Audra stared out at the sea and no longer seemed to care what Zander might think about her. “You really do have an incredible view, though. If I could open my window, I wouldn’t have such a good view; it looks out over the sewer drainage.”
She walked back to the window and breathed deeply. “Don’t you just love that smell?”
“I . . . never . . .” Zander stuttered, then shook his head.
Audra looked back at him. “Not much of a talker, are you?” She smiled and turned her gaze back to the sea. “That will go over very well here. The quieter you are, the more they like you. I tend to talk a lot so they stick me in the back of the kitchens. But seriously, haven’t you ever seen the sea?”
“I . . . don’t know where . . . whe . . .”
“Please, don’t kill yourself trying to speak. You’re at Southwick.”
“Wh—?”
“Do you really not know Southwick? It’s where the grand palace is. That’s where we are. Every king of Parbraven has lived here since the old times.” She turned to face him. “So, where are you from?”
“Sh . . . Sharlot . . .”
Audra laughed. “That filthy, beggar-ridden town? Yikes. You’re in worse shape than I thought.”
“Why?”
“Southwick will seem like heaven compared to Sharlot. Your view doesn’t even show it, but I should take you to see the city. It’s so wonderful. The lights at night sparkle like the sky and there’s singing you can hear from far in the streets. It’s so calm and peaceful and safe. That’s why I stay here. It’s hard to get work in the palace. You should feel privileged you’re here.”
Her attention turned to the room itself. She rummaged deep into the chest. “Where’s all your stuff?”
“I don’t . . . have . . .”
“Nothing? That’s boring. How am I going to find out about you if you don’t have anything with you?”
Zander grinned at his forward new friend.
“What’s your name at least?” she asked.
“Z . . . ander.”
“Well, Ander, I’m down the hallway and to the right, in the girls’ quarters. I’ve got to get ready for dinner preparations, but we’ll talk later.” She gave him an awkward smack on the shoulder, knocking him off balance, and walked to the door. As she reached the archway, she looked back, winked, then disappeared.
He went back to his window and the beautiful view, drawn in by the smell of the salty sea. He watched the waves continue on and on, the clouds moving slowly in the distance. He might have been there for hours and wouldn’t have even known it.
“Boy! Here!” a harsh voice demanded. He turned to see a large, unpleasant-looking woman, very soggy and greasy, who smelled of fish. “Can’t be wastin’ time. Got work to do.”
Zander blinked at the woman before moving forward.
“Pick up them feet,” she barked. “I ain’t runnin’ a daisy farm. Hundreds of hungry people wantin’ their food. On with ya!”
He moved as fast as he had ever gone before.
The woman tried to swat his behind but missed.
Chapter Seven
Prison
Warmth covered Naomi’s entire body. She felt safe and secure. How strange for Ferrell to let her sleep in this long.
She lay contemplating her dream, mulling over the details in her mind. As strange as this dream had been, it was not alarming like some of the others. Flashbacks of previous dreams came to her as painful memories: sharp pains, blood, and a handsome face carrying her through a dark forest . . .
Wait, Naomi thought. And then the reality of what had happened came rushing back: the prince, the escape, her fall into the ravine, the flood, the Blackwoods, the creatures, and Reynolds. She wasn’t home on Ferrell’s farm. Where was she?
Her eyes popped open, and the suddenness blinded her until she adjusted to the light in the room around her. The backdrop looked peculiar and disorienting. Fancy fabrics and tapestries of intricate craftsmanship created a canopy of free-flowing fabric, suspended by a polished wooden pole that stood in the middle.
She sat up, shaky and groggy from sleep, amidst piles and piles of brightly colored blankets. She still had her tattered clothing on. Dried splatters of blood stained her skirt.
Instinctively she rubbed the mark on her neck. Not until then did she feel something missing.
A lanky teenage girl entered the tent. With bizarre, red-colored hair standing up in untidy spikes, her boyish cut emphasized a pointed face and almond-shaped eyes. She dressed in what appeared to be boy’s clothes: tan leather pants and a cotton tunic with a leather vest which didn’t quite fit her proportions nor hide her girlish curves.
“Oh, you’re awake,” she said. “I promised not to leave, but I saw you stir and thought I should go get the others. They’re waiting outside.”
Naomi just stared, confused.
“Are you all right? You’re as white as a ghost.”
“I . . .” Naomi hesitated.
“I’ll get Lytte . . . just a sec,” and she stepped out the door.
A moment later, she returned, accompanied by two men.
An elderly man dressed in a long, flowing robe approached her. “Good afternoon. My name is Lytte. I am the healer here and Reynolds left you in my care. This is Aristatolis.” He pointed to the other man. “He is a Whirler. We mean you no harm.”
“Where is Reynolds?”
“In good time, my dear, in good time,” said Lytte. “Now, let me take a look at your wounds, if you will permit me.” Naomi felt uncomfortable but nodded. Lytte lifted the blankets from her legs and examined them thoroughly.
Naomi looked at her legs, too. She remembered the bites from the creatures in the Blackwoods—the searing pain and the blood soaking her clothes—but there were no scars or marks, not even scratches to be found. “We are told your name is Naomi.”
“Yes,” she returned, bewildered.
Aristatolis smiled and sat on a chair nearby. “You are a curiosity to us.”
“You see, you possess magic we have never seen,” Lytte added.
The reminder of the magic worried her. “Reynolds mentioned something like that. I think we should talk to him about it.”
Aristatolis leaned on his staff. “Reynolds brought you here three days ago. You were covered with blood. The wounds healed within hours. Within a day, the scars were gone. Now, aside from your clothes, we have no evidence you were harmed at all. So, you see, you are a mystery.”
Lytte gave an endearing smile. “I have never met anyone like you.”
“I’d like to think that a good thing,” she joked. “Reynolds said something similar. Can you get him for me? I think he would like to know I’m awake and okay.”
“Reynolds has asked us to keep an eye on you,” said Aristatolis, exchanging a glance with Lytte.
Naomi stared. “Are you saying he’s not here?” A knot started in her stomach—an uncomfortable feeling she, at first, did not recognize. It sat in a funny place inside her—in her stomach or in her throat, she could not tell, but the realization scared her for a moment even more than the forest. She had grown fond of Reynolds, trusting him with her life created something more, and suddenly she didn’t want to part from him. She didn’t want to be there without him. “Where did he go?”
“He does not tell us of such things and we do not ask,” Aristatolis answered.
Lytte took his turn to speak. “We have set up a place for you to sleep, separate from the others, and I would like you to be under my stewardship as a healer.”
Naomi nodded, but felt her anxiety grow without Reynolds near to guide her in this new environment. Her mind rattled with questions. The world had changed, and she didn’t know how to view it.
“Katia!” Aristatolis called. The red-haired girl stepped forward from the back of the tent. “Please take Naomi to your new tent.”
Lytte bent down and lifted the lid of a small basket. The long, familiar scarf seemed to move like fluid in his hands. “I bel
ieve this is yours.” He draped it around her and winked, his voice a whisper. “You will need this.” With that, he and Aristatolis left the tent.
Katia smiled widely, hopping up and down. “This is going to be so much fun. Are you all right?”
Naomi hesitated. “I’m a little disoriented. I’m not sure . . . I don’t know where I am.”
The girl looked around. “You’re in Lytte’s tent.”
“Okay, but where is Lytte’s tent? I mean geographically.”
“Oh, sure,” Katia returned. “At the edge of camp.”
Naomi gave up. She wanted to know more about what happened to her, but this girl didn’t have any answers.
“I’m Katia Ravenmoor, by the way,” she said, waving. “Aristatolis put me in charge of you for now, until we know what to do. So, what’s your name?”
“Naomi, uhh . . .” she hesitated. “Just Naomi.” She rubbed her neck out of habit again. She could feel the smooth fabric of the scarf. It warmed her and hid her insecurities. She brushed her fingers over the silk, looking at the patterns.
“It’s very pretty,” said Katia. “The scarf, I mean.”
“Thanks.”
An awkward pause followed before Katia spoke. “Sorry. I just have to say this. I am so excited that you are here. Really! The boys give me an awful time, being the only girl and all, but now we can be friends and I no longer have to deal with it—well, not as much, probably. They like to pick on me, I guess. They really don’t know what to do with me. My magic is a little different than theirs. I’m trying to figure it out, but it kind of explodes out of me and then I freeze everything.”
Naomi just smiled and nodded. She had nothing to say. Her anxiety hadn’t let up one bit and this girl’s rambling conversation only confirmed how much she needed Reynolds.
“Oh, sorry about the clothes,” Katia continued. “I have clean ones, but I didn’t know what would fit.”
Naomi looked at the state of her clothing, dirty from mud, bloody from her wounds, then to the pile of boy’s clothes Katia handed her. She held up the trousers. They looked enormous. “Uh, okay, I think.”
Naomi slipped the tunic and trousers on. She felt ridiculous.
“I’ll try to find something that fits later,” Katia apologized, and they exited the tent.
~*~
Katia led Naomi down a worn dirt path. The camp looked small and narrow. A grove of willow trees surrounded it, covering the ground with shade. Sun streaked in through branches, slicing the thickness and littering the ground with patterns. A few other small huts were strung along the dirt paths that led to a small wood cabin at the far end. Various boys could be seen sparring with sticks.
As her anxieties continued to rise, she tried to focus her thoughts on other more important issues. Zander wasn’t here and she worried about him. She half expected him to walk up to her from the sparring ground. Her heart ached. She missed him tremendously.
That might be why Reynolds left, she concluded. She had been annoyed at first, and then hope replaced the feeling. Her thoughts drifted off, and she felt as if he were standing next to her. Her stomach tied in knots at the memory of his hand in hers, running his fingers along her knuckles . . . Stop it! These thoughts were destructive and unnecessary.
She saw a lot more people as they moved deeper in the camp: boys in tents meditating, eating under a large thatch canopy, fighting amongst themselves. Everything ground to a halt as Naomi passed, the camp slowly quieting until every eye focused on her. She felt extremely self-conscious and grabbed hold of Katia.
“How much farther?”
“Not much,” said Katia. “We have to go around the barracks. That’s where all the boys sleep. I did, too, but now with you here, we get to have our own tent. I’m so excited.” She made a strange pumping motion with her fists and squeezed Naomi’s arm.
“We have to go past all these . . . ?” Naomi looked out into the camp at all the faces watching her pass. She didn’t dare meet anyone’s gaze directly.
“Yeah, but no problem. We’re by Aristatolis’ hut right over there.” She pointed down the path. “Just stay close.”
And Naomi did, holding tight to Katia’s elbow. Time seemed to stop. Everyone stared at her like a foreign creature.
“Oh, great!” Katia mumbled under her breath.
Two out of the crowd approached them. “Katia, oh lovely Katia,” one squeaked, hailing them. “The rabbit is out of its hole. So glad to see you this fine, fine day.”
“Hi, Micah. This really isn’t a good time.” Katia’s voice was calm but focused.
“Any time is good—good for time!”
“Whatever, Micah. I’ve got to get Naomi to our tent, if you please.”
“Naomi, is it?” The tall boy with the smooth voice stepped in, halting their progress.
“Yes, Landon. But could we do introductions later? It’s a little cold out here.”
“No time like the present. Hi, I’m Landon Rhees.” He stuck out his hand. “My rhyming friend here is Micah Shadower.”
Naomi smiled and tightened her grip on Katia’s arm.
“Now’s not the time for introductions, Rhees,” Katia muttered. Naomi flushed beet-red but remained silent. “So, could we please get past?”
Landon smiled widely and stepped aside.
Katia and Naomi walked swiftly towards their shelter. Naomi glanced back and wondered about the tall one with the smooth voice.
The gentle trees and shrubs surrounded the shelter, making it secluded and private. The warm air inside felt good. Two cots flanked the inside of the tent, covered with piles of soft furs and blankets. Deep in the shady wood, the sun couldn’t filter in.
Katia grabbed a lantern, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a little dust on her fingers. She snapped them together, producing a spark, and gently blew it into the lantern. Instantly the tent lit up. The light grew greater than Naomi had imagined, almost as if the sun shone in through a window.
“How do you do that?” Naomi asked.
“Sunsparks.” She lifted a small pouch out of her pocket to show her. A fine powder filled it, bright white with strange flecks of gold mixed well together.
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Katia asked. “Don’t be offended by it.”
“Okay.”
“What is that star thing on your neck?”
Naomi choked. She hadn’t thought anyone had seen it. “Just a scar I got when I was little—a birthmark, I guess.”
“It’s very pretty,” Katia said wistfully. “Wish I had something like that.”
Naomi didn’t have a response. She didn’t think she should be flattered by the compliment, since she had tried to hide it all her life.
An awkward silence filled the space.
“Why don’t you tell me more about you?” Naomi asked.
Katia perked up at these words. “You want to know about me? No one here has ever asked about me.” She smiled brightly. “Well, there’s not much to tell. I grew up in the Salt Peaks, a place called Tapoof, near the edge of the south sea. It’s beautiful, but very hot.
“My father was a fisherman and my mother was a pattern maker. She was from the Butterfly Islands and we traveled there all the time. I miss those days sometimes. The feel of the sea and the ship, the rocking and motion . . .
“My first memories were of the sea. We lived on the boat until I was around nine. But when my mother found out she was pregnant, she couldn’t go out on the water anymore. When my brother came, everything changed. She’s dead now, along with my brother.” Katia’s voice fell away.
Naomi realized she might have hit a soreness that had never healed properly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”
Katia shrugged. “It happened years ago. Near the end of her life, my mother went mad. She forced me to drink something she got from a mystic. Said it would make me beautiful. That worked, didn’t it?”
She laughed at her own joke, but then sighed at
the seriousness of it. “My mother killed herself and the baby. My father had a hard time dealing with my mother’s death. I look like her, you see.”
“How did you get here?”
Katia’s tone darkened. “My father talked to the fishmongers about me—about the magic my mother forced on me. I got packed up and shipped away, just like that.”
~*~
A bell echoed through the tent from somewhere outside. Katia’s mood seemed to immediately improve. “Wow, dinner. I bet you’re hungry.”
Naomi thought about it, and food—real food—sounded like the best idea in the world.
“Come on, then.” Katia grabbed Naomi’s arm and pulled her out the door.
The mess hall lived up to its name—a mess. The unstable structure rose in the corner of the camp like an eyesore. Wood planks hung together with rusted nails. A fraying rope and weathered reeds thatched together the roof. Inside, round tables filled the room wall to wall, each one crowded with noisy, disgusting boys laughing and talking loudly. Filth and grime covered the tables and chairs, along with old, crusted food. The place smelled of dried meat and sour milk.
Naomi’s appetite began to wane, and not because of the lack of cleanliness. Her stomach lurched with uncomfortable hunger pains, weak from her days in the tent, and knew she had to eat. She just wished she didn’t have to do it with everyone staring at her.
“Oh, my ladies, my ladies . . .” a voice squealed at their approach. The boy called Micah stood and gave an unnecessary bow. “I am honored with your presence.”
Naomi stared. He stood out, his appearance unique but not alarming: striking white hair over dark skin, with eyes of vivid blue.
“I’ll be back.” Katia headed in the direction of the food.
“You have no need to be afraid of me. Sit, sit,” Micah said in his hypnotic voice, motioning to the empty chairs at the table. “Fear is good, healthy, wise, but the fearless need extra eyes, don’t you think?”
Naomi simply nodded. What?
“I am Micah Shadower. I come from Feather Downs in the east. Do you know it?”
Vivatera (Vivatera Series Book 1) Page 8