Fresh air met their noses eagerly and their lungs drew it in with raging hunger, making them cough deeply until the fumes were cleared out. They felt nauseated and wanted nothing more than to pass out from their trials, but there was more to do.
Heria lay in a heap on the ground, barely breathing at all, as Kitalla wrapped Gabrion’s midsection with his tunic to help slow the bleeding. They would need to do more but it would suffice for now. There wasn’t much to do for Kitalla’s nose, but at least it had stopped bleeding on its own.
“No,” Heria whimpered. “Not like this.” She coughed and spat blood, then looked up at the others. “You were all supposed to die at my hand. No one left alive. All gone. I would have done it too. I would have won.”
Kitalla bent down and gazed sadly upon the writhing girl. “It’s over now, Heria.”
Gabrion joined her. “Come on, we’ll help you fix your wounds. Get you to a healer.”
But Heria was somewhere else. As she stared at Kitalla and Gabrion, her eyes welled up in sorrow. “Papa, you mustn’t hurt Mama any more. I didn’t mean to kill you. I just want you to stop hitting her. Please, Papa,” she cried.
Gabrion could see that her eyes were glazed over and that her end was near. He leaned closer and took the girl’s hand. “I promise, dear heart. I will stop now. You have saved me. And I thank you.”
Heria then faced Kitalla. “Mama, I don’t know why you don’t love me. Why you took yourself from me when I needed you. Why you left me. All I wanted was for you to be safe. Why did you go?”
Kitalla trembled and took Heria’s other hand. “Child, I was wrong to leave you. But we will be together soon, the way we were all meant to be. Go in peace.”
A small part of the girl’s pain healed with those words and she closed her eyes for the last time.
Gabrion and Kitalla sat there a while longer as the last breath left Heria’s body and the lifeblood stop seeping from her wounds. Kitalla tried to convince herself that her tears were from the pain of her broken nose, but she knew even Gabrion wouldn’t believe her.
“At least,” he said, frog-throated, “she received some mercy at the very end.”
Kitalla nodded.
Chapter 9
Early Homecoming
Gabrion and Kitalla were too damaged to give Heria a proper burial. They first searched her things for the nature jade, but they already knew from the lack of resonance of their own jades that it wasn’t there. They dragged branches and rocks atop her body, wishing in some way they could do more for her, but their own need was pressing.
The dagger wound to Gabrion’s side was deep, and even with a tight wrapping, it still leaked blood. Kitalla’s nose was a fiery mess from Heria’s bashing, and as she started to bruise, the pain grew worse and her eyesight diminished. She wasn’t certain of their location, for it was a hideout Heria had never shared with her during their earlier travels, but as they looked around, Gabrion gave a start.
“I know where we are!” he gasped, clutching his side. “We go southwest from here.”
It was good enough for the thief. They had no supplies to take with them and so she wrapped her arm around him to steady him and they walked slowly away from the torture chamber, Gabrion trying desperately to keep alert and focused. Their lungs ached from breathing the poison and their bodies rebelled against the journey, but their determination won out and they stumbled along for a good hour before Gabrion pointed ahead.
“There.” He could barely speak. Kitalla turned her head to gaze out from her lesser-puffed eye and saw a hint of silhouette along the horizon. She nodded so Gabrion would know she understood and then she helped drag him toward the destination.
“Halt, travelers!” called a young man as they approached a few hours later. “What business have you here?”
“Desperate need of healing, friend,” Kitalla returned as amiably as possible, but the young man seemed skeptical.
“You do look worse for wear, both of…” His voice drifted off as he looked them over again. “Gabrion!”
Kitalla could barely recall the next few hours as they were ushered in to Savvron, Gabrion’s hometown. Their wounds were dressed and tended. They were fed and bathed and laid down to rest. She knew there were no magic healers in the town, based on the quality of the ministrations, but she didn’t care. She turned herself over to whatever hands were nearby that poked, prodded, and then massaged her ailments away. It was morning when she came to again, alert enough to question her surroundings and to take an actual interest in this destination.
She sat up on a firm bed, inches off the floor and covered with a thick blanket that did little to cushion her from the straw underneath. Her body ached from head to toe, particularly the nose that had been so badly beaten. She tentatively touched it and felt that a poultice had been applied to it to help facilitate healing.
The room was bare of furnishings, with only a chair in the corner and a table off to the side. The door was open and allowed a view of a larger space beyond, but it, too, seemed barren. She didn’t really expect to see much, having previously spent a number of days trying to ambush travelers in the area, Gabrion included, but as she looked around, she was appalled at the sheer lack of anything valuable.
With a gentle push, she rose to her feet and paced the room, feeling terribly dizzy and pained from her injuries. After a few minutes of walking, she ventured from the chamber and saw an older woman sewing together scraps of leather into a tunic. The woman was focused on her work and didn’t acknowledge Kitalla until she reached her workspace and sat down.
“Feeling any better, dear?” she asked in a grandmotherly voice. It made Kitalla cringe.
“I’ve been worse. I’ve been better. May I ask where I am?”
The woman smiled. “You’ve entered Savvron, sadly in a time of war. Skirmishes break out all the time, now, and I do hope you are able to flee to safety before the next one starts.”
“What of you?” she couldn’t help but ask.
The woman gestured to a pile of clothes behind her that Kitalla hadn’t noticed. “I have work that needs doing here. And if the Hathrens see fit to slay me for it, then my time will have come anyway. If not them, then a falling beam or a wayward cart. But until then, best do what I can.” She made a few tight stitches and Kitalla was impressed with the quality of the work. The woman looked up, “And what of you, dear?”
She wasn’t sure what to say exactly, so she ventured the truth. “My friend and I were injured and needed healing. He’s from here. Gabrion. Perhaps you know him?”
She chuckled warmly. “Of course, dear. The boy grew up right outside my window. Gentle soul.” Then her voice grew heavy as she added, “But so, war changes even one so light.”
“He was badly hurt. Do you know how he is?”
“Oh yes, dear. He will be fine.” She then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Though I admit that he would be better off with a magic healer instead. Too bad about that, really.”
“Too bad?” she asked.
“Well yes.” At last she set down her work and stared into Kitalla’s eyes. “The only magic healers nearby at all are in Kaison, near the king. But—oh, I do not think it really my place to say so, but if you know Gabrion then you already know his heart and won’t think ill of him regardless. You see, he is a wanted fugitive of the king. Quite the scandal, really. He broke out of the dungeons and freed all the prisoners then spat in the king’s face on his way out!”
Kitalla’s eyes lit with amusement, recalling that the events had been rather different. “You don’t say! I always knew he had great courage, but to think! Did he really?”
The older woman devoured Kitalla’s interest. “So they all say! Why, a soldier visited here some time after, seeking his parents to say they’d met on their journey and that he was off fighting lupinoes, of all things. I knew the boy was special, but taking on a horde of lupinoes, saving that soldier’s life in the process! What a marvel. But,” and her voice grew sad again, “s
ince he left, the king has sent others trying to locate poor Gabrion to escort him back to the dungeons. To finish him off for good. You would think that with a war going on, he’d let a silly incident like that go for now. After all, it was, what, eight months ago? Really.”
Kitalla nodded, agreeing full-heartedly. She also wondered at the exaggeration of Gabrion’s prowess. Had the guardsman not mentioned the others on purpose, or was this doddering woman just focused on the one soul she knew personally? She hoped it was the former, for that would better protect herself and Dariak. “Do you know where Gabrion is right now? I would like to see him if I could.”
“Why, dear, he would be next door, of course. You certainly should go and see him for yourself. But do return after. It has been a delight to talk with you.”
Kitalla bid farewell and walked into the blinding morning sun. She could hear the sounds of the small village coming awake and though she knew they were near the frontlines of war, she felt more calm than she had in some time. To the west, the sky was faded with smoke from campfires in the distance. Whether from Kallisorian troops or Hathren, she couldn’t possibly know. There was a calm solemnity to the villagers as they went from place to place. They weren’t frightened or fearful, exactly, just wary. Several of them eyed her suspiciously, wondering if she was a spy for the Hathren forces. More than one changed directions upon seeing her. It suited her just fine.
She walked over to Gabrion’s house and rapped on the door. A well-muscled man opened the panel and invited her inside. Kitalla inspected him carefully. He had the same chiseled features of his son, though his skin was a bit darker and more leathery from the extended years outdoors. Age suited him well and he carried himself with unabashed pride and confidence. He had no secrets about him. There was no darkness in his essence in any way, and Kitalla envied him for it.
“Kitalla, I presume. He’s asked about you a few times,” he said with a deep, resonating voice. Gabrion had inherited that, too. “We assured him you would be here when you were able.”
“Thank you. May I see him...?” She let her voice hang expectantly, waiting for him to introduce himself.
He obliged. “Terrsian. My wife, Gallina, is out gathering supplies, but you will meet her soon, I am sure. Come, this way.”
Like the old woman’s house, this place was sparsely furnished and everything in it was well-used. The house itself was in better repair, no doubt because of Terrsian himself. The ground floor was a little larger and had three rooms extending off the main area. He led her inside to Gabrion’s temporary room, as he was unable to ascend the ladder to his usual space. He then backed out and left them alone.
Kitalla eyed the warrior from head to toe, tracing the lines of his arms and torso, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. It filled her with such peace to simply know he was there, alive and recovering. His determined spirit was not gone from the world. His quest had not yet ended. She reached out and placed her hand on his chest so she could feel his heart beating strongly. She listened to her own heart as his beat beneath her hand, and she tried to calm her breathing so that they also matched. His skin was warm and soft, and as she stood there over him, she realized suddenly that she had fallen for him.
With a start she stood up and covered her face in her hands, turning away. It was ludicrous. He was only a boy, really, and his heart was devoted to another. Besides, her heart was dead and cold inside her chest. She couldn’t care about anyone. Not again. Not ever again.
“Kitalla?” he whispered, clearly in pain. “You’re here.”
She couldn’t look at him. “We made it, it seems,” she said, her voice also very quiet. “Nice place.”
“It’s home,” he replied. “Help me up, will you?”
“You should stay down,” she decided, still facing away.
He strained to push himself up, but he was too weak. “Kitalla, please. Help me.”
Grinding her teeth, she turned and did so. She pretended he was some feeble old man with gross sores and moles all over his body, but touching him felt like magic. His skin was silky, stretched over firm, solid muscles. She had to consciously stop herself from pressing her lips to his shoulder. Once he was upright, she stepped away, leaning in the doorway, looking anywhere but at him.
“You look a mess,” he said, trying to make her smile, but she didn’t. “You’re hurt pretty badly, are you?”
“No healers here,” she returned flippantly. “Got to make do, I guess.”
“We’re a small village. We never really had use for healers before. Not that we usually rely on magic of any kind here.”
She nodded. “But embarrassing and sad that your village is in the line of fire and the king doesn’t see fit to send even one here as a backup.”
Gabrion grunted. “Now you’re channeling Dariak. How do you think they’re doing?”
She tried to be funny. “They’ve probably figured out by now that they can’t make babies and have gone off to find a home instead. I wonder who will do most of the cooking?”
“Randler,” Gabrion decided. “But as usual, Dariak will offer up some extra herbs to season it with.”
“That’s true. That’s true.”
“Kitalla, what’s wrong?”
She knew the question would arise at some point; she just wished it was later. “I guess I’m tired and hurting, Gabrion.”
“It’s more than that. What happened?”
She looked at him and smiled weakly. “I’m fine,” she lied. “But what about you? How long until you’re ready to continue on?”
He considered for a moment, gently touching his hand to the wound at his side. “I don’t really know. I certainly can’t use a sword for some time, not without healing anyway.” He watched her fidget in the doorway for a few minutes, wondering what was troubling her so. He hoped she would tell him so he could help, but there was no point trying to force it out of her. He’d come to understand how fruitless those attempts could be.
“Gabrion, Kitalla, would you like some food?” Terrsian called from the kitchen area.
With relief, Kitalla readily agreed, as did Gabrion. He couldn’t stand on his own, however, so Kitalla walked over and reached her arms under his as if she were going to give him a great hug, then she pulled up and back, while he pushed with his legs. Together, they got him upright, though unsteady, and it a took a few moments with her holding onto him before he felt secure enough on his own.
He thought he saw her blush as she turned away, but he figured it was from the strain of helping him up. He couldn’t dwell on it, anyway, for taking steps forward tugged on his wound and sent sparks of pain shooting up his side and he insisted on eating at the table. He worked his way into the other room and struggled into a chair, after which he needed a few minutes before he could focus on the food in front of him.
Terrsian didn’t seem particularly interested in Kitalla or any of their adventures, instead catching Gabrion up on town gossip, which thoroughly bored Kitalla. She never minded catching up on news, but for a town imperiled with frequent skirmishes, Terrsian had very little to say about even that.
“Old Gavinod gave the bakery over to his son soon after you left, saying that he couldn’t pretend things hadn’t changed. I don’t think he’s stepped inside the place since. He’s been helping with the wounded, mostly. I guess he feels it’s his penance for failing that day.”
“He can’t blame himself,” Gabrion chimed in, remembering that first actual battle. “Besides, he did step up in the end and guard the boy.”
“Not really. Not in his eyes,” Terrsian clarified. “But anyway, Frenith has done a good job with the bakery ever since. Has a real knack for it, I think.” From there, he talked about the smiths and the other farmers. They discussed the year’s crop of his own farm and how different it was harvesting it alone again, with Gabrion gone. “Not that I’m complaining. It was good for me,” he boasted, flexing his arms. “Though… your mother missed you.”
“I wish I had
returned under better circumstances.”
Terrsian nodded. “Bleeding profusely at our doorstep was not quite the welcome we had planned for you.” After what seemed like all day, he then shifted his attention directly to Kitalla to address her. “And I wholly thank you for protecting him on his return journey.”
She tilted her head in acknowledgement, then slid Gabrion a glance. “We’ve done a fair share of protecting each other along the way. He’s quite the capable warrior. Though I regret that your lives were turned upside down with the fighting, I think it would have been a shame if he had never really experienced some actual battles. He’s very talented.”
Terrsian harrumphed. “We could have done without the fighting, but I’m glad he has proven himself in your eyes.”
Something about the way he said it irked her. She couldn’t tell if he suspected a deeper connection between them or perhaps he knew of her life as a brigand in the area. Whatever it was, it made her uncomfortable.
As did Gabrion when he shifted the conversation. “Father, has there been any word at all? Of Mira? Her parents? Anything?”
Terrsian shook his head. “Not much.”
“But Hernior told me you had received word from them.”
“Ah, the soldier. So you met up with him again?” He grinned, despite himself. “He seemed intent upon fulfilling your wishes. He said you had specifically challenged him to speak to all the older villagers and tell them of your travels.”
“I didn’t want to single you and mother out, just in case. But I figured at the least, even if he told old Klerra, word would reach you.”
A full smile lit Terrsian’s face and Kitalla saw that it had some of the same innocence that Gabrion kept with him, too. How alike they were! “Yes,” Terrsian responded. “But we all came together at his arrival and we introduced ourselves to him directly.”
The Shattered Shards Page 11