by Nhys Glover
Studying his features, moulded into a smirk in this moment, I realised with a start that he was attractive, in a predatory, dangerous way. His almond-shaped eyes were dark and bottomless, shining with a life that drew me, despite my recent loss. Beneath his wrinkled and stained tunic, I could plainly discern a well-formed body. How old was he? Mid-twenties and more perhaps, but no older than thirty.
"Like what you see?" he asked, quirking a brow at me.
I felt a blush burn its way up my neck and into my cheeks. Why had that question sounded so familiar? Who had said that very same thing to me, in a tone just like Trace's? Mocking, knowing, lustful. Letting me know he knew the effect his masculine attraction was having on me. It was intended to disconcert me and make me vulnerable.
"I'd like what I see a lot more if you were gone, so I could dress," I snapped, annoyed to be put at such a disadvantage by this stranger, who had more sexual magnetism than any one man should be allowed.
I resented him for stirring arousal in me when I still grieved the loss of my husband. A man I couldn't even remember, a sly voice inside me reminded me. I wouldn't have even known there was a husband if this man hadn't told me so. Though the evidence of some man in my life was only too plain to see in the fullness of my breasts. I'd had a babe to someone. That was one piece of the puzzle I could be sure of.
Trace tutted good-naturedly and turned to leave. "Do not be long. We need to eat and go. There is a lot of forest to traverse before we rest again, and the enemy will be on our heels in no time."
I breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he was out of sight. The man put me on edge. How was I going to put up with his company all day?
By the time I'd relieved myself and replaced my tunic, I was more in control. I hadn't been able to recapture the peace the forest had given me, or heard the voice again, but that didn't matter. The memory of those moments − all the moments since awakening, in fact − would remain with me throughout my day. I knew it.
Trace handed me some sweet fruits to break my fast. I also drank thirstily from the flask of watered wine he carried with him. Producing the quantity of milk I did required a lot of fluids. I had been thirsty since leaving the stronghold yesterday.
"Easy, lass. That has to last us until we find a burn. Which we need to do for the beastlings." He held out his hand for the flask and I reluctantly handed it over. I was still thirsty, but at least the fruits were juicy and provided me with a little more liquid. I devoured them gratefully
Once finished our limited meal, we mounted up and rode on. I had no idea how Trace knew which way to go. It was not as if we followed a path or could see the sun's position in the sky. There was only a little light creeping past the dense foliage above, not enough to determine the placement of the sun.
After what felt like several turns, I heard a welcome sound: babbling. The noise a small creek made as it passed over stones. How did I recognise such a thing? Had I grown up in the country? But no, that wasn't possible. I was the daughter of the Godling. I would have been raised in his harem.
How did I know about the harem? Mayhap the way I knew who the Godling was to me? Because those were parts of my life. Or had been. I would have left the harem when I married. Mayhap that was when I experienced the sweet tinkle of a stream before.
"There," I called to Trace, pointing off to our right where the sound was coming from.
"There what?" he answered, frowning deeply and looking as if I'd lost my mind.
"You wanted water for the beastlings and to refill your flask. It's over there. Can't you hear it?"
We'd brought our mounts to a standstill and in the comparative quiet Trace listened. Finally, he shook his head in wonder. "You have great hearing. I never would have picked that up. But then, forests and I do not get along."
As we turned toward the sound of water running over rocks, I wondered afresh at how we were making this journey if he didn't get along with forests. Surely he would need some knowledge of them to traverse them so effectively. Was it effectively? Mayhap, we'd been going in circles this whole time.
"How do you know which way we need to go?" I asked as he helped me down from my beastling beside the creek. It didn't go unnoticed that he took more time than strictly necessary to slide me to my feet. The tactile sensation as I slid down his hard body unsettled me anew.
"I have a direction-finder made by the Highlunders. All I have to do is follow the arrow. Eventually we'll come out of this gods' awful greenery and be able to see again. I feel more enclosed in here than I did in that damned barrel. And that was bad!"
I had not thought about what it must have been like for him in the other barrel. For me, there had been plenty of room, if not a great deal of air. For him, at least a head taller than me, and much broader across the shoulders, it would have been tight.
"That's not how I feel. Enclosed is living your life in a harem. This..." I circled with my arms out, taking in the lush greenery. "This is freedom. I can breathe fully here."
I noted the way he stared at me. Was that wonder I saw in his eyes? Surely not.
"I do not know much about harem life," he conceded, clearing his throat and looking away so he could lead our mounts to the creek. While they drank, he opened the flask and filled it with water.
"Neither do I. Just scraps of memories, more like dreams. I think I was able to learn to fight in the harem. Which is an odd thing for women to do, is it not?" I wandered off behind some nearby bushes as I spoke, removed my tunic and began relieving my engorged mams once more. Though already the pressure was less painful.
"You should try not to do that so often. It will take longer for the milk to dry up," Trace said from directly behind me.
I jumped at the sound of his voice so close and covered my breasts with my hands.
"Go away! This spying on me is uncalled for."
"But fun," he answered, not in the least cowed by my indignation and sharp rebuke. "I like watching you blush. Skin as pale as yours shows the flush prettily."
Dark fingers slid down my naked arm and I trembled. The effect this man had on me was annoying. I didn't want to feel drawn to him. I was grieving!
"So soft. Your skin is so soft. A lady's skin. I..." He swallowed audibly before going on. "I find myself drawn to you like a moth to a flame. I know you are dangerous but I cannot help wanting more."
"Dangerous?" I asked huskily. Was that my voice? It sounded like it belonged to another.
He leaned down and dropped an open-mouthed kiss to my bare shoulder. The back of my neck was in plain view. I was encouraging him by letting him see it. But, gods, in that moment I could no more move than I could have flown.
"You are a mission. I have a job to do. Return you to your father. That is the beginning and end of it." But his fingertips stroking down the sides of my neck, across my shoulders and down my arms told me it wasn't the end of it.
"That does not make me dangerous."
"No..." he breathed the word into my ear, setting off a stampede of prickles. "But wasting time watching you remove your tunic, when every minute brings the predators closer... Now that is dangerous."
I huffed out the breath I'd been holding. The way his low voice caressed me was unnerving. I was not the one who was dangerous here. He was.
I stepped away from him and lifted my arms to pull on my tunic. Trace stepped in to assist, letting his hands linger on my body as he drew the fabric down over my torso. Gods, he was good at this.
Once the tunic was in place I ducked past him, heading for the stream. There, I crouched down to cup clear, cold water into my hands to drink.
"Try not to wet the front of your tunic," Trace cautioned me with a smile in his voice.
I looked up and frowned, not sure what he was getting at.
He shrugged and answered my unspoken question. "When it is wet your lush assets are put on display. I keep wanting to turn around to watch them, instead of the trail ahead."
Determined not to be any more of a temptation to
this man, I made much of keeping the water far from my chest. It made drinking that much harder, but it was worth it when I saw I had saved my decency.
I stood up in triumph but found my attention draw to the restless beastlings. There was something wrong. The forest, which was usually alive with the sound of featherling calls and groundlings scuttling about, was oddly silent.
Laughing, Trace helped me back onto my jittery mount. My prickles seemed to amuse him.
"If I believed there was anything divine operating in this world, I might believe you were created by it," he told me, looking up at me with dark eyes bright with amusement.
I frowned again, not understanding what he meant. Anything divine? The gods were divine. Surely he wasn't suggesting the gods did not exist? That was blasphemy.
"You do not believe in the gods?" I asked, checking that I had understood him properly.
My beastling shifted yet again, its tiny ears flicking nervously back and forth. I did not know much about these creatures, but I knew fear when I saw it.
Trace threw himself into his saddle and gave me another cheeky grin. "I am the only god I believe in. Come on, lass, time is getting away from us."
As we turned our mounts, everything seemed to happen at once. A loud cry, or a wail, came from somewhere above me. My mount squealed. A heavy force hit me, knocking me from the saddle and onto the ground. Dazed, my body jarred, I tried to take in what was happening. A large, furred body was atop me. Not the beastling. But something smaller, with long sharp teeth. It was those teeth that claimed my senses − until there seemed nothing else in the world but teeth and a foul breath assaulting my face.
Then it was gone, thrown to the side by an even heavier body. I scrambled to my knees and looked across at the mound of roiling flesh. Man and beastling wrestled in a life-or-death battle. Trace had a knife, but the great creature had teeth and claws. Those claws had already torn a bloody trail down one of his arms.
What should I do? I needed to help. But the two struggling bodies were so entwined it was hard to separate them, even in my own mind. And their positions kept altering. One moment, the beastling was on top, its teeth perilously close to Trace's neck; the next, Trace was, his knife poised over the creature's chest.
How long I kneeled there, caught in some preternatural freeze, unable to move, unable to even breathe, I do not know. But all the while man and beastling fought and rolled, down into the stony creek-bed.
A stone! If I could hit the beast with a stone it might be enough to give Trace the upper-hand! I scanned the area near me and saw a suitable weapon. I grabbed it up and scrambled to my feet, glad to finally be moving. And breathing.
Edging over to the writhing mass of death, I held up my stone in readiness to strike. But, in the next moment, Trace was on top and driving the dagger deep into the beastling's chest. It slowly relaxed into death.
Lowering my rock, I waited for whatever was to come next. Trace seemed as frozen in place as I had been only moments ago. His tunic was torn to shreds and covered in blood − his own, the beast's, or both. He looked as if he was waiting for the beastling to move again. As if he couldn't believe it was dead.
Slowly, incredibly slowly, he edged off the carcass and rolled to the side, landing on his back in the creek-bed. The water coursed over him, washing some of the blood away, revealing the gory spectacle of torn flesh for me to see.
Chapter Six
AIRSHA
Gods! The creature had ravaged him. How was he still breathing? I went to his side, desperate to help, but not knowing what to do. Should I move him out of the water? Would I be hurting him even more if I did so?
I looked around, trying to get some inspiration from our surroundings. Our mounts were gone! Gods, our mounts had run away and left us! How would we ever get out of the forest now? How would we keep ahead of the enemy searching for us?
I fought down the panic threatening to overwhelm me. Breathe, woman, breathe! One thing at a time. Check Trace's wounds and try to stem the bleeding. Do that first before he bleeds out.
With shaking hands, I tore away what was left of his tunic so I could see his wounds. Along with the claw marks down one arm, there was a bloody hole that must be a bite mark on his shoulder. Then more claw marks on his stomach and thigh. His breeches needed removing too. But the fabric there was too thick and coarse to be easily torn away.
I scrambled over to the dead animal. It looked just as dangerous dead as it had alive. Its long grey fur was coated in blood, but not from the knife wound. That bled little. The creature had died the moment the knife struck its heart.
I gingerly withdrew the knife from the carcass, hating the slurping sound it made. Once free, I took it back to Trace and used it to gently cut away the breeches over the hip and thigh wound. Then I washed the knife clean. I would need it again.
Gods, it was too much. No man could survive this many wounds. And I hadn't even checked his back yet. I knew, from the flashes of memory I had of the attack, that his back had been clawed too. How was I going to seal the wounds so what was left of his blood didn't seep away?
Tears were pouring down my face − helpless tears, frustrated tears. I was all alone with nothing to help this man. It wasn't right!
'Clean the wounds,' a soft whisper urged me.
I stilled. It was the same voice I'd heard earlier in the day. The one that brought with it a feeling of safety. But that feeling had been a lie. No more than a few turns later and I was knocked from my beastling and my companion almost torn to pieces trying to save me.
Yet the voice's wisdom was correct. If he was to have any chance of surviving, of avoiding blood poisoning, the wounds needed to be cleaned and then bound tight with clean fabric.
I looked at the ragged heap of his tunic lying half in and half out of the water. Could I wash it, cut it up and use it to bind some of his wounds? Possibly. But it wouldn't be enough.
I looked down at my own tunic and breeches. I could cut off the bottom of my tunic and use it as well.
'Pack the clean wounds with moss,' came the whispered instruction again.
Moss? How was that clean? And what kind of moss? There were many different varieties, I knew that much. I wanted to ignore the voice and its nonsensical words, but I knew I could not do this alone. My knowledge was too limited. If the voice could lead me, then I would have to follow. That was the only way Trace was going to have any chance of surviving this ordeal.
Clearing my mind in an oddly familiar way, I opened myself to whatever would come. My feet began to move. I let them. I scrambled over the rocks at the edge of the creek to a large flat area. Here, I recognised spongy peat, topped with a lime-green star-shaped moss. This was what I needed! How could I possibly know this if I'd grown up in a harem? This kind of knowledge belonged to healers, surely. And I was no healer, I was certain of that much.
I cut away the moss with the knife and carried my little hoard back to my unconscious companion.
My first task was to wash the wounds as clean as possible. The one on the back would have to wait, though, until I had those on the front bound and protected. I cut off the bottom of my breeches to use as a sponge. Then I removed my tunic and sliced away the bottom of it. Once I had enough cloth, I cut it and Trace's tunic into strips and washed them thoroughly, only too aware that, with every passing moment, more and more of my saviour's life's blood was flowing out of his body to join the creek water on its journey over the rocks.
Finally, I had what I needed. I began to wash each gash with my make-shift sponge. It would have been easier if there had been more water in the creek. The few inches made it difficult to properly rinse out the sponge without collecting debris. But, bit by bit, I cleansed the wounds until they contained only red, oozing blood.
Start with one wound at a time, I counselled myself. Start with the ones bleeding the most. I looked over my options. The neck wound was the nastiest and would be the hardest to bind. It was the one I would have to start with.
&nb
sp; Resolutely, I started by packing the hole with moss, added a pad of cloth over it, and bound it in place with a series of knotted strips, which ran over his shoulder and under one arm, across his chest again and under the other arm. Only then did I tie it off.
Examining my handiwork, I decided it would hold.
I repeated the process on the other gashes I could see. Then, with trepidation, I gently turned him over so I could get at his back. This put his face on the grass beside the creek. I began to clean and pack the last wound, worried every minute that I would run out of bandages or he would die before I finished.
My worries were for nothing. He still breathed when I was through. And the bleeding had been stemmed, if not stopped by my bandages. But Trace had begun to shiver, even while his skin was hot to the touch. I didn't think being wet was helping, and I needed to get him warm somehow. It was only early spring, though a remarkably mild one, and the forest was chilly because of a lack of warming sunlight.
Hating to do it, in case I undid some of my bandages, I began dragging him by the underarms up onto grass-covered land nearby. It was dappled by the only sunlight available. I laid him out as comfortably as I could. His dark skin, normally the colour of tarnished bronze looked grey and deathly. My heart gave a little jolt of pain.
Gods, it wasn't enough! What was I to do now? He was shivering so hard his teeth chattered. Yet his skin burned.
'Still. Be still.'
Still? My only companion − the man who had save my life more than once − was dying, and I had run out of ways to save him. I was helpless and alone!
'Still. Be still,' came the message again.
In a huff, I shrugged my acceptance and settled in next to my fallen comrade. I hadn't had time to replace what was left of my tunic, but it didn't seem to matter here in the woods, with no one to see me. Not even Trace.
I closed my eyes and took several deep, calming breaths. The familiar slide into another place − a still place, an open place − claimed me. I let it.