The Multitude, стр. 44
Carla closed her eyes and summoned the shimmering mirage of Brewster. He touched her cheek but soon faded and dissolved, along with her omniscience, leaving her baffled by the brief lift of spirit. She knew only one reality. Her name was Maynya and she resided in Sanctimonia, body and soul, both of which would undoubtedly soon be ruined.
“Help me get her out of this net, Phineas.” The barbarians had dragged her up against a tree.
She looked across at a boot, then up at the heathen who wore it. His metal-plated vest reflected a hint of sunlight filtering in through the forest canopy. The man’s partner came over and leered down at her. Both of the monsters were heavily bearded and tattooed. They stank of sweat.
She put up a fight, curling her hands into claws and hissing until one of them grabbed her by the hair and brought his face so close to hers their noses touched. “It’s all the same to me whether you go along with this or we nail you to one of these trees and leave you here to die.”
Maynya guessed that wasn’t true. These men had been looking to steal a woman and sell her in the market, not kill her. But wrong decisions are often made in the heat of a moment, and her captors seemed fully capable of making one. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have beaten her in the meadow, potentially causing enough harm to reduce whatever value they hoped to get for her in the market. She needed to focus them on their greed. “I’m sorry,” she said. She tried to keep her tone soft. “I won’t fight anymore. Let’s not damage the prize.”
“Do you hear that, Emil? This whore thinks she’s a prize.” The dark-haired speaker, Phineas, smirked and kicked at her again, sending a glancing blow to her side. Then the two invaders wrestled their net off her, reigniting the rope burns already marking her legs.
The heathen named Emil, the shorter and lighter-haired one, clamped a thick hand onto Maynya’s throat. He squeezed until tears welled in her eyes, then shifted his grip to her chin and forced her up. She scrabbled to keep pace with him. Her back scraped against pine bark, ripping the upper part of her garment. Once he had her on her feet, he pinned her against the tree, choking the breath out of her. Phineas came up beside his partner and moved a rough hand between her legs. Only the blessed but woefully thin fabric of her frock protected her from complete violation.
One of the barbarians ripped her top down the middle. Her breasts came free. The fiend settled warm hands on them, bringing a chill to her soul.
She had to think fast. “I’ll fetch a better coin if left a virgin,” she said.
Phineas guffawed. “You have too many years in your eyes. Where I come from, even a girl of sixteen would be hard-pressed to make such a claim.”
Maynya’s stomach turned at the suggestion these two men would take a girl that age and the awareness they most certainly had. “A proper woman saves herself for a husband,” she said.
“And what does a proper whore do? We’ll spare your honor if you get on your knees and show us.”
“I’m not a—”
A slap brought stars and knocked Maynya to the ground. Both barbarians loosened the ropes binding their trousers. She fought her fury back as the bastards exposed their pitifully small mastheads. From somewhere within, a voice of compromise tried to save her. Take what’s offered and gain control over these creatures. If you bite, they’ll kill you.
CHAPTER 19
From agony to ecstasy to fear
The barbarians shimmered, faded, and disappeared. The ground hardened beneath Carla’s knees, and the rays of sun filtering through the forest faded to near darkness, eased by a glow off to the left. She turned toward a streetlamp and choked back a sob. She’d fallen through the wormholes to a different place, a better place, the only place she wanted to be.
Her heart remained two steps behind, pounding with rage, but she knew from experience how to steady herself. She rolled onto her side and took deep breaths, quick at first. Then slower, slower still, until she calmed so completely she could have drifted off. She stared through half-lidded eyes at a neighborhood in its own state of rest. Every window was dark, and not so much as a single porch light joined the streetlamp’s lonely battle against the midnight pall. The ghost-town atmosphere reminded her of the notion she’d had the last time she visited. Did anyone live behind those suburban walls, or was she gazing at the backdrop of a cosmic stage where only Brewster performed?
Perhaps she’d found heaven, and he was the gatekeeper. If she could pull herself up from the pavement, she’d hurry to that doorbell, ring a chord of Beethoven, and, when Brewster came to the door, ask him to keep her safe forever.
No. She couldn’t kid herself. Yins always follow yangs in the true cycle of life. Sooner or later, she’d be whisked back to Sanctimonia and forced to pick up where she left off. In any event, she wasn’t about to lean on anyone, and above all, she’d never ask this special man to help her play the coward. The scuffle with barbarians had momentarily made her weak. She wouldn’t have that.
She needed a weapon, something to keep hidden up her sleeve when she found herself kneeling before her captors again. The good side of her wanted it for defensive purposes, but the corner of her heart smoldering over the audacity of two barbarians to do what