Chapter Fifty-nine
Deiq stood across the room from Alyea’s bed, watching Eredion work to call her back. The desert lord knelt beside the bed, fingertips laid against Alyea’s shoulder and hip, his eyes closed. Sweat beaded his forehead; he muttered her name almost continually under his breath.
Lady Peysimun had been put to sleep with a combination of desert lord persuasion and a simpler matter of drugs slipped into her drink; she wouldn’t be interfering for some time yet. And Eredion had absolutely forbidden Deiq’s involvement, at any level.
So Deiq stayed still, looking at his surroundings to distract himself from pushing into whatever Eredion was doing. Dawn limned the windows; the curtains had been drawn wide and shutters thrown back to allow cool air into the room. Not enough there to hold his interest; his gaze tracked back to Alyea after only moments.
The few cuts not concealed by the array of bandages wrapped around Alyea’s body scabbed with slow, webbing stealth; cracked and bled, and closed again. Bruises shifted across a variety of colors, faded, brightened, highlighting gaunt hollows under her high cheekbones. Eredion paused to sip from a mug of water and cast a bleak glance at Deiq. “She doesn’t want to come back,” he said. “I’m having a hard time convincing her it’s going to be worth it.”
“I could—”
“No, you can’t. Let me handle this. I’ve done it before. And at least this time, I’m proud of what I’m doing.” Eredion took another sip of water, shut his eyes, and resumed the low droning chant of Alyea’s name. Deiq settled into a chair, drumming his fingers against his legs; caught a sideways glare from Eredion, and forced himself to go quiet and still.
The air began to warm as the sun rose from dawn to early morning; Alyea gave a sobbing gasp, her dark eyes half-open but still hazed and unseeing.
Eredion sat back, grey relief breaking across his face. Unable to help himself, Deiq started up from his chair and said, “Alyea!”
Instantly, a staggering wave of rage crashed through the room. Deiq stumbled back, fetching up against the wall. Eredion ducked out of the way as Alyea’s arms flailed out in erratic blows; then she rolled from the bed and to her feet, nothing sane in her eyes or mind.
Her hand closed around the bedside table-lamp; Deiq barely ducked aside in time. It shattered where his head had just been, adding the sharp greasy tang of oil to the already-rank room.
She looked down at herself and snarled; clawed at the bandages, shredding them like paper, and stood naked, blood oozing from underneath multiple, fragile new scabs. Eredion moved to a crouch, working his way around the side of the bed. She spun, grabbed an empty glass vase, and pitched it unerringly at Eredion’s head. He only escaped by flattening himself on the floor, and the vase whirled past to shatter against the wall.
Someone screamed from the doorway, a shrill yip of astonishment: “She’s awake!”
Deiq glanced over just as Wian ran into the room, calling Alyea’s name; the girl’s reward was to have the ceramic bowl they’d been using for sponge-water pitched at her head. Water sprayed everywhere, and Wian wasn’t fast enough to duck in time. She went down with a yelp, and the bowl careened off, bursting apart into fragments when it hit the stone floor.
“Damn it, Alyea, stop!” Deiq hollered as she turned to face him again.
Her face was strange and grey, all angles and coldness. She stared without really seeing him, and reached for something else to throw.
“Eredion—” He ducked as the bedpan, mercifully empty, went past his ear. “Can’t you do something?”
“Lady!” Wian cried, one hand to her head. Blood matted her hair.
“Shut up, you idiot!” Deiq snapped. “Eredion!”
“Don’t you touch me!” Alyea shrieked, and picked up the night stand.
Medicines and salves slid off and crashed to the floor, creating an entirely new stench in the room. Deiq leapt to stand closer to the open windows, his eyes watering. Eredion ducked in another direction, and Alyea stood still, night stand held aloft, as though unable to track their movements well enough to aim properly.
“She’s too fragile,” Eredion panted. “There’s nothing to grab hold of. She’s raving from dasta, and gods know what else—”
A soft noise from the doorway caught Deiq’s attention. He looked up to find a horrified-looking young man with bright red hair and blue eyes staring, appalled, at Alyea.
“Get out of here, you idiot!” Eredion thundered.
Wian spun, holding out both hands to the stranger, and shouted, “No! Tank! Come help her! The way you helped me, come help her! Please!”
“Are you out of your gods-blessed mind?” Eredion roared.
Furious and horrified, Deiq moved to physically throw both the boy and the servant from the room; but Tank’s stare locked onto Alyea with a bizarre intensity, and then Alyea dropped the night stand and turned, her own haze clearing as she looked straight at Tank—
—and Deiq felt an inexplicable click, and a shifting—
“Shit!” Eredion said, in tones of deep, incredulous awe. “Deiq, wait—wait, she’s stopped, she’s stopped, she’s not trying to kill him—or us—”
“What in the hells?”
“I don’t know—but wait—”
Tank staggered a few steps forward, as though drawn against his will. Alyea watched him, unmoving, her face more alive and alert than Deiq had ever seen it: like an asp-jacau ready to attack.
“Godsdamnit, he’s only a human, she’s going to tear him apart,” Deiq said.
“No, she’s not, she’s not going to hurt him, there’s something else going on, wait—”
A moment later, Tank went to his knees, threw back his head, and screamed with nearly ear-shattering volume. Deiq put his hands over his ears, wincing.
“That’s not hurting him?”
Eredion just shook his head and urgently motioned Deiq to stay where he was. “I recognize him now,” he said as the scream wound down into a series of hoarse gasps. “I was even more tired than I thought, last night, not to recognize him. That’s the Aerthraim boy.”
Deiq backed up a hasty step. “The one who—” You let him in here, you godsdamned idiot? he thought but didn’t say, too rattled to organize mind-speech.
“Yes. Now shut up—”
The Aerthraim boy staggered to his feet and lunged forward, catching Alyea in a tight embrace. She buried her face in his neck and burst into deep, gut-wrenching sobs. He stroked her hair and back unceasingly, his own head leaned into her shoulder; Deiq realized with a sense of icy shock that he couldn’t feel any emotions from the two. They’d retreated into a silent, shared world, blocking off every outside influence; there was literally no way to reach either of them short of physical violence.
He exchanged a helpless glance with Eredion, not at all sure what to do next.
The boy reached into his belt pouch and pulled out something that looked like a twisted, dry stick of black trail jerky; murmuring reassurances, he worked it into Alyea’s mouth. She chewed, obedient as a cow, but her eyes reddened and began to water almost immediately.
“I know,” Deiq heard the boy murmur. “Tastes awful . . . keep chewing . . . good. Spit out what’s left—” A blob of stringy mush landed on the floor, and Alyea sagged, her intensity draining away.
The boy caught Alyea up, cradling her against his chest as though she weighed nothing and he could carry the world without noticing.
Not looking at anyone—not seeming to even realize anyone else stood watching—he brought her to the bed, laid her down gently, and tried to step back. She shot out a hand, clutching at him frantically. He perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed; she continued to tug at him. After a moment he kicked off his boots, then stretched out, wrapping his arms around her.
Alyea gave a shuddering sigh and relaxed all over, her eyes rolling back then sliding closed. A rough shiver passed through the boy’s body; his eyes shut, and he followed her into a profoundly exhausted slumber.
Deiq watched them sleep, unable to believe what he’d just seen. Eredion, similarly stunned, slowly righted an overturned chair and sat, favoring his right leg.
“I knew he could help,” Wian said from her place on the floor, looking supremely pleased with herself, then flinched under the dark glare both men turned on her.
“How?” Eredion demanded. “When we couldn’t settle her down, what made you think he had a chance?”
“I met him before, is how I know,” she retorted. “He’s one of the men brought me back to Bright Bay. He’s got a gift. A healing gift.”
“A healing gift?” Eredion said incredulously; glanced at Deiq, and visibly held himself back from further comment.
Are you sure this is the same boy? Deiq asked.
Oh, yes, Eredion answered. But I never heard of him being trained as a healer!
Wian, unaware of the side conversation, went on: “I knew Tank could reach her, because he’d already helped me without any idea what he was doing. I knew if he saw her, he’d have to help her. It’s how he is. He couldn’t have walked away.”
“If you’d been wrong,” Eredion said bleakly, his gaze going to the bed again.
“But I wasn’t.”
“She could have killed him, Wian, and what that would have done to her mind . . . You have no idea what risk you took. You should have warned him first. You should have warned us. Gods, my heart almost stopped.”
She shrugged and climbed to her feet; then winced, putting her hand to her still-bleeding head. Deiq noticed that the pain seemed to bother her less than the feeling of blood trickling down her neck, and filed the observation for future consideration.
“I’ll go tell Lady Peysimun her daughter’s doing better,” she said, and left the room without looking back.
Eredion and Deiq looked at each other. In the silence, the redhead snored quietly.
“Why him?” Deiq asked, feeling a deep ache press into his chest. “Why him?”
The desert lord sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I think,” he said slowly, “because he’s been through it too. Born in a katha village, as I understand it, and raised there for years. Didn’t you hear about him?”
“I knew a human boy was involved in the battle with Ninnic’s child,” Deiq said, “but I never understood why they chose that approach. I thought he was just a sacrifice—a distraction, perhaps with enough innate ability to keep him interesting to Ninnic’s child for a time; and I thought he’d died in the battle.”
Eredion flicked Deiq a sardonic glance.
“No,” he said. “His proper name is Tanavin Aerthraim, and he’s as fully trained and able as I am, if somewhat less aware of the potential of his abilities. And since he’s still fully human, ha’reye and ha’ra’hain can’t really see him, if I understand the theory correctly. You call ordinary humans tharr, right? ‘The invisible ones.’”
Deiq shut his eyes and opened other-vision. He couldn’t see the boy at all, beyond a vague blurriness. Beside him, Alyea’s presence wavered with an odd translucence, hazed by such close contact.
“Yes,” he said, barely audible. He swallowed hard, appalled. The humans had taken a ha’reye blind spot and turned it to their own ends with deadly efficiency. Not at all surprising that the plan came from the Aerthraim: the only Family without desert lords; the only Family without a protector. The only ones not afraid of retaliation for this gross offense against the Agreement.
Oh, gods, if the Jungles ever find out that humans made this leap. . . .
He reverted to human-normal vision and blinked at Eredion. “Did he actually get close enough to kill it?”
Before today, he’d deliberately avoided conversations or questions about that time. Best not to know things that could invite retaliation by his elders. But now he found himself filled with a morbid, horrified curiosity; and it was, after all, too late to be afraid now. Eredion’s damned trust had put him beyond any chance of redemption among his own kin.
“Close enough, yes; as for killing it, not quite.” Eredion began to pick up the larger shards of debris around the room. Deiq just stood still and watched, too shaken to seriously consider helping. “Things didn’t exactly . . . go as planned. Tanavin took off on his own, and ran more or less straight into the right place at the wrong time. We arrived rather later, to find that he’d hit hard and run like all hells. But he did more damage with that one blow than myself and five other full desert lords managed, combined.”
He piled the shards near the bedroom door and turned to regard the sleeping pair again, his expression grave.
“If it’s any consolation,” he added, “I really doubt he’ll want to get between you two. He’s not ready to settle down yet, and he’s developed an intense hatred of politics.”
Deiq stiffened. “That’s not—”
Eredion turned his head and met Deiq’s eyes.
“I know what it’s not,” the desert lord said. “And I know what it is. You forget, Deiq—the sharing goes both ways.”
“Mmph,” Deiq said after a moment, and looked away. “I didn’t think you’d see . . . that deep.” Most desert lords were too busy screaming and fighting to get away, or fighting themselves to stay put, to look at anything else.
“If I saw that,” Eredion said, “so will she. When the time comes.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll speak to her for you, when she recovers,” Eredion said quietly. “I don’t think you have the words to explain it.”
“Thanks,” Deiq said in a muted voice, and looked back at Alyea.
A moment’s cautious examination told him she was, steadily and gently, drawing the energy she needed to heal from the Aerthraim boy; or perhaps, even more incredibly, the boy was feeding her.
Deiq had never seen a human or a desert lord do such a thing. It frightened and elated him at the same time; if this was possible, maybe—
He roughly squashed the hope. Human mutation, he told himself, nothing I can ever duplicate. It’s too late for me. I already proved that. I can’t give her anything at all. I can only take.
A shivering ache spiraled through his body, as though the hunger had just been waiting for a thought to activate it. He struggled to ignore it; he wouldn’t put Eredion, or any other desert lord, through that agony again.
Never again. Never. Never. Never.
Tanavin snored again, his arms tightening around Alyea, and Deiq fought the urge to rip the red-haired boy away from her and fling him through a wall. It wouldn’t be safe; Tanavin very nearly matched a ha’ra’ha for willpower.
Deiq grunted softly, remembering that Tanavin already had gone against a first-generation ha’ra’ha—and won. At full strength, Deiq knew, he could have done the same; but right now. . . .
“I don’t think I want to tangle with this one,” he said aloud. “What’s he doing here, anyway?”
Eredion rubbed his eyes. “He came in late last night with a message from Idisio.”
He briefly related their conversation. Deiq listened, frowning and anxious, then said, “What are you doing about it?”
Eredion shook his head. “Not much I can do, really. Filin and the others all left for the southlands yesterday morning, and they wouldn’t have traveled past Bright Bay in any case. If Azaniari was home, I’d send her without hesitation, but you said she’s staying on with Scratha to help him restore the fortress. There’s nobody else nearby I would trust to send after a mad ha’ra’ha; I can’t leave, and you . . . won’t. So I don’t know what help we can send him, unless you know something I don’t.”
“No,” Deiq said, and sat back in his chair with a deep sigh. “I can’t think of anything. I just hope she doesn’t hurt him.”
“I remember,” Eredion said tentatively, “that you’ve been known to travel . . . quite a way . . . in short order. In the past.”
Deiq shook his head, looking down at his hands. “Not any longer,” he said. “There’s a high price involved these days, for any real distance. I
won’t do it.”
“Feeding,” Eredion guessed.
Deiq didn’t answer. Sensing Eredion looking at him, he glanced up and met the desert lord’s questioning gaze; saw the double intent of that comment.
“No, Eredion. I don’t want to hurt you again.” He was far too restless and distracted, this time, to mask the draw as he’d done before; and didn’t want to look a second time at what Ninnic’s child and the tath-shinn had done to Eredion’s defenses. Feeding from Eredion, at this point, was to become an accomplice to that cruelty.
“The longer you wait,” Eredion said tartly, “the more it will hurt. There’s not really a way around it.”
“There ought to be,” he said, letting his long-standing frustration color his voice.
“But right now, there isn’t,” Eredion said. “And if Tanavin wakes up angry, he’ll flatten you, in your current state, even more easily than the tath-shinn did. You have to let me help you. Alyea needs you upright and sane.”
“Damn it, no!”
Eredion’s mouth quirked in a bitter smile. “I never thought I’d see the day,” he said, “when I pleaded with you to hurt me.”
The attempt at humor only added to Deiq’s frustration. “It shouldn’t be like this. Something’s wrong.”
Eredion hesitated. “If there is,” he said with audible care, “the teyanain are the only ones who might know about it. And the ketarches—but they don’t seem to be as helpful as they used to, these days.”
Deiq grunted, thinking about the story behind that; not something he wanted to get into with Eredion, now or any other time. Although it went a long way to explaining why they’d held a supply of stibik handy, now he thought about it.
“No, all the same,” he said, not meeting Eredion’s gaze. “And stop asking, or I’ll put you through a wall.”
Eredion stood. “Fine,” he said crisply. “Then let’s go for a walk. They’ll be asleep for hours yet, if I read it right. Sitting here and staring at them will only aggravate you more. I’ll leave instructions not to disturb them.”
Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) Page 38