And now the Baanrí was dying. Any hope they had of ending the war would die with her if they didn’t take action now. He glanced at the others, but they were frozen in their own fear and misery. However much he might wish otherwise, he bore the burden of movement.
“It’s done,” he said, his voice hardened against the leaden, aching weight in his heart. “We have no time to lament failed plans. We have to leave now, or she’ll die. Eithné,” he said sharply when the old woman didn’t move. “She’ll die.”
Her breath hitched, but she nodded. “There’s a gríth here. She was holding it when she lost consciousness. It should be close.”
“Here,” Leima murmured. “Here’s the communicator too.”
Mikhél nodded and gathered the unconscious woman into his arms. All he wanted was to be gone from this place. “Leima, lead us to the shuttle. Eithné, bring the towel. Valaer—”
“There’s more.” Valaer said it quietly, his pale eyes on the girl. But he pointed to a container he’d found. Lying on the top were several rags stiff with dried blood.
Mikhél turned to Eithné. “You’re sure there are no wounds?”
“I saw none. We should take the blood to be sure, however. If we wish to keep our presence concealed.”
He nodded to Valaer. “Bring it all.”
Then he carried the dying girl to the shuttle. Her slight and graying body felt like air in his arms, and he was reminded once, briefly, of amethyst eyes and wisps of silver and smoke.
Eithné watched Mikhél lower Seirsha onto the bench in the shuttle cabin, and her hands began to shake. As he stepped away and gestured to her, the trembling moved through her limbs to her core until she wasn’t sure she could hold in the pitiful amount of food the Meijhé deemed a decent ration. Scenes from Seirsha’s life raced through her mind, painting a picture of isolation and vulnerability that should never have been claimed by the Baanrí.
She knew that for many on Spyridon, life had been much, much worse. But they had sent the child to this distant place for her own protection. So she might be raised safe from the horrors Lhókesh had inflicted on her people. So she might flourish under the gentle guidance of a woman from their world while in the sanctuary of another.
That had not happened.
The shuttle lurched as Valaer navigated back through the world’s atmosphere, and the girl’s arm dropped over the side of the bench. Eithné’s eyes went unwillingly to the scar that lay there, and she closed them. When she felt Mikhél draw close, she willed her strength to return.
“We’re free from the atmosphere,” he said. “The ride will be smooth now. She needs your attention.”
Eithné took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bench, her hip fitting easily into the space left over by the wasted body of the girl. She examined Seirsha with smooth and skilled movements developed over years of medical practice. And her mind returned stubbornly to what Seirsha had endured.
“She doesn’t know her name.”
She worked as she spoke, hardly aware she was talking out loud. She felt, in the way one feels the brush of wind against the back of the neck, Mikhél shift beside her. Valaer must have synchronized the shuttle’s controls with his link, because even he stood at her back. She could hear his breathing, deep and just a little bit harsh. She concentrated on the rhythmic sound of it as she numbed the thin, dry skin of Seirsha’s upper arm.
“She calls herself Jane Doe. Or, rather, they do. Did. It is…” She pursed her lips and willed her voice to steady. “It’s a name they give to those who have no names. It’s a name for the lost.”
She took a delicate, shimmering knife out of the kit and drew it across the flesh, deep enough to reach the scant muscle beneath. As she wiped the blade on the cloth in her lap, she found herself speaking again.
“She thinks Betha was her mother. She never found another family. She couldn’t. The valfaen…it started when she was just a child.” She looked up at Mikhél. “Before long it was everywhere, and it worsened as she matured. She tried to—” Shocked at herself, she stopped talking.
She had no right to share that. No matter how she felt, she had no right to share what was not hers.
She struggled to put Seirsha’s past out of her mind as she pulled the protective casing off the thaelen supplement. It was to be inserted under the skin, directly into the muscle, for the fastest absorption. She reached up to the incision she’d made and pulled at the skin to reveal the opening, but she couldn’t see the cut. She wiped away the blood and then wiped at the skin again, not quite believing what she saw.
And every sorrow fled.
“She healed.” It was a whisper, barely audible over the gentle hum of the shuttle’s engines, but the words hung heavy in the stale air.
“Explain.” The quiet tone did nothing to mask the intensity in Mikhél’s voice. When Eithné pointed at Seirsha’s arm, he studied the skin she’d cut moments before.
There was no wound.
“‘The strong one.’”
It was Leima who spoke. They turned as one to stare at her. Then Valaer muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “bedtime stories,” but even he moved closer to Seirsha to get a better view.
“I’ll make a new cut,” Mikhél said. “Insert the thaelen quickly and then wipe the blood away so we can see what happens.”
He held open the newly sliced skin, but even in the moment it took Eithné to insert the supplement, the tissue began to pull itself together. As soon as the thaelen was in place, the incision closed itself.
“She’s a healer.” Eithné turned to Valaer. “The blood we found—it was hers. We didn’t find any wounds because she’d already healed.”
“There are other healers. It’s not unheard of,” Valaer said. But uncertainty wavered in his voice.
“And how many healers have you met? I’ve only ever heard of the gift before now.”
“It’s uncommon now because Lhókesh eradicated any he could find. That doesn’t make it a natural rarity.”
She pursed her lips. “How can you be so blind? How can you refuse to see what’s in front of you?”
“What you call blindness, I call realism.”
“Bhénen would have believed.”
His irises lost all color, and he moved on her until she thought he might reach for her throat. “Do not tell me about Bhénen.”
“Enough.” The command cut through whatever response she might have made and had three pairs of eyes turning toward Mikhél. “Valaer is right. It’s a natural ability, however rare. And it might be a coincidence. We can’t know all from one gift, and we’d be foolish to assume otherwise. We’ll arrive at Dhóchas in less than a cycle. Will she survive the journey?”
Eithné fought to think past the hope that was beating so painfully against her chest. “I don’t know. She definitely experienced the jagat, which uses a great deal of protein. I also have no idea how the jagat could even have occurred. It’s a variable I can’t assess or account for. And the healing complicates things further. I shouldn’t insert more supplements because she uses proteins to heal the incisions, and I can’t replace those here on the shuttle. I might make her worse in trying to treat her. I’m limited to oral supplements, and those are the least effective.”
“Keep her alive. That’s your priority.” Mikhél turned to Leima. “Get her anything she needs.” Then he turned to Valaer, and his voice hardened. “With me.”
He strode into the navigation pit. Valaer looked once more around the cabin, gave a dismissive grunt, and turned and followed the Endet.
Mikhél stood just inside the cockpit, a muscle ticking in his jaw. It was the first time Valaer had ever seen him demonstrate anything resembling emotion, and he found himself wondering if it could be just for show.
“You’re on this team at my command,” Mikhél bit out as soon as the door closed. “You can be removed just as easily.”
Valaer straightened, and still he had to look up to meet the Endet’s eyes. It was
another reminder of what Mikhél came from, and his fists clenched at his sides.
“You brought me because of my gift,” he said. “I don’t need to believe in a prophecy to fulfill my purpose.”
“Your beliefs are not my concern. You’re not here to protect a prophecy. You’re here to protect the Baanrí.” Mikhél didn’t move, but Valaer felt an incomprehensible invasion into his personal space. “You won’t raise a hand to a member of this team. You will control your anger under my command, or you’ll be removed. I would as soon be one person short as deal with your unpredictability.”
Valaer’s face burned with the hypocrisy of it, but he nodded rigidly. When he was alone again, he stood still as his blood thundered in his ears. Then he pulled out Bhénen’s link and wondered if he’d ever be able to hold it without seeing his mate’s dead, clouded eyes.
This mission was a failure. The dying Baanrí was but a shell of the woman she’d been intended to become. Even if they could save her life, she’d be ignorant of her purpose. He realized her coddling had just begun, and he almost slammed his fist into the dash.
He had to have justice. For Bhénen’s death, for this war, for every sacrifice that had been made to no discernable end. His heart slowed at the thought, and he finally knew his path.
He would find justice. And if no one could give it to him, he would take it.
CHAPTER 7
Dhóchas
The girl was barely breathing by the time they reached Dhóchas. The transport to the medical unit was a blur of empty halls and closed doorways. The few people they passed didn’t dare show their curiosity, but Eithné felt their stares on her back.
“What do you need?” Mikhél asked as he strode beside her.
“For my staff to be temporarily reassigned. At this hour Naiya and Delthan should be there. They can’t know what she can do.”
“Agreed.” He spoke into his link, and then, “What else?”
“Help,” she said grimly as she pushed the transport bed into surgery. “From all of you.”
The treatment was primitive and brutal. They had to cut deep into tissue to insert each supplement, and they worked constantly against the girl’s healing ability. They couldn’t afford to let the wounds close before the supplements were in place, or they’d have to cut again, and each incision they made cost the girl. Using the treatment at all was a gamble, but they had no choice. Without it she’d die.
For the first time since their uneasy alliance had formed, they worked in concert. Anger was forgotten, insults ignored. Even the chain of command was irrelevant. In this room, for this brief time, they were equals. And they shared one vital goal.
When they were done with the first round, exhaustion set in. Eithné and Leima moved slowly, cleaning the girl and removing her blood-soaked clothing. When they’d fitted her with a medical slip, Valaer helped them move her to a clean transport bed so they could sanitize the treatment area.
Eithné tossed the last of the bloody rags into the bin set into the wall. When she was certain she’d gotten every scrap, she incinerated the lot. Then she sank onto the floor.
“That’s all we can do for now.”
“Prognosis,” Mikhél said, his voice rough. She glanced at him, but of course his face showed nothing.
“Better,” she said, “now that she’s survived the first round of treatment. We should be replenishing far more than the proteins lost during the healing process. But we won’t know for sure until the next round of medication, or perhaps the round after that.”
“If it’s not enough?”
“There’s no other treatment available to us. If we had access to modern medicine—” She bit off the words. There was no point in them. “If this doesn’t work, there’s nothing else we can do.”
He studied her face and then looked at the others. “Go to your quarters,” he said. “Rest. I’ll stay with the girl.”
She glanced at him once more before she called closed the door. He sat in the corner of the room, his back impossibly straight, his face blank. And she wondered if he felt as helpless as the rest of them.
Her feet wanted to drag across the pliant floor, but she couldn’t allow it. Leima walked beside her, pale eyes twitching from floor to hall with a speed that made Eithné dizzy. She glanced at Valaer, but he pushed past them, shoulders stiff, and turned down a darkened corridor.
Eithné sighed and guided Leima into an empty room.
“Your fear shows on your face.” She said it gently, but Leima’s irises paled. Eithné sighed again and decided to start over. “You did well today. My gratitude for your assistance.”
“It was my honor,” Leima said stiffly. “My apologies for my fear.”
“If fear is a transgression, child, then we all hold guilt. Fear is his primary purpose when it comes to the Nhélanei.”
Leima’s eyes widened. Eithné imagined the girl hadn’t heard a disparaging remark against Lhókesh since she’d left the Other. The younger woman said, “I don’t know what to do. I wasn’t trained for this.”
“Yes, well. None of us was trained for this. All we can do now is serve the Baanrí the best we can and hope we can prepare her for what awaits her. You must behave as if you have nothing to fear. Call no attention to yourself, and you call no attention to her.”
They parted when they reached the residential level, and Eithné made her way toward her room. When the door closed behind her, she leaned against it and let her shoulders sag.
It was done.
They’d rescued the girl, a task far more vital than any of them had realized. She was with her own people, safe as long as her identity remained a secret, and she would live. Eithné had to believe she would live.
She crossed her small, windowless room and dropped onto the bed like a stone. But her racing thoughts held sleep at bay. The strong one. Leima’s words ran through her mind, and she opened her eyes with a frown.
The men didn’t believe. She’d expected the skepticism, but it hadn’t seemed problematic before. Now, with Seirsha lying helpless so far below her, wasted to nothing and ignorant of everything they needed her to know, it was imperative they all serve the same purpose. If they didn’t trust in something larger than themselves, she wasn’t sure they would succeed.
And if they failed with the girl, they would fail at everything.
Mikhél forced his gaze to stay on Seirsha, though it itched to jump away. She claimed no beauty in her illness. Her eyes bulged beneath their lids, her temples and cheeks sunken under gray, flaking skin. In all his time in the outskirts, he’d never seen a more severe case of clouding. But her unsightly features weren’t the source of his aversion.
He’d been jealous.
Jealous of the delicate, coddled child sent away with the gift of his own family while he’d grown up alone. Jealous of her freedom from cruelty and fear. She’d never had to hurt someone to save them. She’d never endured the hatred of those who didn’t understand. She’d never hated herself for what she’d done to another. No one knew better than he that intentions could not save the soul from actions.
But his envy had been fueled by self-pity, each comparison drawn a fallacy. There were no winners in this war, and he was by far its least sympathetic victim.
When the tone rang through the room, he sent his sedfai into the hall. His second-in-command waited there, an expected visit that still had Mikhél’s back tensing. He called open the door and willed his body to relax. “Endíett.”
“Endeté.” Bavoel’s gaze flickered to Seirsha and then away. Mikhél told himself he imagined the Endíett’s hidden interest in the girl and kept his hand from drifting to his weapon. “I can take your report of the mission now.”
“One khénta dead,” Mikhél said flatly. “One malnourished. Thaelen deficiency. Prognosis fair.”
“And the vinyatha?”
Mikhél’s lungs loosened. Bavoel wasn’t interested in Seirsha. His only concern was for the ore he believed she’d been sent to find.
“Yes, Endeté. We’ll approach the jump point in five cycles. At your command I’ll inform navigation of our flight plan.”
He offered a tekvar, but Mikhél didn’t dismiss him. He didn’t need five cycles to determine their next destination. The plans he’d laid before the rescue were no longer viable; Seirsha’s ignorance had seen to that. He now had no choice in their next stop.
“We go to Vorhódan.”
Bavoel’s eyes widened. The source of his surprise wasn’t a mystery. This would be their second visit to the mining planet since leaving Spyridon. It was unusual and therefore more likely to draw some attention, but it couldn’t be helped.
Bavoel cleared his throat. “And after that?”
“After that we return to Spyridon.”
The man made an effort to keep his fists loose as he walked through the halls. He wondered which of the crew he passed were counted among the traitors and which had retained loyalty to the true ruler of Spyridon. He wanted to touch them, to see the truth of their hearts, but such a thing would call too much attention to him when he wished for secrecy.
He made his way to the growth deck, and his pulse seemed to rise with each level he climbed through the ship. When the lift doors opened to trees and the eerie, ever shifting light of a space jump, his heart was hammering against his ribs.
He was meeting with Endetar. Leader of the Watchers and the man who held the true power over this ship. And he knew his path was just beginning.
He found Endetar under the tikka trees, canopied by their huge, pointed leaves. Even in the jumplight, the Watcher’s face was shadowed, his features obscured. His rank among the Watchers required a gesture of deep respect, so the man bowed in the loam.
A prompt drifted out of the darkness, an echo of a voice with no discernible source. “Do you know the truth of him?”
The man gave the expected response. “He’s Myrna’s gift to Spyridon.”
“Rise.” The man stood and waited. It took all of his effort not to shift on his feet. After a moment of silence, Endetar said, “What do you call yourself?”
Spyridon (The Spyridon Trilogy Book 1) Page 5