"Blood Hades! I have told that old man to take caution around those wild destriers of his!"
Jerad grabbed Sera’s wrist and he ran with her from the hall. He pulled Sera through the hallways at such a hard pace that she had to hike her skirt to keep from losing her footing. They rushed through the castle, down one hall and then the next until they finally burst through the infirmary doors. Sera’s lungs burned as she gulped for air. She watched as Jerad flew toward the plinth where the injured man was sprawled, and writhing in pain. Ezra was trying to force a long metal tube between his teeth.
Sera’s stomach flipped when she realized the extent of the man’s injuries. His nose was pushed to one side, his cheek bone was indented and his jaw was clearly out of place. Blood seeped from his mouth and nose as he gurgled for breath.
Jerad grabbed the tube from Ezra and made his own attempt to push it into the man’s mouth. He tried to reset the man’s jaw but its shattered pieces shifted abnormally at Jerad’s handling. With a cracking sound Jerad repositioned the man’s nose. The man continued to retch in his need for air.
"Blasted Ezra! We have to enter his throat!"
Ezra rose immediately and gathered supplies. Sera moved to a far wall and leaned helplessly against it while she watched Ezra and Jerad work. There was nothing she could do. She looked up at the blue ceiling, and the large white crukis dome light affixed to it, and shuddered with the memory of almost dying in this room.
Sera returned her gaze to the table. Jerad’s masterful hands swept along the old man’s neck as he counted the ridges beneath his skin. She winced when he plunged a thin blade into the injured citizen’s throat. There was much blood at first, then hardly any at all, and Dagus had stopped jerking and moaning his pain, thanks to the remarkable properties of the herbs they used.
Ezra slipped a curved, metal cannula through the opening they created.
"Breath curse it," Jerad murmured through gritted teeth as he inserted a small plunger into the tubes inner core. He withdrew fluid to clear the opening.
Everyone in the room tensed.
Almost immediately Dagus tugged a breath through the newly formed airway. His chest began to move up and down rhythmically.
Simultaneously, Ezra, Jerad and Sera blew out the air in their own lungs with relief.
Jerad walked to a large basin of flowing water in the corner of the room. He threw off his bloody shirt and began scrubbing the blood from his hands. He dipped his head and drenched his hair and face.
"Noble, noble! Is he dead?" A young woman burst through the door and threw her body at Jerad’s feet. She hugged his calves. Jerad bent and grasped one of her elbows, assisting her to stand.
"He is alive, Helen. We can only wait." Jerad nodded to where Dagus was resting. Helen followed his gaze.
"You saved him." She turned back to Jerad, grabbed his head and pulled it downward. She planted a kiss on each of his cheeks before moving to Dagus’ side. Helen cautiously touched Dagus’ chest and surveyed him from head to toe. She bent and lightly pressed her lips to his forehead. Ezra placed a sympathetic hand on Helen’s back. Helen lifted one Dagus’ hands to her cheek.
"Oh father, you old fool. I thought I lost you," Helen sobbed.
Sera watched Helen briefly before looking at Jerad. He was staring at his palms. His fingers were clawed and his hands trembled. Sera placed a hand on his shoulder. Jerad balled his hands into fists and then dropped them to his sides. He moved to a cot, slumped down heavily, and lowered his head.
Sera sat beside him and began wiping his forehead with a drying cloth.
"What you did was incredible."
Jerad looked toward the plinth where Ezra was immobilizing Dagus’ jaw using a large metal band that circled him from under his chin to the top of his head.
Helen was gone. She had left the clinic without saying a word.
"It may have not been enough."
"But he will live?"
Jerad drew his brows together and pursed his lips. Concern was etched on his face.
"His condition is grave. I know not what damage there is inside." He closed his eyes. "If only Tomas had remained long enough to teach us the rest, to show us what to do to help the crushed bones mend."
"Tomas?"
Jerad nodded. "The ability to apply the throat tube was a gift from Tomas. He too was a physician and a scientist. He taught us some of the surgeries."
"Everyone here speaks often about gifts, from the Origins, from the Gaians. Why is that?"
"Most of our knowledge was not gained by our own means, Sera. What wisdom we do possess was given to us by the Origins and then some by the Gaians who followed." Jerad rubbed his forehead then raked his fingers through his damp hair. "We would not have survived otherwise. When the Origins abandoned us, our progress stopped. Even our numbers do not change. For every one that dies, only one is born. Argilos and Tomas brought hope to Protogio. We thought that our stale existence would finally come to an end. We are trapped in oblivion, disregarded and forgotten. The Edict promises a continuing future for Protogio."
"I still don’t know what it is I can do." Sera frowned. She would be lucky if she could remember how to tie a knot. "I should read the Edict, maybe that will help."
Jerad propped a booted foot on top of the cot and pushed himself against the wall. He extended his hand toward Sera. She shifted to his side and he wrapped a strong arm around her shoulder.
"I think now could be no worse or better than later. I will get the book for you when we return home."
"Yes, I think its time. I think I am ready now to read it," Sera nuzzled into the crook of Jerad’s shoulder and Jerad tipped his head to rest his cheek against the top of her head. They both closed their eyes.
A slight tugging on Jerad’s hair caused him to stir. Both he and Sera opened their eyes to discover an adorable child, who looked to be no more than three term cycles, had climbed on top of the cot. She sat on her haunches staring at them with the wide-eyed face of innocence. Jerad reached out and stroked the tiny girl’s mop of yellow curls before lifting her into his lap.
Helen stood in front of them with three more small children in tow. She held out a squawking creature between her two hands. Sera blinked at it with astonishment. It looked like a disfigured chicken. The fowl had eight claws at the end of each foot, a squared, red beak that opened horizontally, instead of up and down, and the sound it made seemed more like a throaty rasp than a cackle.
"I am deeply grateful, Noble Chancellor. Please accept one of my best fowls." Helen held the bird out to him. Its wings sprang to life. It croaked and flapped wildly, scattering feathers about the room.
"Ochi, woman. Keep your kotopoulo to serve your clan. When the harvest is brimming and you have plenty, I will be honored to sit at your table and enjoy one of those fully cooked meals you are famed for."
Helen smiled and nodded.
The little girl perched on Jerad’s thigh tugged his hair once again. "My grandpapa will be alright, Noble Jerad?"
"Your papa is a strong warrior, little one, but ochi, I cannot promise he will live."
Tears began to fall from her eyes. Jerad cradled her in his arms and hugged her to his chest. Sera’s heart twisted at the sight, and she swallowed a lump in her throat. The girl looked so strikingly tiny and frail against Jerad’s massive form, but the delicate way in which he held her was touching.
"Ah, little one, no matter what happens he will always be with you in here and here." Jerad pointed to her heart and her head. "He loves you and you love him. That can never be taken away."
Jerad leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. He set her on her feet and patted her bottom. "Off with you now. Your mother needs you."
He watched her toddle over to her mother and siblings. Helen was blessed to have birthed four sweet babes. Though large families did still exist, most females of his generation had only one sireling, and some had none, not by their choosing. He and Ezra had been studying herbs to try to correct the pr
oblem.
Helen tucked her kotopoulo under one arm. She hailed and bowed. The four children did the same before following their mother out the door.
"That was kind of you," Sera’s admiration for him was growing by leaps and bounds.
"Helen is overwhelmed with four children to feed, none older than six term cycles. Her husband mined the hills and was killed in a collapse. Her father is her only remaining kin. I could not accept payment from her just now, but I also did not want to insult her either. She earns her keep by serving meals in the agora. She can compensate me later."
Ezra appeared with a clean, linen shirt for Jerad.
"Much thanks, Ezra. Go home. You look tired." He yanked the garment over his head.
"Nai, but I will be back to relieve you later. Dagus will need watching through the luna. I will retrieve our apprentice to help."
Chapter Fifteen
Sera’s pace was slow and deliberate. She was lost in thought, wondering how her disarrayed emotions had suddenly untangled themselves. Her heart found a peaceful acceptance, and a touch of something much deeper, with every glance she tossed Jerad’s way.
Jerad remained in the infirmary attending to Dagus. He and Sera had eaten a light meal there. Their conversation during the meal remained casual, with Jerad telling Sera stories about the adventures he shared with Mekal and Aryan when they were young. He subtly brushed over any tales of Sondra. Sera listened with interest, thoroughly enjoying his company. She openly regretted that she could not offer more about her life to him as well.
"I do not need to know the details of your life to be enamored by your beauty and spirit, Sera. You are a remarkable woman," he told her, his words warmly wrapping around her.
She was delighted and soothed by his praise.
Sera stopped briefly to trace her fingers along the crease of her lips. They still tingled from the caressing touch of his mouth against hers, a gentle but passionate kiss they shared before she left him. She did not object when he sent her off alone. Her solitary walk through the castle was a much welcomed reprieve to consider what was happening to her feelings.
So many of Jerad’s inherent qualities had been exposed to her over the last several quarters--Phoebe’s doll, his courtesy towards Helen, the way he held the little girl preciously in his arms, his determination and concern with saving Dagus, and being clearly upset about not being able to do more--She had seen the slight, misty blear in his eyes, though he did well to hide it.
Jerad was kind, considerate, and attentive to all those around him, and especially to her--most especially to her.
And his touches--oh heavens!
His touches were like Elysium come to life.
All of it set the compassionate man he truly was apart from the fierce knight who frightened her at first. It seemed like eons had passed since that time.
Damn if that plunking in the center of her chest didn’t start playing her again.
Sera was besieged with a growing awareness that she was falling fast, and she knew without uncertainty that Jerad would be there to catch her. If Sera had any residual doubts about Jerad they had dissolved on this rise.
Sera grinned.
It really was not all too dreadful.
Mesari and Phoebe were waiting at the door outside of the apartments when Sera arrived. They were accompanied by two attendants who held a stack of bundles containing the neatly folded clothes that Mesari promised to deliver.
The entourage followed Sera into the residence, and Mesari directed the attendants to deposit the packages on the bed before dismissing them. Mesari and Phoebe stayed to help Sera smooth and hang the finely made garments. There was an assortment to choose from, altered to a near perfect fit on Sera’s body.
"Oh my, what is this?" Sera held up a red leather bodice with two dags in the front, and a pair of black leather trousers. It had three buckle enclosures and a dipping waistline. The material was supple to the touch. The design seemed quite daring.
"If I wear this my stomach will show."
"You have such a nice figure, it will look wonderful on you."
"This is allowed?"
"It is a much accepted style," Mesari assured, "and a good material for sword sport."
Okay, so skin is in.
Sera could deal with that. Perhaps she should get her belly button pierced and shock them all.
"This is gorgeous."
Sera donned a sleeveless, full length, emerald gown. The bodice top was an embroidered satin with a cross-corded back and cinched waistline. From the waist, the gown was silk and slit down the front, revealing the black lace underskirt beneath. On her feet, she wore cross-gartered, black suede boots that ended midway up her calf.
"These clothes were already sewn. I only needed to alter them. Your gown for the Marks of Permanence will be finished and delivered at the morrow’s quarter rise." Mesari remarked casually as she continued to hang Sera’s clothes.
Seeing an opportunity, Sera finally asked what the Marks of Permanence entailed.
Mesari looked surprised by Sera’s ignorance, but Phoebe quickly interrupted to explain Sera’s memory loss.
"How awful." Mesari grabbed Sera and threw her arms around her.
"Actually," Sera admitted, "I am starting to get used to it."
"Well, then." Mesari took Sera’s hand and they both sat down on the chaise. "Betrothals are arranged by parents while their children were young. This is done to ensure the continuation of the pure blood lines, and to retain one’s Noble ranking. Once the betrothed reach the appropriate age, usually nineteen term cycles, they take the vows in a ceremony called the Rite of the Cloak. At this time, the groom presented his crest to his bride. The couple would then be draped in the colours of the male’s clan. Vows of Permanence or the words of promise are then pledged. The blood marks are rendered and blood is exchanged. In the Tenth Zone it is with piercing by thorns from the flower crest. In the Eighth Zone, a slash is made across the palms of the betrothed by a tiny, honed blade attached to the end of the plume. In the Fourth Zone it is done with a dagger. Once the blood between the pair is mixed, they are considered mated."
"Is it was permissible for the betrothal to be broken by the promised couple?"
"As long as both agree. The unwanted betrothal would then be annulled peacefully. If one does not agree and there is another suitor, then a Challenge for the Rite of the Cloak could be issued. A Challenge can only be made by a suitor of an acceptable bloodline, and when there is assurance that the crest would be accepted if he or she won. "Otherwise," Mesari shrugged, "There would be no point in challenging."
Challenges for the Rite of the Cloak did not require consent by the Council. There was only one reason to engage in such a Challenge. The reward to the victor was obvious. It did however require at least three non-clan witnesses to arbitrate any disputes about who had won the Challenge.
Sera already knew much of this, but it was the explanation of the Marks of Permanence that had her sitting motionless with wide-eyed astonishment and her mouth agape. These marks were to be inked into her flesh during a final celebration several rises after the vows were exchanged. Jerad alluded to this but Sera had not questioned him further.
Sera dragged her fingers through her hair and then opened her palm to study the conjugal cloth. She touched the area under her ribs where the blade had sliced her. She thought about the mixing of blood and marks so permanent they could never be erased. Sera looked at her left ring finger. It was not like wearing a ring. Yes, she remembered. This was what was done on Gaia. The married couple wore rings once they completed their vows--rings so displaceable that they could be removed at will.
The Marks of Permanence were just what they claimed to be.
Permanent.
They could not be hidden or denied. They were there for all to see, permanent markings to swear devotion to one’s consort, sacred and binding. In just two rises she was expected to receive those marks, indelible engravings, never to be removed.
"A small knotted vine with the new consort’s colours is added to the first."
"So a person could end up with markings all over them by the time they themselves die?"
Mesari laughed. "Just how many consorts do you assume one will lose and gain in a lifetime, Sera?"
"The way you guys like to hack each other up, probably a lot."
"Ochi, Sera, one does not lose a consort often, except maybe in old age, but when it does happen, it is acceptable for the widowed man or woman to take a lover if marriage is not desired of course!"
"These rituals of yours are incredible." Sera mumbled.
"It is the way of things, Sera."
"So I keep hearing." Sera frowned.
Despite her hesitancy about taking the Marks of Permanence, Sera was amazed to realize that she wasn’t opposed to it either. She had seen the elegant design on Ezra’s hand. It was quite lovely.
What a fierce and wondrous way to declare one’s love! she thought, stunned by the sudden quickening in her heart. And Jerad would share this with her? Is that what he felt towards her, or was he doing this because of the Edict?
What if she was to be rescued? Would she return home bearing those marks? Could she even will herself to leave Protogio?
Would she want to?
"My brother loves you," Phoebe abruptly blurted, as though she had been reading Sera’s mind. Sera and Mesari turned to stare at her.
Sera’s eyebrows lifted. "What makes you say that Phoebe? He has only known me for a few rises?"
"He looks like a mush cake when he is around you," Phoebe giggled. She plopped down next to Sera and began working a small plait into one side of Sera’s hair.
"Well of course he loves you, Sera," Mesari responded to Sera’s look of doubt. "There are many women in the Zone who wished to be joined with Jerad, but he never showed interest in presenting his crest."
The Third Corridor Page 17