Chandra swallowed thickly. “Are you the Spirit Keeper?” she asked. But as soon as she said it she realized it wasn’t likely; Sachmei looked nothing like any Spirit Keeper she had ever read about. She was young and tall and slender, her figure more like that of a beauty queen than a healer. Her skin was the color of caramel, and her face, attractive and broad featured, was haloed by a mass of black, gold-tipped curls.
“Do I look like a Spirit Keeper?” Sachmei asked, but her tone sounded more like a challenge.
“No, I—I guess not,” Chandra said.
Sachmei stepped toward her, a mug clasped in her hand. The woman’s fingers, Chandra noticed, were covered by at least a dozen rings, each with a different colored stone.
Sachmei nodded, her expression firm. “You are correct. I am no Syddian.”
“Syddian?”
Sachmei’s dark brows met. “You have not heard the term?”
“No.”
Sachmei looked pleased, then she thrust the mug toward Chandra with a quick change of subject. “Here. Drink,” she said.
Chandra took the mug and drank as instructed. The water tasted sweet as it slid down her tongue, lacking the chemicals she was accustomed to back home. Home! The thought of it jarred her senses. Everything was so confusing; she couldn’t be sure what was real and what wasn’t. Chandra rested her forehead in her hand and squeezed her eyes shut, only to have scenes of her drowning father play like a horror movie in her head. Dad, where are you? But there was only one person who could answer that question.
“How long will Orryn be gone?” she asked, handing the mug back to Sachmei.
Sachmei glanced toward the pelt that draped the exit. “I do not know,” she replied. A hint of worry creased her brow, but she redirected her attention to Chandra. “Let us focus on your leg first.”
“I need to talk to him,” Chandra said.
“When he returns.”
“But I need to talk to him now.”
“Lay back, girl,” Sachmei ordered. “Leg first; questions later.”
“Don’t you understand? He’s the only one who knows where my father is!”
The pelt at the doorway swept open. Orryn entered with Tygg at his back.
“Tygg,” Sachmei hissed. “What did I tell you?”
Tygg sighed. “It was too difficult for Or’n,” he said. He glanced at Chandra, then flashed her a charming smile.
Chandra found her eyes glued to the dark-haired, young man now standing before her. A whisper of awe escaped her lips.
Orryn glanced from Chandra to Tygg with annoyance. “Work your spells another time, Tygg,” he said, then to Chandra, “Pay him no mind, girl. You’re safe while I’m here.”
Tygg laughed as if to say he doubted it.
“I need to ask you a question,” Chandra said, her eyes now on Orryn. “About my father.”
“Later,” Sachmei said.
“No!” Chandra said. “I need to know now.”
Sachmei heaved a sigh. “Very well. But be quick about it.”
“Why did you say my dad was dead?”
“I felt you should know the truth,” Orryn answered.
“How do you know it’s the truth?”
“If he were alive, he would have been found with you.”
Chandra narrowed her eyes. “So you didn’t actually see him, then.”
“No,” Orryn admitted.
“He is correct, though,” Tygg said. “Your father would be with you.”
“Tell me about Kiradyn,” Chandra said, risking another question.
“Enough,” Sachmei ordered. She turned her eyes to Orryn, demanding silence.
“Tell me about Kiradyn,” Chandra repeated, “or I’m walking out the door.”
“You’ll not get far,” Orryn said. “Regardless, there’s nothing to tell.”
“But you know of it; you’ve heard of it.”
“Ancient history,” he said.
“How ancient?”
“It can wait,” Sachmei interrupted.
Chandra huffed. “Just like my dad. Every time I’d try to talk to him, he’d find something more important to do.”
“He must have been a very busy man then,” Orryn said.
“Humor, Or’n? You?” Tygg said.
“I have heard of it,” Orryn replied.
“Enough,” Sachmei said crossly. She reached for a basket on a nearby shelf, then pulled up a stool and sat. After surveying the basket’s contents, she selected a small blue bottle and turned her attention to Chandra. “First I must clean the infection from your wound. Then I will stitch your flesh back into place.”
Chandra gasped. “You’ll what?”
“If I do not close the wound,” Sachmei said, “it will not heal easily. I have seen grown men lose limbs over less.” She grew silent, allowing Chandra a moment to consider. “So do I tend you now? Or watch you die from the poison seeping into your blood?”
Chandra bit her lip, then nodded.
Sachmei leaned toward her, studying the wound more closely. With a slight touch, she pressed the puffy flesh on either side of it. Her features grew solemn.
“Is it bad?” Chandra asked.
“Yes.”
“But you can fix it?”
“I can treat it.” Sachmei glanced up at her. “The gods must do the rest.” She held up the bottle and popped the tiny cork from its top. “Drink,” she said. “But only a sip.”
Chandra took the bottle and gave the contents a sniff. It smelled like the Jack Daniels she occasionally snuck from her mother’s liquor cabinet. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” she asked with a nervous laugh.
“Of course not.” Sachmei looked insulted. “But if you prefer the pain . . .”
She reached for the bottle, but Chandra snatched it from her reach. “I was only kidding,” Chandra said, and took a swig before handing it back.
“I told you only a sip,” Sachmei said.
“What did you give her?” Orryn asked. “We don’t need the girl in a coma.”
Orryn looked so serious Chandra could not help but laugh. “You really don’t have much of a sense of humor, do you?” she said to him.
“I’ve been told that I don’t. I suppose that annoys you as well?”
“No,” she replied, “but a little humor might help, especially since I’m about to have my leg sewn up by an amateur physician.”
“I have sewn many wounds,” Sachmei said.
“How many?”
She shrugged. “Hundreds. Mostly Tygg’s.”
“And that makes you an expert?” Chandra asked.
“Considering the types of wounds I have suffered, yes,” Tygg said. He gave Orryn a grin.
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Chandra said.
Sachmei pursed her lips. “I do not see anyone else here prepared to do the stitching, do you?” She took a needle from the box and eyed it. “Unless you would like Tygg to do it. He is very good with his hands.”
“If that was an attempt at levity, you stink at it,” Chandra said, her eyes growing wide at the sight of the needle that would soon be weaving in and out of her leg. The instrument looked nothing like any she had ever seen before. It was long and thin and appeared to be made of wood or something equally crude.
Sachmei strung a long piece of thread through it.
“Aren’t you going to sterilize that thing?” Chandra asked. She tensed her back against the mattress.
“Sterilize?”
“You know, dip it in alcohol or hold it over the fire or something.”
“Why would I do that?” Sachmei asked.
“To kill the germs of course!”
Sachmei glanced at the needle. “It is perfectly clean.”
“Have you ever used it before, on someone else I mean?”
“Of course. I told you, I have sewn up many wounds.”
Chandra thrust a palm toward Sachmei. “Stop right there. I’m not going to risk some disease like AIDs or Hepatitis with
that thing. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll just take my chances with the infection.”
Sachmei looked baffled. “We do not have those plagues here.” She eyed the needle once more. “But since you are so concerned, I will attempt to ease your fears.”
“Yeah, like clean it.”
Sachmei’s expression grew dark. “If you are insinuating we are not clean, let me assure you we are.” She handed the needle to Tygg. He wiped in on his tunic and handed it back.
“Good grief, what planet are you from?” Chandra sputtered. “You think that’s going to kill something like AIDS?”
“You said the needle was dirty,” he said with a shrug. “I cleaned it.”
Chandra grabbed the bottle that contained the bourbon-smelling liquid. She shoved it toward Sachmei. “Pour some of this over it, or that friggin’ shit Orryn put on my leg before. You know, the eucalyptus stuff.”
Sachmei shook her head. “I have never heard anyone use language quite the way you do.” She took the bottle from her and, tilting it slightly, dipped the needle in until it was coated. “There. Satisfied?”
Chandra relaxed, though only somewhat. “Yes. Thank you.”
Sachmei went about her task, knotting the thread and preparing for surgery. “Close your eyes,” she said.
“What? Why?” Chandra asked with alarm.
“It is best you do not watch.”
Orryn leaned in, eyeing the needle, then the wound. “Perhaps if she focused on something else, to keep her mind off of it.” He cocked his head. “What would you like to focus on, Chandria?” he asked, sounding almost sympathetic.
Chandra raised herself up on elbows. “How about your eyes,” she replied.
Orryn straightened his back. “I don’t think that wise.”
Chandra laughed. Suddenly everything seemed funny, especially the Legolas look-alike standing in front of her. “Why?” she asked. “Are you shy? Is that it?”
Sachmei lifted the blue bottle and eyed its contents through the glass. “Gods, girl. How much did you drink?”
Chandra giggled. It occurred to her that she must be drunk; the two men standing by her bed were starting to look particularly good. She stared up at Orryn, so tall and blond, with ivory skin and violet eyes—even Marc’s face seemed drab in comparison. But then her attentions shifted to Tygg, and her heart could not help but do a little dance. How could anyone, male or female, be so wildly beautiful? His thick, black hair spiked from his head in every direction, framing a face so perfect he could have been a Calvin Klein model. Dark pencil outlined his pale green eyes, making them look almost feral. His lips were full and his jaw square, and his muscular body was perfectly outlined by tan, formfitting leathers.
Sachmei held the needle ready. “Have you found your focus yet?” she asked.
“Yes, I—I’ve decided to think about—” Chandra swallowed. “Marc.
“Very well,” Sachmei said, and began the first stitch.
“Marc’s my boyfriend,” Chandra blurted through the pain.
The second stitch went in. Chandra gasped and gripped the bedding.
“Tell me of him,” Orryn said, diverting her attention.
Chandra was surprised by his interest, and equally surprised by the intensity of his gaze. She glanced down, realizing the target of his focus, and yanked the blanket over her hip. “What do you want to know?” she asked with annoyance.
Orryn’s eyes darted to hers. He lifted his chin. “What’s the nature of your relationship with this Marc?”
“Why do you care?”
“You’re in my charge. Before I take you to the Council, I should know what type of female you are.”
“What type?” Chandra squeaked. “Shit, Sachmei. Be careful!”
“Well, quit your squirming,” Sachmei said.
Chandra shot Orryn a glare. “Are you asking if Marc and I have had sex?”
“If that’s what you call it.”
“Well I don’t think that’s any of your damn business.”
Orryn puffed up like a blow fish. His face turned so red, Chandra thought it might explode. “Well, you are my business!” he shouted.
Chandra bolted into the upright position, clutching the blanket over her chest with one hand, the other hand fisted with rage. “I’m nobody’s business! Especially not yours!”
“Move away, Orryn,” Sachmei said. “Enough.”
“Perhaps it best we step away, Or’n,” Tygg said. He placed a hand on Orryn’s arm, but Orryn shrugged it away.
“I’m only making conversation,” Orryn said defensively. “There’s no ulterior motive, if that’s what you think.”
“No, it is just the less you think, the better. Especially now.”
“Get him to bed, Tygg. Now,” Sachmei said. She held up the blue bottle. “But give him this first.”
Tygg took the bottle from her and tilted it toward the light, eyeing its contents. “How much do you think he will need?”
“Enough that we don’t have to carry him out feet first.”
Orryn gaped at the potion. “By the Maker, what poison is this?”
“A calming brew,” Sachmei assured him. “It will help settle your nerves until I can treat your ailment.”
Orryn took a step back. “I’ll not.”
“You will.” Sachmei aimed him a look. “Or you will find yourself out the door.”
Orryn glanced at the exit, no doubt recalling the Taubastet warriors not far beyond it. He scowled and grabbed the bottle, then twisted off the cork.
“Not much,” Tygg cautioned.
Orryn took a sip and handed it back.
“To the bed, then,” Tygg said, returning the bottle to the basket. He turned and walked toward the bedroom, Orryn grumbling at his back.
CHAPTER 6
Orryn slowed his pace as Tygg reached the entrance to the room. Before them a large tapestry was draped, separating the main living area from the sleeping quarters which lay beyond it. Tygg held back the drape. “Come,” he said, motioning Orryn forward. “Sachmei will be in soon.”
Orryn ground his teeth. He was not accustomed to accepting help from anyone, especially a Taubastet. He looked over his shoulder and toward the cot in the living area where Chandria lay. “What of the Imela?” he asked.
“I have no intention of moving her, if that is what you are asking.”
Orryn turned his attention to the room beyond the drape. “What do you intend to do with me?” he asked.
Tygg looked surprised. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not here by the goodness of your heart, Tygg. Nor by the life debt that I owe you. What’s your true purpose in allowing me here?”
“What was your true purpose in coming?”
“You know full well why I came! I am—”
“What? Afraid? Have I not already proven myself to you?”
A rush of memory filled Orryn’s mind: A bloody battlefield, a young Taubastet warrior suddenly upon him, a flash of blade, and then the words “I spare you for the greater good.” Emotion swept through him, an emotion he had never felt, so was at a complete loss to identify. Was it appreciation for what Tygg had done for him that day? Or was it guilt over the realization that had the situation been reversed, he would have slit Tygg’s throat in a heartbeat?
“Aye, Tygg, you’ve proven yourself,” he said with forced control. “But to this day I don’t understand why.”
“You do not have to understand it. You just have to accept it.”
“I cannot turn a blind eye to my duties in regard to the borders,” Orryn said. “I must report to the Council.”
“Of course. After the treatment, you may stay or you may go, whatever you wish.”
“And the Imela?” Orryn said.
“She goes nowhere until she is ready to travel.”
“What are you implying?”
“I am saying you may leave when you feel you are ready. But the Imela stays until she is well enough.”
Anger pulse
d through Orryn’s veins. “And who makes that determination? You?”
“Sachmei of course.”
“Sachmei—bah! Why should I take the word of a—”
Tygg’s eyes flashed. “You will watch your words, Or’n. Or you will find yourself facing a dozen warriors happy to escort you out.”
Orryn curled his lip. He would have loved nothing more than to throttle the Taubastet bastard, but he knew better than to risk it. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll take the treatment and stay until the girl heals. But when the time comes, she’ll be leaving with me.”
“Of course,” Tygg said.
But Orryn could not be certain Tygg meant it. He set his jaw and shoved past the drape leading to the sleeping quarters, then stopped, his eyes widening with surprise. The room sprawled before him was nothing like what he had expected. Never would he have imagined that a Taubastet bedroom could look so civilized. The size of it was about the same as the room he had just left, but this was not a space where a family might congregate. It was a room for sleeping, and more. He had heard stories about the Taubastets’ unquenchable thirst for physical intimacies. They were known for their sexual drive and were said to mate with more than one partner at a time. Pedants were trained to be especially cautious of Taubastet women. A warrior might come at you with muscle and spear, but a pack of female Taubastets was an enemy no Pedant wished to tackle.
Orryn slowly rotated his body and surveyed the room. He had expected to see signs of decadence within the chamber, but in truth it seemed comfortable and inviting. There were the lights of glittering candles reflecting off dark stone walls, and the spicy scent of oils mixed with rich earthy aromas. He turned his eyes to the bed that dominated the room. Beyond it a fire burned in a hearth, casting a glow upon a thick golden pelt draped across the mattress.
Without warning the pelt lifted its head and a pair of pale, glowing eyes fixed Orryn in their stare.
“By the Maker!” he cried, taking a startled step back.
Tygg stepped over to the bed and swept an arm across it. Orryn sputtered as a full-grown lioness, now dethroned from the comforts of the bed, stretched her legs and yawned her massive jaws.
Orryn felt the blood drain from his face. He attempted to retreat but found his legs completely paralyzed.
Shrouded Sky (The Veils of Lore Book 1) Page 4
