Warrior Heart

by Laura Kaighn

  Blinking indecisively, Dori leaned away from the pair. “Does he want you back?”

  Vesarius’ ebony eyes shone ambiguous. “It is up to Tundra. He is strongly bonded to you. I am unable to picture talk to him.”

  Dorinda stepped closer and considered the malamute. Concentrating on an image of the Vesar and dog together aboard the Pompeii, she tilted her head in query. The canine’s response was immediate. Tail wagging, Tundra’s flat tongue smacked the Vesar’s cheek.

  “I take that as a yes,” Vesarius quipped smiling and slapping the dog on the rump.

  Dorinda frowned. Tundra caught her regret and whimpered a reassurance. “Tundra says he’s not ready. He’ll let me know when. Now sit still, Commander,” Dori advised squeezing his shoulder. “I need to stabilize those ribs.”

  Tearing the sheet into four wide strips, Dorinda folded three to be set aside. She then tucked the fourth lengthwise in half, then half again, ending with a two meter strip of bandage about twenty-two centimeters wide. Folding it again to find the strip’s center, Dorinda placed that flat against the Vesar’s swollen ribcage. “Hold this. But keep your elbow out of my way.” Dorinda stepped back, a bandage end in each hand. Crossing these and tucking one over and through the other, she walked toward the Vesar tightening the half-knot. Dorinda pulled the sheet firmly but snugly against Vesarius’ right side. “Now draw in a deep breath. Then let it out and hold.”

  Vesarius expanded his lungs then expelled the air as she instructed. Dorinda tightened the bandage ignoring the Vesar’s groan. Keeping the tension, Dorinda next pulled the ends up over his right shoulder. She folded them together. Finally, she stood there thinking.

  “Are we to remain like this?” Vesarius grumbled in obvious discomfort.

  “I’m stuck for a fastener,” she admitted pouting. “If I had a big safety pin or ...”

  “A pin? Like my medallion.”

  Dorinda bent to look at him. “Your medallion’s a pin?” Vesarius nodded. “The one you gave me was damaged. Where’s yours?”

  “In my pack,” he said gruffly gesturing with his head back toward the bedroom.

  “Good. Hold this.” Dorinda grabbed his hand to place it over the folded sheet ends atop his shoulder crests. Returning to the bedroom, Dorinda found his pack on the floor beside the rumpled bed. She hefted it out to the Vesar plopping it onto his lap. “Tell me where to look.” She opened the main compartment to first tug out the bulky and folded crossbow.

  “It may be on the bottom. A wolf upset my pack last night. I dumped everything out and replaced it.”

  “A wolf? In the Adirondacks?”

  Vesarius smirked slightly. “There are a few packs here now. This wolf was a loner however, and very hungry.”

  Dorinda pulled out more items and grinned. “Walden, huh? You been reading this? Did the wolf try to eat you too?”

  “He was more interested in the herbs,” Vesarius explained. “I left out some frozen venison. It was gone this morning.”

  Extracting a sealed bag of dried, colorful leaves, Dorinda considered the contents with suspicion. “Are these your healing herbs?”

  “Yes. Because of the wolf, I have only enough for two more nights. It took two weeks to acquire that supply from a Vesar space depot.”

  Next Dorinda removed a small hinged box. “What’s this?”

  Dropping the bandage ends, Vesarius snatched the box from her hand. “That is not your concern.”

  “Ok,” Dorinda defended leaning away with palms wide. “I wouldn’t have opened it. Now I’ll need to retighten that,” she warned before returning to the pack’s contents. Her arm disappeared into its depths for a moment, her tongue tip poking from her lips. “Got it.” Dorinda withdrew her hand. She nodded at the silver oval, undamaged by Mytok’s sands. Examining its detailed inscription, with the Tankawankanyi family crest, she agreed. “This’ll do nicely.” Experimentally Dorinda opened and closed the latch then handed it to the Vesar. Next she set the pack down on the floor beside its removed contents and repeated her instructions. “I’ve got to make this snug, so let out all your air.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” Vesarius answered dryly. He still winced, and she still held the bandage firmly. This time, though, Dorinda was ready to fasten it before her work was lost. Finally she patted him on the shoulder. Sucking in much needed air, Vesarius coughed at the snugness against his side. “Good dressing,” he croaked catching air in less painful gasps.

  “Thank you. Now it’s your turn,” Dorinda reminded. She settled onto the edge of the chair beside his ottoman. “Take care of my curiosity, and explain again this honor thing to me.” She filled the Vesar in on what she knew. “Coty said you were supposed to remain home, to guard your mother’s homestead. Instead you defied tradition and left with Tanoki. Was this some big crime against your family, to follow a dream?”

  Vesarius’ face was unreadable as he focused on the carpeting beyond his boots. After a long moment, he explained softly, “By tradition, once he has reached the age of manhood at fifteen, the youngest son of each Vesar household is obligated to remain as head of that homestead.” Vesarius considered his folded fingers. “Father would have been free then to fulfill his life-quest, knowing his mate and home were protected.” The warrior swallowed hard and kneaded his knuckles. “When Mother was pregnant with my younger brother, she released me of that obligation. I was permitted to leave with Tanoki to outpost Vega Prime. Later, I learned of my brother’s stillbirth. Yet I hesitated to return home.” Vesarius paused with a heaving breath.

  Dorinda knew the warrior’s confession was arduous to share. She placed her hand on his knee in reassurance. “I’m listening.”

  “When I did return, Father insisted I stay, as tradition dictated. But Mother knew I would never be content. I had experienced ohk-shnái Vhahl-Shaukk, the Fury’s gale.”

  “Fury’s Gale?”

  “It is an ancient legend.” His brow tilted. “An affliction, really. One which is rarely recognized but by the oldest houses of Vesar. I had been … transmuted by the stars. My destiny would be different. So, gifting me my brother’s medallion, Mother released me of my duty. … Father did not.”

  Dorinda watched Vesarius’ demeanor change. The man’s chiseled jaw became as granite, his dark eyes to glassy hematite. His mechanical recitation hardened to irritated defense. “Father threatened to have me publicly dishonored. It would have prevented my service in the Vesar Stellar Force and my eventual captaincy on the Pvokx.” Vesarius swallowed. He continued to avoid her impassioned gaze. “I shunned my parents, feeling shame, but needing my independence. I was most at home on an exploration vessel and virgin planets.”

  Vesarius sighed in deep regret of events now irreversible. “Afterward …When Tanoki – who I had not seen in four years – left them to die, I was enraged. I rushed home -”

  “But you were too late,” Dorinda gently finished for him when the Vesar’s voice tightened into silence.

  “If I had not left,” Vesarius insisted, “joined the Stellar Force, Tanoki would not have been emboldened to breach my parents’ mine facilities on Vesahran-dani.” Stony gaze downcast, Vesarius’ shoulders slumped as he took a ragged breath. “My disregard for duty killed them. And dishonored me.” When his sight rose to meet hers, Dorinda saw there a timeworn, cavernous wound. A grievance Vesarius had repressed, archived and cached away – even from himself – until now.

  The Vesar’s attention returned to his lap. His rumbling voice was directed into his clenched hands. “I vowed, I would never dishonor my parents’ name. That is why I accepted Coty’s invitation to join the Pompeii. The Pvokx and all other Vesar ships were lost to me.” Vesarius shook his bowed head. “You humans would call me outcast. Pariah,” he admitted, his true thoughts seemingly far away, deep in the past. “To the Vesar I am a vile changeling, a Grilcmza´e. ... Alienated.” Vesarius stalled to expel a whispery sigh. “Part of me wonders if I ever did belong.”

  When Vesarius fell silent again, h
is attentions obviously focused inward, Dorinda rose from her chair and bent to kiss his cheek. Then she retreated to the kitchen in search of some tea bags. A hot pot of chamomile would do the warrior good.

  * * *

  Vesarius’ mind was a blur of might-have-beens. He was barely aware of Dorinda’s kiss, then her absence. What was his life worth? Had he truly made a difference for himself? For his people? Had he done all he could in retribution for his fatal mistake almost a decade old? No. The world still scorns us Vesar, still distrusts me. Despite all his efforts to foster acceptance, Vesarius’ life had no true worth.

  Abruptly there was a sharp sting in his right wrist. He blinked. Vesarius had slammed his arm into the solid oak chair beside him. He watched the skin there darken and puff as though it was detached from his body. Beside him someone was suddenly cradling that disembodied appendage in hers.

  “Vesarius, you’ve hurt yourself. I’ll get some ice.”

  “No,” he heard himself murmur.

  “Vesarius, here,” the voice directed softly. “Look at me.” The Vesar blinked then raised his eyes to focus on the concerned face before him. “You haven’t been eating well have you? The cupboards are bare. And now that I’m looking, you seem thinner.” Dorinda felt his cheeks. “You seem hotter than normal too. That might be why you’re not healing well.” Straightening, she drew gently on his arm. “Come with me. I’m making tea. It’ll be a challenge, but I’ll see if I can scrounge us up some grub.”

  Vesarius stood, following her to the kitchen. There he sat in the ladder-back chair she offered. “I am not hungry.”

  “No, you’re starving. Have you even eaten today?”

  Vesarius paused in his answer anticipating her response. “No.”

  “And you’ve been up since dawn, I suppose?”

  “Before.” His eyes drifted down to the table. “My sleep is restless,” he mumbled to the tablecloth. “My dreams troubled.”

  Dorinda brought over two steaming cups of herbal tea. “Here. Sip this. It’s hot.” He did so. Sitting beside him, Dorinda clutched her teacup in both hands. “Do you want to talk about it? I promise not to be judgmental.”

  Meeting her eyes, Vesarius explained coldly, “I have no honor, Dorinda. To a Vesar, that is worse than being dead.” Seeing her attentive, concerned stare as she sipped slowly at her tea, Vesarius smirked without humor. “You once accused me of being a ghost. To my people I am worse. I am like an evil spirit, a dokt́ai, haunting their very existence. I have lived since my parents’ deaths trying to contradict the hatred I felt from my people, the hatred I felt from yours.”

  Elaborating on his confession, Vesarius nodded. “For a short time, I was dead to you. To Coty. I began to reflect that death need not be avoided. I contemplated hiding, even suicide, but those too were dishonorable and cowardly.” Vesarius swallowed over his tea. How could he admit yet another failing? “Dorinda, the only thought that comforted me was your return to this lake, these woods. And yet that same thought also disturbed me.”

  “Why?” Dorinda’s voice was quiet, calm, undoubtedly to prevent him from becoming defensive.

  Now he barreled on. Vesarius would declare his failure in a singular lungful of tortured air. “I did not want to face you again, admit that I could not love you. Tell you I must leave.” His straining fist nearly crushed the porcelain cup before him. “All that I have done for my family, for my people, would be in vain if I loved you. Yet I could not hide from you, so I stayed, hoping you would not want me.” His gaze fell once more to the tablecloth. “Hoping you and Coty had found each other in my absence.”

  “Vesarius, we did,” Dorinda said laying her hand atop his defeated arm. “Michael is dear to me. He says he loves me.” Now she paused in her admission. “I told him I wasn’t ready. I … I had to let you go first.”

  Vesarius’ gaze was numbingly grim when he insisted, “Let me go, Dorinda. You cannot have me. I am lost even to myself.”

  “No, you’re not. And I won’t.” Dorinda slammed her cup onto the table. Steaming liquid sloshed out, splattering both her hand and Vesarius’ bare chest.

  Hissing at the heated assault, Vesarius growled, “You must!” In the next instant, he kicked his chair back to stand.

  “No, Sarius. Wait.” Dorinda shoved her own chair and rushed to the freezer for a handful of ice. In the same smooth movement, she scooped up a towel from the counter, wrapped the ice, twisted the cloth and ran the bundle under the faucet. Dorinda then stomped to the table. Leaning over him, she gently pressed the ice pack against his exposed and darkening skin.

  Vesarius shuddered at the chilly contact. “No. It is all right.” Swiping her hand aside, he stood roughly and backed away. “The damage is minimal.”

  “But the pain. That’s a sensitive area, many nerves ...”

  “Yes, but I am fine. I will take the ice.” Vesarius held out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Dorinda relinquished the towel-wrapped cubes. Gently he eased the cloth against his reddened ridges. To change the subject the warrior asked, “You said something about scrounging grub? Do you intend to prepare an insect dish for us to consume?” Vesarius watched Dorinda blink in confusion.

  Then she must have noticed the mischief framing his dark eyes, for Dorinda smiled awkwardly. “Go sit down in the other room and rest those ribs. I’ll call you when the insects are ready.”

  Grunting at his attendant nurse, Vesarius pivoted toward the exit. “Above the nom.”

  Dorinda snapped her fingers. “Danny Hawthorne.”

  Nodding wearily, Vesarius trudged to the living room where he buckled into the threadbare couch. He listened as Dorinda puttered and swore from the kitchen. She was obviously upset with his lack of guest accommodations. “There’s plenty of air to eat,” she muttered loud enough for his sensitive ears to hear. Smiling at her frustration, Vesarius dabbed the ice pack on his cooling burns and wrist. The last thing the warrior remembered was the clanging of a pot and a half muffled, “Damn it.”

  * * *

  “Vesarius?” Someone was calling him. He refused to answer from his slumber. This dark oblivion was too peaceful to leave. “Come on, Sarius. You’ve been asleep all day. I went to the Super Duper and got us some real food. It’s getting cold, so get up.” That someone shook his shoulders making his side ache. “Get up, or I’ll punch you in the ribs again.”

  He opened one eye to consider her. “You really must restrain your violent tendencies.” Vesarius grimaced as he swung his legs onto the floor to sit up. Dorinda stood over him arms crossed. “Do I smell apples?” His nose drew in another aromatic sniff. “And bacon.”

  “We’re having breakfast a little late today,” she explained dryly. “It’s four o’clock.”

  Vesarius’ brain slogged through the mathematical calculations of his nap. “Over six hours?”

  Lowering her arms, Dorinda nodded curtly. “You obviously needed the rest. Now you need food. Come on.” Dorinda offered her hand.

  Locking his right digits about her wrist, Vesarius heaved himself from the low couch. He flinched only slightly at the pulling in his side. The bandage remained stable, a better dressing than he had been able to wrap himself. Grabbing his sweater from the chair as he passed it, Vesarius dressed. He followed Dorinda into the kitchen.

  Sliding out a chair, the warrior allowed his hungry eyes to roam the table. On his plate sat two eggs, two strips of bacon, and a short stack of pancakes. There was also a tall glass of orange juice for him, and Dorinda had set a bowl of steaming cooked apples between the two place-settings. Testing the heated topping with a pinky, Vesarius approved of the honey and cinnamon she had added. By the stove, Dorinda retrieved two more cups of tea. “Be careful with those,” Vesarius warned as she carried them to the table. With a crooked smile he sank into his seat.

  “You’re safe so long as you eat,” she warned. “You don’t eat, I get nasty.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Vesarius considered his bountiful fare. “I am no cook,” he
admitted. “I rely on the Pompeii’s kitchen staff. When I am on assignment, I subsist on rations. But this ... this looks like heaven.”

  Dorinda, now seated, cut through her pile of pancakes. “Then have a little taste of heaven before you whittle away to nothing and end up there.”

  Picking up his fork, Vesarius poked tentatively at his eggs. Within moments, however, he was eagerly downing the plateful of food, taking breaks only to breathe and sip hot tea.

  “Slow down, Sarius. Save some energy for the dishes.”

  “Am I supposed to eat them as well?” the Vesar mumbled over a mouthful of pancakes and apples. Dorinda grimaced, and Vesarius swallowed his food. “Forgive me. My behavior is atrocious. This is very good.”

  “Thanks, I think. I meant you’re washing them.” Silently Dorinda continued eating. Her eyes avoided the Vesar’s quick movements from plate to lips.

  Presently, Vesarius slowed from his task for his shrunken stomach was soon satiated. Just short of clearing his plate, the warrior settled his fork. He leaned back in his chair. “I can eat no more.”

  Dorinda considered the dregs of the Vesar’s meal. “You did well. Now go lay down again. I’ll clean up.”

  “But you said I-”

  “Your ribs need the rest,” Dorinda insisted shaking her head at him. “After I’m done, we’ll talk more about your leaving for honor’s sake.” She returned to her food.

  Vesarius scowled at her statement. “You mock me.” He straightened in his chair fists tightening against the table edge. “I was candid with you, Dorinda. Vesar honor is very serious. Do not believe it childish or petty.”

  Dorinda’s eyes narrowed over her half empty plate. “I don’t. I’m just trying to understand why you’d throw your life away, and mine, over two people who’ve been dead for almost a decade. The living are what matter, Vesarius.” She scooped once more into her eggs.