Solomon Stone- Survival

by Diana K Potter

  “Why did you say that?” Stone prompted, half sitting up to reach for the jug of water that had been left to them. “Husband and wife?” he elaborated.

  “They saw me kiss you,” Alexis said. “Apologies for that, by the way. I should not have done so without…I should not have done so.”

  She’d made it this long without her face burning in shame, but it did so now.

  “Alexis,” Stone said. Just her name on his lips was nearly enough to make her fidget. “Had you done something I wasn’t interested in, I wouldn’t have kissed you back.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink through her skin and into the space beneath. He had kissed her back, she remembered. His lips against hers had made her ache for more than she’d started.

  She cleared her throat in an effort to force the obvious longing from her voice. “Since the boy’s Uncle saw us, it’s safe to assume he’s mentioned it to someone else. These people are unfamiliar to me, and I’d rather not have them questioning our morality. Aside from that…I have grown used to sleeping with you near. I would not want to be parted from you and to share a tent with strangers.”

  It was the closest she could come to admitting that she felt safer with him near. From the look on his face as he lay alongside her, he understood exactly what she meant.

  When at last sleep claimed her, the fingers of his hand had reached out and tangled with her own.

  ❖❖❖

  A sheep had been slaughtered for the occasion, and the scent of the roast filled the entirety of the camp, eventually waking both Alexis and Stone and drawing them out of their tent. Music played and food passed her lips. It tasted rich and wholesome and settled well in her empty stomach. She could have kept at it until she was far past full, but Stone warned her against it. At first, the friendly women who plied them with food seemed offended, and continuously brought more bowls and platters filled to bursting.

  Ishaq put a stop to it, sitting down with them, along with a woman he introduced as his wife, as well as the Uncle of Tadaki. Their circumstances came up naturally in conversation, when they were asked what brought them to the desert and what disaster had left them in such a state.

  They had lied about their relationship, but there was no need to add to the stack of untruths. She allowed Stone to take the lead. However kind these people were, she knew the truth of the world she lived in, and a woman had to be careful with whom she showed her true colors.

  When Stone recounted the ferocious storm that had sank the ship, she grasped his hand and rested their twined together fingers atop her thigh. It was getting easier to touch him, comfortable instead of jarring. He did not tense at the contact. “We’ve been headed toward our home in Greece, but we have no map and no supplies. Without your help, we would have been dead in another day or so.”

  Another day. It was strange to think about. Alexis was still so weak that even standing for too long was proving a challenge, and she had no doubt that Stone felt just as diminished. Even now, she could feel death’s shadow on the horizon. It wasn’t quite ready to relinquish its hooks. No one had ever said so, but she was certain the same thing had happened to her father. He’d survived so many battles only to die of a sudden fever that left the rest of her family untouched.

  “How is Tadaki?” Alexis asked, speaking slowly, enunciating. She knew how difficult it was to decipher a language you hadn’t been taught as a child.

  The wife of Ishaq spoke a rush of words. He translated each one as it left her lips, not waiting for her to finish speaking in a way that suggested he already knew exactly what she meant to stay. “He’s resting. Will be fine. The leg was not broken.”

  “I am glad of it,” Alexis said with a smile. It was not said for the sake of politeness. The boy had seemed like a brave one, and she truly meant it. Had fate not placed him in their path, she and Stone would be lying beneath the beautiful moon with their bodies shutting down. She waited, nibbling on food and listening to an instrument with lots of strings being played in the distance, for Stone to mention one last point of interest. When he did not raise the issue, she did so herself, speaking quietly to Ishaq and no one else. She feared her words, if said too loudly, might result in their expulsion from the camp before they were rested enough to hold their own against the elements.

  “You should know that there are others who survived the shipwreck. Slavers, I mean,” she said. “They may be in the area, but we’ve not seen them.”

  To her left, Stone was being converged upon by a gaggle of young men, one of whom was the boy’s uncle. They were passing a cup around, and appeared to be doing their best to convince him to take a drink for himself. They’d been given clean, hand woven clothing, and she could not quite wrap her head around how odd it looked to see Stone dressed in the same long robes that these men favored.

  Ishaq nodded sagely, waiting for her to continue.

  “They are evil men,” she said. “If they come here, do not trust them.”

  Stone, when she approached him, had plainly given in to the men harassing him about the drink, and was holding the mug at arm’s length. “It’s terrible,” he pronounced. She took it from him and gave it a skeptical sniff. It was whitish in color and had a distinctive, displeasing odor. “Fermented milk,” she said, nodding at a group of goats in a nearby paddock. “The taste isn’t really the point.”

  In the end, neither of them drank more than a few, experimental sips. Stone used the word ‘dehydrated’ and lots of gesturing, but Alexis already knew it would be a stupid decision, however much she craved the ease it might bring in talking to Stone.

  They retired to their tent before the festivities were over. They lay on their backs, staring at the ceiling. The loose, blue cloth let in no light. It was a far cry from lying together beneath the stars; in this darkness, she could barely see his outline beside her. They’d only just rested, but her body was screaming for more, her eyes already burning.

  “You told me on the ship that your father was dead,” Stone said.

  The words came from nowhere and shocked her to her core. As the mention of him always did, it sent an ache through her chest, a twinge that had taken years to become dull and more distant than sharp and cutting. “Yes,” she said shortly.

  “Who is it that you’re trying so hard to return to?”

  For a moment, she thought that perhaps this was his way to affirm she didn’t actually have a husband waiting for her in Greece and was very nearly offended at the perceived slight. His voice, though, held nothing but curiosity and something that sounded very much like respect.

  She hadn’t spoken of her family in so long that it almost felt like a betrayal to utter their names. “My mother, Thalia,” Alexis said. “And my sister, Lyra. Without my father, they depend on me.” She knew immediately it was a mistake to answer the question. Two short sentences and already she could feel tears gathering in her lashes.

  “Why haven’t you mentioned them?” Stone asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Alexis said. “Perhaps some part of me thought it was bad luck.”

  He shifted, turning toward her on the blanket they shared. “It’s different for me,” he said. “My father was the only real family I had left. And it’s…I can’t explain it, but I’m not entirely sure it’s even possible for me to go home. I’d like to try though.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “What I’m trying to say is that I’ll do everything I can to help you get there. There’s no rush on my end; there’s no one waiting.”

  The part of her that had kissed him so fearlessly wanted to tell him that he did belong here, perhaps even with her. The rest of her knew that those sorts of words could not easily be taken back. She was not the kind of woman who made such declarations, and, anyway, it was far too soon to tell. Much as she had valued him as a companion in the past weeks, she was all too aware of the fact that they still had much to learn about each other.

  “I know I’m no warrior,” the man said. “But I would like to do what—“ />
  “Stone,” she interrupted, before he could wrap himself too thoroughly in a tangle of complicated words. “Your company would be appreciated. Having you with me…” Here, her voice caught on something like a fishhook in her throat; she had to clear it in order to push forward. “It has helped me more than you can realize.”

  It was true. How many times, without his sardonic smiles and ill-timed quips, would she have given in to despair?

  They said no more, but when at last she fell asleep, it was with her head in the crook of his arm.

  ❖❖❖

  She woke to the sound of whispering and a wide hand splayed across her shoulder blade, holding her down. Her first reaction was panic. Her hand reaching for her discarded sword instinctively. She could not sleep in a sword belt, but it was never far away.

  “Easy,” Stone whispered, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Someone’s outside the camp. Outsiders. It sounded like a few horses.”

  She sat up and moved to the opening of the tent. She could hear the sound of many villagers shuffling around, and pictured them peering curiously at one anomaly or another. The light that slipped through the small openings in the tent told her it was morning. Alexis turned her ear toward the sounds that Stone had mentioned.

  The first thing she heard was Ishaq speaking to them in his native Persian. It was difficult to translate speech that came from some distance away, and she did her best to focus despite the headache it gave her. The first words were a polite welcome, spoken by Ishaq. It was not returned in kind.

  “My friends and I are searching for something,” a man spoke. His voice, though distant, was familiar in the way that dreams were.

  “What have you lost?” Ishaq asked. “Perhaps we can help you find it?”

  Her translations were an approximation at best; crucial context may have been lost. All the same, the words sent a shiver of unease down her spine.

  “Two slaves,” the outsider said. “They killed their masters and fled into the desert.” He went on a bit further, including several words that were unknown to her.

  Alexis felt her stomach clench, tight as any fist. She reached back, holding out a hand, and was pleased when Stone immediately placed the hilt of her sword into her palm. The weight of the weapon made a bit of the fear ebb away, like the tide going out. She rested in front of the entrance with her body in a crouch and the sword ready to be driven upwards into an unprotected stomach or throat.

  “We have seen no slaves here,” Ishaq answered. “Nor travelers of any sort for many days. If you would have need of water, we have a well you may use before you depart.”

  Tenseness drained from her shoulders as she heard the sound of the slavers following Ishaq through the village, weaving between tents. She held her breath, Stone crouched close behind her, as the men passed their tent. She waited until they passed again, this time with water sloshing in their saddlebags, to take a peek. Alexis opened the flap of the tent as much as she dared, allowing herself to see a thin sliver of the men after they had passed.

  She knew him by the way he walked, the easy, confidence of his stride. He wore the same grey cloak, and the fashion in which he wore his long, dark hair was distinctive even from behind. When their horses were galloping away, she turned back to Stone.

  “The quartermaster,” she said, still whispering, though the risk had just vanished.

  “Are they gone?” Stone asked.

  “Ishaq saw him off,” she answered, dizzy with relief. “They said nothing to give us away.” They were close enough, the two of them, that their breath mingled as they spoke.

  There was a long, frozen moment where the two simply stared at each other. Alexis was still fascinated by the lovely lightness of his green eyes. She had no idea what her own expression was doing, but Stone’s eyes were blazing. The shared relief of their safety burned away any lingering reservations. There was nothing left between them to act as a barrier. He cupped his hand around one side of her neck, making goose-bumps rise at his touch.

  On this occasion, Stone kissed her, heedless of the sword still tightly gripped in her hand. She all but collapsed into him, unprepared for the ferocity of it, the raw hunger; quite some time passed, Stone’s lips taking her apart by inches, before she released her hold on her weapon, letting it drop to the sand below, and found the will to kiss him back.

  The cravings that they had kept in check burst to the surface like flames. Now that it had been lit, there was no hope of extinguishing it. It was already far out of their control.

  Her hand found its way beneath Stone’s shirt and trailed up his back, finding it warm and strong, muscles jumping beneath her fingertips. She paused for a moment when her fingers traced over the scar left behind by the quartermaster’s whip, but he was quick to distract her from her rumination. He clutched at her clothing in turn, pulling her closer, kissing her deeper. He struggled with the clasp that held her dress up at her shoulder, and, laughing, her deft fingers found Stone’s and helped him divest her of the garment.

  His own clothing was trickier, especially the strange metal fastenings of his trousers, but his lips at her throat, moving ever downward, chased the questions and teasing remarks from her mind. She sat astride him, their bodies meeting, skin to skin. For a time, there was only the heat of his mouth, the sound of their mingling breaths, and the bruises that his fingers dug into her hips.

  “We are alive,” she told him—told herself. They were laying together, the grins on their faces unable to be wiped away.

  “Are you absolutely certain?’ he asked. “I think we should conduct further research. Just to dispel any lingering doubts.”

  “I think,” Alexis said. “That further attempts will cause us to miss breakfast. I can smell something roasting.”

  His lips were on her shoulder, his arm about her waist.

  She was alive. She was far from home, but she would see it again.

  Stone

  They did not remain in the village long after the quartermaster and his men came calling. There had been three of them, according to Ishaq. They had ridden horses and looked healthy enough. The outsiders had been disgruntled at his dismissal but had not pushed for information. He’d worried they would, he had admitted, but there were many well-armed men in his village, and they had fended off bandits many times before.

  “They say you used…witchcraft to drown the ship,” Ishaq had said, searching for the correct words. “Is that right?”

  The smile Alexis had responded with was feral. “If a woman is good at anything, it must be witchcraft, so I suppose so.”

  After three days of rest, he and Alexis were moving on, away from the small village that had shown them such hospitality. They were still weak, but were armed with a map from the villagers, who had told them where to find water and tribes willing to trade along the way. They were given far more than either he or Alexis was comfortable with in repayment for assisting Tadaki. Two camels were tied in front of their tent, each bearing saddle-bags laden with supplies—food, water, and even a bit of wood with which to make a fire that night.

  “It’s too much,” Stone said aloud, but lowly, to only Alexis.

  “It is,” she agreed. “But it seems to be their way. We should not insult them by refusing.”

  He had encountered many cultures with similar values when it came to guests and their treatment throughout his travels, including those he had studied in Egypt. Alexis was right, and he had no trouble admitting such. Much as it made him uncomfortable to accept such generosity with no way to repay it, he had no wish to offend them.

  They thanked them profusely instead. Stone shook the hands of those who’d gathered to see them off, which seemed to confuse and delight them, especially the children. Alexis settled for kissing a few of the women on the cheek, while Stone spoke with Ishaq.

  “Neither of us have anything to give,” Stone said. “So instead we offer our thanks. If we can, in the future, we will find you and repay you for your kindness.”

&
nbsp; “You forget,” Ishaq said. “This—“ He gestured to the camels and the bags they carried. “This is us repaying you.”

  Tadaki appeared as if summoned, and wrapped his arms around Alexis’s waist in a quick, tight hug, before disappearing to join his playmates in hunting down a small fox the color of the sand, which had crept into the village to snack on the remnants of the last slaughtered animal.

  The sight of Alexis mounting a camel for the first time was a sight to behold. She swung her leg over the side easily enough and then tugged at the reins in the same way he would imagine one might do atop a horse. The camel did not budge and even snorted once in displeasure.

  “It’s not that hard,” he said, having already climbed atop his own and coaxed it into standing. “Lean back first, let her start moving, and then lean forward.”

  Stone spoke the words kindly, but her nostrils flared in irritation all the same. He got the feeling that Alexis didn’t often require instruction from others and was much more accustomed to handing out advice than she was to following it. She did as he said, cursing under her breath through smiling, gritted teeth so as not as to showcase her discomfort to the locals. Truth be told, Stone didn’t terribly enjoy the process of mounting a camel himself, but it was at least something he was familiar with. To Alexis, it was new.

  He only just kept himself from laughing at her as she began to move forward. There was sweat on her brow that had nothing to do with the heat. Feeling his eyes on her face, she scowled and picked up the pace, shaking off the fear in favor of challenge. With one last look backwards, at the waving villagers, Stone tapped his heels against his own mount, and moved to catch her.

  There was no chosen finish line to this spur of the moment race; Stone merely slowed when Alexis did, coaxing his camel to walk alongside hers. It was immediately plain from the look on her face that she had not intended to slow. Her expression was perplexed, hands holding the reins aloft, eyebrows drawn together in irritation.