* * * *
Saba couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned inside the cocoon of her blankets. One thing she didn’t worry about was waking Jennica, Hallaf, or Delnor. They all slept like the dead. So why couldn’t she?
She listened for Tyree’s return for several hours, straining to hear the sound of men’s footsteps approaching. There should be a changing of the guard at the fire. It hadn’t happened yet although she knew the men outside would be fatigued. It wasn’t like Tyree to work the men until they dropped. It begged the question of what had happened. She had to know.
Slipping from her blankets, she pulled on her soft suede boots and edged through the door. Her roommates didn’t wake. Tyree’s hut was across from the main gate. A small light glowed in the window but she knew he wasn’t there. His door was closed.
Had he been inside, sleeping or not, his door would be open to all who may need him. Even when his first mate had lived, the door would close for an hour, or maybe two, then reopen. Baea had been pleased to be the mate of the village headman and not complained overmuch with the lack of true privacy.
Saba crept along the edge of her hut, making sure to remain in the shadows. She paused and listened intensely to the talk of the guards just outside the main gate, dismayed they gave no indication of disbursing. Just as she decided to go back inside she heard Tyree say that they would resume the search for a survivor in the morning. This was why she couldn’t sleep.
Someone was out there and needed her help. She didn’t question where the knowledge came from. She never had. It was simply there, a part of her, and she listened to it.
Tyree dismissed the men for the night and she waited until they filed tiredly through the gate and entered their own huts. Tyree was the last man to come in, closing the gate firmly behind him before entering his hut. She watched him pour heated water from the kettle he kept on his hearth into a basin then close his door.
She ducked her head, a slight smile bowing her lips. Bold, brave Tyree was shy about only a very few things and bathing publicly was one of them.
Now was her chance. She slipped along the wall, and out the gate, making sure it latched behind her. She doubted it was a true defense against the errol should it truly desire to come inside, but as of yet it had not tried to breach the wall. Walking carefully and noiselessly, she quickly backtracked to the edge of the earth charred by the fire.
The knowledge she was alone and vulnerable should the errol find her kept the gooseflesh raised on her arms. The errol killed without hesitation, often mutilating its prey. She could only hope if she became its next victim, the end would be quick.
Saba leaned against a large kao tree and closed her eyes and opened her senses to the surrounding area. If someone were here, alive but injured, maybe she could feel their presence. Maybe the gods would lead her to them.
There it was. A whisper on the breeze.
She skirted the burnt earth staying just inside the tree line whenever possible. The ground became rocky the closer to the crash site she got. She stopped to get her bearings. A large outcropping of boulders was just to her left. Whatever drew her was there. She gathered her courage and crawled to the top of the largest boulder and looked down upon a man lying on his side, curled into a ball.
A man, not an errol. How could this be? What world had he come from traveling in a fireball? Why would he come here, to the lands of the Ramalho? Had the gods sent one of their own to save them?
There was no time for such questions. The man was injured and perhaps dying. She would speculate later, after she had done what she could for him, after he lived and was made well. Cautiously, she slid from her rocky perch and approached the huddled form. The smell of blood, and worse, reached her. He was not a god then, to be in such grave need of assistance.
Injured or not, she knew she had to be careful of him. He could be delirious, or mentally deranged. Worst of all he could carry some unknown contagion that could be deadly to the Ramalho.
But surely the gods had not put him here, where she would find him and tend to him, if they meant to use him to destroy the Ramalho. No, the gods had sent him as deliverance for her people. Surely.
She cast about for a small stone, and finding one, tossed it. It hit the man on the arm. He didn’t move. She found another and threw that one, too. He remained motionless, curled around some sort of sack. There was a small branch at the base of one of the rocks about as long as her arm. She picked it up and gingerly poked him with it. He moaned. Surprised, she almost dropped the stick.
Well, at least she knew he was alive. She tightened her grip on the stick and poked at him harder, shaking him. He moaned louder, the low sound of a man in agony and too weak to scream. She dropped to her knees and edged closer.
“My name is Saba. Can you hear me?”
His only response was another moan.
“I’m here to help you. You’re injured. I want to help. Can you understand me?” Very gingerly she touched his shoulder. He flinched and screamed hoarsely, trying to move away from her.
“I won’t hurt you. I want to help.” He was twitching now, caught in some sort of spasm or seizure. His legs flopped about in a strange lifeless manner while he held his stomach tightly.
Whatever afflicted him, he didn’t have much time left. There was no way she could carry him to the village by herself. She’d have to ask Tyree to help and face his anger for going back into the woods alone. She reached out and grabbed the stranger’s hands. He screamed again, a horrible agonized wail that spoke of unimagined pain.
“I have to go for help. I’m sorry I have to leave you. I know you don’t understand, but try not to move. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I swear.”
She scrambled to her feet and backed away. She turned to run, then froze as his tortured voice reached her.
“Don’t let me die.”
Chapter 4
He was dying and it hurt like hell, far worse than he’d ever imagined. He’d never believed all the stories about sleeping peacefully away and floating into a nice, white, dreamy, cloudy place. Of course, he’d never believed all the stories about burning in hell, either, but that’s where he was. Burning from the inside out.
He was going to die, and die alone. The angel who had visited him had turned out to be a demon in disguise. Her touch sent lightning searing along his nerves, burning him. Then the demon had left him alone to face the flames.
He desperately wanted to believe the angel. She said she wanted to help, that she would come back for him.
He didn’t want the demon to come back. Not now. Not when she could touch him and cause such pain. He didn’t want to die, but once he did, the pain would be gone. Or so at least he hoped.
The heat suddenly left him. He wasn’t cold, exactly. Or was he? His legs were gone. He couldn’t feel them. He listened intently at the pulse beating in his ears. That meant his heart was still pumping. His blood was still flowing. He sucked in a deep breath that miraculously didn’t hurt until the cold air made him cough. His mouth filled with a metallic taste.
Yep. Ryder Vaughan had reached the end of the line. He closed his eyes and prayed for death to come swiftly as the black void sucked him down again.
* * * *
There were voices in the void, both male and female. He recognized the voice of the demon. She spoke so softly, so soothingly, that he wanted to believe her.
“I’m here to help. Do you remember my name? My name is Saba. This is my friend Tyree. We need to put you on the travois so we can carry you back to our village. I’m sorry, I know this will hurt, but we’ve got to do it.”
He couldn’t live through the fire again.
“No.”
The demon grew excited, babbling at her minions. They laid hands on him, rolling him onto his side. Agony screamed up his spine. He was floating above himself looking down with the very philosophical opinion that if he could feel that pain all the way up and down his back, he should be able to feel his legs. He couldn’t and that co
nfused him.
They were lifting him. The angel-demon was beside him, holding his hand, and speaking to him.
“We’re taking you back to the village, to my hut. You’re going to be all right. Try to sleep until we get there.”
Sleep? He was about to die and the angel-demon wanted him to sleep? She was a sly creature. He had a thing or two to say to her about that.
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
Her hand squeezed his. Miraculously his hand merely tingled at her touch instead of bursting into flame.
“You’re not ready to die.”
So she wanted to talk, did she? Everything he said, she would use against him. That’s the way an angel-demon worked. That’s the way all women worked. He tried to clear the phlegm from his throat and choked.
“Shh. Be still. We can talk after you sleep.”
“No sleep.” Was that croak his voice?
“All right,” she said softly, patting his hand. He flinched, fearing the fire would strike again.
“We’ll talk while I tend your wounds.”
The angel-demon surely had plans other than tending his wounds. If she wanted him alive, it was for her pleasure and his pain.
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“No. No, I’m not. I will do my best to heal you.”
Some things were better left unasked. The words wouldn’t stay unformed. He opened his eyes and struggled to focus on her. She blurred in his vision, a shadow, a ghostly angel-demon with the full moon as her silvery halo.
“For what purpose?”
“We shall see, once you live.”
He closed his eyes.
Well, Ryder, that was reassuring, wasn’t it?
* * * *
He must’ve passed out again because he didn’t remember arriving at the village. He was just suddenly there, inside a stockade. There were excited voices and the sense of many bodies milling around. The angel-demon seemed to have a lot of friends.
They stopped in front of a round hut, where several men gingerly lifted him from the litter and carried him inside. He bit the inside of his mouth bloody to keep from screaming. Every movement was agony. Couldn’t they just leave him alone to die in peace?
He started praying for the blackness to take him again. The angel-demon was speaking to another woman. There was a flurry of activity above his head. He seemed to be lying on some sort of raised table or platform. The smoke from the fireplace had a fruity fragrance, like the apple wood his grandfather had burned long ago and far away. He didn’t want those memories right now. The angel-demon loomed over him.
“I will tend your wounds. This is Jennica. She will help me.” Hands began pulling at the rags that used to be very expensive clothing.
“You don’t know me well enough to…” He was seized by a fit of coughing. “See me naked,” he finished, wheezing.
The angel-demon’s servant laughed softly and assured him that they wouldn’t look.
He didn’t trust them for a moment.
“Jennica. He hardly needs such banter. Perhaps where he comes from, it isn’t proper for you to see him.”
Ryder couldn’t see the man speaking. The man stood somewhere above Ryder’s head, between him and the fire.
“Then perhaps, Tyree, you will undress him.” The angel-demon pressed a warm, scented cloth to his forehead. “Perhaps it would spare all of us if you did.”
She was awfully willing to just turn him over to her minions. And why not? She had to prepare her next torture.
“I’ll keep my clothes on,” he mumbled. He didn’t really mean it. His clothes stank, and he feared, so did he. More painful proof he remained among the living.
The angel-demon refolded the cloth and wiped his cheeks. The cloth had been dipped in something astringent. Small cuts on his face burned as it passed over them.
“Your clothing is in rags, ones too fouled to even try to wash. They will be burned. We’ll provide new for you.” She turned away and he heard the faint sound of water tinkling in the basin as she rinsed out the cloth. The man, the one who must be Tyree, leaned over him. Ryder blinked him into focus.
The man was tall, broad and looked like a fighter. Great. Just great.
Even on a good day he looked like someone Ryder would have trouble taking in a fight, and this was definitely not a good day. At least he was sane and awake enough to realize that fact. Actually, the fog seemed to be lifting from his brain.
The man gave him a stern look and then gently lifted him, pulling the remains of his shirt away. He shivered, suddenly bare. The angel-demon noticed.
“Put a few more logs on the fire, Jennica.” Her order was given quietly and Ryder sensed more movement behind him as the other woman moved to do her bidding.
The angel-demon wiped his neck, and he grabbed her wrist with all the strength he could muster. She froze. Her minion let out a frightened squeak.
The man Tyree grabbed his wrist with enough power that Ryder felt the bones shift. It was a small pain compared to the hot pokers jabbing his back and legs. He ignored Tyree in favor of drowning in the angel-demon’s dark eyes.
“Where am I?”
“You are in my hut, and worse, you are preventing me from helping you.”
She was smart, his angel-demon. “What planet is this?”
“Planet?”
“What world?” He coughed, tasting blood. She wiped at his mouth.
“You must be still. I will answer all your questions tomorrow.”
“I won’t live until tomorrow. Don’t let me die not even knowing where I am.”
That scared her. Her eyes widened, growing even blacker. She licked her lips, and glanced at the man. “Tyree, release him. He won’t hurt me.”
The iron band of fingers around his wrist tightened painfully in warning. He nodded to Tyree without taking his eyes off the woman. Tyree released him.
The woman took a deep breath and began passing out more orders. The other woman and Tyree moved quickly in response. She leaned over him, her nose almost touching his.
“You’re not going to die. I won’t let you.”
Before he could reply, before he could argue, they finished stripping him and were none too gentle about it, either. He closed his eyes and tried not to scream too loudly.
That’s what he got for not behaving himself. He should’ve just lain on the table and played at being dead. But like always, he’d had to open his mouth and be a smartass. At least Tyree was kind enough to drape a towel over his hips. He wasn’t at his best there either.
Exactly what transpired next in what order, he knew he’d never truly remember. Between the three of them he was bathed, shampooed, trimmed and shaved in places he’d never been trimmed and shaved before, stitched, bandaged, and finally left alone lying on a pallet in front of the fire. He was blessedly clean but none of it had been enjoyable.
Especially the fact the boss lady had been the one to wash and clip his private bits. He’d probably imagined her interest had been more than hygienic. Yep. It was all in his head that she was curious.
Her interest had to have been purely hygienic and his penis knew it.
She’d fondled him pretty good and the old boy hadn’t even twitched.
Purely hygienic.
If his penis was dead, then he might as well join it. Life was over.
His three torturers huddled by the door talking strategy. As long as he didn’t do more than breathe, there wasn’t any pain, but his reprieve was short-lived. The women slipped out the door. Tyree hunkered down beside him. He spoke gruffly, but not unkindly.
“You need the privy?”
Ryder tried to get in touch with parts of himself he couldn’t actually feel. There was nothing. If he had the energy, he’d panic. As it was, panicking was just too much like work.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t seem to have the right feelings there to know for sure.”
Tyree nodded. Ryder thought he saw pity in the man’s eyes.
He choked down a burst of anger. The man was trying to be helpful.
“I’ve sent the women to wash. Why don’t we see if you need to before they come back? Then you can sleep.”
“Can’t I just promise to yell if I need to? I’m really sore.”
Tyree’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t care about your promises. I care that Saba doesn’t have to clean you up again.”
That had a definite ring of truth to it. Ryder caved in. It was the greater valor.
The sooner he agreed to endure another round of handling, the quicker he could pass out. He gathered his courage and told Tyree he’d give it try.
Fifteen minutes later he was tucked back in, sipping a crock of the most noxious brew he’d ever had the misfortune to have pass by his lips. His hand shook so badly, Tyree had to help him hold it. The day just kept getting worse. He choked on a swallow of it.
“That’s enough, I suppose.” Tyree took the drink away, tossing the dregs out a window. “We won’t tell Saba you didn’t finish it.”
Ryder wanted to be polite. Hell, he wanted to at least sound grateful but his eyes were closing.
“You drugged me.”
“No. There was no drug for sleeping in it. I prepared it myself.”
“Poison?”
Tyree laughed softly. “Go to sleep, my friend. We’ll talk when you wake. Trust this.”
Ryder was sure they would talk. The jumbled memories of the last few hours flashed behind his closed eyelids. He’d gotten in the life pod as his ship had crashed, and he still didn’t know what planet he was on, or what toxin had made its way into his bloodstream.
His heart lurched in his chest. He washed cold. What if that horrible tea he’d just ingested interacted with the snake venom? It was too late to worry about that. Much too late.
The gold coin. Damn. It had been in his pocket. He needed a closer look at that coin.
There were soft voices nearby, a man and a woman. The man wasn’t staying. The angel-demon was sending him away. He was too hot, too close to the fire. A cool hand touched his cheek.
“You’re fevered. Try not to worry. It’s the titiyi bark. It cleanses the blood.”
A Hero's Bargain Page 3
