Braid of Sand

by Alicia Gaile

  Knowing what she knew of him, even that probably wouldn’t stop him in a real fight, but they were just sparring—at least, that’s what she still hoped.

  “Now there’s a trick no one’s ever tried on me before,” he drawled. Even though she was breathing heavily, his voice held firm and steady. She released his arm and stood up, careful not to move too quickly and give him the impression she was retreating.

  “I’m not surprised. Someone your size probably doesn’t have too many partners bigger and stronger to take down.”

  He flowed up in one smooth motion, cocking his head to one side as though he’d never seen anything quite like her before.

  “And you do?”

  “I have to be prepared to face any kind of opponent I may come across.”

  She looked away before he could say or do something that would bring her anger burning to the surface again.

  “If she had the power to transport your entire temple here and you with it, Naiara can guard her own secrets without you giving up your life.” The bite in his voice was back. “You said Itzal told you it was your duty to fight. Does she visit you too, your goddess?”

  She bit her tongue to keep from reminding him that Naiara was his goddess as well.

  “Of course. She is here all around us.” She raised her left palm, catching the wan sunlight that filtered through the clouds. His scar danced and rippled as he raised his sword and looked around.

  “She’s here now?”

  “She is the light that sustains us.”

  He frowned for a moment and then gave a loud snort.

  “You’re saying she’s the sun?”

  Naiara was more than the sun, but if he needed a tangible object then that was as close as any for what she was.

  “That is the form she prefers most.”

  “Of course she does.”

  His derision toward the Great Mother hurt more than Raziela cared to let on. He gave a little shake and then rolled his neck from side to side to loosen the joints for their next match. He moved into position to face her and raised his sword to inspect the blade.

  “I’m just curious. If you were her hostage, how would you know?”

  RAZIELA REFUSED TO entertain the idea that the Great Mother had tricked her. A poor hostage she would be considering no one in his world knew that she was alive or were interested in her return.

  But the idea was like a splinter. No matter how she tried to drive it out of her mind, it kept wedging itself deeper, making the damage worse.

  The rest of the afternoon was spent in fierce combat. She wanted to punish him for what he’d suggested. They battled as if by forcing the other to yield they could prove which of them was right.

  She was so intent on driving him back and proving that he wasn’t as superior as he wanted to think, that when the sky exploded with a crack of thunder, her foot slipped and she nearly sliced off her own leg. Her sword glanced off the outside of her right calf as she went down. Castien didn’t flinch at the noise, but he dropped down beside her to make sure she hadn’t amputated a limb.

  “Great, and now Mazin is angry,” she muttered, looking toward the doorway to the darkened courtyard as she clamped both hands around her leg.

  “Mazin?”

  “Their child. The light of this place keeps Itzal away, but she can’t get close to him when he cries. I try to help the zephyrs and nymphs care for him as best we can, but he misses his parents.”

  “There’s a child here?”

  “Not a child in the human sense. Mazin is the embodiment of storms. You know he’s around when there are more clouds in the air.”

  “So she’s punishing him too?” Castien’s hard gaze burned into the back of her head. She hunched her shoulders and focused on staunching the blood seeping from her leg.

  “When Itzal invited her to the Shadow Realm she was nearly trapped suffocated by being so far underground. Had she not found a way to free herself, all life as we know it would have ended. Is that what you would have preferred?” She sent the accusation with a stubborn lift of her chin.

  “What I think or believe doesn’t matter. I’m not the one who swore unconditional loyalty to her.”

  Rain came down in a heavy curtain, splattering the courtyard outside with heavy slaps as Mazin worked himself up into a true tirade. Raziela’s face was flushed and soaked with sweat, and Castien’s black clothing was drenched as well. A fierce howl carried on the air—Mazin’s wails for attention that always went unheeded.

  “If you insist on blaming the Great Mother for every bad thing that’s ever happened to you, then nothing I can say or do will make you see reason.”

  “Reason?” Castien took a step toward her, blinking in disbelief. She didn’t give ground.

  “You think it’s reasonable to punish someone for what someone else did? You think the world should burn because she had a bad experience with love? You don’t know, Raziela. You don’t know the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve... The world is dying! You don’t know how much suffering there is out there. She’s locked you up and only fed you the pretty stories that she wants you to hear. I don’t blame you for not knowing what you have no way of knowing, but yes, Priestess—I absolutely blame her.”

  “If you’d like to wash up before dinner, you may take the first bath.” She pointed the way to the pools without looking. “I need to get this cleaned up.” Her fingers curled until her fingernails bit into her skin. She wanted him as far from her as possible. She needed time to think, to find a way to wound him the way his biased accusations hurt her.

  His throat flexed as he looked down at her. No apology, but perhaps there was a trace of regret.

  She turned her back, dismissing him the only way she knew how.

  Limping, she went to put away their weapons. For a moment, she thought he would be foolish enough to try to help. But when she turned to skewer him with a look he was already walking away from her.

  The moment she realized he was gone, loneliness clawed at her. The emptiness threatened to swallow her. Never had she wanted to run and cling to another as much as she wanted to rush after him. Even fighting with him was better than standing there by herself.

  Discipline. For decades she’d prided herself on it. Why did it desert her now when she needed it most?

  He wasn’t staying. This wasn’t where he belonged. She needed to figure out how to send him back where he came from—the sooner the better.

  While he bathed, she could slip into the Sacred Grove. With Mazin’s sorrow fueling the storm, the Goddess wouldn’t hear her call. But on the sacred soil that surrounded Vitales, Naiara couldn’t help but hear her prayers. Waiting until her next visit didn’t feel like an option anymore.

  Raziela checked to make sure Castien wasn’t lurking nearby trying to spy on her. There was no sign of him, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. To make matters worse, the wound in her leg was oozed fresh blood the moment she put her weight on it.

  Ignoring the sting of air against her open cut, she ran to the gardens. Rain crashed down on her in waves. It fell so hard that the reflection pool was a churning vat of froth and foam. She didn’t care that her hair was wet or her clothes plastered themselves to her skin. She needed the Great Mother.

  Raziela found the mechanism that opened the secret door and darted inside. Even if Castien had stayed behind to spy on her, she doubted he would have seen how she did it.

  The moment she stepped into the Sacred Grove, a welcome wave of peace washed over her. There was no storm raging here. There was only Vitales—the wilting, sickly, dying tree—the tree that was tied to all life on Phalyra.

  She’d thought it was something she’d done or not done that was killing it, but what if...?

  More apples than usual littered the ground, and the sight made her stomach turn over.

  Plagues and diseases were part of the natural order. This blight would soon be over and the tree’s vitality would be restored. Castien would see.

  R
aziela created a makeshift basket from her skirts. Before she realized it, tears were falling from her eyes.

  You don’t know, Raziela.... The world is dying. You don’t know how much suffering there is out there.

  Sniffling, she bent to pick up a grouping of apples near her foot. There were so many! Soon each new apple she put in her skirt caused another one to roll out.

  Her tears fell harder.

  The Tree was dying. She’d known for weeks and never once thought about what it meant for the people back in her world.

  For the first time in over a hundred years, Raziela doubted the word of Naiara.

  She stared down at the wrinkled apples gathered in her skirt. They weren’t the old shriveled apples of a life long-lived. They were small, wrinkled young fruits that had barely had a chance to grow.

  With a heavy feeling in her chest, she looked up into the branches.

  Most of the fruit there resembled the wrinkled apples in her skirts. However, one stood out fresh and vibrant. Unlike the rest which were mottled reds and yellows, it hung like a polished ruby. Whose life was it tied to? Was it her own?

  “Oh, Great Mother,” she whispered, “please tell me I’m not wrong.”

  14.

  He was aware of her return, but he had no idea where she’d gone. He’d given her a cautious head start—too cautious as it turned out. By the time he deemed it safe to follow her beyond the reflection pool, he was too late to see where she’d gone.

  As soon as he entered the gardens however, the priestess was forgotten.

  To his left stretched an orchard as far as his eye could see, and to his right were beds of herbs. The only sound in the closed space was the steady drone of rain and his own blood pounding in his ears.

  He stood within arm’s reach of a peach tree. Real peaches! Despite the flood of saliva, his mouth felt dry as a bone.

  He clenched his fists, reminding himself in a solemn chant that this wasn’t the girl’s fault. She was as much a victim as he was, whether she knew it or not. But how many had suffered while she reaped the benefits of her ignorance? His hands shook as he tried to defend her.

  The wet flap of her skirts warned him of her approach. She stopped just behind him, waiting for him to turn. Castien closed his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to shut her out. If she didn’t go away he’d do something they’d both regret.

  Her hand touched his shoulder, right over the beginning of his scar. He spun on instinct, snatching her wrist and squeezing it until her fingers went limp. For a moment, the Shadow Striker was there, breathing malevolence into the utopia.

  Maybe she thought the rain would hide the tracks of her tears, but her brown eyes were enormous as she looked up at him. Wherever she had gone, whatever she had seen, she’d accepted that he spoke the truth. Her haunted look drained the bloodlust out of him and replaced it with the unfamiliar weight of guilt. He was responsible for shattering her illusion. The blissful cage of her existence would forever be a prison now.

  “I need your help.” Her hand tightened on his arm.

  He looked down and saw the long dark stain near the hem of her gown. The cut must’ve been worse than he thought. He closed his eyes and breathed away the anger that lived beneath his skin.

  15.

  She was lightheaded. He probably thought it was from the wound in her leg—as if she would faint at the sight of blood! No, the enormity of the Great Mother’s betrayal was beginning to sink in.

  The tang of his sweat as she leaned on him made her wrinkle her nose. The contrast of his hot skin and the sopping material of his jerkin made her want to wriggle closer and squirm away all at once. He slid an arm behind her back and supported her weight. She suspected he’d have no trouble carrying her completely, but she had too much pride to endure that.

  Castien shouldered his way through the door to the infirmary, startling Caprea, who was inspecting the jars of salve to see which ones were running low.

  Dryads, when startled, camouflaged themselves by turning into saplings of their prospective trees. Castien didn’t see her transform, but he did trip over one of her roots.

  “Why is there a tree growing in the middle of the floor?” He almost kicked it, but Raziela clutched his arm before he could do it any harm.

  “Why is there a barbarian wandering around where he doesn’t belong?” Caprea made a show of unveiling herself. It was a good thing Raziela was already leaning her hip against the work table because Castien released her to direct his full attention to the new potential foe.

  “I’ll explain later.” Raziela added a breathless quality to her voice and limped around the work table. When Caprea saw the blood staining her hem, the catkins on top of her head sharpened into points.

  “Did you do that to her, mongrel?”

  A strange spasm went across Castien’s features at the insult before they smoothed into the grim mask that made his thoughts impenetrable.

  “It was Mazin.” Raziela didn’t have to pretend to wince as she levered herself onto the table where she could tear her skirts to get a better look at the damage. The sound of ripping material jolted Castien and Caprea apart.

  “Last I checked, Mazin doesn’t know how to use a sword.” Caprea bent over the wound to inspect it herself.

  “No, but I think everyone will agree he has an awful sense of timing. He startled me while we were sparring. I cut myself.”

  “You’ll need disinfectant.” Caprea threw a pointed look in Castien’s direction that plainly said she didn’t know what kind of diseases one might pick up from associating with him. The look he sent back said he was sizing her up to see whether she’d make a better walking stick or toothpick.

  “If one of you could give me a little help, I’d appreciate it.” Raziela huffed. To her surprise, it was Castien who knelt beside her and began to wipe the blood from her leg.

  Not to be sidelined, Caprea slid a wooden bowl of fresh water down the table to him along with several jars of salve.

  It was a strange feeling to look down on the top of his head as he bent over her calf. He grasped her foot by the ankle, twisting her leg this way and that to wipe away the streaks of dried blood. Absorbed in his task, he didn’t seem to realize how strange it was for her to feel human hands on her skin. Though his fingers were calloused, they were still softer and more comforting than the stiff bark that coated the dryads’ limbs.

  For her part, Caprea stayed silent. Either she detested Castien’s presence that much, or else seeing that Raziela didn’t regard him as a threat meant she had nothing more to say to him. Whenever he needed the next item to dress Raziela’s leg, she slid it along the table. He didn’t look up from what he was doing, but he always moved with absolute precision, as if his field of vision was somehow wider than the average human’s.

  After what felt like forever, he tucked the end of the bandage under the rest and sank back on his heels to assess his work. Only then did he seem to register just how close their bodies were. He looked up in time to see Raziela studying the delicate whorling lines of his scar. Some of the color receded from his face, He rolled his shoulder as if it pained him and then twisted the arm away from her to stand up.

  “Now that the bleeding stopped, it shouldn’t take long for the skin to close up. You took off a wide patch of skin, but it wasn’t very deep.”

  “You’re very thorough,” Raziela looked into his eyes. “Your hands are much softer than some of the nurses who’ve treated me before.” She winked at him before glancing over her shoulder to see how Caprea reacted to the gentle barb.

  The little dryad drew herself up, all stiff and prickly.

  “See what happens if you come to me the next time you try lopping one of your limbs off.” Twitching with indignation, she stalked from the room. Raziela grinned after her. Castien smiled, but it didn’t quite lift the corners of his eyes.

  “What was that?” He watched the door. Raziela looked around.

  “Caprea? She’s a dryad. You know—the spirit o
f a willow.”

  “If that’s what’s hiding inside every willow I’ll make it my mission to chop them all down when I get back to my world.” He raised his voice so it carried to the doorway. There was a lot of creaking and rustling as Caprea went into a snit. This time, her retreating footsteps echoed away into the distance.

  “She really is very sweet in her own way,” Raziela said after a moment. “The dryads are like my sisters. They’ve been taking care of me ever since I got here.”

  What light had kindled to life in his face guttered out again at her words. He opened his mouth to say something, took one look at her face, and thought better of it.

  “What?” Raziela couldn’t hide her irritation. Did he have an issue with every living thing for showing her kindness?

  “She should have been the one taking care of you,” he said finally. Raziela’s anger evaporated and cold understanding took its place. Feeling more exposed than she knew how to conceal, she jerked her torn, bloody skirt back down to cover her leg and hopped down from the work table.

  “She’s a goddess, Castien. She has more important things to do than take care of a child.”

  “Does she though?” He speared her with a look. “According to you, the fate of the human race is resting on your shoulders. If she can’t be bothered to look after the rest of us, the least she could do is take care of you. I just—I know you don’t agree with me, Priestess. Maybe I’m wrong, and maybe I’m not. I know you want me to believe she’s the source of all that is good and pure in the world, but I have an easier time believing that of you than her right now.”

  He sighed and walked away. Outside, the rain had stopped, but heavy clouds still hung low in the air. Raziela stayed where she was, stunned.

  “ARE YOU SURE THAT’S all you want? There’s plenty more.” Raziela tucked her basket against her hip. Castien looked down at his own basket filled with carrots, onions, potatoes, and a head of cabbage.