House of Vultures, Maggie Claire [fun to read .txt] 📗

at a feast. One of the ends grinds against bonelike I’d suspected. Bright red blood pools from the gouges, and Iquickly set to work starting a smokeless fire. Despite knowing thatI must move quickly, starting a fire that would alert our enemiesto our location would be worse. At this moment, everyone is anenemy.

When the fire is burning, I pull myblade out of its earthen sheath, my hands trembling as my nervesget the better of me. I hold the tip of the blade into the flames,waiting until I can see it blaze red like a crimson eye of the fireitself. I secure the boy’s good hand to a nearby buttonwood tree. Iwrap his unharmed leg in a similar fashion to the closest oak tree;the injured limbs must stay loose for treatment. Having nothinglike a gag, I take my holey jacket off my arms, immediately missingits warmth on my bare shoulders. Ripping the ragged sleeves off, Iuse them to catch his screams. Then I set to work cauterizing thegashes.

“I have to stop thebleeding,” I remind myself even as I edge away from the fire. “It’sthe only way to save him.” My mind revolts as I press the scaldinghot metal into the cut on his finger. Tears well in my eyes as theskin sizzles around the first gaping hole in his leg. The air fillswith the smell of cooking meat and hair. The boy wakes and jerkswildly, almost biting through the gag as I touch the second woundwith the blade.

“You must be quiet,” Ihiss even as I feel a scream rising in my throat. “If we getcaught, we will both be dead.”

The worry in my voice seems tosurprise the boy even as he writhes in pain. “You promised not tohurt me,” he whimpers through the gag, tears streaming down hisface. His upper body quakes uncontrollably. Somehow he finds thestrength not to scream, mercifully passing out once more as Ifinish burning his wounds, cauterizing the fourth hole. I dry heavein the bushes when I am done, thankful that I no longer eatbreakfast. It is a luxury that the House of Vultures cannot affordfor any of us, but today that is a blessing.

While the boy sleeps, I carry him intothe heart of the woods until I find a small cave near a stream.That will provide him with enough cover to survive the night, Ihope. With the remaining pieces of my jacket, I wrap his wounds,and I find a small sharp twig that can be used as a spear. “This isthe best I can do,” I tell the sleeping form. “I will return when Ican.”

Then I reenter the woods to find foodand other treasures that I can give to Condor and the rest of mypeople. If I don’t get busy, I will end up with only the deer tooffer. Yet I cannot get the smell of burnt skin out of my nose. Theboy’s blood stains my fingers, and no matter how hard I try, Icannot completely wipe it away. I scour the forest floor for game,but honestly, my heart isn’t in the search. Deep down, I know thatthe only way to get out of the impending beating for my failure isto enter the city.

Chapter 2

My feet feel leaden withevery step toward Omphalos. At one time, Omphalos was the shiningcapital of Cassé. It was a place where artists, musicians, anddreamers came to thrive. In my younger years, I had dreamed offinding a small corner in the heart of the Omphalos parkway to callmy home. Such a long time ago,I sigh, shoving the shattered remnants of mychildhood away from my consciousness. Itdoes no good to dwell on romantic past ideals.

After the windstorm, Omphalos became abreeding ground for robbery, assault, and all other forms ofdebauchery. Whatever you manage to hang onto while in the city isyours, and that includes your life. I’d been to Omphalos only twicesince the changes had occurred, and both times I’d come outbloody.

Even before I make it tothe city gate, an arrow races by me, narrowly missing mycheek. It wasn’t aiming forme, I think as I hear fighting off to myleft. I take cover in the shadows of the nearest building, cursingthe fact that I have no hood to cover my gleaming shock of whitehair. It has never been able to retain a pigment, even when I triedto dye it. Feeling exposed, I slink along the stone wall, prayingthat everyone will be too preoccupied to notice me.Maybe someone will be selling fabric. I can buy acheap piece to cover my hair, then fade into the crowdseasily.

Edging my way into the gate, I keep myeyes open for any immediate attackers. Most, it seems, are tooabsorbed in their own squabbles to notice me. A heated argumentbreaks out on my left. No doubt the culprits are drunkards fromopposing houses, alcohol giving them the courage to act on theirhatred of each other. With tempers running as hot as the summer sunbearing down on my neck, traders will be ruthless and cunning. Mystomach falls to my toes at the thought.

The few people that do notice me turnaway with derisive laughter. Masks from all of the houses exceptmine are present in Omphalos. It won’t be long before someoneremembers that the House of Vultures is banned from market days.Silently I curse Condor and his precious second in command, Falcon.They had been caught red handed in a swindling scheme a few monthsago. Falcon was using her feminine ways to snare their marks, andCondor had slyly relieved them of their valuables while they wereotherwise occupied. As a result of their colossal failure, ourHouse had been banned from bartering in Omphalos eversince.

My eyes land on Wolf. He pretends notto recognize me as I skulk closer to the vending tables. I considertrading with his pack, but ultimately decide against it. If moneyor goods were swapped, I would do it without question.Unfortunately, Omphalos trades with other, more brutalcurrency.

“You there,” a voice callsout behind me, making my blood freeze in my veins. “Your houseisn’t welcome on Market Days anymore.”

“I’m not like my leader,”I answer defiantly, my chin