Journey of Awakening

by Shawna Thomas

  Zeynel shook his head and glanced at Aisha, who had ducked back into the room.

  A shiver ran down Sara’s spine but she nodded to acknowledge his gesture and retrieved her pack. Crioch’s keeper. The red man. Here, why? The trader? Crioch’s keeper was a trader? What had she expected? A sage on a mountaintop somewhere? Had he come to hurt the boy or—and why? She felt like she’d just dived into waters that were much too deep. Questions she had no way to answer.

  Tyrol. Her hands shook. “Will he come back?”

  Zeynel shrugged. “I think his task here is done.”

  “But he will sense the stone and—Zeynel, all these people may die.”

  “This is not an unsuspecting ocean village. The Zorcani are well guarded and, thanks to us, on high alert. If the keeper attacks, they are prepared. Besides, you are not thinking clearly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He has already been welcome here. If he wanted to get to you, he would only need to return and claim you will betray the Zorcani.”

  “You’re not making me feel any better.”

  “I wasn’t trying to.”

  Sara stared down at the boy. Her first instinct was to run, but she couldn’t leave the boy. Not only were the Heleini counting on her, saving him could stop a war—and more than that, now that’s she’d seen him, she had to try.

  A shudder moved through her body. She refused to be paralyzed by fear. Sara selected several vials of herbs, poured a little of each into her palm and threw the mixture into the fire. The air bloomed with the smell of mint and rosemary followed by the distinct scent of sage. “That’s better.” She grabbed her pouch and turned her attention to the boy.

  Diya entered the room, her hands hugging a bunch of woven mats, and set to work laying them carefully on the bare floor. Shandor’s bed was set on a small platform about a hand’s span high and big enough for his bedding with room to walk on both sides. The women worked in silence, keeping the rushing well away from the fire pit.

  Sara began the slow process of dripping her sweetened and salted water into the young boys mouth. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Bredych stood in the shadows of the cave, his breath coming in rapid gasps as though fresh from battle. A smile turned his lips. I can taste you, your soft saltiness, your warm skin. He leaned back into the rock to feel sharp edges bite into his flesh, welcoming the pain.

  If he closed his eyes he could feel water sliding over his body, taste the spray, see light dancing on the waves, feel sandy grit on his skin. The water rushed forward to retreat again, sighing like a sleeper whose breath softly comes and goes. Then he saw her—pale, sleek, her body fighting against the ocean pull, scrambling for purchase on the pebbly beach. Ilydearta. His eyes flew open, but he could still feel its presence, like the afterglow of a candle after it’s snuffed out.

  “So you have come to me. Sooner than I expected.” This posed an interesting quandary. Why was she in the Zorcani mountains? Had he lingered even a few days, she’d have found him there. Did he go after the stone or finish his task? He closed his eyes and again tasted the winds of Teann. Yes, the keeper was almost a child. He ground his teeth. When he could no longer access her dreams, he’d thought she’d moved farther away from him. But she was so very near. How had she blocked him?

  After all this time, she’d again caught him unprepared, moving much more quickly than he could have imagined. He did look forward to meeting this keeper.

  “Ilydearta.” He rolled the word on his tongue, savoring the flavor. Unexpected but not necessarily unwelcome. But what is she doing here? Although the stones called to one another, he didn’t think that was why she’d come across the Faisach to these mountains. Perhaps she wasn’t as unschooled as he imagined. Could she be actively seeking him? He’d detected an interest, a desire for knowledge and power that, perhaps, the girl didn’t yet know she possessed. He could mold her, shape the way she thought... In time.

  He was growing weary of this little game but it wouldn’t take long to finish it. The Rabishi second son was born a failure, would die like one and no one would remember his name.

  If he tried, he could still feel life deserting the little Zorcani brat. And with that one death, he’d begun a series of events that would decimate the People and leave them ineffective and easily conquered for many lifetimes to come. The decimation of the People would also ensure the favor of a powerful southern family who still, generations later, chafed at the loss of their slaves. He smiled. Not a bad return, really.

  Before long, the Faisach would fill with blood and those seeking revenge for blood. Chaos. He only regretted he couldn’t watch the end of the game—but he no longer had patience for little men filled with their own importance. Fools. He would take the girl and leave. He turned his gaze downward, away from the mountain where flat gray clouds hung low over the tundra that stretched away in an endless blur.

  Heat grew in his breast. Crioch bit into the palm of his hand, spilling red light like a mist of blood. He continued to breathe deeply as a small breeze stirred fistfuls of dirt and loose snowflakes into brief trembling spirals. A different tendril caressed his consciousness. Shamyrddin-enki. His eyes flew open and the rocks lost their hardness. You are dead! He clenched his fists as rage severed the tenuous link. Was that who guided her steps? Did the Shamyrddin-enki think to challenge him?

  He leaned farther into the rock, ignoring the cruel tips burrowing into his flesh. His mind searched the past, back to a time when he didn’t travel the land in disguise, when news of his coming spread out before him in waves of fear and devotion, and for those who did not show him homage, he left behind a wake of grinding teeth and blood. His followers had been many and throughout all the lands; the man’s chest swelled with his breath. And so it will be again. Even now the seeds are planted, I only need to tend to the garden and get rid of a few weeds.

  His mind turned back the problem at hand. You swore he was dead, Rybeck, my trusted general. Dead, never to return. He was a pragmatist and the evidence had been incontrovertible. The blasted Shamyrddin-enki traveled with the stone keeper, no doubt trying to teach her as much as possible. If you were not rotting, Rybeck, I’d string you up by your testicles, and when you fell, emasculated, I would rip your still-beating heart from your chest and shove it in your mouth. He straightened and took a breath to quiet his racing heart. Even now, he was not without resources or followers. He would amend Rybeck’s oversight. “Your time is running out, old man.”

  Snatching the girl wouldn’t be as easy as he imagined. He needed to think.

  Bredych gazed through the darkness toward the Zorcani village and channeled his thoughts toward the stone keeper. “You will dream my dreams, feel my heart beating in your chest and next time, I will be ready and when you come to me, and come you will. I will be waiting.”

  A bitter wind blew across the barren land. Bredych wrapped his cloak around him and walked away from his shelter, his breast bursting with new purpose, the noise of his footsteps descending into the night below.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sara ran a moist leather cloth over Shandor’s forehead. Firelight flickered along the contours of his brow and cheeks, casting a false rosy glow and the only sign of life in his placid face. She stepped off the raised platform toward the fire in the center of the room. Fire light flickered against the wall, giving the woven mountain goats life as they frolicked on jagged cliffs under a deep blue sky. The air still held a whiff of lavender and rosemary mixing with the smell of the freshly shorn rushes spread along the floor. Aisha had told her the lodge was called a tsera and that each family owned at least one of the hundreds built under the granite overhang that sheltered the village. She didn’t like to think of the heavy mountain over their heads. Rescuing a dish from a low table near the fire, she tested the content’s temperature
then moved back to the bed. The sweet and bitter tastes of salt and sugar warred on her tongue as she dipped a cloth then dripped the liquid into Shandor’s mouth. He needed an almost constant source of moisture. Her gaze strayed to her rolled bedding along the far wall, yet unused. It wasn’t only her task that kept her from slumber. Too many questions plagued her mind.

  The whine of the wind rose then fell with the door flap but she didn’t pause in her gentle ministration. One of the guards muttered something outside the door. What had been a nuisance had become a comfort. At least with the guards, she’d have some kind of warning if they were attacked.

  “Any change?” Zeynel’s voice broke the silence of the room.

  Sara didn’t turn. “Very little. I still don’t know if he’ll make it.” She hadn’t bothered to count the hours since she began to treat Shandor. She only knew it was once again dark in the world outside. Diya had brought food several times but Sara’s life rotated between dripping liquid into Shandor’s mouth, eating and napping at intervals and doing it again. And every night, staring at the moon as it dwindled along with their hopes of success.

  “I brought the dart you asked for.”

  “Difficulties?”

  “None.”

  Sara frowned at the tone of his voice and turned to see a soft smile stealing across his face. “Go on.”

  “I stole it.”

  “You what?”

  “No way would they let me carry a dart in here.” He nodded toward Shandor. “I pointed to a striking feature on the side of the facing mountain, rocks shaped like a beautiful maiden.”

  “And?”

  “The young warrior displayed commendable interest but couldn’t see the maiden, no matter how hard he tried. Meanwhile I removed a dart from his quiver.”

  “And the maiden?”

  “Afterward I couldn’t see her either, but my eyesight is failing... I must have imagined it.” He handed Sara the projectile.

  “Your eyes are sharper than mine.” She took it and held it to the light, examining it, then broke off the sharpened end. “Hollow.” A ghost of a smile flittered at the corners of her mouth. She placed it to her lips and blew. “Yes, this will do.” Rummaging in her pack, she retrieved a piece of thin bark pounded flat. “I use this to put herbs into small-mouthed jars, but it will work well for what I’m planning too.”

  “What are you planning?”

  Sara moved to a pile of logs near the door. After turning a few, she found the sticky sap she was looking for, formed the bark into a small bowl then attached it to the tube. “You’ll see.” She gestured to a jar of water and moved back to the boy’s side. “Bring that?” Gently inserting the hollow reed past Shandor’s tongue, she took the cloth that Zeynel offered and dripped water into the funnel. “This will move past his tongue as natural as saliva. I can keep the funnel full of liquid and it will deliver a steadier drip than the cloth.” She sighed. “I saw it in one of grandfather’s books. I hope it works.” She examined the connections. So far no leaking. She stretched. Tension ached in her muscles. How long would Gunari give her before he lost what little hope she’d given him? Would he allow her to try until the new moon?

  Sara glanced toward the door. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Any news about the trader? Do you know why Crioch’s keeper was here in this village? Is he a real trader or...” The questions bottlenecked. She shook her head. “Why was he here? Did he hurt Shandor?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know that he seldom does anything unless it benefits himself,” Zeynel replied. “The Zorcani I spoke with said he came with a group of traders and lingered, offering his services when the boy was bitten. They know little more than that.”

  “Is he behind the kidnapping?”

  “It would be my guess.”

  “Why?” Her voice was louder than she planned and she glanced toward the flap. No one entered.

  “If I understood the way that one’s mind worked, I would be as lost.”

  “Cryptic.” She stared at Shandor. The boy’s chest rose and fell gently.

  “Sometimes all we can do is the task at hand.”

  “That’s what I have been doing.” She let out a long breath. Maybe he was right. She’d racked her brain to try to figure out what the red man would want with the Heleini or the Zorcani. Maybe he just wanted to stir things up. “Aisha told me there are hot springs nearby. I asked one of the warriors Gunari left outside to send out men and bring me as much of the water as possible. They should be back with it soon.” Sara adjusted the funnel. “The minerals should help him hold some moisture. I don’t know how much it will help at this point. But I have to try everything.”

  Zeynel’s eyes narrowed. “You used Teann.”

  Sara rubbed her forehead. “Yes. This is the only way I know. He is very weak, his life force...shallow. I don’t know—”

  “If there is a way,” Zeynel finished. “Whether he lives or dies, you’ve made me proud.” He reached for the funnel, shooing Sara away. “But if I had to wager on it, I’d say he’ll survive if by your will alone.”

  “I am not a real healer. I cannot impart my life essence to another.” Sara rolled her shoulders then unbraided her hair, ran her hands through it and rebraided it. “At times I wish I could. He’s not suffering from the effects of snakebite. I mean, he was bitten but his symptoms are not typical of venom. At least none I’ve heard of.” Sara tied her hair with a leather thong and let it fall back in place. “If left alone, Vadoma’s ministrations should have healed him. But now...now he is severely dehydrated and has lost too much blood. I’ve given him as much liquid as he will take and...” A wry smile touched her mouth. “Maelys’s spring tonic.” She turned back to the prone boy.

  Zeynel shifted his position on the pallet then inclined his head toward a bowl of rice he’d set on the table. “I met some of the Zorcani elders last night.”

  “And?”

  “The village is in mourning.”

  Sara raised an eyebrow as she scooped a handful of rice into her mouth.

  “Although Shandor has not yet passed the Zorcani blood to Danladi, they consider him already dead. Only his body lingers.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” But looking at him, she had to admit that he appeared closer to death than life.

  “The Zorcani do not speak the names of their dead. They believe that to do so is to invite their spirits back to the village.”

  “That explains the girls’ reactions.” Sara sat heavily on the edge of the platform.

  “The spirit without the body would grow frustrated and angry.” Zeynel shrugged. “Who wants a frustrated, angry spirit roaming through the village even if it is the Akier’s son?”

  “How is it done exactly, the transfer?”

  “No outsider knows but from what I gathered there is a transfer of blood when the moon is hiding. Some say that is why Gunari is letting you treat Shandor—to keep him alive until the ceremony can be completed.”

  “And if Shandor really died before then?”

  Zeynel shook his head. “There is unrest among the people here. I’d bet many others are asking themselves the same question.”

  Sara finished the rice and added another log to the fire. “You’ve been out among them. What are they like?”

  “Similar to the Heleini, if a bit more superstitious. A natural occurrence, I’d think, living with these ever-present winds. You were right—they are fiercely loyal to Gunari. They’d defend his actions to the death, even though I believe many don’t agree with his methods.”

  “Let’s hope they don’t have to. Have you seen Danladi? Is he well?”

  “Once and from a distance. They are keeping him well guarded but he looked fine, perhaps a little frightened and lonely, but healthy.”

  “He’s just a little boy.”

 
“He is more than that. He is an Akier. Remember.”

  Sara nodded.

  “Have you slept?”

  She shrugged. “A bit here and there.” She moved closer to Zeynel, reaching for the funnel.

  “Nonsense, you’ll do him no good if you collapse. Go. Sleep. I’ll sit by him.”

  Sara yawned. She wasn’t going to argue with Zeynel’s wisdom. She unrolled her bedding and was asleep almost before her eyes closed.

  * * *

  Flickering light filtered into her consciousness. Sara opened her eyes and blinked. What time was it?

  “He’s fine.”

  Sara turned toward Zeynel’s voice. He sat by Shandor’s bed, his face lit by the fire in the hearth. “I slept a long time?”

  “Most of the night. It will be dawn soon.”

  She shook her head. “How is he?”

  “No change.”

  “Thank you for staying with him and letting me sleep. You must be tired.”

  “No more than you were.” He smiled. “And still are.”

  Sara smiled. “I’m all right.”

  “They brought your water. It seems they had to travel some distance to find springs that weren’t used for baths.”

  Sara glanced at the earthenware jar at the tsera’s entrance, stood to stretch, then moved to the jar and raised the lid. She sniffed at the water, the tang of minerals biting at her nostrils. She fought another yawn. I could have done with another hour or two...or twenty, now that I think of it.

  She turned to her friend. “Why don’t you get a little sleep too?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be back later today.” A brief gust of cold wind entered with Zeynel’s departure, setting the fire dancing.

  Dipping a finger into the basin, she tasted the liquid. Not sulfurous but thick with minerals. She squeezed the juice from a lime into a smaller container, added the mineral water and stirred it with a large earthenware spoon. Slowly, she added the mixture to the funnel. She could almost hear the steady flow of water as it made its way down the tube and into the boy.