Inharmonic (The Music Maker Series Book 1) Page 3

  She had not gone more than twenty paces when a sudden muffled sound reached her ears. Nadja froze, listening intently.

  Silence.

  “Kizzy?”

  Another muffled noise was the reply. Nadja jerked her head in the direction of the sound and moved towards it, being careful not to stumble in the darkness. She maneuvered her way through the maze of tents until she reached the western edge of camp, still searching for the origin of the sound.

  “Kizzy, is that you?”

  A sharp cry cut through the cold night air. Nadja rushed forward, her eyes searching to pinpoint the location of the cry, when she noticed a faint glowing outline of a door in the distance.

  The smokehouse.

  Her heart caught in her throat as she ran towards the small makeshift building. The tall, dry prairie grass sliced at her bare legs and grabbed at pieces of her skirt, fighting to immobilize her. She heard a loud thump and saw the walls of the smokehouse shake in protest. As she approached the building, she reached out a trembling arm and flung the door wide, her nostrils filling with the spicy scent of curing meats.

  Nadja froze in horror.

  An enormous dark figure was hunched on the floor over the body of Kizzy, who lay on her back, thrashing in protest. Shreds of purple and gold littered the floor, remnants of the fabric which once covered her now exposed chest, and blood ran like a red ribbon down her face.

  “Help me!” she screamed, as the monster’s fist cracked against her jaw.

  Her body went still.

  The monster stood abruptly, bringing himself up to his full height and turning his attention to Nadja. His cruel eyes bored into hers. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. An evil smile spread across his face as he raised his hands and moved towards her.

  And then a high-pitched sound escaped Nadja’s lips. It was small at first, but soon built in strength and volume. Her whole body began to vibrate uncontrollably with the incessant crescendo, and suddenly it was not just one pitch, but a chorus of dissonant tones which seemed to emanate from her very core.

  The monster’s eyes grew wide, and he drew his eyebrows together in confusion as he pulled his hands back to cover his ears.

  Never taking her eyes off of him, Nadja’s fear, panic, and fury fueled her auditory assault. Flashes of light popped before her eyes and the room spun around her. The last thing she remembered was seeing the monster fall to his knees, his eyes bulging and blood streaming from his nose and ears.

  And then everything went black.

  Chapter 3

  Nadja’s eyes flew open as she gasped for breath, her lungs straining to fill with air. Panting, she pulled her knees up to her chest and eased onto her side. The smokehouse floor was hard beneath her, and her head throbbed with every heartbeat.

  “Nadja!” Kizzy’s face blurred, then came into focus as Nadja blinked up at her through the haze. “Nadja, are you all right?” Her voice was fragile and trembling as she grabbed Nadja by the elbows and helped her to sit.

  Nadja was mostly dead weight, and the muscles in her abdomen quivered with the effort to right herself. The back of her neck tightened as she lifted her head to face Kizzy, summoning every last ounce of will. Even still, she felt as though she was moving through a giant pit of tar. She opened her mouth to speak, but choked on her words. Her throat felt raw as if she had swallowed a handful of rusty nails. Dark, fuzzy shapes dotted her vision, and she squeezed her eyes shut a few times, blinking them into focus. Opening them wide, she scanned the room until her eyes came to rest on the body.

  Nadja jolted, pushing herself away from the sprawled form. Adrenaline fueled her movements and brought back some of her strength. Everything came flooding back to her.

  Kizzy.

  The attack.

  Her scream.

  Turning, she grabbed her cousin by the shoulders. “Are you all right?” she croaked.

  Kizzy nodded. She flung herself into Nadja’s arms as a soft sob bubbled up from her chest. Nadja held her for a moment, and then they turned their attention to the body.

  It was lying on its side, unmoving, with its face towards the ground. Nadja picked up a piece of leftover charred wood and nudged it. Nothing. A second poke, this time with more force, yielded the same result. She glanced at Kizzy, then put the end of the stick against its shoulder and shoved with all her might.

  The two girls let out an involuntary squeal as the monster flopped onto its back. But it wasn’t a monster. It was a man. A large man, to be sure, but still a man. They recognized him at once. It was Baulo Oramen, one of the tribal Elders and the Wanderers’ delegate to the capital. His bald head glistened with sweat, and bloody trails flowed over the coarse texture of his salt-and-pepper beard and mustache. His mouth, which had come open when they’d rolled him over, displayed a crooked bow of malformed teeth, and his thick, unmoving tongue lay like a dead fish against his cheek.

  “I think he’s dead,” whispered Kizzy.

  “Dead,” echoed Nadja, staring at the body in disbelief. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Kizzy shook her head.

  Nadja pinned her cousin with her gaze. “Kizzy,” she said. “What happened?”

  Kizzy’s eyes welled up with tears, and the story rushed from her mouth in a disjointed tumble of words and emotion. Nadja pieced together that Baulo had surprised Kizzy on her way to pick up Nadja’s flute and dragged her to the smokehouse. If Kizzy’s bare chest and the remnants of her dress were not evidence enough of his intentions, the things he said to her were. Nadja shuddered as Kizzy recounted every last filthy and vile thing he had uttered.

  “And then you came in the door, and that’s the last thing I remember until I woke up. Then I saw you both on the ground, and I was so worried he had gotten to you!”

  “Are you . . . ?” Nadja fumbled with her words. “Did he . . . ?”

  “I don’t think so,” Kizzy whispered, looking at the ground.

  “Oh thank goodness!” Nadja pulled her cousin to her chest and closed her eyes with a deep sigh. When she opened them, her gaze fell on the body.

  Realization and panic flooded her senses, a precursor to another jolt of adrenaline.

  She had killed him.

  Somehow she knew, down to the core of her being, that she—her . . . scream—had been the cause of his death.

  Nadja’s stomach muscles twitched. The trembling worked its way across her chest and back. It spread out until it reached the tips of her fingers and toes, until her whole body was vibrating.

  What were they going to do? How could they possibly explain their current state? A child, a young woman, and a dead body—of an Elder, no less. Nothing about this situation boded well.

  Nadja’s breathing came harder and faster.

  They could say they were attacked by an outsider.

  No. Who would believe the two females had survived while Baulo, an exceptional warrior in his youth, had fallen?

  It was hopeless.

  She would die.

  The penalty for murder was execution. Never mind Baulo had attacked Kizzy. He was one of the most respected Elders in the tribe. Nadja had little faith her accusations would be taken seriously, even with Kizzy’s damaged state as evidence. It was the word of a woman against the reputation of an Elder.

  At that moment, they heard soft footfalls approaching the smokehouse.

  This was it.

  Nadja squeezed her eyes shut and rocked back and forth, willing it all to disappear and hoping she might disappear along with it.

  The door swung wide.

  Jamila took one step inside, then stumbled back, taking in the gruesome scene before her. Her face blanched as she reached up a hand to cover her mouth.

  “Oh my.” Her voice faded to nothing.

  The three of them stared at each other as seconds ticked by like infinity.

  Jamila dropped her hand, and her mouth formed a hard line. Nadja knew that look. It was the face her mother wore into battle. Jamila rushe
d forward to grab an arm of each girl. “Tell me what happened. Quickly.”

  As soon as Nadja began to recount their nightmare, she could see the wheels in Jamila’s head turning. Kizzy gasped as Nadja filled in the gap between the time Baulo knocked her unconscious and the time she awoke. When Nadja confessed her guilt, Jamila’s features softened, and pity fluttered across her face. “Oh my poor, sweet girl,” she whispered. “If only I’d gotten here sooner.”

  “How are you here?” asked Nadja.

  “I wanted to tell you how proud I was of your song. I saw you join Luca and Naaro when you left the stage, but by the time I reached them, they said you had come back to camp to find Kizzy. When I didn’t see either of you return after a few moments, I came to check on you.” Jamila’s voice cracked. “I’m so sorry I didn’t make it here before.”

  Jamila embraced them with a fierceness which took their breaths away. Pulling back, she glanced over to where Baulo lay and then down at the ground. “There were rumors . . .”

  Nadja and Kizzy exchanged puzzled looks. Before either one could say anything, Jamila snapped to them, her face now a solid mask of strength and determination.

  “We must hurry,” she said, jumping to her feet.

  Nadja and Kizzy rose to their feet as best as their varying states of injury allowed.

  “Gather up every last scrap of fabric,” commanded Jamila. The girls moved to obey. “Be sure you get them all. Did either of you touch the body?”

  Nadja replied that she had used a piece of wood to roll him over.

  “Get that stick and bring it with us. We’ll burn it in the fire pit in our tent along with the torn bits of Kizzy’s dress. Kizzy, go home and change your clothes. Stay in your tent. Even better, stay in your bed, and do not come out until morning. When your parents ask about the dress and your injuries, tell them you lost your way in the dark and fell down the hill into the riverbed on the east side of camp when you came to search for Nadja’s flute. Nadja and I will return to our tent and take care of a few other details.” Jamila led them out of the smokehouse. Turning back, she cast one last look of disgust at what remained of the monster. “And remember. We were never here.”

  Even though the camp was deserted, the three of them stayed silent and kept to the shadows as they made their way back. They arrived at Kizzy’s tent in a matter of minutes. As soon as Kizzy was changed and safely tucked in her bed for the night, Jamila and Nadja hurried to their own tent. Once through the flap, Jamila glanced back over her shoulder at Nadja. “Get your pack. You must leave. Now.”

  Jamila lit the fire, tossing in the dress scraps and bit of wood. Then she turned, hurried to her chest, threw open the lid and dug down to uncover a small box containing a quill, a tiny ink well, a few sheets of paper and a nub of wax. She sat at the table and scribbled furiously.

  Nadja stood in stunned silence, watching her mother’s movements with a sense of disbelief. “What do you mean, I have to leave?”

  Jamila continued writing with her head down, her eyebrows knit in concentration. Her voice was calm and low as she spoke. “You must go. If anyone uncovers what happened, you know what the consequences are.”

  “But if I run, won’t that be a clear admission of guilt?”

  “Not if I can help it. And besides, if you stay, it will only be worse.”

  “And what about Kizzy?”

  “She won’t breathe a word of what happened to anyone. You also know what the punishment is for a girl who seduces a man outside of her marriage.”

  “But she didn’t seduce him! He attacked her!”

  “I know that.” Jamila sighed. “But if he had succeeded in his attack and you had not come to her aid, it would have been his word against hers. And you can be certain he was counting on that to ensure her silence. As it stands now, it is still his reputation against her word. She won’t tell a soul. Kizzy will be fine. Her father will make sure of that.”

  Jamila folded the paper and slid it across the table.

  “But where will I go?”

  “I’m sending you to your uncle in Cantio. He will help you and keep you safe.” She gave Nadja a sharp look. “Stop standing there like a statue. Pack quickly and lightly. There is no time to lose.” Taking a fresh sheet of paper, she dipped the quill into the ink and began to write again.

  The urgency in her voice prompted Nadja to action. She flew back and forth across the room, gathering anything that might help her on her journey. A few changes of clothes, some dried meat and fruit and the leftovers from her breakfast, a canteen of water, her flute, and blowpipe. For a few moments the only sounds accompanying her movements were the staccato scratches of the quill against the paper.

  Jamila folded the second piece of paper. Walking over to the fire to heat the nub, she dripped the melted wax onto the paper to seal it. She handed it to Nadja.

  “Your uncle goes by the name Tau Machinal. He is a barge captain in Cantio. Give him this letter when you find him. He will know what to do.”

  Nadja shot a questioning look at the other piece of paper still lying on the table.

  “That is a letter from you telling me you had second thoughts about marrying Luca. Something about wanting to find adventure and see the world and such nonsense,” Jamila said dryly. She returned to her chest. This time she produced a little, round tin which Nadja had never seen. Jamila opened the tin and carefully dumped the contents into Nadja’s hand. Nadja’s eyes marveled as she looked at a small mound of creamy, lustrous pearls. They often found pearls while diving for oysters in the late winter months when the Wanderers traveled up the Alabaster Coast. But the pearls should have been brought back to camp and used for bartering with outsiders for supplies which were easier to trade for than to make themselves. Jamila had taken a great risk in keeping some for herself.

  She gave Nadja a wan smile. “I was saving these for a time when we might need it. It would appear that time is now. You’ll need something to barter with along your way, and these should help you make it to Cantio with little trouble.” She walked over to Nadja’s cot and scooped up the mirror which had been cast aside in the excitement of the morning. “Take this too. It’s silver and will fetch a good price.”

  Nadja protested, “I can’t take that. It’s too precious to you.”

  Jamila grabbed Nadja and pulled her to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around her daughter. “You are too precious to me,” she choked, and kissed the top of Nadja’s head. “If you don’t trade the mirror, give it back to me when I see you again.”

  Nadja clung to her mother. She buried her head in Jamila’s neck, indulging for one moment in the comfort she always felt in her mother’s strong arms. She closed her eyes and inhaled her mother’s scent, lavender mixed with fresh rain, trying to build a memory which would carry her through whatever came next.

  Too soon Jamila released her and backed away, reaching up with her hand and wiping a single tear from her cheek. “Go southwest into the Forest of Kithira. The closer you get to Cantio, the more well-traveled the area becomes, and the more roads you’ll find. If you can find a main road, you should have no trouble making your way into the city. If not, well, you’ll reach the river sooner or later, and you’ll know where to go from there.”

  Nadja fastened her cloak around her, shouldering her pack and taking her blowpipe in hand. “What about you? What will you do?” she asked, the sinking feeling returning to her stomach.

  “I will be fine. I’ll go back to the celebration and tell them you became suddenly ill and have gone to bed for the night. I won’t return home until well into the early-morning hours once the celebration has ended. Only then will I ‘discover’ your letter. They won’t send out a search until everyone has had a chance to recover from tonight’s festivities. That gives you a half-day head start. And, Nadja,” Jamila squeezed Nadja’s arm, “they will send out a search. Please stay hidden.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll go first. Give me just enough time to reach the edge
of camp, then go.” Jamila grabbed Nadja for one final embrace. “I love you,” she whispered.

  “I love you too,” Nadja replied.

  And Jamila was gone.

  Nadja picked up a small lantern near her bed and lit it. Then, she stood in the middle of the tent, her eyes glued to the flap, and focused on her escape. Mentally, she began slowly counting to fifty. She didn’t dare look around the tent, or the thought of leaving her home, her family, and the safety of everything she ever knew would weigh too heavily on her heart and possibly shake her resolve.

  . . . forty-eight . . . forty-nine . . . fifty.

  She opened the flap and stepped out into the night.

  Chapter 4

  Nadja’s entire body cried out in protest.

  She had been walking for about six hours, and the fear and adrenaline which powered her flight in the beginning had long since worn off. She was exhausted and needed to find somewhere to rest. Being alone at night in the steppes was asking for trouble, and she felt lucky to have made it this far without encountering any.

  The grass under her feet had become a soft carpet, and a welcome reprieve from the prickly brush which had paved the first part of her journey. The chilly night air had already formed a light dew on the sod. The forest was near. Another day’s walk, and she could disappear into the trees, taking shelter among the densely packed hardwoods and finding solace in the shade. Even now, still hours from the forest edge, the shrubs of the prairie were transforming into tall trees, scattered here and there like welcoming outposts, guiding her towards the arboreous haven.

  Nadja’s steps slowed as she leaned on her blowpipe. The weapon had made itself useful as a walking stick, and she was relieved to have something to help keep her upright as she stumbled along in the night. The lantern dimmed, and the night air was cool on her face. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, savoring the caress of a breeze as it lifted her hair and dried the sweat soaking the back of her neck.