The White Brand (The Eastern Slave Series Book 2)

by Victor Poole

  "And you think you'd be okay," he asked, "if I went?"

  "Yes," Ajalia said firmly. She closed her eyes and turned her face away from him. She was losing control over her lips; they were starting to shiver.

  "I think I'll take a rest," she said lightly. She listened; for a long moment, Delmar said nothing. Then he stood without a word, and climbed over the lip of the great tree hollow.

  "I'll come back," he said. Ajalia nodded.

  "Okay," she said softly. She did not trust her voice not to break; she knew if he saw her face now, he would never leave. She listened to his footsteps receding slowly into the woods; she counted the seconds that passed until he was gone.

  A part of Ajalia warned her that he would wait, and listen. She would have done that, anyhow. She had seen the suspicion that was growing in Delmar, and the fear, and she doubted that he would trust her for long. She figured that if she could stay quiet for a few minutes longer, he would really go, and then she could rid herself of the horrible wave of sentiment that was building up in her. The cavity of her body seemed to lap with red fear, and anger.

  Ajalia told herself that there was no reason to be angry. She could wait no longer; she tested her strength, lifting herself a little on her elbows. The weakness was still there, but she found that her fear was strong enough to overcome the weakness.

  "Oh," she breathed, closing her eyes. The sitting up had made the emotions slosh sickeningly in her chest; for a moment, she thought she might throw up. She realized that if she threw up in the hollow of the tree, Delmar would find the mess, and know she'd been sick. She never wanted Delmar to see her weak or sick again. Slowly, gingerly, she sat up all the way. She told herself that Delmar was gone; she told herself that her body was just fine. The arm that Delmar had bandaged felt strange and tight; she imagined a long, hot swelling along her wrist.

  Sitting up made breathing easier; she began to feel better. The nausea died down, and the panic slipped down, away from her throat. Ajalia looked about her. The leather book was lying next to her on the bark, and the torn remnants of her cream shift lay tangled nearby. Like a light blown out, the semblance of feeling better vanished, and pain like the bite of a monster had her in its grip. Ajalia smiled as she rolled onto her side; Delmar, she reflected with satisfaction, would not hear her cry.

  When Delmar came back, the large hollow was empty. He came up over the edge of the rise in the tree, and in the evening light that filtered through the leaves above him, he saw only the tangles of the cut shift, and the leather book.

  "Ajalia," he shouted, dropping the pouch he held into the hollow, and running around to the opposite side of the great scoop in the tree. He moved through the thick undergrowth, looking at the ground. Ajalia was tangled in a pair of saplings on the far side of the hollow; her eyes were open a little, and she was breathing with a rattle that sounded like death. Delmar knelt next to her, and put a hand on her neck. She moved her eyes over until she saw his face.

  "I tried to get away," she said with a smile. She laughed, but the laugh got trapped in her throat. "It didn't work," she added.

  "Come on," Delmar said. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and lifted her to her feet. She retched, her skin hot and cold, her body shaking.

  "I wanted to get away from you," Ajalia said, her arms wrapped around Delmar's sides, her cheek squashed against his chest. "I can't walk," she observed.

  "Come on," Delmar said. He supported her to the tree, and pushed her up over the rise that formed a lip around the hollow.

  "Do you think I'm going to die?" Ajalia asked Delmar. She had tried to sit when he had pushed her into the hollow, but her arms shook so badly that she gave up, and relaxed into the rough bark, her cheek pressed into the surface of the tree roots.

  "You shouldn't have moved," Delmar told her, climbing into the hollow.

  "I realize that now," she said wryly.

  "This isn't funny," Delmar said sternly.

  "It is funny to me," Ajalia said. "I think this is hilarious."

  "Give me your knife," Delmar said suddenly. Ajalia glanced at him.

  "No," she said calmly.

  "I don't trust you," Delmar said. "You're going to keep trying to get away, aren't you?"

  "Yes," Ajalia admitted. "I am like a wounded animal; I want to die in a dark, quiet place."

  "You aren't going to die," Delmar said angrily.

  Ajalia watched him. Her shoulders were shivering so thoroughly that her teeth rattled.

  "I might die," she said, and for the first time she meant it. She rolled onto her back so that her knife was against the ridge of her spine; Delmar watched her narrowly.

  "I'm thirsty," she said, closing her eyes.

  "Sit up," Delmar said. "I'm taking your knife away."

  "I can't sit up," she said faintly. He knelt beside her and pulled her upright.

  "Give it to me," he said. "Then I'll find water."

  "Is there water out here?" she asked. She had imagined that Delmar would look at her with a dazed expression on his face when she mentioned thirst; he seemed so oblivious to the needs of his own body that she had been sure he would be similarly unaware of hers.

  "I'm taking your harness," Delmar said firmly. "Are you going to help me take it off?" Ajalia looked at him and shook her head.

  "No," she said.

  "Fine," he said. He put his hand into the panel of her clothes where the knife lay.

  "I don't want you to take my knife," Ajalia said hoarsely. She closed her eyes; the backs of her knees were shivering as though they were about to break into pieces.

  "I don't care," Delmar said, laying the knife down, and reaching under her robe. "I don't trust you."

  "What am I going to do with the harness?'" Ajalia asked with a laugh. "Hang myself?"

  "That isn't funny," Delmar snapped.

  "Well," Ajalia said, as Delmar unbuckled the harness beneath her clothes, "it's funny to me."

  "And you're sick, so it doesn't count what you think is funny right now," Delmar said. He frowned at the tangle of leather against her skin. His hands were cool and soothing; when he touched her skin, Ajalia felt somehow less pained.

  "This isn't coming off, is it?" he demanded.

  "Nope," she said serenely.

  "Then I'm going to take off your clothes," he said decidedly. Ajalia laughed at him.

  "You wouldn't really," she said.

  "I don't trust you," he said again. He pulled up the bottom of her robe.

  "You're being awfully forward," she observed. He lifted her arms gently, one by one, and got the sleeves off of her without scraping them against the angry white scabs or the bandages.

  "I have to change this soon," he said, touching her arm where the shift was bound up over crushed leaves. The scabs on her right arm were beginning to weep blood in gentle trickles. Ajalia watched Delmar fold up her outer robe. He seemed peculiarly unembarrassed, given his earlier reticence about sex.

  "Here," Delmar said, taking her shoulder and lifting the harness gently away from her body.

  "Delmar," she said, watching him.

  "What?" he asked. "Ajalia," he added. She laughed.

  "I'm naked, love," she said.

  "Only half," Delmar said primly. "And anyway, you're sick, so it doesn't count."

  Ajalia was tempted to fall over on him, to see what he would do.

  "Can I have my robe back?" she asked.

  "No," he said, pulling his shirt up over his head. "I'm going to use it for bandages later."

  "You can't cut up all of my clothes," Ajalia said.

  "Can," he told her. "You aren't going anywhere for a long time. I'm going to take care of you." He put the neck of his shirt over her head, and coaxed her arms through the sleeves. Ajalia had forgotten how it was to have Delmar's smell all over her skin. Her body relaxed, and a sigh shuddered out of her.

  "I'm sorry I ran away," she said.

  "That's okay," he said. "Just don't anymore."

  "I don't know," she
said. "I feel safer on my own."

  "But you're pathetic right now," Delmar said. "You can be on your own when you're stronger."

  "I'm strong now," Ajalia said.

  "Of course you are," Delmar said soothingly. He folded the cream robe into a pillow, and pushed Ajalia down. She fought him, her arms like feathers against him.

  "Now I can't breathe," she complained, lying in the hollow of the tree, her head beside his knee. She tried to glare at him, but her eyes wouldn't open all the way.

  "You can run away," Delmar said, stroking her neck, "as soon as you feel better."

  "I feel better now," Ajalia said. With her eyes closed, the whole world seemed to spin up and down. "Delmar?" she asked.

  "What?" he answered.

  She forced her eyes open, and looked at him. His bare chest gleamed in the green and gold light that filtered through the trees.

  "Why are you helping me?" she asked.

  "Because I love you," he said promptly.

  Tears began to seep out of her eyes; she squeezed them shut, and turned her face into the robe.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I'll be better tomorrow." Delmar stroked her hair and her back. Ajalia hadn't realized how uncomfortable her knife harness had grown. She had not slept without it for so many years that her back felt exposed, but without the snug straps against her ribs, she could breathe more easily. She was sure that Delmar resented her for being so ill. She told herself that it was silly to fall down and tremble when nothing had happened. She told herself that it was all in her head, and she tried for a while to berate herself into standing.

  Nothing worked; she grew more and more tired, the gentleness of Delmar's touch soothing her towards sleep. Finally, she made a bargain with herself; she would sleep now and escape later. After all, Ajalia reminded herself, she would get farther on her own if she rested now.

  "I won't stay with you," Ajalia murmured.

  "I know," Delmar said. He kissed her, and she sighed.

  "And I'm not in love with you, probably," she told him.

  "I know," he said. His voice was like a warm blanket.

  "Delmar," she said, putting her hand into the smooth place where his shoulder met his neck.

  "Mm," he said.

  "Would you be mad at me," she asked, "if I died?"

  "Shh," he said, smoothing the hair away from her face. "I won't let you die."

  "Okay," she said. Her voice was like a child's; her face, as it tipped towards him, was irresistibly trusting. Delmar watched Ajalia pass into sleep, and strange feelings unfolded in his chest. He felt as though he were a great map that had been furled into a tight roll, and Ajalia, what she made him feel, was pulling him apart and exposing things within himself that he would never have believed were there. Expansive longings were thronging into his heart; a capacity for tenderness was revealing itself, and his nature, which he had studiously avoided noticing for much of his life, began for the first time to interest him, since it changed so dramatically in response to Ajalia.

  He thought that she was sweet, and innocent, and helpless. The particular vulnerability of her position made a deep impression on his mind, and as he watched her sleep, he felt curiously powerful, which was a feeling he had never experienced before. He didn't have a name for what he felt, but he found the emotion intoxicating.

  Delmar waited for a little while, watching Ajalia's face to make sure she was asleep, and then he slipped out of the hollow to find water.

  AJALIA IS ILL

  It was dark when Ajalia woke up again. She started up in a cold sweat, her eyes flashing in the darkness. She realized quickly where she was, and curled her lip at the night that was around her. She hoped she had not been asleep for long. She sat up easily; the loose movement of Delmar's shirt was strange and free around her body. A sharp tingling was running up her bound-up arm.

  "You're awake," Delmar said.

  Ajalia gasped and turned; the sharp movement made a red explosion of pain come into her neck; she put a hand gingerly to the place, and tried to see through the night.

  "I can't see you," she said. Her throat was dry.

  "I got this for you," Delmar told her. He brought her a strange husk of fruit that was full of water. Ajalia took it from him, but held it warily in her hands.

  "Who are you?" she asked.

  "It's me," Delmar said. "It's Delmar."

  "Have you been lying to me?" Ajalia asked suspiciously. "Are you working for your mother?"

  Delmar's eyes were just visible in the night; Ajalia saw his eyebrows crease.

  "No," he said. Ajalia watched him.

  "How do I know that?" she asked. Delmar was silent.

  "I don't know," he said finally. "I hope you believe me."

  "Does anyone else know where I am?" she demanded. "Have you tried to contact Philas?"

  "No!" Delmar said indignantly. "No one knows where we are," he said. "I don't think anyone knows that you're with me, except for Leed."

  "Leed is fine," Ajalia said. "I trust Leed."

  "But you don't trust me," Delmar said.

  "No, I don't," Ajalia said. She sniffed at the water. It smelled earthy and fresh. "Thank you," she said, and drank it.

  "You're very strange," Delmar told her. He tried to move closer, but Ajalia backed against the far edge of the hollow, keeping Delmar full in her sight.

  "What happened?" she asked. She poured the rest of the water into her mouth. "Thank you," she said again.

  "You just rested for a while," Delmar said.

  "What else?" she asked. "Something happened. You feel different." She waited, her face turned expectantly towards him.

  "Um," Delmar said in embarrassment. "Nothing, really."

  "What happened?" she asked again.

  "Well," he said, "I went and looked for food."

  "And?" she asked.

  "I found Leed hanging around by the road," Delmar said. "He told me Card wants you to have this."

  Delmar held out a little pouch. Ajalia moved to him very slowly, and took the pouch.

  "Are you afraid of me?" Delmar asked.

  "No," Ajalia said. She opened the pouch, and poured out a pile of coins, a paper note, and a piece of red stone. "What is this?" she asked, holding the clear red stone.

  "Um, that's a pit of the succilla fruit," Delmar said. "It's very rare."

  "What does it do?" she asked. Delmar shrugged.

  "It's good for sore muscles," he said. "If you push it against your skin, it draws impurities to the surface."

  "Hm," Ajalia said. "Can you make me a light?" she asked.

  Delmar hesitated, and then pressed his fingers into the coarse bark of the tree. He looked down at the tree, and a fixed look came into his face. He closed his eyes, and after a moment, as his mouth pulled into a tense line, a shimmering shape, in form like a small deer, rose up within the hollow.

  Ajalia unfolded the note, and turned it towards the golden light. She read the note, and then laughed.

  "What?" Delmar asked quickly.

  "It's nothing," Ajalia said. She folded the note, and put the paper and the coins back into the little bag. "You have no clever pockets," she told Delmar, going to the robe that was still piled on the tree, and tucking the pouch inside.

  "Can I change that bandage now?" Delmar asked.

  Ajalia had felt better for several minutes, but now that Delmar was talking to her, and the night air was moving freely against her face, she was beginning to feel worn out. She knew in her heart that she would not be strong enough to leave tonight. She sat near her robe with a sigh, and gingerly stretched out her arms.

  "Should I open this one up?" she asked Delmar, holding up her right arm, where the thick white scabs were beginning to lift away from her scars, and the still-tender flesh under them.

  Delmar looked alarmed.

  "I think we should leave it," he said.

  "Come closer," Ajalia told him. Delmar stood up and crossed to where she sat. He stood awkwardly for a moment just near her,
and then sat down. Ajalia held her inner arm into the light of the deer shape, which was beginning to melt into the night.

  "This is nasty," she said, prodding at the thick white skin. She pulled at a corner of one of the scabs, and a mixture of blood and thick yellow matter raised up beneath. She drew in her breath sharply, and closed her eyes.

  "What?" Delmar asked.

  "It's icky," she said mildly. "I need my knife."

  Delmar pursed his lips at her, and frowned.

  "I need the knife," she said again, "and I need the rest of that shift." Delmar watched her, as if to see if she were pulling his leg, and then went and picked up the remnant of cream fabric that was tangled against one end of the hollow. He pulled the knife out from his waist, and held it with indecision.

  "Tell me what you want this for," he said. The knife made a sharp gleaming point against his warm skin.

  "First I'm going to cut bandages," Ajalia told him patiently, "and then I will probably use the knife to peel off the skin here." She waved her arm a little in the air, and Delmar swallowed noisily.

  "That's probably dangerous," he suggested.

  "Great," she said. "Then you cut the bandages."

  "I got more leaves ready," he offered. "I was going to change the bandages." He pointed at her bound arm.

  "I hope this one isn't as bad," Ajalia said. "I've got to clean the infection out from under the skin." The stench of blood and filth seemed to float around her head; she closed her eyes for a moment, and reminded herself that she was not going to get a fever, like last time. She reminded herself that she was not alone this time. She opened her eyes, and looked at the dim outline Delmar made against the tree.

  "Are you all right with blood?" she asked. The golden deer had melted back into Delmar's skin; Ajalia wished it had stayed longer.

  "I fixed up your left arm," he pointed out.

  "Yes," she said, "but you look queasy."

  "This is my suspicious face," Delmar said with dignity, and gave Ajalia the knife. She made a cut in the edge of the shift, and ripped the fabric into a thick ribbon.

  "I'm sorry I got you sick," Delmar offered. Ajalia made another slice.