Journey of Awakening

by Shawna Thomas

  She smoothed the boy’s hair from his forehead and blinked. She could have sworn he’d swallowed. She dipped a cloth then squeezed it into his mouth, beside the tube. A definite swallow.

  She fought the excitement welling in her chest and removed the tube.

  “Okay, Shandor. Open up.” She tilted his head, wrapped a cloth around his neck to catch any drips and trickled water into his mouth. His eyes fluttered.

  “Shandor, can you hear me?”

  The boy lay still, water dripping down his face and wetting the cloth.

  Sara wiped his mouth and dipped the bowl into the basin of water. “I’m going to give you a little more. How about trying to swallow again?”

  Sara put the cup to his lips and moistened the boy’s mouth. His lips fluttered against the cup.

  “That’s good. Very good. Why don’t you rest now?”

  Sara laid the boy back against his bedding. She debated sending someone to tell Gunari but decided it was not wise to raise the hopes of the Akier. Besides, the boy wasn’t out of danger yet. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced around the tsera. She’d confined herself to Shandor’s side except to see to the most basic of her physical needs.

  Daylight beckoned but despite the several hours of sleep, her tired limbs refused to move. Giving in to her weariness, she curled up next to Shandor and fell asleep.

  * * *

  Sara awoke with a start. A dream. It was a dream. Dread cooled her limbs. This one was different. She’d been running through the forest. Something was chasing her and just as she knew the something had caught her she woke up.

  Maybe it’s an ordinary nightmare. There’s certainly enough reason to have one. My life is tied to a dying child. Could she have ordinary nightmares anymore? Was everything tied to Teann? The stone?

  She fought to control her breathing and slowly became aware that her clothes were wet and sticky. Blood? Shandor? She examined the boy. His skin and the blankets were moist and rust colored but she could find no new wound. Her confusion passed into excitement. Shandor had urinated. Sara felt like dancing.

  Dashing about with renewed energy, she collected a damp leather cloth and fresh blankets to change his bedding and clean him. The liquid Shandor had passed was dark and closer in appearance to blood then urine, but it meant his body had begun to fight back. Her eyes kept drifting to his face, hoping for some other sign of life.

  Zeynel peeked his head in the door. “Is he awake?”

  “No, not yet. But he’s urinating.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “That means he is processing liquid through his body. He’s still not out of danger, but he’s one step closer to recovery. It’s the first really encouraging sign I’ve seen.” She paused. “His life force is stronger.” She slowed. “I dreamed of Crioch’s keeper again.”

  Zeynel nodded. He didn’t seem surprised.

  “Will he come here now?” But even as she said the words she knew he wouldn’t. He’d already been here. Why? And why as a trader? The questions circled in her mind.

  She again felt as though she was swimming in deep waters. She retrieved her change of clothing from her bag. “Will you stay with him for a bit? I need to clean up.” And meditate. She might as well kill two birds with one shot. “I’m going to take a quick dip in the hot springs.”

  “Is there anything I should do?”

  “Yes.” She reached into her medicine bag and retrieved a bag, mixed half the contents in a cup of water and passed it to Zeynel, then lit another candle. “One cup of this for every score of the candle.” She grinned. “It will take almost that long for him to drink it. But I won’t be long.” She stopped. “Zeynel, he’s going to live.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  * * *

  The cold air bit into her flesh as she peeled off her clothes. Steam rose from the water in inviting tendrils. A few women had nodded to her as they passed her on the trail, their damp hair testament to their time in the baths. Two guards trailed her at a distance. Although she’d spent several days in the Zorcani village, she’d yet to see anyone but her guards and Aisha and Diya. Sara eased into the dark water and sunk to her neck letting the heat ease aching muscles, creating an almost narcotic calm. I could get used to this.

  Leaning her head against the rough stone, she let the silky water eddy against her skin. Footsteps brought her fully alert. She spun in the water, but no one was there. The guards? They’d stopped around the bend, indicating they’d wait for her. There was no other entrance to the spring. The air carried a strange fragrance that could be another spring, a passing animal or perhaps only a stray scent on the breeze. Sara turned back around, Ilydearta humming with her heartbeat, and ducked her head under the water, coming up quickly to glance in every direction. Someone was there. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she reached for her clothes and rinsed them, wringing out the water and laying them on a nearby bush, her gaze never resting. The springs had lost their attraction. Hastily, her nerves tingling, she dressed and gathered her wet clothes.

  Sara scanned the landscape. No tracks. She examined all the telling areas where rock gave way to earth to see if anyone had been near. Nothing. Am I jumping at shadows?

  Her nostrils scented the air for any trace of the fragrance she’d detected but found only the heady aroma of the springs mingled with tangs of frozen earth and cold rock and a note of decaying foliage. She felt for Teann’s thread. There was a dissonance, as though someone had plucked a wrong note. Someone... Her skin chilled. Not just someone. Somehow the red man had been there. How? She left to find Zeynel.

  * * *

  Sara pulled the tent flap back. Zeynel sat mending one of his shirts by the fire. He nodded toward the boy. “He’s sleeping. No change. I fed him that odorous brew and he swallowed a few times.”

  Sara moved to lean over the boy. Zeynel had attached the tube to Shandor’s mouth, then, with a bit of twine, secured the funnel to a nearby table leg. She examined the funnel closer. “What did you do?”

  “I soaked it. It closed the opening a little but made it more flexible so he wouldn’t hurt himself if he moved. Then I anchored it with string to stay in place.”

  Sara turned to her friend. “Genius.”

  “I’m honored. Thank you.” Zeynel cut off the thread with his teeth. “I was worried you’d fall asleep in those ponds and not get back before dark. These paths are treacherous at night even for the locals. Aisha brought us some food. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes.” Sara felt for Shandor’s heartbeat and listened to his breathing. His face seemed to have more color, but maybe it was a trick of the firelight. She pinched the tip of one of his fingers and watched the blood rush back under the nail. That wasn’t her imagination. She let out a breath. “We will wait until morning and if he’s still improved, I’ll go and tell Gunari we’ve succeeded.” She paused. “Can we take our food outside?”

  Zeynel picked up both of the bowls. “Of course.”

  Cold wind whipped her damp hair around her face. Clouds darkened the sky. Sara pulled the hood of her cloak up around her ears then moved past the guard to sit on a bench in front of the lodge. Wedged between two rocks, it offered partial shelter from the wind, but was far enough away from the guard they wouldn’t be overheard. Zeynel handed her one of the bowls and sat beside her.

  “What happened?”

  She rubbed her arms. “Just now, at the springs, someone...” Why was it so hard for her to admit? “I could sense the trader, the keeper of Crioch’s presence.”

  Zeynel leaned forward.

  “He wasn’t there, but...somehow.” Sara leaned toward Zeynel. “So tell me, what is that exactly?”

  Zeynel let out a small breath as he regarded her. Sorrow ringed his eyes, drawing deep crevices along his cheeks, like the beds of dry ancient creeks. He reached for her hand but did
n’t answer. A hum filled her mind. Images danced inside her eyelids, waves undulating in time with the sound—and then a discord. The nerves along her spine screamed in protest. The pattern was broken, distorted, like the dissonance she first experienced in the shelter during the storm, only magnified. Sara’s eyes opened.

  “Everything that has ever happened is imprinted into Teann,” Zeynel began.

  “What do you mean?”

  “With discipline, one can sail back and see—not change, only follow what has happened. Teann does not operate under the constricts of time as you and I know it. All that has happened has happened, is happening and will happen. It is clearer if you are seeking one who also bears a stone. The stone works like an amplifier. As you know, they tune to one another.”

  “So he can see where I’ve been.”

  “Only in a limited way. He can’t actually see you in the present or eavesdrop on our conversations, but he can call to you and you will be drawn to him, as he is to you. You are linked by the stones. He will also know how to sail the winds of Teann and read its melodies.”

  “Can I see where he’s been?” Something tickled the back of Sara’s mind. “I did see where he’d been. It was like an echo.”

  Zeynel nodded.

  Sara took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He wants the stone.”

  “Yes.”

  “But from what I’ve heard, he doesn’t want to give it back to the Siobani or restore peace.”

  “That would be my conclusion too.”

  “Then why not just come after me directly? What is he doing on the Faisach?”

  “That I don’t know.”

  “But I did sense him when I entered Shandor’s tsera, and in a smaller sense when I neared the Zorcani village. I just didn’t know what I was sensing.”

  “And now you know what to look for. Each of the stones and the stone keepers leave echoes behind, resonances. If one has the eyes to see and the ears to hear, you can sense an after-trail, like the impression lightning leaves on the eyes even after it’s gone.”

  “Why do you parcel out information like it’s too precious to give away? Don’t I need to know these things?”

  “It is too precious to give away. I tell you when I deem you ready or when you ask. This is my task.”

  She fought the frustration. “You said the stones leave a trail?”

  “Yes.”

  “So I can follow him?”

  Zeynel hesitated. “Yes, when you learn how. But Sara, this man is your enemy. He is very dangerous.”

  “Do you know him?”

  Zeynel’s eyes unfocused for a moment. “Better than I’d like to, but no, I’ve never met him face-to-face. Those of my kind who have are now dead.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  This is difficult. No. It’s impossible. As Tobar rose to pace his tent, his shadow lengthened then broke, thrown against the tent’s wall by a single candle half-burned atop a tray of untouched food Chavi had brought hours ago and flickering in the darkness. He stopped to peer at the flame but its feeble splutter only reflected his own feeling of impotence.

  Chavi. Her eyes had been haunted, her whispered voice thick with a need to be comforted. She needed to be held until the ghosts disappeared, if only for a while. And he wanted to do that, he did. But not now.

  Energy built in his limbs until his knotted muscles propelled his legs to resume a macabre dance with his shadow. Wait. Wait. He was neither a man who idled away his time, nor one who allowed others to decide his future. Caught in a fold of the tent, his shadow contorted, wriggled to the shape of a sorry figure bent by age. Is that my destiny? To wander the Faisach burdened under this sorrow? A sob built in his throat, smothered by anger. No, he would not mourn for his tribe now.

  His gaze tore once more to the east. Where are you now Healer, with eyes as soft as the finest silk but strong as forged rock? Will you bring my son back to me?

  “An Akier’s greatest strength is oft-times his patience.” His father’s voice rang in his ears. A crushing truth, a truth he’d counseled to Danladi not too long ago. Danladi, my son, flesh of my flesh. Damn!

  He reached for his amulet with the Heleini symbol hanging over his chest, his own words returning like a gust of wind on a winter’s day. “My father wore this, and his father before him and so on. One day, I will give it to Danladi and he will give it to his firstborn son and the Heleini will go on.”

  How arrogant those words seemed now. And if he couldn’t give the amulet to Danladi in his twenty-fifth summer? His tribe would be no more. If they were lucky, a few would find shelter among the Zorcani but more would drift alone among the desert sands, prey to any bandit roaming the Faisach. His name and his line would disappear under the fickle sands as though they never existed.

  What were his choices? He could raze the Rabishi, it would serve them right, but what would that benefit his people? They would still be without an Akier. He could storm the Zorcani, demand they give his son back, but again, if Danladi had been made Zorcani Akier, what good would that do his people? He could have sent one of his other sons with the healer, but they were too young to receive the bloodline and the thought filled his throat with bile. He would not give up Danladi.

  A memory surfaced. He’d only been a boy, not long from the breast. A group of people, dusty and travel worn, had struggled toward their tents. When news of their coming rippled through camp, he pretended to be asleep on his d’jalla to hear what the adults would not speak in front of him. The Akier of the Tonlosi had died, leaving no children. He had had ten wives but none had borne him even a daughter. The tribe had lived along the forests to the east. After the Tonlosi Akier died, the tribe continued, after a fashion, but the elders squabbled among themselves, no one more powerful than the other, no one more trusted when decisions had to be made. Families disappeared in the night before winter came. Some left to join the Rabishi; some came to his father begging shelter. Eventually the tribe dissolved into restless groups of nomads following whichever elder spoke the right words to soothe them, but with no place to call home and no territory of their own. Tobar’s father, who received most of the Tonlosi, claimed their territory as his own and so the name of the Tonlosi disappeared from the Faisach.

  Was that to be the fate of his tribe? After his death, with no Akier to take command, would they go to the Zorcani? Beg shelter? Give up the name Heleini? Would the Rabishi Akier offer his succor and in turn claim the southern Faisach as his own? Would his own tribe choose to roam nameless across the Faisach, fighting anyone who ventured onto their territory? Was there an elder who would take the lead and rule wisely? No, they’d been ingrained too long to follow the old bloodlines. It was a sacred trust and not easily discarded. Their laws were ancient, binding, holding them together for generations.

  The Heleini would drift, divided. So what of his young? Of the old? The women? Every thought was like a knife thrust to his heart. Eventually it came to the same: without an Akier, their way of life was over. Frustration beat like a drum in his body. He stifled a futile scream of rage.

  I must do something. The waiting would kill him faster than a Rabishi blade. Tobar stopped and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply until his heart slowed, and stood for a long time, seeking. Seeking an answer, seeking peace.

  The Zorcani do not have me. He opened his eyes, startled at the clarity of her voice echoing in his mind. The candle remained half-burned but its struggling flame flickered blue. He stared intently but the sparkle had gone—perhaps he’d only imagined it.

  There must be something he could do. It was not in his nature to give up and his gut told him he still had a part to play. If the healer did not return with his son shortly after the moon was new, then she had failed and he would punish the Rabishi. He would not rest until he drove every one of them from their cursed marshes. Then he would lead
his warriors to the mountains, storm the Zorcani keep and recover his son. The Zorcani would not need an Akier if there were no more people to lead. He tapped his fingers along the wooden table, sending the flame dancing. His warriors against the combined forces of the Zorcani and Rabishi? He snorted. So be it. Better to die like warriors than live like beggars.

  Once more, his memory flew to the council and Sara’s words. What’s to stop the Rabishi from killing Danladi when you attack...? The Zorcani do not have me. He sensed a thread, a thought hovering on the edge of his consciousness, just outside his reach. What would the Rabishi do after delivering his son to the Zorcani? Had they been surprised he hadn’t taken the bait and sent warriors after them? Let them wonder until the edge of his spear sent them to face Tei. The fate of one tribe exchanged for that of another. Zorcani live; Heleini die. And then? Where were they now? Had they returned to their marshes, to wallow in filth like... He stopped and the candle brightened. No. They wouldn’t go back to their lair. They would watch and bide their time, waiting for his move, especially as he didn’t chase after them. He wondered if he’d confused them by doing nothing. No, if they hadn’t already learned he had sent a healer to the Zorcani, they would soon discover it, and if the healer worked her magic... A knot wrenched his gut. If Sara comes down that mountain with Danladi... The Rabishi couldn’t risk peace between the Zorcani and the Heleini. They wanted the Heleini lands and the wealth that came with them, and even if Danladi was returned and restored, the Rabishi would have to know that Tabor would still come after them.

  He threw open the tent flap. Women stared after him, ushering children to their tents. The elders sitting by the fire rustled and started to rise, their faces suddenly somber. The guards were changing for the night. In a voice he knew would reach the farthest tent, Tobar boomed, “Heleini. We move. We leave at first light.”