Beneath the Thirteen Moons

by Kathryne Kennedy

  Korl flushed scarlet. “Thanks.”

  Mahri shrugged. How many times could you save someone’s life, she wondered, and still not feel responsible for them?

  “I guess I’m the ignorant one, after all,” he laughed in self-deprecation, then straightened those broad shoulders. “At least in the swamps.”

  Mahri knew that they’d come from different worlds but only now realized what a wide gulf that was. “You’re as out of place here as I would be at court.”

  He raised an eyebrow, as if picturing her in that very place. Then grinned.

  Her little craft floated through the twilight.

  When Mahri saw the village’s cluster of trees her knees buckled as if, now that she’d reached it, her will could support her no further. She slid gracefully to the deck, her staff rattling against the wood, and gave in to the shakes that rippled through her body. She’d never been so tired in her life.

  Korl poled them to a flat limb the village used as a dock, climbed from the boat and pulled Mahri out. They both stood for a moment, getting used to the absence of movement beneath their feet, Mahri trying to stop the quivering in her legs.

  “Where is everyone?” she wondered aloud.

  The skeleton of a boat under construction lay on a limb parallel to the one they stood on; the fire shell that melted the glue lay cold and abandoned. Various sea animal’s hides were stretched on racks but had only been scraped clean halfway. Shell utensils, woven baskets of laundry, tools, even toys were strewn haphazardly along the branch paths around and above them. All the signs of human habitation, but not the face of one person anywhere.

  Mahri let her legs have their way and collapsed to the ground. “They can’t all be dead. The fever couldn’t have taken them so quickly!”

  “Of course not.” The prince squatted down beside her. “They’re probably fishing or something.” He gathered Mahri in his arms and stood, looking around uncertainly. “Show me where your family’s house is and I’ll take you there.”

  “Along this limb, over to the next one intersecting, then across the rope-bridge. You can see it from here.”

  “Really,” Korl muttered, peering through the riot of leaves with a puzzled expression. But he followed her directions, stopped in astonishment when he stood before a piece of otter skin that resembled a door. What at first glance appeared to be a burl in the tree was actually a cleverly crafted dwelling. Mahri watched him pick out the other homes in the surrounding trees, tucked in natural twists of the limbs, hidden in hollows and forked branches.

  “They let the tree choose their homes, not the other way around.”

  He only nodded, ducked slightly, and pushed his way past the otter skin. Almost as dark inside as out, Mahri struggled out of his arms and crossed the main room to the fire shell. She added seafire clumps to the husks already laying in there, found the shell of oil and doled it over the lumps. A sizzle, a puff of stink, and the seafire grew red with heat, basking the room with its warm glow.

  Mahri looked around. Caria’s shell collection adorned every available surface; hung in strings from the wood roof, lay piled in grass baskets or wooden platters placed on the table, on the shelves. “Caria?” she called.

  A mumbled string of syllables that could’ve been her name and Mahri staggered to the bedroom, exhausted, root-fried, but so grateful when she looked on the flushed face of Brez’s sister. Still alive, thank the-thirteen-moons.

  “Mahri, is that you?” Caria knelt beside the moss-padded bed, her blue-green eyes bright with fever, her hand laid possessively on the arm of little Sh’ra.

  “Aya. My niece, she lives?” she replied as she crept closer to the bed.

  Caria nodded, her face crumpling into a mask of agony. “But she’s so weak, so tiny. Her hands have begun to twist with the deformity…” She covered her face with her own hands and sobs wracked her small frame.

  “I’ve brought the Healer, Car. Hush, now.”

  And for the first time her lifemate’s sister really looked at her and the man who shadowed behind. “What’ve you done?” she asked with horror, wiping the tears from her face.

  Mahri frowned. “What do you mean?” Could she tell that Korl was a Royal?

  “You look worse than I feel and I’ve got the fever.”

  Mahri almost laughed with relief. “It was a journey I’d rather never make again. And I’ve used most of the root to get here. Have you more, for the Healer?”

  Caria swayed to her feet, rummaged in a cupboard that stood next to the bed. “It’s where they’ve all gone, those that aren’t sick. To harvest more root.”

  “Wald is with them, he’s not…”

  “No, my man is fine. Says it’d take more than some little bug to down the ox that he is.” She handed Mahri a small bag of zabba. “We hoped that you’d find a Healer willing to help us.” Tears rolled down to the corners of her mouth as she threw a look of gratitude at Korl. He didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish, instead he half-bowed to Caria. Sh’ra moaned weakly from the bed and she flew back to her daughter’s side, missing the look that passed between Mahri and the Healer.

  Mahri gritted her teeth. Korl acted like he’d come of his own free will, as if he were some self-righteous savior. She threw the bag at him. “Eat it,” she hissed. “And heal every last one of them or I swear you’ll never see the palace again.” Empty threat, really, since she never intended to bring him back anyway. But his face lit with hope, as if she’d made him some kind of promise.

  Mahri dug into her own pouch, a dread in the pit of her stomach at how empty it seemed. She brought the root to her lips and willed her body to take more, to keep it down this time. To her relief she didn’t gag it out but felt the Power shiver through her and groaned with relief.

  Korl’s eyes sparkled with their own Power, met hers in a shower of mingled light. “What d’you think you’re doing?” he whispered, “You’re already half-dead from root!”

  “Do you think I’d trust you to do this alone?”

  Korl slapped a hand to his forehead. “What could I have been thinking?” And he took swift angry strides to the bed, then let out a loud breath.

  “She’s bad,” he murmured as he laid gentle hands along the small body.

  Caria’s face lit with panic and Mahri could’ve kicked Korl. Instead, she asked her sister-in-life to make them tea, had to practically force her from the room. “We’ll take care of her,” she promised.

  Mahri laid her hands on top of Korl’s and even her concern couldn’t dull the feeling that swept through her at even that innocent contact. She heard him take another deep breath as she Saw into the child, knowing that the dark things eating at her body needed to be destroyed but unable to determine where to even start.

  “You See them?” he asked.

  “See what?”

  “Those spiked shapes—See how they attack and change the normal, healthy cells?”

  “Aya, I… I think so. How do we stop them?”

  His gaze met hers, intense with purpose. “We Push them to here,” he pointed with his finger to the organ that cleaned out the body. “You start here, me here.”

  Mahri nodded and began to Push. She felt no satisfaction when her Pushing exceeded his, no pride at her superior Power, for she had little control, root-fried as she was; whereas Korl had total control but little Power. In the end, there were too many of the buggers, they clogged the organ and spread back out too quickly. She cursed. In silent agreement they then tried to Push them out of the body altogether but like grains of sand slipping through fingers too many eluded them, and then they multiplied even faster.

  Korl caught his chin in his hand and frowned. “We can attack them directly.”

  Mahri shook her head. “How? They change their shape and by the time you’ve got ’em cleared out, you need to go back in and do it all over. That’s if you can recognize their new shape in time.” She turned on him, hands on hips. “What d’you think I needed you for? You’re supposed to hav
e the knowledge to deal with this.”

  “Listen, water-rat…”

  Sh’ra moaned from the bed and her long-lashed eyes opened to stare blindly at her aunt. Sea green eyes, just like her own Tal’li. Mahri smoothed back the chestnut curls from the child’s forehead, felt the silky down of a rounded cheek and was overwhelmed by a sharp memory of her son.

  Tal’li had loved to catch fly-fish, his little hands clapping at air while they swirled around him in columns of delicate wings. When he laughed she would always laugh with him—so infectious, that staccato chuckle. And if he managed to catch one, he’d carry it straight to her, his little back stiff with pride, and lay it in her lap as if he presented her with the rarest of treasures.

  “Do you like to fly-fish?” she whispered to her niece. Her voice strangled against a sob. “But I’ve never taken you, have I? Make it through this, little one, and I promise I will.”

  But those lids closed, like Tal’li’s had closed, with a sweep of finality. Mahri looked up at Korl, caught him staring at her as if he’d never seen her before.

  “Save her,” she whispered.

  He nodded. Once. “We’ll attack them indirectly, then.”

  “How?”

  “Look at it backwards. Instead of killing them off, we stimulate the antibodies, make them stronger.” He pressed her hand against the child’s chest. “See into her system, here? The virus is surrounded by these white cells, the body’s defensive system, and they’re killing ’em—but too slowly. There aren’t enough of the antibodies.”

  Mahri struggled to understand. “They’re like warrior’s —but they’re outnumbered. Can we stimulate them enough so that they make more?”

  “Reproduction? We don’t have that kind of knowledge, Mahri. But,” the Healer snapped his fingers. “We could give her some more antibodies, that might work.”

  “Reinforcements!”

  “Yes. The mother’s antibodies might have a better chance of working, being more compatible. The same blood type.”

  Mahri’s head spun with questions. Antibodies… and what’s a blood type? To have access to such knowledge, what she wouldn’t give for that! She turned to fetch Caria when a touch on her arm stopped her. He stared sadly at her. “Wait, water-rat. I… I don’t think I can do it.”

  “What?” she hissed, her own olive-colored eyes wide with disbelief. To offer her a shred of hope and then to crush it so quickly!

  “It’d take a Master Seer to do something like this and the girl doesn’t have the time for you to go kidnapping one.”

  Mahri shook with frustration, weariness, and too much zabba. “Are you saying you’re not powerful enough? But what about me? You know I am.”

  “You’re also a root-fried Wilding and don’t have the control I do. I saw what happened when you tried to Push the virus. What if you accidentally Pushed harmful bacteria or something into that little girl?” They both glanced down at tousled chestnut curls, the innocent face of that sleeping child.

  Mahri dropped her head, stray wisps of dark red hair fell to cover her face. “There has to be some way.”

  Sh’ra moaned and barked a weak cough.

  Warm strong fingers tilted Mahri’s chin up, brushed the red strands away from her face. “Even a water-rat knows,” he said, “that there’s only one way to tap another Seer’s Power.”

  Mahri lost herself in his eyes. “A Bonding,” she whispered.

  Chapter 7

  MAHRI BLINKED AGAINST HIS CHARISMATIC LURE AND had to force herself to look away. “I knew it!” She cursed viciously. “I knew they’d find a way to make this happen.”

  Korl crossed muscled arms over his broad chest. “What’re you talking about?”

  “The natives…”

  His full bottom lip curled into a smile and Mahri snapped her own mouth shut. She remembered his reaction the last time she’d told him about her dream. He didn’t believe it for a moment and neither should she. Yet, why were the natives watching them at the river? Although it could be hard to determine the facial expressions of those scale-furred humanoids, she’d sensed smug satisfaction as they watched her and the Prince. As if they knew that the two of them would be drawn together.

  “There has to be another way,” she muttered. “A Bond could only be as a last resort—it’s too permanent, we could never break it.”

  Korl’s eyebrow rose in that arrogantly superior manner and Mahri knew that he was about to spout off something that would make her angry. “You didn’t think I was suggesting that we Bond, did you? A prince and a water-rat?” He barked a short laugh.

  She’d been right. Anger flared inside of her. “Spare me your ego, Oh Great One. I’d risk twice as much as you, considering I’ve got more tolerance than you could ever hope for.”

  He near sputtered with surprised indignation. “Well it works both ways. You could tap my Power too, maybe use that to influence me—or keep me weak—or try to control the throne.”

  “You haven’t got the throne, at least not yet. But you could use enough of my own Power to secure it.”

  They stared at each other, sparks of unleashed Power flashing between them, and recognized the mutual distrust. And fear. No wonder a Bonding is so rare, thought Mahri. The risks far outweighed the advantages.

  Sh’ra moaned and Korl took Mahri’s hand when her face crumpled in response to that pitiful mew. “I don’t trust you,” she whispered.

  “Nor I you.”

  Mahri shook her head. If only there was someone else who could tolerate the root as much as she did. Someone who could feed enough Power to Korl to save her niece. “But I don’t know any other way to do this thing—there are no other Wildings in the village.”

  They both stood frozen with indecision, the silence in the room only broken by the rattled breath of the child.

  “A prince can’t Bond with a water-rat,” muttered Korl with the finality of a command.

  Mahri snatched her hand from his, tried to cool the burn in her fingers from that brief contact with his skin. He didn’t want to Bond anymore than she did yet that only slightly reassured her. The natives had wanted this to happen and she didn’t like the feeling of being manipulated, even if Korl shared that distinction.

  She looked at Sh’ra’s pain-ravaged face. While they stood here arguing, worrying about their own selves, her niece could die. She’d have another death on her conscience, another life she could’ve saved if she’d been strong enough. How could she stand here and refuse the very thing that could help this child?

  Mahri looked into Korl’s eyes, watched the sweep of those incredibly long lashes when he blinked at the furious resolve in her face. “We have no other choice,” and her own words rang with the finality of a command.

  He blinked again. The tips of his lashes were edged with the same pale-gold color of his hair. “Mahri, we have no idea how this would affect the rest of our lives. I won’t take that kind of risk.”

  Had he ever spoken her name before? she wondered. The sound of it in that husky, deep timbre made her shiver with pleasure. “No risk, Korl,” she replied, purposely rolling his own name over her tongue.

  If anyone had told her that she’d try to convince someone, much less a Royal, to Bond with her, she never would’ve believed it. And that she’d use feminine persuasion, well, she would’ve laughed until it hurt. Nevertheless, she curled her arms around his neck before he had a chance to know her intent, molded her body against his, met the firm softness of his mouth and kissed his breath away.

  “You already told me,” she whispered, after running the tip of her tongue along the fullness of his bottom lip, “that I’d never survive the zabba I’ve taken. I’ll die anyway, after we save them, so you needn’t worry about the Bond.”

  His arms had somehow managed to wrap themselves around her and they tightened when she spoke. “Not if I can help it,” he muttered. And then louder, “You don’t know very much about a Bond, water-rat.”

  Mahri didn’t know what he meant, did
n’t care. “You’ll do it?”

  “I can’t.”

  She sighed. She couldn’t be sure that it would work if she forced him to form a Bond, for it took a mutual intent to meld the Power, but she had to try anyway. “Unless you save this child you’ll never see the Palace Tree again.”

  Korl looked at the expression on her face and gently pushed her away. “I can find my way back.”

  “You think? It’s possible, although I doubt if you’ll make it back alive.” Mahri’s voice lowered with exasperation. “You can’t even tell the difference between a krizm and a dedo.”

  “I’ll get someone to take me back.” Korl stuck his tipped, arrogant nose in the air.

  “Right. After you let this little girl die. You’ll be lucky if they don’t throw you to the leaf wolves.” She could tell he didn’t even know what a leaf wolf was and knew he was dying to ask but wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

  During their whispered argument Jaja had crept into the room, his head whipping back and forth between the two of them. When Korl opened his mouth to fling another retort the monk-fish chirped with disgust and leaped onto the bed. He took Sh’ra’s hand, reached for the Royal’s larger one, and clasped them together. His soft brown eyes widened to enormous proportions as he gazed at Korl with sad indignation.

  Mahri smiled at her pet. “I think he’s reminding you that you once said ‘I’m a healer first, a prince second.’ And while we argue, Healer, my niece is dying.”

  He contemplated the three of them, then sighed in exaggerated defeat. “What do we do?”

  “I’m not sure.” Mahri blinked. She felt so taken aback at his sudden agreement that she forgot to wonder why he didn’t seem so terribly angry about being forced against his will.

  Caria spoke from the doorway. “Jaja knows.”

  How long has she been standing there? wondered Mahri. And why does she think the monk-fish knows anything about Bonding?

  “Jaja’s always been more than a mere pet, sister,” answered Caria, as if Mahri had spoken aloud.

  Mahri started, watched the monk-fish with suspicion when he leaped on Korl’s shoulder and imperiously waved her closer. She took the step that molded her body against Korl’s, the consequences of that action so different this time she couldn’t help the shudder of revulsion that rippled through her. Korl frowned so hard his eyebrows almost met.