A blade no longer turned her to a statue of ice. She had beaten a sword with the falcon dagger. Father would want to see the Damascus steel that had beaten a sword. She laughed softly, and found tears on her cheeks.
She slid the pin back in her hair. She did not want to see the round city, she was content with Shema and Jachin. She knew their faces, and someone needed to keep a finger on the news here, for nothing must be missed. Jachin had hinted that Ali meant him to teach her a little of the sword while Tae and Alaina were gone.
Frogs and insects sang louder as the kitchen quieted. Merriment from the house came faint. She lay back, holding her breath while the water lapped to her nose, and stretched every finger and toe as far as she could. The last knot and the fever-pitch of the day slid from her muscles. Alaina was not to marry Seliam, and Tae remained their protector.
She had faced the Arab and vengeance. When the ice gripped she could assess the hand and the mind behind her attacker’s weapon. She could act when she feared.
Heaving herself up onto the flat pool edge, Kyrin felt one with the warm night. Her body was whole, her ankle but a scratch. Her creator had been merciful. She gazed at his sky, spangled with the brightest, best jewels, and the kindness of his night seeped in. Thank you.
A mischievous wind wafted her wet shoulders, and the scent of pool-watered earth and the vine’s sweet white blooms hung thick. Kyrin got to her feet.
She had best sleep. Nara would cuff the back of her head in the morning if she burned the rice she had promised to show Nimah how to cook. Again. Even if she did beat Seliam, sunrise was another day. Water dripped from her and tinkled into the pool.
Thoughtfully she wrung water from her black thawb. She would hang it in the window where it would dry by morning, and Alaina would mend the tear in the sleeve. Tonight she would sleep in her blue thawb.
Kyrin walked toward the gate, humming. The day had been long, with a good end. No one died.
A shadow detached from the black outline of the gate and struck her a glancing blow. Nimah—no, not her. Kyrin sprang away, spinning—too late.
She was borne to the ground with a “whoof!” the air dashed from her lungs. Without breath to scream she thrashed and twisted and hit. Many hands forced her onto her back. Someone held her head, digging steel fingers around her ears, under her jaw. She bit and bucked, straining against their weight holding her arms and legs. Dirt was thrust into her mouth. Kyrin heaved against the ground, spitting, struggling to breathe.
One of her legs slid free. She heard a grunt when she lashed out. Then her arm was loose. She clawed at the person clamping her head and snagged an ear, dug her fingers in and jerked, trying to pull him over, into the way of the rest. She was working free.
A foot stamped in her stomach. Kyrin curled around the pain, her arms around her head. Blows ripped into her sides. White sparks circled her.
Pain, pain, then foggy awareness. Several people close by panted. A savage voice said, “I will teach you the mark of mercy!”
Kyrin barely tightened her belly before another stamp almost dropped her into the darkness creeping up around her. A hand clawed at her neck and tore the pearls off over her head. She couldn’t move. A tentative voice asked, “Is she . . .?”
A blow sank into her side and drove air from her mouth in a sobbing “hunnh.”
“No,” the voice growled. “She will not feed my seasons of work to the wind.” He hawked and spat. Warm and sticky, it dribbled across Kyrin’s neck. Somehow it was the worst.
There was a shout from the dark at the gate. “You! What errand do you have here?”
Kyrin struggled to open her eyes. It was not so dark as it had seemed. A figure beside her sprang up, and starlight caught a tall shape and pale hair. Seliam.
He cried low, “The vines!” As he leaped over her, he looked down, and cursed.
Kyrin blinked. She listened to his feet pound thrice, then turn into climbing rustles. Quick, light steps drew closer. The vines quivered and Kyrin sank into half dream and the sound of wings.
Had the queenly falcon been freed? No, it was Truthseeker who flew toward her, wings beating at the night—or was it the tiger’s captive? Kyrin could not see if it was the youngling with the wispy feathers or the chained queen. Torchlight slid over her, and she closed her eyes against the stabbing glare. The falcon was gone.
There was a surprised intake of breath, then Jachin bellowed, “Get Tae! Run!” Someone near the gate pattered away, and painless silence closed around Kyrin.
Voices and movement and lights woke her. She tried to squeeze her eyes shut against the yellow confusion.
Tae called her. “Kyrin! Do you hear?” His voice echoed through her head. Gentle fingers touched her throat. They felt rough.
Alaina’s voice shivered near. “Kyrin! Oh . . . Kyrin.”
Someone squeezed her hands and tapped her feet. For some reason she could not answer. They lifted her and she passed through the gate. She caught snatches of cavernous faces swimming in lamplight and the stones in the passage ceiling. And she went back to the warm, painless darkness.
§
Old Qadira peered in the room then her inquisitive face disappeared, and Alaina heard her whispering with the other women outside, their voices the rustling of uneasy mice. Alaina turned to Kyrin. Her sister needed more than their words or embroidery needles or quill pens.
The left side of her face was a swelling purple bruise from temple to chin. Alaina held Kyrin’s wrist in her hand and counted, measuring the life-beats as Tae had instructed. She touched Kyrin’s hair and adjusted the wet cloth on her blood and dirt-masked forehead.
Tae swung through the door and hurried to her side, crackling herbs, small clay bottles, and clean bandages in his arms. “Nimah, bring the hot water. Nara, open the myrrh bottle and the powder.”
Nara, frowning with concentration, had Tae’s myrrh and tincture ready almost before he asked. Jachin watched from beside the door after delivering a brazier full of coals. He had insisted on carrying Kyrin into the house. Alaina gave him a small smile. He nodded, sober. His eyes moved from Tae to Kyrin, his shaved head bent, beaded with sweat.
32
Wounded
I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him. ~2 Timothy 1:12
In moments, Tae had the herbs inside a pot over the brazier. He poured in boiling water. Gouts of steam rose, laden with the aromatic scent of yarrow, feverfew, mint, and myrrh.
Kyrin whimpered when Tae touched her face, and tried to push him away. Alaina held her sister’s hands, kneeling beside her, aching with tears. The blows she’s taken.
Kyrin jerked.
“Alaina! Keep her still!” Tae said sharply. He paused in his careful search of her skull.
Alaina bit her lip. “Why did they do it?” she gasped. “Oh, Kyrin!”
Nara laid her hand on Alaina’s shoulder, and it was too much. Alaina sobbed. Ali had broken his word of freedom to them, dangerous though it would have been. What had that done to Kyrin? And now she was hurt. What if she never opened her eyes again?
Nara hugged Alaina and guided her aside to her rug then knelt in her place. Alaina wound her blanket around her and watched, wiping her face.
Tae busied himself over the brazier and said a quiet word to Nimah’s mother. She stripped Kyrin gently, quickly, and laid a thin rug over her, leaving her feet and shoulders bare. Then Nara helped Tae examine her more closely, moving her legs and arms, while he felt along her joints and bones. He laid her leg down. Sweat dripped from his face and he rubbed it away.
With boiled shears he shaved Kyrin’s hair on the left side of her head, removing a patch from around a long cut. Nara argued with him, her voice low. “Licorice is the queen of herbs for wounds in my land.”
“I know myrrh. Using a new herb—”
“I know how to make the right
dose in a poultice. It is harmless.” She glared at him. “Leave it out of the tea if you wish.”
Alaina swallowed her tears. “Why not use the licorice and the myrrh?”
A smile flitted across Tae’s face. “Will licorice lend itself to another herb?”
Nara nodded and smiled.
They applied the poultice to Kyrin’s bruised face, her head, her stomach, and other cuts. After they laid the second moist, hot pack over her stomach they sat back with a sigh and looked at each other, long and wordless.
“She is going to be in pain.” Tae dug into his bag of herbs. “She was kicked many times, and stamped on here, by the marks.” He indicated an area from Kyrin’s stomach to her ribs, hip to hip. “I pray nothing is hurt inside. At sunrise we will know more. There will be punishment for this.” Weary creases about his eyes and jaw thinned his face.
“Yes.” Jachin’s terse rumble of agreement from the door made the hair rise on Alaina’s arms.
Kneeling over his bag, Tae turned his head. “There is something I would know, Jachin. Did you draw your sword over her at our master’s word?”
“No.” Jachin clenched and unclenched his hands, hands that could break a saluki’s neck mid-leap. A shudder shook him, but he held Tae’s eyes. “She walks—in kindness. My blade was for Umar, and then—” He slid his hand across his own throat. His lips twitched up on one side. “You sat by Mistress Shema, Hakeem, behind our master. You came from the kitchen.”
Alaina eyed Jachin. His mind was sharp. Tae had had his bag in his hand, and he had gone to Shema. Was he there at her word, for her faintness, or to bind Kyrin or Seliam’s wounds, or . . . ? Behind Shema’s chair, Tae was two lengths from Ali’s back.
Jachin said, “The caliph’s guardsman says you are—controlled. He sees.”
“Yes. Two of his men stayed close. I was glad not to test them.”
Jachin nodded. “Death to touch our master. Life is better.”
Alaina held her breath. His words held more than one meaning.
Tae’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know of death touches?”
“Your gift.” Jachin was impassive granite again.
Alaina shivered. When Sirius named Seliam worm and commanded him to fight, his men had been ready.
Tae had known. Hah, restrained. Burn Sirius! She snorted. Tae was the wisest man she had ever known. When I am weak then am I strong.
Tae looked at her. When she blushed a twinkle came into his eyes, as if he knew her thought.
Nara and Nimah’s mother wound a cream-colored cloth about Kyrin’s face and head and slipped her into her faded, worn thawb from the desert. It billowed about her, flooding over her rug.
She lay in it small and pale, a bandage hiding half her purple face. But for the belled cap, she was a lord’s fool. Alaina imagined Kyrin’s scornful lift of her head at such a thought and giggled. Tae turned to see what she laughed at, and his mouth twitched. Kyrin’s eyelids fluttered, her breathing picked up and deepened. Tae smiled then he laughed, deep and long. Nara’s comfortable chuckle and Jachin’s throaty joy twined around them.
§
Kyrin opened eyes as heavy as lead. Nara, Tae, and Alaina stood around her, laughing, their eyes bright. Somehow she was on the floor on her rug, looking up at them. The Nubian grinned in the doorway. No, Jachin, his name was Jachin. How had she forgotten? She frowned. Outside, Nimah and the women giggled.
“What’s so funny?” Pain stabbed her head, and her mouth was stiff. Qadira’s cackle hurt her ears. Her throat was sore. “Go . . . away,” she said thickly.
“Oh, no,” gasped Tae. “You ought to see yourself. Your face, in that white sea! It is . . . beyond words!”
Kyrin raised her hand to her aching face and jerked her fingers away. Stiffening against that pain brought more. She gasped.
Tae leaned over her. “Lie still, lie still. It will pass.”
She eyed her muddy fingers. “What happened?”
“Someone beat you. Do you remember?”
“No.”
“We found you a little way from the pool. Jachin heard something, and he found you.”
The pool. The gate, the blows, the running shapes flooded back. Ali would kill Seliam and the others. And she did not know who they were. Kyrin closed her eyes, frowning in pain within and without.
Tae said, “We will not speak of it now. Are you dizzy or sick? What pains you most? You took hard blows.”
“I hurt here.” She slid her arm across her middle.
“You will hurt there a while. Open your eyes.” Tae held a lamp close, peered in them and grunted. “Good. Tell me if you get sick or if your sight goes round. Can you see this?” He lifted a cup from beside her. She nodded the smallest bit. “Poppy and myrrh will take your pain. Do not be anxious, we will find those who did this.”
§
Alaina stood, awkward. She had one easy guess. Tae laid another blanket over Kyrin, and Alaina touched her foot. “They will not touch you again.”
Kyrin reached out, and Alaina grasped her hand, gulping tears.
“Alaina, be easy.” Kyrin grinned, one side of her mouth curving. “I am not killed.”
“I . . . I thought—they did.” She choked.
“Alaina! I am all right. Ow.” Kyrin sank back.
Alaina thought of Tae’s sword against the wall. Her sister’s arms trembled with pain. She defied their master, risking all to let Seliam live—and they beat her. “Jachin, Tae, and I—they will not escape, Kyrin.”
“No, no! He is a jackal,” Kyrin babbled, “I know that—” She grabbed at Tae’s sleeve. Alaina stared at her. “But Umar will get the dogs—his Hand—no one should fall to them.” She turned in appeal to Jachin. “Not the pack. Ali does not have to know.”
“We will learn who, and what, when the sun rises.” Jachin’s rumble ceased. Tae stared at him. Jachin smiled broadly and ducked out.
Kyrin sighed, and Nara echoed her, and patted her shoulder. Outside, Nimah answered a question of Jachin’s, her voice high and eager. The news gathering began this hour. Alaina did not attempt to soften her smile that held something of Cicero’s hunting feel.
“I love you,” Kyrin said on a breath. She rolled a little on her side, her lashes fluttering down.
Alaina blinked. Her eyes felt dry and hot. She would take Tae’s sword to the pool. Snatching her pillow, she wedged it behind Kyrin’s back.
Nara set the cup in Kyrin’s hand. “Drink.”
Alaina watched her swallow. Red finger marks laced her throat. Tae wrung out a cold wet cloth, and Alaina held it to Kyrin’s head gently. Presently she would go. Woe betide the one she caught.
33
Flight
For with Thee is the fountain of life. ~Psalm 36:9
Kyrin floated away from stabs of pain. She would not mind if Alaina found Seliam.
Wings beat, and beat. The falcon was loose in the night. She wanted to fly after her, but she had forgotten to ask.
Kyrin tipped her head back. The black expanse pricked with stars blazing to life. Then she was tumbling, her arms helplessly flapping, down through darkness toward moonlit desert.
Wind rushed around her, tingling and cool. She lifted her wings—and left the fire in her stomach behind. She rose toward the moon, her muscles strong, reveling in the dry night air seeking through her feathers. The high barks of salukis came to her.
Below, a silver shape ran over the sand before the dogs. She folded her wings and dived. Wind tugged at her, but her speed did not cloud her eyes.
The hairs on the tiger’s swiveling ears and every mark on his flowing body shone in the moonlight. A drop of mud marred one outstretched paw. She landed with a thump between his ears. He squalled.
His fur gave her good grip against his violent swerve, and his head drove toward the sand. They struck hard—and fe
ll in a dizzying whirl of sand which became damp earth.
Kyrin was on her feet a little distance from the pool. The tiger shook himself beside it. The night was silent. The falcon sat proud on the tiger’s head, her broken chain dangling around one of his ears. She turned to preen her feathers. The torque clasped the tiger’s neck, amber jewels deep, watchful as falcon’s eyes.
Ten lengths from Kyrin a sword stuck upright in the ground before the gate. It looked like her father’s.
The earth chilled her feet. A vine tendril tickled her arm with lacy blossoms. She walked to the sword. And gripped it.
It slid free. And pain tore at her throat and middle as if all her wounds opened again. She doubled over. Blood trickled down her arm, onto the pale blade. Her necklace snapped and slipped from her quick snatch.
The fish tinked against the sword, and slid along the edge. It dropped to the ground, a huddle of dark and white. The blood on the sword blackened, caked, and fell, leaving the steel clean. On the ground among beads of oak the fish faced the moon, a pearly nimbus of joy. Kyrin stooped and picked the handful up.
She woke with the fish necklace clenched in her hand. The walls were bright with morning. A shaft of sun fell across the room and her rug. She rubbed the fish with her thumb.
Rainbow tints rippled across it. Alaina must have it. Kyrin lifted the oaken beads in her hands. A rain of dark red flakes drifted into the sunlight—flashed like silvery sparks—and were gone as if they had never been. Kyrin stared.
She lifted her hand. Her scar at her throat did not feel bare. Never again would her heart break under the cry, “Coward.”
Tears pricked her eyes. Mother, it happens so fast in a fight. The step that saves, the move that fells. I wish I could have saved you, but the Master of the stars took you. I miss you. I want to find Father. I need him, and—I hope he needs me.
The sun warmed her arms, and she sighed. The Master of all was here. It was enough. She bowed her head, and her hurts caught at her breath—but the falcon was free.
Seliam. Where was he? What would happen now? And Ali’s pearls were lost. She rolled over, and stilled. Alaina slept below, and she did not want to wake her.
Falcon Heart: Chronicle I an epic young adult fantasy series set in medieval times Page 35