Chapter 10: His White Hands

Status: First Draft
Last Edited: Nov. 9th, 2025
Content Warnings: Fantasy Violence, Suggestive Content, Strong Language,

Show spoiler

Domestic Abuse, Mental Illness, Suicidal Ideation Mentioned

Chapter 10

Kalolin couldn’t tell how low the sun was in the sky. Everything was dark under the thick cover of trees. Only the occasional flash of blue overhead reminded her that it was daylight.

Ainjru came to a stop abruptly.

"They’re lagging behind again," he said coldly, still facing straight ahead. Kalolin peered over her shoulder to see Tareuk and Kalem about ten trees away. Kalem was holding on to Tareuk’s arm for balance.

"Is there a problem?" asked Ainjru once they had caught up.

"Sorry, sehr," Tareuk said. "Kalem did something to his ankle back in the Benni camp, and the walking’s making it worse. He needs to rest."

Kalem didn’t speak, still catching his breath.

"We don’t have any food or water," said Ainjru. "The best way to fix that is to get where we’re going as soon as we can. Rest will have to wait."

"We’re all run ragged, Ainjru," Kalolin lowered her voice so the others couldn’t hear. "You more than the rest of us. We’ll just as soon die without sleep as starve."

Ainjru huffed and grumbled to himself. "Fine. But we’ll get moving again at first light. Carry Kalem if you have to," he said to Tareuk.

Slinging his traveling pack down from his shoulder, Tareuk laid out a blanket at the base of a tree and helped Kalem down to it. The relief on the musician’s face showed how glad he was to be off his injured ankle. Kalolin hoped it wouldn’t slow them down too much the next day; Ainjru wasn’t wrong about needing to find food and water.

Tareuk dug around his empty traveling pack, again, before finally turning it inside out.

"Your rations aren’t going to magically reappear if you keep checking," Kalem shook his head with a bemused smirk.

"They took more than just the food," sighed Tareuk.

"I told you not to bring valuables," scolded Ainjru. He was towering over them for once, only because they were both seated.

Kalem chuckled. "We sure are disobedient idiots. I even had the gall to bring this." With a flick of his wrist, Kalem produced a small iron key.

"Why you—" Ainjru seethed. "You didn’t send it along with Miar?" He swiped a hand out toward the key, but with another flick of Kalem’s wrist, it seemed to vanish.

"Of course not," replied Kalem. "You told me to hold on to it for you and I have."

"Hex, you’re a complete fool," said Ainjru with a roll of his eyes. "What if it had been taken?"

"Afraid the Benni might use it for themselves?" grinned Kalem, the idea hilarious to him. "Don’t worry. I’ll continue to protect it with my life."

"If you get yourself killed it doesn’t matter anymore," Ainjru snarled.

"Aww, you do care," said Kalem.

Ainjru slowly curled his fingers into fists. "I no longer have the patience for you." He turned and started climbing up a nearby embankment, fighting against the layer of pine needles that slid around beneath his feet.

"A valiant effort," said Tareuk, once Ainjru was out of earshot.

"Thanks," Kalem sighed, leaning his head back against the tree and closing his eyes. All joviality emptied out of him as though through a leaky pipe, leaving empty exhaustion behind. "If even my goading doesn’t work, then it means he’s in one nasty mood." He squinted at Kalolin with one eye. "Good luck, farmgirl."

Kalolin followed after Ainjru, trudging up the mountain.

"Where are you headed now?" asked Kalolin as she caught up with him.

"I’m looking for a good vantage point," he answered sharply. "See if I can’t see a little of what’s up ahead."

As they climbed, the thick blanket of pine needles thinned until exposed stone was visible underfoot. Unlike the deep black slate inside the pass, this stone was a light, be-speckled granite, taking on an orange hue with the sunset. They reached the top of the mound quickly; it was just one big rock rather than a mountain in and of itself. Ainjru found one of its Northmost peaks, one that the wind and rain had weathered into a soft dome, and took a seat there.

He gazed out almost meditatively at the valley below. Its dense tree cover waned in the distance, where the ground became unusually flat and then finally disappeared into a dark sliver of ocean. To the Northeast, a village hid behind dense evergreen trees, trails of chimney smoke above the forest the only sign that it was there.

"Grenok," Ainjru pointed to the wisps of smoke. "I can get us food and shelter there, if we can make it."

"It doesn’t look too far," said Kalolin hopefully.

"The distance isn’t the problem," he replied darkly.

"Then what is?"

"What is, sehr," Ainjru corrected, but his heart wasn’t in it.

After a moment without him answering her question, Kalolin tried another. "What was it you spoke of earlier? You said a word that seemed to upset the Benni...sehr."

Ainjru shrugged his shoulders, then sighed. He shifted restlessly where he sat and ran a hand through his hair, where it got stuck on a braid and he had to yank it out rather than completing the motion smoothly.

"When my mother died…" he began reluctantly, "she made me make a promise to her. She told me one of the old stories of our people—her people," he corrected himself and hissed air through his teeth like it pained him.

"I don’t really think she believed it, but she wanted me to promise something. Something that would keep me from...to make sure I would carry on. No matter her true objective, I intend to fulfill that promise. I had hoped to learn more of the story from the Benni, but...it looks like I’m still on my own."

"I’m sorry," Kalolin breathed a small white cloud into the air. "I’m sure it’s not much consolation but…I am here."

Ainjru sat up a little straighter. "Why do I feel like she is going to be more trouble than she’s worth?" he said to himself.

Kalolin frowned. Ainjru didn’t speak under his breath, or glance at her out of the corner of his eye. It was like he had forgotten she was there entirely.

"Not that it matters," he continued, deep in conversation with the horizon. "No one can stop what is coming. It is predestined." He nodded to himself, convinced.

They sat in silence as the land before them was swallowed up by the shadow of the Northlands Mountains. The sun disappeared to the West side of the mountain range, its light taking the last of the day’s warmth with it. The stone beneath them held on to what heat it could, but soon even that was gone.

Ainjru flinched. "Did you say something?" He sounded short of breath.

"No, not for a while," answered Kalolin, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"Of course," Ainjru took a shaky breath.

A rustling down the slope interrupted them, and they got to their feet a few moments before Tareuk became visible between the trees.

"What do you want?" asked Ainjru impatiently.

"Kalem’s asleep, sehr. I just wanted to see where you had gone to," the big man replied. He stopped a few feet down the steep slope but still didn’t need to look up to make eye contact with Ainjru.

"Here I am," Ainjru gestured sarcastically.

"Are you going to come down and make camp with us?" Tareuk raised an eyebrow slowly, doing his best to keep his tone to gentle suggestion.

"No, I don’t think I will," replied Ainjru.

Tareuk looked down at his feet and let out a breath, thinking deeply about this difficult problem.

"We’re only a shout away," offered Kalolin.

Ainjru nodded emphatic agreement. "The only real danger in these mountains is the Benni, and they’ve already given us safe passage. The truth, and you know it, is I’m actually significantly less likely to be killed in my sleep than I am in my bed at home." He chuckled to himself. "Doubly so with Kalem’s injury."

"Evidently there’s nothing I can say to convince you otherwise," Tareuk sighed. "I’ll see you in the morning, then, sehr."

Tareuk stamped loudly down the slope back under the shadowy cover of the trees.

In the growing dark, Ainjru scoured the surface of the rocky hill as though he had lost something on it, eventually finding a depression in the stone big enough to be a man-sized bowl. He took the blanket from his pack and threw it into the bowl, then frowned at it. When Kalolin moved closer, he snatched the pack from her shoulders and threw her blanket to the ground as well. With their packs for pillows, it made only a sad sort of bed instead of an incredibly sad sort of bed.

Ainjru sat down in the nest of blankets. He was off-center, so Kalolin knew he expected her to join him. She laid back, trying to get comfortable with the hard rock still quite noticeable beneath the two blankets. Ainjru stayed seated, but rested his chin on his knees and looked skyward at the emergent stars.

There was no moon tonight. Instead, the sky was a swirling, endless field of stars that left Kalolin feeling weightless and directionless.

From that liminal space (which might or might not have been sleep), Kalolin found herself pulled back down to the solid ground by a slight, but continuous, vibration beside her. She blinked, nearly blind in the darkness, but could see enough to tell Ainjru had not moved from where he sat. She reached out a hand to touch the side of his arm and felt him trembling.

At first, she thought he was shivering again. She was ready to scold him, to tell him to quit being stubborn and go make camp with the others. As much as she also found the idea distasteful, it was undeniable they’d be warmer all together.

But then she heard his barely audible, pitiful whimpering.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice raspy from both trepidation and thirst. He did not answer, but it was as though she had knocked over a domino. He collapsed onto her, burying his face in her lap. The whimpering grew more audible, more pitiful, until he was sobbing so hard she wasn’t sure he was still taking in air. She could feel his fingernails digging into her thighs even through her skirt as he clung to her.

At least I am getting some use out of my ability to grin and bear unpleasantness, she thought to herself. Them she scolded herself for being so glib while her future husband was in distress. But then, I’ve never known what to do when someone is crying.

She sat up and, mustering every scrap of maternal instinct she had been repeatedly told must be in there somewhere, she laid a reassuring hand on his head and ran her fingers gently through his hair.

After an agonizing eternity the crying ceased. Ainjru no longer moved, even to tremble, and his breathing was soft and even. He had cried himself to sleep.

Kalolin let him stay like that for a while, worried if she woke him he’d just start crying again, but eventually the discomfort in her legs was too great, and she wriggled out from underneath him. He stirred slightly as she did so.

"Stay tonight, Lhanna," he muttered, half asleep.

"Move up here," Kalolin pulled him toward the head of the makeshift bed and he complied. Awake enough to follow instructions, asleep enough not to make a fuss about it. The perfect man.

"Good morning, my little bird." The words were hot, just behind Kalolin's ear. She jerked awake but arms around her waist held her tightly in place.

It was barely morning yet, the sky a rich purple color. Kalolin felt as though she had hardly slept, but her sore muscles wanted nothing more than for her to get up off the hard ground.

She tried to move again, but the arms were pulling back against her, working their way up to her chest. Ainjru's face was pressed against the back of her neck, his hot breath tickling her skin. She gave up and let herself sink back into him.

His whole body tensed against her suddenly. He yanked his arms away from her and shoved them into her back. It moved her maybe an inch, but mostly jammed her shoulder painfully down into the rock beneath her. The motion put distance between them anyway, more from moving him away from her than the other way around. She could hear him scrabbling to his feet behind her as she bit back a gasp of pain and struggled to her knees.

When she looked over her shoulder up at him, his eyes were wide with shock and confusion that slowly boiled into anger. He placed a booted foot in the center of her back and pushed, knocking her forward onto her hands. Worried he was about to send her tumbling down the slope, she let her arms give out, the weight on her back flattening her into the blankets.

His foot remained on her for a few moments before he took a step back and then bent down, tearing the blankets out from under her. He stuffed both into his own bag and tossed Kalolin’s in her face.

"Get moving or I’ll leave without you," he commanded, despite the fact that the only thing keeping her from moving had been him.

They met back up with Tareuk and Kalem, who seemed able, though tentatively, to bear weight on his ankle.

"And I thought I had a rough night," chuckled the musician, falling into step beside Kalolin. "I’d say you look like you’ve been put through a few, except that he’s in an even worse mood than last night."

Kalolin turned up her nose and refused to dignify him with a response.

Even as Kalem did his best to keep up with the pace, they were still slowed down by hunger and thirst. It was a much harder trip than it had been coming up the mountain, though it was at least a small comfort to no longer be fighting their way uphill.

Kalolin was washed with relief when the ground finally began to level out beneath them. When they broke through the dense trees onto a dirt road, Kalolin had to keep from stumbling over the unexpected ground. So glad was she to see a sign of civilization again that she let herself drop to her knees and kiss the gray-brown dirt (it was disgusting and she regretted it).

Ainjru, on the other hand, only grew an entire measure more on edge as they walked. He clung to the side of the road the way one might press themselves up against the wall of a long hallway, trying to avoid anyone who might be coming the other direction.

"Surely the Benni won’t bother to come after us now, after having let us get so far?" whispered Kalolin, absorbing some of Ainjru’s anxious energy herself.

He shook his head furiously. "The Benni are about the most merciful raiders in these parts."

They made good progress toward the village, keeping up the pace even as Kalem began to occasionally wince and groan. Between the tips of conical evergreens, white spirals of smoke from chimneys danced in front of the overcast sky.

The distant sound of footfalls tugged Kalolin’s gaze over her shoulder. Where minutes before there had been no one, a group of men now filled the width of the road behind them. The swaying of their lanky silhouettes implied a slow, casual gait, and yet the distance to them did not grow. If anything, they were gradually closing the gap. The figures were far enough away that Kalolin could not make out their exact numbers, but there were enough of them for her to know she didn’t need to.

"We’re being followed," she said, her voice low.

"I am well aware," hissed Ainjru through gritted teeth. "Make as though you haven’t noticed them. There’s no good in picking up our speed; they will simply match it and overtake us. We need to cover as much ground as we can while they still believe us unaware."

This time, Kalolin obliged to follow his commands. She kept her eyes straight ahead and maintained a steady pace, focusing on each individual step and doing her best to ignore the panic rising in the back of her throat.

The brigands grew closer. Kalolin could hear the shuffling as the mass of them moved together in practiced formation. Her fear was made worse by the lack of any other sound. A dozen men and not a single word, or cough, or long exhale. That silence was in and of itself menacing.

Kalolin's heart was pounding hard inside her chest. Any moment, that pounding was going to spread down into her legs and set her running against her will. It was a battle just trying to keep her breath from coming in frightened little gasps.

A flash of red through the trees ahead brought her back outside of her body. Sounds of human speech came from further up the road.

"Run! Ainjru barked suddenly.

It was all the excuse Kalolin's legs needed to launch into a full sprint. The silence shattered like so much glass. Shouting and hollering like hunting dogs, the brigands stayed hot on their heels. Her pack slammed against her back as she ran. Even its scant weight felt like it slowed her down. She couldn't afford to be slowed down. She pushed her feet harder into the dirt, propelling herself forward even faster. It was unsustainable, and she knew it.

They rounded a smooth curve in the road. Ainjru was only an arm's length from her, running as hard as she was.

He skidded to a halt in the dirt road. Kalolin wouldn't have stopped. She would probably have kept running even if he'd called her back. She didn't get to find out, coming to a clumsy stop just before the wooden barrier that spanned the road. Cruel spikes stuck out of it at all angles, threatening to disembowel her there in the center of the road.

To the right side of the road, a small patch of trees had been cleared, probably for the wood used to construct the barrier itself. A handful of men sat on and around these fresh stumps in a small, makeshift camp. On a single, young tree left standing they'd hung a red banner with a white hand-print at the center.

An awful, sickening realization struck Kalolin just below the stomach. They'd run right into a trap.

Tareuk and Kalem came crashing to a halt before the barrier, the other men running just behind them. Kalolin readied herself to dart into the trees, to hope that somehow they'd be able to lose their pursuers in the dense spruce and pine.

Ainjru gave her pause. He stood up straight, summoning every ounce of arrogance he could muster. He must have been mostly arrogance by weight. Casually, he strolled toward the men on the side of the road.

The pursuing brigands caught up to them, but, without explanation, they stopped a few paces back, as though some invisible force had been erected between them and their would-be victims.

"Good day, kind lords!" Ainjru greeted cheerfully, if out of breath.

He received vicious sneers in return.

"What have we here?" One man grinned as he stood up from his seat on a wide stump. He was missing several teeth, probably for the same reason his nose seemed to be located on only one side of his face.

Kalolin's heart was still beating loudly in her ears, almost blocking out the sounds of the conversation.

"I am a very important companiman," replied Ainjru, taking his time, "and I am interested in hiring the White Hands as escort."

"Nobody important on these roads, friend. Try again." The man's crooked grin never faltered even as he drew a sharp blade from a scabbard on his hip.

"Well, these friends sure seem to think so," Ainjru gestured a thumb behind him to the hungry-eyed brigands only paces away. They were mostly armed with dirty knives and brutal looking cudgels, and moved restlessly without coming forward. Even though there were more of them, they were wary of the men standing around the red banner.

"I'm just here to collect the toll," said the gap-toothed man. "Long as you die on this side of the road-horns, s'not my problem."

"I'm happy to pay the toll," Ainjru said. "But it's better for everyone involved if I do not die on either side. I am worth a particularly pretty ransom, I assure you."

At this, the remaining White Hands drew their weapons. Most of them were armed with sleek, well-sharpened swords. Some wielded heavy crossbows with bolts thicker than Kalolin's thumb. They were not in uniform, exactly, but their dark colored clothing was tidy and well made, unlike the brigands’ ill-fitting, patchwork attire. Here and there they wore a steel breastplate, or arm guard, dinged and dull from use.

"I have proof, if that would make this go along smoother," suggested Ainjru. He reached slowly to remove the pack from his back. One of the men holding a crossbow trained in on Ainjru, but did not fire. Digging deep into the pack, he pulled out a stack of papers slowly, then tossed them at the feet of the crooked-nosed man.

The man picked up the papers tentatively. His eyes went wide as he thumbed through the stack.

"I know they’re a bit inconvenient to use out this way," Ainjru admitted with a shrug. "But if you make it over to the Palace you should be able to get about a hundred Marks for each."

"Not often I see Sarnain bank notes," the man flicked the stack with a finger, a dull thud emphasizing the thickness of it. "Who exactly did you say you were?"

"I am heir to the Kaelkarim Shipping Company," Ainjru said proudly. "You're perhaps more likely to recognize a different title, though it's a misnomer. 'The Prince of Sarnai.'"

One of the White Hands elbowed another standing beside him, pointing at Ainjru's blazing, copper hair. That was what Kalolin had remembered most from the stories, too.

"Out in the middle of nowhere with only a few companions?" The crooked-nosed leader grinned with malice. "Isn't that just too good to be true?"

"I've given you all the money I carry," said Ainjru blandly. "There's nothing left to rob off me. I'm more valuable to you alive than dead. Honestly, I don't see why we haven't started for Krazshka's estate yet."

The man's light brown eyes flashed darker; his malevolent grin slipped from his face.

"What business have you with Krazshka?"

"He is expecting to see me," Ainjru sounded taken aback, as though it was supposed to be obvious. "What other reason would I have to be here? Why else would I seek out His White Hands?"

The sound of crossbows firing was loud in Kalolin's ears, and a small shriek escaped her. Several of the White Hands charged. They came closer and she stumbled back a few steps, arms up in front of her face. They surged past, close enough for her to smell the sweet, rotten smell of alcohol on their breath.

Kalem grabbed her by the shoulder, steadying her as she nearly ran into him. Tareuk moved to stand protectively by Ainjru, who watched on with cold, calculating eyes.

The sword wielding White Hands smashed into the line of brigands in a wave of steel. Sharp blades cut deep into wooden clubs, cut deeper into muscle. A few of the brigands turned to run, but earned only crossbow bolts in the back. The White Hands were no longer outnumbered; now it was a slaughter.

One of the White Hands close to Kalolin cried out as he took a knife to the side. His opponent was untrained, though, and the blow glanced off his ribs instead of finding its way between them. He slashed downward with his longer weapon. It lodged itself in deep where the other man's neck met his shoulder. Blood poured out around the curved blade as the brigand sunk down to his knees. Holding the shallow gash on his ribs, the victor struggled to pull his sword from the man's neck with only one hand.

The dry dirt road drank up the pools of blood, turning to red-brown mud. Kalolin was surprised by how little blood there was: how little you had to lose in order to die.

Another brigand circled around the injured White Hand, looking for the best angle to avoid the longer range of his enemy’s blade. He made a mistake, though, in getting too close to the nervous Kalolin. She was not a soldier, but she was an animal backed into a corner. She lashed out, aiming a fist at the man’s flank and making solid contact with a kidney. The brigand fell to his knees, doubled over. There was no time for him to recover. Even injured the White Hand made quick work of him with a downward strike that went clean through the man’s back and emerged from his chest below.

"Many thanks, M’lady," the White Hand laughed.

When it was over, he sat down on a tree stump to tend to his wound, panting from exertion. Others tended to their blood smeared blades, or turned out the pockets of the dead.

The crooked-nosed man put away his narrow blade and approached Ainjru.

"Now that there are no witnesses-"

"Now you will take me to Krazshka?" Ainjru said impatiently.

"You will tell me the truth. How is it you know of Krazshka?" he growled.

"I have already told you the truth," sighed Ainjru. "You will make me tell you nothing more. Frankly, I do not have the time, and you do not have the stamina."

The man narrowed his eyes. "I will bring you to Krazshka. If he is not expecting you, I will kill you there."

"Fine by me," Ainjru said. He fell in step behind the White Hands leader as he navigated around the blocked road.

Kalolin cast a quick glance about, ensuring no eyes were aimed her way. She bent down briefly, grabbing the handle of a short, triangular knife laying beside a still-warm corpse before slipping it into the inner pocket of her wool vest. As inconspicuously as she could, she caught up to Ainjru.

"Getting us into more trouble?" she said under her breath.

He raised an eyebrow at her and his mouth startled to curl up at the edges as he whispered his reply. "I told you so."