A poet? Perhaps, but he was no fool. Cais had been gone far too long. A hunting party? Niku made a noise low in his throat. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been fooled by Cais’s story, but he didn’t want to examine the thought too close. He was no coward, but neither would he indulge in useless self-examination. What was done was done. Has Cais raided the Heleini or is he dead, his blood seeking the sand to join his ancestors? He felt a wry smile touch his mouth. Cais would feel at home among his ancestors, the warriors who thrived along the waterways. Once we were a strong tribe. Niku recollected stories told by the fire when he was a child, before he became Akier. They’d filled the riverbanks, hunting deep into the swamps and forests. They were feared and honored. But even before Niku took on the mantle of Akier, the river had been dying. It was slow at first, the winter waters shy of the boulders it had hugged for years, the women traveling just a bit farther to fill their gourds. Then one spring, the fish lay on the sand, dying for lack of breeding grounds, and Niku’s father, Atalin, knew he had to do something. They approached the tegosi upriver who had built a dam to hold and weaken the great river. Niku hit his fist into his hand. They should have killed them all then while they were strong and the tegosi were few. But Atalin had no more been a fighter than Niku was now or Trilian would be. Cais had inherited their ancestor’s warrior blood. Ease and plenty had weaned the fire from most of their tribe, but not his second-born son.
No matter. Niku shrugged off the past. Memories were for old men in better times than these. He heard the sound of men approaching. It was time to find out what trouble Cais had caused—and there was trouble, he could feel it in his bones, sense it when sleep was shallow. He squared his shoulders and raised his chin. His warrior entered, touched his fingers to his head and moved aside to reveal a man whose face was still flushed from a long ride. He waved the blue cloth, a sign of peace among the tribes, then bowed briefly.
“Akier,” the warrior said, “this Zorcani has urgent news for you.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tents rippled under the wind, catching the light of a thousand stars and tossing it back subdued. Sara stood on a rise, a stone’s throw from camp, enjoying the stillness before dawn. They’d made good time once they retrieved the horses, but the Zorcani seemed ill at ease under the broad sky and open plain.
The skies had cleared in the night, the wind blowing the clouds south where they dwelled low to the ground as though communing with the Faisach. The mountains loomed to the east, a darkened shape against the night sky. She glanced west, toward where the Heleini camped. She had to admit her eagerness to depart had as much to do with seeing the Regent Akier as it did delivering Danladi safe to his home and family.
Filling her lungs with the crisp air, Sara turned back to the eastern horizon, eager to welcome the sun lighting up the vastness surrounding them. She hadn’t been able to sleep. Rather than disturb Danladi or Zeynel, who shared her tent, she’d decided to walk a short distance from camp to be alone.
A vibration of hooves in the ground preceded a rider racing toward camp from the northeast. Before she saw him, Sara rushed to intercept and recognized Aron, one of Gunari’s men.
The horse slid to a stop outside the circle of tents, its sides heaving.
“Rabishi. Armed. Closing fast,” the man breathed, jumping from his horse.
“How many?”
“Two tens.”
Twenty armed men. Only eight guarded Danladi. She stared at tent where the boy slept. They couldn’t risk him.
“How long?” Sara asked before the man ducked into Gunari’s tent.
He glanced toward horizon. “They’ll attack at dawn.”
She turned toward her tent in time to see Zeynel emerge, carrying her gear. “You heard?”
“Yes.”
“Danladi?”
“He is still sleeping.”
“Damn, I was hoping... How did they know?”
Zeynel shrugged. “The Rabishi cannot allow Danladi to return to the Heleini. Once the boy is back, the Rabishi leader will have lost everything, even his honor.”
“Honor causes too much bloodshed,” Sara said as she secured her hair and pulled the leather bindings on her arms, tugging the laces with her teeth.
Zeynel nodded, his eyes closed.
She stepped forward. “Zeynel, what’s wrong? Are you ill?”
“No. I’m not ill.”
He reached over and tightened the laces on her other arm then reached for her sword and unwrapped it with reverence.
“Sara, once not long ago, I took your blade while you slept. That could never happen now. You have learned and grown in the way of Teann. You’ve made me proud. It will be an honor to fight beside you.”
Sara stared at Zeynel’s bowed head. Why the sudden formality? “What I’ve learned, what I sense that I’m becoming, it’s because of you.” An unexpected emotion clogged her throat and she embraced the old man. Sara cleared her throat. “Come on, we’ve got our work cut out for us this time. We can be sentimental after this is over.”
* * *
Men milled around camp, shrugging on leather vests, inspecting the edges of swords and counting darts by the light of the fire. Horses stomped, nostrils flared, scenting the ripple of anticipation in the cold predawn air. Sara looked to the horizon, sensing the approaching danger. She could almost see the Rabishi charging, robes flying behind them in their race across the Faisach. How did the Rabishi know where to find us? She reached for her horse’s bridle as Danladi ran toward her, a dagger in his hand.
“No.” Sara shook her head. “Danladi, go back to the tent and stay there.”
Danladi’s dark eyes flickered. “I am Akier of my tribe. These Rabishi took me away from my own bed and wrapped me in cords like a huna ready for slaughter. It is my right to avenge myself, to darken my blade with their blood.”
This is Tobar’s son. Sara’s jaw clenched. “And it is my right to honor the oath I made to your father. I will bring you to him alive and unharmed.” Or die trying.
Danladi’s lower lip quivered, but his gaze remained strong. “But if what they say is true, I would rather die an Akier than a boy hiding in a tent.”
Placing a hand on Danladi’s shoulder, Sara looked deep into his eyes. “You will make a fine Akier one day, but now, Danladi, you are a boy and you will do as I say. Go stay in your tent.”
His eyes flared and for a moment, she thought he’d resist. Finally, he bowed his head “I will do as you say, Healer.”
Sara watched the boy’s stiff back as he made his way into the tent.
* * *
As Sara swung up on her horse, the Rabishi crested the hill, backlit by the sun, their raised swords gleaming as though on fire. Their horses’ hooves pounded against the still, cold ground. A voice drifted on the cold morning air. “Find the witch and the teacher! No mercy!”
Sara held her horse back, lingering near the tent; she didn’t want to let Danladi out of her sight. The others surged forward to meet the Rabishi’s advance. Dust filled the air, blurring the deadly charge. Darts flew into the air, followed by grunts as they found their intended targets. Sara drew her sword, feeling Zeynel’s steady hum echo the beat of Ilydearta. She took a deep breath and made her shoulders relax and her mind focus until the action around seemed to happen in slow motion. Gunari led his men forward, swords drawn, meeting the Rabishi charge. The clang of swords and men crying out in pain followed the dull thud of horse meeting horse. A Rabishi charged toward her. A moment of terror was soon replaced with calm acceptance. I am a warrior. Sara saw a look of disbelief cross the eyes of the man as her blade bit into his flesh. His horse shuddered as though detecting that its master no longer commanded, then raced through the camp, the dead man still slumped on its back.
Sara whirled her horse to meet the next charge. It seemed as though the a
ttackers multiplied, the air thick with dust and the smell of death. She wasn’t used to fighting on horseback. Her motion was limited.
“The witch and the old man!” She recognized the cry of the leader and spared him a glance. His hair streamed behind him in dark waves, his eyes narrowed. They widened as he met her gaze. In that flash, she understood he wanted her dead and he was desperate. That desperation made him all the more dangerous. She turned her full attention back to the Rabishi she battled.
“The witch is mine.”
There was no doubt in her mind the leader referred to her. So be it, but if you want me, you’ll have to come get me. With a twist of her blade, she finished the warrior. The leader thundered toward her, ignoring or deflecting any attack the Zorcani made. Blood stained his leather tunic, which was far too large for his frame. As he neared, muscled arms brought his sword down on Aron, silencing the man’s beautiful voice forever.
You bastard. Sara urged her horse forward to meet his charge but at the last moment, the man swerved around her, slashing at the supports of Danladi’s tent. The heavy cloth fell, a small form struggling within. The man dismounted and rushed toward Danladi. Sara jumped off her horse, sprinting between warrior and child. Her gaze met the dark-haired man’s for a moment before his raised sword caught the light from the newborn sun, blinding her. She shifted, deflecting the blade and spinning to place a kick to his chest; she heard the whistle of a blade close to her body and a dull pressure against her thigh. Sara rolled to her feet and darted toward her opponent, who was on one knee regarding her and trying to catch his breath. Sword in hand, he charged faster than his bulk would suggest. Their swords clashed, Sara backpedaled to keep her feet under her. He was strong, but her grandfather had been strong too. She could beat him. But this is real. A mistake will mean giving up my life. Her blade flashing, she rushed forward, crouching low, counting on the man’s center of gravity being much higher than hers. She was right—her sword came away bloodied, a stain spread across his torso.
Anger flashed in his eyes. He approached slowly, his gaze focused on her, but Sara could tell that he also knew what was happening around him. This man was a true warrior, it was in his blood. He sprang forward like a cat. Sara jumped back, meeting his blade with hers but then, instead of striking again, he lunged, stretched out his arms and hugged her close. She felt her ribs creak under the pressure. She struggled but he was strong. Dark spots flickered in her vision. Out of the corner of one eye, she saw Gunari slice down a Rabishi then urge his horse toward her; she thought he might be too late. The man screamed. Sara pushed against him and he fell, clutching his thigh. She gasped sweet air deep into lungs. Her vision cleared enough to see Danladi behind the man, his knife wet with blood. The man let go of his thigh and turned toward the boy.
“No!” Sara jumped forward. The Rabishi raised his sword to meet her attack when she spun, catching him under the chin with the heel of her foot. He staggered. She hit him twice more before he fell to his knees. The dark-haired man tried to rise and failed. He offered a resigned gaze that seemed to hold a breath of relief. He accepted his fate; she inclined her head in respect then finished him with the blade.
Danladi stood, his eyes wide.
Sara glanced up, sensing waves of awareness as the other Rabishi realized their leader had fallen, and then hatred directed toward her and the boy. Gunari must have sensed it too, because he spun his mount, sword ready as four horsemen thundered toward them. She stepped in front of Danladi as the first Rabishi passed Gunari. Her sword in one hand and the other shielding Danladi, she deflected the Rabishi’s blade but a second rider charged. Sara scooped Danladi out of the way and dived to the side. Pain exploded in her head as hooves thundered by. She blinked, trying to clear her vision in time to see another armed Rabishi race toward her. Where is Danladi?
She felt for the small boy then scooted backward to cover his body with hers. She didn’t have time to regain her feet.
A blurred figure stepped between her and the Rabishi blade. She heard the clash of metal then the sound of a sword biting into flesh. She shook her head, struggling to her feet among a shifting sea of hooves. Zeynel fought with a warrior, his thin sword flashing against the heavier Rabishi weapon. The tide of battle carried him away from her. She turned to pick up the boy and then searched for a place to ferret him to safety but froze. A Rabishi blade disappeared into Zeynel’s body. He crumpled and fell from his horse; the distance stretched as she watched blood stain his tunic in an ever-widening circle. She couldn’t leave Danladi and she couldn’t fight her way to Zeynel with the boy in her arms. She’d failed. They’d die.
Her heart beat loud in her ear, drowning out the sound of the boy’s sobs, louder and louder until the air pulsed with its cadence.
A war cry pierced the air, overpowering, if only for a moment, the sounds of battle. Danladi struggled in her arms. “Father!”
On the horizon, horses pounded onto the sand, the beat of their hooves resonating with Ilydearta, with her heartbeat. The Rabishi froze and lost direction. Danladi in her arms, Sara rushed toward Zeynel and knelt at his side.
Please only be a flesh wound. But she’d seen the hilt of the sword as it plunged into Zeynel’s torso. His eyes fluttered. She tore at his robes to expose deep red blood seeping from a jagged tear in his stomach. Zeynel reached for her hand. Her eyes met his. Acceptance.
No.
Around her, the battle fell silent. Time stood still, the only sound the gentle sobbing of the boy at her side. The world tilted at an awkward angle.
“Healer.”
Sara turned toward the sound. Tobar stood, a shadow against the translucent dawn, his robes blowing to blend with the wisps of color in the sky. She heard the crunch of hardened earth as he approached.
“Healer, you are bleeding.”
The light faded.
Part Five
Ilythra
Here, Ilythra, will your name be written so that after our bones nourish the soil, our children’s children will know what you have done to restore peace to the People.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Consciousness descended with a clarity so sharp it hurt. Zeynel. Sara opened her eyes to blurry shapes of light and dark.
“He is in his tent, Healer.”
Did I speak aloud? Sara focused on the familiar drapes and folds of a Heleini tent above her. Even a small movement sent waves of pain through her body. Tobar sat near her d’jalla, his face in shadow, his hand resting near her own. “I must go to him.”
“You’re not fit to go anywhere. You’re wounded.”
Sara closed her eyes. Her head pounded and her right leg throbbed. What happened? She remembered the sound of a blade arcing through the air. Wounded. Zeynel. “It doesn’t matter. I will go to him one way or another. You can either help me or I’ll do it on my own.”
He narrowed his eyes, nodded then rose to his feet. “Wait here. I’ll be back.” He paused at the flap of the tent. “Has anyone ever said no to you and prevailed?”
Sara eased out of the bedroll, feeling the tightness of a wrapping on her leg. She lifted the cloth and examined the gash. Ugly, but not the source of her unconsciousness. Her head swam. With her fingertips, Sara explored a large throbbing lump on the back of her head. Someone had cleaned and stitched the wound; she must have hit her head on something when she fell. No. The horses. A hoof must have caught her. Danladi. Was the boy okay?
As soon as Sara tried to sit up, a wave of nausea hit and she vomited. Damn it, I don’t have time for this. Zeynel, where are you? She wiped the spittle off her lips and kicked some sand over what was left of her dinner. How many nights ago? A chill racked her body, almost doubling her in half. Sara gritted her teeth and sat back down, waiting for it to pass. Where was Tobar? The light shifted. Sara blinked and focused on the shadow filling the doorway. Tobar approache
d and knelt before her.
“First, some water.”
She sipped, suddenly desperate for liquid.
He pulled the cup away. “Too much and it won’t stay.” He stared at her. “Are you sure?”
Grimacing against another wave of nausea, Sara nodded.
With seemingly little effort, Tobar slowly lifted her into his arms. “Relax,” he whispered into her hair. “If you try to walk, you’ll only fall and then I’ll have to carry you anyway.”
She let her arms encircle his neck and leaned against him, breathing in the pungent smell of smoke, horse and something distinctly male that was Tobar. She closed her eyes against the light as he exited the tent. “How many days?” she croaked.
“Not long, Healer. We arrived at dawn yesterday.”
“The Rabishi?”
“All dead.”
“Danladi?”
“He is fine. He has not stopped asking about you.”
“He saved my life.”
Tobar nodded. “And you saved his.” He gazed down at her, his eyes full.
“Gunari?” She felt Tobar tense.
“He was wounded, but he lives.”
“His men?”
“Four dead. The rest wounded.”
Four out of eight.
“Now still your tongue, woman, and use your energies to heal.” His voice was stern, but she sensed an underlying fear. He was worried about her.
Sara glanced at the tents, a thought striking her. “How did you get here?”
“Shh, we’re nomads, remember. Now, quiet, please.”
Sara tightened her grip, the motion of Tobar’s steps sending waves of dizziness through her.
He paused. “He is in here. I warn you, Healer, he’s—”
She stared into Tobar’s eyes, his face inches away. “I know.”
The tent was dim, a single candle fighting the invading darkness. A kind of incense burned in a brazier near the fire, filling the air with a scent she couldn’t identify.
Journey of Awakening Page 30