by Tenaya Jayne
"I'll come back later to see her. After everyone is awake."
Merick didn't believe her. He feared if she left now, he'd never see her again. She continued to walk away.
"You look terrible," he said hastily.
She stopped mid-stride and turned on her heel, marching back toward him, feminine fury burning in her eyes.
"What?" she hissed through clenched teeth.
"And you smell even worse."
Nettie's mouth fell open.
"Apparently, you haven't looked at yourself in a mirror or bathed in some time. Do you really want Martia or anyone else to see you looking like that?"
The angry defiance slipped from her face as she held her hand up and looked at the dirt. The next moment tears began to slide through the grime on her cheeks. Merick's heart buckled.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that…I stuck my foot in my mouth. It's not how I meant it to sound."
"Oh?" Her voice broke.
"Why don't you come into my tent? You can have a bath, and I'll find you something clean to wear. That's what I meant. I didn't want you to be embarrassed."
When she said nothing, he pushed on. "Besides, if you greet Martia looking like that, she'll fuss over you something awful. She'll lock you into her spare bedroom and force fattening food down your throat until she's satisfied. Trust me, you don't want that, she fusses over me all the time."
Nettie wiped her hand across her tears, smearing them like war paint.
Merick held out his hand to her. "Come on. I'll help you over this sorry excuse of a wall."
"Why do you want to help me?" She gave him a hard stare. "What are your ulterior motives?"
Merick was about to say he had no hidden motives, but he instinctually knew she wouldn't believe him. "I was hoping if you felt indebted to me…you might be persuaded to"—he fought not to laugh at the dirty look she was giving him— "persuaded to tell me how you lost your arm."
She took a step back, looking as though she was about to bolt again.
"I've got a great interest in people’s old injuries, you see, as I have one myself."
"You do?" she asked.
Merick patted his lower back. "Yup. Took a couple of swords to the back once. Never walked right since." To prove it to her he walked in a little circle, demonstrating his limp. "Come on." He offered his hand again. "Come over."
This time, she gave him her hand.
****
Get us out of here.
"Shut up," Netriet hissed through her clenched teeth. She needed to learn to talk to the shadow without speaking aloud if she was going to be around people.
She could feel the shadow's panic. It was quite satisfying. She allowed herself to thoroughly enjoy the shadow's discomfort, knowing any second it would have enough and physically push her out of the tent and back to the wild.
"This was your idea. You're the one who wanted to get back to civilization," Netriet whispered.
I don't like him.
"Of course you don't."
Netriet fidgeted and looked around Merick's sparse bedroom. Minimalist, and worn down, but clean and smelled male, in a good way, not a sweaty foot kind of way. There was not one trace of a woman's presence. He clearly didn't have a lover.
The sound of water splashing made her jump and move to the flap of fabric that separated where she stood from the next room. Peeking through, she saw Merick pouring steaming hot water from a kettle into a grey stone tub. The immensity and beauty of the bathtub surprised her. Heat from the little, strange-shaped fireplace feathered pleasantly across her face. He was drawing her a bath. She had expected a wet rag and a leaky bucket of cold water when he'd offered to help her clean up.
He turned his dark eyes on her. She stared at him openly, unhurriedly, and he stared right back. There was one moment for Netriet…she didn't know what she felt, but she knew what she didn't feel. She didn't feel afraid. She didn't feel ugly. She didn't feel worthless.
The absence of the things she had felt for so long was like salve to a wound. His eyes held no judgment or pity. They were so dark, they were almost black, but they weren't cold. They were warm like a summer night. Understanding. How could she feel that? How could anyone have the smallest understanding of whom or what she was? She pulled her gaze away and looked at the floor, suddenly assaulted with the thought that he might be able to see what slithered behind the surface.
"Hey," he said quietly.
She looked up again.
"It's all right."
"What is?" she snapped.
"Everything."
She swallowed and blinked back the rogue tear pushing under her eyelid.
"This is ready for you," he said, gesturing to the bath. "I'm going to take a little walk, give you some privacy. There's some clean clothes in the chest at the end of my bed. Help yourself to whatever you can find that might not fall off you too badly."
She nodded. He opened his mouth and then shut it again, shaking his head.
"Thank you," she said to his back as he left.
He shrugged in acknowledgement and kept walking. Her clothes fell to pieces as she took them off, leaving her no choice but to wear his once she was clean. Sliding under the water felt alien and seeped sensual ecstasy down to her bones. Holding her breath, she sank all the way under the surface. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears, its rhythm amazingly easy and relaxed.
"You're unusually quiet," she said to the shadow as she came up for air. "Have you gone back to the stinking abyss I wish you into every day?"
Don't get your hopes up.
"Hopes? What are those? You've stolen any hopes I ever had."
The shadow tsked but said nothing else. Netriet inhaled sharply as she literally felt the shadow move. She braced herself for it to begin pushing her around…it didn't. It pulled away from her extremities and slunk back into a smaller point, and as best as Netriet could tell, was sulking. Netriet raised her hand to her mouth, touching the almost forgotten expression: a smile.
Being clean was the best sensation she'd experienced in such a long time that she couldn't find anything to rival it in her present memory.
The battered chest at the end of Merick's cot opened easily. Very worn, but clean clothes were folded on the top. She struggled to get the plain, bone-colored shirt over her head. It hung loosely on her shoulders and barely covered her butt. Her wet hair dripped onto the fabric, causing it to cling to her back. She looked through the chest for some pants, only feeling defeated when she found some. There was no way they would stay up, let alone allow her to walk; the legs would go past her toes.
Continuing to rummage, she unearthed a brightly colored quilt that was clearly Martia's handiwork. The sight of it smarted in her chest. She desperately wanted to find her shawl again. Under the quilt was a store of weapons, knives, and throwing stars embossed with the seal of the Crimson Brotherhood. It's none of my business, she thought, and kept looking for something she could cover her ass with. Loose coins covered the bottom of the chest—she tried hard not to be impressed with the amount. And seeing how Merick left this unlocked and told her to get things out of it, he clearly didn't care about his wealth. Either that, or he had so much more somewhere else this was nothing but disposable pocket change.
The sound of approaching footsteps had her panicking. There was nothing else for her to do but dive under the covers on the cot to make herself decent.
"Nettie? Can I come in now?"
"Yeah."
Merick ducked under the flap and stopped dead in his tracks. Netriet could feel her cheeks burning. She looked down to make sure her chest wasn't exposed in any way in the overly large shirt. On the verge of explaining why she was in his bed, Netriet found the words died in her throat at the expression on his face. He looked at her in such a way her heart clenched tight. They stared openly at each other, again. There was no doubt what was running through his mind, and knowing it only made the same thoughts run through hers.
How had she not noticed before? Well, she
noticed now. Merick was gorgeous. His looks weren't flashy, but she had never seen a more perfectly featured face. Sure, he was older and a little damaged, but she saw strength, integrity, and warmth. A warmth she desperately craved. She imagined the warmth she'd feel if he wrapped his arms around her. Could he chase the darkness away?
****
There has to be another explanation for this…other than the one stuck in my head, he thought. Surely, she's not offering? He tried to capture his reason and keep a firm grip on it as he took in the scene. The lid on his chest was open, a pair of his pants lay on the ground, and she desperately clung to his blankets. Okay, I think I see what…but his thoughts went skittering in all directions, leaving him defenseless at the sight of her clean, flushed skin, her wide steady gaze, and her damp hair that caused the fabric of his shirt to cling.
"Merick?"
He felt as if he actually swallowed his Adams apple before answering. "Umm…Nothing fit too well?"
She shook her head.
"Okay, well, people are starting to wake up and move around, so I'll go see what I can find." He leaned over his chest and dug out a handful of coins.
She gasped. "Just to borrow right? Please don't purchase anything for me. I could never pay you back."
Merick chuckled. "The money is for me. I'm out of my pipe weed. Just stay here. I'll be back soon."
Nettie snorted. "Where would I go dressed in nothing but your shirt?"
He looked at her again for a moment before escaping into the morning air. Now he had no choice but to get a new bed. He'd never sleep peacefully in his cot again, not with the memory of how she looked under his blankets chiseled permanently into his head. No, he'd have no peace.
Merick kept his head down as he shuffled across the Fair to Renee's tiny, newly built structure she used as a storefront to sell clothes, fabric, and sparkly things girls liked. Peeking through the window, he could see her moving around in the back of the shop. He decided to go around the side and let himself in.
"Renee?"
The wizened old elf woman gave him a withering glare over her hunched shoulder. "I'm not open yet, Merick."
"Yeah, I know. Look, I need some clothes for a…friend of mine. She's about this big." He held his hands up to demonstrate how tall and broad Nettie was.
Renee croaked out a gritty laugh and turned her full attention on him. "Got a female friend who urgently needs some new clothes? HA! What happened to her old ones?"
Merick sighed. "They're lying in a torn heap on my bedroom floor."
Renee cackled again and gave him an approving thump on the shoulder. "Well, look around, but be quick about it. I'm about to open, and given the nervous sweat beading on your head, you don't want to be seen in here. Am I right?"
"Completely."
Merick scanned the room for a second then turned back to Renee. "Help me! All I see is piles. Where can I find something this size?" He demonstrated Nettie's height and girth again.
Renee smiled and hobbled over to a table laid with folded garments. "What colors does she like?"
"Not a clue."
"Is she tough or feminine?"
Merick shrugged.
Renee tsked and began holding things up for him to see. He grabbed a plain pair of black pants and was about go with that, figuring she could make do with his old shirt when Renee held up something that stopped him. The two-layered shirt had creamy sleeves and a quilted bodice of deep amber velvet just the color of Nettie's eyes.
"Yeah, that," Merick said.
"You might not like the price."
"I don't care. How long will it take you to alter it?"
"Alter it?"
"I'll pay you double your usual altering fee if you can remove the right sleeve and stich it closed."
She pursed her wrinkled lips. "Triple my fee, and I'll have it done in a few minutes."
"Ugh…fine. Triple."
Renee took the shirt and sat down. Merick paced the back of the shop while he waited. He was about to ask her how long it would actually take when she held up the finished shirt for his inspection and named the full price for the shirt, pants, and alterations. He dropped a handful of coins into her reedy palm. She smiled sideways up at him, pocketed the money, and wrapped the garments discreetly inside a brown remnant. She winked at him as she handed it over.
"You might want to work on your bedroom technique, Merick. A woman doesn't take kindly to such wardrobe abuse."
He scowled at her and dropped a few more coins into her hand. "For your silence."
"Don't insult me, boy. I know things about the people in this Fair that would shrink your fangs. I don't gossip."
He shrugged and held his hand out for her to give his money back. She quickly slid the money into her pocket and smiled.
"You're a good tipper, Merick. Thank you."
"Maybe I'll go to your competitor next time."
"The hell you will," she growled, pushing him out the side door and slamming it behind him.
No one he passed on his way back to his tent seemed to notice him. Everyone was still stuck in morning grogginess.
"Hey, Nettie, I found something for you to…" His words trailed off as he entered his tent. She was snuggled down in his cot, fast asleep.
He approached slowly, listening to her breathing. She was deep. He laid the clothes on the foot of the bed and left. The temptation to stare, touch, and fantasize was too heavy. He had to leave her alone.
Merick rubbed his head, bemused. What was he doing? What did he want from her? What did he expect? Why did he hide the pack and shawl he knew was hers instead of just giving it to her? He couldn't answer the last question and didn't want to acknowledge the answers to the others. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked off to see if Martia would feed him breakfast.
Chapter Three
Baal sat perfectly still, the picture of attentive interest, while his insides churned painfully. The fact that he was merely an assistant and his opinion was not worth as much as the other priests usually annoyed him, but today he was thankful. No one noticed his discomfort and thus didn't inquire about its nature or origin. He wasn't listening to what Rahaxeris was saying. Panic began centering on the boils around his ribs as one of them broke open and stinging poison lazily ran down his side.
"Baal?"
"Yes, sir?"
"What do you think?" Rahaxeris asked.
"Umm…I agree with Menjel."
Rahaxeris raised one eyebrow, a faint trace of annoyance on his face. "Very well. You and Menjel are still out-voted, however. Hezeron and I shall depart tomorrow for the new world to extend diplomacy and glean what we can about the people and society. Menjel shall act as high priest in my absence. Everything else shall continue as usual. Keep up on your experiments. Baal, you shall spend a minimum of one day a week at Fortress doing whatever Forest needs you to do. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Anything else?" Rahaxeris asked the room in general.
No one said anything.
"Very well, meeting adjourned."
Menjel gave Baal a meaningful glare, but he didn't have time to talk now. More of his boils had broken open, and the toxic fluid burned his skin. He rushed to his personal chambers as quickly as he could without running. Menjel would be knocking down his door in a moment.
Baal stripped off his priest robe and threw it over the back of his chair. His undershirt stuck to his skin. He pulled gingerly at the fabric. That was a mistake he realized too late, hissing through his teeth in pain.
The knock at his door came faster than he expected.
"Baal, we need to talk," Menjel demanded.
Knowing he wouldn't wait but a few seconds before letting himself in, Baal struck the wall and escaped through the portal. He landed on his feet and quickly closed the portal and did his best to erase its trace so Menjel couldn't follow. He walked quickly through the wild, overgrown area to the edge of the Wolf's Wood and ducked inside the boundary.
The insta
nt assault of negative energy swirled around him as it always did when he came here. He couldn't deny it was getting stronger, pushing against him uncomfortably. His more frequent visits must be bothering the wood's guardian.
"Yeah, I know you don't want me here," Baal said aloud to Shi.
She didn't answer, not that he expected her to; she never talked to him.
He made his way quickly through the trees to the hidden home of Maxcarion. The magical illusion protecting his front door was plain as day to Baal's eyes. He knocked urgently against the rock.
"Come on," Baal said, the burning pain was growing cold.
The rock face slid open as easily as a silk curtain. Maxcarion's magically protected home was stuffy and disorganized, filled with knickknacks both wondrous and highly dangerous. Baal hated the disorder.
Maxcarion sat in the corner in a rocking chair, his face obscured by a large book. He peeked at Baal over the top for a second before disappearing again behind it. "I told you it wouldn't work," Maxcarion said idly.
"You said nothing of the sort. I need you to reverse it."
"What did you bring me?"
"Nothing, I didn't have the time. I had to get out fast."
Maxcarion tsked.
"Come on, you know I'm good for it."
"Ha! Those boils must be addling your brain. I don't extend credit." He looked at Baal again over the book. "Those sores will spread. I wouldn't go out in public for a while if I was you."
"Fix it," Baal demanded coldly. "Or, I'll never come back again."
"What do I care?"
"Oh, you care. You'll have to come out of hiding to get your own toys. Oh wait, you're too scared to come out. And who else can help you regain your full power and immortality? None of the other Rune-dy will help you. Rahaxeris is strong enough now to kill you, and Menjel would run experiments on you. You need me."
"Who are you trying to convince?" Maxcarion asked, closing his book.
They both tried to stare the other down. After a moment, Maxcarion sighed and crossed his arms across his chest. "You owe me one, unflawed Talereneain artifact."
"What?! Unflawed?"
Maxcarion shrugged and picked his book back up. "Like I said, those boils will get worse before they get better, if they get better. Maybe next time you'll take my advice and not experiment on yourself."
