Gods of Green Mountain

by V. C. Andrews®

  6

  Sharita’s Fever

  “Enter,” responded Sharita when Dray-Gon tapped on her blue wagon door. He opened the door and stood there dumbfounded, as he feasted his eyes on a rare sight. On hands and knees the princess was scrubbing the floor of her wagon! The expensive rugs were rolled up and put to the side. Busily she worked, not pausing, as Dray-Gon just stood there and stared in fascinated astonishment—nor did she glance around to see who it was. That she could be so casual about who saw her doing this brought a smile to his lips.

  Her long hair was pinned carelessly high on her head, so that scant lengths escaped to fall over her face and shoulders. She wore something that seemed a skimpy undergarment, now sloshed and stained with dirty water, and she was barefoot. “Close the door,” she said to him, “you are letting out all my cool air.”

  Obediently he closed the door and found his voice. “Benlon told me you were running a slight fever. What the devil are you doing scrubbing the floor? Why aren’t you following his orders, and lying down and resting?”

  “So it’s you,” she said, still not looking around. “As I lay on my bed resting, I looked about and saw what a mess this wagon was—so I decided to do something about it. This is the first time I have scrubbed a floor, and I have only seen it done in pictures. Always my apartment was cleaned when I was off in a classroom studying boring subjects.” She threw him a quick glance over her shoulder. “You could help, you know, instead of just standing there and gawking at me! If it isn’t beneath your dignity.”

  He was astounded she would suggest such a thing! “It is beneath my dignity, princess—and yours too! I know nothing whatsoever about scrubbing floors! Now get on your feet and pay attention to my report.”

  Instead of getting on her feet, she knelt and sat back on her heels, brushing back long strands of hair from her face. She looked a mess, and he smothered another smile and the impulse to tell her this.

  “Now you listen to me, Captain Dray-Gon! Outside of this wagon, you are the leader, and I follow orders, just like the others. But this is my home, my tower, and my substitute crystal palace, and in here, I am the boss! I am of royal blood, and you are only a subject! So get down on your knees and help me finish cleaning this floor!”

  He looked down at this clean uniform, put on fresh just for this occasion, and he had bathed and brushed his hair, and sprayed himself with a scent to take away the odor of horshet flesh. He had never scrubbed a floor in his life and he didn’t intend to.

  “Well, Captain?” she asked mockingly, “are you just going to stand there? Keep in mind, there will come a day, when I will be a princess all the time—not just when I’m in a rustic wagon.”

  “This is my best uniform,” he offered as a lame excuse.

  “Then take it off—I’ll give you something to wear.”

  She gave him a towel to place about his hips to hide his nakedness, and he set to with the brush and soap, as messy and inexpert as she was. Then, when the floor was clean and dried, he helped her spread the rugs and arrange the furnishings. “Now,” she said, looking around, very pleased, “doesn’t it look nice?”

  Wearily, Dray-Gon fell in a chair, while she perched on the edge of the bed, and pulled the pins from her hair, and began to brush it. In seconds she looked herself again, even wearing the stained garment. Her violet, almost blue eyes scanned over his broad, strong bare chest, and then down to his powerful legs. “Captain, I have never been so impressed with you before. You look stunning wearing nothing but a towel.”

  “I am more impressive with nothing on. Shall I oblige?”

  She flushed and looked away. “I presume you came here for a reason. And I can tell by your gloomy expression that you are not the bearer of glad tidings. I suppose there is another dust storm ahead, and it will creep in through the windows, and under the door, and spoil everything I have just done. Oh, I will be glad when I have servants again to do all these unending chores, but it does look so much better. Thank you very much for helping, Dray-Gon.”

  “Anytime,” he said. “I would appreciate very much a glass of wine and a bite of something to eat, before I spill my bad news—and it isn’t a dust storm. In fact, little princess, you may consider dust storms a pleasantry when you see what is ahead—at least we are prepared for storms, and can hide from them.”

  She was off the bed and getting the wine and small cakes before he had finished speaking. She pattered to him on bare feet, and sat on the arm of his chair while he sipped and ate greedily. The desert air gave them all ravenous appetites and thirst that was never quenched. As he explained the surprise of the black, crusty ground ahead and what it would mean, she was getting more food and wine, which she sipped and nibbled on while he talked. When he stopped talking, she put aside her glass and plate, and daintily wiped her lips. She casually brushed crumbs from her lap to the floor, and then bent over and picked them up. She looked up with a laughing face. “I forgot I was my own maid. Next time, remind me before I brush off crumbs.”

  “Sharita, have you listened to one word I just said?”

  “I always listen most intently when you speak, Captain. But I don’t see any real cause for so much concern. So we will leave the wagons here, and journey on horshetback. I doubt that the outlaws have followed and will steal them…so they will wait patiently until we return.”

  “Now you listen to me, Sharita,” Dray-Gon began, leaning forward and seeking to intimidate her with his hard, commanding glare. “I swore to your father to keep you safe and alive, and I intend to keep my vow! He seemed to believe I cared more about you than the others—and that is why he gave me the title of captain, in full charge of this expedition. You are going to stay here with the wagons, with Benlon and three others, and wait for the rest of us to return after we talk to the Gods. And if we don’t return within a stated number of days, they are to take you back to Far-Awndra! So, there is no need for you to scowl and offer some ridiculous debate. It has already been decided. You have no voice in the matter—and no vote!”

  She rose then, assuming her full slender height, her regal posture echoing that of her father. “You can’t order me to stay, Captain! I am as much a part of this expedition as you are, as any of you are. I am an able and skilled rider, I have already proven that!”

  Dray-Gon stood, turned his back, threw off the towel and started to dress. “You are staying, princess, so save your energy and strength. Take a look at yourself in a mirror—you look pale and half-sick.”

  “Which of the men do you plan to leave with me?” she asked in a cold haughty voice.

  “The best of my men…the ones I can trust. Arth-Rin, Benlon, Raykin, and Mark-Kan volunteered.”

  “I don’t like Mark-Kan…he stares at me all the time, and sends shivers down my spine.”

  “All the men stare at you all the time,” Dray-Gon said sarcastically, “and if Mark-Kan sends shivers down your spine, maybe you’re attracted to him.”

  “You idiot,” she flared, stomping her foot and forgetting she wasn’t wearing shoes, so her foot hurt. “He doesn’t look at me that way—his look is cold and calculating!”

  “It’s your overworked imagination—you’re delirious from fever,” was her captain’s unconcerned answer as he buckled on his belt, and then drew on his uniform coat, turning to face her again. “He smartly saluted, and started to leave.

  Sharita ran up and pounded on his chest until he caught her hands. “Dray-Gon, if you leave me here, I’ll bribe those men with anything I have to, and I’ll follow!”

  He stared at her hard. “What do you mean, anything you have to?”

  “Anything—including accepting one of their proposals…maybe Benlon’s or Raykin’s…and if that doesn’t work I’ll promise them a huge fortune—and they’ll let me go anywhere I want to!”

  Almost he laughed, but a thoughtful look came to his face. He released her hands and caught her shoulders. “Sharita, please try for once to use some common sense. You don’t look well, a
nd if you stay here, you can live in comfort until we come back—and no one in Far-Awndra will know. All the men have sworn they won’t tell.”

  “You will make them into liars?”

  “I would make them into liars, thieves—anything to keep you safe.”

  “Then you stay here with me,” she said, putting her arms around his waist and looking up into his face pleadingly. “My father trusted you to take care of me, not Arth-Rin, or Raykin, or Mark-Kan, or Benlon…only you.”

  Anger darkened his expression. “No! I’ve got to be there when the question is asked!”

  Her arms slid up around his neck. “Then take me with you. Don’t leave me here alone with those four men. I don’t trust anyone but you, not even Benlon.” She rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips softly against his. “Dray-Gon, don’t leave me here, please don’t. And have I thanked you yet for repairing my doll?”

  “By the Gods, you are feverish!” he cried, shoving her away before he grabbed her shoulders and shook her roughly. “We are breaking camp in a few minutes, and I’m locking your wagon door, and turning the key over to Benlon. So promise any one of them anything you want to! Give yourself to one of them—or all, if that’s what you want! But I’m going on, and you’re staying here! For I’d rather see you ravished than dead!”

  Sharita backed up against the bed, beginning to tremble. “You deceitful liar! You vowed to my father you would see me through to the Mountain, and now you are breaking your promise! So go on your way, and leave me here…but I’ll find a way to escape and follow you…on foot, if I have to, and alone! And if on your way back, after talking to the Gods, you find my bones on the trail, you can explain that to my father!”

  “By the Gods, you are the world’s most bull-headed, stubborn woman! You stand there telling me what you’re going to do, looking like a feather could blow you over, but being what you are, I guess you would be stupid enough to try and follow, and alone!”

  They stood there, shooting fierce arrows at each other with their eyes, until Arth-Rin came and knocked on the door. “Dray-Gon,” he called, “they are all set to go…”

  The spare horshets carried as much water, food, and other protective necessities as they could, and even the puhlets were burdened lightly. The six wagons were left in the storm formation, with the wheel shields lowered and the pointed roof raised, a solid fortress which everyone missed before it was even out of sight.

  As Dray-Gon had already discovered, the charred black ground was solid in places, deceptively hollow in others. A danger for the heavily burdened hooved horshets. The sure-footed, lighter puhlets were sent out ahead to select the trail. Daintily the smoke-blue animals picked their way between the craters, with Dray-Gon directly behind them…and somewhere near the very end of the line, rode the princess.

  They had been perhaps two hours on the crusty ebony when a hollow crust broke, and a supply horshet slipped and fell over a crater rim, screaming with cries almost human as it tumbled over and over, and finally thudded to the bottom with a sickening squashy sound. Tears came trickling down Sharita’s cheeks. It was their first serious accident, resulting in death for one of them. No one said anything aloud, though many made the thumb signal of benediction as they rode on, carefully slow.

  The dual suns beat down as relentlessly here as on the barren desert plains, though the wind was much less, perhaps broken by the strange, twisted things that rose up from the ground everywhere. It was terrain such as one sees in a nightmare, an unworldly devil’s place. Sharita shuddered as she wondered where they would camp tonight, without heat, without any of the comforts left behind in the wagons. From time to time, as the file of riders curved a huge crater, she saw Dray-Gon turn in his saddle and glance back at her. She didn’t wave, only pretended not to notice. He had placed himself deliberately in the lead, behind the puhlets, so if the crust broke, he would be the one to die. “Heroic to the end,” she thought bitterly.

  Their progress was torturously slow. So slow, Sharita thought she might bake sitting in the saddle and adhere, so she would have to be pried loose. “Is there an end anywhere in sight?” called out one of the men to their captain. “Can’t see any yet,” he called back, causing Sharita’s shoulders to sag even more.

  The narrow rock rims between the craters that the puhlets chose were so slim, there wasn’t room to descend from the horshets and take a rest break. So they ate and drank as they traveled, reaching cautiously into the pouches slung just behind the saddles. “Everyone sit tall, and don’t list to the right or left!” called back Dray-Gon just as Sharita swayed, almost falling asleep. “Do what you can to assist the horshet in keeping their balance. It’s tricky riding here. One mis-step, and that’s it.”

  As the first sun sank to near its place of sleeping, Sharita felt her slight fever rising. From time to time she lifted a hand to her forehead as a throbbing headache began. “I’m going to be sick,” she thought, “really sick. Maybe Dray-Gon was right. I should have stayed with the wagons.”

  Directly ahead of her rode Doctor Benlon, and he too glanced back at her often. “Are you feeling all right, princess?” he asked, concern on his kindly face.

  “Yes, I feel fine.”

  From his expression, he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t comment. This time Dray-Gon called back that he was searching for a place to spend the night. Looking about, Sharita couldn’t see even a single space wide enough to even descend from a horshet. She had lain down almost, with her arms wrapped around the neck of the beast, clinging on desperately, as she felt delirium from the fever take her into unreality. From far away she heard Dray-Gon’s voice call out there wasn’t any recourse but to descend into one of the craters and sleep down there.

  Sharita hung on, desperately clinging to the horshet, allowing it to follow as it would the lead of the others. She heard Benlon say he would give her medicine as soon as they could dismount, but her tongue was too dry to reply. “It won’t be long now, princess,” he encouraged. “We are almost at the bottom.”

  She knew Mark-Kan was behind her, and he too said encouraging things that she didn’t understand. She forced herself to sit up, and hold her eyes open. The sky was ablaze with the setting of the second sun, streaking the sky with banners of gold, crimson, scarlet, and deep purple. The shimmering ebony crystals of some of the larger rocks caught and held the colors of the retreating sun. For a short while, there existed in this bleak, black eerie world a weird sort of haunting beauty. I am going to recall all this one day, and put it in a picture, so Father can see, Sharita told herself, for all ladies of her social stature took painting lessons as a matter of course, along with music and dancing lessons. Lessons, all my life has been a series of lessons on how to live, and I’ve never really lived until now were Sharita’s thoughts as she determinedly forced herself to stay awake and fight the fever that had her clothes sopping wet, and her thoughts whirling around like horshets chasing each other.

  The bone-weary men, with muscles cramped and aching from the daylong ride in the saddle, cheered as they reached the bottom of the cavern bowl. “It wasn’t so bad,” said Arth-Rin, looking back at the trail they had followed, spiraling down layers that seemed the stairway of a giant. Before the last of the riders reached the crater bottom, Dray-Gon had the first men setting up camp. “Pitch the tent for the princess first,” he ordered.

  The planners of the expedition had tried to think of every contingency, so they had sufficient tents of shimmering pufar fabric to house them all. Other men began to feed and water the puhlets and horshets as they were unloaded, and fires were started from material they had brought with them.

  Sharita, on her horshet, was one of the last to limp into camp. She slumped there, her arms dangling loosely, too fevered and weak to dismount. Dray-Gon reached her before Benlon.

  “Have you enjoyed your day, princess?” he asked, reaching up to assist her down. She gave him one long dazed, unfocused look, then fell into his arms in a dead faint. “Give her to me,” cried B
enlon, “I have just the medicine to have her feeling fine by tomorrow morning.”

  “Then get it out, while I carry her into her tent,” snapped Dray-Gon. “Why the devil didn’t you give her some of that medicine before this?”

  “She didn’t need it before this!” answered Benlon in a testy way, as he followed Dray-Gon into the special tent set up for the princess. He put down his bag and opened it up, glancing at Dray-Gon, who had laid the princess on a cot. “Now get out, Captain, so I can tend to her.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m a doctor, remember? I know what to do. I’ll take her temperature, her pulse, take off those wet clothes, and put on dry ones, after she’s dosed with this.” He held up a bottle of dark red liquid. “She really needs to be bathed off with cold water, but I suspect she won’t like knowing I did it.”

  “Do what you have to,” Dray-Gon said stiffly, his eyes on Sharita, who tossed restlessly on the cot, “and she won’t have to know, but damn you, don’t you take advantage of her while she’s unconscious!”

  “What the devil do you think I am?” flared Benlon, his face very red. “Do you think I don’t care about her just as much as you do? All day she’s clung to that horshet, and never complained once!”

  “Hah! Just wait until she’s feeling better! She’ll have plenty to say!” With that, Dray-Gon threw Sharita a last parting look before he left the tent.

  Someone tried to force her to eat and drink, but she wouldn’t. Someone patted her head and said she would be better in the morning.

  In the night she grew cold, and made sick little whimpering sounds, as the frigid winds above the crater blew, and an even more intense cold settled down in the depths of the pit. Shivering and half-crying, Sharita curled up into a tight ball, disoriented and miserable. There came a rustling noise at the flap of her tent, and the soft rilling of the puhlets, and Dray-Gon’s voice speaking softly as he picked her up and wrapped her in a blanket before he laid her on the floor. “The puhlets kept your ancestor Far-Awn from freezing, Sharita, they’ll do the same for you…and for the rest of us.” She felt his kiss upon her forehead, then on her lips. “Good night, darling,” he whispered, and was then gone.