Rift Read Online Free Page A

said.
    “Shh.”
    A chill breeze swept over her, advance guard of the winter. She buttoned her jacket higher and waited for the dog to settle. Even now, if caught, she could still claim they were within the stockade. She would never be trusted again, but they would keep their lives.
    After a time they started forward again, running for the cover of successive hogans and finally to the stockade. Pulling back the loose timber she’d dislodged in the early evening, she urged Anar through and then followed.
    Now they were renegades. Fair game. She grabbed Anar’s hand and sprinted for the woods.
    Behind her she’d left the father of her child, three brothers, and her good friend Konsta. She’d left her woven blankets, the meager food of their larder, and all expectation of friendship and mercy from the clave, blood kin or no. Twenty-seven years of her life, now forfeit. She felt no remorse. She had hardened her heart for weeks, preparing for this moment. She had looked at her daughter’s wasting frame and determined that Anar would live. Konsta’s child had starved to death just before the spring thaw, lending more weight to the adage
Winter eats the children
.
    Nerys and Anar picked their way through the twisted avenues between the trees to the meeting place.
    A shadow stepped in front of them. Nerys’ knife came out of its sheath and she flung Anar behind her.
    “Nerys,” the voice came.
    It was Jory. “Not even a running start?” she snapped at him.
    “Nerys.” He stood, hands at his sides, weaponless. Was he alone? “Stay,” he said.
    “Stand back, Jory.” Fleetingly, she searched the shadows for any others.
    “Leave Anar, at least. Please.”
    He was alone. She could kill him, had to kill him; she couldn’t trust him to remain silent. Damn, that he couldn’t have let this
be
.
    “Nerys,” he pleaded again. “She’s my daughter. They’ll kill her.”
    Nerys wasn’t sure who he meant by
they
. Their own Whale Clave, foreign claves, or the orthong? Any might do. But she answered: “She’ll die if we don’t leave. The clave is starving. Or didn’t you notice?”
    “We’ll fish tomorrow. There’ll be meat.” His voice was desperate. Even he didn’t believe it.
    Nerys snorted. “We’re starving, Jory. And we’re leaving.”
    “You’ll starve anyway. They’ll slaughter you,” he said. “That’s how they conquer us, don’t you see? By killing the women.” His voice broke. “Nerys, don’t give them Anar.”
    He hadn’t come to say good-bye, he’d come to stop her. She lunged for him, taking him down and pinning his arms with her knees. Twisting under her, he threw her off, grabbing for her knife arm. They scuffled, but he remained silent, not calling out. For that, she would spare him. She groped for and found a fist-sized rock, swinging it around in an arc and dashing the side of his head. At the blow he fell quiet. She hefted the rock again and brought it down on his head another time, holding back her full strength, but doing the job well enough.
    Anar was at her side. “Papa …,” she cried.
    “Never mind him now!” Nerys found her knife on the ground and grabbed it, then circled her arm around her daughter and broke into a run.
    “Is he dead?” Anar gasped as they ran.
    “Yes. Dead to us.”
    Anar began to sob.
    Nerys stopped and hugged her daughter. She mustn’t cry. The others mustn’t see her cry. “Anar, Anar. You must be strong. Your father lives. But nowcomes the hard part.
We
must live. Whatever else you do from now on, never cry. You understand?”
    Anar sniffed and nodded her head. Nerys patted her. She hadn’t raised a weakling.
    Under cover of the woods they hurried, taking care to step over the fallen trunks of alders and birches, which if they grew too high were prone to collapse. Thus it was said,
Beware of tall trees
, which was also a rebuke to the prideful. Jory was fond of the saying. Nerys was not.
    When they found the others, they were all