Then the rain stopped its attempts to flood the marshlands. The stink left the air, blown away by a stiff wind that rippled the surface of the water surrounding them. In the clear days that followed, they gradually passed out of the swamp and into a meandering meadow landscape, covered in part by long miles of clear, sweet water, sometimes reaching as high as Nora’s knee, and sometimes no deeper than a puddle. Silver fish darted away from her wild splashing. Some they caught and ate, grilled over open flames. Low islands grew like burial mounds just over the water line, sporting thin, wind-formed trees. On one of the islands that offered sufficient room for the six of them to curl up, Nora woke one morning to see Diaz taking off his boots and rolling his trousers up above his knees. It was early dawn, and mist hung over the glassy water around them, muffling the snores of the other men.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, her breath forming its own mist before her face. Frost clung to the fur where her mouth had been.
He started to clean his boots of the worst of the mud with a bristle brush.
“The water is warm,” he said after shortly glancing over at her. “Warmer than the air. Better to walk barefooted than to further ruin perfectly good boots.”
She frowned and stretched out a hand, taking off her mittens to touch the surface of the water. One sleepy roll and she would have woken wet. It was warm. Hand warm, like a bath. Her fingers felt far warmer than they had in the mitten under the fur. Diaz noticed her surprise, then concentrated on scrubbing the tips of his boots.
“Is there really a fire under the ground?” She sat up stiffly and took off her own boots, fumbling with the laces of her leather pants to roll them up.
“That’s what the wights say. Only the gods know.”
She shivered, a moan escaping her lips as she gently lowered her feet into the heated water.
“Good?” Diaz stopped scraping his brush over the heels of his boots for a moment.
Ever since Shinar, Nora’s sense for temperature had been slightly offbeat. She didn’t feel the cold as much, true, but she also didn’t feel the heat as much as she should. It was as if through the burning kiss of the god of fire in that cistern something had broken. In the swamp though, in the constant damp and cold and wet, she had felt more than miserable. Nearly chilled to the bone. Her toes tingled with warmth.
“Unh, I want to strip and bathe in it.”
What the hell, mouth? She’d only been up for five minutes…
He grunted and got back to work. Then he stopped and looked over his shoulder to the men sleeping behind them.
“You could—” He reconsidered finishing whatever he was about to suggest, shaking his head. Nora waited, but Diaz only scrubbed his boots harder.
A fish swam close, but even a languid movement of her foot scared it off. She sat on the edge of the island, staring out at the silver horizon, ignoring her rumbling stomach. She couldn’t feel the scorch of fury rising at the back of her throat, strangling anything she might say to him other than a helpless scream of why? When she reached within, it was still there, sharp and painful as ever, coiled and ready to spring should she need it. Only fury’s edge seemed blunted. Maybe caked in all that mud. Maybe because, curled into her furs, she nearly felt like it could be only the two of them, back on the Plains. She chewed the inside of her cheek. Owen had said she needed to talk to Diaz. He had made her promise to do it. And sitting on that mound, her feet dangling in the warm water, she felt like maybe…maybe she could.
* * *
The water became shallow, only ankle deep at the most. Large stretches of the water-sculpted sand beneath Nora’s bare feet were packed solid, as though frozen. The ripples jarred her heels as much as stone would. No give. Then without any sign of change, she would walk into a soft spot and sink into the warm, black mud until it almost reached her knee. Going was easier if she managed to tread in the deep squelching tracks of those in the lead. If. However, it seemed everyone had longer legs than she did. On the western horizon, she saw a constant line of greenish brown. Solid ground, there.
When the wind lifted the mist that hung over the tepid waters, Diaz scanned the shore repeatedly. On the third day since the landmass appeared, he stopped in his tracks and turned to Bashan.
“We have contact.”
He nodded to the west.
On the distant coastline, Nora could make out four tall figures silhouetted against the setting sun.
Bashan swore.
“It seems we have now come close enough that they want to let us know that they know we’re here.” Diaz explained.
“Will they attack?” Bashan wanted to know. “Or have they spared us because of you?”
Diaz shrugged. “When I left the territories fifty years ago, the patrols were under orders to shoot a warning arrow if any human intruders appeared.”
“There’s been no arrow,” Garreth growled, shifting the weight of his shield over his shoulders.
“Into at least one of the intruders’ heads,” Diaz finished his thought.
“Ah, well.” Bashan rubbed his hands together for warmth. “Seeing as we’re all still alive, they must have different orders now.”
“So it would seem.”
“We’ll take it as a good sign,” Bashan decided.
They continued on in wary silence until evening.
When dusk fell, Diaz and Bashan marched off to talk on the edge of the small island. Garreth took that as sign to set up camp where they were. He slapped Shade’s shoulder.
“You,” he said, “get to clean and cook these beauties I caught yesterday.” He handed over four large carp-like fishes, and Shade took them without a sigh. The evening routine wrapped them in home-like comfort. “Owen, get the wood. Nora?”
“Dig the firepit,” she said, mimicking the gruffness of his voice.
“Exactly so.” He didn’t even twitch with the corner of his mouth. She’d have to work harder on her imitation. “Step to.”
The old warrior turned away to fix the tent poles.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Shade asked later. Fish scales glittered on the back of his hands. One clung to his cheek where he had scratched under his eye.
Nora and Owen shared a look. Or rather Nora tried to convey by means of a look that maybe this was the perfect time to enlighten Shade about his intended role at the end of this journey. For the briefest of moments she wished for Calla’s gift of conveying a message without words, because Owen pretended he was oblivious.
“Strategy, perhaps?” Owen offered. “How to go on from here?”
Nora reached over and picked the fish scale from Shade’s cheek. He flinched at first but then let her. She showed him her gleaning and then flicked the scale into the smoking fire.
“Has Bashan said anything to you in this regard?” Owen asked Shade.
It sounded innocent enough, but still Nora held her breath.
Shade ran his forearm over the ridge of his nose, keeping his fingers away from his face.
“We’re not exactly what you would call close,” he said, casting a glance over to where Bashan spoke with pointed gestures while Diaz listened, stone-faced. “We don’t keep counsel together.”
“But you know why we’re here?” Nora asked.
Owen elbowed her in the ribs before she could say more. Shade regarded her with a withering look over the gutted fish.
“I’m not stupid, you know? I figured that much out before we even left Shinar. I told you so already.”
“But you know that even should we find the Blade, we will leave with one person less.” Nora plodded on regardless of well-placed elbows.
She heard Owen suck in air beside her, but her eyes never wavered from Shade’s face.
“The sacrifice. Aye. That much Bashan has told me.”
“And?” Nora demanded.
“Um…Nora, we mustn’t assume Bashan has told Shade who the sacrifice will be,” Owen injected before Shade could answer.
“He hasn’t.”
Shade nodded. “Not yet. He said we’d talk about it when we’re in the wight territories.”
“We are in the wight territories,” Nora pointed out.
“And he isn’t talking with me, as you can see.” Shade cleaned the fish, dropping the entrails into the fire where they hissed. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t really want to know. It’s not that becoming the Blade, reforging it through your sacrifice, isn’t a worthy cause. I mean, becoming the means by which the world can heal itself? Becoming famous? Generations of men to come knowing your name? It’s quite a grand thing, I guess. But if it means losing one of my friends…well, I just don’t want to know.”
Owen’s hand shot forward, pinching just above Nora’s knee with his thumb and middle finger, threatening to tickle her if she said one more word. As though they were kids. Her hand slapped over his wrist, trying to pull him away, but he gripped firm like iron and they grappled with each other.
“Stop it!”
“No, you stop it!”
Shade rose, brushing most of the fish scales still stuck to him off into the fire.
“I’ll go wash,” he said, smiling lopsidedly. “You two have fun.”
“Shade! Shade, wait.” Nora squirmed under her brother’s pincers. The last time he’d done that was when they were ten, and he knew she hated it. “Owen, what the—”
“He doesn’t know,” Owen hissed. “You want to tell him now?”
“Godsdammit, someone should. He has the right to know.”
A shadow fell over the fire, and they both looked up.
“Something amiss?” Diaz loomed over them, hands folded neatly against his back.
“No, we’re all fine here,” Owen said, smiling, finally letting Nora’s leg go. “Got the fire going and everything. Dinner’ll be ready soon.”
“Good.” Diaz lingered. “May I have a word?”
“Yes,” Owen answered.
“With Noraya.”
“Ah,” Owen said.
“Alone.”
“What for?” Nora asked. But Owen was already pushing himself up to accommodate Diaz. She tugged at his sleeve. “Where are you going? Stay here. Owen!”
Owen spread his arms, and when Diaz turned back to her, her brother pointed at the half-wight behind his back, nodding vigorously and making talking signs.
“A word in private?” Diaz said.
Nora dusted off her trousers as she reluctantly rose.
“One word? Sure it won’t be more?”
“Would you walk with me?” He motioned toward the other side of their short island.
“Why? It’s warm here. And light.” A small copse of trees surrounded their camp, protecting them against the wind. Beyond their dark trunks, with the sun set and the moon not yet out, only starlight shone weakly onto the water’s surface around them. In the northern winter, the nights were much longer, and the farther northward they trekked, the darker the days grew.
“Humor me. I think better when I move. So do you,” he said.
“Fine.”
They walked a few paces between the trees, away from the firelight. Nora wondered whether Diaz was offering to stand guard while she bathed.
“We’ll set watch on the perimeter tonight. Two people for three hours,” Diaz said, matching her pace. “Garreth and Shade will go first.”
“Uh-huh. When’s my turn?”
“Owen and you will take the middle watch.”
“All right.”
They walked on to a small space between the trees, close to the edge of the island already. Nora heard the water lapping hungrily against the land. Diaz looked back to where the campfire was clearly visible between the trees. Was he checking whether they were far enough away from the others? It didn’t matter, Nora thought, as there was no place farther they could go if they wanted to remain on the island.
“You wanted to talk about watch shifts?” she said, positioning herself so that they stood opposite each other.
“No.” Diaz turned back to look at her, fixing her with those inky black eyes like windows to the night skies.
“I feel I owe you an apology,” he started slowly.
Nora scowled. Ah. It was this. Again.
“Look, Diaz. You don’t owe me anything,” she cut him off. “I owe you my life. Many times over. All right?”
He tilted his head as though contemplating her words.
“Still, I feel I’d like to apologize, or maybe explain—”
“I don’t want to hear your explanation.” She cut him off with a gesture, feeling the rage rising.
“I know. But I do. The words have been in my head for a long time. They need out. I have wronged you, Noraya. And I want you to know that I am deeply sorry.”
“Oh gods.” She ran her hands over her face.
“I never meant it to get…so far out of hand. I’ve…always felt a connection between us, a bond. And it is broken. Tomorrow we will march into wight territory, and I need to know that my failings won’t hinder you—”
“So you failed,” Nora snarled. “You failed, you failed, you failed, Diaz. So what? Everyone fails sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t interrupt her flow.
“And a bond? Seriously? That’s the word you’d use to describe us?”
“You would use a different word?”
“Hell yeah, I would. I offered myself to you, Diaz. You rejected me. And I saw what she looked like when she called you to her. I saw her change into me, wear my fucking face, scars and all, to entice you into her web.” Nora forced herself to speak in a lower voice and stop pacing. “So, no. It’s not something I’d describe as a mere bond.”
She took a deep breath and considered just walking back to the fire, walking out on this talk, on him. That would probably be safer. Pfft, safety.
“And are you feeling this need to apologize because you’re assuming I’m going to die tomorrow? Or the next day? Because that is really not very flattering, Master.”
“I have no worries about your fighting and surviving skills.” His voice was neutral, reasonable, and she hated him all the more for it. Here she was, dealing out blows, and no reaction whatsoever. “You are far more capable than any—”
“So it’s just about unburdening your conscience? Then go ahead. But don’t expect me to stand here listening to that drivel.”
She swept around to leave, but he caught her wrist. His mouth looked pinched at the corners. Pale.
“Control your anger and hear me out.”
Blood pounded in her ears. She ripped her hand away, both hands curled into fists.
“Go ahead. Talk to me of control, you fucking hypocrite.”
Blow impacted. She saw his mask fall for a moment as he grimaced. He looked at her, his face traced with pain.
“Why are you always so difficult? Why can’t you make this easy for once?”
She could have scratched her nails down the sides of her face at that. Better, his face. Instead, she put the heels of her hands to her temple, squeezing her eyes shut. But that was a mistake. She saw his face engraved on the back of her eyelids, not as he looked now, but as he looked then, in Suranna’s embrace. A red heat overcame her, parching her throat, making her dizzy. She opened her eyes again, but he was still there, still waiting for her answer as though she had one. She leaned against the trunk of a tree for support and closed her eyes again, needing to see that other face one more time. The afterimage imprinted on her mind. That unguarded, raw face.
“I saw you come, and it hurts, Diaz.” Her words. Whispered hoarsely. “It fucking hurts. And I can’t stop it hurting.”
Her breath came quickly, making the words come out in gasps, as though she had been running. She gulped air and held it, heart thundering. It beat like a drum, like a war drum, warning of the threat, the danger drawing ever closer. Here was the edge. And she was dangling over it, foothold crumbling. She dug her fingers under the bark, needing to feel him grab her, hold her tight the way he never wou
ld.
He narrowed his eyes and moved closer, his breath tickling across the sensitive side of her face. Close, but always distant. Burning, but never touching. Fury raised its ugly head, and she felt hot under the coolness of his breath, while her flesh shivered in goose bumps.
“But I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry for hurting you.” He spoke through clenched teeth. His knuckles were white.
“Make me feel it.” She closed her eyes, seeing his afterimage once more, repeating the words Suranna had whispered to him in the throne room after he had begged for the slagging queen’s release.
His breath out, as ragged as her own. She inhaled rosemary and musk.
“What did you just say?” His whisper as rugged as the bark.
His mouth so very close.
“Make me fee—”
She instinctively ducked as his fist hit the tree where her head had just been. Her eyes wide open now, as were his. A slither of wet heat ran through her, a flood deep within, making her insides churn. He raised his grazed, bleeding knuckles to his mouth, staining his lips with his blood. Her hand was faster than her thoughts, and it slapped him across the cheek so hard it tingled when the life in it returned. But he just stood there, face in profile, fist still half raised, like a statue, the red imprint of her hand blooming under his cinnamon skin.
“You—you said if I tried that again you’d break my arm.” She spoke the words between gasps. Wanting more. A reaction. A reason to fight him, touch him, be touched.
“I said that, yes.” He lowered his fist, flinging the blood drops from his fingers.
“Go on, then.”
“You know I won’t.”
She swallowed, angry, fierce, needing. “Gods, I wish it had been you. In the arena.”
“I would have killed you, Nora.”
“I know.” She was trembling. Her need intensified. “But then I would have joined those others living in your memory, and I could never be ignored.”
He moved over her, tall, heavy, his dark hair outlined against the starry heavens, the lines of his face contoured by darkness. His warmth radiated against hers, his breath mingling with hers in a mist before their opened mouths.
On the Wheel Page 11