by Lyn Gala
“He had to drink pipe to walk out of the desert.”
Tom leaned forward. “Naite said something about that. What the hell happened?”
“Tom?” a woman called from upstairs.
“Naite’s here, Hannal. I’ll be up in a bit,” Tom answered.
There was a pause. “If you two want breakfast, let me know.” There was a definite click as the door closed upstairs.
Temar frowned. “Naite still comes here?”
The clock ticked in the silence as Tom seemed to think about his answer. “Some wounds, they don’t heal fast, and they don’t heal clean. I suppose most men would go to the priest, but that’s not easy when the priest is your brother and you’re angry at God.” Tom pushed himself up to his feet. “There’s a room through there. We’ll probably need to burn the clothes, if they’re as bad as Naite says. I’ll get the incinerator going. You get some water run into the slosh stall,” he said with a nod toward an open door that led to a bedroom. Tom had to pass close to Temar to get past, and Temar held his breath. “My father built this for my grandparents, so it has its own bathroom attached.” Then Tom headed into the mechanics room to start the incinerator, leaving Temar to get the bathroom ready.
He quickly found the door to the bathroom on the other side of the first floor bedroom, and Temar filled the slosh bucket with warm water. When he’d been in Ben’s house, Ben always claimed he didn’t trust Temar with water. He’d make Temar stand with his hands flat against the chilly metal wall while Ben poured cups of water over him, soaping him down. The sight of the slosh stall made Temar shiver now. He wasn’t naked, though. He wasn’t powerless. True, he had very little power, compared to Ben Gratu, who had his mysterious friends and his plans and his schemes. However, he didn’t have to fear a bathroom.
The fact that the tall stall with the stark, metal walls, designed to guide every drop of water into a reclamation drain, inspired fear… that made a wave of anger crash into Temar. He wasn’t a helpless child. He wouldn’t be afraid of blessed bathroom. He wasn’t weak.
Forcing his legs to work despite the mingling of fear and anger, Temar moved into the bathroom.
“I’m fine,” a voice quietly snapped.
“You’re drunk,” a second voice answered, so quiet that Temar couldn’t identify the speaker, although a good guess would be Naite.
“I know that. You should have seen how drunk I was yesterday. Or the day before. Mary and Joseph, I don’t even know how long I’ve been drunk. You were there. How long was it?”
Temar went through the bedroom to stand in the door while Naite tried to get Shan to cross the kitchen, one foot at a time.
“I wasn’t there. You did this on your own.”
Tom came to the entry to the mechanics room, his eyes going to the stairs. “Maybe we should get Hannal.”
“The fewer people who know, the less the danger,” Naite disagreed. “Hannal is a wonderful woman, but every thought she has goes across her face.”
“And if she saw what Ben has done, she’d gut him with a meat knife,” Tom agreed.
“Funny, I thought she’d use a dull knife, to make it last longer,” Naite said. “Shan, just walk,” he snapped, his voice quiet, even if the tone took on a sharper edge.
“Shan, you need to come this way,” Temar said. Shan’s steps had been uncoordinated, and he’d staggered most of the day, but in here, there were tables and walls and rugs to navigate. He wasn’t doing all that well. Temar had noticed that his father’s body always recovered slower than his mind. It meant that his father’s body rarely recovered at all, because by the time his father had sobered up enough to have a conversation, he stumbled out to get more pipe juice.
Shan looked up and made a bleary sort of eye contact before he started moving more intentionally toward Temar. “I’m really not that drunk. I just can’t get my feet to work,” he apologized in a whisper. Shan and Naite struggled through the doorway to the bedroom, and Tom followed before closing the door behind him.
“You are that drunk, Shan. I’ve never seen anyone as drunk as you.”
“You should have seen dad at the end. He was really drunk,” Shan said in an exaggerated whisper. “When he lay down in the sand, he didn’t even twitch.”
“Shan,” Naite said in a disgusted voice, “you weren’t there. You don’t know.”
“I watched him do it. Before I left home. He’d wander up to the Cygnus gate to watch the sunset and sit on the rock out there.”
“That’s not the same.” Naite shoved Shan at a wall and sort of wedged him into a corner formed by a dresser before he started pulling at Shan’s dirty shirt.
“It is,” Shan protested. “I used to tell him he should lie down in the sand.”
“I told him that all the time.” Naite struggled to get Shan’s arm out of the shirt.
“I’m a priest, Naite. I’m supposed to be morally better than that. But I basically told him to go kill himself, and I want to kill Ben Gratu with my own two hands.” Shan kept gesturing with his hands, which made getting the shirt off hard.
“That’s normal enough. So do I.”
“Would someone like to explain why we’re not killing Ben? Right now, I’d be fine with that plan,” Tom interrupted. Temar could feel his guts twist in fear, but he backed up toward the far wall. There were too many people in the room, too much anger and too many emotions that he couldn’t understand.
“He’s having Ista Songwind hold Cyla hostage,” Naite said.
“Which I just about blew everything by going over to Red Plain,” Shan said, his voice muffled as Naite pulled his shirt over his head.
“Holy stars, Shan. You look like a stick figure,” Naite complained. Temar had to agree. Shan’s ribs stuck out so much that it looked like someone had carved the flesh out from between them.
“That’s nothing. You should see my leg,” Shan said with a shrug.
“I think I need to get the medicine kit. And I’m telling Hannal about the murder attempt and the desert journey the priest took.”
“Tom,” Naite growled. He turned around, and Shan reached out a hand to catch at Naite’s arm, like he could really keep Naite back.
Holding up a hand, Tom continued. “I won’t tell her about Temar, and a murder attempt is reason enough that she’ll understand that we cannot tell anyone he’s here, but she trained with a doctor for a year. She’ll be able to check him better than either of us, Naite.”
“What about me?” Temar asked. He suddenly found himself afraid to leave Shan. It was almost as if the fantasy rescue would vanish with Shan.
Tom frowned. “Would it bother you to hide in the closet?” he asked, nodding toward a tall closet chest that stood on the other side of the bed. It was large enough for Temar to stretch out and sleep on the bottom. The early settlers had owned more personal belongings than Temar could really understand one person owning. However, when he’d been at Ben’s, he would have enjoyed a chance to curl up in a small, private place like a closet.
“The slosh stall scared me. The closet would actually be cozy,” Temar said, the words slipping out before he could really think about how crazy they made him sound. He was tired, exhausted even. He hadn’t really slept much lately, and he hadn’t slept at all for two nights now. All three men were silent, and Temar could feel the heat rise to his face.
“If you can face your fears already, you’re a stronger man than I was at your age,” Naite said with a sympathetic look, and Temar wasn’t sure how to take that.
Tom changed the topic back to practical matters. “You smell a bit like Shan here. If you’re in the closet, Hannal might smell you, and you’re certainly going to be stuck smelling yourself. Do you want to clean up?”
“You don’t have to use the slosh stall,” Naite added.
“It’s the fastest way to clean up,” Temar said. “I’ll be quick so you can get Shan some help.” Ignoring his own dry fear, Temar hurried into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. For a second,
the echo of the closing door against the smooth metal of the slosh stall made Temar cold, as he thought of Ben’s smile and his hands on Temar’s skin. But Ben wasn’t here.
Clenching his teeth, Temar stripped out of his dirty shirt, and for the first time, he noticed that he did smell bad. It’s just that Shan smelled so much worse that he hadn’t noticed. The sharp stench of fear clung to him, along with his own musky sweat smell and enough of Shan’s pipe-juice smell to tickle his nose.
He cleaned up as fast as he could, the water from the cup running over his smooth skin reminded him too much of those mornings when Ben would spend time in the stall, pouring water over Temar’s welts and then running a rough thumb over the bruises. He’d enjoyed Temar’s bruises the way another man might appreciate the beauty in a piece of glass. It was as if he’d demoted Temar from human to an object, and that had been harder than the beatings, harder than the sex, and the sex was hard because Temar had had very few lovers before Ben… not that Ben had been a lover. Temar knew what Ben had done, even if his mind skittered away from the word. He didn’t have time to panic, not now.
When Temar used the cup to rinse the last of the soap and dirt off his body, he realized he had only one nightshirt, which smelled as bad as Shan. Carefully inching the door open, he looked into the bedroom, hiding behind the door. Tom and Naite stood near the bed, and Shan’s one bare leg was visible between them.
“Unholy stars, how the hell did you walk with that?”
“I was drunk.”
“Clearly, you were very drunk,” Naite said.
“I could have told you that. Wait. I did tell you that. Your memory is worse than mine, and I’m still half drunk.”
“You’re still completely drunk, and you’re a shitty drunk, Shan,” Naite disagreed. He shifted, and Temar had a view of Shan’s leg. The whole side of it was torn open and weeping blood and pus. Temar’s stomach revolted, and he gave a loud dry heave before he could slam the door shut and stagger to the toilet.
Temar’s throat and mouth burned as he threw up yellow bile. How could he have missed the fact that Shan had a serious injury?
There was a soft knock on the door. “Temar?” It sounded like Tom.
“I don’t have any clothes,” Temar said, even though that didn’t seem like a very big worry now. Shan could lose his leg with an injury like that.
“Crack the door open, and I can pass you some,” Tom suggested. Temar hung over the toilet, wondering if his stomach would try to turn inside out again if he stood up, but he risked it. The world spun a little, but Temar turned the handle and opened the door just enough for Tom to hand in a brown shirt and gray pants. “The wound is a burn. They always look worse than they are, but Hannal will call in the doctor if she can’t handle it.”
“And then Ben will find him,” Temar said as he pulled on the clothes. They were a little large, and the cut of the pants suggested they’d been made for a woman. The crotch rode up uncomfortably, but he felt better for having clean clothes on. However, he didn’t feel better about calling a doctor and risking more people finding out that Shan was alive and Temar on the run. He couldn’t see a way out of the trap Ben had built. Even if these men turned on Ben, he was nothing more than the leaf of a pipe trap plant. Unless they pulled out the root, the whole thing would grow back. The truth was that they didn’t know where to find the root. Ista Songwind was part of it, but from the way Ben talked to her, she wasn’t all that important.
“Ben won’t find him or hurt him,” Tom promised. “I made a promise to Naite once. I promised that he would always have a safe place here, and in ten years, I’ve never gone back on my word. I’m giving you that same promise now. You and Shan will always be safe in this house.”
Temar pulled the door open and looked at Tom. Now that the lights were on, he could see him more clearly. Age lines around his eyes and mouth suggested he’d smiled a lot in his life, but he had a serious expression on his face now. Temar wanted to believe him. He did. But he’d trusted wrong too many times. Cyla had destroyed their family through stupidity and impatience. Ben had betrayed them. His father had failed to protect them.
“If you hide in the closet, I’ll get Hannal. That burn needs to get tended.” Tom stepped away from the bathroom door.
“I’ll be fine, Temar. I just burned it on the bike,” Shan said, apparently not bothered by the huge, weeping burn on his leg. Temar’s father once put a nail through his foot and hadn’t even noticed it.
“The idiot will be fine,” Naite seconded. His hand rested on his brother’s shoulder, and Temar realized he couldn’t do anything to help. He either trusted Hannal enough to let her in on his secret, or he hid in the closet, but he couldn’t do anything to help Shan.
Without a word, Temar headed for the closet. He wasn’t ready to trust anyone else.
Chapter 17
TEMAR finally fell asleep to the sound of Hannal fussing over Shan. The closet had slits at the bottom of the doors to let air move, and he watched legs and feet enter and leave as she treated Shan, but no doctor showed up before Temar finally drifted off. The closet was small, and his elbow was jammed into a corner with a box that smelled like feet, but he was more comfortable than he had been in weeks, and he just couldn’t put off sleep any longer.
When Temar woke, he thought for a moment that he was home—that he had fallen asleep on the floor. He didn’t have any restraints on, and Ben always woke before him. Every day he woke to Ben’s hands exploring, finding the edge of the most convenient bruise and pushing his thumb into it. The feeling of stillness and the quiet left him disoriented enough that he panicked before he finally realized where he was.
After realizing that he was in Tom’s closet, Temar sat with his knees pulled up to his chest as he tried to give his heart time to slow.
“Is that you?” Shan asked quietly. Temar leaned down to look out the ventilation shafts, but there weren’t any legs in his field of view.
With infinite slowness, Temar pushed the closet door open and looked out into the room. Shan was clean and shaved and dressed in a dark green shirt that made his sunburn look even worse. “Are we alone?” he whispered, so softly he wasn’t sure Shan could hear him.
Shan nodded. “Hannal finally left me to rest. But then she keeps coming in and making me drink more water, so I can’t sleep.”
“Why?”
Shan shrugged. “Something about me looking yellow and her worrying about my liver. After all the pipe juice I drank on the desert, if I didn’t die out there, I’m not going to drop dead in here.”
Temar wasn’t sure that was true, but he didn’t argue. He stretched and came close to the bed, looking at Shan’s legs under the cover of the sheet. “Is your leg…?”
“It’s fine.”
“It didn’t look fine.”
Shan flipped the sheet back so Temar could see the white bandage taped over his lower leg. “It is fine. It looked bad last night because it was so dirty, and the dead skin was all stuck to it. I burned it days ago.”
“Then why did it look… moist?” Temar asked with a moue of disgust.
With a shrug, Shan put the sheet back. “I don’t think it could heal right without me eating or drinking enough. It was a little crusty.”
“And full of pus.”
“It isn’t that bad. Hannal didn’t even threaten to call the doctor… at least not after Tom and Naite explained about the murder plot.”
Temar sat on the edge of the bed and tried to wrap his thoughts around it all. The sun was up, so he must have slept at least eight hours. His stomach rumbled unhappily, and he eyed the plate of food next to Shan’s bed. The man had nearly died, so taking his food seemed a little uncharitable, but Temar’s stomach felt like it was ready to collapse in on itself.
“You have to be hungry. Grab something,” Shan said, gesturing toward the tray. “Tom has snuck me some extra food, so we don’t have to share.”
Temar didn’t even argue. The tray had a bowl of nuts and anoth
er of fresh peas, bright green in the white bowl, and then fresh bread with some sort of fruit spread on it. He grabbed a piece of the bread.
“Did Naite go to get Cyla yet?” he asked. His neck muscles felt overstretched and sore, but other than that, Temar felt a lot better this morning. Shan looked at him with some amusement that Temar didn’t understand.
“Naite heard from one of the workers over on the Gratu farm that you vanished. Ben tried to keep it quiet until full sunup, when his workers found him searching for you. Then Naite told everyone that siblings knew each other’s hiding places before he headed over to Red Plain.”
“Hopefully he’ll get to Cyla before Ista can do anything to her,” Temar said, his mouth full of bread.
“He got her and came back already,” Shan said.
“But… how?” Temar looked at the clock, but it was only a little past noon, so Naite hadn’t had the time to go and get back.
“You lost a whole day, Temar. Naite went to get her yesterday and got back late last night. Cyla is loudly accusing the men over at the Gratu farm, and even Ben himself, of driving you away. She’s telling everyone that your artistic temperament couldn’t handle slavery.” Shan frowned. “You’re a lot stronger than your sister gives you credit for.”
Temar shrugged. “She only sees that glass is fragile, not that it can be incredibly strong when used right.”
Shan frowned again. “I guess that’s true. How are you feeling?”
Until Shan asked, Temar hadn’t given much thought to how he was feeling. His ass had a distant itch that had replaced the normal overly stretched and hot feeling he’d learned to live with. His neck hurt, and a few of the bruises were still bothering him. Physically, he felt better than he had in a long time. However, he felt like he was trying to walk down a sand dune. One wrong move and the whole mountain of sand would land on his head and drown him.
“Afraid.”
“You’re doing better than I am, then. I’m terrified and confused,” Shan confessed. “You see my casting down, and are afraid,” he said in that gentle voice he often used in church.