by Cat Bruno
“It might take half a day to wash the road from me, and the only thing clean I have to wear is a robe. Is it not strange to be so long out of our healer’s garb?”
Laughing, Sharron replied, “I was never overly fond of the robes.”
“It should not matter what I am wearing when I see him again,” Caryss sighed as she stripped free of her clothing.
“Let it not matter then. I think it a fine thing to remind him that you are healer still.”
Her boots came off next, and she tiptoed to the tub, naked for the first time in Sharron’s presence in moons. When she saw the other healer watching her, she said, “Can you believe that it has already been over six moons?”
“It was easy to forget with all of our travels, but not so easy to forget now,” she answered lightly.
Enjoying the moment as if they were any other women, Caryss giggled, “I have never been quite this, well, round. Do I appear as I should, do you think?”
“Yes, although perhaps it is time that we start examining you each quarter-moon. Have we both forgotten our training?”
The laughter that followed brought smiles to both women’s faces and calmed Caryss more than the warm water did, but it was not enough to make her forget where they were. As she soaked in the warm water, Sharron wiped at her own face and arms, removing her soiled tunic. She was thin, Caryss realized, more so than when first they left the Academy. The last few moons had been difficult ones, and she found herself not displeased at this momentary respite.
As Sharron scrubbed herself clean, Caryss laid back, closing her eyes and thinking back on her time with Willem.
I knew so little then.
Later, after Caryss finished washing her hair and body, she rose from the tub, reaching for the towel that Sharron offered. Pulling the healer’s robe over her head, Caryss was surprised at how snugly it now fit. Near a washbasin in the corner of the room, she found a hand mirror, eying herself as she hadn’t done since they had left the Cove. As she pulled her damp hair into a healer’s knot at the nape of her neck, she noticed lighter strands mixed in with the auburn and remembered how long in the saddle and under the sun the group had been. Her face was no longer as pale as it often was and freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, which were fuller than they had been when last she looked.
Next, Caryss loosely attached her healer’s belt over her rounded stomach, and, as she did so, regretted having nothing else to wear. She looked much younger in the healer’s robe, although she felt as if she had aged moon years since her time at the Academy. Having little choice, she set the mirror back down, and turned toward Sharron, who had already gotten dressed, in a robe as well, as they no longer had to hide who they were.
When both women were back in the main room, Caryss addressed the others, “He will not harm me, but I cannot promise you safety. If I have not returned by sundown, it would be best to leave as you arrived.”
As she went for the door, Otieno rushed toward her. “It is not wise to go alone, leseda. Aldric can stay here with the rest, but I will be at your side.”
Caryss only nodded, knowing that he would not accept any other answer. With one final look back at Aldric, she departed. They retraced their steps down the long hallway that Conall had shown them, but he was nowhere to be found. Once they were back in the room just off the main doors, Caryss looked to Otieno.
“He will not hurt me.”
Solemnly, Otieno told her, “That is not what I fear. I have sworn my sword to the wolf cub, who will have need of both parents.”
With a bitter laugh, Caryss replied, “You think I would try to kill her father?”
Dropping his gaze to her belt, he answered, “I can see the outline of the blade in your pouch, healer. And I have seen what you can do with it.”
“He would kill you and think nothing of it, yet you would protect him?”
“The healer forgets herself. Or the girl is getting too strong for you to control. Either way, it no longer matters. We have company,” he said, nodding his head toward the far end of the room.
Without turning, she knew who had joined them. She clung to her anger at Otieno or might have let the shaking of her legs send her to the stones beneath her bare feet. He was upon them soundlessly, as if his boots were soft-furred paws. Caryss wondered if he would be wolf or man when she next looked.
The diauxie took a step forward, until he stood in the middle of both Conri and her.
When the High Lord spoke, Caryss nearly reached for Otieno’s arm. Instead, she called on the girl for strength.
“I knew that you would come.”
It was enough to make her face him, without fear, for she had known him for half of her life.
“I had forgotten how all-knowing you are,” she called, hiding nothing.
When he laughed, she remembered how much she hated him, and her hand lowered until her fingers brushed against the rough cotton pouch hanging from her belt. With her next breath, the green eyes of her father were staring up at her from where he lay in the high-grassed field. His tunic was stained red, his face pale; blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Part of her lingered in the field beside her dead parents, despite the cool slate beneath her bared feet.
Moons before, she had done nothing when the memory came. She was not that same girl now. Before Otieno could move, her fingers dipped into her pouch.
Knowing that both men’s eyes were upon her, she hesitated, adjusted her belt, and called, “Much has changed since you last saw me, Conri, and gone are the days when I was but a child’s toy to you. What game you sought to play ends here.”
While she talked, her hands slid back to her sides. Yet, without either man noticing, the healer had hidden the dagger in the long, wide sleeve of her robe. The blade throbbed hot against her skin, and such burning never felt so fine.
Otieno’s warnings rang loudly in her ears, but she cared little for them.
“I am hundreds of moon years beyond toys, Caryss, and I do not believe I ever enjoyed them overmuch. Am I mistaken to think that you came here of your own will?”
“You do not seem surprised by my presence,” she sighed, steadying her voice.
“Conall was sent to find you twice. You made his work easy by coming here, or you finally saw what danger you faced.”
Her eyes were dark as she fumed, “I came at no man’s bidding.”
The smile that greeted her words curved Conri’s lips slightly and brightened his eyes, mocking and smug, and, with laughter in his voice, he asked, “Has the girl taught you to time-walk, and you are nothing but illusion then?”
Before she could next breathe, his hands were around her waist and his lips were against her cheek, and he whispered against her ear, “Or are you here to enchant me, Rexaria?”
The dagger slipped into her hand as if it answered her call. Tightening her fingers around the hilt, she raised her arm, just behind Conri, and kept her eyes on his. The High Lord’s eyes were a black so deep that she could see herself reflected in them, and, for a moment, she paused.
And then the diauxie moved, jumping forward and reaching for her hand. Just as his calloused and hardened fingers encircled her wrist, the tip of the dagger pierced through the fabric of Conri’s shirt. Caryss watched as his gaze reddened, the blacks of his eyes becoming crimson and thick until streaks of blood ran through the whites of his eyes, too.
When Otieno squeezed her arm, Caryss dropped the dagger to the floor. Her eyes followed it as it clanked heavy on the gray-black stones. The bloodied blade rolled until it landed just beside Conri’s boot.
“Leseda!” Otieno hissed, in a voice she would not have known to be his.
As he pulled her free of Conri, the Tribesman collapsed to the floor, kneeling, with his head bent low and his eyes downcast and hidden. Caryss wondered if they were still blackened mirrors as Otieno released her.
She watched, as if she was a statue, as the diauxie bent next to Conri, pressing the heel of his hand against the bleeding man’
s back, much as she would have done had the man been any other. While he worked, she retrieved the dagger, wiping it against the bleached cotton of her robe until her left sleeve was stained and striped with red. As she ran the blade over the fabric, Caryss’s hand began to shake, anger fading as doubt surfaced.
“Lay him on his left side,” she called, with little emotion, crouching on the floor next to Otieno.
The Islander refused to look at her, but did as she asked, never removing his hand from where her blade had penetrated Conri.
“He will not die,” she told him. “Lift your hand and you will see that I barely scratched him.”
Again, he did as she asked, and, together, they both watched as he lifted Conri’s shirt away from his body, exposing a thumb-sized gash on the lower right side of his back. Blood still dripped from the wound, and Caryss watched with some surprise as it spilled red and wet onto the stones.
Did I think he would not bleed?
“I have never known a scratch to cause a man to sleep with death, Caryss,” Otieno sputtered.
She could not argue with his words, and, truthfully, was alarmed that Conri had not yet opened his eyes. As he lay on the slate, she placed her fingers against his neck, feeling for his life pulse, as if he was man and not Tribe. When the steady beating throbbed beneath her fingers, she relaxed briefly before moving her hand from his neck to his back. His skin was warm around where the dagger had entered, yet cold elsewhere.
When he had laughed, her eyes had hazed red and her dad’s eyes haunted her. The dagger had plunged into his body as if her hands were not her own.
No, she thought, the hands that stabbed him were only mine.
Clear-headed again, she said, “Otieno, can you bring Sharron to me? And my other pouches as well.”
“And leave you with him?” he growled.
Unable to look at him, the diauxie’s words cut her hard, stinging and cruel.
“Take the dagger with you. I should not have it while we are here,” she conceded, offering up the blade.
As he rose from the floor, he grabbed the dagger and stepped to the door.
Calling out to him, she cried, “He killed my parents, Otieno!”
She watched as he paused, his back, covered by the suddenly shining Greatsword.
“Your daughter might accuse you of the same.”
He left her then. Alone with the man she had tried to kill.
When he returned with Sharron, the healers worked in silence. As she cleaned the wound, Conri’s eyes fluttered open, but Caryss continued to work, stitching him as she would any other. Once his back was marked with five small, black crosses, she sat back on her heels, staring at her blood-dipped fingers.
Aldric had come with Sharron and Otieno, and when Caryss saw him standing at the edge of the room, she asked, “Why does he still sleep?”
“The atraglacia has weakened him.”
“What more can I do?”
“Nothing,” he sighed, looking away from her.
“Aldric, please,” she begged, rushing toward him. “There must be something.”
His face gaunt and sallow, Aldric stated, “I can attempt to call him back.”
“Will it harm you?” she cried.
“Not overmuch, although I will need days to recover. Is this what you want?”
Embarrassed by her tears, Caryss quickly wiped at her face with the clean sleeve of her robe and nodded.
“I should never have struck him.”
The mage and the healer looked at one another, as the High Lord lay behind them, breathing and sleeping, vulnerable as his kind rarely was.
“You are wrong, Caryss. You should have struck him moons ago when you first remembered what he had done. Better late than never, I suppose.”
When the dark mage smiled at her, she reached for him, hugging him tightly, causing his angled cheeks to redden.
“Perhaps when he wakes he will agree,” she told him, pulling further away until the mage was alone beside Conri.
Sitting with her feet tucked under her, Caryss watched as Aldric breathed deeply and turned his attention toward the High Lord. For several moments, the dark mage ran his hands together, but each time Caryss looked, there was no fire to be seen, although she did not know why she thought that he would need it. He sought to do something different here; instead of destruction, he was working toward resurrection.
Rarely had she seen him work, except for the few spells and wardings he had weaved on their trip. The warding of Herrin’s door at the Grand Palace had been quite strong, and his ability to undo it so quickly had filled her with surprise, and, again, when he had killed the Crow, she had been impressed.
When next she glanced at him, Aldric was rolling the man over onto his back. Again, the Tribesman’s eyes opened briefly, but, just as quickly, closed. As they all watched and waited, Aldric began to hum, softly, and placed his fingertips over Conri’s eyes, then trailed them down the man’s pale face until both hands were still on his gently rising chest. Caryss watched with a creased brow and focused eyes as Aldric began repeatedly tapping on Conri’s chest, over and over, in rhythm with the dull sound of his humming. The mage did not stop until Conri moaned, rolling onto his side and forcing Aldric from his body.
No one spoke. No one moved except for the High Lord. Silence spread across the room, heavy and cloying.
When Aldric collapsed, falling onto his stomach with his cheek pressed against the floor, Caryss finally moved, rushing toward him and cradling his head in her lap. Sharron was beside her before she could call out, and, together, they examined the mage. He had not been wrong, she realized. He slept, as if under heavy sedation.
With little choice, Caryss spoke, her words cracking the silence around them, “Otieno, can you carry Aldric back to the room? It will be days before he recovers.”
The large man neared her, and, when he was close enough, hissed, “The dagger stays with me.”
He did not look at her to see her nod, but reached for the mage, picking him up as if he was a child, and carrying him from the room, leaving only the Tribesman and the healers remaining. Conri was fully awake, his eyes purple and clouded. When they reached Caryss, she looked away, afraid to see what was written there.
She knew that he would remember what she had done.
“The dagger is no longer in my possession, if that matters,” she quietly told him. “The dark mage Aldric was able to revive you. Where the dagger entered, there is a small wound, but it will heal within a half-moon.”
Her words were spoken as if she had not been the one who stabbed him, emotionless and unaffected. Even her hatred for him was gone from her voice.
When he spoke, it was as if he was made of rock and granite, mountain and dirt. Harsh and coarse were his words, and Caryss shivered in their wake.
“Kill me and you kill your daughter. You think my father would let her live? You nearly played into their hands.”
“Into whose hands?” she cried.
“Her enemies, and there are many.”
“There are three less now,” she cried, then regretted letting the words come so hastily.
He grabbed her so quickly and with such force that it seemed he had never been harmed at all.
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
“On our way here, three Crows attacked us, unprovoked. We had no choice but to kill them,” she stuttered.
Caryss watched as his hands clenched.
“Who killed them, and how are you certain they were Crows?”
Conri’s voice was still edged and rough, yet she could sense uneasiness in them.
“They dropped on us from the sky, Conri, and shifted from man to bird. What else might they be?”
Ignoring her taunt, he said, “Was it the Islander who killed them?”
“He killed one. Aldric threw fire at another. I used the dagger on the first, as he flew at me.”
“Caryss!” he roared, “You would have me believe that you killed a Crow?”
>
Through the thunder of his words, she understood him to be whole again, and, without pity, she answered, “You must still be half-asleep, Conri. Yes, I killed a Crow, after it attacked us without cause. As he came upon me, from the sky, I opened his neck. If you don’t believe me, I can show you the clothing I was wearing when it happened. What once was green is now dark with blood of the Crow.”
Stepping back, he asked, “Where did this occur?”
“Half a day’s ride from here.”
Shaking his head, he asked, “And what of the bodies?”
“We feared another attack and departed in haste, leaving the Crows where they had fallen, but burning.”
“I must take care of this, but do no think that I will ignore what occurred earlier. Just or not, you need me alive. Do not forget it. Your mage is strong, I will give him that, and, to be honest, I am pleased to know that the girl will have such an ally. But even he and the Islander will not be able to defend you from certain enemies. Until it is safe, you must stay here. I will ward this whole place to keep you here, if need be. With your mage weakened, you will not be able to leave as you came.”
“The girl is stronger than any,” she told him, knowing it to be true.
Her words were the only shield that she had, and Caryss used them as such, but Conri merely looked at her, with an expression that she could not read.
“She will always have admittance here, but do not think that she is stronger than me. Your word that you stay, or you and your friends will become prisoners here.”
Her cards all played, Caryss said, “For now, I stay.”
As he slowly limped from the room, he called back to her, “There is someone here who will be happy to see you, Caryss. I will send her to you.”
His back, the same one she had thrust an atraglacian blade into, was all that she saw as he fled the room. And, as always, his departure left her with more questions than answers.
*****
She was as he remembered her, although there were small lines at the corners of her eyes and at the edges of her lips. Her hair was pulled away from her face, and in the midday light, her cheeks glowed red. Beneath the wide spread of a thickly-leaved tree, they sat, a blanket spread under them. For as far as Willem could see, fields of grass dried under the warm Planusian sun, fading and pale.