Master Dorozi straightened as well, giving the girl's unconscious form a small frown.
"Now, my young apprentice," he said, "we wait."
CHAPTER THREE
The first thing Namida felt as she woke was a hollow ache in her left arm.
Namida groaned as she fought to pry open her eyes. They seemed much heavier than usual, and she felt exhausted even though she hadn't even fully woken up yet. She briefly wondered why that was, but as she opened her eyes to an unfamiliar wooden ceiling, she froze as the memories of what had happened came rushing back to her. Her brother...her mother...all of the villagers, dead. The hound had pulled her out of the fire, but her left arm wouldn't work as it carried her away from the wreckage that had once been her happy life. What had happened? Where had it taken her? Questions swarmed her mind and she tried to sit up only to find her left arm still wasn't working, and the uneven distribution of her weight caused her to fall back to whatever it was she was lying on, her left side jarring at the impact and sending a searing pain ripping through her. She glanced down to see loose-woven gauze plastered over the burns that stretched all the way from her neck all the way down to her left thigh. When her mouth opened in a surprised 'o', a slight stretching sensation told her that there was gauze covering the left side of her face, as well. She grimaced before she went to rub at the ache throbbing in her left arm.
Her right hand only met air.
Out of reflex, she glanced down, her breath hitching when she saw that all that remained of her left arm was a short stump beneath the shoulder. She swallowed the scream that threatened to bubble up from her throat, not wanting to alert anyone that she was awake until she had managed to reorient herself enough to know if they were trustworthy. For all she knew, the hound could have delivered her into the hands of the enemy. Either way, even if it had delivered her to the hands of Queen Gawela herself, she wasn't sure she would be able to trust her. After all, it was Queen Gawela who had started this war, even if she hadn't done it intentionally. Namida cursed mentally, raking a hand through her tangled, dirty hair. Everything had gone to hell in a hand basket, and now she wasn't even a complete person, didn't know who to trust, and didn't know how to get herself out of this mess. She could feel her eyes burning with tears, but she blinked them back harshly. She wouldn't scream, and she certainly would not cry. She had to be strong. Her father would want her to be strong. Where had he even gone? Was he dead, or had he managed to escape the battlefield their home had been turned into? Was he looking for her right now?
"Good. You're awake," a baritone voice rumbled from the other side of the room. Her head snapped in its direction, and she found a bald, middle-aged man sitting at a desk, examining an array of multi-colored tinctures through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. "That means you can take the medicine on your own this time."
Namida fixed the man with a blank look. "And who are you supposed to be?" she said, all the etiquette and manners her mother had ever taught her all but forgotten. Then again, she had also told her to never talk to strangers, so there was that rule broken, too. Not like she had much of a choice, given the situation, if she had any hope for getting answers to all the questions she had.
The man raised a challenging eyebrow as he looked over at her. "Bit of a rude one, aren't you? My name is Momal, and I am the botanist here." He pursed his lips and gave her a condescending look. "And you are...?"
She frowned. "Namida. Not that it's any of your business."
Momal scoffed before turning back to his tinctures, swishing one about in its vial as he inspected it next to the lantern burning on the desk. "I'd say it's my business when I'm one of the people who helped save your life," he said passively. "I'd say a little thanks are in order."
Namida stared down at her one intact hand, the void where her left hand should have been giving a dull, aching throb. "Yeah, well no one asked you to," she murmured. What in the blazes was she supposed to do now that she wasn't whole? People that came home from the warfront with amputated limbs usually became beggars because there were so few jobs that could be done—and done well—with only one hand, or only one leg. So basically, she thought bitterly, these people that had "saved" her had instead doomed her to a life of poverty and starvation. What sort of a life was that?
"Actually, to my understanding," Momal said, causing her to look over at him once more as he turned in his seat and nodded to the far corner of the room behind her, "someone did."
Blinking in surprise, Namida cautiously turned her head to find the hound that had saved her lying in the corner, gazing at her with doleful yellow eyes. Its tail thumped the floor when she looked over at it, and its large drooping ears pricked up as it raised its head off of its paws.
"You," she said, not sure how she should feel about its presence. It had saved her life, after all, but at what cost? She had lost her left arm, and who knew how bad the burns were underneath the gauze that stretched all the way down her left side. She sucked a breath in between her teeth. The hound had only done what it had thought was best, though. She couldn't fault it for that. It thought it was doing something good. She gave an aggravated sigh.
"Come here, boy," she said, and before she had even finished uttering the words, the hound was bounding across the room, butting its snout against her uninjured side and working its way under her hand. It placed one paw up on her right shoulder and stared into her eyes, its expression seeming...worried? She raised an eyebrow.
"I'm okay."
The relief in its eyes was almost tangible. It flicked its tongue across her nose in a sloppy kiss, making her grimace.
"Gross."
Momal chuckled. "You have a very affectionate hound there," he said. "Most don't bond so openly, aside from their protective nature."
Namida frowned thoughtfully.
"He's not mine, though..." At Momal's questioning look, she hesitated before elaborating. "He found me, when my house was burning, after...after the attack. My village was known for having sided with Queen Gawela in the war. My mother, she wanted to protect my brother and I from all of the talk of war, but we...knew it might come to us eventually." She hated the way her voice broke when she spoke of her family. It made her feel weak, as though Momal were silently judging her from over the rims of his glasses. Her voice came out almost a whisper as she said, "Just not this soon."
Momal leaned back in his chair, seeming to debate something internally for a moment before he stood abruptly from his seat, taking large strides towards one of the two exits she could see.
"Stay here for a moment while I fetch the healer," he said, fixing her with a stern look. "She will not be pleased if I don't fetch her right away now that you've woken up."
Namida said nothing, merely watched him slip out of the room and waited for a few seconds to make sure he was gone before she slipped her legs over the side of the chaise, frowning as she tested her weight on her injured leg. She sucked air in through her teeth at the throbbing that started up in her burnt left thigh at the movement, but was pleased to find that it held her weight. She needed air. She couldn't stand being cooped up here with these strangers she'd never met for another minute. The hound that had brought her there gave a low whine at her movement, looking pointedly between her and the chaise as though to tell her she should sit back down. She shook her head and ignored it, limping instead towards the only other exit she saw. The hound gave a loud exhale that sounded more like a sigh than anything, and trotted over to walk next to her, pressing close against her side as if to support her. She wove her fingers into its fur, reluctant to give up the sense of independence that walking on her own seemed to give her, but also not wanting to fall down and reopen any of her rather extensive injuries.
The exit opened up into a long, wide hallway that seemed to go on forever with no indication as to where it led. Namida could already feel her energy dwindling as she walked, and she wondered how long she had been unconscious that even such a short distance as this would drain her so much. She gla
nced to the hound pressed against her right side only to find it giving her a scolding look, as if to say "I told you so". She snorted and looked back ahead, determined not to let the beast get to her. What did it know, after all? She would know what her own limits were better than some animal. She pushed herself to keep going, and finally the hallway curved a bit to reveal another door. Namida eagerly reached for the handle, and as she pushed it open, her senses were instantly overwhelmed by the sheer foreignness of everything within it.
Stepping inside the room was as though she were stepping into another world, although to call it a room would be the greatest understatement she had ever heard. It was a building unto its own, of lush greenery and air that was thick with a sort of heavy moisture she had never known before. She could hear bird calls in the distance, and she wondered what other animals might call this odd place home. There were all sorts of trees and plants and flowers she couldn't have described if she tried, but everything was just so...so green. The area seemed to go on forever, with dots of colorful flowers and fruits as far as the eye could see. She thought she even saw a pair of rabbits peeping out at her before they disappeared between the leaves of a bush.
"What is this place?" Namida whispered.
And then, she collapsed.
o—O—o
Darwe was weaving baskets from reeds with Kilish when Momal entered the room, a practice that Master Dorozi often had them do to keep their fingers nimble and their hand-eye coordination well honed. He briefly glanced up at the tall, well-dressed man, the flickering lamplight reflecting in his glasses as he observed the two of them with pursed lips, looking, as he usually did, as though he had tasted something sour.
"She's awake," he said, and both Kilish's and Darwe's heads snapped up at those two simple words.
Kilish was the first to abandon her half-finished basket, tossing it to the side as she leapt to her feet and ran for the foyer where they had been watching over the girl for the past two weeks, trickling bits of broth and water down her throat to keep her hydrated and give her some form of nourishment so her body could continue to fight the fever overwhelming it until it broke. Darwe scrambled to his feet after her, fighting to catch up. He didn't need to, though, almost crashing into Kilish's still form as she screeched to a halt in the foyer doorway.
"What? What is it?" he asked, trying to peer around her into the room.
Kilish let out a strangled noise of frustration as she pounded her fist against the doorframe.
"She's not here." She whirled to Darwe and Momal, who trailed behind them at a leisurely pace. Kilish shoved past Darwe to grab the front of the tall man's embroidered tunic. "Where is she, you dunce? Didn't you think to lock the door when you left? She doesn't have the strength to be walking around, she'll end up falling and tearing herself open again!"
"Calm down, woman," Momal said, shooting Kilish an annoyed look. "There's only so far she could have gotten. As you just said, she doesn't have the strength to be walking around, so she'll turn up if we follow the only other path she could have taken." He gave a pointed look to the exit on the opposite side of the room.
Kilish slowly let go of his tunic, shooting him a sheepish look.
"Ah...right." She started to stalk towards the other doorway. "I'll round her up and have her back here in no time. She shouldn't be doing anything other than resting at this point!"
Darwe's hand shot out to grab Kilish's wrist before he could even take the time to think about what he was doing. When Kilish whirled on him with a death glare, he hesitated before dropping it, holding his hands up in surrender.
"S...sorry, Kilish," he said, feeling his palms beginning to sweat as he tried to explain why he had grabbed her before she beat on him for his insolence. "I, uh... I just... think it would be better if I was the one that brought her back." He didn't explain that it was because he felt Kilish had too strong of a personality and would frighten the poor girl away. Trying to tell Kilish she had any negative aspects to her, personality or otherwise, only resulted in making her mad. It was best just to avoid such conversations altogether, he'd found.
Kilish raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said she wasn't conscious when you found her," she said, causing him to nod in agreement. "Well then what the blazes difference does it make if it's you or I that bring her back?"
Darwe's eyes darted about as he tried to think up a reasonable explanation on the spot.
"Uh, because...I'm the one her hound is most familiar with," he said, which was true enough. "So it'll be more accepting of me bringing her back than it would be of you."
Kilish gave him a skeptical look, but relaxed her tense shoulders, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance of his flimsy excuse. "Fine. But if you don't have her back in the next..." her eyes shot to the ticking clock on the wall, "...ten minutes, then I'm coming to drag both of you back, whether you like it or not."
Darwe nodded, scampering off before she could change her mind. Heading down the long hallway that led to the greenhouse, it felt like his legs couldn't carry him fast enough. Who knew what kind of trouble the girl could have gotten herself into? The greenhouse was filled with many edible plants, but there were also a number of plants that could be deadly, as well. It was not a safe place for someone who was not well-versed in botany, and that on top of the fact that she may well have fallen down and reopened her wounds by now. Some of the worse ones Kilish had barely been able to make scab with her magick, and the healthy tissue had just started to grow over the edges of the wounds since the girl wasn't ingesting anything other than broth to fuel her body's natural healing process.
Darwe reached the door and took a deep breath before pushing it open as quietly as possible, hoping not to startle the poor girl.
The first thing he saw was her falling.
Curses filled his mind as he sprinted for her falling figure, knowing that she was too far away for him to reach her in time. It seemed like his legs were moving through molasses as he tried to reach her, watching helplessly as she fell, still too far for him to catch as her legs gave way beneath her.
Then the hound was there, cushioning her fall with a huff of air, its bulky body catching her when Darwe could not. It slowly lowered her to the ground, its yellow eyes glaring back at Darwe in contempt, as though judging him for not getting there in time. Darwe frowned. There was no way he could have known that this was going to happen. He hadn't even known that she was awake, let alone wandering around on her own, for Fate's sake!
Did that...did that hound just roll its eyes at him!?
Darwe shook his head, giving the beast an odd look before moving to crouch next to the girl where she was sitting on the ground, her ripped clothes exposing all of her bandaged wounds, along with the briefest flashes of smooth, brown skin. He made a point of ignoring that when it happened. The girl couldn't have been any older than, what, twelve years old? Maybe thirteen at most? She was still just a child, really. It made him wince a little at the thought. Well, not after whatever had happened to her. Master Dorozi had gotten word a few days ago from one of his informants that the nearby village of Endothar had been attacked and destroyed by Kaska's forces, and from the looks of it, it had been a slaughter of both the queen's troops posted there as well as the civilians. No one had been found alive.
Except, well, the few at Master Dorozi's complex knew differently now, didn't they?
The girl's amber eyes blinked up at him, and he felt a little flustered that he had gotten so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't realized she was staring at him.
"Uh...sorry," he said, not sure what he was apologizing for. Everything, maybe. The fact that she was even in this mess to begin with; the fact that he had brought her here to get help for her only for Kilish to cut her arm off; the fact that she was an orphan now, worse off than himself, because even if he barely even remembered his parents' faces, at least he knew that they were still out there somewhere living their lives.
The words seemed to break her out of her stupor,
and she curled her knees to her chest as well as she could without pulling at her bandages, covering her face with her lone remaining hand. Darwe froze up, knowing what was coming next.
Sure enough, there were the tears, the sniffles, and the little hiccups that he remembered from the days when he had first come here. He hadn't cried since he was five years old; not real crying, anyway. Not the whole sobbing-out-loud crying. Master Dorozi said it was weak, and that even if a warrior cried, no one should be able to tell that he had. He'd learned to cry silently after that. Seeing this small girl crying, though, sprawled on the dirt between the sugar violets and aloe plants, it made his heart sink. Slowly, carefully, he shuffled closer to her and pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her thin shoulders, the void where her left arm should have been causing guilt to rip through him like a scorpion's sting. He had caused that. He might not have been the one who actually did the cutting, but he had been the reason for it.
Darwe made quiet hushing noises as he rubbed small circles into the girl's back, tucking her head against his chest as her sobs grew louder and her tears soaked the front of his tunic.
That was when he swore to himself he would protect her. This girl was his responsibility now, and he would make sure he paid her back for all the damage he had done.
CHAPTER FOUR
Namida cried out as her sword went flying, the blade flipping end-over-end before it sank into the soft sand. She growled in annoyance at her failure. Being a perfectionist by nature, she had trouble coping with her frustration when things didn't go smoothly. She ripped her hand through her hair, shoving it back out of her face. It was always getting in her way, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to cut it short like Kilish wore it. Her mother had always loved brushing her hair, pulling it back into all sorts of styles. It wasn't incredibly long by any means, only shoulder-length. It was just long enough to be constantly in her way, especially when she was trying to learn to fight.
When Comes the Fire Page 3
