The Third Scroll

by Dana Marton

  I walked out to the antechamber, moving to the corridor where Leena waited should I have need of her.

  “If you could bring clean cloth for bandaging, and lavender for cleaning, chamomile and hyssop for infection, and ruhni powder too, I think. I have a small bundle of shlunn hulls. Please bring all of it. He is not injured badly,” I added as she wrung her hands, her eyes clouding with worry.

  Then I went back and sent the servant women away with instructions for more water. “Warm, not hot. Comfortable to the touch.”

  I disliked the look of that soiled water. I wanted him out so I could clean and close his wound. The women had done a fair job of washing him, so I had not much left to do.

  “Your hair, my Lord.”

  He sat up so I could loosen his thick braid. I combed the tangled strands with my fingers as they fell over his shoulder to the middle of his back. When the women returned with water, Leena followed them, bringing strips of white linen and my herbs. I set those aside, not ready for them yet, and reached instead for the small jar of powdered soaproot on the floor next to the tub. I dipped a handful and lathered it into Batumar’s hair.

  He closed his eyes and kept them closed, even as he dismissed all the servants.

  The fire crackled in the hearth, the only other sound in the room the soft, oddly intimate squishing noises as I worked the suds into his hair and beard. His hair was rough textured, almost like the manyinga’s fur, but I liked something about the way the thick strands slipped between my fingers.

  I stepped back. “Ready to rinse, my Lord.”

  He stood and reached for one of the pails by the tub, then poured water over his head, then another pail and another. I busied myself with carrying out the empty pails as he finished rinsing and walked to the bed.

  I had seen and healed many naked men, but now a sudden desire to run from the chamber grabbed hold of me.

  “Come.”

  I went to him as he had commanded. He needed my healing.

  He had tugged on a clean pair of leggings and sat on the bed now with his arm out to the side to give me a better view of the gash.

  Even with his gaze intent on my face, I forgot about my misgivings at once, my full attention on the injury, on the blood still seeping down his skin. The cut went deeper than I had thought, its edges dead, the severed muscles underneath infected and swollen.

  I kneeled next to him, then ran my fingers around in a circle on his hot skin and drew the pain, then grabbed for the edge of the bed as it slammed into me and throbbed through my veins.

  He caught me by the arm. “No.”

  I closed my eyes and focused on the pain, letting my spirit fight it, extinguish it little by little like raindrops cool a fire. A hard battle—the infection was the worst kind, and it had gone deep.

  “Enough.” He let go of me and pushed to his feet, the movement pushing fresh blood from the wound. “It is true, then. Healing does not just tire you. You give your own life strength to others when you heal.” He stood over me, thunder on his face. “I will not allow it.”

  “It is my duty—”

  “You speak of duty?” He paced the chamber. “You have left my Pleasure Hall and my palace.”

  I hung my head. How could he already know? He had only just arrived. But gossip spread on birdwings in the palace. I had done what was forbidden. He had it within his rights to kill me.

  “You entered the House of another. His Pleasure Hall, even.” His voice tightened.

  “Lord Gilrem was away, my Lord. I went under protection of your Guard.”

  He stopped and turned to me. “You should not be so ever willing to exchange your life for others.”

  “I am a healer, my Lord.”

  “You are—” he began in a voice loud with frustration but did not finish.

  At last I lifted my gaze to his. Dark fires burned in his eyes. Blood seeped from his side. There was a wildness to him that both scared me and made it difficult to look away.

  Again, part of me wanted to flee. The healer in me held me in place. I reached for my herbs. “These, at least, my Lord. If you would allow me.”

  I had planned to use the herbs, having given my promise to the Guardians to be more careful with my healing spirit, but once I had touched Batumar and felt his pain, everything else had flown from my mind.

  After a long moment, he sat down and lifted his arm for me again.

  I cleaned the wound thoroughly, then prepared and applied the paste for infection, wishing as I often had for moonflower tears. The ruhni powder reduced some of the swelling almost instantly and also drew the edges of the wound together but not enough. The gash gaped too wide and jagged for ninga beetles, so sending for them would not be of any use, either. I had seen that from the beginning, which was why I had Leena bring the hulls.

  Batumar touched his finger to some of the ruhni powder that dusted his side and lifted the finger to his nose. “Do you know poisons as well as you know healing potions?”

  I nodded. Not to use, not ever, but so I would recognize the signs if anyone had taken them by accident or will, and could give the proper cure.

  “You could kill me.” His voice carried neither fear nor accusation.

  “I could not.” I stepped away in haste as if he had slapped me. “It is true I have the knowledge but not the spirit to accomplish such a deed.” Not for freedom, not for any other purpose, not ever, no matter what he might do to me yet.

  He nodded.

  I pulled my small roll of dried shlunn hulls and selected five, each the width of a finger and about the length of one as well. I had dried the flat leaflike hulls to a rich color of yellow days before and now dipped them into clean water, one after the other.

  A sticky paste formed on the underside, and I pressed the strips across the wound. They would hold it together as the water dried and the strips shrank and stuck to the skin. I rolled some bandage over on top of them to make sure they stayed in place and did not get brushed off too early.

  I watched Batumar’s face, for I knew the pain must be returning by now. Drawing pain gave but temporary relief if the injury was not healed completely. As I had used herbs instead of my healing powers, the infection would take time to abate, the cut days, if not more, to grow together.

  “I have weathered worse,” he said as if sensing my dismay.

  I nodded and moved away, skirting the tub that took up most of the room. “I will have the water removed.” Leena would call the servants back for me.

  “Another moment.” He stood and drew a small blade from the table, then stepped to the tub where he shaved off his still-wet beard. The hair fell like clumps of fur and floated on the top of the water.

  I held back a groan. Had he told me he was going to cut it, I would not have wasted time washing the mangy thing.

  “Would you have denied me even that small pleasure?” he asked softly as he finished and turned to me.

  I flushed, flustered that he should read my thoughts so easily.

  He put away his blade before he walked to the bed and lay down on top of the covers. I did call for the servants then and waited until the women emptied the tub pail by pail; then two men came to carry it away. I walked behind them on their way out, but Batumar’s words stopped me at the door.

  “I would have you stay.”

  My body jerked as if lightning had cut through me. Help me now, blessed spirits. I turned slowly.

  He slid to the middle of the great bed, looking as if he very much expected me to join him.

  I clamped my hands together. Spirit, be strong. I had not thought he would want more of me than to heal his injury. He had to be too exhausted and hurt to want to… I bit my lower lip to keep it from trembling as I walked with great reluctance to lie beside him.

  Heart, be brave. I chided myself for being such a coward. Whatever pain he would cause to my body, I could heal it as fast as it began. And now that I had my full healing powers, I could never lose them. I had no need to fear the loss of my maid
enhead. And I was already Batumar’s concubine. I would not be given over to others like Onra had been. All these thoughts and more rushed through my mind in a jumble.

  I hesitated next to the bed until he reached for my hand and pulled me to him, my back against the hot skin of his chest as I lay down, his chin resting on the top of my head. I held my body rigid in his arms, expecting him to take me at once, and braced myself for the pain.

  I had grown up in many ways since I had been taken from my home, had grown in spirit and strength, but at that moment, I felt like a young girl on the brink of her womanhood, years younger than my true age.

  Batumar placed a warm hand on the hollow of my waist, his touch sending a tingling sensation across my skin, despite the thick cloth barrier of my bodice.

  “Do you fear me, Tera?” He pronounced my name with a deep rumbling R, differently from the Shahala. The sound resonated inside my chest.

  “Nay, my Lord,” I said after a moment, surprising myself.

  He was the most powerful man on Dahru. He could do with me as he pleased, even take my life. He was a Kadar, and that alone should have given me reason for concern. And yet as I lay there, a new emotion spread through my limbs, one that sped my heartbeat just as fear would have, but this was something else.

  I was not sure I liked it.

  ~~~***~~~

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  (The Sacred Scrolls)

  “Do you fear my touch?” He spoke into my hair, his breath fanning my scalp.

  I thought of the blood on Onra’s thighs, the pain of the warrior’s grip upon my flesh as he had pressed me into the frozen ground on that creek bank. I nodded, unable to speak the words, hating to be such a coward.

  His grip on my waist tightened for a moment, then relaxed. He remained silent for a long time. His chest rose with each breath, pressing against my back.

  “Fear not, then,” he said, and after an eternity, I heard his breathing even. The High Lord of the Kadar slept.

  I sagged against him, my muscles going lax. I could feel his heartbeat through the fabric of my dress as his body heated mine. Even as spring warmed the air outside, the stone walls of the castle held the cold inside. But I did not feel any of that cold now. In all of the great castle, Batumar’s bed had to be the warmest place. Soon the anxiety seeped out of my bones, and I fell asleep in his arms.

  A servant woke us sometime later, announcing from outside the door that the feast waited. Batumar rose to his elbow to look at me, blinking sleep from his dark eyes. He did not seem so fierce then, but still my heart began its race as always when he was near. In my sleep I had turned to rest on my back next to him, his hand still on my waist.

  I could do naught but stare into his dark eyes.

  “Shall we go to the feast, my Lady Tera?”

  His sleep-heavy voice skittered across my skin. My breath caught when he leaned closer as if not wanting to miss a word of my response.

  “Your people await you, my Lord,” I said in a rush and scrambled out of his arms and off the bed.

  I escaped to the antechamber, and when I saw he would not be coming after me or ordering me back, I relaxed enough to think of fixing my hair, which had gotten mussed from sleep. I did this in the small mirror on the wall, watching from the corner of my eye through the open door as he dressed in a blue tunic and matching gold-stitched doublet worthy of a king. When he finished, he strode after me, offered me his arm, and led me to the feast.

  I sat next to him at the table, only half listening to the tales of battles his men recounted and applauded. But still the words found their way into my ears, and I understood that although the small army of Kerghi warriors Batumar had fought had been pushed back, the enemy was far from defeated. Indeed, it seemed the Kerghi hordes were growing in number as they rolled like a wave across the lands toward us.

  A chatty concubine of one the captains sat on the bench on my other side and talked of silks and fashion until I wished for Lord Karnagh and his tiger. When I inquired after him, a servant told me he had left for his home straight from the Kingdom of Orh after the last battle, with a strong agreement between Batumar and him to come to each other’s aid when the need arose.

  Many people smiled at me from the long tables and inclined their heads in greeting—not only warriors but advisors and the most influential free masters of the city. No feasts were held in the High Lord’s absence and no gathering in the Great Hall, but I had met many as I roamed the palace, and some had come to me for healing. Everyone seemed to breathe easier and smile wider now that Batumar had returned to the fortress city.

  His gaze strayed to me often during the meal, so when after the feast he asked me to return to his chamber with him, it did not come as a surprise. I wondered if he had reached the end of his patience with my reluctance, or if the pain of his injury had returned and he simply wished for my healing.

  He sent the servants away as soon as we entered his chambers.

  “Does your wound pain you still?” I asked once the door closed behind us.

  When he turned to me, his face was lighter than I had ever seen it. Even his scar did not seem so fierce.

  “Well worth was the injury to feel your hands upon me,” he said with a wry smile as he pulled his tunic off and prepared for bed. “Mayhap I shall seek danger for more of it.”

  “You must not, my—” I stopped, embarrassed when I realized he merely jested. I stared. I had not before seen much humor in him. It made him look younger.

  “Will you stay the night?” he asked, his casual tone betrayed by the intensity of his dark gaze.

  My heart in my throat, I bowed. “If you wish.”

  He stepped closer. “Do you wish it?”

  How could I refuse the High Lord? The palace dungeon probably held people even now for lesser offenses. I was his concubine, sharing his bed my duty. Still, I could not make myself say the words.

  “Let us rest together,” he said after a while.

  I nodded in relief.

  He drew me to the bed, then removed his clothes, save his leggings. I removed nothing. But I lay next to him and closed my eyes, willing sleep to come. After a while, when I was certain Batumar slept, I peeked from under my eyelashes and found him watching me in the light of the flames.

  “I find I cannot sleep,” he said.

  I could but whisper, unnerved by his gaze. “Will you watch me all night?”

  Sadness shadowed his scarred face. “If you saw what I have seen in this last battle, you too would wish to look upon something beautiful to make you forget all the hideous acts of men.”

  I wished I could comfort his spirit, for indeed it seemed weary within him. Only I did not know how such a feat could be accomplished. I could have comforted his body, had I been brave and brazen enough to offer mine, but I was neither. And then I remembered what he had said about liking the touch of my hands upon his skin. I could at least give him that small pleasure.

  I did not dare touch his face, but I reached out to trace a faded scar on his chest with a light finger and felt a shock of heat as if I had reached into invisible flames.

  I watched the path my fingers took over the hills and valleys of muscles, between the coarse hair, across ragged scars. The heat at my fingertips and the vibrations that ran up my arm did not fade but instead increased in intensity the longer I touched him. On its own, my palm flattened against his chest and soaked up his strong and steady heartbeat.

  He made a low sound, not much more than a grunt, but it awakened me as if from a dream, and flushing, I snatched my hand away. I looked at him, sure I had displeased him, if not with the inexperienced caress, then with its withdrawal. And found his gaze on my lips.

  My mouth felt parched, my throat as dry as the endless desert that bordered the Shahala lands.

  He wants to kiss me—the realization, like a rockslide, buried every other thought in my mind. I pressed my lips together tightly in a thin line, then grew embarrassed at my cowardice and puckered them, unsure
how to proceed further, although I had seen servants do such things in the shadowed corners of the pantry.

  He lifted his gaze and must have seen my bewilderment, as his lips twisted into a lopsided smile. “Not tonight, Tera. I could not stop there if I started. Even a High Lord is only human underneath all his armor.”

  He pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me.

  He did not touch me in any other way during the night, although he did brush a kiss over my brow when he quietly slipped from the bed at dawn.

  In the days that followed, he did not send for me again, nor did I expect him to, as delegates arrived from distant lands, one after the other, and Batumar held audiences late into the night each day, the servants told me.

  I did not see much of him during the days, either, as the injured began to arrive and kept me busy from sunup to sundown, keeping me from even the nightly feasts. I eased their pain and healed their injuries, using my herbs and healing skills, careful with my spirit.

  Such horrible wounds I had never seen: jagged gashes inflicted by some terrible weapon the likes of which I could only imagine, crushed limbs, torn flesh. The men looked as if they had fought wild animals.

  I shuddered each time I thought of that terrible enemy reaching closer and closer to our island. If even warriors as fierce as Batumar’s could not vanquish the Kerghi, what would happen to my own peaceful people?

  When Batumar was not giving audience, he planned the next battle with Lord Gilrem and a handful of warlords who had arrived. Each day passed very much like the one before, until once again the mist descended and swallowed Karamur, and I could go to the Forgotten City. I did not see the Guardian of the Gate, but the other two waited for me on the path.

  “He is on the other side of the mountain,” the rotund Guardian of the Cave told me after a heartfelt welcome. “Many people are coming and going these days.”