The World of Samar Box Set 3

by M. L. Hamilton

Jarrett blinked. He suddenly felt dizzy. He didn’t know how to answer her.

  She touched his arm. “You’re breathing too fast, Jarrett. You need to slow down.”

  He ducked his head and closed his eyes, fighting for composure. She was cool to the touch for the first time in weeks. She had no fever. But was that a good thing? Had her body simply given up the fight? Was she losing so much blood that it brought her temperature down?

  “What are you muttering?” she asked.

  He opened his eyes and lifted his head, not even realizing he’d been speaking. “Nazarien chants. Of all the things they taught me, this was the most useful. It’s a self-meditation trick to calm one’s self.” It helped to keep a clinical distance, but as he looked into her face, his composure shattered. He loved her and he couldn’t lose her, he just couldn’t lose her again.

  Hooking his hand under her arm, he helped her to her feet, then he reached back and turned off the water. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m going to heat breakfast, then I need to go searching for a bit. Do you think you’ll be all right?”

  She braced herself with a hand against his chest. “I’ll probably just sleep. That seems to be all I can do.”

  He moved closer to her, wrapping his arm around her back. “The dreams of your father are just dreams. They don’t mean anything else.”

  She forced a smile for him. “Of course not. I know they’re dreams.”

  He pressed his lips to her damp forehead, feeling the coolness of her skin. He held her there for a long moment, until he felt her trembling with fatigue. Hooking a hand under her arm, he supported her as they went back to their room.

  Zimran had arrived with their bowls and another bowl of rocks. Jarrett eased Tyla onto the shelf and tucked the blanket around her, then he took the tray and headed outside. Zimran followed him as Jarrett went through his ritual of lighting the fire and heating the food. Other Wryn appeared and offered him their own bowls to heat. He did so, then settled another pot next to the first filled with water. He dumped the rocks into the water and waited for everything to come to a boil. Zimran made a mewl of protest when he saw Jarrett boiling the rocks, but he didn’t say anything.

  Once both pots were bubbling actively, Jarrett ladled out the green gruel to the waiting Wryn, filled his and Tyla’s bowls, poured them both a cup of the water/rock mixture and carried it all inside.

  Zimran trailed him again as he returned to Tyla. Setting the tray on the table, he helped Tyla into a sitting position and braced her with his pack, then he gave her the rock water first. Sometimes it seemed to stimulate her appetite and she would nearly finish the bowl of gruel.

  As she sipped, Tyla smiled at Zimran. “Have you seen the injured Wryn?” She motioned to her back, then made a sewing motion with her hand.

  Zimran nodded. “Wryn ipse es ben.”

  Tyla exchanged a look with Jarrett, but he just shrugged. “Drink up,” he said, touching the bottom of her cup. She lifted it to her lips.

  Zimran moved restlessly. He held out a rock on the palm of his hand. It looked just like the others that Jarrett boiled each day. “Ty-la comedetus, Jer-rid.”

  Jarrett sighed. He’d been down this road with Zimran before and he didn’t have the energy to do it again. Tyla was watching him though.

  “Why is he so insistent about that?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but we can’t eat rocks.”

  “I know, it’s just very odd.”

  He gave her a skeptical look. “That’s what you find odd about our current living arrangements?”

  She gave a half-laugh. “You have a point.”

  He settled his bowl on the tray and kissed her forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll be back soon.”

  She nodded and accepted the bowl of green gruel he handed her. Before Jarrett could react, Zimran darted forward and dropped the rock into Tyla’s food. They both stared up at him in shock.

  Carefully, Tyla plucked the rock from it and turned it around, looking at it. “There is nothing special about this rock that I can see. It doesn’t even glow with pycantra.”

  Jarrett took it from her, scowling at Zimran, and settled it in his empty bowl. “That’s enough nonsense,” he said, rising to his feet and turning the Wryn around. “I’ll be back soon,” he called over his shoulder as he propelled the Wryn from the room.

  Zimran turned to him. “Ty-la comedetus, Jer-rid.”

  Jarrett sighed. Zimran had been helpful, caring for them with a singular dedication, so he didn’t want to get frustrated with him. “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

  As he moved around him, Zimran reached out and grabbed his hand. “Jer-rid, Ty-la comedetus.”

  Jarrett pulled away. “I know. I know. Later.” Picking up the pace, he hurried into the communal domes, leaving Zimran behind.

  The sun was just cresting the mountains, shining down into the valley when he stepped outside. His long stride took him down the tree-covered trail, along the edge of the mountains. He stopped frequently and dug at the ground with the toe of his boots, but he didn’t find any of the glittering dirt. He studied the plants and pulled a few leaves, rubbing them between his fingers, but he felt nothing.

  Coming out of the woods, he found himself in the meadow with the strange rock formations. He spent a lot of time wandering around the formations, looking at the rocks and picking up a few of the smaller one. He kept a couple that looked promising, wishing the Delphi tunics had a place for pockets. Carrying them in his left hand, he continued across the meadow until he came to the line of mushroom shaped trees with the green globed fruit.

  Reaching up, he fingered a globe. It wasn’t a large as the ones in the work-room and it was very hard, but he suspected it would change as it ripened. Continuing down the line, he looked around. The placement of the trees was too regular, too deliberate. He had to be in an orchard.

  To his left, he heard a sound, almost like the snick of pruning shears. He shifted in that direction, stepping over the rows. He came across a group of Wryn, harvesting the green globes from the trees. They worked in pairs, one using a long curved blade to cut the stem and another to catch the fruit as it fell. The globes were then loaded into large bags, woven like their clothing.

  They paused as he came into view and gave him a sharp inclination of their heads. Then they went back to their harvest. As he looked through the trees, he saw other clusters of workers doing the same thing, stretching away as far as he could see.

  He moved to the closest bag and picked up one of the globes, turning it over in his hands. This one plant provided everything the Wryn and Delphi needed. It fed them, clothed them, built their cities. If the crop should suddenly fail, so would this oddly beautiful society. It made him feel melancholy, made him reflect on the thin balance of life. Right now, it was also keeping him and Tyla alive and he didn’t even know the name of it. He would have to ask Zimran when he got back. Replacing the fruit, he lifted the rocks in his hand and turned them over. There was so much about this island, about these people that he didn’t understand.

  A cry of alarm broke the stillness of the morning, echoed by a cacophony of shouts. The Wryn around him went still, but a moment later, they scattered, scrambling to put trees between them and the cries. More Wryn passed him as he stepped between the rows, headed toward the noise.

  He crossed around the trunk of a particularly large mushroom tree and came to a dead stop. Wryn raced around him, running in the opposite direction, their eyes wild, the white tuffs of hair standing on end. Behind them was a strange creature, walking on all fours.

  It had a sloping head, short front legs and longer back legs. The front legs bowed outward at the elbows and ended in long, hooked claws. It swung its large head around and zeroed in on Jarrett as the Wryn scrambled around him. Its almond-shaped eyes were large and amber colored with vertical pupils, and a fork tongue flicked out, tasting the air.

  Jarrett shivered in revulsion. It reminded him of an Orahim, but little intellig
ence shown out of its reptilian eyes. Along the ridge of its spine were small hard knobs, colored dark brown near the crest of its head to lighter green along its thick, whipping tail.

  Keeping one eye fixed on the man, it reached out and speared an orb with its claws, pulling the fruit to it. Lowering its head, it sank sharp yellow teeth into the skin and tore it away. Then it began eating the soft flesh on the inside.

  Jarrett’s attention was riveted on the curve of its claws. He figured he’d just met the animal that had maimed the Wryn a few days before. Without finishing the first globe, it reached for another, breaking the skin and sticking its snout inside.

  By the size of its body, Jarrett figured it could destroy a huge number of the orbs without finishing a single one. The Wryn’s harvest must be a bounty for it, so many orbs piled up just to be sampled.

  He looked behind him and saw a few Wryn peeking out from behind the trees. Why weren’t they doing anything to protect their harvest? They had their curved knives for cutting the fruit. It would at least allow them to defend their food source.

  When the creature reached for a third globe, Jarrett couldn’t ignore the destruction any more. He lifted his arms and took a step toward the creature, waving them over his head.

  “Hey!” he shouted, feinting toward it.

  Startled, it ducked, then it rose up, hissing at him.

  Jarrett stopped moving and his hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. He didn’t really want to tangle with it for two reasons. He didn’t want to kill something for wanting food, and most importantly, he didn’t want to tangle with something that had such claws.

  “Get out of here!” he shouted at it.

  But instead of leaving, it stepped over an orb, its claws clicking against the dirt.

  Jarrett stood his ground, curling his fingers around the hilt.

  It hissed again, lowering its head as if it might charge.

  Reflexively, Jarrett’s fingers tightened on the rocks in his hands. If he could just get it to back down, he wouldn’t have to fight it, but he knew if he turned tail now and ran, it would be on him in a second. Opening his hand, he glanced down at the rocks. An idea struck him and he dropped the larger of the two into his right hand.

  Hauling back his arm, he beamed the rock at the creature’s face. His aim was true and the rock struck the animal between the eyes. However, the rock exploded on impact, knocking the creature over onto its back.

  Both Jarrett and the animal were stunned. Jarrett went still, holding the other rock, while the creature just lay without moving, its legs pointed up in the air. Staring in bewilderment at the rock in his hand, he carefully laid it down at his feet and drew his sword, advancing toward the creature lying on its back. He was afraid he might have killed it. He’d never expected the rock to explode.

  Just as he got within striking distance, the lizard gave a convulsive shiver and frantically kicked its legs, succeeding in falling over onto its right side, then it scrambled up and took off running away from the orchard, disappearing into the trees as fast as it could.

  Jarrett stopped moving and watched after it, amazed by what happened. A sudden cacophony of sound erupted behind him and the Wryn appeared again, sliding out from behind the trees and coming to him to pat him on the back.

  * * *

  Kalas glanced up as Dolan entered his study. He stopped before Kalas’ desk and clasped his hands behind his back. Kalas gave him a questioning look, but he still didn’t speak.

  Leaning back in his chair, Kalas frowned at him. “Dolan, are we ever going to get beyond the need for ceremony?”

  “No, Your Majesty.”

  Kalas raised one brow. Well, then. “What information do you have for me?”

  “The Baron is having the coordinates plotted, then he’ll begin provisioning your ship.”

  “My ship?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “What ship?”

  “The King’s ship, the Queen Astaral.”

  “The Queen Astaral? When did I get a ship?”

  “Lord Tarnow commissioned it prior to his death. He had a great fondness for sailing.”

  “I see. Very good then.” He leaned forward and began looking over the hospital reports on the plague again, but Dolan did not move. Glancing up, he squinted at him. “Anything else?”

  “A letter was delivered to the gate this morning.”

  “From?”

  Dolan produced the letter from behind his back. “Quinn Laurel.”

  Kalas held out his hand to receive it, reaching for the letter opener with his other hand. He tore along the seam of the envelope and shook the letter onto the desk, then he folded it open. One line dominated the page, written in a fine, curving script.

  Surrender the woman or face annihilation.

  Kalas held it out to Dolan.

  His second quickly scanned it, then passed it back. “That’s vexing.”

  Kalas gave him a bewildered look. Now that had to be humor. “Vexing?”

  “It would have been nice to know what form the annihilation would take, but he seems particularly vague on that.”

  “How do we know the letter’s from Quinn Laurel? He didn’t exactly sign it.”

  “The Nazarien who delivered it promptly dropped dead.”

  Kalas absorbed that information. “Now that’s vexing,” he said.

  “It is.”

  Pushing himself to his feet, he wandered to the windows and looked out at the balcony. Ellette was sitting on the bench, her legs curled under her, reading a book. “He means Ellette, doesn’t he?”

  “I would assume so.”

  Kalas’ eyes shifted to the waves. “They leave me with little choice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All Nazarien who are not directly connected to the Kazden Cult and cleared by Attis will have to be driven from the city.”

  “What about Stravad that aren’t affiliated with either group?”

  “They’ll have to go as well.”

  “Isn’t that a harsh punishment, Your Majesty?”

  Kalas turned to face him. “What would you have me do? Turn Ellette over to him?”

  “Obviously that is not the answer, but a forced exodus seems particularly rash.”

  Kalas sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I know. At least double the guard on the manor house and see she is outfitted with any weapons of her choice.”

  Dolan’s expression grew troubled and Kalas braced himself for an argument, but he didn’t say anything. With a slight bow, he turned on his heel and walked from the room. Kalas turned back to the window and watched the sun touch Ellette’s hair, streaking it a light shade of brown.

  CHAPTER 21

  Kalas threw down the logs and pushed himself to his feet, moving toward the windows and looking out. Parish and Dolan exchanged a look, but they didn’t say anything. Allistar closed the log he was searching and pushed it away. Ellette curled her legs up in the chair and wrapped her arms around them, her eyes fixed on Kalas.

  He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, the other braced on the window. “What is the report from the hospitals, Baron? How many have the plague?”

  “New infections are down since we implemented the guidelines for care, but there are roughly two thousand infected and another five hundred dead.”

  “Send word to Temeron. I need to know how many people there are infected.”

  “Done,” said Parish.

  “Inform them about what we’re doing to contain it and ask them if they have any idea how to fight it.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Kalas turned back to face them. He motioned to the logs. “Those aren’t going to tell us anything. We’re wasting our time with them.”

  No one answered. Kalas figured they knew it as well. If he was going to find his sister, they had to come up with something different. “I want to see the Tulip myself.”

  He expected an explosion, but at first they didn’t react.

  Par
ish leaned forward on the table. “You want to go to Brodie’s boat?”

  Kalas moved back to the table and rested his hands on the top of his chair. He glanced at Ellette, then away. “Yes, I want to go to the boat and I want to go now.”

  Parish shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. The Nazarien are too unpredictable at the moment. I won’t chance it.”

  Kalas tried to still his annoyance for Ellette’s sake. She didn’t like his bursts of temper. “It wasn’t a request.” He switched to Lodenian and addressed Allistar, “Can you muster out your men in the next hour? I want to see Brodie Daegan’s boat and I’d like the Stravad to accompany me.”

  Allistar nodded and pushed back his chair. “Done,” he said and rose, turning for the door.

  Parish shifted in his chair and watched him go, then he also rose. “Listen to reason, Your Majesty, please. We’ve searched that ship from top to bottom and there’s nothing there.”

  “He had to have written the coordinates somewhere, Parish. You just haven’t found them.”

  “He kept them in his head.”

  “But Jax found the island on his own. How did he know the coordinates?”

  “He probably wrote them down. I’m telling you we’ve searched that boat.”

  “Then you missed something.”

  Parish held out a hand to Dolan. “Tell him not to do this. Tell him how dangerous it is.”

  Dolan swiveled in his chair until he faced Kalas. “He’s right. Your people deserve better than that. You owe them your leadership, especially in light of the plague.”

  “What if the cure for the plague lies with my sister? I owe it to my people to find her. She went in search of the cure, now we have to go in search of her.”

  “You aren’t doing this because of the plague,” reasoned Dolan. “You’re doing this because of Tyla.”

  “They’re one in the same.”

  Ellette lowered her head to her knees. Kalas wished they were alone so he could explain it to her, but she just had to understand he would do anything to find Tyla. His sister would always be primary in his concerns.

  “You know the Nazarien have a contract on your head. This is suicide. It was suicide when you went looking before, but it’s worse now,” said Parish. “They know your movements, they know your habits, they’ll be waiting for you. They’ve already killed a number of our soldiers guarding the boat and the minute you leave this spot, they’ll know you’re going there. Don’t do this, Kalas.”