Blooded (Lisen of Solsta Book 3)

by D. Hart St. Martin

  He looked up to see Madlen sitting against his right shoulder. He reached up to touch her dark hair.

  “Korin, I’m sitting here so you can use your eye to see me and not your ear.”

  He laughed, and as he did so, the baby inside the pouch released the teat. He turned to look to Hozia on his left and whispered, “We’ve reached the cusp,” and Hozia rose.

  By now the room had filled with observers, their torches lighting the space up to nearly daylight bright. These women and men had left their tasks for the night behind in favor of participating in the continuing miracle of the Farii. Such an event occurred rarely. Korin could remember it happening only twice in his childhood, the first time when he’d been about Madlen’s age and he’d been invited to join the children surrounding the unpouching parent. He recalled how his excitement had built as the woman lying in her nest had breathed deeply and begun urging the baby to poke its head out and greet the Tribe. Now it was his turn.

  “Korin, make it come,” Madlen commanded as only a three-year-out could do, and again he smiled. Someone tried to hush her, but her eyes burned with the desire to see it happen. She was right, though. It was time to make it come.

  He silenced his embarrassment at having to perform in front of all these others and took the fateful deep breath. The child reached a hand up and out of the pouch, grabbed the bit of fur there and began to pull, and that same excitement which had gripped him as a child gathered him up and allowed him to immerse himself within the power of the moment. The difference this time was he could touch the little hand, give the baby comfort as she struggled.

  Around him The People of the Tribe began to hum, one note slowly building to the next. Korin closed his eyes, allowed the humming to enfold him in the Tribe’s embrace and added his own chant of encouragement to the music in the room.

  “Here. I am here,” he declared in the ritual greeting. “I welcome you. I hold you. I will embrace you in moments of joy and comfort you in times of unhappiness. Your mother and I….” He hesitated for a breath, realizing what he was about to promise, then quickly continued. “Your mother and I will offer you up to Mantar the Maker who gave you to us, and we will keep you safe from Mantar the Destroyer till we no longer can.”

  And as he recited this traditional welcome to his child, she pulled and wiggled and drew herself out bit by bit. He opened his eyes as he felt her near the end of this journey and saw her hair was very dark, like his own. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  When all but her feet were exposed, he lifted her up, and as she opened her eyes, he gasped. Lisen’s…the Empir’s…Lisen’s eyes looked at him, and Hozia’s words echoed in his mind—“You need to tell her,” or words to that effect—and he understood, finally, what Hozia had meant. Not only did a parent deserve to know a child, but that child deserved both parents, deserved to know both parents, in order to know themselves. And at that moment, with this beautiful new baby questioning him with her blue-green eyes, he silently promised her that as soon as he felt it was safe to leave her here without him, he would ride to Garla and tell her mother.

  “Korin, child of Hakor, child of Enka,” Elder Larus, senior of the Elders’ Council, intoned from the top of the chamber where she sat just below the edge of the dome.

  “I am here, Elder,” Korin answered as he’d seen others do before him.

  “Is this a child of the Tribe?” Larus asked.

  Soft humming began, and Korin allowed his people to draw him in. He stood up and swayed a little, the baby quiet in his arms. He was one with the Tribe now, and he lifted his head to speak directly to the Elder.

  “This is a child of the Tribe,” he responded to Larus’ question.

  “Then name her,”

  “Name her, name her,” came the chant from the Tribe, a chant which Korin knew wouldn’t stop until he announced the name he’d chosen weeks ago. He’d struggled in the beginning; the Tribe would expect him to include a part of the name of the mother who’d died in the transfer. In the end, he’d accepted that he wanted to include her, too, dead or not.

  Korin lifted his miraculous daughter up with both hands above his head and addressed her directly. “You are a child of Mesa Terses, you are a child of The People, and your name is Rinli.”

  Two of the guards stacked pillows up at Nalin’s back and helped him sit up. It made him dizzy at first—thanks to the cilla nectar every few hours—and he still felt like horse leavings. But, he felt better rather than worse for the first time in two weeks. He knew the date, which was how he knew how long it had been since the Empir’s abduction, and he knew he’d allowed the healer to saw off his right foot and part of his lower leg to please his mother and Bala, though he had to admit they’d probably been right.

  He shook his head. He knew the leg was gone, and yet he felt it and its pain with no let-up from before. The important difference in his condition lay in the fever—or the lack of it. That made it possible this morning to not only handle the pain but to also insist on getting his mind back into his duties as Empir’s Will. So much left undone, so much yet to deal with.

  He’d summoned Commander Tanres. They needed to rethink the direction of the search. The commander had continued to update him as he recovered from the amputation, but until this morning, his mind had refused to cooperate. Now, he would retrieve his responsibilities and see if he and Tanres could work out a new course of action for locating the Empir.

  He’d awakened this morning with an odd dream floating on the surface of memory. He’d dreamt of Rosarel, of all people, standing in the middle of a room made of stone surrounded by a crowd. Something special about the man had intrigued Nalin while he’d been dreaming, but he’d lost that part as he rose from sleep into consciousness. For a reason Nalin couldn’t fathom, he believed that that dream had drawn him back to life. Up until now, he’d possessed no will to continue. It wasn’t that he’d wanted to die; he just hadn’t wanted to live either. But that dream had offered hope, a promise of renewal. But why? He had no idea.

  “My lord,” Tanres said, stepping into his room, “you look much better than you did even yesterday.”

  “The healer says my fever’s gone,” Nalin replied and then continued in a whisper. “I think he’s grateful his surgery worked. I might have executed him otherwise.”

  The commander smiled and adjusted her armor. She hadn’t buckled herself up yet, and Nalin suspected that this was her way of putting at ease a pathetic noble still in his nightshift in the middle of the morning.

  “So, because the damn nectar muddles my mind, remind me again what specifically we’ve been doing to try and find the Empir.”

  “We have two search parties out with five guards in each. Captain Palla commands one; Captain Aryl, the other.”

  Nalin nodded, and she continued.

  “I have messengers riding back and forth. This helps me keep track of where each party is, allows me to get questions to them and answers and other information back.”

  “And that information?”

  The commander shook her head slowly. “Not much. I’d like to say I’ve been sparing you bad news or that I’d kept hopeful discoveries from you while you were ill, but nothing at all so far. We’ve had a couple of leads that led us nowhere, and that’s about it.”

  “And no word at all of ransom?”

  “No, my lord.”

  Nalin turned his head to look out the window beside him, a window which looked out on the park. He sighed and returned to Tanres. “Bring them back.”

  “My lord?”

  “Bring both search parties back. We have to rethink this. Hopefully by the time they get here, I won’t need the nectar, and you and I can come up with a new plan.”

  “Aye, my lord.” The commander hesitated.

  “I know. It sounds crazy, but if we haven’t learned anything in two weeks, we’re not likely to learn anything this way in the next three or four weeks, or ever, for that matter.”

  “I’ll send
out the messengers.” She pivoted on one foot, about to leave, but Nalin stopped her.

  “Wait. There’s something else.”

  Tanres turned back. “My lord?”

  “Have you launched an investigation? Into the abduction, I mean.”

  “I questioned some of those who knew the guards who were killed, thinking maybe they were involved somehow. I got nowhere.”

  Nalin cleared his throat. “Let’s step it up. I want a full investigation. Question anyone who was here in Avaret that day. It’s possible the Thristans, or whoever, did this on their own without help from anyone here, but I doubt it.”

  “Anyone in particular you suspect?”

  “I want you to keep the investigation broad, at least initially. And as far as suspicion goes, you and I both know who should be at the top of the list of potential collaborators.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “Keep me updated on your findings,” Nalin continued, “and if you narrow in on anyone, feel free to arrest them before informing me.”

  “I understand.”

  “Go. And send Jazel up on your way out.”

  Tanres, commander of the Emperi Guard, looked Nalin straight in the eye and, with the barest nod, brought her right fist up to her chest in salute. Then she turned again and left.

  Nalin lay there in the damn bed, his right leg elevated, the stump midway down his calf open to the air to encourage healing. He saw less of Hermit Titus now. Bala had slept in the room with him for the first two nights after Titus had chopped his foot off, settling into a cot that had been brought in for her. Then, last night, he’d sent her back to the old palace for a night of honest rest and warned her not to return until this afternoon. By the time he’d thrown her out yesterday, darkness had encircled her eyes, and he believed she had to look worse than he did.

  His scalp itched. He hadn’t realized how vanity about his hair could consume him, but two weeks without washing it had left him feeling like a beggar with it all straying from the braid and hanging down in his face. Where was Benir? He’d have to get the servant to help him get clean from head to toes. The toes on my left foot at least.

  Jazel arrived, parchment, pen and ink in hand. She must have assumed he’d be dictating something. He looked at the stack of things she’d retrieved from his quarters in the old palace, saw pen, ink and paper there and wondered why, when she’d been the one to bring those things to him in the first place, she hadn’t remembered they were already up here.

  “My lord, it’s good to see you sitting up,” she said and smiled. “What can I do for you?”

  “I want you to summon the privy council.”

  “And the reason?”

  Nalin considered his reasons and decided to keep them to himself for now. Just as he believed the Thristans had been behind the abduction, he also believed that the only other holder currently around had handed her Empir over to the kidnappers. But, because the relationship between himself and Lorain had always been contentious, he dared do nothing until he had plenty of witnesses around who could testify that he’d acted appropriately when declaring her the traitor.

  “Tell them that I need advice on how to proceed. Give them a brief explanation of the current situation—the Empir still not located, nothing from the search parties and no ransom demand, that sort of thing. And inform them that this is not an invitation; it’s an order.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Jazel started to turn but stopped and looked back at him. It seemed like everyone had second thoughts when leaving him today. “Should I tell them about your condition? They’re likely to have heard you were hurt. It might reassure them to know you’re improving.”

  “All right. But make it brief. My condition is not the issue. Focus on the abduction and potential detention of the Empir.”

  “Understood, my lord.”

  “I want these in the hands of messengers first thing this afternoon. I need the privy council here within the week.” He paused, realizing that it could take a full week for the message to get to Melanda Cabell and another week for her to get back. “Have the messenger to Holder Cabell go by the best ship we have. Tell them to bring the holder back with them.”

  “As you command, my lord.” And this time Jazel left.

  Nalin’s eyelids grew heavy. He’d expended energy as though he had some. The healer would likely chide him for doing too much this first day of the fever’s retreat, and he’d probably be right. But as Nalin felt sleep drawing him, he experienced a sense of satisfaction he’d missed ever since the damn abduction had occurred. The image of the Empir riding off with the kidnappers, homespun sack covering her head, chased him into fitful slumber.

  By Lisen’s count—which she couldn’t count on—something like three weeks had passed since her abduction, and yet she was still here, still alive and still drugged. Why had they kidnapped her? What was their purpose? Whatever it was, Ondra seemed to have abandoned the initial plan in favor of another, a plan which, like its predecessor, remained a mystery to Lisen.

  Wrists tied behind her back, her mind’s power poisoned by the drug soaked into the hood covering her head, the only way she knew the passage of time was by counting the boring meals of dried meat and bread they brought to her in the darkness of her little cave—two for each day, breakfast and dinner. The rich tunic and leather leggings she’d worn for the ride the last day of her freedom had suffered scrapes and tears, and she could feel the grime that collected on her face even without touching it with her hands.

  She’d hosted several visits from Ondra. Sometimes the Thristan woman would talk to her, and sometimes she’d bring one of the other Thristans with her, and they’d speak in their native language, leaving Lisen in the dark in every sense. If she hadn’t been their captive, she would have chided them for their bad manners. As it was, Lisen figured the rudeness was intentional.

  She’d tried changing positions to keep her wrists from chafing and her hands from going numb, but none of them worked. And she was tired, so tired, of sitting in the same place for so long. Even the thrice-daily chamber pot breaks didn’t ease the monotony. She couldn’t sleep until sleep could no longer be denied even by her discomfort, and then sleep failed to refresh, leaving her more weary than before. She wondered if this was what it was like on Earth for those prisoners in Gitmo. Of course, Lisen had heard rumors that they were not only held prisoner but tortured as well, but she had no way of knowing if that were true.

  “Little Lisen,” a voice, the voice, broke through Lisen’s stimuli-deprived musings. She should have felt Ondra coming, but the drug—whatever it was—locked every door to other minds and other feelings.

  “Hello, Ondra,” she replied, her voice hoarse from lack of speaking. She cleared her throat, then sat up straight. Her hood was yanked away, and she blinked in the light of the torch Ondra had brought with her.

  “So tell me, Empir Ariannas, what is it you want?” Ondra sat down in front of Lisen and unsheathed her ever-present shindah.

  “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” she responded after she ran Ondra’s words again in her head and confirmed her ears were working properly.

  “No, really. From the little I’ve heard, you followed a long path to get to be Empir. So now that you’ve attained that goal, what’s next?”

  “To get out of here would be a good place to start.”

  “That’s a given,” Ondra admitted, running her finger down the straight edge of her knife’s blade, “and not likely an obtainable objective. But if I were to allow you to leave, what would you want to accomplish in your lofty position?” She scooted up closer to Lisen and began to outline Lisen’s jaw slowly with the knife.

  “I could tell you,” Lisen said, holding her fear in check and staring Ondra straight in the eyes, “that I’d like to see things change for Thristas, but you wouldn’t believe me, would you.”

  “Then tell me something else.” Ondra’s dark eyes flared with malevolence. Lisen wished she could get a glimpse inside the woman
’s mind, but, thanks to the drug, that wasn’t about to happen.

  “My only goal at the moment, or at least before your people took me, was to learn how to do the job.” It was an effort to remain calm as the Thristan woman continued to trace the outlines of Lisen’s face and body over both skin and cloth. The knife tip chilled her everywhere it touched.

  “What do you know about babies?” Ondra held the knife above Lisen’s collarbone, and she leaned in so close that her lips nearly touched Lisen’s cheek.

  Lisen furrowed her brow and pulled back to glare at Ondra, trying to divine some sense from the question. There seemed to be none. “Pardon me?”

  “Babies,” Ondra said, fingering the tip of the knife. “You know, the little things that look like us but smaller and eventually grow into us?”

  “I know what you’re talking about. I just don’t understand the question. What I know is that they’re little things that look like us and eventually grow into us.”

  “How they get here. What do you know about how they get here?” Ondra returned to stroking Lisen with the point of the knife. Lisen’s heart raced, and she wondered why the woman was suddenly intent on an anatomy lesson.

  “A man and woman mate,” Lisen answered, wishing she could free her hands and make the woman stop, but Ondra just kept playing her dangerous game of chase the knife from one place to another on Lisen’s body. “Later, while the baby is still very tiny, the mother expels it from inside, and it must make its way to the pouch.”

  “So they say. But what do you know?”

  Between Ondra toying with Lisen with her knife, asking her all these pointed questions and the residual effects of the last dose of the whatever drug, Lisen couldn’t focus. “Me?” She tried to pull away, if just a little, but Ondra’s knife pursued her, tracing the outline of her pouch beneath her tunic. “Not much. I grew up in a haven. I know how four-foot young are born but almost nothing about two-foots.”

  Without warning, Ondra scooted back and sheathed her knife. Lisen had no idea what she’d said, but somewhere in her words lay magic. And with the swiftness Lisen had come to know so well, Ondra replaced the hood and marched out of the cave, leaving Lisen to contemplate their conversation while she tried to hold her breath.