Ravenous (Taint of the Gods #1)

22. RIEKA

22

RIEKA

T he water should have gone cold hours ago. The Kindling Orb Rhydian had deposited in the tub ensured that I’d never have to get out if I didn’t want to. The fact he’d even had the forethought to do that made the ache in my chest constrict.

I’d fucked up. It certainly hadn’t felt that way when his hands were running over my body. But Rhydian’s face. His scent. It had gone from desperate desire to repulsion so fast it turned my stomach. I’d needed to feel something, anything after the hunt, after—

The image of that Hunter’s corpse resurfaced, his blood covering my hands, staining my gloves. The feeling of utter satisfaction I’d awoken to with the buttery taste of his blood on my lips.

I forced them away, pushing the images down into the depths of the cavern where my essence dwelled. In the deep dark, I could survive with it there. It was the only way I could survive. Rhydian had been so warm and calm and comforting. He’d seen it, seen the monster, heard the poisonous word slip from my tongue and he had remained the same. Everyone who had ever seen that side of me had changed after. The way they looked at me, spoke to me, behaved. Even their scents changed around me. But not him. For some unfathomable reason, Rhydian had remained unchanged and, in that moment, I wanted that. I wanted to absorb it through my skin, soak in his calm scent as though it would become my own and replace the blood-soaked one I possessed. I wanted him.

Not for him, but for what he could do for me. Provide me with.

Only a monster can love a monster.

Gods, I repulsed myself.

By the time the morning had begun to peek through the curtained windows of the room, I’d scrubbed my skin raw, destroying any trace of both men upon my body.

With a towel wrapped around my body, unsure what else to do with myself, I sat on the stool and took in the room. It was large, the bed alone was big enough to sleep four people even though I could only detect two scents. Perhaps certain passengers garnered certain privileges.

The walls were a warm brown and gold, the wallpaper repaired with wood varnish and glue where it had started peeling away. A long lounge was bolted to one wall, the cushions carefully positioned in either corner. The opposite wall held a desk covered in personal items, the two chairs beneath it mended at least a dozen times with various pieces of fabric, the fusion lines seamless. The items on the surface of the table were carefully placed, his side and her side if the items were anything to go by. A hair comb, a ribbon, a book of poetry, another book titled ‘Recipes’. And nearly everything here bore the same two marks. I recognised one from my time in The Kitchen.

This was Lily’s room. Her scent was weaved with another. Someone intimate. The sheets, the scent of the clothes seeping from the slightly open wardrobe were divided between the two scents.

Even the copper tub smelled of them.

I turned my attention to the wall above the table, to the dozens of pieces of parchment that had been fastened to the wall with glue and nails, others strung up with string and pegs. Charcoal sketches, lead sketches, even ink sketches filled the space. Lily’s bright and welcoming face was the subject of many, some featured her in her current pregnant state. Others were of a man I recognised from the Fight Hall, the Setrali, a gentle and handsome face with a soft smile. They were even together in some of the pieces.

Kosha, Rhydian’s grandfather was in three that I could count. A very stoic figure. One piece featured Kosha with another woman, young with wavy hair, her features akin to Lily’s. I noticed her in several pieces. Some on her own, her face sketched in different angles as though someone was trying to capture every part of her face to paper. There was one where she sat side by side with Lily, the two appearing almost as twins. Another she sat beside a tall man, short, cropped hair looking at her with utter adoration. In another, she was smiling down on the figure of a little boy.

A familiar little boy. It was his eyes. The longer I stared at them the easier it was to see the blue in the charcoal.

Rhydian .

The door clicked. The scent of wine and spiced meat filled the room as Lily entered, the slightest of waddles to her step. She greeted me with a smile. “Oh good you’re still here. My feet could just not handle walking that distance again to find you.”

I stood from the stool. “You were looking for me?” A part of me found that odd.

“Of course. Couldn’t very well have you walking around the train naked as the day you were born now, could I?” She closed the door behind her with one hand, the other securing a pile of fabric to her hip.

She approached the bed and laid them out. They were clean in comparison to my own clothes which were currently still on the ground where I’d left them. A pair of short trousers with a drawstring belt, a long-sleeved pullover blouse, a knee-length sleeveless shirt and a bright yellow shawl. She also placed down a set of silk undergarments that looked to be of a foreign make. At least to me.

Lily sighed longingly at the piece. “I may curse the day any Kensillan is born, but even I will admit they do make beautiful undergarments.” She handed me one. A pearlescent silk one-piece undergarment with lace trim around the thighs and ribbon straps over the shoulders crisscrossing over the back. It was rather beautiful.

I’d only worn a garment this exquisite on one occasion and I’d burned it the first chance I got.

“Oh and these,” Lily added pulling a pair of gloves from her pocket. “Rhydian said yours needed to be washed.”

“Rhydian said that?” He’d spoken to Lily since leaving? I couldn’t fathom it.

Her gaze searched the room and upon finding my clothes on the floor she went to retrieve them. She took in the blood splatter on the shawl, the tear in the shoulder on my buckskin vest. Lily made no comment regarding any of it except to say, “ The Laundry will have them cleaned and repaired in no time.”

“I’ve never really let anyone touch my belongings before,” I said, suppressing the part of me that wanted to pull everything from her grasp and hold on to them tightly. I preoccupied my hands with fastening the buttons of the silk undergarment but fumbling to my utter shame.

“Do they all bear your mark?” Lily asked as she placed my clothes on the stool to help me dress, her fingers deft at the buttoning process. I simply nodded in response.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.” Lily then indicated to the new garments on the bed. “Rhydian saw to it that those too bare your mark.”

I stared at the marks embroidered into the garments. “Why are they so important?” I asked, my thumb brushing over the raised embroidery on a pant leg.

Lily suddenly paused, her lips pursed. “I guess the best way to explain it is—our property is considered an extension of ourselves. We have no home but this train. We possess nothing but what we arrived in. To claim an item that does not bear your mark is like cutting someone’s hand off and claiming it as your hand. It is one of our most stringent laws. Personal property is exactly that; Personal. Never take what is not yours or…” she hesitated.

“Or what?” I asked sitting on the edge of the bed.

She sighed and took a few steps closer. “Theft of personal property is considered a worse offence than acts of physical violence.”

My expression must have conveyed my disbelief, so she added, “I was born on this train. As was Rhydian. We have earned our places and earned our possessions since the day we turned 16. Before that Rhydian was protected under our mother’s mark, and I under Rhydian’s. But that wasn’t always the way. For centuries those born on the train were allowed to be killed simply because another collarless passenger saw them as a potential threat to their obtaining a collar and the rations that came with the position. The train was a war zone. Families destroyed one another in revenge for killing their children. So generations ago the council declared all children protected until they were the same age as the youngest prisoner to run a Hunt.”

“Sixteen.” The rule.

Lily nodded. “And they did that by creating the Mark System. Now children are marked as their parent’s property for their protection, to serve as a reminder that personal property is as important to a passenger as their own flesh and blood. It does not matter what it is. You steal or destroy something that does not bear your mark, and the marked one can challenge you to a fight to seek justice.”

It now made sense, why all the children bore marks on their hands.

I changed the subject, the thoughts of the children and the dark future that still awaited them threatening to breech the surface of my mind. “And how exactly does one earn their possessions?”

Lily smiled, as though it was her favourite topic. “Trade of course.”

“Trade?” I looked down at the garments. Perhaps there were Spindles on the train who made clothes for passengers. A trade of services not dissimilar to the Kanahari.

Lily frowned. “Didn’t Rhydian tell you?” She tutted under her breath. “He went to the markets after your return from the Hunt and traded some of the supplies.”

I’d seen the contents of the supply cache. Had there really been enough in that sack to sacrifice for a few measly garments? I’d sooner wait here in a towel for my clothes to wash than waste some much-needed supplies, especially when only a portion was mine. “Is that even allowed?” I asked, pulling on the blouse.

“It’s how things are done here. I wouldn’t have traded that camisole if it weren’t for those packets of freeze-dried eggs in the cache.”

“Oh Lily I can’t take this.” I went to remove the blouse but Lily caught my hands.

“I haven’t worn it in months Rieka. Not since—” She looked down and patted her stomach. “This little one decided to show themself. It may be Jae’s favourite but even he would admit he’d rather have eggs for breakfast. Besides, you need underwear. They may be impractical for a Hunt but they still give ample coverage.”

She wouldn’t listen to any more of my objections. Trade of goods and trade of skills was commerce in this prison. It was best I get used to it. Gods she sounds like her brother.

When I’d finally finished dressing, surprised the clothes fit perfectly, Lily took my hand and led me over to one of the desk chairs. She then did the last thing I expected her to do. She combed my hair. I couldn’t recall the last time anyone combed my hair. My eyes grew heavy at her touch, her hands near as gentle as my own mother’s had once been. After she finished, she began to weave the strands together in a braid.

“Our mother used to do her hair like this,” Lily said, her voice tinged with sadness. “Your hair is long like hers was, so it should suit you.”

”Is that who is in the drawings, your mother?” I gazed up at the bright woman in the central sketch on the wall.

“Her name was Eydis.”

Was she had said, meaning their mother was— “I’m sorry.”

“My brother married you and yet kept so many things close to the chest.” It wasn’t a question, but rather an observation.

This wasn’t good. I’d made the deal with her brother, not her. Nothing was forcing Lily to abide by the same agreement. And if she was a Hemopath too, killing me might very well be in her favour. I tried to keep my heart rate steady, convincing even myself that I had nothing to hide. “Does that surprise you?” I tried to make my voice sound flippant. It worked.

Lily laughed. “Not in the least. My brother tends to be too serious for his own good. He needs someone to keep him on his toes. Force him to live his life for himself and not for everyone else.

“All done,” she then said as she placed a small mirror before me. High cheekbones, delicate nose, full lips, features one might find on a woman of refined breeding. The white hair which I had once considered odd against my features was wound in a thick braid over my shoulder, the strands thin and twisted like threads of satin rope. The collar upon my neck looked like nothing more than a thick metal torq that glistened under the Bright-lights of the room. The girl in the mirror looked like she hadn’t just torn a man to pieces without any recollection. No, this woman looked as though she’d never been rejected by her "husband." This woman looked clean, and cared for, and like she hadn’t been running for her life for the last year. This woman was beautiful.

What a difference a bath could make.

“Now,” Lily said as she waddled around to face me, a hand gently resting on her stomach. “Have you been to any of The Commons yet?”

The Kensillan Territory Rail had three Commons areas. The Cantina was situated between The Fight Hall and The Group Sleepers . It was the carriage with the gambling and card tables I’d passed through on my first night here. The same compartment with the bar—according to Lily—was run by Tolen, the best brewer west of Rinnisar.

However, the carriage Lily led me to was at the front of the train situated between The Aviary , a carriage utilised for flying by Alatus, and The Private Sleeper Cabins , where Lily’s room was located. The lower level was The Market Commons , the place where Rhydian had acquired my new wardrobe. Lily explained it had stations set up in little alcoves where passengers could trade their skills or their own items, with Spindles on hand to provide exchanges of marks.

When I asked if the train actually received enough to trade with, Lily said the Runners often acquired items that could be repurposed, like furniture that Sal as an Organic could rework into something else. Sometimes it was as simple as bringing back a curtain they found which the Spindles could reweave into half a dozen garments, or copper plates the Smiths could use to mend the train’s mechanics. Everything was worth something to someone. Even items formerly owned by passengers who died in the Hunts would end up in The Markets since their marks no longer held any meaning unless they had a child who bore their mark. Then the items belonged to that child.

However, it was the top level of the carriage where Lily had led me. She called it The Theatre .

I honestly hadn’t expected to find an actual theatre in such a confined space. I’d only been allowed to go to one when I was nineteen because my caste had been elevated to Devout so my family was finally able to acquire tickets.

The Theatre had private viewing booths along the edges. The back quarter had row upon row of cushioned chairs, whilst the middle of the room—where more seats should have been—was barren. The chairs that once would have lined the centre had been stripped away, leaving ample space for passengers to lie on blankets and pillows enjoying whatever form of entertainment happened to bless the stage that filled the back of the compartment.

When Lily and I arrived there, passengers were in the midst of giving speeches for those lost to The Hunt. What I’d expected to be a solemn event, was instead a celebration. The woman on stage had just reached the pinnacle of the story she was telling about one of the dead passengers when it caused the entire carriage to burst into laughter.

Over the next half hour, we listened to three more speeches, all of which Lily was happy to translate for me since most were spoken in Seja. When the fourth speaker finally walked on stage, I found myself oddly relieved that I recognised them. Dark hair shorn short and sad eyes. He was the Setrali from the drawings in Lily’s room. With a mug of ale in his hand, he turned to the crowd causing Lily to instantly perk up in her chair. This was why we were here.

He tried to speak but emotion seemed to catch in his throat.

“All Steady, Jae?” Lily shouted lovingly from beside me. Doubtful I’d cope well in this situation without a chaperone, I’d chosen to accompany her. I’d never experienced an event where death was celebrated due to its association with life. Such a contrast to the way I’d been brought up, so foreign and unusual.

Jae, the man I had deduced as Lily’s partner since it was his smell in her room, looked up from the ground. Upon finding her face in the crowd, a teary-eyed smile emerged.

“Steady,” he replied softly.

Jae took a deep breath, his free hand brushing over his face before speaking.

“Becks hated speeches,” he’d said according to Lily’s translation.

“And if you dared try to get him on this stage on Story Night, he’d sooner challenge you to a fight than give a speech. He was the only card player I knew who didn’t have a tell during the game but had one when he was trying to play a prank on someone. And he taught me to never feel sorry for my circumstances,” Jae sniffled as he continued. “My story isn’t that different from anyone else’s here.” Someone in the crowd yelled out, “Except for the Lobby Free pass.” A comment which got a half-hearted humorous response from the crowd.

“Yes. A fact none of you will let me live down,” Jae jabbed at the audience with a smile. “Becks called me lucky in that regard. A human child bought and sold by slavers. Collared at the age of eight, and dropped off on your doorstep with nothing to trade but the silk robes I’d been found in. Another piece of luck.”

I wasn’t sure how lucky he was if he was forced into a Hunt that young. I couldn’t even fathom how he survived.

“Luck was a fifty-five-year-old Runner with a hard-on for fighting and a vendetta against anyone who would enslave a child. As a Runner he volunteered for every Hunt I was forced to enter, and taught me how to take a punch. Stabbed me once just so I knew what it felt like and spoke for me when I married my Lily.” Their eyes locked as they shared a smile across The Theatre .

“Becks was not my father.” Jae paused, his shoulders rising with a heavy sigh. “So he damn well better be in our next life.” He raised his glass and the room followed suit. “To Becks.”

“To Becks!”

As much as I enjoyed the speech, the end confused me. I leaned towards Lily who watched as her husband downed his ale with vigour. “The gods only gave us one life, what does he mean next life?”

“Some on the train don’t take to the gods’ way of things. Becks was one of them. He believed that death only existed for the body and that the spirit lived on, waiting until it could choose to live again.”

I turned to her, shock no doubt on my face. “He was Kanahari?”

“Did you think you were the only Northerner on the train?” the pregnant woman sighed. “This is your home now Rieka, you should really explore it more. You might actually find things you like that are further than that bunk of yours.”

Did she just scold me?

I left Lily to be with her husband, certain I would see her tomorrow. After a Hunt, celebrating instead of working seemed to be the order of the day. Work rotation didn’t begin again until tomorrow evening when Lily expected me back in The Kitchen . A fact she clearly stated from the arms of her husband when he saw fit to return her to her bed due to exhaustion. I was shocked to discover the reason why she hadn’t been in her room at midnight was because she and several other passengers had been cooking the entire day I was gone on the Hunt. They had made fresh stew from the root vegetables I’d seen in the storeroom.

Uncertain what to do with myself now, I decided to head back to my sleeper carriage, seeking out the familiar faces of my bunkmates. I hadn’t travelled far before I caught their scents coming from the Mess. They stood gathered together at the end of one of the tables. All six of them.

They were talking in hushed voices, a few brows narrowed, gazes glancing off through the doorway I’d just walked through.

Tira, whose voice was normally soft-spoken, was voicing an opinion in a tone that was anything but. “I vote we take it from her. If it is as she claims, then I can simply take it from her.”

“That’s still called stealing Tira,” Farox explained to the pacing Terrestrial.

“Should we not talk to her?” Hentirion’s deep voice cautioned. “Perhaps explain to her to whom it belongs?”

“If she is going so far as to trade it, then I doubt very much she doesn’t know whose it is.” Emil sounded exasperated as he fiddled with the metal filaments in his hands. “They’d likely know every new item that comes into this place.”

“But we know it’s Rieka’s, right?” S’vara questioned the group irately. “We can’t just let her trade it.”

“Let who trade what?” I asked, finally within earshot of the non-Brutes. Hentirion peered at me from over Emil, both men looking at me with pensive expressions.

S’vara reminded me of Kris at that moment. Pursed lips, curly hair, eyes narrowed into slits. The expression quickly vanished when she realised it was me and not some eavesdropper. The redheaded she-wolf rushed to hug me, her forehead joining with mine, the clear acknowledgement that as far as she was concerned, I was part of her pack. The moment was cut short by the impact of Tira as she collided with us, both of us having to quickly shift our heads to avoid her antlers.

“Rieka!” she squealed. “I’m so glad you didn’t die.”

“Child!” Hentirion softly scolded, as though the word spoken aloud held some kind of taboo.

Tira ignored him, the smile on the girl’s face enough to make any angry heart soften.

Any face that was pleased to see me was welcome at this point, but as much as I was pleased to see them all, I repeated myself. “I’ll say again, who can’t we let trade what?”

Their expressions all dulled. None were willing or even certain they should answer. Except Saska. Leaning back on the table, quite nonchalantly cleaning out his nails with a small dagger, he provided me with the answer.

“The little Terrestrial saw that smoking pouch of yours in the possession of your husband’s former lover. She saw her walk into The Market Commons with it.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder.

My stomach dropped. My pulse drummed in my ears.

The pouch. I’d left it in my bunk along with my coat on account of the training I’d had with Rhydian. I had my coat but—it must have fallen out when Rhydian had retrieved it. I went over Saska’s words again. Eleen. He’d meant Eleen, right? Eleen had taken it?

“She can’t trade it. Everything I had on me the day we arrived all got those marks.” I pulled up at the hem of my new shirt where the same mark had been placed by a Spindle.

S’vara shook her head. “Tira had me follow Eleen, Ree. These people are serious about personal possessions. If it had your mark on it, the five passengers I saw look at it wouldn’t have touched it if it did.”

That wasn’t possible, was it? Had the Spindles missed it that day, I’d put it in my coat for safekeeping on the death train. Had they not found it when they took my stuff to mark it?

I turned towards the doorway of The Aviary and stretched my senses out beyond the large cavernous carriage and to the next.

I took one step towards the threshold before I was cut off by Farox, his hulking sun-kissed frame blocking my path. I willed the anger in me to subside before I looked up at the Drake with the crooked yet charming smile. “Are you planning on stopping me from retrieving what’s mine?”

His expression turned to one of mock surprise. “Who me? Course not. I like a fight as much as the next Drake.” That answer got a scolding sigh from Hentirion.

“As a matter of fact.” The corners of Farox’s mouth quirked up. “Are you aware of the legal way in which passengers are permitted to deal with disputes?”

A string of rather eloquent profanities flew from Hentirion’s mouth in the same moment Saska packed up his knife, presumably because the conversation had taken a more interesting turn.

I let Farox fill me in on the particulars as I tracked Eleen through The Aviary and onto The Market carriage.

Bodies crowded into the long space, voices and smells I’d paid no attention to before now the only thing in my focus. I searched out her scent. Like freshly squeezed limes sipped by the seaside, she had the most distinct of scents amongst the Currents on the train, perhaps the most powerful.

Eleen stood before a stall tended to by an old woman, Kris’ smoking pouch still in her hand. She paused her conversation when she noticed my approach.

“I believe you have something that belongs to me.” I made sure my voice carried. Witnesses were essential according to Farox.

Eleen, an unperplexed expression on her face turned to greet me. “All steady, Rieka?”

“Unfortunately, no.” I looked down at the gift pouch, my stomach twisting with the knowledge that she held the last piece of my brother left in all the world. “That smoking pouch. Where did you find it?”

Without any hint of remorse, she replied, “Your bunk.”

“And you didn’t feel the need to ask any of my bunkmates if it belonged to someone? Say me, perhaps?” I tried to keep my voice steady. But it wasn’t easy, I’d always gotten seasick in boats, and her scent made me nauseous.

“Why should I have? It bears no mark.” Eleen was clearly doing this intentionally. Like she had expected this. Her scent didn’t even possess a hint of anxiety.

“That smoking pouch is mine, Eleen. I bought it as a gift for a friend.”

Whom your friend sold as a slave . I wished I’d said the words aloud just to see that egotistical expression on her face falter. “I would like it back please.”

She shrugged, her expression wholly unsympathetic. “I don’t need to give it back to you. An unmarked item belongs to no one. Free trade item.”

The charm which her soft features had held vanished when the lines of her face hardened. An elegant beauty turned callous.

I cleared my throat. “And yet I’m claiming it as mine.”

There it was, the slight change to her scent, the sweet undercurrent of excitement as her eyes lit up. This is exactly what she wanted. How fortunate for her I was in the mood for a fight.

Eleen closed the distance between us, her voice low. “You agree to this and not even Rhydian can save you.”

“You let me worry about my husband,” I said, noticing the way her eye twitched as I said the word. “Just declare it already.”

She smiled. “Oh no. The pleasure is all yours.”

I’m definitely going to enjoy this.

With my eyes focused on Eleen, the pouch still in my periphery, I declared my intention.

“I challenge you to a fight.”