Rift by Kay Kenyon Read Free Book Online Page A

circled around the next gully and slunk westward across the ridges, putting distance between himself and the camp. After an hour, as dawn lit his path, he ran toward the spot where Marie waited, a week’s rations weighing down his back. When he reached their bivouac, Marie was up, having struck the tent. In the first hint of dawn, she looked fragile and pale.
    “Going somewhere?” he asked.
    She nodded. “Figured we’d be in a hurry this morning. Successful hunt?”
    “Yes. But we’ll be turning carnivore, I’m afraid.” He peered at the crest of the arroyo. “Let’s get out of here.”
    Marie tossed him a food pouch. “Eat something first.”
    He grinned. In truth, he was hungry enough to chew on his boots. Without taking off his pack, Reeve ripped open the pouch. In his haste, he dropped it, spilling the food nuggets on the ground. Swearing, he knelt in the hardpan soil and scraped together a few spoonfuls of the pellets. He stuffed them into his mouth, ravenous and beyond scruples, crawling to salvage his meal before the bugs descended.
    “Reeve!” he heard Marie shout.
    As his head came up he found himself facing aglinting sword. At the other end of the weapon stood a man with a patchy brown beard and bald head. Claver. Though the man’s shoulders were covered with a fur pelt, he was thin as a girder. Reeve could take him on, but there were more than one. Another one was sitting astride Marie. The sword edged closer, nudging Reeve’s throat.
    “Be you a Tallgrass or a Mudder, boyo?” The sword flashed sun into Reeve’s eyes. “Eh?” the man prodded.
    “I am Reeve.” As thin as the claver looked, Reeve judged he was all bone and muscle. Damn, to be caught unawares, to be on his hands and knees weighted down with his own trophy pack!
    “A Reeve, he say, Mam,” the swordsman said to the other claver. “I say, the liar dies.”
    “No!” Marie blurted.
    The scrawny man eyed Reeve’s clothes, especially his boots. “Speak your prayers, boyo.” He raised the saber over his head.
    Reeve scampered backward, but toppled from the weight of his pack. As he frantically pulled one arm loose from the straps, the claver planted a foot in his ribs and swung the sword back.
    “Leave off,” came the command.
    Another claver stood at Reeve’s feet, looking down at him. Her short, ragged hair stood up in spikes all over her head. She was young, maybe seventeen, and filthy. As she kneeled down beside him, her companion slowly lowered his weapon. She peered at Reeve, moving to within inches of his face, her nostrils flaring. Through the mask of dirt on her face, her hazel eyes were her only clear link to humanity. The waif was dressed in rags and fur boots laced with hide thongs, and she smelled of humus. She lifted his lips to inspect his teeth, then probed his clothes, frowning.
    “Don’t move, boyo,” the man warned. Reeve didn’t need to be told.
    With a grimy finger, the girl traced the breatheraround his nose and mouth, drawing her finger along its almost invisible circumference. “This?” she asked.
    “A breather.”
    She looked at him doubtfully.
    “Where be your clave, boyo?” the man growled.
    A question he didn’t want to answer. “Far away.”
    The sword poked at his chest. “Where?”
    Throwing caution aside, Reeve pointed to the sky.
    The claver looked up. When he gazed down at Reeve again his face darkened. He twitched the sword until it ripped into the fabric of Reeve’s jacket.
    The girl lay her palm against the flat of the blade, pushing it away. “He will live,” she announced. Standing up, she took note of the swordsman’s glare. “Soil eater,” she said. Then she turned and walked away.
    Under the contemptuous eyes of their captor, Marie helped Reeve to his feet. The man turned his head to one side, as though Reeve were easier to look at with just one eye. A curl of his lip conveyed his assessment of the pair of them. In turn, Reeve surveyed the barbarian who had so