by A. S. Etaski
“I need the trench again,” I muttered, proving for the second time I could make it to my feet without falling.
Mourn nodded, watching as I tucked the ruby into the same pouch on my belt from which I withdrew my sunblind. Donning it, I exited through the weighted cover, walking barefoot to the middens side of the hill.
Gavin wasn’t within my short-ranged view, though the mare was. The only movement was her tail in the breeze and, somehow, I thought her hide appeared darker. Being downwind, I thought she probably smelled less than I did right now.
Is she less damaged as well, or is that my sight? Bah…
I was familiar with my squatting spot by now, grabbing the branch with both hands so I didn’t fall over. I did not linger this time because it was hot and bright out, flies were buzzing annoyingly, and I was hungry again.
Around and around, we go…
When I returned inside the cave, my spiders were calm and high on the wall, and my belongings hadn’t been disturbed that I could tell. Maybe it was a test leaving it all with him alone in the cave; maybe I was fatigued being on lookout after months of doing nothing but that.
Or maybe the dream lingered like a lead ball in my gut. As I gingerly slid down the wall to sit on the blankets, my bones seemed heavier than Gavin’s, and my mood and appetite sank like stones in water.
Why?
Why had I dreamt again of Cris-ri-phon and Toushek in the Desert when I was far outside of Troshin Bend? Had the two traveled together, to the same place where I had seen the golden-eyed bua? Or was that my fevered, hungry mind looking for sense where there was none?
Was this a warning? Was Cris-ri-phon was somehow tracking me now, perhaps through the ruby, and he was too close?
I shivered. What were they after, and who was that skeleton woman blocking them? If Oskar was a Deathwalker, why didn’t he have Gavin’s eyes? And some creature had been angered so greatly as to force the collapse of that place, trapping those men. Killing them.
If that was my mind seeking “sense,” then it made very little to me.
Could there be a single grain of truth, anything tangible to my waking world? Or was it all vapor as my mind disappeared somehow when I slept and became a mere cart for other minds more powerful than mine.
Is this what Kain did to me? Will I forget myself in time, living the dreams of others, from which I cannot escape?
Gavin’s words from the Midway returned. “I have seen mage abilities ‘injured’… Becoming less controlled by conscious choice. Sometimes slipping into madness.”
“Sirana.”
I blinked, surprised my cheeks were wet, and looked up. “What?”
Mourn’s tail slid in a curve along the ground as he watched me. Whatever he’d been about to say, he reconsidered. He spoke in Trade. “You are safe here. I see you growing stronger. Let the healing continue, bad dreams are to be expected.”
So, he could tell.
My eyes sliding away, I sniffed at my pit. “I could use a wash. My clothes as well. It has been…” I paused. Goddess. Two weeks?
The half-blood smiled without showing teeth. “I agree, a good idea. You will feel better. There is a riverbank not too far from here. You may ride, or walk, or I offer to carry you.”
He was neutral about the method, leaving me to decide. Bah.
“I will walk,” I said, using the wall to regain my feet, coaxing my spiders to me.
He joined me in getting up. “What of the mare? You could summon her to follow if you become tired before we get there.”
I narrowed my eyes. Not so neutral, then. “How far is this river, exactly?”
“You haven’t heard it, yes?”
“I might have smelled it.”
“Mm-hm. It is two hills over. East.”
“Current point of day?”
“Late afternoon.”
So the Sun is behind us, at least.
Mourn watched me deliberate then added, “The Deathwalker is there, working. I scouted around and there is nothing close. He is safe but has a means to signal if that changes.”
I sighed. Gavin had left the mare behind on purpose. For me. “Very well. Let me find the knucklebone and gather my things. I will ride the night mare to the river.”
Mourn paused as if I’d said something odd then chuckled. “I will wait outside.”
Both our hoods were up against the Sun, my spiders tucked safely beneath mine, and we had all our gear and what food was left from the cave. It might appear we were leaving without expectation to return but for the blankets inside, the weighted cover, and protection ward left in place.
It was hot enough and I was achy all over from so long lying on the ground that I imagined, if I had the endurance, I might stay up and spend the evening and early night beside the river. I had a great deal of inspection, repair, and cleaning of all my clothing and possessions. There were stains from the hailstorm on the Midway, for Goddess’s sake. The Humans hadn’t given me much chance to recuperate.
Abruptly, I recalled riding into the smelly town in the dark and downpour. I’d been riding with Mathias instead of Gavin. Little did I know then what to expect from the skin hunter, even after the teasing in the tall grasses.
“Just before you shot Kurn and Castis,” I began.
Mourn turned his head. “Hm?”
“Mathias threw a thunderstone I did not know he had.”
He nodded.
“I couldn’t see or hear,” I continued. “Could you?”
“Some. What do you want to know?”
“What were Mathias and Amelda doing?”
“He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her away at a sprint. His actions were one of a bodyguard getting his charge out of harm’s way as fast as possible. Whatever she wanted in being there had been aborted. She did protest but not for long.”
Mathias said he forgot something when I asked why he was there…
A compulsion of his own, maybe?
I considered further. “Do you know anything of Rithal from before the Ley Tower?”
Serpentine pupils slid my way and paused. That was a yes, but I waited for what he’d offer. No bargains yet, after all.
“He was a guide passing through Troshin Bend regularly enough. Unsurprising, given the pay and tetherless comforts optioned for one as lonely as him.”
“He mentioned heading to Augran after Troshin Bend, but we found him bound beneath Ma’ab eyes.”
Mourn shook his head once. “I know nothing of that. I came from the opposite direction.”
“Yes, about that. Have you answered Gavin’s question? What drew you that far out of the town he and I were at?”
I saw a flash of fang. “Not your bargain, Baenar.”
My gut heated in irritation. “Gavin’s intentions for Manalar are more ‘relevant’ to me than his volunteering my pregnancy to you.”
“If that is so, then ask him. I am sure the Deathwalker will tell you without a trade.”
Grrrr.
I scowled most of the way up the second hill then tried another angle. “Why do you call him Deathwalker? Does the title have significance to you?”
“That is how he identified himself. And, no, not really.”
“You know of no others who claim to be Deathwalkers.”
“Correct.”
Hmm.
Mourn glanced at me. “Do you?”
I froze, grappling for an answer. “N-no, but Brom, er… the Deathless knew. From the Desert a long time ago.”
“Hmm.” A pause, then, “How did the apprentice change so drastically from when I saw him executed? I truly thought he was another Human slain by his own kind.”
I nearly tossed the same answer he’d given me—Ask him!—but, in truth, I knew more about what happened around Gavin’s body than the scholar did himself.
“What he told me,” I said slowly, “was he planned it. Only that he had not the courage to suffer the ‘pain be
fore death’ until he was given no choice.”
I didn’t mention that sucking Mathias had set that rockslide into motion. “Bictrius’s dagger was made of silver. For some reason this ‘blocked’ his soul’s path back to his body for some time, until I removed it.”
“Why did you do that?”
I shrugged. “Because Brom and Amelda tried to keep me from doing it. The Ma’ab witch wanted to mess with his body herself. I challenged her for his body and the dagger.”
Unexpectedly, Mourn smiled. “Huh.”
“Much happened until then,” I clarified. “The black blood, for example. And the crows.”
“Crows?”
“I take it they are seen where one worships Nyx, the Grey Maiden?”
Shimmering eyes blinked within the shade of his hood and Mourn looked around us. I noted at least two of the black birds as we descended the final hill to the wide, glittering river below.
“There are no places I know of openly worshipping Nyx,” said the half-blood, “so I could not confirm.”
“There were many crows hovering around his body while he was dead.”
“Noted. He is of greater note than I had judged at first.”
“A challenger for Sarilis, perhaps?” I gauged him, squinting. I saw a small smile.
“Perhaps.”
“You don’t like Sarilis.”
“Not in his place, no. If Gavin could oust him, I might be interested in aiding the effort for a price.”
Still the mercenary.
“No leaving behind a ‘power void,’ hm?”
“No. That tower being empty is not good for the land, but neither is Sarilis, only to a lesser degree.”
“Not if you ask Tamuril.” I patted my mount, who indeed didn’t smell as much as a few days ago. “The Druid mourns the animals he kills and uses until they are dust.”
Now he squinted at me, glancing at my glove on the mare’s withers. “You consider more than I would guess from mistakes you’ve made. The Deathwalker must be correct in that you prefer negotiation to zero sum tactics.”
Zero sum? I shrugged, quelling the rise of irritation. “Of all buas, I enjoyed the faern the most. They had such curious things to talk about. They lived in a tower, too, like Gavin.”
Mourn nodded. “Is that who made that gold ring for you? A faern?”
I was unsurprised he knew it was there. “Yes, though different mage made the blue pendant, plus several things on my belt. Smart buas are aggravating but often worth it for what they can do with their hands and minds.”
He heard my tone. Sharp teeth showed in a smile both reluctant and sly. “Heh. Hm. Until one escapes his leash.”
There is that.
I bit the inside of my cheek to consider the other yellow-eyed half-blood who slipped his shackles. My brow broke into a sudden, cold sweat as I held a steady tone despite the leap of my stomach. “Indeed, that does cause problems for some of us.”
Mourn inhaled through his nostrils; his tongue flicked out. “Some of you?”
I focused ahead and ignored his question. We had reached the flats leading to the riverbank, the stone becoming large and uneven. Gavin’s mare required all my concentration to navigate without both of us tumbling head over hooves.
The grey scholar saw us coming and, whether he welcomed the interruption or not, began moving a few things to consolidate his belongings closer to his tiny fire where he could keep better eye on them. One of them I recognized; it was the wrap holding Soul Drinker. I exhaled, taking cover to slide off the horse and hold the saddle blanket at each end while my booted feet grew accustomed to stony ground.
I sniffed. Goddess, I stink.
I hadn’t performed any appreciable body scrub since… Well. Sometime before the kitchen. I still had dirt on me from fighting with Kurn and semen stains inside my leathers from Cris-ri-phon, although this was no doubt caked over from almost drowning in warp rot.
Knucklebone beneath my glove, I tried guiding the horse over the extremely rough terrain. Gavin called to me.
“Just leave her there.”
Relieved, I grabbed all my stuff plus the food and stepped carefully over the stones toward the edge of the water. I looked forward to a long cleaning and mending session, but I also didn’t. I must strip down to clean and mend everything, and working naked was simply the best way to begin. This wasn’t even unusual as I had done it many times. I was a Red Sister; my training hadn’t changed where it came to equipment maintenance.
The unusual part was how two, large Surface males who had watched me work this way, independently, had also attacked me like other Sisters in the sluicer. Behind me now watched a third, enormous male who’d rejected being owned by his Priestess-Matron as surely as Kerse had.
I didn’t want this third male to watch, but admitting it was…
Showing fear.
I hadn’t asked how the Dragon’s son had escaped his “leash” because I knew it could not have been peaceful. Either he had bolted and escaped his pursuers in a lax moment, or he had killed whomever controlled him first.
The same as I killed Jilrina to be free of her. The same as Kerse beating Wilsira unconscious and leaving her to feel what happened next…
“Do you need help?” Mourn asked, noting my hesitation at the edge of the river.
I breathed deep, trying to slow my heart. “No, thank you. I am… stronger.”
“Very well. Good sign.”
I’ll take any I can get.
I sat on a boulder, tugging my gloves and boots off first, eyes drifting over Gavin’s spread. His tools shone clean and sharpened upon their cloth wraps; his pouches were rethreaded, mended, and sorted. I saw a lot of shriveled fleshy bits from small animals which seemed new, drying in the Sun. There were his grimoire and writing supplies, and a lean-to to cut the breeze or light. His robes were clean and dry, noticeably so, and his boots had been scoured of mud.
I bet he felt better.
Collecting what slivers of soap I had left plus some dried, scented sweetgrass, I shed everything except for my guardians resting at my nape and walked with determination toward the river. I was prepared to be scrubbing and spot-cleaning on rocks far into the evening, but first, while it was warmer, I would cleanse my body of these past filthy weeks, and try to begin fresh. To “feel better,” as my stalker suggested.
I checked. Yep. He’s watching.
Although, not with desire. This big male knew I was pregnant, had made many choices to aid my condition, and thus far hadn’t tried to intimidate me while I was ill nor taken advantage while I was sleeping, or not so I could tell. He’d even helped me piss without soiling my bed or myself.
My crotch probably smelled rank enough to quell any interest in a rut.
I entered the cold water, smelled Gavin’s fire as the wind shifted, welcomed these strong sensations which brought me firm into my body. I paid close attention to the position of my feet, to the growing current, and the stability of my spiders. I went slow because of them, mapping the river bottom with my toes. I needed to find the depth to dunk my head eventually but could not lose contact with the ground.
There. We are steady. Get scrubbing.
My guardians moved with me to stay above the surface as I lathered, scraped, and rinsed from feet to shoulders. Then, they shifted into one damp palm while I one-handed my neck, face, and hair. I was becoming chilly but stayed longer to wash between my legs and buttocks a second time—satisfied the soreness was gone, not just numb—and did a second cleansing of my head, shaking the water from my ears.
Ahhh. That is better.
Abruptly, her face came out of the dark ether; my chest ached, and my knees weakened. Oh, Gaelan.
It wasn’t all better. I’d left her behind, somewhere, after trying so many weeks to catch up.
My eyes drifted in the hypnotic flow of the river over and around stone, but the reflections from the Sun caught me unaware, stabbing my eyes wh
enever I grew melancholy, that I finally looked to the non-reflecting bank seeking Gavin. The setting Sun was still in my way, but his outline was sitting near his fire, flipping through his book, and clothed from head to foot with only his Sun-blackened hands showing.
The bigger, purple-black male nearby faced the water in a balanced crouch. His leg bones were shaped like a Sathoet’s, they didn’t bend like mine, so I wagered Mourn could keep that position for hours. He looked ready to do just that; wrists crossed, elbows propped on his thighs, his hood was down with face and ears exposed. He was aware of me in his periphery but not blatantly staring as I was at him.
In fact, he was so still, I was convinced that he listened elsewhere. Slowly, his head tilted as a wolf might attempt to pinpoint a sound, then turned his neck to listen with his other ear. His long, lavender tongue snaked out the greatest length I’d seen yet, then his tail moved in a long, slow wave, coiling up at the end, writhing in a way I couldn’t read, yet my body’s response baffled me. I became convinced that I was under imminent threat and must get out of the water.
Right now!
Gavin’s hooded face lifted to see me rejoin with my dirty clothing and equipment, but I watched Mourn with utter confusion as he lifted one hand to wave with a soft bark of a word. I peered around for something different, spotting the thread of smoke from Gavin’s fire shift direction. Instead of drifting out over the water, it flowed lazily toward our cave. It was against the wind.
Mourn reached up with both hands, dropped his cloak where he crouched, then began removing his harness. It remained a mystery where he stored his large bow and quiver of oversized arrows, or the massive, double-sliding swords I’d first seen attached on his harness at his shoulders. I watched as he carefully laid this corded web of useful items and tools upon his cloak then slowly rise out of his crouch to slide his loose, black pants down his thighs and tail. Once he pulled all three limbs out, he was nude but for his metal bracers.
