When Ginger had taken over as priestess five years later, her brother had entreated the elders to let her live in this suite. It drained her to toil all day and sleep on the floor in a barren cell at night. She tried to hide her exhaustion, but her brother knew. Even so, the elders denied his petition. They feared to offend the dragon by giving a child these rooms, which were among the few privileges granted a priestess. It enraged her brother, who pointed out that Ginger had all the duties, that indeed, she had done them for years. The elders remained firm: she must wait until she was sixteen to formally assume the title.
Ginger quickly washed up and brushed her hair, which fell down her back in waves. She changed into a rose-silk wrap. The wraps were exquisite, but confining; for everyday wear, she wore an old tunic and leggings so she could do her work. With a patient in the temple, though, she might have visitors and had to observe proper protocols.
In the kitchen, she prepared a tray with rose-glasses and a carafe of water. Given the man’s injuries, she didn’t think solid food was a good idea, so she cooked two bowls of rice-cream with brown sugar. Carrying the tray and a sheet, she went into the main temple and walked through the dawn of bird song. Inside the Sunset Chamber, the stranger was as she had left him, asleep on his back.
Ginger set her tray on the table and covered him with the sheet. Then she murmured, “Wake up. I have food.”
No response.
Ginger caught her lower lip with her teeth. She had already touched him too much. But he needed to eat. Dragon-Sun, she thought, forgive my transgression. Then she brushed her finger alongside the bandage that stretched from the outer edge of his eye down his cheek.
The man stirred, then sighed. After a moment, his lashes lifted and he stared at the ceiling. He shifted his gaze to Ginger.
“You’ll be all right,” she said gently. She lifted his head and tilted the glass to his mouth. At first he didn’t respond, but when she ran a trickle of water between his lips, he swallowed convulsively. Although he drank with difficulty, he drained most of the glass before he sagged back. Ginger held his head, aware of him watching her with his dark, intense eyes. The swelling on his face had receded, and he looked a lot less like a corpse this morning.
“Where…?” he asked.
With apology, she said, “You are in the Sunset Chamber.”
His lips quirked the barest amount, far too little to qualify as a smile, but an astonishing ghost of humor. “Not ready for my sunset…yet…” His breath wheezed and he coughed, his face contorting.
“Shhh.” She laid her finger on his lips. “You must rest. Build your strength. Here.” She set down the glass and offered him a spoonful of the creamy rice cereal. He even managed three swallows before he gave up.
“Can you tell me your name?” she asked.
“Darz…”
She brushed the matted hair off his forehead. “Well, Darz, you and I are alone here, and I’m not strong enough to lift you. So I’m afraid I can’t move you somewhere more comfortable.”
His lashes drooped closed. “This’s fine….”
After a moment, she realized he was asleep. She gently set down his head, relieved to stop breaking the taboo. Or so she told herself. Her urge to keep holding him, offering comfort, disconcerted her. She leaned on the table, more tired than she wanted to admit after having spent the night crumpled on the floor. It couldn’t be any better for him on this hard table. As soon as he was strong enough for her to leave, she would run to the village for help.
She sat on the floor against the wall where she could watch Darz. She tried to eat her rice, but her head lolled forward. She brought it up with a jerk and set her bowl on the ground. Within moments, she was nodding again.
Ginger dozed, never fully asleep, always aware of her patient…
“Is anyone here?” The call resonated in the temple.
Ginger jerked awake. She jumped to her feet and hurried out of the chamber before she even fully knew what she was doing. Four miners were standing by the fountain.
“Harjan!” She couldn’t run in the wrap, or even stride, but she managed a fast walk. “I’m so glad you came!”
Relief suffused his face as he and the others turned to her. “Have you been in the Sunset Chamber?” he asked.
“All night.” She spoke quickly. “Can one of you go for the healer? We need a stretcher, too. We can use one of the acolyte’s rooms. They’re all empty, and I have no trainees. I’ll get bedding from the storeroom.”
“Ginger, slow down.” Harjan’s face crinkled with affection. “We can help you move the body, if that’s what you’re asking. But the healer can’t do anything for him. We’ll bring someone to help prepare him for burial.”
“No!” She stared at him, aghast. “He lives! I thought surely his spirit would leave during the night, but it stayed. He sleeps on the table. We must move him.” Another thought hit her. “Oh! If he turns over, he’ll fall on the floor.” She spun around and headed back to the Sunset room.
Darz had not only avoided rolling over in his sleep, he was awake when she entered the chamber. He pushed up on his elbow and stared past her, his expression hardening.
Glancing back, she saw the miners following her into the room. She went over to Darz. “It’s all right. These are friends. They will move you to a more comfortable place.”
Darz narrowed his eyes as Harjan came up to the table.
“You must lie down,” Ginger told Darz firmly. “You could start bleeding again.”
He looked as if he wanted to refuse, but his face was pale and his breathing labored. With difficulty, he eased back down. The entire time, he watched Harjan as if he expected an attack.
Harjan spoke cautiously. “I’m gratified to see that you live, Goodman…” He let the title hang like a question.
“Darz Goldstone,” the man said. His voice sounded creaky, as if he wasn’t ready to use it.
“Goodman Goldstone.” Harjan nodded in the greeting of one villager to another.
Darz stared at him strangely, but he returned the nod as well as he could while lying on his back.
Ginger laid her hand against Darz’s cheek, painfully aware of the miners watching her break the taboo. His skin felt cool. “You don’t have a fever. That’s good.” She had feared his wounds would fester and become inflamed.
Harjan glanced at the other men. “Can you get the stretcher?” Firmly he added, “And the healer?”
Perrine and Tanner went for the litter, and the third man headed to Sky Flames for the healer. Harjan stayed with Ginger and kept a wary gaze on her patient. He was the only one of the miners she knew well, though she often saw them working in the bluffs outside the village. They sold ores to the Zanterian caravans that came by Sky Flames, or else they journeyed to the far cities themselves to find buyers. Her brother, Heath, was doing exactly that right now; otherwise, she had no doubt he would be here, too, hulking suspiciously over Darz.
Perrine and Tanner returned with the stretcher, and Darz tensed as they lifted him onto it. She wanted to assure him they wouldn’t hurt him, but if he was anything like the men of Sky Flames, such words would offend his pride. So she held back.
They carried him to a cell. Darz lay completely still, his eyes closed, his face strained, and she feared they had moved him too soon. They certainly could risk nothing more. The miners had apparently understood her hurried words, for they had brought in a bed and blankets from storage, which no acolyte would have been allowed. After they set him in bed, she set a stool by the bed and sat down to check his bandages. Blood had seeped through the cloth on his torso.
The miners hovered behind her like a trio of wary hawks. She knew they didn’t want to leave her alone with Darz, but the more people who crammed the room, the more it would disturb her patient. She could tend the sick and was expected to do so for women and children. Surely they realized she needed to look after Darz, as well, however uncomfortable it made them all. Nor did she feel right keeping the men away from
the work that provided their livelihoods.
She spoke gently. “I thank you all for your generous help. But you needn’t stay.”
“It is our pleasure to help, Blessed One,” Tanner said.
“We can stay,” Harjan said. “It’s all right.”
Their solicitude both touched and flustered Ginger. She was used to looking after the temple on her own. It was grueling, and she often wished she had help, but most people in the village were struggling to support their own families.
“I don’t want to keep you from your work,” she said.
“It’s no trouble,” Tanner told her.
Harjan looked past her at Darz and frowned. “None at all.”
It took some time, and many reassurances, but she finally convinced Tanner and Perrine they could go. After they left, Harjan indicated the corner. “I’ll sit over there.”
Ginger stood up. “I’ll bring a chair.”
He reached out to stop her by putting his hand on her arm. Then he realized what he was doing and dropped his hand. “My apology!” His face turned red.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” she said. He hadn’t touched her, after all.
“You needn’t get a chair,” he said. “Surely if half-grown girls can live in these cells with no soft things, I can manage for one day.”
She smiled at him. “You would make a fine acolyte.” When he glared, she shooed him away. “It’s all right, Harjan. You don’t have to stay.”
“I don’t mean to intrude. I’m just not easy leaving you with him.”
“He can barely move,” she said.
Harjan raked his hand through his unruly black hair. “All right, Ginger-Sun. But if you need us, we’ll be at the bluffs.”
She inclined her head. “My thanks.” His concern touched her, and she did feel reassured to know they would be close.
When she was alone, Ginger watched Darz for a while. Eventually, though, she had to resume her duties, which today consisted of dull chores such as sweeping floors, dusting furniture and tending the fountain.
Darz slept soundly and roused only when the healer came. Brusque and efficient, the healer cleaned his wounds, stitched them up and gave him sky-wood tea to ease his pain. He cautioned against moving Darz and reluctantly advised Ginger to keep him in the temple until Darz recovered enough that they felt certain he would survive—if that happened.
Later, Ginger carefully woke Darz to give him water and spoonfuls of sweet rice-cream. He seemed so disoriented, and he barely ate anything before he dropped back into sleep. The only time he stirred on his own was when Tanner, one of the miners, came to check on Ginger. She wasn’t sure what woke Darz that time, unless it was the clink of the tools on Tanner’s belt. They sounded like weapons.
After she finished her chores, she retired to the archive room. She loved to read the scrolls, learning about her country of Taka Mal, where the Topaz Queen reigned in the ancient and splendorous city of Quaaz. Nothing ever happened in Sky Flames. It was a full day’s ride to the nearest town and half a country away to any major city. But Sky Flames usually had a priestess, which was more than many such isolated settlements could claim. The women who had served here before Ginger had recorded their thoughts about the land, nature, science, even mathematics. She most enjoyed reading their historical accounts.
Ginger was working on her own history. She had little to write about in her short life, certainly no land-shaking events, but she recorded the days in the village and temple. She wrote for the pure joy of capturing beauty with words. Perhaps her scrolls might offer some future historian the same pleasure that those of past priestesses did for her.
She took an antique scroll to Darz’s room and sat by his bed, reading as he slept. When she came to a fine evocation of Taka Mal, she read aloud, even knowing he couldn’t hear. If beautiful words could heal, these would surely help him.
The next day was the same, except she wore leggings and a tunic. It would anger the village elders if they caught her dressed this way, but it was too hard to work otherwise. She was alone except for a patient who did nothing but sleep, and she had no appointments. It seemed absurdly impractical to toil in a tight silk wrap.
Toward midday, when even the temple became uncomfortably warm, she went to the fountain and asked the Dragon-Sun for his blessing, that she might use his bounty. Then she carried a ewer of water into Darz’s room. Sweat soaked his sleep-trousers. She eased them off and removed his bandages, then bathed him with dragon soaps. She had never touched a living man, not this way, and her hands wanted to linger on his muscled form. She knew it was wrong, and she struggled to resist the temptation. He was powerfully built, and hairy, too, which made her blush. His beard grew fast; thick black stubble already covered his chin and cheeks. She wondered what kind of violent life he endured, for his skin had many scars much older than his wounds from this attack.
He stirred while she cleaned him, but he didn’t seem in pain and he didn’t awaken. She dressed his wounds and clothed him in fresh sleep-trousers the healer had left. Then she just sat at his bedside. She truly didn’t want to leave, though she had no more reason to stay. It was a while before she could make herself return to her chores.
In the evening, Ginger stood by Darz’s bed, watching him sleep. “I hope you’re resting better,” she murmured, though he couldn’t hear. “I’m sorry I had to wake you earlier to eat.”
The hint of a smile touched his face as his eyes opened. “To wake up to such beauty is worth a thousand sufferings.”
She jumped back. “Goodness! You’re awake.”
“It seems so.”
“I should let you sleep,” she said, mortified.
“Don’t go. ’S boring. The morning…so long.”
“Morning?”
“It’s morning, yes?”
“No, actually, it’s night.”
“But those men…brought me here this morning.”
She finally came in and sat on the stool so she could be closer to him. “That was two days ago.”
“Gods. No wonder I’m so sore.” He pushed up on his elbow. “I should get moving…”
“You must stay put,” she said firmly. “You are sore, Goodsir, because you have many injuries.”
His smile quirked. “Now I’m Goodsir. Your friend Harjan called me Goodman.”
“You have a fine way about you,” she assured him. In truth, he seemed rather rough, but her philosophy had always been to err on the side of courtesy. Goodman was the address for most people, with Goodsir reserved for those few families such as the Zanterians who had a heritage of wealth and authority. Although he didn’t look Zanterian, one could never be sure.
“You’re a diplomat,” he said wryly. “Goodman is fine.”
“Are you a merchant?” It could be why he had been out in the desert.
“Not a merchant. Soldier.”
Ah. That explained his scars. The calluses on his hand were probably from wielding a sword. “Is that why you were attacked?”
“I’ve no idea. I had just woken up and gone to pi—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “To, uh, relieve myself.”
Ginger smiled. “I’ve heard the word before.”
He squinted at her. “One never knows what will offend a priestess.”
“We’re not so delicate.” She hesitated. “Is the army coming here?” She had heard nothing of such events.
“No. I was on leave…before the attack.”
“Do you know who attacked you?”
He shook his head. “It was dark. And they hid their faces with scarves.”
The thought of masked assailants creeping up on him in the dark disturbed her. Perhaps they had been soldiers from another country. With all the recent upheavals among the settled lands, she wasn’t certain who allied with whom anymore. Taka Mal had survived the war last year, but battles had destroyed much of the Rocklands, and the queen had to marry a prince from Aronsdale as part of the peace treaty. Ginger lived so far from the
population centers of Taka Mal, it was hard to stay informed about the events sweeping their land. She did know that Jazid, the country to their south, had been less fortunate than Taka Mal; it had fallen to the conquering army of the Misted Cliffs.
“Do you think it’s because you’re in the army?” she asked. “Maybe they were Jazid soldiers.”
His brow furrowed. “Why attack me? Jazid was our ally.”
She leaned forward, uneasy with her words. “We’ve heard rumors that minions of the Shadow Dragon have crept to the lands of the living and wander the night.”
He looked more amused than worried. “Indeed.”
“It’s true,” she assured him. “They are deadly.”
“Do you mean the Shadow Dragon Assassins?”
“Is that their name?” She laced her fingers together, the sign for warding away evil. “I hope no demons come here.”
“They’re human, I assure you.” He seemed more alert now. “Supposedly they’re a covert group of assassins that served the late king of Jazid. After his death, they may have escaped into Taka Mal with several of his generals.”
“Oh!” She put her hand over her cheek. “They tried to assassinate you.”
He smiled slightly. “Even if they exist, which is doubtful, you ascribe far more importance to my existence than it deserves.”
“You’re a soldier.”
“So are thousands of men.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his bandaged hands. “Besides, I’ve nothing to do with the army that conquered Jazid. Hell, the Misted Cliffs tried to conquer us, too. And how would they have even known I’m in the military? I was just traveling to Taza Qu to visit family.”
Ginger had to admit, her theory did sound unlikely. “Taza Qu is a long way from here.” She knew little about the city besides its name. It had always sounded exotic and exciting, but also frightening, because it was the unknown. “Will your family know where to look for you?”
“I doubt it.” He spoke grimly. “Whoever stabbed me didn’t want to leave my body where searchers would find it. That’s probably why they brought me here. To hide the corpse.”
The Fire Opal Page 2
