Images of her bloodied and helpless in that dungeon flashed through his mind's eye, the scent so similar. Her screams from the marketplace, pure agony and horror, ripped through him again, as clear as if they were happening all over again.
He ground those memories back, pulling up what energy he could to summon the easy sound of annoyance. It shouldn't have taken much. If there was one thing he could feign, it was annoyance. Yet the dull ache of exhaustion threatened even that. At least talking created some sort of energy. Especially if WroOth took the bait. And he would. He always did. Thank mercy.
Besides, it would give both QueQoa and WroOth something to think about beyond the shrinking perimeter of the rels. If they were to be attacked, silence gained them nothing.
"Disemboweling him and binding him to a tree with his own intestines would have taken less than a minute. Cutting his feet off and chucking him into some predator's den might have taken two if you add in the time to find the ideal location. Tying him upside down to a rock with blades under his neck perhaps one if you had assisted me rather than argued. Even gutting him or wasting him would have been far more painful. But you chose to snap his neck."
WroOth scoffed loudly. "Pain isn't always the point."
"It was this time."
"No, keeping him from being a further threat and finding Amelia was the point. You're her veskare! How do you not see this?"
"We could have done both is what I am saying. There were ways to achieve both purposes without sacrificing one."
"But why take the risk?" WroOth demanded.
"It wasn't a risk. You simply default to neck snapping when you don't know what else to do."
"Are you suggesting I am predictable?" WroOth's eyes widened with mock surprise.
"When you don't know what to do, yes. You either snap their necks or stab them between the shoulders."
"This conversation is darker than I am comfortable with," QueQoa said, not looking at either of them as he strode forward through the grass.
"QueQoa," WroOth called, his tone more playful now. He extended his arms. "You know we're not really angry with each other. You should know that by now."
QueQoa cast a glance back, his bushy brown eyebrow raised. Then he continued on, whatever he was thinking left unsaid.
Naatos guessed at the thoughts roaming QueQoa's mind. Their brother was indeed loyal, but he did not take much if any pleasure in bloodshed or torture, even when the recipient had earned far worse.
Not that he denied the necessity of it. Naatos sometimes wondered if QueQoa didn't leave to wander not simply because he craved solitude but because he needed time away from them. He was an odd one. Difficult to read even after all these years. Loyal to a fault but prone to disappearing in his own head and wandering until he had worked through whatever matter troubled him. They'd need to talk later.
"Well," WroOth continued, glancing at Naatos sidelong. "I am no more lacking in creativity than you."
"Oh you are," Naatos responded.
"I am not."
"You are."
"No, I am not."
Naatos stopped short. The sharp metallic scent of besred blood and fresh water reached him with the shifting of the wind. It also carried the much fainter scent of his brother.
Here the terrain angled upward, the grasses thinning. He quickened his pace and followed the trail. WroOth and QueQoa did as well. After a few minutes longer, they reached a crest where trails of vines hung down from the impressively long and slightly curved branches of trees whose trunks were more than twenty feet away from them. Naatos pressed aside the mass of vines and stepped into a clearing.
A deep bubbling river cut through the dark earth only a few yards away, sloping downward toward the north and then falling away into a great gorge. A large chiron oak with sharp sturdy branches had mangled the earth along that edge, carving out a tangled base that stretched out over the rushing waters. The river itself emerged as a small waterfall from a coarse grey-blue wall of sheer rock that stretched at least another thirty feet upward and continued on, providing excellent protection. The deciduous forest continued, curving along the bank to a hill.
A crude firepit had already been dug in the center of what would form a relatively large base camp for their needs. A rough woodpile lay a few feet away from that near AaQar. And beside him rested a large besred, its throat slit and punctured. Three long gouges split the chest open as if large serrated claws had been used to deliver the debilitating blow.
AaQar lifted his head, his expression as calm as if they were in the temple after a full day of handling the tedious responsibilities of ruling. He almost always had a serene look about him even in places such as this. "I was beginning to grow concerned." He drew the mass of knots tight around the besred's hindquarters, then pulled it so that it became taut over the low swooping chiron branch. With a steady series of pulls and steps, he hoisted the besred out and pushed it over the ravine so the blood could drain away. "Is she conscious?"
"No." Naatos placed her on her stomach on the dry earth, uphill of the thick streams of blood from AaQar's battle with the besred. Gouges in the soil and dark impressions suggested it had been a swift battle. A good indication of AaQar's strength. Hopefully his medical knowledge would prove just as strong for this unusual situation. He turned her face so that it did not rest directly in the dirt. Her breaths were soft, almost thready. "She's only sleeping."
AaQar fastened off the rope. He wiped his hands on his pale-blue robe and then crossed over. Kneeling, he placed his fingers against Amelia's throat. He gave a terse nod and then lifted the waxy bikro bandages with care. They slicked and squelched as they pulled free, exposing raw flesh and muscle.
Gore never bothered Naatos, yet his stomach twisted nonetheless. Bitter bile rose in his mouth. At least she was alive. The primitive Libyshan herbal treatments had worked a near miracle. He kept his hand over hers as if that could somehow protect her. Her fingers were cold.
AaQar removed another strip with the care of a practiced surgeon. "Was she conscious when you found her?"
"Very much so." He lifted her hand and began rubbing her fingers to increase the circulation. They were very delicate but covered with numerous scars. Small animal bites. Bigger bite marks. A few burns. "She was screaming at a camel."
"Then Naatos yelled at her," WroOth said, examining the firepit. "I think there may have been some kissing though."
He cut his eyes at his brother, annoyed but somewhat relieved to see the full return of his brother's humor.
QueQoa picked up a large log that had fallen to the south side of the clearing and dragged it to the firepit. He then strode to the river, fished out a few stones, and carried them back to the firepit. WroOth transformed his hand into a large scaled claw and cut into the earth, deepening and widening the firepit.
AaQar smiled a little, though his expression remained otherwise somber. "That is promising at least. She is in far better condition than I expected. The Awdawm boy, the young Ayamin, he did well in his treatment of her, particularly considering the limitations of his resources and skills." He sank back on his boots. "She'll heal quickly once we put her in the suphrite stream though she'll probably have to sleep for a while. Perhaps a good long while based on how bad this is. When she wakes, it would be best if we told her that the boy is well and lives even though we cannot know for certain."
"She has already asked about him. I told her that his companions had found him. That it will be risky for him for a time but he is likely going to be all right," Naatos said.
AaQar peered at him, evaluating him with concern. "And you…"
Naatos stiffened involuntarily. He narrowed his eyes at his brother. His own condition regarding his shifting and the locking was not something he wanted to discuss.
AaQar arched an eyebrow, annoyance flashing in his light-blue eyes. He returned his focus to Amelia. "On the other side of the hill is a suphrite pool and river. Nothing swims in it. The rels aren't working as well as they
usually do. The perimeter is much smaller. But it doesn't seem that the suphrite has changed. The only things in that pool are what was left by the current. Still I don't want to leave her there alone. The ground slants too much to make it a good spot for our camp. She'll probably need to be in the suphrite for at least a full night. I'd prefer thirty-six hours, but we'll be doing good to keep her in there twelve, knowing her. We'll have to take it in shifts or else it will become too painful for us. But that should be enough to get her to a good place without you being able to heal her. Some scarring may be unavoidable, and—" He paused as he finished unwrapping her foot. "What happened here?"
"She cut her foot while running." Naatos scowled at the wound as if that might make it retract some of its ferocity. While the deep lashes in her back showed signs of strain and minor infection, they were mostly shades of red and relatively healthy. Her foot, however, showed far deeper damage. The blackness could have been mud. But as AaQar cleaned it with water from the canteen and removed both twigs and gravel, the flesh remained death black and dull purple.
"There's something wrong here." AaQar flushed more water into it. It ran out again in a weaker stream, disturbingly filthy. "This was punctured. And cut."
"I tested the wound," WroOth said, crouching beside her. He held one of the wet stones from the river in his left hand. "She said it didn't hurt. That she was fine."
"Except she isn't." AaQar's frown deepened. "What did you use?"
"My hunting knife."
"Why did you use your hunting knife to test the wound?"
"I only meant to set the blade against it lightly, enough to make her admit that it hurt. Except she didn't, and the blade was sharp." WroOth grimaced. "I didn't realize it went that deep though."
"The flesh here is almost dead. I'm not even sure if the suphrite can restore it fully," AaQar said.
Naatos remained silent, his anger rising with each breath. Some of the flesh along her shoulders and spine had healed, but her elmis along the small of her back had been nearly ripped off, leaving only their dark roots behind. Except... He stopped, realizing that the dark streak of flesh across her upper back was not only her elmis. "That isn't right."
"I know." AaQar continued to lush the wound. "I thought at first it was a side effect of the flogging. But it appears to be a black vein that runs deeper, similar to what is in her foot. And now seeing this...it's…I don't know what it is. It's familiar."
"Perhaps a Neyeb response to the flogging?" QueQoa suggested.
Leaning forward, WroOth measured the pit. He returned his hand to normal, giving it a good shake as he did. "I've never seen anything like that on a Neyeb."
"Agreed." AaQar continued to examine her heel. "I can't tell well enough at this point what we're dealing with, and I don't want to risk injuring her further. Perhaps the Libyshans used some sort of venom to intensify the wounds. It might even have an impact on later wounds." He sighed. "We just don't have the equipment. And doing anything more exploratory could result in more problems."
QueQoa had started arranging the stones around the firepit. "Did the Libyshans have venoms capable of this?"
"A few could accomplish some similar effects. Very rare though." Naatos moved Amelia's bloodied hair back from her shoulder. It was stiff and crackled a little with the pressure. "And she is not an Awdawm. It could have additional or fewer side effects."
"Perhaps." AaQar moved to lift her.
Naatos stopped him. "I'll carry her."
AaQar's mouth twisted with a grim awareness, his hands still set on her waist as he remained poised to pick her up.
"She's my wife." He gripped his brother's arm tighter with one hand while keeping his other wrapped around her wrist.
AaQar shook him off. "I am not contesting that. But you have pushed your strength to the limit. You're no good to anyone ill. Least of all her. If you want to be with her, fine. But see to your own needs first. Now let go."
Naatos set his jaw. The anger soared again as he kept hold of her a moment longer.
AaQar lifted Amelia up and placed her over his shoulder, careful not to touch the raw wounds. "She will be fine. If you don't take care of yourself, you won't be. So trust me."
He did. He trusted AaQar perhaps more than anyone, and yet everything rational was seeping away. There was nothing he could do. Nothing at all. Everything AaQar had said was correct. AaQar wasn't going to hurt Amelia, and he himself could do nothing to help her until he was recovered.
He dug his fingers into the dirt as he watched AaQar carry her off over the hill. She hung there like she was dead. It hadn't been so bad when he was carrying her, but WroOth was right. It was shocking she had stayed on her feet as long as she had.
WroOth put a large wet river stone in his arms. "Here. Break this. We'll get the fire going, I'll cut out the backstraps on the besred, and then we'll eat. You'll feel better then."
He didn't even drop the stone. He just watched until he could no longer see AaQar or Amelia. Dull agony grew within him, pooling in his gut and rising within his chest until it reached his throat and choked him. This was not how it was supposed to be.
6
A Brotherly Conversation
AaQar did not breathe with relief until he crossed the top of the hill and made his way down the steep slope to the sandy bank of the suphrite. Naatos was many things, but when he moved into a protective stance, he could be utterly unreasonable.
That was only going to get worse in the passing hours. At least he had a little bit of time to examine Amelia alone. There were many things he didn't need, and Naatos hovering over his shoulder, watching him with the intensity of a stalking cabiza was one of them. Naatos with a plan was formidable, relentless, and unstoppable. Naatos without a plan and without the ability to do anything but wait could be intolerable, infuriating, and dangerous.
So far as suphrite streams went, this one was about average. The blue-grey stone from which the waterfall poured into the river continued upward into a low mountain that wrapped around almost half of the far lower suphrite pool. Soft brownish-white sand, a little coarse and heavily pebbled, surrounded the majority of the pool and the narrow river that wound out of the forest. Tall deciduous trees ranging from the paper-barked roca to the chiron oaks with their varied branches to the high-rooted mangroves formed almost impenetrable walls that were broken only by jutting stones or pitted boulders. Vines and all manner of green underbrush and overgrowth made passage through nearly impossible except at key defensible points.
The rels kept this place safe from everything, but the natural formation would have protected them from most non-aerial or arboreal predators. This was the sort of place where a Bealorn or Shivennan healing community would have established itself, building paths down to the pool and stands to hold soothing beverages and racks for soft towels. The waters were only soothing for them, and they used the slower healing times as an opportunity to indulge and relax.
For his part, he preferred the natural form of this spring. But he wouldn't have objected to some of the tools. Reaching the water's edge, he knelt.
"What is wrong with you, little sister?" He stretched Amelia out on her stomach on the bank as he leaned over her to examine her back once more.
The Awdawm youth, Matthu, had saved her life. There was no doubt of that.
The cat o' nine tails was a cruel instrument of torture, but the level of damage that this one had done suggested that the elder commander had had it altered to inflict more. But he might have also done them an unintended favor.
Those black veins were bad. He pressed one with the blade of his knife. It was rubbery, refusing to yield to the blade. The smell held a familiar edge as well though he could not place it. If he didn't know better, he would have thought it was a Neyeb curse. But the blood curse didn't manifest in this way. And the Neyeb would have mentioned if Salanca had accomplished anything else. Wouldn't they?
He rubbed his forehead, his fingers catching in his fine hair. Then he sighed. "The mo
re I know you, the less you make sense." There was a lot he didn't know about the Neyeb. They were a secretive people, and if there was one thing he appreciated, it was a need for privacy.
Naatos hadn't recognized the black veins as meaning anything. But they did. This wasn't a Libyshan poison. They had nothing comparable.
If they had been at the cadre home, one of the temples, or even in Polfradon, he would have risked removing a section for study. Of course, if they had been at the cadre home or in Polfradon or at the temple, he would have had better medical supplies for both the procedure and the examination. The suphrite would allow for rapid healing of most of her wounds. It might resolve these veins, but it also might simply cover over them.
Releasing a tight sigh, he made note of the condition of her back. Some of the deeper blows from the cat o' nine tails would leave scars at this point. The largest of the black veins was situated between a crosspoint on the lower left side of her back just above her elmis. The elmis themselves had been shredded. That at least would heal. And if it became necessary, he could later sedate her and check to see if the veins were still there or if they had grown.
Not that he wanted Naatos there for that either.
Naatos being overly protective and wanting to hover near Amelia wasn't surprising. He had a low tolerance for failure, especially regarding himself. And as far as failures went, Amelia was one of the more intense and certainly the most unjustified.
Picking her up again, he carried her out into the warm waters. Suphrite provided rapid healing for all of the races. But it wasn't always the most comfortable.
His own skin crawled and prickled, itching as if a thousand ants were marching up his legs. Whether healed or not, he'd only be able to stay out here four hours before he needed a break. Neyeb had a higher tolerance to these waters, which was good given how long she'd need to be out here. Not that it was pleasant for her. Far from it. It was some small mercy that she was unconscious. She'd probably be going near mad at this point. Perhaps that was why most Neyeb slept when in these waters.
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