Blooded (Lisen of Solsta Book 3)
Page 16
“Holder Zanlot? You’ve enlisted her aid in this? And you think she’s going to give you what you want once you’ve done your part? You’re a fool.”
Ondra leaned in close to the girl’s face and traced her knife around her pretty jaw. “Little Lisen, do you think I would employ such a dangerous beast if I didn’t have a plan for taming her? No, the real fool in this, other than you, of course, is the holder. She thinks herself smarter than everyone, but she’s left witnesses behind. And we will use them if we must.”
The best part of this, Ondra thought continuing to consider her options, is it’s clear the great Empir of Garla knows nothing of the child her captain pouched for her.
She stood up, abruptly, sheathed her knife and slipped it back into her boot. Then she turned to leave but stopped herself. She returned to the girl, leaned over and slipped the hood over her head again.
“You are my helpless captive,” Ondra whispered in her ear and then swooped out, satisfied with the exchange and how she’d confirmed Korin’s lies. Now, to find a way to utilize the Empir’s ignorance of a part-Thristan Heir to her advantage.
Movement from the child and her impatience with the teat told Korin her emergence was imminent. The mesa prepared for the Hanii—the festival of the children—and, given the circumstances of his daughter’s conception, he and she would be the principal attraction. The Tribe would celebrate the success of the Farii this year, as the mesa had experienced a productive planting season as well as the pouching of several new babies. But as Farii-conceived, Korin’s child lay at the center of the Tribe’s attention, and it seemed that everyone felt they had the right to touch his protuberance and even stick a few fingers into his pouch’s mouth. It took every ounce of patience he possessed not to lop their fingers off with his shindah as he reminded himself each time that they considered this child the mesa’s child. If they had known the truth—if they had known she was the Garlan Heir and could be Mantar’s Child—only the Destroyer could predict what they would think. And that’s why no one will ever know.
He rose from his pallet with difficulty. He felt like the Maker Itself possessed him. Like the fertile fields of Garla, he had opened to the divine and welcomed the holy in. How could one small baby stretching the limits of his pouch provide him with a sense of oneness with the all?
He pulled on the long, voluminous tunic someone had loaned him and looked with longing at its slitted counterpart with its built-in nursing sling lying atop his basket. In a day or two, he’d make the shift from pouched to nursing. He only wished he could welcome this child into the world without all eyes watching, a very un-Thristan thought.
Once dressed for the night, he left his chamber, and, with his lower back complaining, he took the few steps from his cave to the dining area. Now that he was no longer required to share the work each night, he’d found himself arriving later and later to breakfast. This meant he could avoid socializing.
After ladling some chardhoosh into a bowl, he sat down at the nearly empty table and nodded to the few who remained. As expected, Ondra and Rika were still missing and had been for over a month. At that thought, the baby moved restlessly, and Korin’s worry cried out, no way to silence it. Neither Ondra nor Rika was a trader, not under normal circumstances, and, whatever they were doing, he sensed horrible consequences tainting the horizon.
“Korin.”
He looked up at his name and saw Elder Hozia approaching. The room had emptied, and the two of them were alone.
“Elder,” he responded, rising from the bench, but Hozia gestured him back down.
“No, no, you sit,” the woman said.
“I sit all night. Sitting is boring.”
Hozia flung one leg over the bench, then the other, and sat down beside him. “In a couple of days, your boredom will end.”
“So I’ve heard. Do you mind if I continue eating?”
“You eat. I’ll talk.” Korin nodded, a mouth filled with chardhoosh, and Hozia continued in a voice so soft Korin could barely hear it over his chewing. “Tell me more about Lisen.”
Once he’d avoided choking on his food, Korin swallowed and said, “I thought you were going to talk.”
“No, you’re right. You eat. I’ll tell you what I think. I think she’s alive. That young, vibrant soul dying in hibernation? I’ve tried hard to believe it, but it doesn’t make any sense. And ever since you’ve been back, I’ve contemplated her demise and finally decided you lied to us.”
Korin started to protest, but Hozia held up a hand to hush him.
“I know you, Korin. You are an honorable man. You wouldn’t lie about this unless you had good reason to do so. I’m not asking you to explain it. I just want you to tell me what you can about her.”
Korin sighed, set his spoon down and straightened a bit to take the stress off his back. “Lisen was a part of my life once. She isn’t anymore.”
“She’ll come looking for that child, Korin. I’m surprised she hasn’t already.”
“She doesn’t know.”
“And how did you manage that?” Hozia asked.
“For some reason, she didn’t realize she was pregnant. I mean, I didn’t realize until we were back in Garla, and she’d shown all the symptoms here.”
“She did seem unwell for a time.”
Korin laughed. “Remember when you were training her, and she was almost green and trying to hide how bad she felt?”
“That’s what I mean. Someone that stubborn doesn’t just slip away during hibernation.”
Korin could only nod.
“She needs to know,” Hozia continued. “She needs to know she has a child.”
“It’s complicated. You don’t know the whole story.”
“I don’t need to. Once this baby has emerged, you should go to Garla and find her.”
“I know where she is,” Korin said without apology.
“All the better then. You need to go to her and tell her.”
Korin sighed. “I can’t. You’ve told me you don’t need explanations, and I couldn’t give you one even if you did.”
Hozia rose and stepped over the bench, and Korin turned to watch her leave. But she stopped, then turned back.
“If you’re planning on getting yourself a nurser—”
“Wait. What?”
“If you’re going to go to Garla, the child can’t go with you. Maybe later, but not right away.”
“Elder, I am not going to Garla.”
“Well, let me know. I’m good at finding nursers.”
Korin gazed after the Elder, shaking his head. He’d just run straight into Hozia’s legendary tenacity, and he felt sure he’d keep running into it until he surrendered. But Hozia mustn’t know—nobody can know—that this child was the Empir’s Heir.
The baby shifted. She shifted a lot these days preparing to emerge. She gripped the teat tighter than ever now, and Korin’s thoughts turned to her mother. Not the woman who’d followed him up the stairs bent on destroying her brother. His mind considered Lisen, the young woman he’d watched hold a mud river back. Why had that not bothered him? The fact that she’d been saving rather than destroying might explain his reaction there. She’d killed the spy in Halorin, but he himself had killed the other spy along with many others in his lifetime, making it easy for him to excuse her act of self-defense.
He shook his head. Nothing made sense. Damn pouching. But soon he’d have his reason back. Perhaps then he could work it out to his satisfaction.
In a cloud of silk and nectar, Nalin floated like a ship lost on the sea, forgotten and forgetting, forever falling, but never landing. Riding the sea suited him. Here he was and here he decided to stay; let the world do well enough without him.
“Nalin.”
A name. His name. Spoken through the veil of gauze called mind, but he could only moan.
“Nalin. It’s your mother. You must wake up.”
Mother? Was he home? Had they brought him to Casille to die? Odd that he remembered not
hing of the journey though, what with days of travel. No matter. He’d come home. Thank the Creators someone—Bala, perhaps?—had wanted his ending to be happy.
“Nalin, please. I have to talk to you.”
“He’ll wake up,” a voice whispered, a voice which Nalin recognized. Bala. “It takes a moment, but he does eventually surface.”
“Bala, tell me. How did it get this bad? I mean, when I talked to the Primate out in the hall, he told me the leg was past saving. I had no idea.”
As Nalin’s awareness coalesced slowly, he realized his mother and Bala were discussing the source of his pain and fever.
“I know, Kirana.” The sound of Bala’s voice soothed him. He’d rise out of any fog to listen. “But you know how stubborn he is.”
“Nalin, this is your mother. Wake up. We have to talk.”
He struggled to make his eyes open, but they felt like someone had glued them shut. Come on, Nal. Your mother deserves one last look. And finally, he emerged into the world, still in Avaret, in the bed where he’d spent more than a week, his mother’s green eyes looking into his.
“Mother,” he said through cracked lips, his voice a hoarse whisper. “When did you get here? Sorry I wasn’t there to greet you.”
“Nalin. Listen to me. I carried you in my pouch for nearly half a year. I’m not going to lose you to this. Let them take the leg. If they take it now, they think they can save your knee.”
“So they’ve said,” he croaked, only half aware of what he said but firm in his opposition to giving up any part of his body.
“Your father died too early. I’m not losing you, too. If I have to, I’ll wait until you pass out from the nectar again and have them do it without your permission. You’re the Empir’s Will, for Creators’ sake. Your Empir needs you. Garla needs you.” She paused, then continued, her voice subdued. “I need you, and I will do whatever it takes to get you well.”
“Been too long. The Empir’s gone.” He knew he rambled.
“I know.”
“No ransom note. Search parties find nothing. I failed her. I don’t deserve to live.”
“Nalin, listen to me,” Bala said, grabbing his chin and turning his head so he looked straight at her. He lost himself in the halo the sunlight made of her hair. “Right now I don’t care what you want. You’re agreeing to this.”
“I….” He paused. He had no idea what he’d wanted to say.
“My lord?”
Nalin pulled his head from Bala’s hand and looked to the door where Commander Tanres stood. “Commander,” he managed as his mind meandered through foggy cobwebs. “Shouldn’t you have been back yesterday or something?” He couldn’t remember what day it was, but he could remember that Tanres had left to pursue a lead in the search.
“I stayed a day to help out,” the commander explained.
“And?” Nalin asked. The one thing that could center him was hope regarding his Liege.
“I’m afraid the jewelry turned out to be an old ring that looked like it had been out in the woods forever.”
“Oh,” Nalin mouthed.
“There is a trail, a faint one, but a trail nevertheless. Looks like four or five horses. It disappears, and it takes time to locate it again. But….”
“But what?” Nalin asked, hope and a desire for consciousness waning.
“To be honest, my lord, we can’t be sure if it’s the right trail.”
Nalin nodded and surrendered. There were tasks in need of doing, and he couldn’t do them if he remained this ill, or worse.
“Do it,” he said to no one and to everyone in the room. “Just do it. Take my leg and get it over with.” The commander reached up to salute, likely preparing to leave, but Nalin stopped her. “Stay. I think they’re going to need help holding me down.”
“My lord?” Tanres asked, then appeared to understand. She stripped off her armor, set it down and looked to the primate. Bala poured a larger-than-usual dose of nectar into the cup, and his mother picked up his hand and kissed it, her sleek brown hair brushing his arm. The healer from Solsta left the room abruptly, and Nalin turned himself over to the fever.
“Bala,” he heard himself whisper. He was sure there was something important he needed to tell her.
“Yes, Nalin?” she responded softly, her mouth at his ear.
“I have…I have to…the Empir and I…you need to know. We’re not…together.”
He saw Bala smile, and then she held up the cup. “It’s time,” she said. “Drink it all, every last drop. It may seem pointless during, but you’ll be grateful after.”
He nodded and allowed her to put the cup to his lips. He swallowed slowly but with determination and finally finished. He tasted the cilla as it went down, felt his stomach wrench worse than usual and allowed the nectar to take him. He knew it couldn’t take him as far as he wanted to go, that these would likely be the longest and most painful moments of his life, but he hoped the primate and the healer shared enough experience between them to make it quick. For a few minutes he slipped away to the cloudy place where he could dream of warm fires and sweet wine and sharing stories with his spouse and their children as the rain fell slowly outside. In a vision where he yet had both legs.
“Nalin.” The whisper, this time from his mother. Good Mother. “The healer has promised not to hurt more than he has to.”
“Let us begin,” he heard the hermit say, and hands clamped down on him—arms, legs and head.
The pain wasn’t bad in the beginning. He felt the knife enter somewhere in his calf, and then the division of flesh and sinew in a circle all the way around. Someone cried out. It sounded like his voice, but he didn’t remember screaming. And again. And again, as the sawing began, and the pain racked his entire body. More screaming, screaming he couldn’t control. His mind ached to escape this torture, but he had nowhere to run.
“Just this last,” he heard, likely the healer. Then the searing pain of fire on the middle of a leg exposed as no leg should be exposed. And, finally, he fell away into blessed darkness.
“He’s out,” Bala announced as everyone surrounding Nalin let him go.
“Thank the Creators,” Nalin’s mother uttered, wiping sweat from her brow. Bala saw the relief in Kirana’s eyes. She’d acted tough for Nalin’s sake, but Bala recognized a woman for whom this had been far harder than she’d let on.
As servants bustled to change the sweat- and blood-soaked bedding, working with care around the patient, Bala looked at this man who had valiantly fought both pain and infection. He twitched a little now and then, and his face still suffered, but hopefully this would finally bring the healing he so desperately needed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A child of the people
In a darkness lit by one lonely torch, Elder Hozia sat with Korin in the Pit. Alone together in the chamber, the ritual yet to begin, they spoke quietly as the babe in Korin’s pouch signaled that her arrival into the Tribe was imminent. After the movement had begun in the middle of the day while the mesa slept, Korin had sent for Hozia. The Elder had confirmed what Korin already believed—this baby would arrive right on time, precisely when the Tribe could watch as part of the Hanii. He and Hozia had then come here so they could prepare in private for the night’s public festivities.
This chamber was the only one of the larger caves that had required no further work by the early excavators. Nearly the size of the gathering cave where he and Lisen and the other candidates had presented themselves for the Farii, this room possessed a natural, centered depression, known as the Pit, surrounded by an expanse of relatively level rock with a low, domed ceiling. The children of the Tribe emerged here with family and friends present, but in the case of a special child, such as a child of the Farii, like Korin’s, the entire Tribe tried to attend. Although he anticipated a personal celebration of joy at the emergence of his daughter, Korin was anything but pleased with having to welcome her in the company of hundreds of people he didn’t know and had no use for.
“I know.” The baby shifted around without regard to his stomach, bowels or bladder, but he’d suffered far worse discomfort of other sorts many times within the Guard.
“While we’re still here alone, I have to ask,” Hozia said. “Have you considered what we talked about the other day?”
“You’re not going to let that one go, are you.”
“All right. I’ve made my point. Now, let’s see if we can make your nesting collection fit for a Farii child.”
As Hozia passed him the pallets and blankets Korin had gathered from others in the last couple of days, he molded them into a cozy haven for the daughter about to emerge. It didn’t seem very safe to him, what with the hordes who would be watching, but Thristans had emerged in crowds such as this for centuries and survived. As long as no one ever found out who this child truly was, it would be all right. He pulled his tunic up and slipped his leggings down far enough to expose the opening of the pouch.
“Settle in,” Hozia whispered as she placed herself at the edge of Korin’s little nest. “I hear them coming.”
Korin heard them, too. The gentle singing of a Thristan lullaby accompanied the Tribe as they approached the Pit, and Korin saw light flickering at the edge of the entry directly across from where he sat. He felt his daughter wiggle in reaction to the sweet sounds of the song.
Hold to the shadows, dear one.
Follow me and note all I do.
Fear not, little one, I am here.
Stay safe as I hug and rock you.
At the end of the song, the little ones, ages two to six, ran into the chamber. The two caretakers Korin had worked with the last few weeks guided them down to sit around Korin so they could welcome their new playmate. Play was rare after age six or seven, but for these children it remained all they knew.
“Korin!”