by Jean Winter
Through collected frost clinging to a layer of dust along the bottom of the side window, Lyra spied the back of J'Kor standing before a work table. His top removed, she had a great view of his oscekhiss tattoo. She also saw that the machine on the table top responsible for the continuous whirring was a blade sharpener, the whetstone wheel spinning and humming as J'Kor pressed the blade of an ax against it, grinding the hard edge down to a fine, deadly point.
Holy Creator! He wasn't planning to use that on her was he?
As he turned to inspect the shiny ax head under the single light, J'Kor's eyes suddenly flashed a glowing red. Lyra blinked hard a few times. No, no! She must be seeing things. She was just scared and stressed and—
The muscles in J'Kor's shoulders flexed and moved as they hefted the tool's weight back and forth across the whetstone again. It made the oscekhiss's scaly head slither and undulate, nodding, looking amused at her fear. Then, the cat-like predator closed its mouth, pulled itself from J'Kor's shoulder, and climbed up to sit casually there on its haunches, its tail end flicking in mischievous glee.
Eerk!
The air in Lyra's throat turned to dust. J'Kor turned again to test the blade's edge and absently reached a hand up to stroke the animal curling against his neck.
EERK!
The oscekhiss suddenly turned and locked burning eyes on Lyra, spitting a threatening hiss. Lyra flung herself from the window. Her foot tripped over something and she went spinning blindly to the ground. What was that? What. Was. THAT?
Prior to tonight, Lyra would have scoffed at anyone believing in “real” magic. But after that—
She had been wrong earlier. She could feel even more fear. The taste of blood seeped onto her tongue as she struggled to raise herself from the hard-packed earth. She had to run. She had to hide!
Twenty-five feet across the yard, however, Lyra's stomach violently constricted, and emptied itself onto the swiftly freezing ground. She was vaguely aware of her chattering teeth in between heaves. The wind whipped through her hair. The cold bit at her face.
She staggered forward once again, her head pounding so painfully that she was sure any second it would burst. Lyra soon lost her sense of direction. Next, she lost all feeling in her extremities going numb with cold.
Then, succumbing to the storm's caliginous turbulence, Lyra lost her mind, as well.
CHAPTER 4
The neat pile of chopped wood was regarded with grim satisfaction. Kade wiped the sweat from his brow with a rag and glanced at his watch. It had been nearly two hours since he'd retreated here to feverishly work off his anger, and he finally felt better again—more in control. Heavily he slumped onto the nearby hay bale next to his shirt and coat where the cold boards of the barn wall refreshed his hot, sweaty back.
He regretted striking her now, but that woman had crossed the line insulting him like that. Sure, he could empathize with her position, but “murderer”? It was infuriating. Add to it everything he had just learned about her and Lyra was lucky a slap to her face was all she got.
She would probably never appreciate the control Kade had exhibited to just leave when he did. He desperately needed to vent his frustrations on something—and he had consciously chosen to not make it his recently acquired khar. Swinging away as hard as he pleased at a bunch of unsuspecting wood stumps had proven an acceptable alternative.
It was the exact moment when he had said the word “Believers” that everything finally came into focus. Her accent that he couldn't quite place, her anxiety, the message of her strange children's song, and every other little inconsistent word and action had all aligned together with blaring clarity. She was a Believer—one of those religious zealots the Republic had been after for years.
Kade had only come across a few of the cult during his time of service, one time, while interrogating a couple men that had been captured. They were unusually strong-willed and difficult. That was when he had learned a little about the Believers' strange beliefs. In the end, one of the men actually started preaching—or rather, obnoxiously boasting—about their weapon that would destroy all heathen “Strangers” (as all non-Believers were apparently called) who would dare to raise an arm against “God's chosen people.” A wild passion gleamed in his eyes as he quoted scripture about the fall of the “abominable nation” and how his god would set up a new governing system.
Impossible futuristic predictions. Magical instruments of mass destruction. That was when Kade decided all Believers must be crazy.
Except, Lyra didn't seem to be that way. Funny. Smart. A comfortable dose of common sense in that intriguing head of hers. She was making him second-guess himself again. Were the Believers really dangerous? That was still hard to say. Lyra had exhibited considerable evidence of a compassionate, caring nature: defending the old Keeper, her empathy toward the young thief, Ahskr …
But on the other hand, she hadn't refuted his accusations. She really did believe in the so-called prophecies and some special object that would play an integral part in seeing their predictions come to pass. Whether this object was genuinely a threat, however, remained to be seen.
The sleet continued to scalp his property outside and Kade pulled his shirt over his head before grabbing a broom to sweep up. He cursed the underhanded, opportunistic captain responsible for setting things in motion that put him in this difficult position. The man should have his rank stripped and be unceremoniously shot. And then maybe hanged.
Protocol demanded that Lyra be turned over to the proper authorities. At least, that was what he should do. That was Kade's duty with a prisoner of war. She could not be trusted. She, like the rest of her people, were scheming traitors.
A look out the window showed the house lights all still on. Kade wondered if she had fallen asleep by now. Probably not. He had left in rather dramatic fashion and she was probably scared out of her wits wondering what he was going to do to her when he returned.
So what are you going to do? Kade stopped sweeping and leaned on the end of the broom handle in troubled thought.
If he turned her in, he would certainly get his money back. He wouldn't have to worry about the new loans and his new home project could continue as scheduled. He could pass her off, get congratulated on his fine work, and never have to think about her again!
So why did that scenario leave such a bad taste in his mouth?
You must protect her.
Growling, Kade threw the broom hard against the work table where it clattered and bounced onto the ground. He problem was, he knew wouldn't be able to forget her! He knew what they would do to her, but what other choice did he have? If he kept her, he would still be out his money with a … a perfect slave, just as she had accused, on his hands. And if he chose to have her as his khar, he would know with every touch, every look, every breath, that she was hating him. Condemning him.
Did that really matter?
Kade wasn't blind. Caldreen was replete with khari'na and lord pairs who despised each other. It didn't matter much as long as the job got done and the man could walk away content enough while his woman went on with her plush life in his home. Just like a lot of marriages.
Suddenly weary, Kade made himself retrieve the broom. A few minutes later he was turning off the lantern, and the instant darkness swallowed the creases of his frown. Maybe he would be able to think more objectively in the morning.
A few stars to the southeast peeked hopefully between cloud gaps, signaling the storm's passing, but the chill surprised Kade. His breath was visible. Good, old Caldreen'n weather. One could always rely on it being unreliable.
As Kade trudged across the yard, one thing above all in this ludicrous situation left him the most unsettled. Somehow, despite everything, he was glad that captain had taken the bribe.
Squish.
Kade paused, lifting his foot. That wasn't water. Bending over, he strained to make out the dark, hard ground. Ah blast, had Whinnee gotten loose—no. It looked like someone had been sick.
&n
bsp; Oh, no.
“Lyra?” he yelled into the night. “Lyra!”
She must have followed him out—again—wondering what he was doing out here. If she peeked into the barn she would have seen him sharpening—Good grief! Would she suppose he was going to use his ax on her?
Cursing, Kade ran the rest of the way to the house. Did she panic and run? Surely she would remember how easily he could find her, unless she somehow got to her tracker and stole it to give her a little more time.
Kade stepped inside. “Lyra? Lyra, I am no' going to hurt you. Just come out and talk to me.”
No answer. He found her backpack and boots still sitting in the closet. Kade went to his office next. Everything appeared to be in good order, and the safe in the corner where he kept his important papers was still locked. Upon opening it, he found the tracker, indeed, still inside, nestled in the envelope just as he had left it the night he brought her home. Funny. He never thought he would actually have to use it!
Turning it on, Kade noticed for the first time the unusual dial at the bottom. This was a model he'd never seen before. He knew Lyra had been implanted in a military facility as a prisoner, and he'd heard rumors recently of new, more intense submission technology in development. Was this it?
Toenails clicked on the wood floor as Ahskr came in, whining anxiously at his alpha partner. Something was wrong. Kade bent over and gave him a quick scratch on the head. “Come on, boy. Help me find your nurse.”
Following the signal from the little steel box, Kade was led directly to the wide, gnarled trunk of one of his shade trees.
“Lyra?” he called, looking up.
Nothing moved. He tapped on the device's little screen and looked around again. He should be right on top of her. Ahskr made some yips to his right and started scratching around the door to the root cellar. Of course! He really was right on top of her!
Pocketing the tracker, Kade opened the door and took a first step into the pitch black below. He checked himself to proceed cautiously. This was no ordinary woman. If she thought herself trapped and he, coming to hurt her, well, he had seen her lash out before—a couple times actually.
“Lyra?” he called softly. He reached the bottom step and felt along the wall for the light switch. A quick flip and the rectangular room was illuminated in a soft green glow. “I just want to talk.” He couldn't see her anywhere.
Immediately Ahskr was at the wide, deep case at the back wall, his nose snuffling under the space below the bottom shelf, only nine or ten inches in height. Yipping and whining some more, he poked his head under, but could go no farther. The shelf denied entrance of his shoulders.
Curious, Kade went to his hands and knees and peered under the thick plank. Mystic moons! There was Lyra's dim form wedged tightly across the back, lying dead still. He couldn't believe she had been able to squeeze herself under there!
“Lyra! Lyra, wake up!”
Flat on his stomach, Kade stretched an arm out to her, but only the tips of his fingers could touch one arm. It was ice cold. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he saw that she was clothed only in her chemise and thin robe, lips blue, deathly pale. She was not responsive to his nudges. Who knew how long her body had been soaking in the cold of the stone floor. This was not good.
“Lyra.” Kade slid over and tried to reach one of her knees. “Come on, Sugarpip. I need you to help me out here. I canno' quite reach you.”
He got a small hold over one knee, but simply had not the grip to actually move it. Her flesh just gave way. Was she even breathing? Rising to his knees, he brought her tracker unit out again. He studied the ominous dial with distrust then tentatively pushed the knob with the dial at the lowest setting just for a split second. Her frame twitched. He tried it again, holding the button down a little longer. Her muscles seized to rigidity until he let off the knob, but still no stirring.
There was a bad taste in his mouth as he tried it again with the dial turned up higher. Kade couldn't imagine how painful this would be if she were conscious. But a few more tries, slowly increasing the intensity, and Kade finally threw the offending thing to the floor. It wasn't working at all!
In frustration, he stood and began to remove all the wrapped and stored cuts from his well-stocked shelves. Then his patience ran out and he just took hold of the meat cabinet's top corner edge and pulled hard.
Crash! Why his father had been compelled to build the stupid thing so blasted deep he would never know! But at least now Kade could reach her.
Cradling Lyra tight against him, he hurried her limp form covered in dust and cobwebs out of the root cellar and into the house where he lay her on the bed, He felt for a pulse. Slow, but still constant. She was also breathing. Barely.
After tucking her in under a mountain of blankets, Kade went to stoke the fire at the hearth. Then he called Ahskr to the bedroom and placed him under the covers next to Lyra before stripping himself down and climbing in on her other side. This was not how he had imagined holding her for the first time.
He lay there for a long time, arms wrapped round her front, conforming to her every joint and bend. As the minutes passed, Kade talked softly into her ear, apologizing for hitting her and telling her how much he had liked getting to know her. He also warned she had better warm up quickly as his one arm was swiftly going numb, but Kade didn't move it for an hour. Even after that it was only to briefly check on the fire. Ahskr, meanwhile, never relinquished his guard position on the other side. He seemed to understand that his savior needed him.
After a while Lyra felt slightly warmer, but in a clammy sort of way. It appeared she hadn't just gone hypothermic, she was feverish, too.
With his head next to hers and breathing softly against her hair, Kade eventually fell asleep, his last conscious thoughts, less about who she was and his duty to his country, and more about all the rationales he could possibly conceive for keeping her.
… Reason number fifteen: she looks great in pants. …
# # #
Terror.
Cold.
Pain!
Groggily, Lyra tried to shift position, but the arm draped across her waist and the warm body at her back impeded her ability to move. Oh God! What is he doing?
With a muffled grunt of horror she scrambled to break free.
Thud!
Ow. Lyra suddenly found herself on the floor next to the bed with a new sharp pain radiating from the side of her head. Rolling cumbersomely to her back, she waited for the dizzy throbbing to ebb.
“Lyra, are you okay?” said the head of J'Kor poking sleepily over the edge of the mattress, hair ruffled, and a yawn at his mouth.
“Stay away from me!” she rasped. She tried to get up, crawl away, but her body refused to cooperate, and everything was still swaying nauseously.
J'Kor rubbed irksomely at some sleep in his eye. “Lyra, just calm down.”
He slid off the bed to crouch beside her, but Lyra panicked, kicking out. At least she tried. For some reason, she couldn't get her legs to do anything more than just flop feebly about like a fish out of water. Also, why couldn't she remember getting into bed last night? And why did she feel so awful? J'Kor! What had he done to her?
J'Kor stretched and yawned again. He scratched at his beard. “Lyra. Relax. I am no' going to hurt you. You have been fighting a fever from that loshkee and … and I think you just hit your head on the nightstand.” A grin played at his lips.
Lyra's hand went to the new, tender spot over her ear. Ouch. He was right. “A fever?” she croaked out past a thick, sluggish tongue.
“Aye. Pond fever. It is no' too common around here, but the way your luck has been going ….”
In his underwear, leaning insouciantly against the side of the bed, his legs stretched out long over the floor, J'Kor didn't look nearly so threatening anymore. The full night's worth of bed head only magnified the effect.
“No … no.” Lyra racked her brain trying to remember as she arranged herself into a somewhat upright
heap. “You did something to me. I saw you getting the ax ready.” She couldn't help but quickly assess that she still had all of her fingers and toes. “And you were glowing, and evil—working some kind of black magic. I saw your tattoo come to life!” she accused, pointing a finger at his shoulder.
“Lyra, I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“It did! It climbed onto your shoulder and spat at me while I was looking through the window. Your eyes were glowing red!”
With a sigh, J'Kor got to his feet and left the room. He soon returned with a book, opened to a certain page. “Will you believe this?”
Warily, her eyes went from him to the book to him. Then she took it, reading its cover first. Holms's Guide to Common Diseases and Ailments. It was open to a section labeled “Pond Fever.”
“… Most commonly contracted parasitically … ” she murmured, “… symptoms showing up in a matter of hours … fever, nausea … vertigo … and in extreme cases, hallucinations and delirium.”
Lyra shut the book, not quite ready to concede, but … beginning to feel a little foolish. From the time they had started yelling at each other, everything just got more and more fuzzy.
“Will you let me help you back into bed?” J'Kor said, gingerly lifting the book off her lap.
Unfortunately, Lyra had to take his offer. She needed it, but as he got her tucked back in, Lyra eyed him cautiously. “So what happened last night?”
“Last night?” J'Kor yawned once more. “Oh, I enjoyed a light evening meal by myself and read for a little while before coming back to monitor your body temperature the rest o' the night.”
Lyra looked at him strangely. “No. I mean, before that—after you … after you left.”
“Oh,” he said. “You mean the night before last?” The twinkle was back.
“The night before?” Lyra choked out.
“You have been unconscious for nearly thirty-three hours, Sugarpip.” J'Kor sat on the bed at her side. He grimaced. “You hardly moved a muscle the entire time. I was beginning to worry.”