by Eve Langlais
Gunner had seen that look once before. The insanity was unmistakable, making him very dangerous, especially since he obviously wielded magic.
“Die, fucking wizard!” Gunner swung his sword.
The naked man shrieked. “Get out of my house!”
“Make me,” Gunner growled.
He ran for the guy, ignoring the reedy mess, but the man proved more agile than expected. However, the space wasn’t very large. It didn’t take long to stalk the wizard down, slicing deep enough to distract the magic. Then Gunner sliced again.
The wizard shrieked, and the space they were in suddenly shifted. Moving and rolling and regurgitating on land. Sofia yelped as she landed, whereas Gunner cursed because his sword arm hit the ground first, the impact jarring the sword free.
He sprang to his feet and pulled one of his small knives, aiming for the wizard, who struggled to his feet, still snarling. Gunner’s dagger sailed through the air and was batted down by a burst of water.
Sofia was shrieking as she slapped away the reeds that bound her. He kept his gaze focused on the wizard, pulled the gun, and aimed.
The wizard opened his mouth. The hole in his head dropped him before a sound emerged.
Gunner watched the light go out of the wizard’s eyes just as something stabbed him.
He looked down to see a spear sticking from his side. “Fucker!”
He meant to kill the creature that attacked him but got poked with another pointy stick. It shouldn’t have been enough to fell him.
He sank to his knees. It had to be some kind of poison. He heard a roar, and a body soared past him, killing those that stabbed him. Not that it mattered anymore, as his vision blurred into darkness.
Fifteen
Sofia could only stare and blink as shock held her. The hole in the strange man’s head leaked sluggishly, black ink in a night that remained dark except for the fading headlight on the truck. To the side she could hear Kitty growling and the wet chewing sounds of a kill.
A little too late.
It happened so fast. The creature had risen from the muck and pulled back its arm. Gunner had been so intent on the naked psionic that he’d never seen the attack.
The second spear hit him in the leg, but by then, he was already going down. And he didn’t get back up.
Sofia dropped to her knees beside him. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. She swallowed hard as she saw the spear still sticking out of him.
“Gunner.” She moaned his name and looked at him helplessly. This was beyond anything she’d ever tried to heal. No amount of mud could fix a bleeding hole. “I don’t know what to do.”
She wasn’t a doctor. They knew how to stitch and set wounds. She just provided the remedy to remove the scarring. But she knew she had to remove the spear and apply pressure.
Removing it, though, would make the bleeding only faster, yet it couldn’t stay in him. The sight of it was so wrong. She fluttered her fingers a second before grasping it.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice thick before yanking.
He might be unconscious, but he still bucked when she pulled free the weapon. The wound gushed. She tossed the spear before slapping her hands on it to stop the bleeding.
“Don’t die,” she muttered. He couldn’t die. She needed him.
Needed him to open his eyes and say “sweetheart” in that low, husky murmur she’d come to enjoy. He didn’t regain consciousness, and his breathing began to stutter.
She pressed harder on his wound, sobbing. “Don’t go. Please. Don’t leave me.”
As if to mock her wishes, his breathing grew even more shallow, and the light from the truck dimmed. Soon she’d be in the dark. Alone.
If only she had something to use to stop the bleeding. But she couldn’t remove her hands. She couldn’t stop the pressure, or he’d die.
He’d also die if she did nothing.
Vaguely she heard Kitty snarling, and it got brighter around her even though the truck remained dim. There were splashes. A few whistles and bellows.
She didn’t care. She only focused on the hot blood spilling from him. A killing wound that needed a doctor, or at least a master apothecary. Not an assistant with no ingredients and barely any skill.
But Gunner seemed to think she didn’t need those things. He was convinced she could heal. If there was ever a time to find out…
She flattened her hands on him, biting her lip as he twitched, feeling the pain even in his deep sleep. His breath wheezed. His blood squished wetly between her fingers. She closed her eyes and willed every bit of intent she could manage. Heal. Heal. He had to heal.
She needed him alive. Not just because he knew how to fight and live in this wild world but because she liked him oh so very much and wanted him to live.
Live. Damn you. Don’t you dare leave me alone.
Her hands heated, hotter than she’d ever managed for any potion, and yet she continued to hold them on his skin.
Live. Because I need you.
Tears leaked from her closed lids. Hot streaks down her cheeks that dripped from her chin.
Live. Please.
The heat in her hands should have burnt the flesh from them both. It was intense and painful. So intense she forgot to breathe.
And then his chest heaved. He took a deep, unhindered breath. Then another. But she didn’t know how to stop. Her hands remained hot. She wavered on her knees.
Gunner suddenly exclaimed, “Sofia, you need to stop.” He pushed at her, breaking the contact.
Sucking in a deep breath, she choked. Gasped for air. Her chest rose and fell as she stared at him. He looked better than she felt.
“Did it work?” she asked, her lashes fluttering.
“Yes, sweetheart, it did.”
“I’m so tired.”
“I know. Come here.” He reached for her, and she fell into him, exhausted.
Someone whistled. “The pair of them are going to sell high. The fellow beat Pedronias with only a shit sword and a gun and the woman can heal.”
“Don’t touch her,” she heard Gunner exclaim, standing with her in his arms.
“Look at you, acting all protective.”
“You saw what I did with that swamp wizard. I can take you on, too.”
Such a brave statement. She wished she could say something, but everything inside was too heavy. The final thing she heard was, “Dart them both, but make sure you get him twice.”
And then nothing until she woke in a strange kind of prison. It appeared as if she were contained in a woven basket, the braided pieces stiff enough to form bars that curved overhead to form a cone-shaped top. The spaces between the twisted fronds gave her peeks of her surroundings. A lichen-covered wall, parts of the rock peeping through. The light blue-green of the moss tempted the apothecary in her, who’d only ever worked with the dried red kind.
Turning slowly so as to hopefully not draw attention, she managed to form a picture that was better left unpainted.
She found herself in some kind of settlement, which was being kind. There were no real houses, just primitive frond-woven tents—some of them emitting smoke—next to tumbling stone walls. The ruins still had enough shape to form a barrier, all the better to protect the people.
A people as she’d never seen before.
In the Ruby Kingdom, the only people she’d ever seen were human. Meaning no extra limbs, scales, fur, anything that was considered deviating from the baseline. Only Wastelanders, poisoned by the land, suffered such from the Deviant syndrome, and even those were more legend than reality.
She couldn’t help but stare. Not in repugnance, but fascination. Everyone was so different. A man with a flat nose and webbed hands, patrolling with an axe in hand, his gaze always moving to the walls, looking for commotion. The mother hustling her children. The only thing different about them were the tails peeking from their backsides.
But the thing that struck her most, the biggest difference, was how free they seemed
. They talked among each other. Called out, shouted, slapped each other on the shoulders. Hugged.
She tucked her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. In the city, she had a few people she talked to. Not much or often. A citizen had to work for the privilege of living there. Funny how the Enclave, supposedly the most valuable of them, barely appeared to work at all.
The people in this settlement all had their own tasks, but they did them freely with serious mien or good humor.
What she didn’t see was Gunner or Kitty. Had they escaped? The last thing she recalled the newcomers had wanted to take both her and Gunner prisoner. But what of her cat?
Had Kitty managed to stay out of their reach?
Did she really heal Gunner?
Or had he died from his wound?
No. He had to have lived. She refused to believe anything else until she saw proof otherwise.
Glancing to her left and right, she looked for another woven cage like hers. Instead, she saw a pen of men packed together behind a fence.
Before she could examine each face, a pair of legs moved to stand in front of her. Someone wearing short pants like Freckles and Rings crouched and leered at her, his teeth pointed, his eyes strangely milky and lashless. He also didn’t blink.
“You are a healing witch,” he stated, gargling the words.
“No. Not a witch.” Those were the evil entities in stories written by the ancients.
“Yeah, you are,” the stranger argued. “I seen you. Healing your companion.”
“I merely applied a balm to his wounds,” she lied.
But apparently this man knew the finer details of what she did. “You lay your hands on him and then chanted. Brought him back to life.”
“It wasn’t a chant.” Just her rocking back and forth, wishing he’d heal.
“Doesn’t matter what you call it.”
“What are you going to do with me?” The fables she knew usually had witches dying in horrible fashion.
The man grinned, his teeth utterly fascinating and terrifying all at once. “Witches are valuable. We will sell you.”
The very idea had her blinking. “Sell me? But I’m a person, not a thing.”
“And?” He seemed genuinely perplexed.
She hugged her knees tighter. “Can’t you just send me home?” Problem was when she said home, she didn’t mean the Ruby City but the valley she desperately missed.
The request made her captor laugh. “You are going to a new home.”
The idea he’d sell her and not give her a choice chilled her right through. “What of Gunner? What did you do with my companion?”
“A fine warrior like him has his own buyer.”
“He’s alive?” She wanted to close her eyes and bask in the relief.
“The dead man rose from the ground out of a huge puddle of blood and fought like a beast to try and protect you. Killed five of mine before we managed to dart him enough times. Took six before he stopped swinging those knives of his.” The man sounded positively gleeful. “He’ll fetch a fine price. Maybe even better than you if you keep saying you’re not a witch.” The implication being she might not be worth much. Which made her wonder what would keep her safer? She didn’t know. This wasn’t a city with set rules.
What should she choose? Deny she had any power and claim that her captor was mistaken or embrace the witch thing in the hopes it led to a better situation.
“His injuries? They’re healing?”
The man snorted. “What injuries? Never seen such pretty skin on a warrior. If it weren’t for his skill, I’d have thought him pampered Enclave.” He spit on the ground. Apparently even in these ruins, the elite weren’t well-liked.
“He’s not Enclave,” she reassured.
“I already knows that.” He sneered. “A Wastelander from Emerald. A rare thing. Means I can hike his price.”
“He’ll never agree.”
“As if he’s got a choice.” Her captor snorted.
“Don’t hurt him.”
“Not planning to. Can’t sell a dead man. Or woman.” He leered at her.
“Let me see him.” She grabbed at the braided reeds on her cage, unable to stem her desperation. “Prove he’s alive.”
“I ain’t doing shit. He ain’t your concern no more.”
“But—But—” She sought a reason why they had to stay together. What would this man accept? “He’s the father of my child.” No need to mention the child hadn’t actually been created yet.
He eyed her belly. “You’re not breeding.”
How could he tell? “Why can’t you sell us as a pair?” She didn’t know if it was ever done.
“Get more apart.”
Every answer only served to frustrate. “What about the feline that fought with us?”
“You mean the cat?”
“Yes, the cat,” she growled through gritted teeth. “What happened to her?”
“Nothing yet, but not for lack of trying. Hunters are looking for her. The fur will fetch a fine price.”
“Don’t you dare touch Kitty,” she yelled, tugging at the rigid frond bars. “Leave her alone.”
“You are loud.” The man frowned at her. “I won’t mention that to the buyer.”
“You can’t sell me.”
“Not that again.” He actually rolled his eyes at her. “You talk too much. Good thing I’m selling you. We leave for the city in the morning.”
“What city? Who are you selling me to?”
“Anyone with something to trade. Don’t worry. Next time you wake up, you’ll be in your new prison.”
His grin didn’t reassure, but she was very disturbed when he inserted a reed tube between the bars. She couldn’t avoid the dart.
When next she woke, it was to a pungent aroma being waved under her nose. The acrid mist made her eyes tear, and she flung herself forward with a gasp.
Women in filmy green diaphanous gowns with veils over their faces stood around Sofia. They peered at her with eyes lined in shades of rainbow makeup.
It took only a quick glance to realize she wasn’t in a cage anymore. She appeared to be sitting in a bathing chamber of some sort. Of more concern, she was nude. Completely. And now that she was awake, hands tugged at her, pulling her toward a bath made of stone, steam rising from the surface. With accented words and gentle shoves, she was told to get in.
“Stop.” Sofia shook her head, resisting their tugs, her red hair dangling and dirty down her back. “I want to know where I am.”
The smiles made her wonder if they were genuinely happy or plotting her demise. Especially when one of them said, “You are in the paradise city known as Eden.”
Sofia frowned. “Never heard of it.” Even as the name seemed vaguely familiar.
“You are in New Eden, the beautiful garden of the ancient gods,” said a woman dressed in a drape of light blue fabric, her wrists jangling with bracelets.
That was why it sounded familiar. It was a fable of a city from defunct bibles that were old even in ancient times. “Whose home am I in?” she asked, looking around the lovely chamber.
“You are an important guest of the castle,” declared another of the ladies, the burnt orange gown offsetting her glossy skin. Her hair was coiled in intricate braids crisscrossing her head.
It made Sofia want to hide her own dull and knotted locks. The gowns would have been nice as well, loose and airy. She wasn’t comfortable being naked. “What’s expected of me?”
“We’re just here to help you bathe and dress.”
“I can do that on my own.”
The women smiled, but one sassily said, “Obviously not.” She eyed her. “We’re going to need lots of soap.”
Heat filled Sofia’s cheeks. She didn’t enjoy being filthy. “I’ll take a bath alone, please.”
“I wasn’t going to climb in with you.” The woman with braids grinned, her dimple teasing.
“My name is Sofia,” she offered.
“We know. You’r
e the witch.”
“I’m—”
The woman continued, “I’m Josette, and this is Stefany.”
“I’m not a witch,” Sofia huffed.
“Are you sure? Because around here, they’re in high demand.”
“To do what?” she asked, taking a step forward toward the still steaming tub. The water was scented, too. Sweet and tempting.
“Depends on your skill. What kind of witch are you?”
“If I were—not saying I am—a healing one.” She reached the bath and dragged a finger over the surface.
Hot. So, so tempting.
“Healing?” Stefany sounded skeptical. “Eh, it’s a good one. Steady work. You good at it?”
“Doesn’t matter if she is or not,” admonished Josette. “She needs to get in that tub because he’s waiting on her.”
“Who is?”
Stefany’s smile turned mischievous. “The most eligible mate in the city and for hundreds of miles around.”
Knowing they weren’t possibly talking about Gunner and getting his face out of her head at the word eligible were two different things. And suddenly she knew what she needed to know next.
She lifted a leg into the tub. The water proved warm, languorous. She relaxed in it with a sigh and soaked for a minute before casually asking, “The warrior that was brought in with me. Is he nearby?”
“We don’t know anything about a warrior. What does he look like?”
“He is tall, broad of shoulder, with a square jaw, blue eyes, and he likes to jest quite a bit.”
“Sounds handsome,” Josette replied before shoving Sofia’s head underwater.
She rose, sputtering. “What is wrong with you?”
“You needed to get your hair wet.”
“You could have asked.”
“I could have,” Josette said.
No apology was coming, but Sofia couldn’t find it in her to care when the fingers lathered her scalp with soap. The fragrance relaxed her, and she tilted her head as she closed her eyes. Basked in the massage of the fingers through her tresses.
