Still, Lorraii fought on, her purpose and all the years of her existence as Ruxii’s scion possessing every bit of her remaining energy, pushing her to keep moving, to not give in, to struggle against whatever she encountered. But the pulsing, shifting roots did not abate in their unnatural forming to stop her, and by the time she could lift neither arm nor leg to continue crawling and squeezing her way through the barrier, she realized with a feverish detachment that she no longer stood upon the ground. Instead, she had wriggled herself up into the arched network of crossed roots and dangling filaments, where she finally collapsed to lie horizontally suspended above the forest floor.
As soon as she stopped struggling, so did the trees. Silence sliced through the forest air, faint echoes of the creaking wood filtering through the cold to disappear completely. Lorraii’s spine still screamed in pain, her runes flaring in pulsing waves she neither recognized nor could control. All she could do was breathe against the torment, her hot breath rising in quick, heavy puffs of steam as she fought now merely to remain conscious. She felt the cold, silty flesh of the upturned root beneath her cheek, and through the gaps in the thick, hard roots supporting her, she caught sight once more of the man who had turned from communing with a bear to face her.
With an aching slowness, the man approached, making Lorraii feel very much like a small animal within a hunter’s snare. She tried to focus, but the pain in her back and her consequent exhaustion made it impossible to see less than two blurry visions of him. Finally, boots crunching across the frozen ground, the man stopped at the edge of the lifted tree roots to study her, their faces level though she lay cradled within the lifted limbs. Stormy grey eyes bored into hers beneath brows darkened with fury, and Lorraii briefly glanced at the thick, raised rope of scarred flesh just visible above the collar of his tunic. Then, through the fog of misery and collapse, she finally recognized this vision of hardened rage.
“You,” she breathed, gasping for air and fighting to remain conscious, to be sure she really saw what she suspected. Her fingers tightened involuntarily around the amarach dagger.
“Me,” the man replied softly, leaning closer to keep her gaze.
What little of her will remained seeped from the last Ouroke like water from a sieve, and unable to continue as she was, she closed her eyes and lay still.
Chapter 21
A grey streak darted down from the branches, and the bird made little noise before Kayu stood at Kherron’s side once more. “She’s alone.”
Kherron nodded, though he could not bring himself to look away from the woman lying unconscious in the web of pine roots lifting her off the forest floor. It seemed so very long ago that he’d spent countless hours imagining all the ways he would exact his revenge upon this woman—the vile accomplice of the man who’d betrayed him entirely—for stabbing him and leaving him for dead in an altogether different forest. In all his wildest fantasies of such a thing, he never could have anticipated back then what he’d become or the power he now wielded to do so. He thought he would have relished this moment, but it brought him little satisfaction. Instead, it only fueled his anger and his curiosity, which he recognized as a dangerous combination while simultaneously refusing to quell either of them.
“Who is this woman?” Paden asked, stepping beside Kherron and leaning forward for a better look at the unconscious newcomer.
“Dangerous,” Kherron replied.
The healer straightened immediately but did not step away. “She doesn’t look dangerous.”
“No. Something happened to her.” For the life of him, Kherron could not think of any single thing in this world that might have brought Lorraii to him in such a state. He had not spent much time in her presence when they’d traveled together with Torrahs and Dehlyn—when Kherron was so naïve and ignorant and careless of the consequences. But it had been enough for him to know she did not fall easily, and it had taken very little effort on his part to stop her.
Of course, when he’d seen her staggering toward him with an amarach dagger lifted in her hand and that wild look in her eyes, he’d thought she’d been sent to bring him down one final time. But she had not recognized him until her last moment of consciousness, though this realization did not make him regret what he’d done to keep her from reaching him and his party. The tattooed woman might have been restrained for now, but it did not make her any less of a threat.
“She is Ouroke,” Kayu said. Kherron turned to face him, and the bird-man merely flicked his gaze toward the woman’s face within the tree roots, her copper tattoos covering every inch of her cheeks, nose, eyes, and forehead. “I did not know any of them remain.”
“I’ve never heard that word,” Paden said. His studious curiosity could apparently not be dampened by the strangest of circumstances.
“Many names are not spoken within the cities and dwellings of man,” the bird-man replied. He did not look away from the unconscious Lorraii, but Kherron caught the healer’s brief, startled blink when Paden realized he’d been delivered a condescending truth. “She knows you,” Kayu added.
“Yes.” Kherron squinted, peering through the roots. “She also tried to kill me.” He had no idea what could possibly have brought the tattooed woman this far north and west, especially toward him and especially with as much tortured desperation as had seemed to fill her every weakening step. Torrahs could have sent her—Kherron realized he had to accept the possibility of impossible and improbable things—but the Sky Metal dagger resting in her palm made him think this was something else. And it had been easier than he’d expected to stop her.
The frozen underbrush crunched behind him, and he turned slowly to see Aelis as her bear padding toward him and the uplifted cage of twisted tree roots. With her dark eyes fixed upon the tattooed woman, she stopped, rose onto her hind legs, and brought her forepaws down upon the wall of roots to stabilize herself. The makeshift prison groaned against her weight, and her thick pelt shivered as she moved. Kherron found himself both awed and admittedly frightened by her ferocious size standing upright, but Aelis’ apparent intentions subdued the shock of it. She brought her huge black muzzle to the tattooed woman’s face and sniffed. Almost as if she were disappointed, she then pushed herself away and returned to all fours. Kherron could have sworn the bear actually rolled her eyes at him in disdain before she snorted and lumbered off into the woods.
“I take it that means this Ouroke is not a threat,” Paden commented.
Kherron stared after Aelis, wishing he could have heard her speak her mind instead of needing now to gauge her thoughts from wordless actions—which could have been matched by any true bear, if he hadn’t known the difference. She had not spoken much to begin with, but she would at least have shared her distrust openly.
“Perhaps at one point, she was.” Kayu joined Kherron for his own closer look at the tattooed woman. “I do not think that remains the case.”
This made Kherron turn to catch the bird-man’s grey gaze. “What makes you say that?”
“She smells... broken.” When Kherron frowned, Kayu spread his arms with a simple shrug, as if he could give no better answer.
Paden stood on his toes to peer through the roots again, weaving back and forth for a better view. “She’s not wounded. Unless an Ouroke doesn’t bleed...”
“That’s not what I meant,” Kayu said. “This woman is like an empty den. Ready to be used for her only purpose and...” He tilted his head again in that decidedly birdlike way, until his ear nearly touched his shoulder, and blinked once. “Lacking something needed to fulfill it. I cannot say now what that is.”
“I don’t trust her,” Kherron said.
“That is wise.” Kayu glanced up at the sky filtering pale hues of pink and orange through the pine branches. “An hour or two of light still remains, but perhaps we should rest earlier tonight.” He did not need to say that leaving the Ouroke to her own devices without first discerning what ailed her might in fact be more detrimental than losing an hour or two o
f travel on their journey east.
Kherron nodded and waved his fingers briefly toward the rounded mass of tree roots, asking simply for release. The intricately twisted prison of tangled limbs writhed and withdrew, rumbling and cracking once more to return beneath the frozen forest ground. The woman remained limp and unconscious, her body turning and falling loosely over the shifting masses beneath her. Kherron did not think to ask for the trees’ care in handling the tattooed woman, but when he saw one final root flicker against Lorraii’s face and slice the skin of her cheek, it brought him more satisfaction than regret.
Finally, the last Ouroke lay upon nothing more than upturned earth and a shattered layer of hoarfrost. She did not stir even then, the slow rise and fall of her chest barely visible beneath her leathers. All three men watched her for a moment longer, and when the blood welling from the gash in her cheek trickled across her face and dripped upon the icy leaves and pine needles beneath her, Kherron turned toward Paden. “She bleeds just like the rest of us.”
Even he thought his words sounded cold and hardhearted, but he had no desire to hide his true feelings toward this woman. He would never trust her, and he did not think there would ever come a day when he did not in some way hope for her suffering—to see her pay for the cruel, unforgiving way she’d thrust him into his dubious journey with the tip of her own blade.
When he circled her slowly, searching for any visible sign that would give explanation to her sudden and unwanted arrival, he stopped beside her outstretched hand. The only other Sky Metal blade he’d seen fully formed and ready for use lay within her partially open hand. With the toe of his boot, he nudged the handle out of her unresisting fingers and bent to retrieve the weapon. The instant his hand wrapped around the cobalt-inlayed hilt, he opened it again and sucked in a sharp breath. The dagger thumped to the ground.
Both Kayu and Paden shot him concerned frowns, and Kherron shook his head before inspecting his own palm. “It’s hot.” He’d recognize the agonizing sensation of burning flesh anywhere; a few too many careless incidents as a young boy in the Iron Pit ensured he forgot neither the pain nor the importance of paying attention to his work. “As if I pulled it straight from the fire.” But his palm lacked the telltale signs of hot metal burning flesh—no redness, no raised blisters beneath the surface, no tenderness. Neither of his companions gave him much more than wide-eyed surprise when he looked back up at them. “I mean to hear her explanation for that.” This seemed an acceptable statement of finality for all of them, and without waiting for his request, the healer and the bird-man set to gathering enough dead branches and brown needles for a fire large enough to share.
The first few nights of their journey, Kherron had felt an awkward sense of both gratitude and guilt for the things his unlikely allies agreed to do without question. Paden’s willingness to aid him with menial tasks did not seem so out of place; the healer had been eager to do what he could from the onset of their meeting, despite the fact that he knew so very little of the world he’d entered when Kherron and Aelis seized him from the military encampment. Even after so many days of being in each other’s company, the man had taken his exposure to the unknown in great stride, and he had not yet mentioned a desire to return to his men and whatever duty he’d left with them. Kayu was a different matter altogether.
The bird-man obviously harbored a deep and lasting care for Aelis, as evidenced by his frequent traveling by the huge bear’s side if not by his unflinching willingness to join Kherron after the unforeseen chaos erupted at the clanning. He did not question Kherron’s decisions, though necessarily few, and he did not ask about either Kherron’s plans for the future or his reasoning behind them. He didn’t have to; they’d both witnessed the Nateru’s torment when the world shook and transformed, and they both wished to rectify what had been undone that day.
Kherron thought it would have been easier to travel in Kayu’s presence if the man had balked at any action he performed or if he’d pestered Kherron for the lingering, heartbroken glances shot in Aelis’ direction when Kherron thought no one was looking. If the bird-man ever acted as though his decisions had been made from obligation or necessity, Kherron could have easily fallen into the required indifference between them and left it at that. But his ally in grey—who looked entirely too young for such composure until one took a moment to study his eyes—seemed unable to resent him in any way and begrudged him for nothing. He had, after all, been the first and only of the Nateru to step forward and offer whatever he could for Kherron’s cause. As far as Kherron knew, Kayu might have been the only one among the Nateru not to have been effected by the rippling wave of change and terror that had overcome them that day in the clearing. The man still had his bird, and while he did not mention any other forms he might have still possessed, neither did he show any signs of loss so strongly exuded by the others of his kind, Aelis included.
The man’s quiet, accepting support and overwhelming humility—when they both knew Kherron’s experience as a Blood of the Veil did not extend anywhere near Kayu’s own knowledge of them—had made Kherron so uncomfortable at first that he found it difficult to look the man in the eye. But so many days of traveling through the mountains beneath such a weight of responsibility—magnified by Aelis’ refusal to spend any more than a few seconds in Kherron’s presence as her bear—had stripped him quickly of that discomfort and misplaced guilt. Each of those who traveled with him now did so of their own volition, despite the circumstances or their personal struggles with what was happening to the world around them. Today, and especially having been stumbled upon by the tattooed woman he’d never expected to see again, Kherron felt united with his small band. He took Aelis’ apparent indifference toward Lorraii as consent for whatever he decided to do with the woman.
Now, he kept an eye on the unconscious Ouroke while the others worked quickly to form a sizeable structure of branches and twigs, the kindling still unnecessary and otherwise far more difficult to find beneath the snow and ice. When they had finished, Kherron only glanced briefly at the stacked firewood to be sure the others had stepped well enough aside. Then the branches burst into flames at his gentle request. With a clean conscience, he could take comfort in a large fire before sunset, especially when no one knew exactly how long it would take Lorraii to regain consciousness.
They had enough time on their own for Kherron to skin and cook a hare for each of them, and they gathered around the fire to eat their meals and wait for the tattooed woman. It seemed a rather long time even for Lorraii to lie there without moving. Pulled by his healer’s nature, Paden stood from his place beside the fire to give the woman a brief inspection; Kherron noticed the man took pains not to make contact with her. After a few moments of squatting beside the Ouroke and studying her face, Paden returned to the fire with a frown, his lips only slightly curled in amused confusion. “She’s sleeping.” When Kherron shot him a questioning glance, the man only shrugged, and they waited.
Finally, beneath the cold blue glow of twilight, the silence of the forest and the crackling fire gave way to a startled gasp and a moan. The men shifted warily around the fire, pulled from their own contemplations, to watch the tattooed woman rise into sitting and shake her head. Kherron did not miss the fact that her attention went first to the Sky Metal blade resting just a few inches away at her side and that she made no move to collect it. Then she groaned again and bent over her own lap to cradle her head in her hands.
If it had been anyone else, Kherron would have offered a little more sympathy and concern, perhaps even a few moments for their new companion to collect herself and come to an explanation in her own time. He did not feel such a need for compassion toward this woman, nor did he think she deserved it. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice gruff and harsh within the stillness.
“I could ask you the very same thing,” she replied almost immediately, as if they’d been conversing this way all along with no time or distance or enmity between them.
“You could, but you haven’t,” Kherron replied. “And you’re not in any position to demand answers.”
Lorraii looked up at him then with wide eyes, studying him as if seeing him for the first time. In a way, Kherron supposed that was true; he was neither the naïve, newly freed man she’d met in Torrahs’ cottage nor the easily subdued fool she’d stabbed after leaving the Roaming People’s village. Without the rage he’d harbored toward her for so long, they might as well have been strangers.
“I did not come for you,” the woman said, her voice low and gravelly. “And I expected you to be much farther east by now.”
“A lot of things have happened since you tried to kill me.” Kherron’s words sounded nearly like a growl.
Lorraii swallowed and frowned, as if that simple action pained her, and grunted a sigh. “Clearly.” She licked her lips. “I imagine it makes no difference to you, but I no longer serve Torrahs.”
Kherron leaned forward, at first thinking he’d misheard her. “Why?”
“Our principles conflicted in striking ways.” Her words rose laced with sarcasm and forced formality, and Kherron responded with a long, heavy exhale; he would not suffer any more riddles, especially from her. Lorraii met his gaze and tilted her head in defiance. “I did something he did not appreciate.” Kherron glared at her, and then she relented fully. “I killed an amarach without his permission.”
Sacrament of Dehlyn (The Unclaimed Book 3) Page 21