Free Spirit Hunter by Katy Moran

a prisoner but she shall keep her honour, if I have my way.”
    General Li laughed, bidding the two young soldiers walk on with the litter. “Take as many of my whores as you wish. This day, I am inclined to be generous.”
    Swiftarrow watched him go and swore quietly. He could hear hoofbeats now, men calling to one another, dazed with the thrill of battle. He longed for the quiet of the Forbidden Garden, the rippling surface of waters overhung with willow, plum-blossom drifting on the breeze: peace. By the time he was there again, it would be summer, peaches growing fat on the trees, peonies breathing out their scent during the day, petals folding at nightfall.
    He looked down at his prisoner. Her lean face was sunken and grey, her mouth slightly open. Swiftarrow felt as if he had shot down a swan – a swift graceful creature lying broken before him.
    I have ruined her life.

12
Asena
    M y body is a prisoner, caught in the claws of sleep. My spirit-horse and I ride free through the blackness, trying to escape it, but just as I catch a hint of the light and colour of the world of men – the smell of wood-smoke, a snatch of talk in a language I don’t understand – a bitter taste fills my mouth and the dark claims me once more.
    Someone has drugged me with herbs, and I am too weak to stop them. I can hardly lift my hand. At least my shoulder hurts less now.
Ah, pull me under, darkness. Drown me. I cannot bear to live.
My wolf-guide is not here. Gone. I am drifting, lost in the spirit world without him. If I stray too close to the World Below, I will stay there, leaving my body behind for ever. Dead. I am so afraid.
    I am inside myself once more. I’ve a sense of moving; I hear the wooden clatter of wagon wheels. Where am I going? The bitter taste will come again soon, dragging me down into the shadows. The herbs they give me freeze my body and slow my mind so that I cannot make sense of anything. Even the food they force between my lips tastes of nothing but ash – how long will I be trapped? But I must swallow my panic, and I must use this time to think.
    Why was I spared when so many died? Oh, Shemi, you are dead and it is my fault, my fault.
Where are these people taking me?
Questions flit about my head without end, like many fish in a pool. I do not even know how much time has passed since the night I lost Baba and Shadow, and the rest of my kin. Mama will be wondering what became of us. I dream of Mama and Aunt Zaka waiting night after night by the fire.
    I didn’t see Baba dead. To live, I must clutch at the hope he is still alive. When I wake, I will look for him till my last day on earth, if only to confess what I have done, if only to be turned away from my tribe for ever. Uncle Taspar is dead. Shemi. All of it my fault. How many folk at that Gathering lost their kin, even helpless little children? I am to blame. Tears seep from beneath my closed eyelids. They burn my skin. Oh, why can’t I shake off this smothering sleep? Why don’t my limbs obey me and move? I cannot even lift my little finger. The bitter taste touches my lips once more; sleep rises up to claim me and I ride my spirit-horse alone across the endless night.
    I will escape my captors even if I die trying; and I will take revenge for each and every lost life.

Part 2
Chang’an: capital of the T’ang Empire

13
Swiftarrow
Two months later
    S wiftarrow leaned back in the saddle, squinting against the late-morning sun. The westernmost city wall of Chang’an loomed ahead, crumbling mud ramparts held together by a thatch of weeds all baking in the sun. Silk flags mounted along the top flapped hard in the breeze, bright against the fierce, cloudless blue sky. They would have to wait while Li spoke with the guards. Swiftarrow was used to long, hot delays after all the checkpoints on the road east – clearly, the Palace had grown uneasy about the north-western border – but still he ached for the peace of the temple, for the whispering song of