In late 2014 I wrote a short fiction series for a website that no longer exists. At present, the story hasn’t been available anywhere for several years, and since the rights have long since reverted back to me, I thought I’d take the opportunity to commission some new art for each of the 5 chapters, and republish them here on Papers & Pencils.
The site will be updating daily until the story is complete, so be sure to check back! I hope you enjoy The Daughter of Tangled Corpses.
At best, Jeanette had maybe ten minutes before the messenger’s body was discovered. She tumbled through the hole she’d slashed in the back of her tent, and into the mud. She forced herself to her feet and pulled her skirts up for a sprint to the edge of camp. The scene she’d left behind wasn’t hard to interpret. When Governor Ulric was told, he’d order her immediate execution. Of course, he’d been planning to do that anyway. He just hadn’t expected her to figure it out in advance.
Her tent was near the war camp’s edge. A fortuitous effect of being the Governor’s secret shame. Unfortunately that edge was also the furthest from the camp’s single gate. Without fleeing through an entire camp of soldiers–who may already be in a mood to burn her alive — escape would mean climbing the wall.
She clung to her skirts, struggling not to drop her book or her knife as she fled through the ankle-deep mud and driving rain. Ahead she saw a guard patrolling the inside of the palisade. He looked at her with curiosity. Good, she thought. He didn’t know Jeanette was the scapegoat yet. His confusion made it easy for her to throw herself against his chest—knife first. As he fell she managed to plunge the knife into him four more times, and he had the courtesy to die quietly.
Rising, she dropped her skirts and sheathed her still bloody knife. She checked her book’s clasp, took it in both hands, and heaved it over the palisade. As she watched it tumble over the wall’s spires, she was already bunching up her gown to loop between her legs, and tie together in the front. The wall was more than twice her own height. She didn’t have time to waste.
She tried, first, to find hand and foot holds in the wall to climb with, but she couldn’t even get both feet off the ground. Fuck I am going to die, she thought as she spun around, looking for anything that could help her get over. There was a trio of barrels nearby, but stacking them would be a feat of strength beyond her ability. Her eyes fell on the dead guard’s spear. She grabbed it, and hurled it into the wood of the palisade, where it stuck. With great effort she rolled one of the barrels through the mud, and turned it upright. If she could get a leg-up from the spear, she should be able to reach the top. She climbed onto the barrel, but the moment her weight touched the spear it dislodged, and she careened down to land on the dead man below.
Growling, she hefted the spear and climbed back atop barrel. The angle was awkward, but she thrust the spear in, careful to keep the tip horizontal and angled downwards between two of the palisade’s trunks. Hopping down, she rolled another barrel over near the end of the spear, aware of every lengthy second the process took. She used the dead man’s helmet to hammer the butt of the spear in as hard as she could. After a few good blows, she heard cries of alarm in the tent she’d fled from. No more time. No more chances.
She sprinted for the wall, leaping up to the barrel and clambering to her feet. She raised a leg to rest gently on the spear. She paused for a deep breath, then hurled herself forwards and upwards against the unstable foothold. The spear drooped, but she kept her momentum. In the space of a heartbeat her hands were clasping at the pointed tops of the palisade trunks as the spear fell away beneath her.
The muddy schlupping of running feet drew closer. Fear pumped through her, fueling her straining arms which otherwise would have given out already. She swung a leg over the wall, and heaved her body up to straddle it with a defiant howl. Just as she balanced herself, an arrow flew from below and struck her just above the left elbow. It pierced through the meat and stuck into a bit of stomach flab.
She allowed herself to fall, limp, off the outside of the wall. The wet thunk of her body crashing into the mud didn’t sound half as bad as it felt. For a moment she lay still, blinking away the rain that pelted her face. She knew she wasn’t free, but it was hard to justify anything other then lying still. She could hear Urlic’s voice now, shouting for his men to get a ladder, and sending word for soldiers to move around outside the wall.
His voice was angry. He said something about ‘avenging fallen comrades.’ Jeanette felt some satisfaction knowing she’d judged him correctly. He did intend to scapegoat her as a witch for his disastrous defeat on the field today. As though it were her fault her palm reading had been accurate enough one time to convince him to plan wars around her vague chicanery.
She was still lying in the mud. You’re going to die, she chided. She forced her body to roll, to get her hands under herself. She heaved against the ground, pulling her feet under her and stumbling away from the wall. Ignoring the pain, she willed herself to run for the distant tree line. Scapegoat or not, she’d be the one that was set on fire. She would not be set on fire.
Her vision of the trees wavered and she stumbled. Her head was pounding and bile was rising in her throat, but she forced it down. She kept running, focusing on the trees, and doing her best not to trip over her own feet. Blood from her side ran down to her hip, its warmth contrasting with the chill of the hard-falling rain. But still she pumped her legs, each step taking her closer to the tree line. An arrow struck the ground a few feet from her, and she realized she’d heard at least a half dozen others falling around her already.
She tried zig-zagging to make the archer’s task harder, but she already felt as though she was moving slower than normal. Like running in a dream. She settled on a beeline for the trees. The trees would save her. They were thick. Arrows couldn’t get her there.
Soldiers could, though.
The falling arrows were close around now. Even with the dark and rain, the growing number of archers climbing the walls made it ever more likely one would hit. Only a few yards more. One struck the shaft of the arrow still embedded in her arm, causing it to twinge. She lurched, and opened her mouth to scream, but had no breath to do it with.
And then she was among the trees. Jeanette felt as though she was suddenly moving faster as their trunks whipped past her on either side. She couldn’t see more than a few steps ahead. She stopped running for a moment to break the shaft of the arrow in her arm. The last thing she needed was to impale herself by slamming it into a tree.
She needed to rest. She had no time. She starting running again.
She had no idea where she was, but angled her flight away from where she’d entered the woods. They’d search for her everywhere, but there was no point making it easy for them by continuing to run in a straight line.
There were shouting voices behind her, but they sounded distant. Relief began to creep into her mind. No! she thought, clamping down on that relief. You are almost certainly going to die tonight. Whatever slim chance of survival you’ve got relies on NOT GETTING SLOPPY.
She forced her legs to keep pumping up and down for what felt like hours, hoping all the while that she wasn’t running back towards camp. The black sky denied her any lights to guide herself by. Occasionally she heard men or horses. She knew she was never more than a throw of the dice away from being caught and dragged to her death.
Her legs finally gave out beneath her, and she tumbled onto her face. She scrambled back up with her hands and legs, but the world swam around her and she collapsed again. Her body could not flee any longer. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to lose consciousness. She looked around for some place to hide, and saw an upturned tree with a hollow of dirt beneath it. She dragged her body towards it, unable even to crawl now without stumbling. She wriggled into it, curling herself into a ball for warmth. There was a sharp pain on her thigh. She craned her head to find a rabbit biting at her in defense of its hovel.
With her last ounce of strength she took hold of the animal and broke its neck before falling into deep unconsciousness.
—
I didn’t bleed to death, Jeanette thought, as a fuzzy semblance of wakefulness returned to her. She squinted against the intrusion of the bright midday light. Apparently they didn’t find me, either. That’s two strokes of luck I’ll have to pay for eventually. Though, the clear and sunny day and her long sleep went some way towards paying that debt. They’d have resumed the search hours ago, and if they got close she’d be easy to spot.
She struggled to pull herself out of the cramped hovel, beset by every ache she’d earned the night before. The most pressing among them was the cavernous ache in her stomach which demanded she find food. She tried to push it down, focusing instead on her arrow wound.
The gouge in her torso where the arrow had gone through wasn’t all that bad. It hurt when she poked it, but she had bruises that hurt more. Which, she hoped, meant the wound was shallow enough to ignore. Her arm was in much worse shape. It was pale, and felt like pins and needles when she tried to move it. The blood around the holes was crusty and dark.
She untied her gown from around her waist, and fumbled to get her knife into her off-hand. She had to cut her dress up to the knees before getting a strip of cloth that wasn’t caked with mud. Makeshift bandage at the ready, she gave the arrowhead a gentle test tug, and felt the meat of her arm painfully tugged with it. This was going to hurt a lot.
She yanked hard, and the arrow shaft tore its way out of her arm, releasing a fresh gout of blood. She wrapped the bandage, careful to place the cleanest spots she could over the wound’s two openings. The pins and needles in her arm got worse as blood dribbled down to her elbow. She was relieved as it slowed, then finally stopped. She tied off the bandage to keep pressure on.
Climbing to her feet, Jeanette assessed her surroundings. The trees were close about her, which was good. So long as she didn’t make any noise, search parties would need to get close before they could spot her. Doesn’t mean I can sit still, though, she thought. Without landmarks, she couldn’t be sure just what direction the camp was in. She did remember the tree she’d hidden under had been on her right last night. So, if she stood with the hollow to her right and walked in that direction, it ought to be away from camp. She checked to make sure she had her knife and her book with her, and–
Fuck.
Jeanette dug her fingers into her brow, and groaned, despite the need for quiet. She didn’t have her book. She’d had it when she left the tent, but didn’t remember picking it up after falling over the wall. She knew she hadn’t been holding it during her mad dash across the field. She pounded her fists into her forehead. That had been it. The book was her one real source of magic. The one thing she could turn to when her parlor tricks didn’t cut it.
A metallic thunk and a blow that sent her sprawling flat on her face cut Jeanette’s recrimination short. She spun onto her back to see a soldier rearing his leg back to deliver a savage kick to her bruised right thigh. She yelped in pain and tried to roll away, to get to her feet, to run again. Before she even got her knee under herself he’d stepped forward and kicked again. She collapsed into a fetal ball.
“That’s sixty gold crowns for me, witch!” the man cheered, slurring his words over an ugly accent. He bent to roll her over, but Jeanette lashed out with her arms and legs like a cornered animal, catching him above the eye with her foot. He stumbled back, but didn’t fall. She scrambled to her feet and ran. He heavy footsteps were at her back in an instant. Before she’d covered five yards he slammed his body into hers, crushing her against a nearby tree. She fell again, feeling as though every bone she had was broken.
“I’d dash your brains here if it’s my choosing,” he snarled, kneeling on her back as he secured her arms. “But Governer Ulric wants you burned crisp for all to see, so you’ll live ’til I’ve been paid!” Wriggling in panic, Jeanette managed to free her good hand. She dove for one of the pouches on her belt, praying its contents hadn’t been ruined by the rain. The Soldier clasped her shoulder and flipped her over. His fist rose to deliver a punch, but went limp as the yellow powder she threw struck his face. His eyes became glassy and unfocused. She tried to speak, but could only gurgle for long terrifying seconds before finally croaking out
“You helped me escape because you don’t want any harm to come to me!”
She lay still, staring up at him in silence. The pollen of the Xulcam flower was a hit-and-miss. But he didn’t look too smart. If it was working, his mind and memories would be folding over on themselves. Trying to accommodate the new information. If it wasn’t working, he’d probably go crazy and beat her to death. As the silence stretched on, she was very aware of the buzzing in her ears, and the narrowing field of vision from her swelling eye. She tasted blood.
Then the soldier was rising to his feet, and helping her onto her’s.
“You’ve been beat harsh! Did you catch the way he went running?” he asked. Jeanette shook her head, too taken aback to trust herself speaking.
“We’d better get out of here before he gets back, though.” she said. “He’s likely to bring a dozen horsemen with him.”
“Yarb, true. Nothing can harm you if I want the 60 gold crowns you owe me!” he answered. She nodded, and the pair began to move off.
As she limped along beside him, Jeanette allowed herself a small, painful, grin.