“I think we should take Vic with us if he really wants to go,” Renni said. “How can we leave him with Iston? That man may be a skilled sculptor, but he’s a fanatic about the supposed dog god. He’s not rational.”
“People could well say that about us,” Camsen pointed out. “We’re taking a woman who may or may not be alive half-way across the country in a coffin on the word of a fourteen-year-old girl who claims a Dire Lord told her that Kyla needs to be taken there.”
“So that’s what you’re doing?” Thornbridge said. “Taking a corpse all the way from Port-of-Lords to Hillcross? Why? And what makes you think she isn’t dead?”
“You’ve seen her,” Camsen said. “She isn’t breathing, so far as we can tell, but her body hasn’t decayed in all the time we’ve been traveling. She doesn’t wake up, doesn’t eat or drink. But she doesn’t look dead, either.”
“Kyla was the leader of the Gifted Community in Port-of-Lords,” Renni explained further. “She was—is—highly gifted. Veronica, that fourteen-year-old girl Camsen mentioned, also has amazing powers. She says that Kyla will wake some day, but in the meantime she’s to be kept safe in a cave near Hillcross where we’re to build a shrine. We’ll find the place when we get there. We felt we owed it to Kyla to follow those instructions. We didn’t expect to encounter all the difficulties we’ve had to face.”
“So now you have doubts?” Thornbridge asked.
“I think we’ve all had doubts along the way,” Camsen said “But speaking only for myself, I feel that I must do what I promised Veronica and the Community I would do.”
“I’ve had a lot of doubt,” Renni admitted. “But when I saw Kyla lying at the base of that statue to a dog, and she looked so fresh and clean and like she was only asleep, I stopped doubting. I think we’re doing just what we are supposed to do, and I do believe Kyla is in some way still alive.”
Camsen nodded. “When the four of us got separated, and I was alone in the wagon, and we’d lost Kyla, I was ready to give up. It was hard to believe that so much would have gone wrong if this was really what we were meant to do. But now we have Kyla back and, as Renni said, she looks like she’s only sleeping, I have to believe that some power is sustaining her, not just keeping her corpse from decaying but actually keeping her alive in some way.”
“If you’d told me all this before we came to Pescatil, I would have called you crazy,” Thornbridge said. “But now I see her and not only that, but I see a whole town full of people who died eight years ago and have come back from the dead, and I have to accept the possibility that death may not always be permanent and that maybe she can come back the way the people here have.”
I want to learn more about what you mean by having power, being gifted, Vic mindspoke. I want to go with you to Hillcross.
“I say let’s let him come with us,” Renni said. “Only before we leave, we’ve got to find Lore.”
§
Until he felt her hand fall on his shoulder, Lore hadn’t known Maya had returned. Had she come in so silently, or was he just so deeply immersed in despair that he missed the sound of the door opening and of her footsteps crossing the room?
“I have your clothes,” she said. “They was dry after all. Sun’s hot out there. I washed ’em in the creek and laid ’em out on rocks to dry, so they’re wrinkled and a bit stiff, but anyway, they’re clean.”
He nodded, not looking up, not wanting to speak.
“What’s the matter? Feelin’ sorry for yourself?”
He saw no need to reply.
“I’d think you’d be glad you’re safe and not still tied to that tree,” she said, dropping his clothes at his feet.
“I hurt all over,” he mumbled, still without looking up “Can’t stand up. Don’t like being helpless.”
“Well then, don’t be.” She reached down, grabbed an end of the towel that was his sole covering, and yanked it away from him. “I bet I know somethin’ you can do.”
He looked up. Grinning, she pulled off her dress and tossed it to the floor. She wore nothing beneath it. He could not look away from her slender, tanned body. His gaze traveled downward from her small, pointy breasts to the triangle of reddish-brown hair that curtained her intimate parts.
“I haven’t had a man in way too long,” she said. “Lie back.”
He tried to fight back the wave of desire that washed over him, but his body betrayed him. His arousal was all too evident.
She laughed. “Figgered you weren’t all that hurt.” She lowered herself onto him. He grunted as her body pressed against a multitude of bruises. She grasped his shoulders and rolled over, pulling him with her until he lay atop her. When she pulled his head down so that his face rubbed against hers and pressed her lips against his, his lips parted. Her tongue slipped between them; her hands massaged the back of his neck, then moved gently down his sides. No more words were spoken. She let her body speak for her, and his responded, taking full advantage of what her lips, her hands, her hips, her spread legs offered so generously.
She climaxed with a wild whoop of laughter. His own release came as well, in an exultant rush—of power.
Yes, power! It flooded through him, filling him as though with light. “Thank you,” he whispered.
He hadn’t addressed the expression of gratitude to her, but her smile indicated that she took it that way. She rose, picked up her dress, and slipped it on. “I’ll go find us some food,” she said matter-of-factly, as though nothing had happened.
She left, closing the door. He heard the click of a lock. That was okay. He had his power back. Nothing could stop him now.
He rolled over, got up to his knees, crawled to the window, grabbed the sill, and hauled himself to his feet. Pleased to discover that his legs could hold him up, he gathered his clothes from the floor. Bending hurt, but not beyond endurance. He got dressed with less effort than he’d expected. Though not aware of using power to accomplish these simple acts, he discovered that having power made all the difference. He went to the door and, as he’d expected, found it locked. Although the house was old, its frame was solid. He decided not to try his strength against the door just yet. Maya said she’d find food, and he was ravenously hungry. He’d wait for her return. In the meantime, he could try to reach Camsen or Renni with a mental call. But then they would want to come fetch him right away. Not that he had any idea where Maya’s house was, but Camsen could probably find him.
He decided there was no need for a speedy reunion. He could wait until after the promised meal. Maybe even later. One more night wouldn’t matter, would it? It would give his hurts a bit more time to heal before his body was subjected to the bumping and rolling ride in the wagon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
RECOVERING
Jeppy brought the wagon to a halt, and Camsen peered out. He recognized the street where the wagon had been attacked and the crowd had clamored for their horses. Now, however, the street was deserted. He got down from the wagon and looked around. Seeing no one, he walked to the front of the wagon, intending to confer with Jeppy.
From a nearby house a woman stepped out onto the porch. “You looking for Master and Mistress Carran?”
“Yes,” he called back. “Have you seen them?”
“They said to tell you they’d be at Race and Dulcie Thornbridge’s house, helpin’ to set it to rights. Jac Thornbridge can tell you how to get there. He’s still with you, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is. Thank you.” He waved and turned to Jeppy. “I’ll get the directions from Thornbridge. I doubt it’s far from here.”
He was right. Thornbridge’s directions took them just two streets over and one down, to a home that bustled with activity. Two teenage girls halted washing the front windows just long enough to yell inside, announcing the wagon’s arrival. An older man wielded a sickle, cutting down the grass and high weeds so that the front yard had a more civilized appearance.
Mel Carran hurried from the house in response to the window washers’ sh
outs. Camsen went to greet him.
“We put that Abner Rushland and his buddies to shame,” Master Carran announced without preamble. “Got the town calmed down. Seems that after we all died, the few people left in town just concentrated on taking care of themselves and their property. Never did nothin’ to keep the town runnin’. Well sir, we couldn’t have young toughs like Abner tearin’ around doin’ folks harm. We decided we needed to get organized. We’d had a town council and Peace Officers, but we felt like we needed to elect a new council and townmaster and start afresh. So welcome to the home of our new townmaster, Race Thornbridge. And I’m proud to say, I’m now vice townmaster. And since, thanks to Anya, my home’s in good shape, we all decided that the townmaster’s house needed to be put to rights so’s it could serve as a meeting place. So we’re all pitching in to get it back to bein’ livable, and then we’ll move on and all work together on one house at a time until the whole town is back in shape. And we’ve sent the young men off to hunt for food. Sorry to say, that horse did get butchered, so we’ll have roast horse meat tonight, but then we’ll live on what we can hunt and trap and fish, along with what plants we can find to eat.”
“Good for Uncle Race!” Camsen hadn’t heard Jac Thornbridge approach, so the loud exclamation startled him. “My boy and I will stay and help with the work.” He turned to Camsen. “I’m grateful to you for saving my life and for bringing me here. I mean to stay here and build a new life along with all the people here who are having to start anew. I won’t be going back to Marquez.”
Camsen understood what Jac had left unsaid: he was not going back to a life of thievery. He’d come to like the former bandit leader, and he’d rather hoped that Jac would stay with them all the way to Hillcross, but he understood the man’s desire to help his aunt and uncle along with the other people of Pescatil. He still didn’t know all the abilities Jac possessed, but whatever they were, if he could put them to good use here in Pescatil rather than misusing them to abet his thievery, then this was where he belonged. One gift he had revealed this day was that of healing. Sitting in the wagon with Ril beside him, without speaking or calling attention to what he was doing, Jac had placed his hands on the boy’s burns, and Camsen had noted that when he took his hands away, the blistered flesh had been restored to normal, healthy skin. Now, standing next to Jac, Ril beamed with joy. He’d acquired not only a father but also a great aunt and uncle who had welcomed him with open arms and would no doubt dote on him.
Life here in Pescatil would not be easy for some time. It would take months, if not a year or two, to sow the fields and raise crops to harvest, round up stray animals and rebuild herds of goats and flocks of chickens, and determine ownership when possible. There would almost certainly be squabbles, but Race Thornbridge gave promise of being not only a competent administrator but a wise arbitrator of disputes, as well.
Like Renni, Camsen was eager to be on the way to Hillcross. But not only did they need to locate Lore; they also needed to find some way to replace their stolen supplies. Kyla didn’t require food or water. The people who’d stormed their wagon had left nothing behind. They’d even taken all the clothes they weren’t wearing. Camsen considered asking Race Thornbridge if they could get their clothes back, but he hesitated, knowing that the people who had taken them had done so out of real need.
A way of helping the people of Pescatil and also replenishing their own supplies had occurred to Camsen, but he hadn’t mentioned it to Renni because it depended not only on finding Lore, but especially on finding him in good shape. That last was doubtful, given that he hadn’t responded to their mental calls.
The afternoon was sliding slowly toward evening, and the Carrans needed to be taken back to their home. Renni was anxious about her horse, Dark Star, so she, too, was impatient to return to the Carrans’ home. Camsen reluctantly said goodbye to the Thornbridges, including Jac and Ril, and he and Vic helped Mel and Anya aboard the wagon. He joined them there, while Renni took the driver’s seat, Jeppy having begged to remain with Jac. Vic joined her to help her find the way.
After all the excitement of the day, Anya and Mel were tired. As the wagon bounced along, they rested. Camsen took advantage of the quiet to try again to contact Lore. Again he received no response. His concern increased. Surely if he were alive and conscious, Lore would receive and reply.
Wondering whether his own ability to send could have become impaired, Camsen sent to Zauna, whom he had also been unable to reach for some time.
Camsen! What a relief to hear from you! came the happy response. I got off the boat in Highport late this morning. I’ve been looking for a place to stay tonight. I planned to try to contact you as soon as I found one. Where are you?
Equally relieved to receive her sending and know her location, Camsen quickly filled her in on what had been happening and on his concern about Lore.
After dinner I’ll get out my crystal ball and see if it will show me where he is. I’ll let you know if I find out anything.
Buoyed by that promise and relieved to know that Zauna was safe and that his ability to send had not deserted him, Camsen used that ability to pass on to Renni what he’d learned from Zauna.
What will we do if Zauna’s crystal shows his death? She echoed his own fear.
We’ll just have to wait and see, was the only answer he could give her.
§
The click of the lock alerted Lore to Maya’s return. He got to his feet, moving more easily now. She swung the door open and stepped into the room, her arms full of packages. “I’ve brought us a feast!” she announced. “Come and help me.”
As he hurried to take some of the leaf-wrapped packages from her arms, a sending from Camsen rang in his mind. The package Maya thrust into his hands smelled of roasted meat. His stomach grumbled in response.
“Guess you’re ready for a good meal,” she said with a chuckle.
He nodded and followed her into the room through which she’d come, where he saw a table on which to place the packages. He couldn’t stop to reply to Camsen now. He’d send a response later.
“Don’t have no fancy dinner plates,” she said. “I rinsed these big leaves in the stream, so they’ll have to do.”
The call came again. Lore, if you can receive this, please answer.
He couldn’t answer. Not now. Maya was opening another package, this one filled with steaming greens. “I cooked these over an open fire out in the woods,” she said. “Didn’t want to use the fireplace in here.” She nodded toward a stone fireplace he hadn’t noticed, his attention having focused on the food. “Don’t want smoke risin’ from the chimney, lettin’ people know somebody lives here.” From a cabinet beside the fireplace she took two glass jars and poured water from a leather water skin that looked suspiciously like one they’d had in the wagon.
“Where’d you get all this?” he asked.
“Oh, I got ways,” was her evasive reply.
“But all this—meat, vegetables, and what’s that? Fish?”
“Caught that m’self,” she said proudly. “It’s not very big. Prob’ly bony. But I knew how hungry we both were. And look, I even found some berries and nuts for dessert. Now sit down and dig in.”
He looked around for something to sit on. There were plain wooden chairs in the room, all covered in a layer of dust. He blew dust off one and brought it to the table. Remembering his manners just before lowering himself into it, he offered it to Maya and returned to bring another to the table.
She’d spread out two large leaves, one on top of the other, for him to place his food on, and arranged two others for herself. They both took seats. She handed him a small, sharp knife. She had a larger one, with which she cut off a hunk of meat and placed it on her leaves. “Don’t have proper tableware,” she said. “Figgered we could make do with these. I washed ’em good in the creek.”
He nodded, too busy hacking off a bit of meat for himself and conveying it to his mouth on the point of the knife to engage in conversa
tion. His only thought was of filling his empty stomach with what proved to be delicious food. He didn’t care how it reached his mouth.
After dinner Maya wrapped leftovers in clean leaves and threw out the leaves that had served them as plates. She showed him a back door from which an overgrown path led to an outhouse. Her warning that it was not too clean proved an understatement. Spiders and their webs were everywhere, and rodent droppings littered the floor. Maya had apparently cleaned off the wooden bench with its hole from which emanated noxious odors. He would have preferred to relieve himself in the concealing bushes behind the outhouse, but she warned him to go no farther from the house than that revolting structure. “You try to wander off and I’ll come after you with this knife,” she warned, brandishing the knife that had so recently served her as a dining utensil.
He felt sufficiently recovered that he thought it would not be terribly difficult to get away from her, but he wasn’t inclined to put that belief to a test. She had, after all, been treating him kindly, and although he’d been locked in the house while she went for food, he did not feel that he was her prisoner. He saw her more as his rescuer who had probably saved his life. That her actions weren’t merely altruistic he guessed, but for the present he felt content to accept her hospitality, rough though it was.
No longer confined to a single barren room, he discovered that the house had furnishings other than the table and chairs where they’d enjoyed their rustic feast. In addition to the room in which they’d dined, there was a storeroom lined with mostly empty shelves, and a bedroom that held a chest of drawers, above which hung a cracked mirror, an empty wardrobe with a door that hung open, fastened only by a single rusted hinge. And there was a bed, its metal frame rusted, but its sagging mattress covered with reasonably clean sheets and a woolen blanket.
He made no objection when she led him to that bed and invited him to share it with her. It was early evening, too early yet for sleep, but he guessed that sleep was not her immediate intention. Enough moonlight came through the room’s single window to illuminate her body as she undressed. He removed his own clothes, folded them neatly, and placed them on the dresser.
Deniably Dead (Arucadi Series Book 4) Page 22