Faithful

by Michelle Hauck

  Teresa tilted her head, trying to discover what was so fascinating about Alvito. A man’s face had never made her heart quicken. This one was no different. Sure, his was more regular in feature than some others—the beard more square, the nose straighter. But pain tightened the corners of his eyes and made his skin pale. And while his lack of shirt showed off well-defined muscles, it also displayed the bandages wrapping his chest that hid wounds to his lungs. And, despite his injuries, he primped his mustache—the first thing he’d done upon waking was wash himself and trim his beard. The man had more vanity than any woman. Not that it mattered—the perfect man was never going to be right for her, let alone this cocky soldier. Though Teresa admitted he also had plenty of bravery—or the saint’s own luck.

  When they’d found Gomez’s body partially eaten by panthers, they’d assumed the same fate had met Alvito—his body dragged off by the big cats. That was until Elo noticed the reeds cut in small pieces by the lakeside. The man had somehow used the reeds as hollow tubes to clear the air out of his chest wounds. His horse had defended him as he had crawled to the nearest tree and climbed into a defensible position. To escape the predators, he’d waited there three days until help arrived. A deed worthy of songs.

  Since Elo’s instructor, the healer Fagilda, declared Alvito would live, Teresa had given up on advancing her friendship with Elo. Teresa admired the young woman’s questioning mind—so much like Bromisto’s. She had offered to take the girl to Colina Hermosa and acquire her a place at the university to study healing. Now it seemed Elo was more likely to become a soldier’s wife.

  Teresa sighed and walked over to stand by them. The girl needed lessons in hiding her feelings. Lessons Teresa had mastered long ago and put into play to conceal her disappointment. She wasn’t unhappy that Alvito would live—that was wonderful—just that Elo would never notice her. Teresa shook herself out of her own heartsick mooning. Love may be out of the question for her, but she still had her career and her friends. The girl was too young for her anyway, and by that measure, too young for Alvito also, who was nearer to her age.

  “Any news today?” Teresa asked.

  “Oh,” Elo said with a grimace. “I forgot. My father is back.”

  Teresa exchanged a look with Alvito, and the man used his elbows to lever up to a half sit. They’d heard nothing since Suero reluctantly told them Ramiro had left the village with the witch girl—apparently she’d joined him of her free will as Suero said nothing about her being tied. That had been over a sevenday ago, and she and Alvito craved to know more, to no avail. None of the villagers would consent to go to Colina Hermosa, and Suero had forbidden his young son, Bromisto, when Teresa had attempted to bribe him.

  Elo brightened. “You go ask him about your other friend and I’ll sit here.”

  Of course she would, Teresa thought unfairly. She tried to push the mud from her arms and hands but only smeared it more. “Where—”

  “With the hunters,” Elo answered before she could finish. She pointed vaguely toward the western end of the camp.

  “Bring him here, and I’ll handle him,” Alvito said, a fierce frown darkening his face. Teresa doubted Suero would be intimidated by a man who couldn’t stand on his own feet, and rolled her eyes. When it came to handling the obstinate village leader, she was on her own.

  Before Teresa took two steps from her post, a small girl caught Teresa around her thick waist in a brief hug and then ran off into the crowd, dragging a tree branch behind her. The children of Colina Hermosa had adopted her as their mother figure. She didn’t quite understand it—she had never exactly thought of herself as maternal—but she realized her city clothes and accent must reassure them in the strange world they found themselves.

  And she wasn’t complaining—their attention had become the best thing about her time in the makeshift camp. Unused to cooking or chores or children, Teresa had been thrust into overseeing a hundred of them with more arriving every day. She had promised Ramiro to see to them, and see to them she would, even if it killed her to stay here with no news. It was the least she could do after losing his horse within the first day. Sancha had run off when they’d been rescuing Alvito. Teresa wasn’t sure whether that was reassuring or worrying. The caballos de guerra stayed loyal for life, which meant the mare should have stayed put as Ramiro commanded. Did Sancha sense Ramiro was in danger and so hurry to him? Teresa feared somehow the horse knew more than she did about Ramiro’s situation.

  Nothing she could do about it now.

  As she searched the moving crowd for signs of Suero, a boy about the height of her shoulder—a little bigger than Bromisto but less familiar with the swamp—showed her a pouch full of blueberries.

  “Did you watch for quicksand?” she asked. He nodded, but his beaming face fell in disappointment. Teresa adjusted her words, trying to remember how fragile children were. “A fine job. Just what we need for our dinner. What would we do without you? Take it to the women at the cook fires, please.”

  A smile reappeared across his face as Teresa clapped him on the back. “Have you seen the hunters?” she asked before he turned.

  He pointed in the direction she’d been going, and she saw a group of figures at the edge of the clearing by the trees. Teresa broke into a trot. If Suero was back, maybe this time he had fresh news. She wished Bromisto was there to back her up, but their guide through the swamp was likely hiding to avoid more chores.

  Halfway there, two small girls appeared in front of her, forcing Teresa to a halt. “My sister is sick,” the taller said, her voice shaking. “Her eyes.” Tears made clean runnels down the older girl’s dirty cheeks.

  As Teresa looked closer, she added baths to her list of things to arrange. The smaller girl had little blogs of yellowish pus at the corners of her eyes, but the whites of her eyes were clear and not bloodshot. She stood tall as if to show her bravery, however a little whimper came out.

  “I want my mamá,” the small one said.

  Something tightened in Teresa’s throat. She wasn’t prepared for this responsibility. “Your mamá will be here soon,” she lied. “It’s just a cold from the damp swamp air,” Teresa added to reassure them. “Nothing to worry about. Go to Alvito’s blanket and have Elo look at it. She’s a healer. She’ll know what to do,” she added more confidently than she felt. Hopefully, her words were true.

  The sisters darted off, but not before grubby hands caught Teresa in a hug. Teresa hugged back, some of her worry lifting with their childish gesture. The university was full of adults—she had had no idea of the satisfaction that could come from such innocent expressions of gratitude.

  The crowd parted to give her a clear view of the dozen or so hunters and Suero at their center. He stood with his back to her. Bits and pieces of armor covered his arms and legs. A long sword hung from his belt. A frown pulled down Teresa’s mouth when she saw him—those were Ramiro’s. Worry and anger warred inside her for dominance.

  Anger won.

  The village leader claimed he’d found Ramiro’s gear, but every word out of his mouth could be a lie, including his assurances that Ramiro lived. She couldn’t believe Ramiro would leave a sword behind.

  That said, the rest of his men could have stolen weapons and armor off the dead Northerners and pelotónes members, but superstition stopped them. They feared the ghosts of the dead haunting them more than they desired weapons. It was that which gave Teresa hope Ramiro really did live and Suero spoke the truth for once. Unless . . . her friend had been robbed before they killed him.

  She hurried the rest of the distance, grabbing Suero and pulling him around. The bent man was her height, but weighed less, though heavy shoulders made him seem bigger. Like most village men, the only thing he respected was confidence, and the ability to back it up. He was used to women with none of either. His affected attitude when around her reflected that, and speaking with the wiry man always made her want to wash.

  “What news? You’ve been out hunting?”

 
; His squinty dark eyes regarded her without blinking. “It’s a man’s job, woman.” Suero spat and stared at her dirty trousers then made his way to her man-length hair. “But you seem confused about that. Can’t tell which is which.”

  Teresa kept her feet steady, refusing to let this vile man make her back down. Her studies had taught her some about the outlying villages and their culture. Elo and Bromisto offering her blankets assured her of guest rights, guaranteeing her the tolerance of their father. He could beat his own wife and daughters, but for any non-relative females, violence was taboo. That didn’t prevent him from lying to her and edging as close to disrespect as possible. Their distrust of anything from the cities made lying their natural reaction.

  “Any news?” she repeated doggedly.

  “Aye,” the village leader said reluctantly. “Found more of your city brats.” He gestured where a handful of children entered the clearing led by two of Suero’s unfriendly men. “More mouths to feed. I said I’d take them to a safe spot, but the rest is up to them.”

  Teresa hesitated then nodded. She’d manage more children somehow, thankfully most of the women were willing to help feed them. “We pull our own, in case you haven’t noticed. We earn our keep.”

  Suero grunted, and she turned. There was only so much of this man she could stand at a time.

  “And smoke,” he said.

  She spun back around. “What?”

  “I said ‘smoke.’ You asked for news.” Something distasteful lit up his eyes. “We saw a vast plume of smoke . . . to the east. That’s the direction of your city, isn’t it, woman?” He gestured to the hazy air. “A vast cloud of it. Didn’t you notice?”

  Teresa stood transfixed.

  The haze.

  Not clouds.

  Smoke.

  “Oh saints!” Now that he mentioned it, she thought she could smell it in the air. But could this be another of his lies? “You’re certain? It was east. How can you tell?” The trees—many of them towering sycamore—made it hard to see much of anything in the swamp, including the sky.

  “Because we went back to the village, woman. That’s how I could tell. There’s an open view there. It’s east—a great thick plume of it. Blots out the sky.”

  Denial rushed to her tongue. “You swear.”

  “I swear by the strength of my good right arm. May it weaken and wither if I lie. Does that satisfy you, woman?” A sly smiled crept over his face. “Seems there’s something amiss with your city.”

  “If there is, you should be concerned, too,” she snapped.

  “Why? We know how to survive here. Which is more than I can say for you city folk,” he said with a sneer.

  Worry made a drumbeat in her chest. Instead of rounding up the new children, she stood fixed like the rawest student on his first day to class.

  Something tugged on Teresa’s poncho, and she turned to find a toddler with big brown eyes. “I’s hungry,” the girl lisped.

  “I know, Ines,” Teresa managed to say. The toddler said as much at least fifteen times an hour. “We’re all hungry.” The little girl’s eyes only got bigger. “Go over to the cook fires and tell them I said you could have some blueberries until it’s time for supper.”

  Ines hurried away, and Teresa found that Suero had used the distraction to escape back into the group of his men. No doubt he expected her to keep to a female’s place and respect the hunters. His ways were not hers. She cut right through to confront the village leader again.

  “Send someone,” Teresa pressed. “Send someone to see what happened.”

  Face tight, Suero held up his hand. “You think I’ve got men to spare to see what happened to your fool city?”

  Teresa let her anger show. The man would respect nothing else. Any other response would be considered weakness by their culture, as their own women were encouraged to be submissive. To keep her place she must act as confident as any man. “Then go yourself. It concerns you as much as anyone. The Northerners are your threat, too. Find out how things stand.”

  “I’ve got all these people to feed. Go yourself, why don’t you. A woman can be spared. Unless you’ve got something to bargain.”

  She glared. He meant Alvito’s horse and gear. Well, that wasn’t hers to give and she wouldn’t trade it if it were. Stupid, stubborn man. He’d rather perish than admit a woman might have a good idea.

  Suero turned his back on her, and she let him go. There would be no cooperation here. If she took his advice and went herself, what would happen to the children? Who would care for them in her absence? Suero would see they got nothing. She felt torn apart and her feet stumbled taking her back to her shelter.

  “I should go,” Teresa said aloud. “Ramiro might need my help.”

  The boy who had shown her the blueberries stood at her side. He twisted his shoe into the wet ground. “I just wondered about blankets. There’s not enough for everyone.”

  “I’ll see about it,” Teresa told him distractedly. “Would you greet the new children for me? Start on settling them until I can get there. I’ll just be a minute.” She sent the boy on his way. With another group of children, there would be even less to go around.

  A cloud of what she now knew was smoke passed over the sun—its shadow a reminder of how chilly it would become when night fell. Teresa glanced around at the weeds and grasses of the clearing. The newly arrived children stood grouped at the edge, near the trees, at a loss for what to do now with no adults helping them. The children would have no idea how to take care of themselves. They couldn’t even start fires.

  Ramiro’s motto came to her: Always see first to Colina Hermosa and its civilians. But which civilians: the ones here or the ones at Colina Hermosa?

  Teresa knew.

  She dragged her pants higher by its rope belt and strode toward Alvito. He could take over for the short time she was gone—just to find out what happened at home—to prepare for what might be coming for them. She’d take one of the mules and be back in . . . five or six days. The thought made her heart wilt, but they couldn’t go on with this worry and doubt. Best to know the worst, she’d always believed.

  “It’s smoke,” she said, pointing to the sky. “Suero says it’s coming from Colina Hermosa. I’ve got to go. I’ve got to know what’s happening. If it’s the worst . . . we’ll need to go deeper into the swamp.”

  Alvito and Elo stared at her as if she’d lost her wits. Alvito snapped out of it first. “I’ll go with you.”

  “You can’t even stand,” she huffed, bending to grab her saddlebags. “Plus, I need you to stay here and take care of the children. Someone has to, Cat.” The nickname he’d given himself seemed even more appropriate now that he’d avoided being eaten by panthers.

  Alvito levered himself to a sitting position. “Take Suero with you. The man is a born brawler. He’d be handy in a fight.”

  “No offense, Elo”—she gave the girl an apologetic glance while answering Alvito—“but I don’t think your father would exactly stand by me. And besides, he lives in a squalid village at the edge of a swamp—ambition is not his strong suit.” Not without a hefty price, she thought but didn’t voice. She thrust clothing and a blanket into the bags.

  “You’ll get lost,” Alvito insisted.

  “I’ll follow the road. I can tell whether a church is located in Aveston, Zapata, or another ciudades-estado just by looking at the altar cloth. I’m not a fool.”

  “The road is suicide. Your book learning won’t serve you now. I’m coming with you.” Before she could tell him no again, he’d climbed to his feet, wavering unsteadily with a white face. She glimpsed a flash, and was surprised to see a knife quivering in the bald spot of the nearest sycamore trunk. “I’m weak, not helpless.”

  “That would be impressive if you could go and fetch it,” Teresa said. But once again to her surprise, he made his slow way over to the tree and wrenched out the knife.

  “I might have been feeling better than I let on.” He shrugged and winked. “
So I like being waited on.”

  She scowled, but noticed he still leaned against the sycamore. He wasn’t that much better.

  “I’ll be riding,” he said interpreting her look. “Not walking. I can handle it.”

  “No. Then who’d look after the children?”

  “I will,” Elo said, getting to her feet. “I can do it. I’ll make Estefanio help me.”

  Teresa couldn’t help but smile. “Not if you call him by his real name.” He’d dubbed himself Bromisto, meaning trickster, and didn’t care much for his older sister’s bossing to start with. “Let me ask him.”

  “Then it’s settled?” Alvito asked.

  She thought on it. It did make sense—injured as he was, he could still handle himself better then she could alone. She nodded. “It’s settled, Cat. But if you fall off your horse, I’m not picking you up.”

  “You know you’d do anything to touch this body.”

  Elo blushed at that, but Teresa just rolled her eyes and went to find Bromisto, Alvito’s laughter following her.

  Chapter 7

  Ramiro sank onto his bedroll, struggling to come to grips with his father’s words. He must make a choice: the fate of his people over the feelings of one slim girl, who wasn’t even part of his race.

  A girl he’d known only a handful of days.

  It shouldn’t be a choice. There should be none of this confusion, no questioning of his honor. He’d promised not to force her to use her magic, but how did that compare to the lives of thousands? Yet . . .

  He pictured her face with its pale scattering of freckles lifted up to look at him. The little upturn to her nose. Her blue eyes so trusting lately . . .

  Saints. Why was it always one more thing piled on another? Why couldn’t it end?

  With no chance of sleep, he glanced over at Sancha. The mare slept, her head down in the way of horses. He thought he detected the flicker of an eye in his direction. Unlike other animals, caballos de guerra didn’t mind being alone. Other horses clumped together when put into a pasture. The dapple-gray animals were as likely to stand off by themselves as in a group. Unbonded youngsters stayed together, but once a caballo de guerra matched with a human, they seemed to need nothing more. Sancha was content alone here as long as Ramiro was near. Plus, the servants spoiled her rotten with small treats from the kitchen.