by Jean Winter
Rolling away, Lyra sank her face deep into the pillow as she tried to remember anything of the last day and a half. There was nothing. The last thing she could recall was falling to the ground outside of the barn. Did their argument even happen as she remembered? At what point had reality turned into fiction?
She touched fingers to her cheek: puffy and bruised where he had struck her. Yup. That part was fact.
“Care to tell me why you decided to wedge yourself under the larder cabinet in the root cellar?”
“I didn't go to the root cellar,” she said, lifting her face just enough to speak. “At least—” Suddenly, she wasn't so sure. Everything in her head was a thick fog.
“Well, all I know is, after you so courteously spelled out what you really think o' me and I … I left, I spent the next two hours in the barn blowing off steam. You were no' in the house when I returned so I had to use your tracker and ended up dismantling my root cellar to reach you. You were blue and frozen and it took me and Ahskr the rest o' the night to warm you back up.”
“I, uh, guess I don't remember.” Was he telling the truth? “I was afraid of what you were going to do so I went to the window and saw you sharpening the ax. Then, I could've sworn that you—” it sounded so silly now, “were working some kind of sorcery and you were going to torture me and—and I thought that your tattoo ….” She glanced at him sheepishly.
“What? This?” J'Kor turned his shoulder to her. The oscekhiss was still there, still menacing as before, but definitely just dead ink on skin. “I promise you there is nothing magical about this.” He chuckled, “I got this years ago when I was still idiotic enough to think that having an intimidating tattoo would make me tougher. Sal and I were drunk that night.” J'Kor shook his head. “How in the world did you come to the conclusion that I was some kind o' practitioner o' the dark arts?”
“But you know things about magic, and oscekhiss have all kinds of meaning in pagan rituals.”
“That was no' why I chose it, Lyra, and I know nothing about that kind o' magic. All I do is sleight o' hand and party tricks—you know, to impress the ladies.”
“Then what were you doing in the rabbitry? You were muttering some incantation and—and drinking blood. I know that wasn't a hallucination.
A small groan. “You saw that?”
“Yes,” Lyra answered, not about to apologize for spying on him.
With a rub at his temple, J'Kor said, “My father brought me up in some o' the old ways. He believed an animal's life should be taken with the utmost respect for their sacrifice. Drinking a few drops o' blood is from ancient hunting tradition. I guess I just do it out o' habit.”
“And what were you saying?”
“Phrases he taught me from the old language.” J'Kor looked a little sheepish now. “Slai paesa, 'oon sumul.” Lyra nodded in understanding before he even gave the translation. “Rest peaceful, little one.”
All Believers were fluent in the old language. Aultscryp was the language of scripture. But before he could even show surprise at her understanding, she was on to the next puzzle piece. “But what about on the road with those hijackers? The fire burning in your hand and those spark, uh, sparkshots?“
“Chemistry, Sugarpip. Simple pyrotechnics. I had access to the lab in my military days, and I learned long ago that conquering a man's mind is much more effective than conquering his body. Just a little theatrics to slide in some doubt.” He grinned. “I guess it worked on you, as well.”
A small measure of heat rose to Lyra's cheeks at her evident gullibility. Of course there was no such thing as magic! Not in the real world. She had let her imagination get away from her. He must think her such a simpleton!
But to her surprise, J'Kor's next words were, “I am sorry I struck you. Forgive me.”
The sudden humble meekness got her stumbling for a response. “Well, I suppose that I … was pretty brutal—”
“No,” he shook his head. “There is no excuse for a gentleman to hit a woman—Believer or otherwise. Forgive me.”
Wow. Lyra laid her head back on the pillow, flabbergasted at the apparent new situation in which she awoke. “My lord, what are you going to do with me now?”
“Well, if you think you are up for it, I am going to feed you something.” J'Kor stood and, grabbing some clothes hanging off the end of the bed, he turned to leave.
“No,” Lyra said, “I mean—”
“I know what you meant,” he said, walking out the door without a look back.
Bewildered and befuddled, Lyra lay quietly in the room as she listened to J'Kor bang judiciously about the kitchen.
He needs you.
Lyra started with alarm at the clear thought that suddenly entered her mind. What? That couldn't be right! That was just a random phrase that happened to run through her poor, addled brain—
He needs you.
No, no, no! This was not supposed to be about him. He was the captor, she the victim. He needs me? Lyra squirmed in the bed. This was getting way too complicated. She was sick and weak and weary and hurting. And alone. Didn't she already have enough to worry about?
But the impression returned again and Lyra's heart inexplicably calmed to a steadier beat. Fortitude. Faith. Hope. Love.
She sighed heavily. Okay, Father, I'll … I'll think about it.
When J'Kor returned with a tray of omelets and fruit, he helped Lyra prop herself up before setting it on her lap. Having fixed enough for two, he took some to the breakfast table for himself. Lyra ate slowly, but with relish. She was starving!
After a few minutes, he said, “By the way, your friend came by yesterday—the big guy.”
Lyra almost choked. Grally! He was HERE? “Mr. Hundt?” she squeaked.
Was that possible? Lyra looked J'Kor over quickly. If Grally had gotten her message and come to check on her, why was this guy not beaten to a pulp and she whisked away, hidden somewhere? What lie or threat had J'Kor given her friend to get him to go away?
“Aye,” J'Kor replied calmly. He took another sip from his mug. “He said it was just a courtesy call, but why a security guard would be sent on such an errand and to come out so far unannounced seemed off to me. I thought the timing rather coincidental, too, do you no' agree?” His eye gazed lazily upon her over the rim of his cup.
Great gutlins! He knew.
“So, what did … what happened?” It didn't come out as casually as he she hoped and Lyra shoved a huge piece of cheese and vegetable omelet into her mouth, as if that would compensate. Brilliant
J'Kor's cup came to rest in his hand. “Well, I let him in, o' course.”
Chewing and swallowing while she waited in near hysterics for him to go on was very difficult, and J'Kor seemed quite content to take another inordinately long sip of his tea. Grrr. He was doing that on purpose
After a lifetime of contemplating the near empty mug, J'Kor finally told her, “We ended up having quite a good, long talk over tea.”
The image of the two of them sipping tea at J'Kor's table while she lay unconscious and deathly ill just in the next room was like a bad melodrama. What gall he had to do such a thing! And why had Grally agreed? Lyra couldn't stand it. “What did you talk about, my lord?”
“We talked about you. How you came to be with the caravan. Then,” J'Kor contemplated the morning scene outside his bedroom window, “I told him what has happened since I brought you home.”
“And?” Lyra didn't even try to hide her suspense. She had to know.
“Well, when I told him how our … argument went down, and what you called me,” J'Kor's mouth cracked into a grin, “he laughed.”
Her anticipation collapsed like a failed lung.
Sure, she could imagine how amusing Grally must have found the story of her fevered, impassioned tongue lashing and she had only had a few days to get to know him, but the man was, in all reality, the closest thing she had to a best friend here. Oh Father! Why was she still here? Why had Grally not proceeded with some gallant re
scue? Lyra felt betrayed.
“Did you tell him what happened after that?” she demanded.
“Aye.” His voice went quieter.
“And?”
“I told him how the argument ended, what I did, and then how I found you. He came in to see you for a few minutes.”
Ugh!
Grally had been right here next to her and she had slept through it! He'd seen her beaten and sick under the hand of Lord J'Kor and he had just left her here! Lyra cursed the stupid leech. “Well, did he say anything?”
“He asked o' my intentions and I told him the truth.” J'Kor took a long breath. “I told him I had no' yet come to a decision.”
Lyra set her breakfast tray to the side, her appetite gone. She was afraid to look at him now and stared at the comforter spread over her lap. “Are you decided now?”
It was a long moment before he answered.
“He cares about you, you know? Hundt.” J'Kor rubbed at his light beard then stood to gather his remains. “Given what happened, I was half expecting him to throw you over his shoulder and take off, but after we spoke a little more, we managed to part ways respectfully enough.”
A grunt of angst had to be stifled. That was exactly what she thought Grally would do, too! Lyra sat in the bed, feeling more alone than ever as she willed a stiff control of her emotions.
J'Kor started for the door. “Oh, and he asked me to tell you something. What were his words?” he mumbled, trying to remember. “He wished that I exhort you to … keep your 'stars' to yourself.” His glance back was coupled with a shake of his head. “I hope that makes sense to you because it is gibberish to me.”
The small snort made it out this time. Sure, Grally.
“Is that something I should be worried about?” J'Kor asked. His eyebrow rose, but the rest of his body language said he was not really concerned in the least.
Now it was Lyra's turn to be evasive. With a shrug she scooted under the covers to lay down again, suddenly very tired. “Thank you for breakfast—and for watching over me,” she said.
Blessed sleep, take me away.
“… you must be mistaken and I forbid you to say anything to her about it!”
That was J'Kor's voice risen in agitation. Lyra lifted heavy eyelids. The door was shut, but his words from the great room had managed to penetrate. The bright light through the breakfast nook window suggested she had napped for a few hours. It was probably around midday.
“Now, Kadent, I know what I am seeing here and I would no' make such a bold conclusion if I were no' certain,” urged a woman's voice bearing some age. “You must let me talk to her.”
“No, Nim. Things are already complicated enough at the moment. I will no' let you make it worse.”
“You are having problems?”
At least, “problems” was Lyra's best guess. The voice had quickly softened to an unintelligible level. Great! Now what? Never mind, she didn't want to know.
Lyra tried to convince herself that this was true as she went to her back, eyes closed, while the conversation continued in muted tones. Several minutes later, the door clicked softly open. It was J'Kor, or at least his head.
“Good. You are already awake.” He didn't really sound pleased though, and he opened the door further to the pleasingly plump figure of a woman with a full head of silver hair swept up on top of her crown just behind him. “I asked a friend o' mine to come see you,” he said. “She has been my doctor for as long as I can remember.”
The woman didn't wait for any further introduction. In she bustled with a smile and a shake of her head. “Kadent flatters me. My late husband was the doctor, but I guess I spent enough years assisting him that people forgot I do no' have a real degree.”
Bright black eyes shone merrily above full, rosy cheeks. A well-made pastel indigo dress with three-quarter length sleeves ending in tasteful, gathered lace about fleshy forearms draped the “doctor” well. Her smile was catching.
The woman positioned a breakfast chair at Lyra's bedside and quickly made herself comfortable. “My name is Nim, my dear. Kadent tells me you got too friendly with a stubborn loshkee the other day. May I check you over to see how you are coming along?”
“Of course, ma'am … my lady.” Coaxing herself into a sitting position, Lyra noted that she felt a little better just with that bit of breakfast earlier. She also finally had the clarity of mind to notice that, at some point, J'Kor had dressed her in a clean, modest nightgown.
“'Nim' will suit me just fine, dear. So how do you feel this afternoon?” The spritely, old woman eyed her with curiosity while J'Kor remained planted at the door, arms folded, reclined against the frame like he was prepared to supervise the entirety of the interview.
“I am feeling much better,” Lyra told the woman. “I was able to eat something a few hours ago and my dizziness has since decreased.”
The examination continued. Nim assessed the bite on her back, went over symptoms, and asked Lyra about her health history, as well as that of her family—especially on her mother's side. Lyra answered the overkill inquiry as best she could then asked Nim's opinion of a concoction of saproot and kalle bark in such a scenario.
Eyebrows were lifted. “You have experience in medicine?”
“I used to help my grandmother when I was a girl.” Lyra shrugged. “She was the local medicine woman.”
“Indeed,” Nim responded with greater interest.
Next, the lymph nodes under the back of her jawbone were palpated and she was ordered to hum a few notes. What this had to do with her pond fever, Lyra could not gather, but she obeyed anyway. Nim had her repeat the procedure in her lower register then the upper, until a throat-clearing grunt from J'Kor caused the woman to drop her hands and move on. The cheerful smile remained constant through the whole, however, and Lyra couldn't help but like the lady.
“Well,” Nim said in conclusion, “it seems you are well on your way to full recovery, but I advise you to take it easy for a few more days.” Nim's meaningful glance at J'Kor set his jaw in an irksome slant, but he remained silent. “I think I shall return sometime next week to follow-up.”
As she patted Lyra's hand, J'Kor gave a short cough. “Thank you, Nim, for the extra measure of concern,” he said, “but I am sure that will no' be necessary,” and he nodded briskly for the woman to say goodbye.
Nim just smiled at Lyra, searching the depths of her eyes. “Oh, I am most certain that I shall, nevertheless, Kadent.”
A frown bent J'Kor's mouth, but before he could say anything more, Nim swiftly and tactfully exited the room. The man followed her out, closing the door behind him.
Now, what was that all about?
His return soon thereafter was accompanied by another meal. “You need to try to eat some more. Get your strength back—“
“Thank you,” Lyra said, and bit into a juicy qumoolat.
“—because we need to talk.”
The deep, pink tree fruit suddenly didn't taste so good. J'Kor went back to his spot at the table, drumming his fingers on its surface a few times. “How about we start with your children first?”
Lyra froze. Then her fingers melted enough to put the qumoolat back on the tray. “What makes you think I have children?”
She got an eye roll. “Please. You are a prissy Peculiar and everyone knows that, even though Percs think sex is dirty, you are raising an army through bearing more children.”
The ludicrous conjecture spouted as bona fide fact transposed Lyra's freeze into a simple, shocked stun—humored or infuriated, she didn't yet know. “My lord, where did you get such—”
“It has been common knowledge for years,” he said, impatiently waving his hand, “but I am no' concerned about that right now. I want you to tell me about your children.”
A strange heat began to build in Lyra's chest. Her hands curled into fists in her lap. “No, my lord.” She shook her head slowly. “No children.”
“Lyra,” J'Kor drolled, “we both know you are a
terrible liar. Besides, I saw your stretch marks.” His chin tipped toward her midsection. “I canno' believe you are still trying to hide things—”
She decided on infuriated. “I said no, my lord. I don't care what you do to me, that subject is absolutely off-limits. Don't you dare try to bring them into this!”
“Whoa there, mama tiger,” he intoned, raising pacifying hands. “You can retract your claws. I meant no harm.”
“Then what are you getting at? Why are you helping me recover when you are only planning to extract what you want out of me and then probably leave me to a slow and very painful death?”
The confusion on his face checked Lyra's fury. A little. “Lyra,” he said, “why are you so determined to assume the worst about me? You keep looking at me like I am some bloodthirsty savage who canno' wait to sink his hooks into you.”
“It was your job, my lord. You know how to hurt people. I witnessed your methods firsthand with that boy! So please stop toying with me—” Unless … Could he really be so cruel? “Wait. Is this part of the torture? These mind games?”
Throwing back his head, J'Kor suddenly laughed, gray eyes sparkling. “Wow, you are such a woman!”
At that, Lyra threw her hands up in the air. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“So quick to read into every little thing. Jumping to the worst conclusions. You are way overthinking me, Sugarpip.” Then the man had the nerve to look a little hurt. “Can you no' give me even a small benefit o' the doubt?”
Oh, so now he was the victim? At what point had they changed roles? Well, maybe if he were a little more forthcoming, she wouldn't need to fill in the gaping holes he kept leaving! And another thing—
“You think I ripped him up,” he said suddenly, quietly.
Lyra was taken aback. “Well, didn't you?”
J'Kor set his hands stiffly on his knees. “Lyra, did you no' notice that he was lying perfectly still? That he never attempted to pull away?”
“So! You had him scared out of his wits.”
“He was in shock and paralyzed from the shoulders down. I got in a lucky shot that lodged in his spine. That thief would no' have known the difference between me cutting through his finger or a hair o' his head. I was only intimidating him to get him talking quickly before he died on me—and you showing up when you did was rather inconvenient timing. His heart stopped a minute later.”