Free Taking the Knife by Tam Linsey Page A

heat, much would be wasted. Breathing deeply, he awaited the drift of grit or wafting breeze that preceded an incoming flying machine.
    Moments passed. The air remained stagnant. Only the soft mutter of the river and the creaking of a nearby stand of tamarisk reached his ears. He opened his eyes, squinting in the sunlight. He'd never seen a flame runna up close. Other than her green skin, she looked like any other woman. It was said they had once been human, and seeing her made him believe it true. Abrasions and dirt covered her from head to toe. Her cropped, black hair stood in tufts about her head. The small buds of her breasts hinted at new womanhood, nipples a startling pink against the small, green swells of flesh. Her black eyes seemed enormous in her bruised face.
    A flame runna . Within his grasp. He could have vengeance and feed the tribe – yet, curiosity made him hesitate. Why was she here, alone? The girl sat a few steps from the shelter, her knees to one side and her arms awkward behind her. She looked at him with huge, fearful eyes, but didn't move.
    Hitching his breath against the pain, he lowered his spear toward her and shuffled forward. A braided rope was knotted about her wrists, its long line trailing between her and the wrist of a naked man beneath the shelter. The man's bearded pink face sagged in repose, a line of drool dripping down the bone labret in one corner of his mouth. His nose had been recently broken, but Sefe knew him well.
    " Medo ." His brother. The brother who’d saved his life. The brother who'd turned hunter long ago. For years, they'd met only at the seasonal trade camp. Seeing him here, alone and vulnerable, caused Sefe’s brow to furrow. " Medo !"
    He wanted to drop to his knees. To hug his brother tight. But his back kept him standing. Why was Medo here alone, naked? Where were the other hunters? Sefe scanned the clearing again for men, but saw no one. With the butt of his spear, he prodded his brother’s foot. Medo snored. Drunk?
    "Keep the Peace."
    The girl's high voice startled him, and he stumbled, thrashing against the amarantox as he took a step back. The words were the truce exchanged between rival tribes in the face of a larger threat, usually incoming flame runnas .
    She spoke his language?
    Licking her scabbed lips, she shook her head. "Listen. I'm not a flame runna . They took me. Did their magic to make me green. But I escaped." Her voice wavered, and he was struck by her frailty.
    He nudged his brother again, harder this time. Medo had to be drunk. "Where's the pulque ?" He scanned the area for a bota or jar of the potent beverage.
    "He's not drunk." The girl struggled to her knees. "I got the spirit healing."
    That gained his full attention. Spirit healing was one of the lost skills. Not even his aunt had known the secret; the ability was a myth. And a danger.
    She's lying to save herself.
    As if to see things clearer, he looked the girl up and down with narrowed eyes. Naked and green – that was hard to see past. But his healer instincts told another story. Scabs caked her knees and chin, one eye squinted from a brown and yellow bruise, and purple fingerprints spread across her thighs. She'd obviously been used hard. By Medo ? His brother was impulsive, but this was baffling.
    She wasn't a woman. Srem; font-weight:boldithiighhe was prey. Her skin would make a fine trophy. And her flesh… Would she taste different? He didn't prefer the flesh of man, like some did, but there could be no wasting in a world of toxic plants and sparse game. Why had Medo kept her alive? Flame runna magic? And why was he here alone on the Tox ? Perhaps this flame runna did have powers. She had cunning, if nothing else. She knew the claim of spirit healing would protect her. Killing one of the Knowing was frowned upon, a rule adhered to even by most hunters. Killing a spirit healer was especially taboo because angry spirits stuck around to infect others.
    His heart thundered as he looked