Under the Rushes Read online

  Taern

  TAERN had seen the man, or flickers of him, as he’d walked the streets. The stews called him the Nyx because he was like a black nisket, something that was only whispered in legend. He was silent, deadly, and thirsty for blood.

  The stews of Thenis lived in hope and fear of Nyx.

  The street gang leaders, the dust dealers, the weak and corrupt military who were supposed to be patrolling for crime but who more often took money from the criminals—they lived in fear.

  Taern? Taern had learned to love the man, and he’d only ever seen his shadow and heard the whispered stories of his deeds.

  Taern had been surviving since his arrival in Thenis when he was ten. He’d been footsore and tired and getting damned good at picking pockets, but he still might have been conscripted to a street gang if Madame Matiya hadn’t taken him into the brothel as almost a pet. He’d picked her pocket first—she’d been so impressed that he’d succeeded that she told him she needed someone that smart and that good working for her. At that point she’d held a blade under his throat until a thin line of blood appeared, and told him what would happen if he double-crossed her.

  By then he’d seen enough of the streets of Thenis to want that knife on his side. Besides, he may have been picking pockets to survive, but he’d been brought up honest. He knew how to keep his word.

  When Taern got busted in his room with a john who hadn’t been able to perform with a girl (and was enjoying himself enough to be noisy about it!), Matiya asked him if he wanted a contract. He said yes—he’d have been a fool not to. Matiya wasn’t a run-of-the-mill street pimp—by Karanos, she did things right. First thing she did was take one of her sly boys, one of the older ones who made good money in tips and was in high enough demand to have his own room, and lock them in that room together for two days with nothing but room service, milled oil, and several sets of sheets. When all the sheets were soiled, she unlocked the door.

  Taern had emerged, exhausted, with come dripping down his thighs and from his chin and from the end of his own oily cock. He’d stumbled to his own bed to sleep for two days. He and Yael had fucked each other so often, so hard, and so well that his stomach, chest, flank, and thigh muscles ached from coming, and his jaw ached from blowing and his ass ached from being reamed and his cock burned from reaming. Matiya believed that a good whore was a happy whore, and the first thing she taught her people was how to love their job.

  Taern had been a star pupil—and sometimes, on their days off, he and Yael still got together and kept each other company, just because the johns didn’t always know what they were doing and Taern and Yael were damned proficient at keeping each other happy. In fact, they got along well enough to move a cot to Taern’s room for Yael to sleep in so they could use Yael’s old room to fuck johns in. It worked, because when they weren’t fucking, they could pretty much leave each other alone, and because the smell of sex got old when you were rolling around in it all the time.

  But Yael was working in the house tonight, and Taern was working the street. Although it wasn’t true winter yet, it was nippy enough for Taern to miss their sexing room (as Yael called it) and yearn for the winters, when they greeted johns in front of a roaring fire, with mugs of hot cider, and the johns were happy enough for the warmth to leave healthy tips on their pillows, or at least some chocolate or a bauble or two.

  The feasting days were coming, and Taern had to comfort himself with that. The sex with strangers was not too bad if there were feasting days with his fellow whores and moments of laughter as they kept Matiya’s great house. The moments when he and Yael were fucking were nice, although Yael was taciturn and sarcastic most times, so really, the fucking was the only thing they had in common. Taern yearned for the feasting days and those bittersweet moments during the solstice when only the two moons and Karanos were watching, and he could allow himself to remember his family.

  His moment of nostalgia was broken when the rabbit came tooling by on the public rail. Abruptly Taern looked to his left, where Krissa was sitting, looking both demure and decadent on the little stool she brought to rest on during her stroll. Krissa was not yet twenty, but she looked younger, and Matiya had warned him not to let her get into anyone’s conveyance. Nobody talked about the killer that stalked the streets or the disappearing young women and girls, but all of the whores Taern knew were frightened and being as careful as they knew to be. Of course, Madame Matiya was an ideal boss if you were whoring—not all of the people on the streets had someone looking out for them, someone who was more interested in their safety than their take. Taern had seen enough girls strolling to know that some of them were more afraid of the beating they would most certainly get than of a phantom maybe.

  The rabbit slowed down right in front of Krissa, and Taern was just about to speak and warn her when her brown eyes grew huge and she gasped. Taern turned and looked and caught his breath too.

  The Nyx was on top of the rabbit. It could only be the Nyx, a figure dressed all in smoky black, crouching deftly, holding on to the shiny bronze hull of the vehicle by some sort of techno-magic and force of will. He was gazing fiercely at Krissa and shaking his head. The message was unmistakable: do not enter. The rabbit came to a stop and the door opened, and Taern and Krissa both looked hesitantly inside.

  The interior was… odd. It was plush—lots of cushions, a small bar with probably a choice of drinks and dainties—but it was… dirty? Was that the word? There were stains, old stains, that had been washed at and washed at and had faded, but were still there. The gentleman inside was not old and not young, well cared for, and a little portly but still handsome. His smile would ordinarily have been kind and disarming, but the Nyx was perched on top of his carriage, and Taern looked a little closer.

  And shuddered.

  The man’s chin was shiny like he’d been foaming at the mouth, and even as they watched, he pulled his arm across his face. His eyes were vacant, and his lips were not so much smiling as twisted. Taern took an involuntary step backward, and Krissa stood up so fast her stool shot back and clattered to the concrete of the sidewalk behind them.

  “No,” Krissa said, her voice rough but strong. “Not you.”

  The man’s eyes widened, and he wiped his slavering mouth. “You can’t tell me no,” he said, his voice cracking a little. “Nobody tells me no, little girl. You need to get in here now!”

  He sounded like an irate father—even Taern thought about doing what he asked, the compulsion to obey a father was so strong. Taern looked up and saw the Nyx shaking his head and waving at the two of them to move.

  Taern grabbed Krissa’s arm and pulled her back. “We can say no.” His voice was stronger than he felt. “We have the right to say no, and we do. No.” From the corner of his eye, he saw the Nyx nodding and rolling his hand as if to say, Keep talking!

  “You’re whores!” the gentlemen sneered. “You have no rights!”

  “Have they been taken out of the ruling articles now?” Taern snapped tartly.

  “What would you know about the articles?” the man asked.

  Taern found himself spouting his schoolboy lessons as if that time in his father’s study had been yesterday.

  “The Articles of Biemansland are the envy of all the other provinces,” he said, aware of the irony dripping from his voice. “The document was the first to give individual rights to citizens and not just landowners, the first to protect all tax-paying occupations, and the first to ensure that things like medical assistance and transportation were equal for all citizenry.” Above the rabbit, Nyx startled, looking at Taern through the triangular shape of his armored mask as though he’d never seen someone recite lessons before. Even the gentleman in the rabbit was arrested, looking at Taern as if he were a speaking hexabeast.

  Taern paused, uncomfortably aware of this attention, and he looked imploringly at Nyx. Karanos! If the man was going to do something, he should do it now, right?

  Nyx shook himself and gestured again for Taern t
o keep talking, and Taern dug deep for the rest of his father’s lesson.

  “Uhm, right. Every land in the northern hemisphere modeled their own government after this one… until you pieces of nisket shit began to wage war on Karanos for no reason anybody could logically explain. Now we just want the paper to piss on it!”

  The Nyx shot him what could have been a very annoyed glare as he finished up. He bent and put his hands on the edge of the raised door, flipped inside the conveyance, and pulled the door shut with one hand.

  Krissa and Taern looked at each other, and the night was, that suddenly, silent. Taern looked around and saw that the other whores on the stroll had all vanished, smoke on the wind, and he nodded to Krissa that she should do the same.

  She turned and glanced back fiercely for him. “Come on!”

  “No!” he hissed back. “I want to see what happens!”

  “Dead whores are what happens!” She took two more steps down the walkway and turned back again. “Please, Taern—I don’t mind being a whore, but I’d rather be a live one!”

  Taern glanced at her before looking back at the rabbit. There was a brief thud from the inside, and the vehicle rocked sideways on the rails before it began to move. Taern and Krissa looked at each other for a tense moment, and then the door opened and the Nyx slid out to run at pace with the conveyance when it started down the rails. They couldn’t see what was inside, but as the Nyx ran, catching the door and heaving past the hydraulic resistance in the hinges to slam it shut, a spatter of red caught the light of the two moons, and Krissa’s indecision was over. So was Taern’s.

  “You’d better come back tonight!” she whispered and whirled back toward Madame Matiya’s, where, Taern was sure, she’d be given enough money for the story to make up for the night’s loss of income.

  Taern had more important things than money to worry about. He shrank into an alcove, a space between buildings with a closed end to the alley, and he knew the shadows were blacker than the Nyx’s armor. In these same shadows, he hid and looked to where the conveyance continued on the monorail, bound for who-the-sky-cared. The Nyx was bent over slightly with his arm wrapped around his middle, and as Taern watched, he turned back toward where the rabbit had stopped and walked—soundly but slowly, as though he ached—in that direction. He drew near Taern’s position and looked around, cocked his head, and listened. His shoulders shook slightly—with a chuckle, maybe?—and he spoke, his voice clear through the hole in the mask that hid his face.

  “You’ve nothing to worry from me, little brother,” he said softly. “I would pay you for your night, that is all.”

  Taern peeked out from the shadows enough to be seen and dodged back into them in blatant invitation. The Nyx took him up on it and slid into the alley as though he belonged there, then leaned heavily against the bricks. Carefully, he pulled the armored mask up. His face was still obscured by the cowl, but his next breath in was deep and even.

  “Hard to breathe?” Taern asked, and he nodded.

  “Bloody thing blocks my nose. New and improved version my skinny arse!”

  Taern bit back a laugh, although the Nyx’s voice was irritated and in pain, and he obviously hadn’t meant to be funny. But it was! This great scary god of vengeance, swearing at his equipment like any whore swearing at a mop bucket! By Karanos, it was good to know this man was human!

  The cowled head looked up, and Taern was treated to two very human, very brown eyes, although the skin around them was covered in dark smudges—probably to keep the skin from contrasting too badly underneath the cowl. When the Nyx closed his eyes, his face looked blank, devoid of human expression, especially when the cowl obscured that flat, grim mouth, and Taern suddenly appreciated how much work went into just looking like the Nyx. The laughter died in his chest, and he grimaced.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, and the Nyx shook his head and propped himself back against the wall again.

  “No,” he said shortly, and it was a lie.

  “Hexashite!” Taern muttered and moved in. There was a tear in the garment over the Nyx’s armor, and the Nyx startled back against the wall as Taern widened it. “Karanos! It looks like you were… what? What could make a dent like this?”

  “A steam spear,” the Nyx told him, and Taern glanced up at him, those eyes so close, the smell of his sweat bitter against the synthetic metal of the armor. Those eyes were narrow now, and Taern looked down again and started investigating the armor itself.

  “Karanos! Really? What did he have a steam spear for?”

  “I have no idea,” the Nyx hissed and then batted at his hands. “The same reason he liked to kill little girls walking the streets—stop that!”

  “But you’re hurt!”

  “I’ve been worse!” Two gloved hands closed over Taern’s wrists firmly but not cruelly. “Please, boy—I’ll get healing for it, yes? Is your friend all right? The girl? Will she be all right after tonight?”

  His voice was deep and gruff, and Taern wasn’t ashamed to admit it left a little chocolate thrill in the pit of his stomach. He lifted a shoulder. “Krissa? Aye. She’s probably back at Madame Matiya’s, making her living off her story. You could be the best night off she’ll ever have. Someone will tend to you?” he asked, because the hands, with their bloodied leather gloves, had loosened on his wrists, and he took that as leave to do whatever the hell he wanted. At his words, though, there was a sudden intake of breath, almost like the Nyx had sustained another blow, and Taern looked way up. The Nyx was tall—much taller than Taern would ever be—and his shoulders were as wide as a rabbit’s back end.

  “I tend to myself well enough,” the Nyx said in a small voice, and Taern squinted up at him.

  “That’s shite,” he decided. “I may be a whore, but I got beat once? The whole house came in to make sure I would be all right. You don’t need to tend to yourself, Nyx. Find some girl to tend you.”

  Those gloved fists again, but this time their touch was almost gentle—and very reluctant—as they moved Taern’s hands from the catch he’d felt in the armor. “You’re kind, boy,” he said gruffly. “But you are a boy. I’d like to pay you for your help, and then I’ll find my way home.”

  Taern waited until the Nyx had dropped his hands back to his sides before fumbling again to work the catch on the armor. An entire section of the plating—which was curious, with the suppleness of thick leather and the shiny smoothness of metal—fell sideways, revealing a light shirt covering a concave stomach. The shirt was ripped, showing a dark trail of fur, and cotton smallclothes tight at the hips. Taern tunneled under the shirt to find a bruise already starting on the bottom of the ribs and the top of the stomach—Taern could see it even in the shadows because the Nyx’s skin was so very pale in the slivers of moonlight that crept through.

  “See?” the Nyx murmured gently, reaching down for the armor so he could relatch it. “I’m fine. A hot bath, some cold compresses, I’ll live to fight another day.”

  “Wait!” Taern protested, glancing quickly at him. The Nyx’s breath had quickened, and his stomach fluttered with the movement, but it was more than that. He’d allowed Taern to touch him and hadn’t objected, and there was the gentleness in those hands as they’d gripped Taern’s wrists. Taern reached out again and stroked the silken skin of that concave stomach softly.

  The Nyx’s breath stilled, and Taern looked up into his eyes. “I don’t want your payment,” he said, his voice low enough to make the Nyx drop his head to hear. Yes, it was a trick picked up from Madame Matiya, and yes, Taern used it shamelessly. “Did that man—was he the one killing the girls?”

  The Nyx expelled a quick breath. “Yes,” he said, and something in his voice was sad and bitter at once. “Their blood—it was all over the inside of the rabbit. He washed it out, but… he hadn’t bothered replacing anything.” The Nyx shuddered. “I think he liked it like that.”

  He sounded so dejected, and Taern realized that it was horrible not just for Taern and the girls at Madam
e M’s to contemplate, but for this man too. This man who had just killed a monster—it had been horrible for him to do and horrible for him to know about.

  “I should be paying you,” Taern said softly, reaching up touch the Nyx’s face.

  The Nyx moved to stop him, but he wasn’t fast enough. Taern was stroking his cheek before the Nyx could do so much as stop leaning into his touch.

  “That’s not why I do it,” the Nyx said harshly. He stepped sideways, toward the light, and Taern stepped with him.

  “I know it’s not why you do it,” Taern retorted. “You do it because it’s right, and nothing’s right here. You do it because you can. I understand. But somebody should thank you.” He stroked that tight, fluttering stomach again, and it wasn’t his imagination. He knew that intake of breath, the way it shuddered on the way out. Oh, nobody had ever claimed to be the Nyx’s lover, and now Taern knew why. Bad enough to thwart the ineffectual authorities—the Nyx was apparently sly, and while it wasn’t yet a crime, it wasn’t a blessing in this place either.

  “Boy—”

  “I’m nearly twenty,” Taern told him, and the Nyx let out a wordless chuckle.

  “That doesn’t make this better. Don’t you have a… a… a keeper? A pimp? A—”

  “Madame M would give you any girl in the house,” Taern told him. “And any boy too, although there’s just three of us right now. You’ll want me. Yael’s a right prick if you touch his stuff or snore in your sleep or don’t pick up your clothes. I’m a much nicer person. You’ll want me.”

  “I don’t care about your cl—othes?” His voice cracked as Taern thrust his hand down the Nyx’s smallclothes and looked with wonder up at the man he could only see through spaces in the armor. Underneath all that getup, the skin of his stomach was soft, and the hair on his abdomen and at his groin was silky, but his cock?