“You … saved me?”
Sen nodded.
Her brow furrowed. “Why would you do that?”
He cast a puzzled glance at Mizar, then back at her. “Why wouldn't we?”
“I am a stranger. And a woman.”
“My dear,” said the plump woman. “I can understand your reluctance to trust men after your encounter with those horrible Vandans, but I can assure you, there are few on all of Elystra more worthy of your trust than Mizar. And though I've only just met Sen, I am willing to vouch for him as well.”
“Mareta,” said Mizar, “would you mind giving our young guest some water?”
“Yes, of course.” Mareta filled a mug from the pitcher and held it out to Vaxi, who handed her the candlestick, took the offered mug, and downed its contents. “When was the last time you ate?”
“I don't know,” Vaxi replied, pouring the last few drops into her mouth. She hadn't realized until that moment just how thirsty she really was. This revelation brought forth other sensations, most notably her growling stomach. “It was several hours before I was attacked.”
“That was more than a day ago,” Mizar said. “You've been drifting in and out of consciousness since we found you.”
Mareta took the empty mug, refilled it and handed it back to Vaxi. “You poor thing, you must be starving! I will fix you a plate of food right away—-assuming the men left anything of the evening meal, that is.” She smiled warmly, and Vaxi couldn't help but return it. “I will be right back.” She gave Vaxi's hand a squeeze, stood up, and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Mizar, suddenly looking weary, sat on the foot of the bed. “I must commend you, young lady. There's not many who can say they were accosted by four Vandan raiders and lived to tell the tale.”
“Six,” Vaxi said, taking another long gulp from her mug.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Six,” she repeated. “There were six of them. I killed two with my bow.”
Mizar's eyebrows went up. “Did you, now?”
She nodded. “What became of the other four?”
Sen's mouth curled into a smile. “Let's just say they'll never bother anyone ever again.”
“You killed them?”
“Yes,” Mizar answered.
“Good,” she scoffed. “May their souls be sent to the blackest part of the Great Veil.”
She studied Mizar for a few moments. She didn't know much about him, only what Susarra had told her: like Kelia, he was an Elemental Wielder who, as of the time of the last Sojourn, served the king of Darad, Aridor. He looked to be in good physical condition for a man of his age, which she guessed was several years younger than her grandmother. “Is this your home?”
“Not precisely. This farm, this land, has belonged to my family for many generations. Had I not received the call from Arantha when I was a lad, I would no doubt have taken over for my father as keeper. Thankfully, my cousins and their families have more than fulfilled that role for me.” He shifted position, causing the wooden bed-frame to creak. “How came you to be in the forest by yourself?”
Before Vaxi could answer, Mareta returned with the food. The scent of the meat that assailed her nostrils, though unfamiliar, made her mouth water. She snatched what looked like a bird leg off the plate and tore into it. Then she tore a chunk off a small loaf of bread and downed that just as quickly.
“My goodness! Slow down, dear!” Mareta cautioned.
“She's right,” Sen added. “Too much food after a long fast will bring you much discomfort. Better to not take the risk.”
Vaxi just nodded, and began eating at a much more leisurely pace.
“Now then,” Mizar said. “You were about to explain your presence in the forest?”
Mareta shot him a withering glare. “This young lady is our guest, cousin, as are you. I'm sure at the Castle Randar you are accustomed to having all your questions answered, but I'll not have you interrogating her until she's regained her strength.”
“Hardly an interrogation, Mareta,” he said bemusedly. “They are simple questions –”
“That can wait until tomorrow,” Mareta interrupted. “Now go, both of you.”
Sen looked shocked, but Mizar just chuckled. “Very well. I look forward to resuming our conversation in the morning.” He stood, as did Sen. Mizar moved toward the door, but affixed Vaxi with a piercing stare. “At the risk of being intrusive … may we at least know your name?”
She thought of the prayer she'd made while being hounded by the Vandans. She'd begged Arantha to spare her life, to forgive her sins. Arantha had responded by sending no less than the High Mage of Darad and his apprentice—-a healer—-to rescue her, and rescue her they did. And this woman, Mareta, had already shown more compassion, more concern for her well-being than her grandmother ever did.
Vaxi had no idea what would come next, but Arantha had obviously put her in their care for a reason. And if Arantha trusted them, she would too.
“Vaxi,” she said. “My name is Vaxi.”
Mareta smiled, and her warmth seeped into Vaxi's heart. “Welcome to our home, Vaxi. You will be well looked after here, I promise.”
“Thank you.” Vaxi looked at her hands, scarcely able to reconcile the tales of what she'd heard about foreigners with the hospitality these people offered so freely. “I … I owe you my life. I do not know how I can repay you for your kindness.”
Mizar smiled. “We'll get to that tomorrow. I suspect you will have an interesting story to tell us.”
“Actually, there is one thing,” Sen said, turning to face her.
“What is that?”
He grazed his fingers over his cheek. “If you could refrain from hitting me again, I would be grateful.” Both Mizar and Mareta chuckled under their breath.
Vaxi, too, laughed. “I will do my best.”
Both men said their goodnights and left the room.
Mareta waited patiently for Vaxi to finish her meal, pouring her yet another mug of water. She set aside the empty plate, rose to her feet, and instructed Vaxi to resume a lying position. As she covered Vaxi with the blanket from the chest down, she said, “If you need to relieve yourself, there's a clean pot right over there.” She gestured to a medium-sized clay pot sitting conspicuously in the far corner. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No, I don't think so.”
Mareta smiled, and surprised Vaxi by leaning over and kissing her forehead. Then she retrieved the empty plate and blew out the remaining candles.
Before she could exit the room, Vaxi asked, “Do you know what happened to Tig?”
“Tig?”
“My chava. Is she nearby?”
Mareta's brow crinkled. “Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry. I'm afraid she didn't make it.”
Vaxi's heart turned into a lump of packed snow in her chest. She felt tears well up in her eyes, but she held them in. “Thank you, Mareta,” she croaked.
Mareta gave her one more sympathetic look, nodded, and left, leaving Vaxi to sob into her pillow.
Chapter Forty-Three
W ith a sigh, Davin demagnetized the bolt holding the last of the portable lamps from the wall of the tunnel they'd spent a week creating. Hefting it in his hands, he deactivated it and flung it into the back of the excavator, along with the other nineteen he'd already removed. The upward-sloping tunnel behind him was now in darkness except for the lamps blaring from the roof of the excavator.
He couldn't believe they were just packing up and leaving, after everything that had happened. They'd found what they came to Elystra to find, and that should've been all there was to it. But it wasn't, and he knew it. And he knew his mother knew it too. The sudden manifestation of her incredible abilities, which was immediately followed by the appearance of Kelia, who possessed supernatural powers from another Stone, was something that needed to be explored. But it wasn't to be.
Though he was barely fifteen, Davin, having inherited his father's smarts, was already studying at
a university level by the age of ten. Had the Jegg not reared their ugly insectoid heads, he would surely be on the fast track to follow Richard's path, the one that led straight to the Engineering Corps.
Living for five years underground had been difficult. He had many childhood friends that he knew he'd never see again. They were likely dead or in some internment camp somewhere, including Emma Donnelly, the girl he'd built his first laser with. Recalling his childhood friend, and the fun they'd had together, made him curse the Jegg.
He never let on how lonely he was, being the only kid at the Sahara Base, but given his ability to build things, no one on the team had ever treated him like he didn't belong. As bad as it was, spending one third of his life without seeing the light of day, he knew it could have been so much worse. At least he was alive, and he was with his parents, and they were working toward a solution. It beat being dead, a fate that befell untold billions.
Maeve let Davin sleep late into the day, after he'd taken sentry duty for a third straight night. When he woke a couple of hours ago, he discovered Kelia had gone without so much as a goodbye to him, only a three-word message spelled out in rocks. Maeve was tight-lipped about the circumstances surrounding Kelia's departure, despite his persistent questions. All his mother had revealed was that, even though Kelia could provide Maeve with the knowledge and training she would need to use her new abilities in some way against the Jegg, their world-views were just too different to reach an accord.
Davin couldn't hide his disappointment. He'd read many stories about humans achieving supernatural powers through various extraordinary means. Some invented technologies to augment themselves, some tapped into extra-dimensional sources, and there was even one ancient story about a boy not much older than he who got bitten by a radioactive spider and soon thereafter developed the proportionate abilities of a human arachnid. A truly ridiculous notion, he often thought, but entertaining. He always thought of his mom as a hero—-she was a veteran combat pilot, trained in several martial arts disciplines and a variety of weapons—-but when you throw the ability to talk to animals and heal herself into the mix? That redefines the word riff.
As he maneuvered the excavator back up the tunnel, he harbored an evil thought of leaving some innocuous artifact, like one of their hand-shovels, behind. Or maybe he should carve “DAVIN WAS HERE” in four-foot-high letters on the cave wall. Then, centuries from now, some Elystran archaeologist might find it, and it would blow his ever-loving mind.
The excavator passed through the entrance and out into the waning daylight. All the things he'd gotten used to seeing—-the tables and chairs, the generator, the purifier and food synthesizer—-had already been packed away. There was nothing left to put back on the ship except the metal beast he was now driving.
He killed the machine's engine several yards away from the Talon. Almost immediately, he heard a high–pitched, agonized scream come from down the wadi. It was followed by another, and then another. It could only have come from his mother.
Had the lyraxes returned? Even though they hadn't revealed themselves beyond the occasional distant howl since the night they breached the camp, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that they might return. It was now late in the afternoon, same as it had been on that night.
This led to another terrible thought: now that Maeve had packed the Stone into a quadranium-lined crate so that it wouldn't interfere with the ship's sensors, did that mean that her ability to talk to the lyraxes also went away? Maybe they had come out of hiding, and were tearing his mother limb from limb.
The screams continued unabated as he sped down the wadi. When he rounded the slight curve in the riverbed, he saw his mother, sitting upon a flat stone, apparently uninjured. He heaved a sigh of relief as he slowed his pace, coming to a stop about fifty yards away. There was no sign of any lyraxes, and she seemed unharmed. So why was she screaming like a banshee?
He resumed walking, approaching her position. Her shoulders were drooped, and her face was buried in the palms of her hands. He heard several loud sniffles, and he could only conclude she'd been crying.
Only a few minutes ago, she was fine. He knew they weren't leaving under the best of circumstances, but still … what could possibly have happened to upset her like this?
“Mom?” he called out. She raised her head and saw him. She stood up immediately, clumsily straightened her shirt, and wiped her face with the backs of her hands, and faced him with the most disingenuous smile in her repertoire. He might have rolled his eyes if he wasn't so concerned.
She began walking towards him. At that same moment, a small patch of dirt several feet away stirred, as if displaced by a burrowing rodent. Before he could cry out, something long and serpentine shot forth from the ground, quickly covering the distance between its hiding place and his mother. It curled its body like a spring and launched itself at her, burying its fangs in Maeve's leg. The thin material of her pants was built to withstand the elements, but it was inadequate to shield her from an attack by an angry snake.
“Mom!” he yelled, breaking into a sprint, his eyes locked on the snake.
At first, his mother didn't appear affected, and for a moment, he held out hope that either she wasn't badly wounded or that her healing ability had somehow countered the pain caused by the bite. The horror at hearing her scream returned in full force a moment later, though. Her body jerked spasmodically, and she doubled over before collapsing to the ground.
Davin screamed as loud as he could, trying to get the snake's attention. It worked. The creature turned its beady black eyes upon him, flicking its tongue in and out as it assessed him. Before he could make up his mind how best to attack the thing, however, it slithered away. Almost invisible against the dirt of the riverbed, it disappeared into its hole.
He reached his mother, who continued to jerk and writhe, and he pulled her into his arms. Trying in vain to quell his rising terror, he could only watch as her eyelids fluttered, her face twitched, and her legs kicked out.
“Mom!” he screamed, over and over again, trying to get through to her. No luck.
He'd heard of people's lives flashing before their eyes as they died, but he suddenly felt himself seeing his entire life. He remembered blowing out candles on his birthday cake. His school and his friends. A forgotten corner in the Sahara Base sub-basement he'd converted into his own personal fortress. Finally, the flight from Earth. In each of these memories was a woman, smiling and proud, to guide him through it all. His mother, the woman who now lay seemingly dying in his arms.
It was just a snakebite! Why wasn't she healing herself? Wasn't the Stone supposed to make her invulnerable?
The Stone. Which was now locked in a shielded box, somewhere on the Talon.
With a frantic sob, he swept her into his arms, running as fast as he could back to the ship. He was quite tall, just over six feet in height, and he was in above-average physical shape—-he spent a lot of down-time at Sahara Base working out with Calvin, Ji-Yan, and sometimes even his mother—-but Maeve was no lightweight. It took a full minute, and all of Davin's strength, to carry her to the Talon's exit ramp. The longest minute of his life, where he could have sworn he heard his mother's heartbeat slowing down with every step he took.
He set her down as gently as he could on the ramp and ran to the crew quarters to retrieve the med-kit, praying to God there was some kind of antiserum. He rooted through the supplies like a man possessed, his eyes lighting up when he found an ampoule of antitoxin. The label was worn, and it was likely several years old, but he couldn't stop to worry if the stuff had expired or lost its potency. He jammed the ampoule into the derma-hypo, grabbed the med-kit with his other hand, and ran back to his mother.
He let out an exhale as he heard the hiss of the serum being injected into her body. Her twitching had lessened, but her breathing was erratic, and her eyes were still closed. He grasped her hand, feeling for a pulse, a sign that the medicine was working, something.
For another ago
nizingly long minute, he listened for signs of change in her breathing, which was now reduced to low, shallow pants. Her spasms had stopped, and it felt like her pulse was becoming weaker by the moment.
His mind raced. This wasn't working. He'd bought her a few more minutes, but unless he did something else, he would lose her. And then he'd be all alone.
“Shite!” he cried, leaping to his feet. He ran back to the crew quarters, scanning every corner for the box Maeve would have used to contain the Stone. He saw nothing. He searched every place he could reach, but turned up zilch.
No. No. God, don't you DARE take her away from me! Not now!
Davin barreled down the ladder to the hold, where most of their containers lay stacked around the perimeter. A large gap filled one end of the room where the excavator was to be parked. Most of the crates were too big to be the one she would use to keep the Stone in. He tore the lid off the only one that might have been the right size, only to realize he'd just opened the box with the PT's in them. Four of them, thrown carelessly into their container.
He and Maeve had stopped using them the night of the lyrax attack. When they found the Stone, the source of the interference that rendered them nearly useless, they hadn't bothered checking to see if the PT's were even still operable. Now that the Stone was, presumably, ensconced in its shielded box somewhere on board, the rational part of his brain was surprised to learn that all four devices still held a minimal charge, their power readings ranging from seven percent to nineteen percent.
Panic now taking over, he left the hold and returned to his mother's side. Her convulsions had subsided, and she was lying still as death. Her body was going into shock. Soon, the venom that was paralyzing her one bodily system at a time would reach her heart.
With a desperate scream, he dumped the entire contents of the med-kit onto the ground, scanning each bottle, vial and ampoule in turn for something that might help. He found nothing.
Pawns (The Wielders of Arantha Book 1) Page 33