"She has us!" Naatos shouted.
"As much good as we are!" AaQar flung his arms in the air, glaring back at him. "There is something very wrong here. Those black veins aren't nothing. Perhaps it is the Ki Valo Nakar. Perhaps it is something else. But something is wrong! You know it, and I know it, and Amelia knows it. Sinara and the Neyeb elders may have had some larger plan which they intended to inform you of. They may have had some measure for handling this, but you and I both know beings like the Ki Valo Nakar cannot be kept down. They may be temporarily restrained, but they cannot be forever contained."
"I will find the solution." Naatos shook his head, annoyed. He hadn't even been able to give it much thought. The fact that she had survived the massacre and returned as an adult in Libysha of all places was still hard to grasp. He glared at the soil as if that could accomplish something. He had spent years thinking she was dead and gone. Then less than a week ago, she had returned, a mere child. But within the span of a day, she had become a woman who hated him and was determined to do her ineffective best to stop him. He didn't have a plan yet, because—in addition to there being no time—he had hoped it was gone forever. Yet he could not assume that. "What warning signs do you see that have you worried?"
"None. Only a feeling. And that scent. There is something off about it. It's faint. Those veins are bad."
"There was nothing in any of the accounts which referred to black veins or illness or weakness as symptoms of the onset."
"Then there is something else going on, and it is not good, Naatos."
"We will find a way through this," he said sternly. "And you must not speak to her of this."
AaQar rolled his eyes. "She's a mindreader, and far better than she has any business being. She didn't even recognize the walls in my mind or any of the barriers. She just appeared and bowled through." He lifted a finger to cut Naatos off. "And it is not because I lowered them or because I was weak and near death. Is that one of the signs?"
"No. If she made someone go mad or initiated the elmitho and harmed the person, that would be one. If she removed the walls from someone's mind. If her mind was fracturing off into distinct parts. If she stopped referring to herself as herself. If she started sleepwalking perhaps. If she crushed a soul. If she drank someone's life. If she developed a taste for olsa hearts. If she started cutting her cheeks or burning them. If her eyes go white. There are many signs. And she has shown none of them." Even as he looked at her now, he could not imagine any of them being true of her.
"Her mind must be exceptionally strained. Especially given what she has already endured," AaQar said. "Part of the reason you were bound to her was to provide strength and stability. So obviously that is something she needs."
Naatos refrained from commenting on this. Obviously she needed him. She just didn't want to be that close yet. He moved toward her. At least he could hold her now.
AaQar cut him off. "What are you doing?"
"Taking care of my wife."
"Oh no." AaQar swatted his hand away. "You're going to go and figure out what you can do to equip her to battle this without revealing anything more than you must."
Naatos started to protest, his agitation rising and choking most of his better thoughts. Except one that managed to scrape through. He lowered his hand. "The elder commander hated her."
"Yes…" AaQar said slowly as he stepped back. He picked Amelia up again and carried her back out into the water. "A great deal. It looks as if he had razors and steel shards woven into the cat o' nine. Who knows what else he did?"
Hate was powerful. Hate was something he could use. "Keep her safe."
"I have every intention of doing so," his brother responded, his tone communicating his annoyance even more than the tenting of his brow. "So long as we are ensuring clarity, I disagree with this idea of not telling her about the Ki Valo Nakar. When the Neyeb lived, and Sinara and the others were present to give guidance, I understood. They could assess whatever threats might occur and reinforce the barriers. It is one thing to keep it secret when there was a plan and procedures and practices for protection. Everything has changed. This—what we have now—… I despise it."
"I am not fond of it either, but if in telling her we summon it, then what?" He had already started up the path. There was one thing that he could do though.
9
The Bracelet
Naatos slid along the outskirts of the camp, stopping only long enough to grab one of the harvest sacks. From there, he made his way back toward the ilthun salt pit where QueQoa had thrown Vorec's body. He hadn't known what he was going to do with the Awdawm's corpse, only that something would be done. And this was at least something useful rather than merely vengeful, but knowing how much the elder commander would hate it made it even better.
The blue-white mineral in the pit had kept the scavengers from even investigating. It took hardly any time at all to remove the lower leg, fill up one of the bags with the salt-like substance, and then return to the camp.
WroOth was standing near the pot, examining something in the broth with a perplexed expression. As he caught sight of the leg Naatos carried, his eyebrow arched. "I take it back. Not everything that fits in the pot goes in."
"This isn't for the soup." He dropped the leg onto a leaf, then picked up a large stone, set it down, and forced his shifting energy into it. His muscles strained, and the stone resisted initially. Far more than it should have. But then it contorted, bulged, and at last relented, becoming a large enough stone basin for him to accomplish his purposes.
The dull throb that ran from his wrist to his elbow and the subsequent ache in his chest warned him not to do too much more in the future until he had finished replenishing.
QueQoa approached him slowly, staring at the foot. "Why do you have the elder commander's foot?"
"He's making her a necklace," WroOth said as he resumed stirring.
His brother wasn't far from the truth. He handed the stone vessel to QueQoa. "Fill this halfway with suphrite and bring it back to me."
As QueQoa obeyed, WroOth watched him go. He narrowed his eyes at him. "What are you doing, brother?"
"Jewelry is a traditional gift among all the races."
"Tell me you aren't making her a necklace." WroOth paused as the branch he was using for a spoon broke off. He dropped the rest in and moved over to the wood pile. One by one, he picked up different sticks and examined them.
"I'm making her a bracelet." A very particular bracelet. Not that anyone else needed to know all the details of it. "A carved bone bracelet." He scowled as he watched his brother toss aside two more sticks before settling on one and returning to the steaming pot. "WroOth, there is a large stirring spoon in that pack."
He bent the selected stick back and forth, testing its flexibility. "As I recall, that's your stirring spoon. And the last time I used it, you told me you would impale me with it."
"Because you stuck it in lava."
"It's not my fault it couldn't hold up to lava. They said it could withstand dragon fire."
Growling, Naatos stood, crossed to the pack, and fished out the collapsible metal spoon made from the same substance as his spear. "Here. Stop dropping sticks into the soup. You have dreadful taste."
"Says the man preparing to make a human-bone bracelet for his beloved." WroOth looked at him pointedly.
He thrust the spoon at his brother. "I have my reasons."
"It's so delightfully macabre. You know she's going to hate it."
"She isn't going to know it's human bone." Naatos returned to his former position as QueQoa returned.
"Isn't she a Neyeb? Won't her mindreading tell her that's a bone?"
"Not if no one tells her." He gave QueQoa a pointed look as his brother set the vessel of suphrite down.
"Not if she doesn't know it's made from an Awdawm," Naatos responded.
WroOth adjusted the length of the spoon and resumed stirring the pot. "Ahhh, I see we're going to be avoiding the truth again. Always
such a brilliant choice when dealing with a mindreader."
Naatos picked up the leg, put it into the vessel, and then added the blue-white ilthun salt. It was a powerful aid in curing and treatment alike. When combined with the suphrite, regular salt, and a couple other ingredients, it could clean bones in minutes. "If it becomes necessary, I will tell her. But there is enough else that she must sift through that she won't notice this. Besides, she's shown no skill toward psychometry. I doubt she has ever worked with bone jewelry."
"No, the particular region she lived on in Eiram seemed to do more with plastic and polished stones. But still…" WroOth put the spoon on the top of the pot and stepped back. "It is only a matter of time before she learns the truth."
Yes. But hopefully within the span of that time, it would bolster her strength and ground her while protecting her from any evil that lurked within her.
QueQoa gave a slow nod. He picked up another large stone and brought it near the fire. Crouching down, he placed his hands on either side. The light that flowed from him was much weaker and quiet, the stone's transformation significantly slower. As always, he remained patient. Though the muscles and veins in his forearms strained and the energy pulsed, he was doing well. Better than in the past. "I suppose it is rather romantic and distinct. He harmed her greatly from what you have said. Now she can wear him as ornamentation in honor of her triumph over him."
"Well as long as there is poetic justice and dark symbolism." WroOth rolled his eyes. "Crespa. Is this where we're at? That said, while jewelry is frequently an acceptable gift for wooing a woman, I still think an apology and giving her space and time are the better choices."
Naatos finished immersing the leg, adding a thicker layer of ilthun salt to the top. "You're the one who said I should keep myself occupied."
"Had I known you were considering bringing back lurid traditions from before the inception of the Paras, I would have been more specific."
"You would rather I spend my time making itching powder and hiding fish in your blankets?"
"I would rather you did not do that," QueQoa said, his focus still on the vessel. "But you should get her flowers, Naatos. Non-poisonous flowers."
"If you'd like to find some, you may. Something colorful. Non-carnivorous." He shook out his hand, the muscles cramping from the over-use. Running up against limits in this situation grated on him more than almost anything. How unfortunate that it wasn't just this one thing.
"It's the thought that counts," WroOth countered. "Pick your own flowers. Perhaps some corpse cabbage."
"I would except you'd put it in the soup," he said dryly. He stood and surveyed the camp. Carefully, he listed off the tasks that needed to be completed before nightfall and set to them, digging the trenches with his brothers, preparing the first of the hides, and keeping WroOth from getting too creative with the soup.
Once the bone was stripped and prepared, he sat by the fire. Using a thin line of shifting energy, he infused the bone and made it malleable. The ache was not so strong this time, in part because he had eaten and some measure of his strength had returned. But bone was also easier to work with than stone. He shaped the bone into a bracelet, drilled a small hole in each end for the small chain to help link it, and began carving.
It had been a long time since he had engaged in such work. The old lessons and memories returned, more refreshing than anticipated and most certainly welcome. Despite the darkness of their situation, he almost enjoyed this process. WroOth was right. It was good to focus on something.
The carving itself was not important for this particular incantation so long as it hid the runes—an easy enough task—but he had an image in mind already. One which he knew she would appreciate once she knew the story behind it.
WroOth came to sit beside him. Leaning in, he gave an approving nod at the lines already taking shape in the bone. "Not bad for a non-Awdawm. Epic of Ramagushra? This may not be such a terrible idea."
Naatos lifted the blade back to evaluate his depiction. He had to use much blockier techniques that mirrored what he had already seen, but it worked well against the bone. Especially as he hid the inscription within the blocks. "It seems fitting."
AaQar strode down the hill to the camp, having switched places with QueQoa. He tilted his head as he stopped alongside Naatos. "Fitting by our standards, but…" He tilted his head, squinting. "Is that… Naatos…"
He met his brother's gaze, willing him to be silent. He didn't need to explain this to WroOth right now. The fewer people who recognized what he was doing the better.
AaQar held his hands over the fire and sighed. "It is colder than I thought it would be. WroOth, take QueQoa one of the spare cloaks. Night will arrive all too soon. We'll take the suphrite in shifts, but no one should chill."
"He probably won't even notice the change in the temperature." Still WroOth retrieved the cloak and took it, soon disappearing over the hill.
As soon as their brother was out of earshot, AaQar turned on Naatos. "Really? This is your plan? This is part of the Forbidden Arts for a reason, and you're just going to do it from memory?"
"Do you have a better solution?" Naatos asked coolly. He set the blade back against the bone and resumed carving. "It's only forbidden because it's risky to the creator."
"And it requires that someone die."
"The Awdawm was already dead. I can heal, and we have an excellent pool of suphrite here should I be unable to do so. Besides, we already had the bones of one who hates with fire vile."
Pinching the bridge of his nose, AaQar shook his head. "Do you plan to extract your own marrow?"
"No. You're going to help me." Naatos tossed his spear to AaQar. "And you'd better move fast if you want to be done before WroOth returns. Then I'll be able to heal and take the final watch with my veskaro."
AaQar held the spear in both hands, his lips pressed in a tight line. "This isn't a good idea."
"If you'd rather, I can find a marrow sucker. But that has its own risks as I doubt I could make one, and they're nearly impossible to subjugate otherwise." He had already stripped his doublet and tunic off, turning his shoulder to his brother as he continued carving. "After this you can help me get the other components."
"Are you sure you've replenished enough strength to heal from this?"
"We'll see. Avoid the artery if you're worried." He cast an annoyed glance at his brother. "And hurry up. Time is the one thing we don't have in abundance."
10
The River
Amelia paced within the darkness, her eyes fixed on the spectral woman's spot even after she faded from sight. Her shoulders twitched, her muscles jumped, and sometimes her lungs burned when she coughed.
The spectral woman stared, her gaze through the darkness, sinister and unyielding.
Once or twice it flashed through Amelia's mind that the woman had the face of a spider. Several times she saw another woman, smaller in height and thicker in build with eyes like moons, high antlers on her head, and broad red streaks running down her cheeks. The white-eyed woman did nothing but stare and vanish. Somehow that was almost as terrifying. Worst was when the woman vanished and there was only the moons and the antlers for a breath.
But her voice accomplished nothing. No one listened. No one heard. The cold cut deep within her, swallowing her up and making her limbs burn. Time passed, or did it?
There was no way to measure it.
The tapestries slid by her, memories encased in the wool lined surfaces. No more than moving shapes.
She remained watchful, arms folded tight over her chest, keeping her elmis close to her torso. At first it all flowed. Then she found herself wandering through the tapestries, no memory of walking into them. Just being here.
There was no end. None at all. And it was so cold. So horribly, endlessly cold.
* * *
Life hurt. Extracting bone marrow from the humerus with a spear fit well within that general expectation, but using the shin bone of a putrid Awdawm to ensu
re his veskaro's protection made it sweeter. Everything balanced out eventually.
The hours passed. Naatos worked on the bracelet, stopping only to eat and bathe his wounded arm in suphrite. He couldn't finish it in a single night, but he would finish it soon. There was only one thing he wanted more, and that was to be with her again.
Though AaQar had assisted him with the extraction and also in gathering other ingredients for the enchantment, he remained steadfast in requiring Naatos to finish caring for himself. But at last he agreed.
Naatos picked her up and wrapped his arms around her. His brothers had kept a steady grip on her, allowing her to float and rest. But he needed to hold her. To bring her as close as possible.
His eyes slid shut as he savored the weight of her body pressed against his, her head resting on his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. His breaths slowed as he found himself calming. "It will all come together, veskaro," he whispered.
The stillness of the night comforted him.
Thanks to the dolmaths, no predators roamed. They had massed at the camp. Sometimes they struck out into the water to reach their focal points, but he had already moved beyond their awareness.
This rock in the center of the pool allowed him to support himself and keep Amelia close without being exposed. He settled against it and sank into the water almost up to his neck. It lapped against Amelia's chin. Her breaths stirred the milky blue-green liquid.
He positioned his hands around her with deliberation, taking care not to press against the elmis on her lower back or to set her wrist elmis against any of his skin. No matter how much he wanted that connection, he would wait. It was enough to simply be with her for now.
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