“Who is here?”
“You’re alive?” a female voice exclaimed with a gasp.
“Stay back!” he shouted, menacingly thrusting the sword in the direction of the voice. “Who are you and how many of you are here?”
“You can’t see, can you?” she replied, a little calmer this time. “There are, um . . . a dozen of us here.” Her tone betrayed her. He knew she was lying, even before she added, “All big, strong men. Except for me, of course.”
The statement confirmed she was bluffing. Men would not have let a woman speak on their behalf. That, combined with the lack of noise if a large group of men indeed surrounded him, assured Raim that he was one on one with the woman.
A food source.
The thought flashed through his brain, giving him hope.
“Could you help me get up?” he asked, schooling his voice into a friendlier tone. “Please?” He stretched his bare hand her way. All he needed was one touch—skin-to-skin.
“How are you still alive with your head smashed in like that?” Distrust and suspicion were in her voice, with no sound of her coming closer. “I thought you were an utoplennik—a corpse of a drowned man—washed up on the side of the creek.”
“So, you came here to loot my weapons?” Resentment slipped into his tone, no matter how hard he tried to hold it back.
Vile creatures.
Male and female.
“Your armour and your clothes, too,” the woman admitted. “Those are some fine things you have there. Why would I let them rot?”
Raim drew in a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. Blind as he was, he couldn’t even skim any emotions off her unless she touched him. To get her to come closer, he needed her to let down her guard.
“If you help me to get up, I may consider gifting you some of what I have.” He instilled as much sweetness as he could into his voice. “Even my sword.”
There was no way he would ever part with his weapon, but the woman didn’t know that.
“What good is a sword,” she retorted, “if I have no one to wield it to protect me should you choose to hurt me—”
She must have caught her own mistake, as she cut herself short.
“What about that dozen strong men you have with you?” he couldn’t help teasing.
She huffed quietly, probably taking a moment to gather her wits.
“You know what?” she snapped. “I don’t need anyone to take care of myself. And I don’t need your stupid sword.”
The rustle of grass alerted him of her departure, sending him up to his feet in alarm. Who knew how long it would take him, practically blind and starving, to stumble upon another Source? He needed to keep this one, at all cost.
“Wait!” He rubbed his eye vigorously, desperate for it to open. If he could see her emotions, he could skim them or at least figure out more accurately what to say to soothe her hostility and mistrust. “I’m not going to harm you, promise.”
“Oh, I know you won’t.” A mocking note rang through her voice. “Because I’m not coming close enough for you to do that.”
The damn eyelid finally obeyed, Raim had rubbed enough of the dried blood away to open his one good eye. Squinting in the bright sunlight, he saw the dark-haired woman in the middle of the creek. Holding her long brown skirt up, she hopped from rock to rock, crossing to the other side.
“Wait! I swear I’m not going to harm you.” He rushed to the creek after her. “I am a good, decent man,” he lied.
“A good man is a dead man,” she threw over her shoulder, climbing up the opposite bank. “Since you’ve turned out to be alive, I want nothing to do with you.”
“I’ll pay you!” he shouted at her back in desperation, then noted with hope that she slowed her steps a bit. “In gold. How much do you want?” He shook the leather pouch at his waist, making the heavy coins inside clink.
These were the dinars from the Islamic Empire that he had received from the Council for this journey. The money was for travel expenses, like buying a horse instead of stealing one, or fixing his armour if it got damaged in a scuffle.
They were a long way from the Empire here, deep into Kievan Rus, but gold was appreciated by humans everywhere. Wasn’t it? The woman proved it by stopping and glancing back over her shoulder.
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“Here!” He tossed her the coin he had fished out of his purse.
She promptly caught it in the air, inspected it quickly and bit at it, then examined it even more closely.
“I haven’t seen one like this before. Where is it from?”
“South.” He gestured in that general direction.
“Are you a Pecheneg?” she asked, fear hardening her guarded expression, though a tiny tendril of curiosity filtered through it as well. Unfortunately, she remained too far for Raim to skim that. “Grandmother told me about them coming from the South or South-East all the way to Kiev a long time ago. They burned villages, killed many people, and took even more as slaves. I’ve heard they have black hair, like mine, and skin darker than that of my people. Like yours.”
“I’m not a Pecheneg,” he assured her. “I came from the Islamic Empire. People there have dark hair, like yours, too.” His own colouring had nothing to do with any geographic location—he was a demon, not a human. But she didn’t need to know about that. Slowly, he ventured a small step in her direction, reducing the distance between them, although still too far for him to skim anything useful.
Not that she felt many positive emotions at the moment, anyway. Most of what he saw inside her was hostility and suspicion, with some interest for the coins in his purse and curiosity about his person.
“Do they also have dark skin like yours?” She slid her gaze along his arm to his bare hand. “I’ve never seen anyone like you before.”
“Some have even darker if you cross the sea to Africa.” He nodded, stepping closer as she continued to stare at his hand with clear fascination on her face. That sense of wonder floating inside her was what he was after, inching closer in an attempt to skim it.
“Darker than yours?” Her eyes flew open wider as she muttered, “The world beyond these woods is full of wonder. Does the sun where you come from burn stronger? Were you born like that, or did your colour change as you grew up?”
He wasn’t born. Telling her that would most definitely spook her into fleeing. Feeling too exhausted to come up with another lie at the moment, he settled for something in the middle, “I’ve always had this skin colour, for as long as I’ve been in this world.”
She fingered the long braid draped over her shoulder. “I was born with black hair,” she said. “People say I have a black eye, too—”
“Just one?” he attempted a joke, hoping to lift her suspicion against him.
She didn’t laugh.
“My eyes are dark brown. But that’s a saying. ‘Having a black eye’ means to have the power to do bad things to others. And maybe I do have that power.” She narrowed her eyes at him, menacingly.
“Do you wish me ill?” he asked, suddenly feeling curious himself.
“Ill?” she snorted a laugh. “Look at yourself, stranger! You already are as ill as they come. Your wound will fester soon if it hasn’t already. I’d wager you’ll be dead before the new moon—no need for me to harm you any further.”
“Could you help me, then?” He realized he was grasping at straws in his attempts to manipulate her emotions. The cautious mistrust seemed deeply rooted inside this girl. “Could you use your powers to help me heal, woman? In exchange for a payment, of course.”
She took a moment to reply. “How many gold coins do you have?”
“How many would you want for your trouble?”
She wrinkled her forehead, giving him a sideways glance. “Five.”
“I’ll give you three.” A rush of renewed hope coursed through him. “You can keep that one.” He tipped his chin at her fist clutching his gold. “I’ll give you two more when I’m feeling
well enough to continue on my journey.”
“What exactly do you expect from me? Just a place to stay?”
Fear leaped high inside her.
“I’ll stay anywhere you would deem appropriate,” he rushed to reassure her.
Hopefully, she would lower her guard enough to feel something more agreeable to his taste than guarded wariness.
Either way, Raim was fully intending to take off as soon as he felt better. He had big things to accomplish, and this woman here was just another meal for him on the way there.
“How about you stay right where you are?” she replied, with challenge. “I find that the most appropriate place for you.”
Her words did not fool him, though. The hook of promised money, aided by genuine curiosity, was already clearly deep inside her. All he had left to do was to reel her in, carefully.
“Alright, but what am I paying you for, then? If you’re leaving me here now, I want my money back.”
He stretched his hand out her way, and she quickly hid her fist with his gold behind her back. The desire for the coin clearly warred with caution in her. The enticing wisp of curiosity was swirling among those two emotions.
Keeping his swollen eyelid open was growing more difficult. He let his eye close, switching tactics.
“I am not a threat, woman. I will not harm you.” Raim sat down on the bank of the creek and dropped his head into his hands, elbows propped on his knees. “You said it yourself. I’ll be dead soon. You can leave me here to die, or do the right thing and find me a quiet place to rest in peace.”
The pause that followed filled him with trepidation as he waited for her answer, hoping that sitting slouched, he appeared less threatening to her and more in need of help.
“Are you alone?” she asked finally. “Or are there more of you nearby?”
“I am completely on my own. There is no one else, anywhere near.” That could possibly be true. Gremory could be well on his way to the Base by now, for all Raim knew.
“Throw me your sword,” she demanded.
Opening his eye proved to be impossible, this time. Blindly, Raim took off the scabbard with his sword and tossed it in the direction of her voice. He would make sure to get his weapon back from her later, after she had fed him back to health.
By the rustling of the reeds, he figured she made her way to where the sword had landed and picked it up. Next came the sound of her drawing it out of its sheath.
“Cross to this side now,” she ordered. “But keep your distance.”
Feeling his way to the creek, he stumbled into the cool water, his boots taking it in and chilling his feet.
“It’s not deep here. Barely knee-high,” she assured him. “Don’t come any closer,” she warned as he scrambled up the bank to her.
“I can’t see.” Raim stretched his arms in front of him. Keeping his distance as ordered wasn’t easy since he had no way of knowing exactly how far she was from him.
“You can’t? That’s actually a good thing,” she replied gruffly. He then felt something hard under his fingers and realized it was the end of his scabbard. “Hold on to this and follow me,” she directed then warned, “If you try to come any closer than that, I’ll kill you with your own sword.”
“Deal.” He followed her lead through the grassy clearing. “What’s your name?”
“Olyena,” she replied after a moment of hesitation.
She did not ask him for his name in return.
Chapter 6
“CLOSE IT, QUICKLY.” Reaching around Raim, Olyena slammed the door shut as soon as they crossed the threshold he had nearly tripped over in his blindness. “Don’t let the chickens out.”
“What chickens?” he asked, dumbfounded.
Her chest brushed by his arm, and he grasped at the air around him in search of her hand, but she moved away before he could catch it.
“My chickens.” She was moving around the place she had brought him to, busy with some activity he couldn’t see. “I’ve already lost two over the winter. A fox got one. Not sure what happened to the other one. Might have been a wolf or a fox, too.”
Raim stood where she had left him. The air inside indeed smelled like a chicken coup, with the fairly pleasant aroma of cooked human food mixed in.
He heard the loud clanking of metal on wood—Olyena must have dropped the sword on a bench or a table. The thought of her putting down the weapon brought some relief. Being stabbed by the woman, one guarded and on edge, would not have improved his situation.
“Come.” She shoved at his back unexpectedly, urging him to move forward. “Sit down and let me take a look.” Pressing on his shoulders, she made him plop onto a surface covered by some bedding—possibly a cot or a bed.
“Where are we? Anywhere near a village?” he asked with some hope. As evasive as this woman had proven to be, Raim didn’t discount the possibility of feeding off someone else.
There was no noise that usually came with a human settlement of any size, though. The time it took them to reach here also hadn’t been that long. Raim doubted they had even left the forest.
“No village,” she replied curtly, rattling with what sounded like dishes. Then he heard the clear noise of water being poured into one. “I live here . . .” she set the dish on a hard surface next to where he was sitting, and moved closer. “Alone. The nearest village is a day away. There is no one here to help you but me.” She instilled a certain gravity into her words, undoubtedly wanting Raim to know that it was in his best interest not to hurt her.
“I promised I would not harm you.”
“So you did,” she muttered, still with more suspicion than trust in her voice.
He heard the noise of water again, then felt a warm, wet cloth tentatively touch his face. No matter how slight the contact was, the pain still made him wince.
“No one has cleaned it.” Olyena gently moved the cloth around his wound. “Grandmother always told me that dirt made it worse.”
“Where is your grandmother?”
“Dead.” Her reply was clipped. “This is a grave injury you have here . . .”
“How about the rest of your family?” he found himself asking. “Your mother? Father—” he cut himself short, suddenly distracted by another touch.
Skin-to-skin contact.
The thumb of her hand holding the cloth brushed by his chin as she continued to clean the wound on his face, and he forgot all he was about to say.
Her positive emotions remained shrouded in fear and mistrust. Yet a clear streak of compassion reached him from inside of that dark cloud. Pure, nourishing, and fresh. Hitting all his senses at once, it filled him whole, momentarily muting the pain and even the hunger.
Unable to hold back a groan of satisfaction, he leaned away from her, lest he take more and scare her.
“Did I hurt you?” She sounded concerned, and he wished she had kept touching him so he could skim her concern for him, too. “Your face feels cold,” she muttered. “As if you were already dead.”
The note of fear in her voice snapped Raim back to attention. Taking her emotion through skin-to-skin contact created a cooling sensation in her hand, making him seem cold like a corpse to her.
The last thing he needed was for Olyena to convince herself that he was the undead, walking the earth—or something of similar nature. Human imagination had no boundaries and often needed just a spark to burst into panic.
“Of course I’m not dead.” He smiled, keeping his voice light. “Just deadly tired. Here.” He stretched his hand her way, palm up. “Touch it again if you will. I’m not well, but not dead yet.”
It took a long moment before he heard the soft rustling of her clothes as she leaned his way, then felt the light, tentative stroke of her fingers along his palm. Calling on all self-control he could master, Raim resisted taking the slightest tendril of her emotions this time. None, whatsoever.
He needed a lot of energy to get well in a timely manner, but to get more from her, he realized he
had to earn her trust first.
“Hmm.” She patted his hand, a little more firmly as her caution eased somewhat. “You are warm. Not excessively though, which is good. It means you’re not running a fever.”
He sat completely still under her touch, afraid even to draw a breath. It must have given her more confidence, as she placed his hand between both of hers.
“This is strange,” she muttered under her breath. “I gather it has been at least a day since you were hurt. Yet a fever has yet to set in.” She touched the skin around the injury on his face. “This must have been quite a blow . . . What did it?”
The fingers of her one hand remained wrapped around his. Through that contact, Raim saw clearly the sharp flash of compassion in her. Even heavily blended with pity as it was, it would still be nourishing enough for him. He could already taste it in his mind—the heady rush of reviving energy it would bring.
Extremely carefully, he allowed himself to skim some of it, making sure not to take any, to avoid causing another chilly sensation in her hand. He then tore his mind away from the visual of her emotions and forced himself to focus on her words instead.
“Mace,” he replied to her question. “It was the blow of a mace.”
“That would do it.” She released a long exhale. “Your nose is destroyed. The cheekbone has been broken. The left eye is gone,” she listed his losses calmly, with a detachment of a healer assessing the work ahead of her. “I can’t believe you’re still alive. Spirits must really want you to live. I’ll see if I can help, but even if you survive, you’ll remain disfigured.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“True.” He sensed her shrug. “What good is beauty to a man, anyway. Even to a woman it often brings nothing but trouble.”
Letting go of his hand, Olyena moved away, and he exhaled the tension out of his chest.
“I’ll make you some rowanberry tea in a minute. I also cooked some dried mushroom soup this morning. It’s still warm. That’s all I have.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re not? I wonder how that feels. I don’t remember the last time I was really full.” She shuffled some pots on the stove, by the sound of it. “You need to eat to get better. I don’t have much food left after the winter, but I get a few eggs from the chickens every now and then. First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll check the traps I have set, too. We may get a squirrel or even a rabbit if we’re lucky.”
The Last Unforgiven: Cursed Page 3