren said, frowning. “One guess who that could be.” He pointed at Karx, who stood scowling by the Mistress Superior.

  “I only did what she told me,” he muttered, jerking his chin at Mistress Verlandah. “Got to obey orders, after all.”

  “Not when your orders are to desecrate the Sacred Mountain!” Mistress Anarrah exclaimed in a horrified voice. She turned on the Mistress Superior. “Verlandah—what were you thinking? Did you kill Mistress Goldahh and make up the story about her wanting to live in the Meditation Grotto just so you could have your Novice mine the mountain?”

  “Naturally not,” the Mistress Superior exclaimed, glaring down at the shorter woman. “Mistress Goldahh expressed a wish to go home but it was my belief that if she experienced all o