It trod through the sand, kicking up waves as its paws padded across the loose earth. Its tongue hung low from its jaw. Huffs filled the hot, still air as the animal panted heavily in the day’s heat. A quick glance skyward told Oleja the hour lingered around midday. Despite the heat and the burden it hauled, the coyote kept going.
The mountains loomed nearer, and features of the slopes presented themselves—trees tinged with green and silver-brown cliff faces.
Oleja grabbed her waterskin and leaned forwards on the sled. The coyote slowed and stopped, and when it turned its head back, she helped it gulp down the remainder of the water. Her own mouth felt as dry as the sand around her; her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. But she saved nothing for herself, letting the coyote finish off every last drop. With the water gone, the coyote took off at a run once more, picking up speed as the drink brought fresh energy to its limbs. Oleja dropped the empty waterskin back into her bag and curled up as they raced across the sand.
“Thank you,” she muttered aloud to the animal. It needed a name, something heroic. It felt too early to call it “Pahlo,” given how fresh his death was. She didn’t want to name it Ude either, since the old man still lived.
“I’ll call you Tor,” she said, though the words hardly seemed to come from her mouth. It felt like her tongue had jumped free and lay somewhere in the sand far behind her. “It’s the name of an old hero from my village,” she added.
And then sleep took her once more.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A cloud cradled her, or so it seemed; the waking world came upon her lazily and in fragments. She couldn’t remember ever being so comfortable in her life. Cold air kissed her skin. Oleja shifted and stretched out her arms as she awoke. Blinking once, then twice, the world came into focus.
Silky blankets swaddled her, and she realized after a moment that she lay in a bed—the finest bed she had ever slept upon. Nothing like the scratchy cotton blankets, canvas cots, or straw mattresses from her village, these blankets were smooth and light, crisp white in color unmarred by stains of dirt and blood and worse things. Heavily-padded plush made up the mattress beneath her. She sank an inch into its surface.
Stone walls surrounded her—five, all etched with curving designs. The stone was grey and cut into polished blocks rimmed with expertly-applied mortar. The room looked as if part of it intended to form a square, with the wall opposite her and those to either side complying in the design while the fourth and fifth walls deviated from that shape and bulged outwards, turning what would be the fourth wall into a pointed addition. Her bed rested within the intersection. The headboard fit perfectly into the corner, making the bed longer in the middle than on either side. Windows looked out to her left and right, free of glass panes or bars or wooden latticework. Sunlight shone in—not harsh and deadly like the desert sun, but warm and pleasant, an aspect of it she had never felt before. Wind entered through the windows as well, floating in one and out the other, a gentle breeze that carried aromas entirely unfamiliar to her. They smelled almost earthy, but less dry. Glancing out to the world beyond, she guessed it was the smell of trees, though strange ones. One large trunk stood a short distance away, laden with thick fur of dark green and taller than any scraggly, prickly tree she saw in the desert. Alongside the smells, the wind brought in a chill that made her shiver.
Her black hair cascaded down the pillows—long, clean, untangled, and freed from her typical braid. She almost never let her hair down.
Movement in the corner of the room caught her eye and she turned. Tor—the coyote—lay curled up atop a round pillow on the floor. His head rose high above his shoulders, ears standing tall, his whole body alert. When he saw her turn to look at him, he jumped up and crossed the floor in a single bound, leaping onto the bed and colliding with her side. Oleja uttered a muted “oof,” but it was drowned out by the excited yips from Tor as he licked her face. She tried to push him off, but weakness still burdened her limbs and she struggled to move his determined and bouncing form off of her. After a moment she gave up, though the licking remained off-putting. It seemed good-natured, so she allowed it.
Footsteps came from somewhere outside and Oleja looked up. Through a door in the corner opposite where Tor had been sleeping, a young woman entered. Her skin was pale, just like some of the raiders, but even more shocking was the halo of fire-red hair atop her head. It framed her face in curls, detracting from her other features, though Oleja did notice a smattering of spots across her face adorning a small, upturned nose.
“Oh, lovely, you’re awake!” said the woman. “I heard the dog barking and I hoped to see as much. My name is Maloia, I’ve been seeing to you for the past few days since your arrival. What is your name, dear?”
“I’m Oleja. Oleja Raseari,” she responded. Her voice was hoarse, and the words came out in more of a sandy growl than anything. She coughed. Maloia hurried over and picked up a cup of water from a table at her bedside. Cold water graced her lips, contained in the clearest cup of glass Oleja had ever seen. She gulped down the whole cup before handing it back to Maloia, empty.
“Oleja. That’s a very pretty name. You must be from the south.”
“West, mostly,” said Oleja. “Where am I, exactly?”
Maloia smiled. “You’re in Ahwan, dear.”
“What is ‘Ahwan’?”
Maloia gave her a curious look. “It’s the city.”
“What’s a city?”
Brushing her hand across the blankets to smooth them, Maloia sat down. “No worries, dear, we did suspect you might have had some head trauma when you arrived. You will be better soon enough, though.”
Oleja didn’t know how best to explain the reality of the situation to this woman, so she bit her tongue and let it go; she’d get her answers later. If she had to guess, it seemed she’d made it to the civilization in the mountains—a “city” if she used the term right. Honn used it once as well, referencing the ruins with the towers. Relief filled her to the brim; tension melted off of her in an instant. She was alive. She made it.
She laid her head back against the soft pillows. Tor nuzzled her arm and curled up beside her.
“A few days, you said?” asked Oleja.
“Yes,” answered Maloia with a nod. “You were discovered by a band of scouts near our border, pulled on a sled by your coyote, though you were unconscious and badly wounded. We have your sled, of course, though it looks to have seen better days. We gave the dog a bath, too. Does he have a name?”
“Tor.”
Maloia smiled and reached across Oleja to scratch Tor behind the ears. “You’re lucky to have a companion so loyal. Anyways, yes, you have been here for a few days now. We made sure you’ve been getting food and water and medical care, though until now you’ve been unresponsive. Quite the toll you’ve been through.”
“You could say that,” said Oleja dryly.
Maloia patted her arm. “Well, if you need anything at all, I will be around to fetch it for you. Let me start by getting you some more water… and you’d probably like some food too, yes? You haven’t eaten anything solid in days.” She picked up the cup and started towards the door.
“Thank you,” said Oleja, sitting up in her bed, “but that’s all right, I can get things on my own.” She moved to stand.
“Oh! Hold on, one moment,” said Maloia. She put the cup down on a shelf by the door and grabbed something from the corner. When she turned back around, she held two crutches in her hands.
Oleja waved her off. “I don’t need those, I’m fine.”
Maloia gave her a puzzled look, but her expression quickly shifted to one of hesitation, like words sat upon her tongue and she only had to speak them, yet hadn’t.
“Um… well, I don’t know if you will find that to be the case,” Maloia said, selecting her words slowly. She advanced with the crutches.
Oleja threw her legs over the edge of the bed. The cobbled stone floor was cold under her foot.
Her rig
ht foot.
She pulled the blanket aside. Her knees hugged the edge of the mattress, but just below her left knee her leg stopped. The entirety of her calf was gone. White bandages shrouded the base of what remained, no more than two inches past her kneecap. They wound up to her thigh where a knot tied the ends of the wrappings off neatly. No blood stained the bandages—they looked fresh.
She flexed her knee a few times. Sore, but functional. The feeling was an odd one—moving her knee as if she lifted her leg into the air was now a jarringly easy movement, like the feeling in one’s shoulders after shrugging off a heavy burden. Except that burden was her leg, and she needed it to walk. She needed it to return to her village and save her people.
Nothing would hold her back. Not now. Not even this.
Tor crawled over and laid his snout across her thigh. Oleja glanced around the room. Her tinkering bag lay on the floor just beside Tor’s bed. She looked up to where Maloia stood hesitantly with the crutches.
“Actually, if you’re grabbing things…” started Oleja, gesturing to the corner. Maloia followed her gaze. “Could you get my bag?”
It seemed she had more work to do than she thought.
About the Author
Cameron Bolling is an author and college student living in New Hampshire. He can be found in the woods, or not at all.
* * *
For more information visit cameronbolling.com
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