WesternWind 4 - Tears of the Reaper (11 page)

“Aye, Bev’s as stupid as he ever was,” Iden agreed, and laughed when Owen chuckled as he drank Iden’s offering.

When Owen was finished, he glanced over at Glyn. “Did they find out who killed Lea?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Glyn replied. “The same one who’s always interfering in our lives.”

A light flickered quickly through Owen’s golden eyes. “Morrigunia,” he breathed.

“Who else?” Iden snorted.

“I should have known,” Owen mumbled, “I wasn’t losing my mind after all.”

“That’s debatable,” Iden said with a smirk.

“Care to tell us who this Rachel is?” Glyn inquired. His fingers were threaded together over his rock-hard abdomen as he lounged in the tipped-back chair.

“Where did you hear that?” Owen asked, surprised.

“You kept babbling while the first dose of pairilis was taking effect,” Glyn replied.

“What did I say?”

“Who the hell knows?” Glyn asked with a shrug. “I asked the older man about it and he said she wasn’t important. He stated she was your nurse.”

Owen thought about it for a moment. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. We need to start looking for the Drochtáirs.”

“Suit yourself,” Glyn said, though his look suggested he knew there was more between Owen and the unknown Rachel than his fellow Reaper was telling. “We brought along all the information the Shadowlords have on these things. It wasn’t much. We don’t have any idea what the Drochtáirs look like but the victims are another matter.”

“Basically, the victims of the Drochtáirs become rabid blood fiends,” Iden told Owen. “The victims in turn infect other victims, who infect other victims. It’s a gods-be-damned plague.”

“According to Lord Naois, they are green in coloring with…”

“Long white hair and wicked talons and sharply curved fangs,” Owen injected.

“Aye,” Glyn acknowledged. “They can only move from dusk to dawn and the only sure way to finish them off is with fire.”

“Then it was good the Communalists opted for my second choice in eliminating them rather than my first.” He gave Glyn a jaundiced look. “I guess lopping the heads off and driving a stake through their tickers wouldn’t have accomplished much.”

“It more than likely would have pissed them off but it wouldn’t have put them down,” Glyn agreed. “Burning is the only way.”

“Lord Kheelan doesn’t know how many Drochtáirs are up here and when he and the other Shadowlords tried to ferret them out, they got nothing. They’re here but finding them might not be as easy as finding a rogue.”

“I have the taste of one in my memory bank,” Owen said. “It was a vile taste, let me tell you.”

“That should make it a bit easier,” Glyn replied. “We’ll start looking first thing in the morning. I think you need a good night’s sleep without pain.”

“What did Lord Kheelan find out about the Communalists?” Owen asked.

Glyn set the front chair legs down on the floor and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Now that is an interesting subject,” he said. “Apparently they’ve been around since before the Burning War but kept mostly to themselves in communes high up in the North Country mountains. They are a patriarchal society with some pretty bizarre beliefs. They’re primarily into agriculture and dairy farming with the men folk doing all the work in those areas. Their women are thought of as nothing more than chattel. Arranged marriages are the norm with young girls of thirteen to fifteen being the prime candidate for what is called fraternal polyandry.”

“What the hell is that?” Owen asked.

“Wait ’til you hear this,” Iden prophesied.

“It’s one of the tenets of their religion,” Glyn explained. “Fraternal polyandry is where several brothers have the same wife at the same time, sharing her amongst themselves. The reason for this is so a family will retain title to land indefinitely within kin groups. With such an arrangement, any child born could be the heir of any of the brothers so there is no scrabbling over inheritances.”

“That’s sick,” Owen said.

“To us maybe, but the Communalists believe in sharing everything between them. One family grows corn, another wheat, still another beans. They share the bounty between them and everything—except the land itself—is distributed equally from within the Colony. To them a family’s land is sacrosanct.”

“They remind me of the Plain Folk over in Glyn’s Michinoh Territory,” Iden said. “They all wear shapeless, baggy clothing—the men dark blue, the women black. The men wear beards and the women aren’t allowed to cut their hair.”

“The difference between the Plain Folk and these guys are that women aren’t allowed to do much of anything except cater to the men. Whereas the Plain Folk respect their womenfolk, the Communalists regard them as possessions,” Glyn said. “The women can’t even speak to a man unless given direct permission to do so. They can’t do anything outside the home unless they are accompanied by a Sciath, a close male relative such as a father, brother or husband. They can’t be treated by healers.” He held up his hand when Owen would have interrupted. “They have what are called Mátrins to see to their medical needs. She is the matron of the village and is always a widow in good standing.”

“Tell him about the punishments,” Iden said.

“Although the Communalists are against violence and killing, if a woman is promiscuous, if she lays with a man not her legal husband, she will be taken before the entire Colony and put to death for her transgressions.”

“Put to death?” Owen repeated.

“They call it claghit gy baase,” Iden said.

“That’s a term from the old language,” Owen said, stunned. “It means…” His face paled.

“Stoned to death,” Glyn explained.

“And that isn’t the worst of it,” Iden stated. “They have something they call whaaley and it is just plain sick.”

Glyn shuddered. “Aye, that turned my stomach when I heard of it. I couldn’t imagine anyone would do such an atrocious thing but Lord Kheelan said it had been common in the Old Countries where the Darkmen lived for centuries before the Burning War.”

“What does it mean?” Owen asked, feeling a shiver go down his spine.

“It is a brutal punishment meted out to any woman who allows a man not her husband to take liberties with her person. It is a threefold penalty that begins with a flogging then a branding applied to her forehead that marks her with the letter W. You can guess what that stands for. The ordeal lasts over a period of three days beginning with the flogging and then the branding. The third day…”

“Merciful Alel, no!” Owen hissed. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest. He tried to remember if he had said anything to Elder Barrow about what had happened between Rachel and him. His palms grew slick with sweat and he flung away the covers Iden had pulled over him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Glyn snapped.

“I have to find Rachel!” Owen said, looking for his clothes.

Glyn exchanged a glance with Iden. “Why?”

“Where the fuck are my clothes?” Owen shouted. “I can’t fashion them yet.”

“Calm down before you have a stroke,” Iden said, bringing the black silk shirt and leather pants to Owen. “Why can’t you fashion them yet?”

“Too much tenerse in his system,” Glyn replied. “It fucks up the abilities.”

“They’d better not have touched her,” Owen growled, ripping the offending underwear from his hips.

“What did you do, Tohre?” Glyn asked, eyes narrowed.

“She was here,” Owen said as he dragged on his pants, irritated that they were loose on his flanks as he buttoned them. He had lost weight.

“They said Rachel was your nurse.”

“No, damn it, Morrigunia!” Owen spat as he jerked on his shirt. “The gods be damn it, I know She was here and She was the one who made me do it.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and began pulling on his boot. “How could I have been so fucking stupid not to realize it?”

“Tell me you didn’t mate with the woman Rachel,” Glyn said.

“Hell no, I didn’t!” Owen said then paused in the act of tugging on his other boot. He bit down on his lower lip for a moment—drawing a bead of blood to the surface—then looked up at Glyn with complete misery in his amber eyes. “At least I don’t think I did. Wouldn’t I have known if I had?”

“Were you aware enough to have known?” Iden countered. He held Owen’s black hat with its silver conchos out to him.

“I didn’t,” Owen stated firmly. “I know I didn’t but I touched her and…” He winced. “By the gods, she touched me!” He sprang up from the bed, feeling a bit lightheaded for a moment. “If they have hurt her, I’ll slaughter every last one of them!” He pushed Iden aside and jerked open the door, slamming on his hat as he strode.

Iden’s eyes widened and he snapped his head toward Glyn. “Kullen?” he asked.

“I think he’s found his mate,” Glyn said, “and we’d better help him make sure she’s all right.”

Chapter Six

The men of the Colony were walking toward him as Owen and his fellow Reapers came out of the barracks. Night had fallen and the November air had turned frigid with a hint of snow hovering in the air. Since the Burning War, the weather would shift from uncomfortable heat during the day to freezing with the lowering of the sun. Wind skirled in the eaves and whipped the torches in the hands of the men.

It was High Elder Chamberlain who stepped away from the rest of the men. “There were three of them,” he said. “They attacked the Rutgers family and ravaged all eight of the clan, Elder Rutgers and his son Brother Thaddeus and their six females. Only one, their hired hand,” he turned to indicate a young man off to one side, “managed to escape.”

“They fell on the Rutgers like mad dogs,” the young man said, his voice breaking. “They didn’t stand a chance against them.”

“Drochtáirs?” Glyn asked. He had come up alongside Owen and laid a restraining hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Terrible creatures,” the young man said, sobbing. “Vile creatures. I recognized one of them from over to New Junction.”

“What’s your name, son?” Iden asked.

“Brother Jonas.”

“How did you manage to escape them, Jonas?” Iden asked.

The young man’s face turned red. “I ran, milord. I was in the kitchen washing my hands for supper when the ruckus started in the front room.” He swallowed hard, his eyes bright with tears. “I just ran out the back door.”

“You wouldn’t be alive if you hadn’t,” Glyn told him.

“We will send some of the brothers out to the Rutgers farm at first light to cremate the bodies,” Elder Barrow said.

“Are all the men of the Colony here now?” Iden asked.

High Elder Chamberlain nodded. “We thought to be of help to you in tracking down these beasts.”

“And you left your womenfolk unprotected,” Iden accused.

“They were told to keep the doors locked,” Elder Barrow said, stepping forward.

“Were your doors locked?” Glyn asked the young man who had escaped the carnage.

“Aye, but…”

“Then go home and see to your women and children,” Iden yelled at them.

“The male children are with us,” Elder Barrow told him. “The females can fend for themselves.”

“By all that is holy,” Iden growled, and turned his head to spit on the ground to show his contempt. “You bastards don’t deserve our help.”

“Go home and stay there,” Glyn said, casting Iden a quelling look. “There is nothing you can do to help us. You don’t even have weapons.”

“Where is my gun and whip?” Owen demanded. He was so enraged he didn’t trust himself to take another step.

“I have them,” Edward said, coming forward. He held the gun belt out to Owen who snatched it away from him, slung it around his hip and began buckling it with savage jerks.

“Where is Rachel?” Owen asked between tightly clenched teeth. He bent over to tie his holster to his thigh.

Edward looked to the high elder.

“If you are referring to the one who acted impiously,” the high elder spoke up, “she is at my home.”

Owen turned to the man who had spoken. “Who are you?”

“I am the high elder,” the older man answered. “I am the authority of the Colony.”

“Which one is your dwelling?”

“Rachel Anne…”

“Belongs to me,” Owen declared. He was glaring at the high elder. “I am claiming her.”

Iden and Glyn exchanged a quick look.

For a moment it seemed as though the high elder would refuse but then he spread his hands. “You have no idea what is involved here.”

“Lord Owen, you must understand,” Elder Barrow said, drawing Owen’s attention. “The woman in question will be cast out from the Colony when her punishment ends. She…”

“What the hell did you do?” Owen bellowed, spinning around to grab the high elder’s shirtfront.

If the men of the Colony had any notion of interfering, the lightning slap of Reaper gun hands to leather was enough to change their minds. Almost as one, they took steps back from Owen and the high elder.

“The one of whom you speak is in the root cellar of my home, the large one at the end of the compound,” the high elder said.