Shadowkill

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A walkway with a three-bar railing ran along the top of the west wall with doors opening onto it from the building behind. A man came from one of those doors. He stood looking down at them a moment, then away over their heads, his nostrils flaring. The wind blew his hair sideways, long hair, straight and fine, so blond it was almost white. He wore black wool and black leather and carried a heavy pellet rifle cradled in the crook of his arm.

He shifted the rifle, banged the butt against the top rail and began talking, raising his voice so he could be heard above the whine of the wind. ”Irrkuyon of the Families of Aghirnamirr will be coming here to look at you. They will select from you.” He fumbled at his belt, held up a short metal rod.

The name of it popped into Kizra’s head: laser marker. Language. I’ve forgotten everything else, why do I remember words?

He thumbed it on, moved it about; a round red circle flicked from woman to woman. “When you are chosen thus,” he dropped the marker, touched a woman’s arm with the dot, “move here.” The dot swept to the door they’d come through. “When the door opens, go out. A guard will take you to the holding room.”

He went away again.

A few minutes later a woman came out the same door. She was tall and lean with prominent cheekbones and a large mouth. Her hair was drawn tightly back from her face and covered by a wide band of black cloth; the little that was visible was as pale as the man’s. Her brows were almost white and her skin was colorless. She wore a heavy gray jacket fitted close to her body and a long, full gray skirt. She was visibly pregnant, five months or six, and her face was pinched, stern. Her hands were bare, large hands, strong hands. She gripped the rail tensely as her light eyes moved over the women in the pen.

Kizra read her anger and her dislike for this business, felt also the grinding weariness that she was struggling against. After a minute she realized what she was doing and was startled by it. A Talent? she thought. Yes. Is that why…

The man returned, stood beside the woman. He gave her the marker and waited.

Her mouth tightened, but she said nothing. She lifted the rod, flicked it on.

The red dot landed on Tinoopa’s arm.

For a moment Tinoopa didn’t move. The man stirred impatiently, scowled at her. Tinoopa sighed, patted Kizra’s shoulder and walked toward the door, her head high, her shoulders straight, light as a dancer despite her size.

Kizra folded her arms across her breasts, trying to hug reality to her as she felt it start to trickle away.

Then the red dot landed on her arm, breaking over a crease in her sleeve. With a relief that nearly turned her legs to jelly, she hurried after Tinoopa.