Frantic, she grabbed at her shoulder, fearful of the blood already soaked through her dress over the wound. Grasping at her neck she could feel the sticky substance there as well. Her head reeled. She needed to calm down. Whatever the beast was, it was dead. She didn’t have to worry about it anymore. But what if there were more? She didn’t think she could take another sting from its claws. Her wounds already burned, the discomfort increasing steadily until it felt as if her skin had been set aflame.
Turning toward Callum she found the movement dizzying. Unable to maintain her footing she dropped to her knees, gasping for breath, met only by the wretched, humid air. “Callum,” she whispered. This wasn’t what she’d intended. How was she supposed to save him when she couldn’t stand? It hurt to move. Painfully she crawled to his side, fumbling with his belt to place his sword in its sheath. The thought of carrying him was laughable. Her limbs were heavy. The grass around her suddenly started to turn a dingy grey, the vibrant colors no longer registering in her mind. She was so tired! All she wanted to do was lie down and close her eyes. To rest for a while before they continued.
The creature had done something to her. Although she could still feel her body, it was becoming more of a burden to her muscles, the lids of her eyes struggling to stay open. She had no strength left. Her willpower was leaving, taken over by a strong desire to let it all go. To accept the darkness creeping into her vision. “I tried, Callum,” she grimaced, falling onto his chest, air whistling into her lungs with every breath. “I wanted to do so much more…”
Slowly she twisted her wrist, palm faced up to the sky. If there were people anywhere on this miserable landmass, she needed to get some signal to them of her presence. Anything to let someone know where they were. Drawing her internal energy into her hand she directed it upward, delivering a bright, shimmering blue light into the air like a beacon. A final chance at the lingering threads of hope in the back of her mind. Completely drained, she felt the last of her energy give out, slumping heavily over Callum’s body to embrace the sweet release of sleep.
Aiva’s eyes opened wide, a deep breath drawn into her lungs reflexively. Light danced around her in flickering orange waves, casting shadows along an uneven wall formed of a rich colored wood. Someone was seated at her side, hands waving slowly over her face and chest, mumbling an eerie incantation in a foreign tongue. The voice was soft. Feminine. Yet somehow rough, the words harsh in their pronunciation.
It was a frightening sight. Unfamiliar. Where was she? Where was Callum? Callum. She needed to get to him. Muscles tensed, she began to sit up on the flat, hard surface of whatever table she was laid out upon, the motion stopped abruptly by a strong, muscular arm, forcing her down onto her back once again. “Lay still,” a deep voice instructed. Hesitant, Aiva turned her head to look at the man who spoke, gasping in surprise at what she saw. He was tall, his skin a rich, unblemished ebony. The hand that still rested upon her shoulder was long. Wide. Each finger stretched to an unusual length, callused at the tips and over the joints. His eyes stared down at her sternly, the whites a stark contrast to his deep complexion, the irises so dark they appeared black in the dim light. He wore no shirt over his muscular chest, bearing only a carved bloodstone talisman around his thick neck.
He is not a pirate. Overcome with uncertainty, Aiva did as she was told, lying still atop the table until the strange chant had come to an end. The air smelled of incense. Thick and strong, invading her nostrils with a heady scent. She sensed no malice from these people. From her side the man continued to watch her. Curious. He waited for the heavily shrouded woman to remove a lapis figurine from atop Aiva’s chest before stepping closer to get a better look.
“Where am I?” Aiva asked quietly.
The man held his stern gaze for a moment, lips slowly curling into a partial smirk, revealing the lines along the side of his mouth. “You are a long way from home for a Vor’shai.” Leaning forward he furrowed his brow, squinting. “I’ve not seen your people in a long time. I thought you to be their captain, but now I’m not so sure. What is your business in Tunir?”
“Tunir?” she gasped. Had they really drifted so far south? “Our ship was attacked by a divastru off the coast of the Luquarrian islands.” Shaking her head she thought over the words the man spoke. Captain. The only female to hold that role in centuries had been her mother. Could this man know her parents? “Which captain did you believe me to be?”
“The female from the Ven’shal war. You have eyes like hers, but your face – not quite the same.”
“The former Captain was my mother. Did you know her?”
“I fought by your people years ago. We led a charge alongside her and their General Zerne.”
Relieved, Aiva relaxed into the table, her hand resting atop her chest lightly. In the stories her parents told of the war, she vaguely recalled names of men from other countries that had come to assist. Chief Okivra of the Ovatai had arrived to their aid at the same time as the Tuniron General. The name had been something strange. She remembered laughing about it when she was younger, finding it humorous that anyone would call themselves something so odd. “General Uttae?” she glanced at him, fearful of having said the name wrong. He lifted his chin, staring down at her over his nose.
“Captain’s daughter, hmm? And the boy with you?”
“Captain Evantine married King Thade after the war. The boy with me is my husband. The son of General Zerne. Callum Levadis.” Aiva held the man’s gaze steadily. She was proud to recite the names of their heritage. Her family was honorable. And if the stories she’d been told as a child remained true, they were allies of the Tunirons. It would make communication more amicable. Perhaps even allow them to request favor for transportation to Luquarr. “Can you tell me of his condition? Has he awoken?”
The man chuckled. “He awoke, yes,” he nodded. “The injury to his head is rather severe. We gave him a strong herbal sedative to keep him asleep. He will rest soundly for a while. Do not worry about him. Our concern was you. Poison lingers in your veins. You should not move about.”
“Poison? What caused – there was an animal…”
“You were stung by an agarul. In small doses it is harmless to my people. As a Vor’shai, you are not adapted to our land.” Lightly he placed his long fingers over Aiva’s forehead, a thoughtful expression filling his eyes. “The fever is breaking. The talismans are working.”
Aiva contemplated whether or not it would be wise to ask further questions. Her mother had said very little about the Tuniron General. If he was in fact the same man, she wasn’t sure what to expect other than that he was a skilled warrior. “Am I mistaken on your identity? I wish to know who I should properly bestow my gratitude upon for assisting my husband and I.”
“I am Uttae,” he patted her shoulder gently. “You are fortunate my men and I were in the area. The signal you gave was believed at first to be a sign of attack. We were prepared to fight. Instead we found only the two of you beside the agarul.”
“Well, I am in your debt, then,” she smiled. Looking at him in silent awe of his appearance. Before crossing paths with the Feh Noq, she might have found him a shocking sight. Far different from any other race considered by her people to be human. The one thing she did find herself surprised by was the clarity with which he spoke. From the stories told of the war, Aiva believed his men less knowledgeable of a common language, making them difficult to communicate with. This man was well-spoken. Not at all what she imagined. “I must say, I did not expect you to speak so clearly.”
Uttae peered quizzically at her through the dancing light from the torches lit around the walls. “No?”
Horrified by her mistake, Aiva shook her head, reflexively trying to sit up again, pressed onto the table by Uttae’s strong arm. “I did not mean that as an insult,” she breathed, swallowing hard to feel the pressure of his long fingers against her. “I merely – I assumed your people to have their own language. Being so far from other countries, I did not anti
cipate you would be familiar with the known tongues of the mainlands.”
“Many of my people are not,” he looked on her sternly, his hand remaining firm against her shoulder. Waiting to make sure she would not attempt moving again. “While we keep to ourselves, King Ihklos is well aware of the importance communication holds in regards to our relationships with other nations. Those in his service are required to undergo training in languages and customs of our peers. The soldiers who serve under me are fluent in our native tongue, but no other. If you have need of anything while you are here, you would be better suited to speak my name and they will send for me. They will not comprehend you otherwise.”
Content that Aiva would remain still, Uttae removed his hand, folding his arms across his chest. Embarrassed by her slip of the tongue, she averted her gaze. She was not off to a good start with these people. If she continued to unwittingly insult them, they would certainly be disinclined to loan her and Callum any form of transportation off their land.
In turning her head she could see a bright stain of red over the fabric of her dress along her chest. A cut was visible in the material, exposing the skin underneath, lacerated deeply. Straight. Precise. Not caused by any claw wielded by the animal she’d fought in the forest. Gasping at the sight she clutched at her chest, looking up to Uttae fearfully. “Why have I been cut? I’m bleeding!”
“It is necessary to rid you of the agarul venom,” his hand rested on her shoulder again, calling out a command in a harsh tone, the words unintelligible to Aiva’s ears. At his orders, a door opened from somewhere in the room, the shrouded woman returning to Aiva’s side. She held a mug in her hand, steam wafting from the top. Uttae nodded to the woman, directing his attention back to Aiva firmly. “We still have need to tend the one on your neck. It may be best if you were more deeply asleep when we begin the procedure.”
“You want to cut my neck?”
“We have no choice. The poison is making you ill.”
“Can you not wake my husband?” she pleaded desperately. “He can remove the venom. Our people are trained to do so…”
“Your husband needs to sleep. I intended to wait on the rest of the ritual until you had been given at least some water to drink, though if your mind remains traumatized and irrational from your adventures at sea, we will have no choice but to put you to sleep now.”
She knew it was unlike her to be so affected by the sight of blood; but it wasn’t irrational to not want someone cutting into her neck. There were more sophisticated ways to flush the poison. If they could keep her stable until Callum was well enough, he could draw it from her the way she had done for him in Palinon with the toxins on the Syet arrows. The wound on her chest remained fresh. Open. Blood glistening in the torchlight. If they made even the slightest error while the blade was against her neck, it could prove detrimental to her health. “I cannot… You cannot do this. There has to be a better way.”
Growing more frantic she sat up on the table, immediately overpowered by a wave of nausea. Arms wrapped around her stomach, she leaned over the edge, a strong urge to vomit rising, producing nothing more than heaves of dry air. Through the painful retching she found herself grateful for the fact that mouthfuls of salty sea water were all she had consumed over the last several days. There was nothing for her to purge.
“The venom affects you, young daughter of the Vor’shai. Do you see now why you must remain on your back?”
At Aiva’s side the woman calmly ignored the commotion, diligent in her work, cutting a vivid red flower and mixing it into a bowl with a wooden pestle. Coughing from the remnants of her sickness Aiva stared at the woman. Intrigued by the method she used to sprinkle several herbs over the bowl, continuing the even twists of her wrist, grinding the ingredients into a fine dust. She retrieved a slender rod from inside the folds of her shroud, dipping it into a bucket beside the table, covering the end with a thick liquid. The smell was pungent. Strong. Wrinkling her nose Aiva sat back to stare at Uttae miserably. “What is she doing? I do not want to be put to sleep. Please do not put me to sleep.”
“We must do what is required to help you.” Uttae motioned with his long fingers toward the woman, her head nodding in acknowledgement of his unspoken command. Aiva watched in trepidation as the woman rolled the rod into the particles of crushed herbs and flowers, coating the end in the dust, moving toward one of the torches to place the tip into the flames. It sprung to light instantly, flaring brightly before quickly dying down, emitting a heavy smoke which drifted through the air as the woman returned to Aiva’s side.
In a gentle wave of the rod under Aiva’s nose, the room began to spin. The scent was debilitating. Her eyes rolled back into her head, lids fluttering. It was all she could do to keep from falling backward, her muscles relaxed, growing weaker until she couldn’t hold herself up any longer, slumping limply into Uttae’s awaiting arms. What were they doing to her? Their methods were frightening. Unconventional. Aiva didn’t recognize the fragrances which burned on the rod in the woman’s hand, far more potent than anything she’d ever smelled before. In a single whiff it had affected her brain, leaving her helpless to whatever they chose to do.
Setting the rod off to one side, the woman picked up the mug she’d been carrying upon her entrance, placing it carefully to Aiva’s lips. She didn’t want to swallow it. If it would make her feel anything like the smoke had, she didn’t want it anywhere near her. “Drink,” Uttae stated quietly, tipping the bottom of the mug higher onto Aiva’s lips. Unable to prevent it from pouring into her mouth, she felt it slide across her tongue, thick and hot. When the last of it had been swallowed, Uttae gently laid her on the table, looking down upon her sympathetically. “It will be alright,” he nodded. “We are not going to hurt you.”
“What is this doing to me?” she breathed, struggling to keep her eyes open under the rapidly increasing fatigue. She didn’t want to succumb to it. If they were going to do anything to her body, she wanted to be awake to see, and know everything. She hated the thought of being defenseless if something went wrong. “I don’t want to sleep. Please do not make me.”
“This will help you relax. It will wear off in time. Do not worry.”
The image of Uttae’s face blurred. Quickly becoming indistinct, his voice hollow and distant. Her stomach felt warm. Heated by the strange concoction they forced her to drink. “I do not need anything to help me relax,” she replied quietly. It seemed foolish to argue with him now. The liquid had been consumed. Whatever effect it was intended to have, it would come upon her regardless of anything she could say now.
“You will thank us when you awaken,” Uttae chuckled, lightly brushing his hand over her eyes to close them, sending Aiva’s vision into darkness. “Sleep now. May the spirits watch over your dreams until your eyes see fit to open again.”
Chapter Seventeen
The herbs were strong. In the first stages of wakefulness Aiva found her eyes heavy, unable to open them, left to lie there on the table, conscious and immobile. Her senses were dulled. Vaguely aware of a pressure at her left hand. The taste in her mouth was atrocious. It did nothing to ease her unsettled stomach, only adding to the nagging sensation in her throat that made her want to gag. To rid herself of whatever remnants of the strange drink might still be in her system.
All around she could hear the woman’s soft chanting from before. Incense hung thick on the air. Aiva cringed at the scent, afraid to discover it was the same mixture which had left her so vulnerable and helpless. A single smell had rendered her body useless. Such things were unheard of in Tanispa. She prayed their enemies never learn of the ingredients used. To have it manipulated as a weapon would be dangerous without some way of countering the effects. Or somehow building an immunity. Uttae said something when discussing the venom about her body not being adapted to the jungle. Perhaps their medicine didn’t have the same effect on them?
As feeling gradually started to return, Aiva tried to move, her arms and legs twitching with every
attempt, responding to her commands, though only a little. When her left hand moved, the pressure there increased. Warm. Gentle.
It took significant effort to lift the lids of her eyes, greeted instantly by the dancing torchlight that had been there before she fell into her slumber. To her right the woman was seated, uttering her quiet incantation, hands waving along the line of Aiva’s body. The words of her chant were muffled, the woman’s lips covered by the fabric which constructed the wrap over her head and neck, blending with the rich material of a long, seamless dress. Her eyes were closed. With an occasional rise of inflection they would open, staring absently over Aiva before closing again.
Slowly she turned her head to the left, expectant of Uttae’s strong form standing there, arms folded across his chest. To her surprise it wasn’t Uttae’s face at her side. Her lips fought to form a smile at Callum’s drawn features, gazing down on her with concern. At the sight of her eyes opening he straightened his shoulders, lifting her hand to kiss the back of it. “Aiva,” he whispered.
Her voice was lost to her. She wanted to say something. To acknowledge her gratitude at his presence. He looked pale even through the bronze tone lingering on his skin from the desert. A bandage of whitened gauze wrapped around the top of his head, covering the crown down to an angle along the left side, just above the sharp tip of his ear. He was battered. Bruised from the impact of the divastru. His right eye was swollen, a sliver of the umber glow visible through the small crack of his lid, locked on Aiva as if afraid to look away.
The Myatheira Chronicles: Volume Two: Beyond the Veil Page 46