***Nema***

“May their bones tumble about the wastes forever,” Nema cursed around the gor root between her teeth as she rubbed the faint hand marks off of her arms. The most recent altercation between her, the chief and Vol had nearly escalated beyond what could be forgiven.

When she’d tapped into her Well to throw Vol’s hand away from her arm, she’d seen in his eyes, how tempted the young shaman was to draw upon his own and assert dominance.

Nema suspected the presence of the chief alone prevented anything worse from happening.

Vol. The man made her hair stand on end, and that was before the stories that floated among the women. He had an uncanny tendency to show up over a woman’s shoulder when no one else was around, making unwarranted advances.

Even the women who did lay with him out of boredom or – gods forbid – finding him attractive…wound up regretting it. It seemed Vol’s primary source of pleasure was his partner’s lack therof.

And the chief wants me to marry this…scum?

‘He’ll mellow with age…He’d treat a wife better…You can’t be afraid of men…” All the chief’s hollow justifications and deflections echoed through Nema’s mind as she shook her head.

She didn’t have anything against men. She loved men. They were tall and broad and muscly, generally kind…all good things that made her mouth drool, heart race, and grow weak in the knees. No, she had something against Vol, specifically.

Nema was not sure Vol was human, let alone a man. Despite looking like one on the outside, he had dead eyes that seemed to simply…tolerate everything, as though he were bored to his very soul.

The only time she’d seen the light of interest in his eyes was when she had witnessed him torturing a Jinzeth to death, some ten years ago.

That was probably where her disgust with Vol first took root.

Imagine her growing alarm as all the good men in the village were snapped up by more cunning women, went off to fight the Alia to the south, joined other villages, or were simply related to her.

Her options narrowed year after year, until her father, the former shaman, died. When that happened, the trap began to close around Nema. The new shaman was Vol, because he was the strangest man in the village, while also being rather clever and good with words. He was also unemployed and a quick study.

The chief felt the young man would grow into the role quite well. As long as he had a woman to ‘settle him down’.

Nema and the other women thought Vol as a shaman was a stupid decision, but they were generally ignored. Women had their own way of choking off the new shaman, excising him from the village like a tumor, through channels that were their right to do, but it would take time.

Time Nema would have to spend as his wife.

And what if the other women turned their back on her, content to let Vol have a single sacrifice to keep him from tormenting anyone else?

What were her options?

She could lock away her feelings and accept the offer, which would be awful.

She could wander further out into the desert to die alone once the sun rose.

She could refuse the offer and stay in the village, while the pressure mounted.

She could dodge the offer by becoming a second wife. Maybe Ardon? He’s cute and has plenty of food. No, Keela doesn’t like me. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life under the thumb of someone who treats me like a threat.

When she stopped to think about it, most of the women of the village treated her like a threat. They had for years.

The rumors of Nema’s proclivities were blown way out of proportion. Nema vigorously sucked the last of the bitter juice out of the gor root and swallowed before pulling out another thick root from her pouch and sliding it between her lips.

Exile seems to be my best bet, she finally acknowledged. She could move to another village, further south. It would a tossup, and difficult to uproot her entire life, but odd were any man she picked randomly off the street would be head-and-shoulders a better choice than Vol.

“There you are.”

Nema’s hackles rose as she heard Vol’s voice.

I just remembered his uncanny ability to catch people alone, damn the gods. Nema wanted to smack her forehead, but didn’t want to give the creature any sign she was upset.

He’d like it too much.

“Why do you shrink away from me so?” he said, his voice even. “Am I so repulsive to you, who has lain with at least half the village? More? Don’t you think we would make an excellent pair?”

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Nema rolled her eyes. “That’s an exaggeration, and you know it.” Nema glanced around, not seeing anyone else to hear her true opinion. “And yes, you repulse me. Your very touch feels like g’nesh crawling up my skin. I think you’re a monster in human form, and I would rather send myself into exile and possibly die than please you.”

Vol smiled.

Aw ba’ge-shit, he likes that. This time she did smack her forehead. Now it made sense why he pursued her so singlemindedly. The more she found him repulsive, the more attractive the idea of subjugating her became.

Well, Nema couldn’t dig herself out of it now. Even if she tried to pretend to like him or at least be neutral, it was far too late to lose his interest. He would know it was an act.

Yep. I’m leaving. First thing in the morning, Nema was going to gather up the most valuable of her father’s possessions and -

Nema tried to walk around Vol, toward the village and the relative safety of being within earshot of others.

He stepped in her way, sending a chill down her spine, colder even than the desert air.

Like animals, the hunt was on.

Nema tapped into her Well and burst into a run, aiming away from the village with the intention of circling back around to it. Vol understood her intention and tapped into his own Well, chasing after her.

They flew across the desert as fast as the wind, four body-lengths between each footfall as the power in their Well strengthened their limbs to inhuman levels, allowing them to push off the ground and soar, destroying the hard-baked earth with each step.

Nema only made it a couple miles before she felt a weight tackle her across her weight, dragging her down to the ground.

The fight devolved into a violent wrestling match that tumbled across the wastes.

A Vith warrior had to know exactly how to pin someone who could easily lift both of them off the ground with a single finger, so they had long since developed highly specialized submission holds.

Neither Nema nor Vol were true Vith warriors, but they’d grown up around them, and Nema tried every trick she’d ever witnessed when the she’d watched the men wrestle.

It kept things even for a while, but eventually, Vol’s extra weight and extra muscle overwhelmed her.

Her Well ran dry momentarily before his did, and he slammed her down onto the flat ground, his victorious sneer barely visible, silhouetted as he was by the red light of the moon.

“You’re going to be my wife, Nema.” He said, panting. “And you’re going to do all the things that the other men brag about when there are no jealous wives in earshot. All the things you do for them that you would never do for me. And you’re going to start right now.”

Nema’s heart beat wildly in her chest as the crawling sensation dominated her thoughts, her body wildly disgusted with the mere contact, let alone the idea of pleasing the creature.

An unexpected flash of light in the corner of her eye caught her attention.

There, in the distance, was a magical beast she’d never heard of before, its eyes glowing fiercely as it roamed the desert with a distant growl. From how wide-set the eyes were, it could most likely swallow her in a single gulp. There were no herbivores that big in the desert.

Damn the gods. Death it is. She would rather feed herself to this beast than tolerate this man.

“I tell you what.” Nema said coyly. “If you let me go, I’ll do something for you I’ve never done for any of the other men. Something special for you.”

Vol grinned, taking his hands off her arms.

Nema spat the gor root into his face, kneed him in the kalto nuts and dipped into the dregs of her Well for one final sprint.

***Tom Graves***

“We’re on a highway to hell!” Tom shouted, tapping the steering wheel to the beat as they drove, keeping an eye on the odometer. When they’d gone five miles, he would kill the engine and they’d set up camp again, until he could produce another liter of gas.

While the radio wasn’t working for obvious reasons, the tape deck still had a mixtape from the eighties in it. Probably an heirloom from Jacob’s dad.

So it was that Tom was singing Highway to Hell driving through the pitch black of night while Suzie bounced along to the music, when a young woman jumped in front of his truck like a deer, tumbling off his hood, crushing his windshield before the sheer velocity sent her tumbling limply off into the darkness.

“FUCKSHIT!” Tom stomped on the brakes, sliding to a halt as the baked earth failed to grip his tires.

Tom glanced out the side window into the dark of night.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but that was a person, right?” Tom asked.

“Wark.” Suzie said, shrugging her little toad shoulders.

Crap. Where there’s one person, there are more, and he’d opened the narrative by running one of them over. Crap, crap crap.

Tom lowered the sun-visor and opened the mirror, straightening his greasy beard and matted hair for a moment before he jumped out into the dark.

“Hello…? Are you still alive…?” Tom called into the dark, scanning the darkness.

There. In the distance was lump of cloth and leather that had no place being out in the middle of the desert.

Tom ran forward and grabbed the person, dragging them into the light of the truck. Okay, we need to make sure they’re okay and take them back to their home as a gesture of ‘I’m not evil.’

Honestly, Tom’s chances of avoiding reprisal might be better if he drove another fifty miles that night and called it good.

Tom couldn’t quite justify being that callous.

When he dragged the lump into the light of the headlights, he saw that yes, it was a girl, and strangely less hurt than he’d expect from someone hit by a car.

There was a bit of bruising on her face, but other than that, she seemed unharmed.

Her arms and legs were unbroken, pulse strong. Tom couldn’t see or feel any blood anywhere, and her ribs seemed whole. With Tom’s vague and underwhelming medical knowledge, he ruled out everything except internal bleeding, which he had no way of knowing.

“Hey, hey!” Tom said, patting her cheek, finally taking a moment to study Roadkill.

Roadkill was very dark-skinned. About as dark as it got, which made sense, given how bad sunburns got out here. Her features were delicate, her lips extraordinarily full…and I should probably keep my observations to that.

She was wearing a thick cloak similar to Tom’s poncho, but a million times better, and handcrafted with a great deal of love and care. Her boots were made of properly cured leather wrappings, unlike Suzie’s sun-protection, which was beginning to crack already.

The girl opened her brown eyes, which were confused and unfocused as she took in Tom’s appearance in a daze.

“Hi there, my name’s Tom,” Tom said, pointing to himself. “I’d like to take you home to protect myself from liability. Where exactly do you live?”

A moment later the dazed look in her eyes cleared, and her eyes widened.

Aw crap. It was like watching Vesuvius erupt and not being able to do anything about it.

Roadkill let out a shriek and shoved him away. And away and away…

Am I tumbling through the air? Tom had a speck of clarity as the world spun around him before he slammed into the truck, the back of his head sending a burst of white through his vision.

That girl lifts…Tom’s brain decided as the world slid out of focus. Gains, bro.