Holding up a hand to steady Vivi, Mo’ata eased her higher on his shoulder where she could balance more easily.
“Sorry,” Forrest said from behind him in English. “She wouldn’t listen to me this time. She’s just curious, though. I don’t get any sort or warning from her.” Forrest’s tone was partly apologetic and partly amused.
Or the cub was simply like any youngling, careless in her eagerness for new things.
The Forank man stepped closer, his hound following. In a Common thick with the Prizzoli accent, he spoke. “Greetings. I Timu of Forank.” Timu’s eyes were dark, though his skin was lighter than the other Prizzoli Mo’ata had met. All his fellows were. “Spar?” he asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Mo’ata nodded and gestured to the area where he and Felix had fought not long ago. Maybe they could get something useful from these men. The rest of the troop followed, most with blank faces, though a few grinned. Forrest took Vivi and joined Felix at the low fence, jumping up to sit on the top rail. The Prizzoli arranged themselves around the area, forming a half circle. Timu drew his blade, held it up, and cocked his head. Mo’ata nodded and retrieved his own.
This would be interesting. He had held his own well enough in his practices with Levi, but this man seemed wilder. At the edge of his vision, Mo’ata spied the hound settling in near Vivi and Forrest, flopping down into the packed dirt. An older member of the troop, his hair going to grey, stepped up to them. He raised his hands, paused, and let them drop, the signal to begin.
Timu didn’t wait to move. He went in low, his arm sweeping toward Mo’ata’s thigh—which was easily evaded—even as he spun out of reach. They circled each other once, twice, then Mo’ata went in, jabbing toward the other man’s throat with his left hand and sweeping his right foot around as the other man dodged. No use trying the knife, not yet.
Timu went down and rolled back to his feet, using the momentum to carry him up and around Mo’ata, who spun just in time to block a swipe with his own blade. Mo’ata kicked out again, catching Timu on the upper thigh, but the angle was wrong and most of the force was deflected as the other man shifted a bare inch to the left.
The movements were fast. Reactions and decisions needed to happen in split seconds. Mo’ata’s heart pounded and his blood rushed, but he didn’t feel any of it. All of his attention came down to the man he faced; move, counter-move, attack defend. It was a dance.
They spun apart and came back together. This time Timu attempted a high kick and caught Mo’ata on the shoulder, which the clansman used to come around again in a sweep of his own, which was blocked.
They continued, neither gaining the advantage. Timu was openly grinning now, and Mo’ata understood. This was a good fight.
Then Mo’ata tired. It was gradual, but his steps slowed, his hands were a split second behind where they should be, and he lagged in tracking his opponent. The crucial moment came when Timu lashed out with his blade, a back handed slash that should have been simple to block.
He saw it coming. He could envision the exact movement that would deflect the blade heading for his face. But the strength left his arm, and the air became water, requiring more effort to get his hand up in time.
It didn’t happen. At the last moment Timu pulled back, but it wasn’t soon enough. The cutting edge sliced over Mo’ata’s jaw, across his cheek, and onto his temple.
Timu spun, backed away, and bowed. Mo’ata matched him, the pain not yet hitting. Plus, there was something wrong. He could not get his eyes to focus, and each breath he drew in became progressively more difficult. Forrest stood before him, his mouth moving, though no words came out. Or none that Mo’ata could hear. His eyes drifted closed, and he blinked them open. There was something...
Movement beyond Forrest caught his wavering attention. Four elders stood there, including the Chief Elder and Elder Shinzu. The Chief Elder said something to a blue-clad elder, and the man motioned to a guard at his side.
Soon, Mo’ata was being led through the corridors of the village, Forrest and Felix on either side, supporting him, and the guard leading the way. A cloth was pressed to his face, and he had enough presence of mind to hold it in place. The stone buildings and periwinkle sky twisted and blurred together in a strange dream of blood and mountains and the purple glow of the crystals—of the plinar.
A familiar face appeared before him. Blue eyes, blond brows pinched in concern, young...
“Dude, you need to snap out of whatever this is. Vivi is freaking,” Forrest said. His head turned to someone beside him, and Mo’ata realized they were no longer walking. In fact, he was now sitting. The room shifted around him. Or he shifted. He tried to shake his head, but wasn’t sure if he was successful.
“Should he be this bad off just from a cut on the face?”
“No, not enough bad. Poison on blade?”
“Crap. Where are the healers? This is the hospital, right?”
A hand on his shoulder guided him down until Mo’ata lay on his side. “Tired,” he said. His tongue was thick in his mouth.
“What did he say?”
“No know. Said in clan.”
Oh. He hadn’t taught Felix and Forrest his native language yet. He should do that. Blue too. Where was Blue? She should be here with him.
“Get that knife asshole up here. He needs to tell us what was on that blade.”
It wasn’t the blade, Mo’ata wanted to say. He was just tired. He was tired before the knife ever touched him. Also, why wasn’t Blue here? “Blue.” Good. This time he knew he said it correctly. Where was she? He needed a cuddle...
Chapter 9
FORREST
“Blue.” Mo’ata’s voice was barely a whisper, but Forrest caught it.
The clansman looked awful. What skin showed through the blood on his face was pale. He lay on the bed limp, one hand not so much holding the cloth to the cut on his cheek as resting over it. Vivi had crawled onto the mattress next to him and proceeded to purr up a storm. Motorboat rumbles sounded from her.
It was partly a reflection of Forrest’s own fear and partly the cub’s own desire to see the other man up and well.
Forrest couldn’t quite figure out what had happened. Mo’ata had been holding his own just fine against Timu. Okay, maybe Forrest had gripped the rail of the fence a little tighter at some points, but the clansman had been fine, blocking the attacks with ease and moving with a speed and force Forrest only hoped to one day achieve.
A group of elders had been watching. Forrest wasn’t sure when they’d come up, but they had been paused in the corridor that ran along one side of the training yard. It was Vivi who had let him know they were there. She had been confused, unsure who to pay attention to: the sparring match or the elders. She’d also been restless. Well, more restless. His baby was having trouble being separated from Garfield and Blue. Or he was having trouble. Or maybe it was both. She kept sending him images of the open plains beyond the village and all four of them, Blue, Forrest, Garfield and Vivi, walking among them, away from the Prizzoli. Sometimes Felix was there, sometimes Mo’ata, and once even Trevon. Levi showed up in her thoughts as well, though never on the plains. He was always in a dark room, and Forrest sensed worry and more of that restlessness.
The trouble with the cubs was they could convey some things remarkably well, and other times it was a struggle to interpret the images and emotions.
Vivi settled in closer to the clansman’s side and sent Forrest images of Blue.
“Blue,” Mo’ata moaned.
Felix nodded to Forrest and shot a glance at the guard who had led them to the hospital. Not much of a hospital; where are the doctors? The nurses? The fancy machines that knit flesh back together and analyze blood at the touch of a button?
The room was bare of carts and beeping equipment and rolling beds and tubes and such. There was a metal box—similar to the processing unit that was in the bathroom—in one corner near the wide doorway. No windows, but the air was clean and the flo
or was a polished stone that reflected the light of the lamps.
A Prizzoli rushed through the doorway. Behind him was a woman, her hair pulled back severely, holding a small box. Each of these newcomers wore a slim red arm band, but there was nothing else to distinguish them.
The man spoke quickly and harshly to the guard, glaring, and then shifted that frown to where Mo’ata lay. The bigger man had stopped mumbling, though his lips moved occasionally. The new man, who Forrest assumed was the healer, pushed the guard and Felix out of the way and motioned for the woman to place the box on the bed.
Vivi sat up, sniffed the box, narrowed her eyes at the man and snugged back in to Mo’ata, her purr intensifying.
With a soft snick, the woman opened the box and pulled out a small round device about the size of a hockey puck and handed it to the man. Then she moved to Mo’ata’s head and pulled his hand away from the wound, carefully peeling the cloth from his face. The puck gave a few beeps, and symbols that glowed a soft gold appeared on its surface. The man grunted and tucked it away.
Next he examined the wound. It had mostly stopped bleeding, though with his probing the blood began to trickle out again, dripping down Mo’ata’s pale skin.
The man grunted again. He stood and spoke with the guard, his words growing more heated as the conversation went on.
“Hey,” Forrest said. Then louder, “Hey!”
Both men spun to him.
“What is wrong with him?”
Felix moved beside him and translated into Common. Forrest was struggling with the language. He had been doing well, but it seemed he had hit a wall. He could understand most of what was being said, but finding the words to use to speak was like getting his mom to stop making disgusting smoothies, hard and pointless.
Frustration pulled the doctor’s mouth into a fierce frown, and he glared at the guard, who shrugged and translated. “Ichi say cut not bad. Man has no energy. Very tired and may need boost. I say just rest. Over work.”
Jason ran through the doorway then, out of breath. His hair was wild and his coat only half fastened. “What happened?” He paled when he caught sight of the clansman. “Is he—?”
“No.” Though Forrest could see how Jason would make the mistake. Pale and still, Mo’ata looked near death, just as Levi had been when… Forrest spun to Jason. “Where is Phillip?” It had been Jason’s day to keep an eye on Phillip’s movements. Trevon was watching over Blue. Tomorrow it was Forrest and Felix, the next day it was supposed to have been Mo’ata and Jason. That will need to change.
“He’s in his meditations.”
“With the elders?”
“No. Most left soon after he entered the temple.”
Besides a near awe for Brika’s Sacrifice that bordered on worship, the Prizzoli had a full pantheon of gods and goddesses. Both major and minor, there were smaller shrines housed in most of the public buildings. The elders’ quarters were actually just off the main temple. In addition to governing and guiding the Prizzoli, the elders were the caretakers and priests of the gods. Forrest’s guide, Spencer, was a good man, and they’d gotten to know each other a little, each of them using what Common they knew to fumble their way through conversations. He had even snuck Forrest into the shrine for Avorna, the Goddess of Color. Yes, there was a Goddess of Color. The decorations and murals had been a bit much, even for Forrest’s tastes.
“Could he have done this? From so far away and with the crystal contained?” Forrest didn’t think so, but the coincidence of symptoms was too much. He recalled how it had felt when Phillip had incapacitated him in the clearing back on Karran. The heaviness of the exhaustion had pulled him down, sucking away even the ability to think before unconsciousness closed in on him.
“I get Blue.” Felix was out the door before the guard or doctor could protest. When the guard made to follow, Jason stepped in front of him, arms crossed, and blocked the way. The guard’s fists curled.
Carrying the bloody cloth, the woman stepped between Jason and the guard. “Need hold down,” she said, pointing to Mo’ata. “Need…” She gestured to her cheek, making stitching movements.
“Got it,” Forrest said, moving to the clansman’s side. He gave Vivi a quick scratch, then looked to the healer. The man pointed to Mo’ata’s head.
By the time the healer was done, Mo’ata was missing half his beard and bore a neat line of stiches from his jaw to his temple. The blood was cleaned away and his shirt replaced. He was still too pale, but his mumbling and twitches had subsided soon after the healer was done.
A faint cry came from the doorway, and Forrest’s head shot up. Blue stood there with wide eyes, Garfield pressed to her leg. Her lips were pressed together and her jaw tight. She swallowed and opened her mouth, though no words emerged. Trying again, she spoke. “How is he?”
Mo’ata stirred at her voice. She rushed to his side, propping her hip on the edge of the mattress and grabbing his hand.
Speaking in rapid Prizzoli, the healer gestured to the woman who had accompanied him. “Ichi say need boost. Not good. Not good Alliance sick in Prizzoli land,” she translated.
Boost. The guard had said the same thing, though more in protest. The same guard stood near Jason—still at the entrance to the room—and glared, though he didn’t protest again.
A smaller box was retrieved from the healer’s case. Inside was a black velvet bag. And within the bag was a small purple crystal, the faintest shine emitting from it. Forrest jerked forward in protest at the sight of it, and Blue’s grip tightened on Mo’ata. The healer spoke quickly, and this time the guard translated. “Will not harm. You get what Prizzoli should have. Life of the elders.”
The woman, her expression gentle, drew Blue away. Forrest reluctantly followed, but didn’t go far. Vivi and Garfield refused to budge. “No harm. Help. See,” the woman said to Blue, who stood stiffly, her gaze glued to the crystal. Garfield let out a chirping purr, the cubs’ signal that all was well, and Blue’s shoulders sagged.
The healer placed the crystal on Mo’ata’s forehead, and a soft glow, nearly indistinguishable from his pale skin, radiated from it. The results were immediate. His skin tone warmed, his breathing grew easy, and the redness around the wound eased, the edges smoothing. The cut didn’t heal fully, but it looked at least a few days old.
The healer pulled the crystal back, tucked it in its pouch, and placed it back in its box. The woman gathered it up and tucked it into the healer’s case and locked that in turn. She looked to Forrest. “He rest. Good when wake. Not long.”
Blue moved back to Mo’ata’s side, once more taking his hand. She looked up at Forrest with tears threatening, though they didn’t fall. “What the hell happened?”
He recounted as best as he could, watching Blue watch Mo’ata. She loved him. It was there in the tremble of her hand as she ran a finger over the newly shaven jaw. It was there in her bright eyes and tight lips. It was there in her shaky breath and her grip on the other man’s hand. Forrest saw it clearly. And…
And he was his mother’s son. Love was love. It was a beautiful, messy thing, and if the opportunity for it was presented to you, you grabbed it and held on, just like a snapping turtle. Blue was doing that. Forrest had done that for her. If they were to truly build a family, could Forrest do any less for all of them? She hadn’t had it easy since coming back to Karran. None of them had. An idea sparked, but he would have to talk to Mo’ata before acting on it. First, the big guy had to wake up.
Movement in the hallway, beyond the doorway. Blue eyes met blue eyes. Zeynar stood there, blocking more guards from entering. Felix stood beside him. Forrest knew just who to ask to help him execute his idea, assuming Mo’ata agreed.
He had a feeling Mo’ata would.
BLUE
Blue stared down at the pale skin of Mo’ata’s jaw. There was a clear line showing where his beard normally was, and the difference between the light tan and slight ruddiness, and the whiteness of skin that probably hadn’t seen the sun i
n years was stark.
He’d have to shave the whole thing off.
She skimmed a finger along his cheek, avoiding the stitches. According to Forrest, he would be fine. The healer had seen him, had even used one of the crystals on him to give him a boost of energy.
She shivered. It sounded like what had happened to Levi in the alley of Firik. But, per Jason, Phillip had been in his sessions at the temple and nowhere near the training yard.
And where were you, Blue? Sitting in your room, lamenting the lack of things to do.
She curled her hand into a fist, hoping to still its tremble. Her heart was only now slowing, and her limbs tingled from the overload of adrenaline. Fear, horrible fear that she could have lost this man, choked her.
She watched as he took a breath. She counted them. One, two. A third. They were steady.
Gradually, she came back to herself. This love thing was not easy. She now had a greater appreciation for Mo’ata’s desire to keep her locked away and safe. Wonder what he would say if I tried to do the same for him? She let out a small huff. Probably wouldn’t go over well.
“I’m going to wait until he wakes up,” she said, not looking away from the clansman. He had terrified her the first time they met. No, not met. He had grabbed her from behind and she’d thought she was being kidnapped or attacked or something worse. It turned out to be one of the best things to happen to her.
There was a scuffle at the door. A thud and a grunt. She didn’t look up.
“We’ll make sure of it,” Jason said from behind her.
“Thank you.”
Next to her clansman, the cubs purred. She held his hand and stroked his knuckles. She’d be here when he woke up. Just as he would have been for her.
Chapter 10
PHILLIP
Phillip watched as Blue approached him where he waited outside her room, Forrest by her side. The large mercenary who would have made a good friend if Phillip wasn’t sure he had designs on Blue, followed close behind them.
For a Pixie in Blue (The Adventures of Blue Faust Book 4) Page 12