He carried me away from where I’d been imprisoned and set me on the ground next to the long-dead fire. I cradled my hands in my lap and bent forward, almost in a fetal position, while he hastily started a fire.
Soon its warmth began to thaw out my seemingly frozen flesh. But with the return of feeling to my limbs came also the return of pain to my hands.
I heard a snuffling sound, and before I could look up to see what it was, a cold, wet nose poked through my hair and touched my cheek. I sat up in surprise to find a white and brown hound looking at me, ears perked in curiosity.
“Leave her alone, Chase. Come with me now.”
The hound looked at its master and back at me a few times, then sat down next to me, actually leaning against my thigh.
“Have it your way, then. By the way, I’m Grey. I mean, that’s my name.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I looked away, embarrassed.
“I’m just going to get more wood. You stay here and get warm.”
As if I could move anywhere. He left, and I felt panic begin to return at being left alone. The dog rubbed its head along my arm, as if it understood and was trying to reassure me. I raised a hand to pet it.
And found that both hands had balled themselves into tight fists. Nothing I could do would budge a single finger. I held my hands out to the fire, hoping that the warmth would loosen the joints. If anything, it just increased the pain.
When Grey returned, he found me rubbing my fists together furiously. He dropped the load of wood he was carrying next to the fire and knelt down beside me, taking my hands in his. He examined them one at a time and tried to prise thumb away from forefinger. His touch was gentle, but my hands might have been made of stone for all the good it did.
He shook his head. “That’s bad. I don’t know if I have the skill for this,” he said in a worried voice. “Why don’t you lie down now and sleep? I’ll tend the fire and try to find something to eat.” He stood up and walked away again.
At first, I felt reluctant to sleep, even though I was tired beyond belief. I tried to “speak” to Chase, but the dog didn’t respond. My maejic must truly be gone. Still, Chase was watching me closely, and something about his manner reassured me about his master. I lay down and fell asleep almost immediately.
I awoke to the smell of cooking meat. I knew I should feel hungry, but instead the odor made me sick to my stomach. I didn’t have the strength to stand; I just rolled over and crawled a few paces away before I vomited. Not much came up, but I felt a little better once it was gone. Then I crept back to the fire. Grey looked at me and then at the rabbit he was roasting on a stick.
“I don’t know if you’ll be able to keep this down,” he said, “but you’ll have to try. I went out this morning to hunt, not camp, so I can’t do more than this. Unless you have food stashed somewhere?” I shook my head. “Well, we’ll see how it goes. I want to try to get you to my house before nightfall. We’ll need to leave soon.” He took a knife from a sheath at his hip and cut into the rabbit. He sliced off a small piece and handed it to me. I reached out for it before I remembered about my hands. He frowned as he looked at my fist, then he looked at the meat, then at me. With a small, apologetic shrug, he held the meat to my mouth. I blushed, but there was nothing to be done but to accept his offer.
I ate what I could, which wasn’t much, then Grey doused the fire. He helped me to my feet, and I took a few halting steps. How far was it to Grey’s house, and could I actually make it there?
I stumbled along as best I could, but I never would have made it under my own power. Most of the way, I leaned heavily on Grey for support, and in the end, he had to carry me the last bit.
I scarcely noticed when he set me on a low pallet and covered me with furs. My last conscious thought was that it was nice to be so comfortable and warm before I died.
On the cusp of a new dawn, I can’t help but think of those who turned away from us. Fools! True, most didn’t survive a month beyond leaving us. How deluded they were to think they could simply turn their backs on us with impunity.
But there were those who had sufficient power to hide themselves. So sure in their self-righteousness that we would be defeated in the end. How they will tremble when they learn of their error.
And as our power waxes stronger than ever, we shall root them out. Traitors! They will certainly die a most painful and lingering death. And I shall relish watching.
Idon’t know how long I was unconscious. I don’t even know how long I was semiconscious—two or three days at least. Sometimes I was half-aware of things around me: a fire crackling on the hearth near where I lay; my hands swathed in aromatic poultices; Grey spooning broth, juice, or even wine down my throat; wind and rain howling outside; Grey taking care of things about my person that would have mortified me had I been fully awake; Chase curled up near me and sometimes even on the pallet as if he were keeping watch.
When I finally came fully to my senses, I wondered if it were all a dream. But, no. Although I was warm and comfortable, lying under several furs, I was in a place I didn’t recognize.
The walls were of rough-hewn stone, and the ceiling had huge, dark-colored wooden beams. A fire snapped nearby. But when I pulled my hands from under the covers, they were still balled into fists. Useless lumps of flesh at the ends of my arms.
Chase let out a small whine, and a throat cleared.
“Awake now, are you?” And the man named Grey came over to me, a look of concern—maybe even worry—on his face.
I tried to speak, but my voice was still gone. The look on Grey’s face was unbearable, and I turned away from him, rolling onto my side and facing the wall.
I wept. Tears poured from my eyes, and I couldn’t even wipe them away. Silent sobs wracked my body, and my muscles tightened and cramped. And still I wept, until my stomach clenched and threatened to make me vomit. The nasty taste of bile in my mouth made everything worse.
When, finally, I regained some semblance of control over myself, I lay on my back again. Chase set his chin on the bed next to my face, and his breath warmed my damp cheeks. I reached up a hand to stroke him, but the sight of my fist threatened to send me back into tears. I let out a shuddering sigh and closed my eyes. Just concentrate on your heart, I told myself. Slow down its racing beat. Calm your breathing with deep, slow breaths.
Then Grey was there again, holding a steaming mug.
“Here,” he said, his voice soft and deep, once again speaking as if to a trapped animal. Which, truly, I was. “Let me help you sit up and drink this.”
When he slid an arm under my shoulders, my muscles tensed. All sense of calm fled, and I almost rolled away from him again. Chase whined, as if he were trying to speak to me. But I couldn’t hear him. I should’ve been able to, but I couldn’t.
Grey must have felt my passive resistance, but he didn’t let it stop him. Instead, he lifted me up to a sitting position, then sat next to me, keeping one arm around my shoulders for support.
“Drink,” he said, bringing the cup to my lips.
And I drank. I hated my helplessness but was too worn out from spent emotion to resist. This time.
The camomile tea laced with lavender loosened my tight chest. Breath seemed to come more easily. Chase wagged his tail and set his head on my knee. It felt awkward, but I rubbed a fist against the top of his skull. He closed his eyes in pleasure.
When I finished the tea, Grey helped me to my feet, and I took a few faltering steps to a chair placed near the fire. Grey sat in the other one, watching me intently. I wished he’d look away.
He finally broke the silence. “How are you?”
Once again I tried to say something—anything—and failed.
Grey scowled in consternation. “I don’t suppose this is some case of severe laryngitis?” I shook my head. “So you
can actually talk?”
I nodded my head, then shook it, frustrated that I couldn’t convey what I needed to.
“You can talk, but whoever did that to you back there,” and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “did something that’s taken your voice away?”
I nodded again, relieved that he’d understood.
“Hmm. Well, you seem to be feeling a little better.”
I nodded yet again, wishing every kind of painful death possible on Anazian.
Grey stood up suddenly, startling me so that I cringed. He noticed and crouched down in front of my chair. His grey eyes bored into mine.
“Please don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.” His gaze held mine until tears filled my eyes again and I nodded. Though whether it was in agreement or just to make him stop looking at me, I wasn’t sure.
He stood up in a slow, fluid movement and stepped to the hearth, where he stirred something that simmered in a pot hung over the fire. When he returned to his chair, he showed me a hand-carved mug and bowl.
“I made these for you while you’ve been ill. I left the bark on the lower part so it would be rough enough for you to handle yourself. I mean, with your hands like that.” He looked away for a moment, almost as if he were embarrassed for his thoughtfulness. Well, considering what he’d done for me already, I was the one who felt embarrassed. I would just have to not think about it. “Anyway,” he said, ignoring my blush, “I think I figured out a way for you to at least tell me your name. You’re one up on me there, you know. I’ll go through the alphabet, and you nod when I get to the right letter. Is the first letter a consonant?” I nodded. “B, C, D.” Another nod. And so we went on until he’d gotten it all. “Donavah. Very pretty.”
A silence grew between us that I could do absolutely nothing about. I wished I could get back into bed and sleep. Forever. Better yet would be to be home, where Mama could look after me instead of this stranger doing it. Where Papa could hold me in his arms and soothe my fears away.
“Well, you can’t tell me much of your story, but I’m guessing you’d feel better knowing something about me.”
He should’ve been right, but a sense of self-absorption had overtaken me. Now that my thoughts were beginning to clear, I found that I felt much more interested in thinking about myself, what had happened, and what would happen. I shrugged.
Grey took it as a sign to continue.
“You’ve probably already started wondering about my name. Well, from the moment I was born, my parents decided something was wrong with me. They gave me as little care as they possibly could. I guess my older sister pretty much raised me. Not that I remember very much of any of it. Just snatches here and there. My parents didn’t even give me a name, just called me ‘Grey’ for the color of my eyes.
“When I was three, maybe four, they brought me way out here and left me with the hermit, Malk.” A long pause, and bitterness hardened his eyes. “Or I should say left me for him. He wasn’t home, so they tied a length of rope to my waist, tied the other end to a nail on the wall high out of my reach, and . . . and just walked away. Didn’t even look back.” Another pause during which Grey gave a violent stir to his cup of tea, causing some of it to spill over the side. I just watched, aghast at what he was telling me. “Malk didn’t come home for three days, and I can only imagine his surprise at finding a half-dead toddler on his doorstep. He nursed me to health, and then raised me as the son he never had. Always called me Grey, since that was the only name I knew to tell him.”
He looked searchingly at me, as if trying to decide whether he could trust me. Then he said, “Malk understood what was inside me. He didn’t have the ‘gift,’ as he called it, himself, but he didn’t begrudge anyone who did.” I wondered what gift he could be talking about. Then he shook his head abruptly, as if to dispel his thoughts. “It doesn’t matter. Malk was an accomplished magician and healer. He taught me as much as he could. And I was eager to learn it all. He died a few months ago, and now I expect that I will become the hermit-in-the-woods in his place.”
He fell silent, and I wished more than ever that I could say something. Then Chase barked, causing us both to jump. Grey’s hand reached reflexively for the knife at his hip before he realized that the dog was only barking at the pot on the fire. Grey laughed.
“So you think it’s time for supper, do you, boy?” Chase wagged his tail, and if he could have, I’m sure he would have grinned. “Crazy dog. I sometimes think he should have been born human. He’d be better at it than some people I know.” Grey arose and set about getting our meal ready.
The stew was delicious and rich with more healing herbs. The meat was so tender that it must have been simmering all day long. I felt sure that Grey had prepared it with care so that I would be able to slurp it without his help.
When the meal was done, I eased myself slowly to my feet. Grey watched me, poised in his seat to provide help if needed, but also apparently understanding my need for some bit of independence, no matter how small. I made it to the pallet and using both fists, managed to pull the furs over myself.
Grey moved to a pallet he’d placed near the fire. I watched drowsily as Chase lay next to him, curling up along his stomach. He scratched the dog’s ears, almost as if it were an automatic reaction. Chase’s tail thumped against the blankets in a lazy rhythm.
Grey began speaking. At first, I thought he was talking to Chase, but his voice was soft and the words felt into rhythm with the dog’s tail. Then I realized he was telling a story, a bedtime story, something meant to ease me into sleep. I closed my eyes—indeed, I could scarcely have kept them open if I’d tried—and let Grey’s soothing voice float into my thoughts.
“In the woods there once lived a wicked cobbler who liked nothing better than to make people miserable. He was magic, was this cobbler, and he used his power—meager though it was—to inflate his reputation until it was believed that he was the best cobbler in the land. People travelled from near and far to have shoes made by him.
“But the shoes never fit quite right. They were too tight or too loose. Perhaps one heel was slightly higher than the other. Or perhaps a few nails poked through the sole.
“Despite the discomfort, though, people still wore the shoes because they were, after all, the height of fashion.
“So much so that the king himself sent his daughter to the cobbler to have him make her wedding shoes.”
But I never heard the end of the tale, for at this point, I fell fast asleep.
I dreamt that night. I traveled by foot through woods in the dark, and as I walked, I realized someone was looking for me. It could only be Anazian! I blocked my thoughts, trying to merge myself with the darkness. “Donavah! Donavah!” Voices cried from high over my head. Voices I recognized but couldn’t place. I hid deeper and deeper inside myself, not wanting to allow any danger to get through my defenses. Then my ears filled with Anazian’s laughter, and this time, he pressed my whole body into a huge oak tree. I screamed as life was crushed out of me.
I awoke bathed in sweat. I screamed again, this time for real, but, of course, there was no sound. A dog let out a yip, and a shadow rose from the floor and came over to me. I shrunk back against the wall, but the man kept coming toward me.
I pushed the covers away and practically launched myself from the bed. The man reached out, but I avoided his grasp and ran for the door. Outside would be safer than inside. Out there were places I could hide, not like in here. No one could hurt me if I could just get outside.
The complicated latch on the door defeated me. The man grabbed my shoulders and pulled me away from the door. With all the might that fear can pour into a weakened body, I struggled. I kicked. I struck out with my fists. My blows connected, and my adversary let out several grunts of pain. But in the end, naturally, he was stronger than I. He gathered me into his arms and held me tight against his chest
, imprisoning my arms to that I couldn’t hurt him.
In impotent rage, I sobbed. And the man stroked my hair.
“Donavah,” he said. “Donavah. It was just a bad dream. You’re safe with me.”
And then I remembered Grey. It was he, not Anazian, who held me, who soothed me. It was Grey I was with.
The panic evaporated, leaving me weak and scarcely able to stand. Grey picked me up, with no more effort than if I were Chase, and carried me back to my bed.
“Let me make you some tea, something to relax you, help you get back to sleep,” he said as he pulled the blankets and furs over me.
I shook my head. Shame overtook me, and I rolled over, once again turning my back on Grey. If only Papa were here. He would make everything better. I began to shake from a combination of emotion, weakness, and frustration. Grey placed a hand on my shoulder, as if to try to comfort me, but I shrugged it off. I didn’t want him near me, didn’t want him to see what I’d become.
After a few minutes, I heard him move away, presumably to lie down again on the pallet in front of the fire. I lay awake for a long time after that, afraid that I would slip back into my dream. Grey’s breathing grew regular, and still I didn’t sleep, not until dawn’s light began to show in the window.
When I finally awoke the next morning, the episode of the night before might have been all my own imagination for all that Grey said about it. His bruised jaw and split lip proved, though, that it had really happened.
He helped me to the chair again, tucked a fur around me to make sure I stayed warm, and filled my bowl with porridge, all without saying a word about what had happened in the night. But every time I caught sight of his face, I blushed and looked away.
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