“What’s the word on the food stores?” Simon asked.
“A bit empty. It’s still a while until harvest, and we usually got through the season eating hoshpi meat. I’m posting guards on what we do have in case anyone tries to steal it. We’re already rationing.”
Simon nodded, though the need to ration chilled him. It didn’t matter how thankful the population was, hunger could turn anyone into a monster. “I’m headed to the fields now to bolster the plants. That way we can harvest them early.”
Liam nodded. “You should take a leather with you.”
It took him a moment to realize what a leather was: a paladin who hadn’t yet been promoted to metal armor. “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Do it anyway. Please. If you’re healing the plants, you might not see an attack coming.”
Who would want to attack him? But he could tell Liam wasn’t going to back down. Simon tried not to think of it as the sort of control Dillon would insist upon and took it in the spirit with which it was given. Liam wanted to keep him safe. It might simply be because Simon was valuable, but he supposed he should be grateful anyone was looking out for him. And he always had Pakesh by his side. He was an extra pair of eyes if he could keep them off every woman he saw.
As they passed the keep, Liam asked Private Jacobs, the same woman who’d had a lot of questions when he’d first arrived in Gale, to follow Simon around. She kept to his side as he headed for the fields to the east. Bolstering the plants was the work of moments. He helped them process the excess water they’d gotten the night before, turning it into fuel for their growth. He couldn’t do anything about the soil erosion from the heavy rains and told the few farmers he passed that it might be a problem.
After that was done, Simon wandered back toward Gale, watching as people cleaned their streets and homes. They’d already gathered the dead and carted them to the northern cemetery. Some people stopped what they were doing and watched him. Simon didn’t know if people recognized him or if the escort gave him away as someone important. Either way, he could have done without the attention. It made him think too much about Horace calling him mystical.
One woman dropped a broom and trotted over, wiping the sweat off her face. “Was it raining because the Storm Lord’s angry?” she asked. “That some of us lost faith?”
“He’s dead,” Simon started to say, but she wasn’t listening. She looked around wildly, tears mingling with the sweat. She grabbed his arm, and he resisted the urge to yank it away.
Jacobs gently pried her off and sent her back to work.
“It’s just a storm!” Simon called after her. “There were storms before we came here, before humans came here.” And they might get worse, but he didn’t want to mention that. She didn’t seem to hear anyway. Simon hurried on.
“I was dying,” a man called, “and you brought me back! Thank you.”
A couple came forward, hands over their hearts. “I saw a white light,” one said, “and then you called me.” The other added, “We thought our little Iris was going to die, and you gave her back to us. Thank you!” He grabbed Simon’s hand and squeezed.
As more came forward, Simon took a deep breath and tried to recall everything Samira had taught him about accepting gratitude, about how not to be afraid of touch, but the people were getting too close, and he couldn’t hear one of them over the other. He sent out a calming wave, but they were pressing in, the feeling of their bodies overwhelming. He couldn’t breathe. “Stop…stop.”
Pakesh eased up beside him, creating a pocket of air. “Are you all right, Simon?”
“I’m…too many.” His chest constricted, and he tried to turn his power on himself. He could move these people, but he didn’t want to do that, didn’t want to be Dillon. His heart pounded in his ears. He could interrupt their bodies, freeze them in place, but then they’d be locked around him like a cage. He tried to moderate their emotions, but he couldn’t even control his own.
“Make way, please!” Jacobs called beyond the press. She took hold of Simon’s arm and muscled a path forward. “The doctor has urgent business elsewhere.”
As she peeled Simon away from the group, he took a closer look at her, focusing on her to keep the people out. Her strawberry-blond hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail, exposing rounded cheeks and a dimpled chin. Acne scars ran down the sides of her jaw, but they were barely visible unless one came close, and she glared at the crowd with blue eyes hard as ice chips.
“Clear the road,” she kept barking, reminding Simon of Cordelia, though she wasn’t as tall, was the same height as his five foot nine. Still, her confidence kept people away, and Pakesh was able to go back to gawking at every teenage girl he saw.
Simon let his shoulders relax, let himself breathe. “Thank you, Jacobs.”
“We headed to the temple, Doc?” she asked.
Simon nearly snorted a laugh. Most of his life he’d been Lazlo or Dr. Lazlo, but no one had called him Doc. It had an easy familiarity that both charmed and alarmed him. “I suppose we could.”
He should check in on the yafanai, see how they were feeling. Many of them were Horace’s friends, so they couldn’t all be bad. And he did need somewhere to stay. He didn’t fancy bunking down in the Paladin Keep. It seemed like a cold, forbidding place. Even Dillon had chosen the temple as his home.
“I’ll wait here,” Jacobs said as he approached the doors to the Yafanai Temple, and he wondered if the soldiers and the yafanai had some unspoken agreement about not intruding into one another’s space. Pakesh stayed with Simon, and just inside the entrance, they stopped.
Fourteen women stood in a line as if waiting for someone. A quick scan revealed a multitude of powers as well as the fact that they were all pregnant. He remembered some from when he healed them of the poison. These were the lucky ones. They’d all survived.
“Um, I’m Simon Lazlo,” he said. “Were you waiting—”
“We know who you are,” one said. She was the tallest, looked the furthest along, but she already held a baby in her arms. Fine, wispy dark hair drifted around her head like a cloud. “My name is Miriam, and we were wondering what you intend on doing with us.”
“Doing with you?” He had a wild thought that they were asking to be his harem, something Dillon had probably had. It nearly made him laugh until he scanned them again. They were nervous, angry. More than a few had protective hands on their bellies. He took another look at the baby. He knew this child, had been there for his birth. He sucked in a deep breath. He hadn’t allowed himself to think too hard about when Dillon had kidnapped him, altered his mind, and used him as if he were a machine. He’d delivered this baby. He’d killed Caroline, the baby’s mother.
“That’s Evan,” he said softly. He looked to the women. “Then you’re…”
“Bearing the Storm Lord’s other children,” Miriam said.
“We heard about Caroline,” another said.
On the end, one of them frowned. “We won’t let you harm us or our children.” They all nodded, though some were very frightened. The one who’d mentioned Caroline bit her lip and seemed as if she might bolt, but they all held their ground.
“I’m not going to kill anyone!” he said, far louder than he meant to. He took a deep breath. “I only…Caroline.” He licked his lips. “How many of you know what she was doing to me?” One or two looked sheepish. Simon nodded. “She was altering my mind so I would be the Storm Lord’s puppet. I was getting away on the plains, and she was trying to stop me, hurt me.” The memory was hazy, but it still brought tears to his eyes. Just after that, he’d been shot, and there hadn’t been time to think about Caroline at all. “I didn’t mean to kill her. I just wanted her to stop.”
They glanced at one another, and he felt a few tendrils of power looking for confirmation, for truth. Hard as it was, he let them in. None of them were as powerful as Caroline, and he felt some of them confirming what he had to say and sending that to the others. The ten
sion in the air went down a few notches.
“Look,” he said. “If you leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone.” It sounded lame to his ears, but the sentiment was there, and many of the women looked relieved.
Still, they didn’t move.
“Um…” he said.
Miriam took a step forward and held Evan out to him.
Simon backed up. “What are you doing?”
“Caroline is dead,” she said, “and she had no family. The Storm Lord is dead, too, so…” She took another step, baby first.
Simon sputtered, his mind whirling. “You can’t expect me to—”
“Actions have consequences,” Miriam said. “Whether you meant to kill Evan’s parents or not, you’re responsible for him now.” She gave him a look that brought back librarians staring over their glasses.
He looked to the other women in terror. “But surely one of you—”
“We have our own to worry about,” one of them said.
“If you can’t care for him, find someone who will.” Miriam had nearly reached him, almost pushed Evan into his chest. Evan squirmed, his face scrunching up as if he might cry. Surely Miriam wouldn’t drop him?
Pakesh stepped around Simon and plucked the baby from Miriam’s grasp. He held the boy close and bounced him softly. “Who’s a sweet boy? You are!”
Simon gawked. Miriam had a satisfied smile, and Evan calmed in Pakesh’s arms.
“What?” Pakesh asked to their stares. “My parents had five children, and I’m the oldest. Babies are just…life.” He smiled down at the boy, his expression turning sad. “Before I got my powers, I cared for my youngest siblings all the time.”
Simon rested a hand on Pakesh’s shoulder and marveled at himself. When had someone else’s sadness made him want to reach out rather than pull back? It must have been Samira’s and Horace’s teachings. “You’ll master your powers, then you can do whatever you want.”
Pakesh smiled. “I’ll help you with this baby, then. I think he’s hungry. And he doesn’t smell very nice.”
Simon cleared his throat. “Well, since you’re used to babies, maybe you can take care of the smell. But the food…” He glanced at Miriam again. She stared at him, and he resisted the urge to put his hands on his hips. “Responsibility is all fine and well, but there are some things I just can’t do.”
She gestured over her shoulder. “Someone ask Mila if she’s willing to be Evan’s wet nurse.”
One of the other women hurried away. Miriam turned her icy black stare back on Simon. “You’ll have to find a way to pay for Mila’s time. I, for one, am sick of being taken advantage of. Most of us are.”
Some of the women nodded; others seemed less sure. Maybe Miriam had found out what kind of man Dillon was before he’d even left. Simon could sympathize. “Understood.”
She turned and led the other women away. Another came from down the hall, smiling. With a quick scan, Simon could tell she’d given birth recently, though her child wasn’t with her. She seemed more relaxed than the others. Her curly, graying hair had been pulled back in a simple twist, and her teeth were bright in her dark brown face as she smiled.
“I’m Mila,” she said, and before Simon could make introductions, she waved for him to follow. “I’ll show you where we keep the diapers and supplies.”
Pakesh followed her shyly. With a heavy sigh, Simon followed to a storeroom and then to Dillon’s old rooms, one of the only unoccupied suites in the temple, according to Mila. She fed Evan while Pakesh helped Simon rearrange the furniture in the study, bedroom, and living room; anything to get some of Dillon’s stamp off the place.
Mila had long since departed before Simon was done taking down drapes and wading through mounds of cushions. He sat with Pakesh and wondered what in the hell they were going to do with a baby. Miriam had sent them a wooden crib, and Evan slept peacefully in the bedroom. Simon sat at a small table, staring into space and trying hard not to think about the man who’d lived here before, failing not to think of Dillon’s face as he died. His last words had been about his son, willing Simon to care for him. Simon hadn’t really thought about it before saying yes. He supposed part of him assumed that someone else would do it for him.
When a knock came at the door, he was relieved. Unless they’d come to blame him for Dillon’s death, he was happy to have a distraction.
He didn’t expect to see Shiv standing there, a sapling in one hand and a drushkan child clinging from her shoulders, hanging down her back. A human toddler hung on to her other hand, and Simon recognized Reach’s adopted son Little Paul.
“Shiv?” Simon asked stupidly. He didn’t know her well, but he knew her on sight by the green Mohawk. “What are you doing here?”
She lifted the hand that held the sapling. “Shi’a’na worried that the Shi would try to invade my mind now that I have a tree. She bade me stay, follow you, and reveal myself once you were alone.” She glanced at Pakesh. “As alone as you will be.” She frowned and suddenly seemed very young. “Please, shawness, may we be close to you? I know I threatened you once, but you and shawness Horace have made peace now, so you and I are at peace also. And you feel more drushka than any human.”
Simon blinked before he waved her inside. “Of…of course.” She walked past him, and the drushkan boy dropped from her shoulders and padded around the room. The drushka called him a baby, but he seemed nearly as large and dexterous as Little Paul, who was three, if Simon remembered correctly.
Little Paul went straight into the bedroom and crawled onto the bed to look into the crib. Simon started to scold him, then thought, “What the hell, as long as he’s occupied.” The drushkan child followed, and both stared at Evan.
After a look at Simon’s face, Pakesh followed the boys. “His name is Evan,” he said softly. “What are your names?”
Little Paul answered with his fingers stuck in his mouth so that it sounded like, “Lil Paw.” Simon wondered if he’d forever have the “little” in front of his name or if people would allow him to one day grow out of it. The drushkan boy only stared.
“He does not yet have speech,” Shiv said. “He is called Lyshus.”
“What does it mean?” Simon asked.
“You would say new day, but I wish him to be called by his drushkan name.” She lifted her chin.
Simon couldn’t resist prying, always fascinated by the drushka. “Why?”
She slapped her thighs, a sign of frustration. “Because I wish it!”
Simon raised his hands as he’d seen drushka do when they wanted to avoid a fight. “Okay, have it your way.”
“Thank you, shawness.” She dropped into a chair as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Pakesh was staring at her as if he’d just noticed her after the children. His mouth was slightly open, face shining with admiration.
“Pakesh?” Simon asked.
Pakesh jumped, color making his brown cheeks even darker. “Yes?”
“Would you find some water, please? I’ll keep an eye on your powers.” He followed Pakesh to the door. “And I wouldn’t even think about it, if I were you. As my dad used to say, she’s out of your league.”
Pakesh frowned. “Huh?”
“Never mind.” He hustled Pakesh out the door. Shiv glanced at him and then leaned back in her chair. “He’s young,” Simon said to her. “And a little obsessed with…people. I’m sorry if he stares.”
“His eyes cannot harm me.”
Lyshus climbed into her lap and sank his teeth into the armrest of the chair. Simon was about to protest, but Shiv squeezed his cheeks until he opened his mouth. She offered him a wooden cylinder that was threaded through a cord around his waist. He bit down and gnawed, teeth grinding against the wood.
Simon knew he was staring but couldn’t help it.
Shiv smiled, some of her former liveliness coming back into her expression. “It is called a nini. All children his age have them. That way they will not bite holes in everything and
everyone.”
“Great,” Simon said. “A biter.”
“Ahya, shawness, at his age, everything is food.” She wrinkled her nose. “Even you.”
“Good to know.”
“In a year or so, the desire to bite will fade.”
“Fabulous.” Simon pressed the heel of one hand to his forehead, wondering where the hell all these kids had come from. Even Shiv was a teenager. “Why didn’t Little Paul stay with Reach? Aren’t there drushkan children aboard the tree?”
“Ahya, but Reach worried that he cannot hide as they can. He is not as dexterous, and the swamp holds many dangers.”
Great, another reason to worry about Horace. Simon tried not to sigh.
Pakesh returned with a jug of water and poured for them while sneaking glances at Shiv. When he handed her one, she wrinkled her nose. “My thanks, young one.”
Pakesh blushed harder, but Shiv had already turned her attention to Lyshus and Little Paul, helping them drink before taking one herself. When Pakesh sat, Little Paul climbed into his lap, clearly sensing someone who liked children.
For a moment, they all drank in silence. “Well,” Simon said. He couldn’t think of anything else. Even if he made an “I brought you all here to name the murderer” joke, none of them would get it.
Lyshus leapt down from Shiv’s lap and stared at Simon. Simon froze, horrified that the boy might climb him next, but then Lyshus began to run around the room, grinning, his arms out for balance. He managed not to hit anything, and Little Paul giggled, hurrying to catch him. They peeked at Evan now and again but didn’t try to touch, something to be glad of, what with the biting.
“What about something to eat?” Simon said above the laughing children. “Then maybe…a nap? We’re going to have some long days ahead of us.” One of the children skidded on a cushion, sending it spinning into a bookshelf and knocking over a clay pot. Simon sighed as he picked it up. He thought of Horace out in the swamp and wondered which of them was going to have a rougher time.
Chapter Seven
Children of the Healer Page 12
