by Dave Smeds
A gust doused the torches.
Angrily the wight flowed outward in order to envelop Alemar and Elenya. Lonal lit his torch again with one stroke of the flint and flung it straight at the thing. The flame snuffed out, but the advance was halted. The wight screeched and spat blue tendrils at Lonal.
Lonal shuddered as if arrows of ice had pierced him. By now, most of his men had relit their brands. They waved them again, causing the wight to retreat toward its mound. It coalesced once again into human outlines. For a moment it almost possessed a true visage, that of an ancient, weary man, but other countenances coruscated within and upon the first, reflections of the souls held inside.
It glared at the men, hatred fervent. It hissed at their torches, and at the increasing light in the east. The men were grim, but they waited resolutely.
Ten interminable moments later, the wight retreated, slimelike, up the surface of the vault. It disappeared inside, drawing the stone cover back over the opening.
When they were sure it wouldn't return, the men sank to their knees. Three times they touched their foreheads to the ground toward the point where the sun would soon rise. The oeikani ceased to struggle against the grip on their reins. Murmured prayers came from many lips.
Alemar lay still, awake but unwilling to move. He ached. It humbled him to think how little his physical resistance had accomplished. Elenya groaned, not completely aware of her surroundings even now, struggling to stay conscious out of terror of falling asleep while still in that place.
Lonal and his Po-no-pha did not attempt to enter the circle until after the orb of Achird had risen above the line of the hills, and direct light hit the mound at last. The piled stones lost a little of their sinister aspect, though the sensation of dread continued to permeate the vicinity. By that time, Alemar had risen to a sitting position, and Elenya lay comfortably. The man who had leaped from his oeikani woke up.
At Lonal's terse command, only two of his men and he himself entered the unholy ground. They gripped their bruised comrade and each of the Cilendri by the armpits and dragged them past the marker stones as quickly as feasible.
“You do us honor, Kulam,” Lonal told the recovering Zyraii. Kulam stared about uncertainly.
“Is it gone?” he whispered.
Lonal nodded. “The power of God proved more than it could defy. But it was a close thing.” He filled in the man quickly, but did not elaborate. None of them cared to stay in the area any longer than necessary. The twins stood, shaky but on their own power. He ordered them onto the backs of two oeikani. They hung on to the Zyraii riders as if frightened of the height. Kulam glanced once at his dead animal and pursed his lips. Then he climbed behind one of his fellows.
“You will be compensated,” Lonal told Kulam, and glared at the twins. “I know some people who will be glad to see that you receive two oeikani for your one.”
* * *
IX
TWO NAKED BREASTS.
They were petite, but firm and well-proportioned, light pink nipples untouched by motherhood.
Keron blinked, not really sure that he had opened his eyes. The sensation of relief had awakened him. Lerina was leaning over him. One of her hands held an abalone shell between his legs, the other directed his penis toward the shell while his bladder emptied.
He tried to rise, but his body was a statue. Even the most insignificant muscle failed him.
“Relax,” Lerina said.
He did. Vague memories told him this was not the first time she had tended him so. In fact, by now it seemed natural.
“You're really awake,” she said, shaking him perfunctorily. She lifted the shell away.
“I think so,” he murmured.
“Your fever broke a few hours ago."
“How long has it been?"
“Three days."
She rose and left momentarily to dump the urine. He glanced around. The cave had lost its uninhabited aspect. His mattress was a large blanket stretched across the smooth sand at the rear of the chamber, a gentle bed laid down by once-a-year extreme high tides. Along the tunnel to the outside, niches and natural stone shelves had been filled with small items such as blankets, flasks, and in one instance, a book. A basket of considerable size stood against a wall next to his clothing, his weapons and belt in a neat pile atop the garments. There was a depression in the sand next to him.
Lerina returned, a soothing, nude presence.
“Have you stayed with me the entire time?” he asked.
“I had to. It seems that some barbarian murdered people in Eruth, and my uncle forbade me to leave the house. I had to slip out in the night, and had I returned, I would have been closely watched. I managed to bring enough supplies for the time being."
“Your pardon. I've made trouble for you."
“It's nothing. Drink some water,” she said, and handed him a flask.
He sipped. Some of his dizziness went away.
Lerina pointed to the wound on his side. “I almost gave up on you. But once the infection was defeated, you began healing so quickly I could see the changes over the course of hours."
He sensed the unspoken query. Poor Obo. The old man was probably half-dead. He was a greater mage than the king suspected.
“Come on,” she said. “If you can walk, it's time to give you a bath. You stink."
Again he tried to rise but barely sat up. Lerina had to wrestle him to his feet. Securing herself under his uninjured shoulder, she walked him toward the cave mouth. The sand floor gave way to water-sculpted, convoluted folds of rock. Keron navigated the irregular surface cautiously, his feet relearning their function. Although Lerina grunted under the burden of his weight, Keron thought he would float away. The fever had purged him of all tension. He had never felt so insubstantial.
Under the blinding light of day, they labored to a tidepool. Clouds splattered the sky, decorations without promise of rain. They couldn't see the mainland from their location, but could feel its bulk. Keron stopped, calf-deep in the ocean, and stared to the south. He remained there for some time.
“What is it?” Lerina asked eventually. He had forgotten she was there.
“The sea."
Perhaps she understood. In any case, she asked nothing more until he returned to the here and now.
She had to help him to squat. He bellowed as the salt water struck his thigh, but she shoved him down and proceeded to wet and scrub vigorously at his undamaged areas. The stinging gave way to the luxury of being cleaned. His thick scabs softened and tugged less vindictively.
He lived.
He knew Obo was only part of the reason. He let Lerina work for a few moments, gathering his thoughts.
“I owe you my life."
The cake of soap was a coarse concoction common to the region, and she handled it enthusiastically. She paused only a moment. “That's not true,” she said.
“I'm serious. The spell could only..."
“I know what I did. But it wasn't a job, so you don't owe me anything."
She lifted one of his legs as he balanced on a submerged rock, and began meticulously washing his toes. “As a matter of fact, I would have been less likely to help you if I'd felt I had to. I don't like having to do what people tell me to."
Keron had to smile. “Still, if you hadn't helped me, I would have ended up like my companions in Eruth. I won't forget."
The memory troubled him, but she didn't allow him to dwell on it. Her hands worked with the skill of a masseuse, seducing his body to relax. It hardly startled him when she became intimate with the soap, or that she did it with the platonic disregard of a nurse.
“I take it that your sympathies lie with the royalists,” he added, “or I'd be in a cell manacled to my sickbed, if not dead."
“My sympathies are with Cilendrodel. I don't care to be on either side of your war."
He coughed up a small amount of phlegm. “Still, if it becomes known that you aided me, that will serve as a declaration in itself."
&nbs
p; “Then best it not become known,” she said demurely.
She gingerly rubbed at the edges of the stitches on his thigh, more of an examination than a cleansing. “It's amazing. This was obviously infected yesterday.” As she rinsed the soap off his waist, she added, “Do you always wear a belt under your pants?"
He clutched his hips suddenly, then reddened as he recalled seeing the belt in the cave. “I'm sorry. It feels odd to be without it."
“It seemed valuable."
“It is. A family heirloom. I try to keep it out of common sight. When did you take it off?"
“Yesterday. It seemed so cold, and you were shivering."
“Thank you."
She hurried through the rest of the cleaning, and helped him back to the beach. Then she soaped herself down in the shallows and waded out to dunk. She vanished, leaving swirls of foam, which she obliterated as she burst back up through them, spouting like a dolphin. She joined a swell as it gathered and died against the beach and walked the last short distance to him with rivulets dripping from her breasts, chin, elbows, and fingers.
It made him hungry to watch her.
“Let's eat,” she said, as if reading his mind, and headed for the cave. She brought out the entire food basket.
Food, Keron thought. Yes, he remembered what that was.
She cut up a mosh, a staple of the Cilendri forest. Full of fluid and soft enough to chew with gums alone, it struck Keron's strained system lightly, a satisfactory choice for the transition between water and solid food. Lerina sliced each piece only the width of her small finger, almost so thin that the flesh folded over itself, and fed them to him one by one. It took a considerable amount of time to consume the single fruit.
“Enjoy it. It's the last of the fresh stuff,” she warned.
“Am I complaining?” He smiled.
Twice she left her finger near his lips even after he had taken the slices.
Cold porridge followed the mosh, which they ate silently, enjoying the sun. As it grew warmer, they moved into the cave again, Keron preferring to crawl on his own power for the exercise. Walking made his head resent being up so high.
The cave still smelled of human perspiration, tempered by salt drafts. He noted bits of mica in the walls. Though humble, it seemed to him more secure than any number of luxurious accommodations in which he had found himself.
“Rest,” Lerina commanded as he refused to lay back on his blanket.
“I have rested,” he said. But to humor her, he put his head down and closed his eyes.
* * * *
A moment later, he opened them, and felt the fog-breath of late afternoon.
He heard soft snores beside him. Lerina was curled in a little-girl bundle, oblivious to the world.
“My company's that boring, eh?” he murmured. She didn't respond.
Before long, he noticed his belt just beyond the end of their feet. He dragged himself stiffly in its direction, took it, and caressed it in his grip. It was an impressive piece—a strap of dragon hide embroidered in gold, the symbol of a dragon in flight set in rubies on the buckle. It still showed no wear, though he had worn it for years now, to say nothing of the others who must have owned it.
Without attempting to rouse Lerina, he crawled toward the opening, clutching the belt. In places, he could almost walk, bracing against a cave wall with his free hand to compensate for his thigh. The act provided a small bit of self-sufficiency he needed at that moment.
The sea rumbled a few steps away, beckoning, but he deliberately ignored it. Finally, he secured the belt around his waist.
The power came on him like fire, a fierce jolt unlike the sensation he had always known. He sweat and shook as if his fever had returned. But the strength was there. He stood up straight, the wound in his thigh only a nagging itch. He took a few firm steps, stooped, and tore a section of stone from the outcropping at his feet. He threw it as forcefully as he could, watching it arc and land at sea many hundred yards away, so distant the splash was hidden in the swells.
Satisfied, he removed the belt. The moment the buckle parted, Keron fell onto his good knee—the other leg had given way. It took him several moments to control the shuddering of his muscles and the agitated state of his lungs.
So she'd saved his life again. Ah, what a fool he was. Of course Obo wouldn't have been able to work his spell when the talisman sapped the energy for its own use. Keron stuck the belt between his teeth and crawled, somewhat meekly, back toward his sickbed.
He replaced the belt and began to climb onto the blanket, only then noticing the marks in the sand in front of the spot where Lerina liked to sit. Curious, he leaned over and was able, after some guessing, to see that she had sketched the figure of a sleeping man with her finger.
He spent some time just looking at his small, naked, slightly overwhelming nurse. His thoughts tried to wander leagues away, but they kept coming back to the present moment, location, and companion.
What did destiny have in mind for him now?
* * *
X
“FOLLOW ME,” LONAL SAID.
The sun was kind, though it was midafternoon. The twins did as they were told, abandoning the erection of their tent. Around them, the tribe prepared to settle in for a day or more. Good forage had been found.
The war-leader followed the track of the sheep out of the camp, occasionally glancing ahead where the preemptive whistles of the shepherds originated, as the latter endeavored to keep their animals orderly. Soon Lonal diverged, leading them into open desert, which in this region abounded in short shrubs and cacti, crisscrossed by snake tracks or the spoor of small mammals. When they approached a stand of spiny plants that stood like trees, columns often as high as a man, he stopped and faced them.
“I trust you are both feeling miserable?"
Alemar and Elenya looked worse than they had when they had first arrived. Crimson webs filled the whites of their eyes, dark lines beneath, and their hair was matted and disarrayed. Elenya had to endure the sting of her sunburn, as well as the exhaustion of her battle with the wights. She now wore her full complement of clothing. They had not been permitted to rest all day, as the tribe had been setting out as they returned that morning. Lonal was only a little better off.
“You don't like life among the T'lil?” the war-leader asked.
“Would you?” Elenya replied coldly. “In my position?"
“It is not often that God sees fit to change someone's gender,” he answered. “But if I guess correctly, you would not have been happy in our land as a woman. The solution of the ken saved us both."
“Thanks."
“But the solution is only a first step. The tribe can't continue to coddle the two of you."
“Why bother?” Elenya asked, and threw up her arms. “Why not let us go our way?"
“I have my responsibilities,” Lonal said firmly. “In this instance, I must act to protect the holy relic, to which you will go should I set you free, and there is the matter of Am and Roel's family. Do not forget the duties you have assumed. For the moment, they give you your only worth among the T'lil."
“I am honored,” Elenya said sarcastically.
“It is time you realized the seriousness of your position. You, Yetem, have mocked the lessons our Ah-no-ken have tried to teach you."
“Oh, really?"
He gestured at the landscape. "Ho koso quell ka kem?"
She pursed her lips. Lonal sighed. “Well? What's the answer?"
She didn't speak.
“Tebec?” Lonal asked. “Can you answer the question?"
Alemar glanced at his sister. Abruptly, irritably, he said, "Quell ka rhyme koso."
“Your brother at least learns out of politeness. Yes. This is flat country. Not a difficult question, Yetem. But no—we're barbarians, and our tongue is beneath you. I see it in your upturned nose."
She pointed her face toward one of the mesas in the west. “Will I lose my soul if I don't learn to speak God's language?"
“Perhaps. You will certainly lose your life. It is not normally my duty, but I'm going to give you three lessons before we walk back to the camp. For your sake, pay attention.” He stepped over to the stand of cacti and drew his dagger, with which he tapped the thick mesh of bristles covering the closest specimen.
“This is the boro. It is very common to this region. Its name means succor."
The boro in front of Lonal stood as high as his waist. The war-leader plunged the dagger into the crown and efficiently carved out a circular piece. Using the blade as a skewer, he lifted the section out, exposing a rind similar to the melons of the twins’ homeland, but much thicker. Alemar and Elenya peered in. The core of the plant was filled with liquid.
Lonal produced a stiff, hollow reed from his scabbard, inserted it into the boro, and sucked. Swallowing, he handed the reed to Elenya. She and Alemar each sipped some of the juice.
“It's very good,” Alemar said.
“Given the choice between water and boro-ra, I would drink boro-ra," Lonal said. “But one must not abuse God's small charities.” He pointed to the wound he had created. “This plant is endangered.” He replaced the plug in the exact position it had formerly occupied.
“The boro's skin is virtually impregnable to its native enemies. But once breached, parasites may attack it, or the sun evaporate its cache, and kill it from dehydration. This individual, hopefully, will seal its damage and survive."
He then removed a small cloth pouch from the goatskin satchel he carried and poured the chalkish meal it contained in a continuous circle around the base of the boro. “This meal poisons picteor beetles, the worst parasite."
He cinched the drawstrings of the sack. “This is the first lesson, which you have perhaps guessed already: Water is never to be taken for granted. Learn its sources, and do all within your power to see that they are preserved against future need."