by Ann Lawrence
“You know, Ker, I thought you were teasing me about the dragons,” she said, rubbing her itchy chin against her shoulder.
“Common as dust. I told you.”
“Still, I thought you were teasing me.”
Maggie wondered if there were any animals on Tolemac she would recognize. “What’s your cloak made of?”
“Wool. From a sheep. ‘Tis a docile animal, soft. But ‘tis also a dirty beast, stinking in fact.”
“I’m familiar with sheep. And your shirt?” Maggie could not prevent her hand from touching the fine cloth on his encircling arms. It had an unusual luster despite its wrinkled condition.
His body rippled through a shrug. “‘Tis some plant. A woman would know.”
“Of course,” she muttered, renewing her grip on the child.
“My britches?” he asked softly against her ear.
“Your britches?” Maggie felt her cheeks heat.
“Have you no interest in my britches?” he asked, then roared with laughter.
Maggie did not deign to reply. The terrain changed abruptly. Over one low hill the red rock changed to verdant fields dotted with small groves of trees. Here and there the red rock still showed through the long grasses. Pink clouds marched overhead, painting splotches of gray across the hills. A glimmer caught her eye. The Sacred Pool lay like a silver skin between two folds in the hills. Kered drew Windsong to a halt and slid off the back of the saddle. He reached up and took the child, marching to the edge of the pool and dunking him like an old dust mop.
A frantic wail rose anew from the bundle of rags, and Maggie grinned as Kered swished the child back and forth. Scratching her forearms and neck, she walked into the shallows to stand at Kered’s side. “Why don’t I do that? You might drown the poor little guy.”
“Boy. A him.”
“A guy is a him—in my place.”
“In this place, he is a little beggar who is certainly far from his tribe.” Kered laughed, relinquishing his hold. The child fell back with a splash and came up screaming.
“Beggar? Tribe?” Maggie stepped back as the child shook himself like a dog after a bath.
“Aye. ‘Tis unusual to find a little beggar separated from his elders. They are most watchful of their young.” He straightened and looked over Maggie’s shoulder.
She turned and followed the direction of his gaze. A cluster of black dots swarmed down a distant hill like ants escaping an ant farm. The little boy shrieked with joy and took off in their direction.
“Are they dangerous?” she asked, mentally estimating the group at greater than fifty.
“Humpf. Enough, if one is not on guard. They have been outcasts from Tolemac for generations. A scavenger people, more content to take what is not secured than hunt or plow themselves.” Kered fisted his hands on his hips as he surveyed the approaching band of beggars.
As the motley band drew near, Maggie realized that even the tallest was not much bigger than a large child. She smiled when a figure separated from the group and swooped down on the boy, snatching him into her arms and hugging and kissing his little face. Then a scene unfolded like many played out each summer on Ocean City’s boardwalk. The mother held the child away and smacked his bottom, her shrill admonitions readily understandable. Much loved, the child had scared his mother nearly out of her mind. The child hung his head, then tugged at his mother’s arm, drawing her to stand before Kered.
Kered bowed stiffly to the mother. Tears ran down her face, making tracks on cheeks as dirty as her child’s. The boy jibber-jabbered and gestured. The rest of the beggars encircled them in a wary ring.
The child began to act out the drama of his rescue. He swiped and stabbed the air. In the best Shakespearean tradition, he clutched his hand to his heart and collapsed on the ground as if dead. The beggars went wild with joy. They closed in on Kered, hugging him and kissing his hands. Maggie found herself cut off from him, an onlooker.
Kered took their adulation with great aplomb, bowing and nodding. They chattered in a patois Maggie didn’t understand, but their sentiment was loud and clear. Kered was now their hero.
“Enough.” A loud voice bellowed. The beggars parted and a tiny man approached Kered. They bowed to one another in respectful silence. As if commanded, the other beggars backed off, distancing themselves from the old man. His wrinkled skin and gnarled cane spoke of great age.
“Tolem,” Kered said, bowing deeply at the waist. The incredible distance between Kered’s height and Tolem’s made Kered’s obeisance almost ludicrous. He could have crushed the old man in one hand.
“Kered? Leoh’s chosen one. Am I correct?” Tolem’s gravelly voice sounded as if he hadn’t used it for years.
“You have an excellent memory.” Kered hunkered down on his haunches before the old man and still the old man needed to tilt his head to look up at the warrior.
“I remember the ones who matter,” Tolem said. “You have rescued my namesake. How may we reward you?”
“I ask nothing.” Kered gestured in Maggie’s direction. “We came upon the child in a timely manner, ‘tis all.”
“Many would say ‘good riddance’ and watch the sport.” The old man spat into the dust.
“And many others would have done as we did,” Kered said.
The old man grunted, then turned to stare at Maggie with open curiosity. His scrutiny made her itch all the more, and she rubbed her upper arms.
“For what reason do you journey through the Forbidden Lands?” Tolem asked, shifting his attention back to Kered.
“I make the ancient quest.”
The old man leaned forward precariously on his cane. “‘Tis said in legend one must bear the sign to make the quest. Do you?”
“Aye. Or so Nilrem says.”
“Nilrem.” The old man spat again. “Show me this sign.”
“No.” Kered said it softly, but a ripple of unease swept the band of beggars.
A tiny hand crept up and clutched Maggie’s. She looked down to find the little beggar at her side. He shot her a worried look as if to urge her to do something.
Tolem shook his head at Kered. “You are a brave man to refuse me. One against my many.”
“I have dealt honorably with you and yours each time our paths have crossed.” Kered stayed in his relaxed position, crouching before the indignant elder. The two men considered each other in silence.
“You do not play upon the saving of the child. ‘Tis what most men would do.”
Kered rose to his full height. “I am not most men.”
The old man nodded and an audible gasp swept the beggars. He chattered to his band in their strange tongue, then turned back to Kered. “Camp on our land in peace, Kered.” He pointed to the pool with his cane. “Take what you will from yonder water. ‘Tis welcome you are.”
The boy hung on Maggie’s arm until his mother dragged him away. He stared over his shoulder, calling out in his language until his words were lost in the winds as they crossed over the ridge.
“What was the boy saying, Ker?” Maggie asked, scratching vigorously now that the company was gone.
Kered strolled to the water’s edge and splashed water on his face. “He wished to mate with you.”
“What?” Maggie cried.
Kered cupped the water and took a long drink, then rose and shook his wet hands. “Aye. He wanted Tolem to barter for—” He broke off and stared at her. Then, like an anxious bridegroom carrying his bride over the threshold, he swept her into his arms and ran to the water’s edge. With a mighty heave, Kered flung Maggie into the Sacred Pool.
Chapter Ten
Sputtering and choking, Maggie clawed her way to the surface. She rose in water to her shoulders and screamed, “How dare you? How dare—”
“The venom. Your face.” Kered waded in next to her, uncaring of his splendid attire. He rubbed her cheeks and neck with his hands. “Blisters. Can you not feel them?”
In truth, Maggie now felt a burn where before she had felt o
nly itching. “Is it bad?” she asked, peering up into his face. Anxiety was all she saw.
“Aye.” He rubbed her arms. “Down.” He put a hand onto the top of her head and pushed.
Maggie sucked in air just before the water closed about her head. She opened her eyes and peered about. The clear water soothed her itchy skin, but one glance showed her a muddy bottom being churned by their feet. Soon nothing would be visible.
“Stand still,” Maggie ordered when she surfaced. “You’re stirring up the bottom. How will we find the sword? If it’s rusty, it’ll blend into the mud.”
“Rusty? Ruhtra’s sword will not be rusty!” Kered bellowed as he continued to rub at Maggie’s arms and shoulders.
He was getting far too much enjoyment from the activity, Maggie thought. She slapped his hands away. “I’m fine.” She waded very slowly to the water’s edge. “Oh, damn, I lost a boot!”
Kered leaned over and swept the muddy bottom with his hand and came up with something that looked like drowned kitten.
“My gun,” Maggie wailed, stomping like a peg-legged pirate in her one boot. She shook the water off the gun’s barrel, looking hopelessly around for something to dry it. “Maybe the water cleaned out the slime.” She took aim and pressed the red button. A perfectly round hole appeared in a treetop, leaving a green doughnut shape behind. “At least something good came from this,” she called over her shoulder. Kered’s heated expression made her look down.
Her black dress might have been dusty and smelly before, but now it was hopelessly stained—and plastered to her body. Streaks of slime had bleached the color from it in long, wide stripes and splatters. Her hand groped into the neckline, then she sighed with relief. Her pendant still hung between her breasts, protected and safe.
Kered waded ashore and opened his pack. He knelt by the pool and made a paste in his palm, then approached her warily. Their tantalizing kiss had rendered all conversation stilted, at best. If Maggie’s stomping and muttering were any indication of her mood, he feared she might take aim with her gun and make a hole in his middle.
He urged her to the water’s edge. Gently, he dotted the healing gray paste on the blisters on her cheeks and upper arms. His throat burned. Her skin might be ruined, permanently scarred by the dragon’s venom. He was not sensitive to the caustic liquid, but he had seen the ugly scars on those who were. Should he tell her the sores might rot and eat away at her cheeks, burrowing like living worms? No. He could not tell her. He tipped up her chin, carefully covering each blister, hoping he was in time to save her beauty from sure ruin.
“Your gown must come off.” Kered walked behind her and one-handedly plucked open the buttons on her gown. Only a few were done; she’d fastened them herself and many were out of her reach.
“Off? Are you nuts?” Maggie whipped about, her hands clasped protectively to her breasts.
“Nuts? What do nuts have to do with… It matters not. If I do not treat your blisters, they will suppurate.”
Maggie looked at her hands. “Why should I take off my dress?”
“We must see if the slime went through.” Maggie shook her head at him. “‘Tis false modesty to stand and hide yourself when as we wait, the slime could be doing damage—permanent damage.” Kered wanted to rip the dress from her. He imagined the spreading blisters all too well to wait more than another moment.
She flushed red, with gray polka dots, and obliged. Bending, she lifted the dress over her head and dropped it.
Kered watched her spread her hands to shelter her breasts from his view. He tried to maintain the proper seventh level of control. He almost succeeded in keeping his blood in the right place—almost. Dabbing the gray paste on her neck and chest was not too bad. But when Maggie lowered her fingers, keeping the tips over her nipples, his hand began to shake and his blood rebelled and took the shortest path to its favorite place.
The slime had seeped through the thin fabric of her gown. Long swaths of blisters trailed along the inside of her breasts—sweet, small breasts with ripe, rosy nipples. He gulped and kept dabbing on the paste. His blood raced and flooded through him. Stealing a glance at Maggie’s face, he relaxed. Her eyes were closed as tight as a sealed cask of gold. She could not see his difficulty. He peeled up one of her fingertips and soothed the salve along a nasty blister.
One touch. He slicked his fingertip with the healing herbal and swept it along the rise of her breast and under to the warm crease formed by the slight swell of her breast. He lingered there, stroking her. If he thought her nipples taut before, now they swelled like small berries, succulent and full. He wanted to taste the fruit, but his desires had not slipped entirely out of control. He smoothed the salve in long sweeps down her stomach and thighs, then hesitated. “This undergarment? Is it made of more sturdy stuff than the gown?”
Maggie did not open her eyes. She squeezed them even tighter and flushed. “It’s cotton, kinda old and not too sturdy, I’m afraid.”
“Take it off.”
Maggie’s hands shook. She opened her eyes. Kered had half turned to the pool. She slipped her panties down her legs a few inches and saw that the skin beneath them was smooth and unblemished. She quickly tugged the panties up. “I’m fine. Nothing got through both layers.”
Maggie watched him wade into the pool to his waist. He stood in the cold water for a few minutes, hands on hips, staring across the expanse of silver-slick water. The sky, suffusing to a light lavender, reflected in an iridescent gleam across the water.
She groped at her feet for her dress.
“Do not touch the gown,” he ordered. Maggie snatched her hands back. “Take my other shirt, in my pack.”
Maggie nodded to his back and flew to the horse. She groped in the pack and drew out his crumpled shirt. Its scratchy, woolly surface would chafe her skin and set her to sweating, but it reached past her calves, offering complete concealment.
Kered left the water, pacing in long strides to her side. He unstrapped his fur-lined cloak from beneath his pack and, using his knife, sliced another strip from the hem. He neatly folded the cloak, then approached her.
“To bind the shirt.” His hands were gentle as he reached about her waist and wrapped the strip of cloth twice around her, knotting it loosely. “The herbal will cling to the blisters until you bathe it off.” Turning away, he lifted up her dress and inspected the damage, then whirled to face her.
“Seven,” he growled.
“Seven?” Maggie repeated.
“Aye. Where once there were eight buttons, now there are seven. ‘Tis unlucky.” He said it as if she were to blame for their troubles.
“I-I suppose I lost one somewhere. What difference will it make?’’ She knew by his expression that this was important.
“Do you believe in omens?’’ He folded the gown into squares.
She considered her time on the Navajo reservation visiting her grandmother. Although Maggie was only one-quarter Navajo, she had been taught to respect the ideologies of all peoples. There were mysteries and meanings unexplained in every religion.
“Yes, I do.” Maggie said it simply and sincerely.
“Seven is considered a dark numeral. There are eight chiefdoms. If one rebels, there is war. You wear a pendant with the image found on the sacred sword. It has eight strands for the eight heavenly bodies circling our sun. Your gown was fastened with eight buttons. Surely you see?”
“I see that this is important to you. One button is gone. How will that change what we are doing here?”
“I do not know.” He sighed. “I am weary. Perhaps I am unduly concerned.” He shrugged and went to unsaddle Windsong, throwing the saddle and bridle over the branch of a low-spreading tree, whose leaves reminded Maggie of a sugar maple. He tethered the horse to graze on the tough, short grass surrounding them.
“What are you going to wear?” Maggie nodded at his squelching boots and dripping garments.
“I will dry my clothes by the fire.”
With a lithe moti
on, he stripped his shirt off and flung it over a tree branch. Maggie stared, then groaned and spun away when he edged his trousers down his hips. A bolt of sheer lust ran through her. She heard him laugh as she marched to the edge of the pool to cool her thoughts.
After several moments he called out to her. “You may look, little slave.”
She sneaked a peek over her shoulder. He had donned the worn breeches from his trek to Hart Fell. His feet were bare and he was shaking drops of water from his boots. Maggie edged near. “Aren’t you cold?”
He looked up and grinned, shaking his head and sending his long hair tumbling about his shoulders. Back to mangy.
Maggie wondered how she was going to sit across from all that naked flesh when he swept his blue cloak over his shoulders. She slumped to the ground in relief. If he remained decently covered, she might be able to think—might. But he didn’t remain sitting.
“Where are you going?” she asked as he shouldered his pack.
“I will hunt. Fresh meat will aid in your healing.”
Maggie watched him stride away to the gently rolling hills covered in rough gorse. Tiny yellow flowers, like miniature daisies, clustered near at hand. Maggie plucked several and began a daisy chain to still her apprehension at being left alone.
When Kered returned a scant hour later, with several animals strung on a cord, Maggie tried to contain her relief. She hopped to her feet and grinned. “What did you find?” Her smile died. Hanging from the cord were three cute, plump creatures. They had blue spines and Maggie knew instantly where the bristles in Kered’s brush came from.
Despite growing up in a family of dedicated hunters, the death of any animal bothered Maggie. With ill-concealed distaste, she watched Kered slit the animals up the belly and in smooth, practiced strokes, separate the hide from the animal.
Kered chattered as he worked. “The blue-Goh is a delicacy and hard to trap, for they like to curl in a ball and hide in the brush. I am quite proficient with the snare; thus you will dine well.”
