The man regarded them, his every movement anxious and hostile. He was not much taller than Danladi, but compact, stout, with an aura of suppressed strength and a furrowed forehead in a face older than its years.
As they approached, Danladi raised his head but didn’t meet her eyes. “Sara, gift of the Heleini and Zeynel, companion to the gift, welcome. I am Danladi, future Akier of the Zorcani, and this is my—my fath—the Regent Gunari.”
His hands trembled, but the obvious effort to steel his voice made Sara cringe. She fought the urge to rush forward and take Danladi in her arms. Zeynel grasped her elbow as though he sensed her thoughts.
The boy looked thinner than she remembered, and vulnerable. A slow anger seethed in her chest. He was so young. He should be asking for luna fruit and playing ball with his friends, not standing in the middle of a power struggle between men. He glanced at her once with eyes grown too large for his face before focusing on the ground again.
She lowered her head in respect to Danladi, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and repeated the gesture for Gunari.
“Welcome to the house of Mircea. Please sit.” Gunari stepped forward, his gaze running down the length of Sara’s body, before clapping his hands.
Her jaw clenched to hide a smile. Are you trying to unnerve a frail-looking female? There had been no heat, no lust in the Akier’s gaze. Thick curtains on one side of the room parted to let in two women carrying in a tray with a large covered bowl and several cups. As the women poured steaming cups of a fragrant liquid, Gunari directed Sara and Zeynel to a raised platform toward the back of the room. They settled on woven mats near Danladi. The boy kept his gaze on the ground in front of him as the women stood the pot on a trestle by the table and backed out of the room.
“Forgive the harsh words of my warriors. These are understandably...tense times.” Gunari eyed Danladi but his words were for her.
Sara cleared her throat. “We would request council with you.” She glanced at Danladi and then toward the silent figures at the back of the room. “Alone, if possible.”
Gunari’s gaze unfocused, as if looking through her into the fire, then he turned to Danladi and his hand hovered in midair—close enough to the boy’s small head as if meant to be a comforting gesture. Gunari’s fingers twitched and he placed his hand back in his lap.
He didn’t appear to be an unkind man, so why would he steal another man’s son? When his eyes focused on her, she could see turmoil lurking in his black irises. “Yes—yes. Danladi, please go and tell Aisha to prepare sleeping quarters for our guests.”
Danladi nodded and struggled to his feet. Two of the men in shadows stepped forward to meet him; the third stayed. As the boy passed by Sara, he glanced once in her direction, his gaze pleading.
Sara briefly closed her eyes. She would return him to his home.
Gunari straightened; any appearance of gentleness dissipated. His voice filled the room. “I will be frank. I know what Tobar wants. It is what I would want were our positions exchanged.” His chin came up a fraction. “But they aren’t and it is too late. We have Danladi and he is to be made Akier of the Zorcani at the full moon. There is no going back.”
Sara meet Gunari’s gaze and took several deep breaths before she spoke. “Yes. Let’s not stand on ceremony or waste time with rhetoric—there is no time to waste. You are wrong, Gunari. Tobar hasn’t sent us to take Danladi back.”
Doubt crept into Gunari’s fierce gaze. “Continue.”
Sara leaned forward. “When we claimed we were a gift, we did not lie. Tobar sent me to heal your son.”
Color drained from Gunari’s face before his bitter laughter echoed off the stone walls. “Does Tobar think I haven’t done everything possible? Does he think I would have allowed my only son to die without wrestling the One himself? When I said it was too late, I meant it. There is no more hope for my son.”
Sara’s stomach lurched. “Is he—”
Gunari’s gaze darted between Sara and Zeynel then settled on Sara. “My son is beyond your help, woman.”
“Is he dead?”
The fire crackled in the silence that followed.
Suddenly, Ilydearta warmed. Power rushed through her chest and into her limbs. Her eyes focused on Gunari but she saw beyond to the rise and flow of interwoven destinies, broken threads of choices made and unmade, tattered webs created and destroyed by the whims and needs of people. She watched Gunari’s pupils shrink and realized the stone shone through her tunic. Her voice sounded far away to her ears. “He is not dead and so he is not beyond my help.”
* * *
Gunari watched the woman. Only a girl? He amended his previous assumption. And the old man? He glanced toward Zeynel; he’d shut his eyes, his features relaxed as though sleeping. Who are these people? Power crackled around the woman, leaving the air brittle, like right before the firestorms that rocked the mountain and lit the skies with their glory. The light dimmed. Alarm filled Gunari’s breast and he heard the guard fumble with his darts. She was looking toward him but not at him—through him, pinning him to the spot, rending through artifice and guile to expose him. Then a gentle wind touched his face. When he blinked, her eyes were focused again on him and a small hope flickered in his chest. He signaled the guard to stand down.
“Who are you?” he breathed.
* * *
Sara settled on the mat and picked up her tea. It seemed an anticlimactic thing to do but she was thirsty. “I am skilled with herbs. May I examine your son?”
Leather creaked at the back of the room and could almost see a dart returning to its quiver. Zeynel let out a long breath.
Gunari blinked as if returning from deep sleep and rubbed both hands over his face. “I have been told everything has been done that can be done. It is over. He is lost to us.” His voice had taken a dreamy tone. “I will not have you desecrate him. Leave him the little dignity he has left.”
“You mean let him die.”
Pain flickered across Gunari’s pupils. “His body was purified from the poison of the snake. I have done all I that I could do.”
“But I haven’t done all I can do,” Sara said. “Are you willing to gamble his life on the word of a trader, a tegosi you may never see again?”
“Says one tegosi of another,” Gunari muttered. “Is this Tobar’s revenge, to dangle hope once more only to have it dashed against the mountain?” He stood up and paced the enclosure. “You come as a gift, Sara of the Heleini, but you are no Heleini. You are not of the People.” His eyes narrowed. “What is to stop me from showing you the hospitality of the dart and claim I never saw you? The mountains are a dangerous place, especially now, when the winds roam its paths.”
“It is within your power to attempt such thing.” Sara settled her cup on the table and met Gunari’s gaze. She was betting everything on a hunch that Gunari didn’t want to give up on his son.
After a long moment, his shoulders fell. He walked heavily to the fire and stretched out his hands, his eyes dull and lifeless. “What does Tobar gain if you succeed, besides his son?”
“Isn’t that enough? If I succeed, you both gain your sons.”
“And if you fail?”
If I fail, there will be a civil war to rival the battle of the ancients across these lands and you will lose more than your son. Sara stood and reached for Gunari’s hand. “If I fail, what more have you lost?”
Gunari narrowed his eyes, anger slowly bringing color back to his face, his voice gaining in strength. “What do you gain, woman? Do you care for Tobar so much? Have you become a Heleini bitch?”
Sara took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. “If it is within my power to heal your son, I will. What happens after is up to you and Tobar.” Sara’s eyes bore into the Zorcani’s. She willed him to change his mind with every fiber of her being. She hadn’t lie
d. She knew the life of this boy was important to the People’s survival, but even if it wasn’t, she couldn’t step aside and watch a young boy die if he could be saved.
For an instant fury flashed across Gunari’s eyes, but it ebbed, leaving unshed tears beneath the surface. When he spoke, the strength once more had drained from his voice. “Come, and see for yourselves.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Trailed by the guard, Gunari led Sara and Zeynel out of the room. They followed him back through the hallway and into the cold night air, the full moon riding high in a purple bowl of sky sprinkled thick with stars. The night seemed made of glass, frigid air cutting Sara’s lungs as she breathed. More small structures than she could count huddled under the rock outcropping. The village had been molded to the mountain, melted to its forms until the two were one. If the Heleini were one with the Faisach, the Zorcani were joined to the unyielding rock.
Sara scanned the granite overhang a length above her head. She shivered when a gust of wind whipped across the barren rocks and through the dwarfed bushes and stunted, leafless trees growing from crevices and cracks, making a whistling noise that echoed in her mind like crying children.
“Sara?”
She saw that Zeynel waited by an open doorway. Gunari had already ducked inside. A guard stood at the entrance, gazing into the darkness beyond. She glanced toward the Zorcani guard behind them, then stepped inside.
The structure was a smaller copy of the one they just left, except it was stifling. A fire burned in the pit, a sleepy simmer of water-soaked logs the only sound not muted by the woolly wall hangings; a pot of water bubbled on a tripod over the flames. Around the fire and at intervals around the room, baskets full of rocks steamed to fill the air with moisture. They’ve made a steam room. The air was stuffy; Sara opened her mouth to breathe air into her lungs and tasted the damp tang of ancient stone. To the rear, a form lay under a pile of furs. Gunari stood looking down at it and suddenly his stocky body wilted, tears running down his cheeks. Sara glanced around as she unfastened her cloak. She met Zeynel’s gaze to find unyielding strength and something else she’d never noticed before—a flicker of affection in his dilated pupils.
Sara neared Gunari and his son.
Gunari lifted his face. “I do not know what skill you possess. It is in my mind that you are a witch of the kind told in the old stories and he is your familiar.” Gunari waved toward Zeynel. “I do not believe in the old stories, but you have a talisman of power. If a witch can heal my son, I will pay that price.” Dignity settled on his shoulders like a mantle. “I would pay any price.
“Sara, gift of Tobar, I give you permission to try to heal my son. Ask and you will be given everything you need. My heart tells me your power is great but power has failed me before. I will not hope—” he paused, “—much. However.” He stood. “I have been assured he will breathe until the new moon to complete the ritual but not a day longer. If his body dies before then, you will follow him. Understand?”
Sara swallowed past the sudden insecurity. What if she couldn’t heal him? So much depended on her. A weight settled on her shoulders. She lifted her chin, feigning a confidence she didn’t feel. “Yes. Thank you, Gunari.”
“Is there something you need to...to begin?”
“Water.” She glanced around the room. “Fresh, cool water. Also, do you have sugar and salt?”
“Yes. They will be brought.” Without another look back, he left the structure.
* * *
Sara glanced at the boy then to Zeynel. Her mentor’s eyes sparkled. “Well done.”
“Well done? Thanks, but that’s only the first part and not even the most difficult.” She knelt next to Shandor. Dark, wilted hair framed a face empty of color. Sara guessed he was about ten, but his eyes had sunk into his face until his head looked more like the skull of a skeleton than a boy.
By the Mother, what had they done to him? Sara put her hand on his chest. His heart beat fast and shallow. She pinched the tip of one finger then watched the blood creep too slowly back into the nail. Sara shook her head and let out a long breath as she pulled the furs away from Shandor’s body. She wrinkled her nose at the stench while examining the partially scarred bite marks halfway down his calf. Several other wounds were in various stages of healing on his thighs. “Didn’t Vadoma say she only bled him once?”
Zeynel nodded.
“That would be this mark here, just above the bite. But look at these.” She pointed to several dark red lines on his thigh. “He’s been bled often and the last time was not too long ago.” Her fingers hovered by a puncture near his groin. “This one has barely begun to heal. He’s severely dehydrated and near starving.” Sara replaced the coverings. “Purified? This boy has been kept weak and left to die. The trader was no healer.”
Zeynel regarded Sara, his gaze fathomless.
“Do you think he’s still in the village?” she asked. If he was, she’d like to show him the pointy end of her sword.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Why would Gunari allow him to leave?”
“If the healer told him there was nothing further to do, and promised he would last until the ritual was complete, why wouldn’t Gunari allow him to leave?”
“To hold him to his promise.”
The flap opened and two women entered, carrying baskets. They bowed their heads, then the taller girl stepped forward. “We have been sent to help you.”
She set down her baskets. “Salt and sugar. Diya has water.”
The small girl added a larger basket to their offering. Sara lifted the lids. The first held dark brown bricks about twice as thick and long as her thumb. In the second bowl, a pile of white crystals caught the light of the fire.
“Good. Thank you. I’m Sara and this is Zeynel. What is your name?”
The taller girl ventured a smile. “I am Aisha.”
Diya’s brown eyes were wide. “Are you really going to heal Shandor?”
“Shh, girl, have you no manners?” Aisha whispered fiercely, her gaze darting fearfully to the pile of furs on the mat. “Do not speak his name.” She turned to Sara. “Forgive my sister.”
“No offense taken.” Sara glanced at Zeynel, who shrugged. “Can you take these rocks out of here? I will also need fresh clothing and blankets.”
The women nodded, retrieved a few cooled rocks and then hurried out of the room.
Sara rolled her sleeves up. “Let’s keep this place warm for now. The first thing we need to do is wash this poor boy. Is there still hot water in the pot over the fire?”
Zeynel moved to the pot then lugged it near the bed, its contents sloshing over the reeds. “Do you need anything else?” He lifted an eyebrow.
“You’re the one who told the Heleini I was your master, don’t complain if I boss you around a bit.” She offered him a small smile.
“Was I complaining?”
“Maelys once told me the first skill a healer needs is the ability to clear a room and take command of those present. I see the wisdom in her teaching.” She paused and looked up at him. “Zeynel, you don’t have to stay. If I can’t heal him, we won’t outlive him by much, of that I’m certain, and someone should tell Tobar—”
“Sara, I belong here with you and there is nothing yet to tell Tobar.” Zeynel reached for her hand. “You do what you must, what you can. Let Teann move through you, and in you, and leave the rest for now. Fear is a wise thing because it keeps you alert, but you only need to recognize it, set it aside and do what must be done. That’s how heroes and legends are made.”
“But I’m not a hero or a legend,” she muttered. The boy had not moved since they walked in. She peeled off his clothing and handed them to Zeynel. “Just burn them.” The soiled garments were beyond saving.
With a soft cloth, she washed the boy’s
emaciated body. “My name is Sara, Shandor. I’m going to help you.” The boy didn’t respond. Aisha deposited a pile of blankets in a corner and began collecting rocks in a large basket. She avoided the pallet. Diya tested the rocks closer to Shandor, moving the cooler ones into her own basket.
Sweat pooled at the base of Sara’s neck and she checked the boy for any other wounds or marks as she washed him. Nothing.
Once the girls left, Sara turned to Zeynel. “Maelys warned me not to speak of names of the newly dead for fear they’d return to the sound and not continue the journey to the deadlands. Shandor is not dead. Why were the girls so worried?”
“I don’t know.” Zeynel shrugged.
“Well, I want to keep him on this side of the deadlands.” She dropped the cloth into the water. “Let’s get these off too.” Sara indicated the cloth-covered pallet. Zeynel lifted the boy as though he weighed nothing so Sara could strip the bedding to replace it with the fresh blankets. After covering the boy with a sheet, she brushed the hair back from his eyes. “Is that better, Shandor?”
Zeynel pulled back the tent flap to allow Aisha and three young men to enter. Aisha set down a large earthenware jar of water. Sara neared and asked them to take out all the larger stones, the old bedding and the rushing on the floor.
Sara struggled to take a deep breath. Even with the faint smell of lavender coming off the blankets, the air had a weight. “Could you secure the door flap open? The air in here is still so thick I can’t breathe.” A thought, like a sliver of pain, jolted through her mind. She turned to Zeynel. “It’s not just the heat in here, is it?”
Journey of Awakening Page 25
