(From The Forbidden, Book 1) Chapter 1: Massacre
Blood. It defiled the snow. It coated the rock. It dripped from the points of bone-tipped weapons. Rebaa ducked back into the pelt tent she had shared with her mate, blinded by the horror.
She must not scream. If she made any sound, it would be over. It was over. The clan was destroyed. It was only a matter of time before the face of an enemy pushed its way through the billowing opening, searching for easy prey.
The Ninkuraaja woman flinched as an agonised scream split the air outside, ending in a bubbling gurgle. She tried not to imagine the bone blade opening the victim’s throat. It was too close. She should not wait here for death to find her, but as the instinct to flee pulled at her limbs, her heart held her fast.
Juran.
Juran had told her to stay. He had told her to wait here until he came back for her. He would come back for her once they had vanquished the enemy.
But the enemy had not been vanquished.
Another dying scream. Rebaa threw herself down on her knees. Hands in her hair, she rocked back and forth in desperation. Juran may already lie among the slain, and there was no more reason to stay. No. She could not think that. Her heart would tell her if he had fallen. He would come back. She just had to stay quiet and be brave until he did.
Rebaa closed her eyes. Juran should have abandoned this territory on the snowy Northern plains. The choice to flee or fight had been his.
He had chosen wrong.
All of their strongest men had gone into the Mountain forests to draw the enemy out, and the enemy had been drawn. Now they were swarming over the camp, hell-bent on extermination. Juran’s clan warriors, for all of their considerable skill, could not stop them.
A monster could not be vanquished by the hand of man.
Rebaa froze. The bitter wind scrabbled at the edges of the tent, but it wasn’t enough to cover the sound of heavy breathing and a slow, deliberate tread in the snow beyond.
On the other side of the insignificant skins that sheltered her, an enemy was closing in.
Go away! Rebaa stifled the sound of her own breath. Please.
The creature did not heed her silent plea. The tip of a bloody spear poked its way through the billowing entrance, pushing aside the animal hides to admit the enormous head of the stooping hunter.
Twice the size of an average man, reddish hair fell in lank wisps from the point of the elongated skull dangling across the hideous face. Wide-set eyes fell upon Rebaa, glowing with an unearthly blue light.
“GO AWAY!” Rebaa scrambled back against the skin of the tent. She spoke in her native tongue, lapsing in her panic. It mattered not. Thick lips peeled back to display double rows of bloodstained teeth, stretching the pale yellowish flesh into a hideous grimace as the giant crouched to push itself further in.
Rebaa clawed at the wall of the shelter behind her, trying to break free, but the tough hides would not give. They were too strong. Wild with fear, Rebaa only pushed her heels harder into the floor, fighting to get away as a thick hand reached forward.
“Nooooo!” The scream was not her own.
The advancing fingers spasmed in the air as the tip of a second spear came bursting through the monster’s throat.
The nightmarish face contorted, its mouth gaping wide as the head flung back. It clawed at the spearhead protruding from its neck, dripping with its own bright blood.
But the mortal wound did not stop the beast. Rebaa watched in horror as its maddened eyes refocused on her and its hand extended again; determined to reach her, even as the life drained from its face. Someone unseen cursed, and the spear in the monster’s throat twisted viciously to the side, eliciting the distinctive snap of bone. The clutching fingers twitched once, then fell lifelessly at her feet.
“Rebaa!” The disembodied voice held the frantic note of one who feared that they were too late and would receive no answer to their call. Rebaa cried in relief and flung herself over the dead creature’s body, uncaring in her need to get to Juran.
His dark arms closed about her. Rebaa flinched at the gore and the scent of death that covered his skin. The sounds of the massacre continued to rage on the other side of the thin tent walls. “Juran,” she gasped. “Please… Please…” She did not know what she was asking. Her mind was frozen, and she was shaking uncontrollably. “Please.”
Rebaa felt him nod once against the top of her head, understanding her incoherent plea. “It’s alright. I will get you away from here. I will make you safe. Come with me now.”
He disengaged himself from her and grabbed her hand, his palm hot and slick against her skin. His dark auburn hair was wild, his grey eyes even more so. There was fear there where fear had never existed before, and that scared Rebaa more than anything else.
“Can you run?”
Go out there? A shout cut off by a wet gurgle made her baulk violently. No. She could not go out there.
Juran held her firm. “Rebaa, you cannot stay here! If you do, you will die, you will both die!”
Both. Her free hand went to her rounded belly. The thought of their unborn baby’s life gave her the strength she needed to stand upright and give her mate one firm nod. Yes, she could run.
Pride flickered through Juran’s grey eyes before his expression hardened into one of cold determination. He yanked his spear free from the hulking corpse on the ground. Warm spatters of blood sprayed across Rebaa’s face. “Ready?”
Not trusting herself to speak, she simply raised her chin in answer.
Juran threw apart the flaps of the shelter and dragged her into the battle beyond.
The brightness of the snow outside was blinding. The world blurred as she stumbled in Juran’s wake. Red. White. Movement. Death. The ferocity of the fighting tore against her senses. As a Ninkuraa, she could feel everything. The fear, the anger, the lives as they blinked out of existence.
She fought to close it all out as Juran wove his way through the struggling mass of bodies, only half aware that they were heading towards the steep escarpment on the edge of the camp. The lookouts had used its summit to spy prey and approaching danger. There was a concealed path that wound up into the foothills of the Mountains, half hidden between the rocks.
Lost in the sensations battering her senses, Rebaa collided with the back of Juran as her mate came to an abrupt halt. A shape had risen out of the snow before them, blocking their escape path. The giant figure leered down at them, a freshly flayed bear’s skull adorned its head, the milky eyes of the bear still rolling, lidless, in the grisly sockets. The sight was enough to make Rebaa’s knees go weak.
Juran thrust her back and out of reach, bringing his spear to bear. The creature grinned, pleased with its catch. It had been waiting to block deserters such as them. Long stone blades protruding from each massive fist raised in challenge as Juran stepped forward to meet it.
“No!” Rebaa gasped. She cast about, looking for the rest of the clan to rally and support their Chief, but they were gone, already dead or dying. Juran stood alone. After everything they had been through, she was about to watch him die.
A guttural roar reverberated in the earth beneath Rebaa’s feet, sounding the attack.
