Souls of Aredyrah 3 - The Taking of the Dawn

by Tracy A. Akers

  “Have you seen others out this way?” Reiv asked. “My friend is a Shell Seeker. Torin—you might know of him.”

  “Shell Seeker you say? Aye, I know of him. The King himself was after him.” The man spat into the mud, then eyed Reiv darkly. “Tearian filth,” he said, but whether the remark was intended for Reiv or the King, it was hard to tell.

  “Where did you last see him?” Reiv demanded. He moved Gitta closer. “Tell me!” Suddenly he noticed a shell necklace draped around the man’s neck. Reiv leapt from the horse and whipped his dirk from its sheath. He grabbed the man by the tunic and pressed the blade beneath his quivering chin. “I said, where did you last see the Shell Seeker!”

  The man’s eyes went wide with fright. He flicked them toward the road. “Back a ways…off the main road.”

  Reiv gripped the necklace in his fist. “He gave you this?”

  The man flinched, but remained silent.

  Reiv tightened his grip. “I said, he gave you this?”

  “In a manner of speakin’,” the man croaked. “He’ll have no more need of it.”

  Reiv yanked the necklace from the man’s neck, breaking the leather strand and sending shells flying. He flung the rest of it into the mud, then sprang onto Gitta’s back. “You had best not show your face around me again, old man,” Reiv said. “I will not soon forget it!” Then he kicked in his heels and urged the horse in the direction the man had indicated.

  Reiv quickened his pace, careful not to lead the horse into danger, but equally determined to find Torin and soon. Before long he noticed more bedraggled people making their way along the road. With each and every one, he stopped to inquire if they had seen a Shell Seeker. But no one had and quickly warned him against traveling any closer to the encampment. In response, Reiv advised them against traveling closer to Meirla, but they continued on, oblivious to his words. Had he had more time, he would have tried to reason with them, but as it was, he feared it was already too late.

  Recalling what the man had said about Torin not being on the main road, Reiv turned off and picked his way along the rocky hillside. He saw no movement, but the moon was barely a glow in the sky. The clouds had yet to move on, leaving his vision minimal at best. Reiv grew impatient. “I will never find him at this rate,” he muttered. “Torin!” he shouted. “If you are out there, make a noise—anything.” He stopped and listened. Nothing. He urged the horse on slowly, then stopped again. “Torin!”

  A sound of whimpering wafted toward him. He guided the horse, straining his ears to determine its location. The sobs grew louder, until at last he spotted a pale-haired child huddled near the bushes.

  Reiv dismounted his horse, but before he could reach the girl, another leapt in his path, pointing a stick in his direction. Her hair was dark and her eyes wild. “You stay away!” she shouted. “You stay away from us!”

  Reiv held his hands up in conciliation. “I mean you no harm, girl. I am only here to help. See…no weapon.” He moved closer, then stopped. “Gem?”

  She thrust the stick at him “Stay back.”

  “It is me—Reiv. Remember? Your mother tended me when—”

  “I remember. You’re the Tearian one.”

  “I am only Reiv, Gem,” he said, realizing the hatred in her voice. “Not Tearian.”

  “Yes you are,” she said defiantly. “You’re like the one who killed my mother. He killed my mother, and he killed Nannaven, too!”

  “Nannaven?” Reiv whispered. “Gods, no.” He glanced at Nely still huddled to the side, then turned his attention back to Gem. “Where is Torin, Gem? If I am to help him you must tell me.”

  “No!”

  Reiv rushed forward, yanked the stick from her hand, and tossed it aside. She pummeled him with her fists, but he grabbed her by the wrists, pulling her feet from the ground. She writhed and kicked until at last he released her, letting her fall onto her back. “No more, Gem! You hear me? No more!” He jerked her up by an arm. “Where is Torin?”

  Tears of anger welled in Gem’s eyes, then tears of defeat. She worked her arm from his grasp. “In the mud.”

  “Where? Show me.”

  Gem pointed a finger beyond Nely. “Over there.”

  Reiv dashed past her and discovered Torin face down. He dropped to his knees beside him. Two arrows were protruding from the man’s shoulder and back. Blood-colored streams of water ran alongside him. Reiv pressed an ear to Torin’s back. Still breathing. He shifted his attention to the shafts of the arrows and immediately recognized the royal mark. “Gods, Whyn…what have you done?” He turned his head toward the girls. “Gem,” he barked, “get the pouch off the horse.”

  She moved to do what she was told, but was too small to reach.

  Reiv rose and hurried to retrieve it. “Keep an eye on your sister. It is best you do not see this.”

  “I’m not scared,” she declared.

  Reiv pulled in a steadying breath; there was no time to deal with a headstrong child. “Of course not. But Nely is, so do as I say.”

  Gem stared past him, her eyes focused on Torin.

  “Do not worry,” Reiv said. “I will help him, and when he is well again, I will tell him how you fought to protect him. You have been very brave, but you must be brave a little longer. And right now the bravest thing you can do is stay out of my way and help your sister.”

  Gem nodded, then scrambled over to Nely. She sat beside her and wrapped the little girl in her arms. “It’s all right, Nely,” she said. “I’m here.”

  Reiv returned to Torin, at a complete loss as to what to do. “Agneis, help me,” he muttered. “I know little of such things.” But a goddess would not likely help him in this; he would have to depend on his own instincts. He scraped the mud from around Torin’s mouth and nostrils, making sure the man’s breathing, shallow as it was, was unobstructed. He then searched the pouch that Jensa had sent with him, finding strips of cloth, herbs, and a small bottle of liquid. Reiv opened the bottle and sniffed. Definitely not to be taken orally.

  Blood pooled around Reiv’s knees. You have to stop the bleeding, he realized. He pulled out the cloths, intent on pressing them against Torin’s wounds, but then he wondered if he should extract the arrows first. He examined the shafts to determine how deeply they were embedded. They were deep—too deep. If he tried to remove them, the damage he caused would probably be worse than it already was.

  Reiv felt a lump rise in his throat. “I do not know what to do!” he said. Correct, fool. So do what you can and get him back to Meirla. Resolved to do his best, Reiv took hold of the arrows, one at a time, and carefully snapped the shafts, leaving a shorter portion protruding from Torin’s back. He then poured the mysterious liquid onto the wounds and pressed the cloths to them. He rose. “Gitta, come!” he said, and the horse came forward.

  Reiv eyed Torin, then the horse. How in the world was he going to get an unconscious man onto the animal’s back?

  Gem rose and came toward him. “I can help,” she said. “I’m strong.”

  Reiv looked at her with skepticism, but agreed. “Let me get the horse situated first. Then you can help me drag Torin onto her.”

  He positioned Gitta as close to Torin as he could, then attempted to get her to kneel. But the horse refused to cooperate.

  Gem grabbed up a stick and slapped the back of the horse’s front legs. “Down, horse!” she ordered.

  Gitta struggled to her knees, then rolled slightly onto her side. Reiv would have laughed if the situation had not been so serious.

  Between the two of them, Reiv and Gem managed to drag Torin onto the horse’s back. Gitta scrambled to her feet, nearly tossing Torin off. Reiv held onto the Shell Seeker as best he could, maneuvering Torin’s body until at last his arms and legs were evenly distributed on either side.

  “Get your sister, Gem,” Reiv said. “Time to go.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Meirla. There are people there better equipped to help than I am here.”r />
  “Will I see Kerrik?”

  “Kerrik will be there.”

  “Good.” A smile formed on Gem’s face. “He’s going to marry me, you know.” Then she charged around the horse to lead the way.

  Back to ToC

  Chapter 14: Open Wounds

  The return trip to Meirla was agonizingly slow. It had begun to rain again, and the road was becoming increasingly mired in mud. Torin, an arm and leg dangling over each side of the horse, his cheek pressed against Gitta’s mane, frequently groaned and mumbled. Gem marched ahead of the horse, her pace like that of someone on a mission. Reiv walked behind her, keeping his eye on her as well as Torin, and holding fast to Nely’s hand.

  The closer they got to Meirla, the more refugees they met along the road. Many appeared ill, which was of grave concern, but Reiv knew there was no way to stop them. He could only hope that the Shell Seekers had made some sort of preparation for the Jectas’ arrival, a separate encampment perhaps.

  Their advancement slowed, then stopped. People were milling around, some clustered in groups in the middle of the road, others huddled off to the side.

  “Why the delay?” Reiv asked two women standing nearby.

  “The Shell Seekers have instructed us to wait while they find us accommodations,” one of them said.

  Reiv nodded, praying it meant none of the refugees had yet made it into the village. He led Gitta onward, weaving slowly through the crowd. The sun was just beginning to rise along the distant horizon. Clouds were tinted here and there with shades of peach filtering through the gray. As Reiv guided Gitta and the girls through the mob, heads turned to watch as they passed. Mutters were followed by hushed whispers, leaving Reiv with the sinking feeling that he was involved in this more than he knew.

  At last they reached the crest of a hill and stopped at the outer edge of the crowd. Down the road a line of Shell Seeker men could be seen keeping guard, no doubt posted to prevent anyone from reaching Meirla. Several Shell Seeker women hustled back and forth, depositing bundles of food and gourds of water onto the road between the guards and the refugees. Jecta scurried to retrieve the bundles, then hurried back to transfer the supplies into outstretched hands.

  Reiv pushed through the perimeter of the crowd, but stopped before he had gone more than a few steps. He called across the distance, “You there, Shell Seekers. I must get a message to Jensa of your village.”

  One of the Shell Seekers took a step forward, squinting at him. “Is that you Reiv?”

  “Yes. I have Torin with me. He is wounded. Can you fetch Jensa?”

  The Shell Seeker waved a hand, then took off in the opposite direction. Reiv turned to Torin and peeked under the bandages. The bleeding had stopped, but the rain had washed it in rivulets down Torin’s arms and along his spine, staining his skin and the material wrapped around his hips. The broken shafts of the arrows still protruded from his back. Around them the flesh was puffy and inflamed.

  “Gods,” Reiv said.

  Torin’s eyes fluttered. His head jerked as he attempted to move.

  Reiv placed a hand on his arm. “Be still now. Help is coming.” Reiv glanced over his shoulder. Where in the world was Jensa?

  “Reiv!” Jensa’s voice spun him around. She was running toward him, oblivious to the Shell Seeker guards who were scrambling to stop her.

  Reiv took several strides forward and raised his hand. “Stop!” he commanded.

  Jensa halted, panting. “But, Reiv—”

  “Torin needs a healer,” he called to her, “but you cannot come any nearer. What plans have been made for the wounded?”

  “The healers are tending the worst cases,” she called back. “An encampment is being set up nearby, but we didn’t have enough time—”

  “More wounded are coming. Can you direct me and those with the most life-threatening injuries first? As for those with the fever, perhaps a separate ward could be arranged for them. Are there any volunteers to help?”

  “A few,” Jensa said.

  “I suppose you are included in that count.”

  “I am now.”

  “What about Kerrik?”

  “Brina will look after him.”

  “So you would risk Kerrik losing both you and Torin? No. You cannot come here.”

  “Torin is my brother,” she insisted. “I cannot ask anyone else to tend my kin when I am perfectly able.”

  “You do not have to ask,” a voice said from behind her. “I will do it.”

  Jensa wheeled around. It was Cora, and in her hand was a basket of supplies.

  Reiv could hear Jensa and Cora arguing, but he could barely make out their words. Their voices rose and fell as their hands gestured in the air, until at last they grew silent. Jensa turned back to face him. “Cora will do it,” she said, but she did not look happy about it.

  Cora stepped around Jensa and marched up the hill. As she approached, Reiv studied her face, hoping she would acknowledge him in some special way. But when she arrived, she only had eyes for Torin. She brushed past Reiv and headed straight for the horse. Torin’s face was turned toward her. His eyes were closed and his breathing labored. Cora placed her hand on his forehead, then frowned at the shafts protruding from his back. Standing on tiptoes, she rested her cheek against his. “I will take care of you,” she said gently. And it was then that Reiv knew: It was Torin she would have liked to have spent time with in the hut that day, not him.

  “This way,” she said, and led the horse away from the group. Reiv took Nely’s hand while, once again, Gem tromped ahead like an alpha leading the pack.

  Reiv turned toward Jensa. “Torin will be all right,” he called to her. “I will get word to you soon.”

  Jensa raised her hand in acknowledgment, but she did not turn away. She watched until Reiv was over the hill and out of sight.

  Beyond the rise was a small encampment. Barely put together, its makeshift tents, pallets, and supply areas were still being hastily assembled. Cora pointed Gem to the nearest empty tent. “At least we’ll have shelter,” Cora said, eyeing a sky still heavy with rain clouds. “But I fear there won’t be enough for everyone.”

  She ducked into the tent where two blankets were folded on the ground. She spread one out, then returned to the horse. Without a word she lifted Torin’s arm and placed it around her shoulders. She was not tall, but she was determined and clearly had every intention of carrying the man herself.

  Reiv rushed over and grabbed Torin by the waist. Between the two of them, they managed to drag his limp form into the tent where they lowered him face down onto the blanket.

  Gem and Nely hovered in the doorway as Reiv and Cora inspected the wounds. “How about starting us a fire, Reiv,” Cora said as she dabbed Torin’s wounds with a cloth. “And tell the girls to stay outside. I don’t think they should see this.”

  Reiv exited the tent. Before long he had started a small but adequate campfire. He then instructed Gem and Nely to stay near it, but not too near. He had not forgotten that fire held no sympathy for the foolish.

  “Your knife,” Cora called to him through the flap.

  Reiv ducked back inside and pulled the knife from his waistband. He held it out to her.

  “Over the fire, fool,” she said impatiently, “but just enough to burn off any contaminants.”

  For a moment Reiv felt annoyed by her tone, but then he realized that she was only trying to save Torin’s life and had no time to dictate his every move.

  He stepped out and angled the blade over the flames, then returned to the tent and handed it to her. She took the knife by the handle. “Be ready with another cloth,” she said. “The wound will bleed at first, but we will cauterize it after.”

  Reiv felt uneasy at the thought of burning flesh. He glanced down at his own burn-scarred hands, then turned his attention to Cora. She was inserting the knife near the first shaft, trying to pry it gently from Torin’s back. Torin moaned and jerked. Cora quickly withdrew the blade.

  “H
ave you done this before?” Reiv asked.

  “No,” Cora said, “but I’ve seen similar procedures, though not removing Tearian arrows of course. More like shards of coral, things like that.” She noted Reiv’s expression of doubt. “Oh, just hold him still,” she snapped.

  Reiv moved to Torin’s other side and knelt beside him. He pressed his palm against Torin’s good shoulder, his other hand hovering while he determined the best location to place it. He finally decided on the base of Torin’s spine, but for some reason he found it disquieting.

  Cora looked up at him. “You all right?”

  Reiv swallowed thickly. “I am fine. It is just the blood.” But he wasn’t so sure.

  Cora turned her attention back to the wound and continued to probe. Torin moaned again, and Reiv increased his weight upon him.

  After a few moments, Cora shook her head. “It’s too deep. We might need to shove it through.”

  “What?” Reiv asked, appalled at the idea. “But what if it pierces something on the way out?”

  “It’s either that, or I go deeper and peel the flesh back further. The prong is very wide.”

  Reiv swallowed down the saliva that had begun to pool in his mouth. “I—I think it would be best to draw it from his back. We cannot risk damaging anything vital.”

  “The pain will likely rouse him. Can you hold him?”

  “I think so.”

  “I need more than ‘think so,’ Reiv. If he jerks while the knife is doing its work…Maybe if you straddle him.”

  “If I what?”

  “Straddle him. You know, sit with your legs on either side of him.”

  The thought of positioning himself across Torin’s backside sent a wave of nausea to Reiv’s gut. Why the hesitation? he wondered. Why the fear? It was to save a man’s life, nothing more. He took a deep breath and planted his knees on either side of Torin’s lower back. Leaning forward, he grasped the back of Torin’s neck with one hand and pressed the other against the uninjured shoulder.

  Cora held the knife ready.