Blood Witch (4 page)

"And the
first?"

"I call it the
greeter."

"I've not tasted
either before." Alaysha didn't want to admit she'd not tasted many
things beyond what she could find or scavenge.

Saxa chuckled. "I
discovered they have useful properties beside taste; although I
keep those to myself."

Something tingled
up Alaysha's spine.

"How do you feel?"
Saxa asked with a note behind her voice that spoke of mild
curiosity.

Alaysha chewed
thoughtfully. "Kind of warm, but in a good way."

Saxa's gaze went
to the table, but not before Alaysha saw something in it that
raised her suspicion. "Would Yuri feel the same after his
meal?"

Saxa pulled a
stool close and sat on it. She took Alaysha's hand. "No. He would
feel very differently, but it's not a bad thing. There's no
poison."

"Then why do I
feel so..."

"Tingly?"

Alaysha nodded and
Saxa put three fingers against her heart as she spoke. "The greeter
opens the pathways from here."

"And the
bottom?"

"There's the
secret," Saxa said, "the bottom carries nourishment from there to
every part of your body straight to the toes."

"Then why would
Yuri feel different than me?"

"Yuri's pathways
do not carry his blood so well anymore. It's possible he merely
feels normal."

Alaysha could feel
the confusion puddling in.

"Are you saying my
father is ill?"

"I'm saying he
would be ill."

"If you weren't
feeding him this elixir of medicine."

"Theron has told
me Yuri's heart is weak."

"Theron?"

"The shaman. He
tends to Yuri with his drafts, and I tend to him with mine." Saxa
shrugged. "Who knows which is helping or hurting, but until I can
find a medicine to strengthen his heart, this potion will have to
do. He has no idea. He just believes I am a better cook than
Bodiccia."

Alaysha thought of
the giant of a woman who did all of Yuri's food preparation on
campaign. She pictured the twist of men's teeth around the woman's
forearm and the way she coddled Yuri with the most succulent of
meals. Yuri trusted no one else to prepare food for him – except,
obviously, Saxa. She found it interesting that the only other cook
he trusted was actually drugging him without his knowledge, and
that the drug was very possibly keeping him alive.

"Gael, too, ate of
the stew," she said.

"Gael will feel
invigorated like you do." Saxa got up and took Alaysha by the arm.
"And since it seems you will not vomit out any more of my medicine,
I shall help you to the well."

It wasn't an easy
task to rise again, but Alaysha did feel as though her legs were
more solid than a swelling river eroding its banks. She took to her
feet without swaying and her stomach didn't churn at the feel of
meat within. She met Saxa's eyes and nodded encouragingly.

Gael stood beside
the well, when they'd made it that far, seeming oblivious to the
dozens of chickens rooting about his feet or the line of young
girls come to draw water.

Alaysha noticed
the pile of bodies that had been there half a fortnight earlier
during Edulph's planned attack on Sarum had been cleared and that
the platform was loaded again with archers. They were dressed oddly
for a Sarum collection, with motley tunics and filthy breeks. For a
second, a flash of memory came to her and threatened to overtake
the hard work of walking so far, and she had to gulp for air.

Saxa's voice
grounded her. "Do you feel well?"

Alaysha nodded
weakly.

"It's only your
body remembering its insult."

Insult was a weak
word for what had been done to it, and with the curse of power came
that curse of long memory. She could easily imagine Drahl dancing
in front of her again, his sword wet with blood, the water from the
well rising in mist to quench the fire of pain in her belly.
Alaysha had to swallow hard to remind herself that fear was not
part of a warrior's code. That she needn't fear that which was
already done and survived.

"I'm not sure my
body will ever let me forget," she said. "I just hope it hurts less
each time I remember."

Saxa stopped
within feet of the well and twisted so her face was in full view.
"I can help with that."

"With the pain or
the memory?"

"Both."

Alaysha threw a
glance at Gael who had crossed his arms to indicate his
impatience.

"How do you know
so much?" Alaysha asked. "And how much does he know?"

Saxa looked over
her shoulder at Gael. "He has the gift of war. I have the gift of
peace." She shrugged. "I just know, Alaysha. Don't ask how. My
father wanted to know the same thing, and I couldn't answer." Her
fingers were on Alaysha's hair and she felt her forehead swept
clean. "It's why he beat me."

Alaysha didn't
know what to say at such a forthright and emotionless admission,
and when Saxa's face brightened and her tone shifted to a more
conversational one, any chance of saying more was gone.

"Don't let him
work you too hard, Alaysha, he's a bear for duty." Saxa left with a
pat on Alaysha's back and a promise of a brew to help with what
ailed her.

It seemed she
would have to make the last few steps to Gael by herself. He
neither put out a hand, nor took a step forward. His eyes, so much
like his sister's, were inscrutable. Alaysha easily recognized the
battle training of steely composure and knew he at least wouldn't
laugh if she fell.

She tried a step
and found if she kept her eyes on his, she could make it without
feeling too much pain. She took another. Another. She was nearly to
him when she felt a great thud from the side. A slice of burning
pain shot up from the healing wound into her throat. It was all she
could do not to cry out.

She landed on the
ground, her cheek against the cool dirt, her knees drawn up to her
stomach before she could stop herself. She decided, in light of the
pain, that lying there might just be her best option.

"Get up."

She felt a boot
tip in her ribs.

She hadn't
realized her eyes were closed, but when she opened them, she saw
Gael's face in front of hers. His eyes weren't smoky, she realized.
They were green, outlined with brown. Peculiar. And stunning.

"I told you to get
up."

She might speak to
defend herself if she wasn't biting her tongue to keep from crying.
He sighed and his face spoke of frustration and impatience. She had
the unnerving thought that he would kick her. Maybe he had kicked
her.

"You pushed me,"
she managed to say.

He gave her a dry
look. "It was a boy. No more than three seasons who pushed
you."

His tone implied
she was weak.

"I have been
injured, you know," she said in her defence and wasn't sure she
liked the sulky sound in her own voice.

He appeared
unaffected. "Many get injured. Many die; some live. You are
lucky."

She groaned
because she knew he was right. "I know," she said. "Get up."

He folded his arms
across his broad chest and Alaysha found herself comparing him to
Yenic. Yenic. She'd get up if only to spite him.

She inhaled deeply
to send as much air to her lungs as she could. She braced her palms
on the ground and tried to isolate her triceps so as not to disturb
the still-tremoring muscles of her core. Then she focused on her
biceps, telling them to heave her upward to her knees at least. She
heard Gael's impressed grunt, but didn't feel his hands on her in
aid. She hadn't expected it, in truth, but it would have made the
shaky journey to her feet that much easier.

He said nothing
when she gained her feet, merely lowered the bucket into the well
and dipped a wooden cup in. This he offered to her.

She drank
greedily, barely feeling the iciness of it against her teeth. In
one swift wash, the sweat of pain and effort was gone. She offered
him a grateful look.

Then promptly felt
an icy rush flood back up her throat.

He looked at his
boots in renewed disgust; Alaysha wasn't sure if she could keep the
nervous laugh inside, so she dipped the cup into the bucket and
emptied it repeatedly over his boots.

"That's enough for
today," he said and strode back to Saxa's cottage. Alaysha had no
choice but to follow.

And she was
grateful beyond belief.

Each day for three
days went like that: a quick meal with Yuri, who ignored her, a
trip to the well. The only difference was Alaysha needed no one to
help her from the bed or to walk. Gael said little. It was obvious
he hated his new duty and it was equally obvious he felt the same
about Alaysha.

She didn't mind.
Rather, it felt familiarly comfortable to be hated again.

She made it to the
well behind Gael in a huff of breathlessness and looked back
towards the mountains that towered over Sarum. Yuri had built his
city in a cleft of the mountain and bordered it on a wide river. He
felt safe on at least two fronts but not all four. For a wise Emir,
it was strange he chose to build beneath the mountain and not on
top. It left him vulnerable from the most critical point. She
wanted to ask Gael what he thought of this revelation, but he'd
suddenly set his back to her and was shifting oddly side to side
with his hand reaching backward, shepherding her behind him.

Curious. What
could have the disdainful giant feeling so protective?

"What's the
trouble?" she asked him only to be rewarded with a harsh shushing
sound.

"Is it the other
witch?"

"Yes," came the
response, but he didn't sound convincing; in fact, he sounded
rather stoic.

A scream of agony
met Alaysha's ears and she immediately reached for a sword upon her
back that was not there. She satisfied herself instead with a large
rock someone had lain on the well's lip.

Gael pressed her
against the well and she pushed back against him, furious that he
would hinder her.

"Don't crowd
me."

"I'll crowd you
all I want."

"If I'm in danger,
I don't need your protection."

He made to hold
her by the shoulders. "The danger is not yours to meet, Witch."

She might be
damaged and sore, but she could manoeuvre enough if she wanted. She
feinted left, swallowing down a streak of burning pain, and then
leaned right. By the time Gael recovered, she'd already seen what
he was doing his best to hide from her.

Two swarthy men,
very reminiscent of Drahl, were holding down a teenage girl inside
the iron forger's cottage. In the brief seconds, it looked all the
world like they were pouring water over her throat.

Alaysha sent her
power sniffing for water. The dankness of well came, sweat too. She
tried to focus it, sent it to the smith's but all she got was a
wash of wet heat so strong she felt as though her chin was on
fire.

It was then she
knew.

"They're scalding
her."

She knew the
smith; he was a hardworking man, captured during one of Yuri's
first campaigns, so long ago she imagined the smith had forgotten
he'd had a life before Sarum. Still, it made no sense he'd want to
brand a chattel in such a way. It was too odd; most had their
cheeks branded by iron, not this painful scalding.

She took the first
painful steps towards the hovel. She didn't care how many men she
had to face, or if she only carried a rock for defence, she would
not see a young girl treated so inhumanely.

She felt a meaty
hand on her shoulder.

"Stay," Gael told
her.

"I will not." She
pulled away and the weight of the stone made her balance, such as
it was, awkward. She nearly fell. If he hadn't gripped her by the
elbow, she would have.

"It's too late.
It's done."

Alaysha listened
and heard only the regular sounds of chickens and the snuffling of
hounds. A roar of chatter met her ears from the good people of
Sarum going about their chores, but no more shrieks. The girl had
obviously fainted.

"She needs to be
taken to the shaman."

He nodded. "Have
no fear; she will be."

She looked at him,
suspicious, but his expression kept the same stolid blankness. "How
do you know this?"

She brought the
image back to her mind. Teenage girl, black hair from what she
could see. Most of Yuri's true tribe was fair; more evidence the
girl was an outsider and probably a slave. Alaysha tried once more
to get by Gael. He was as moveable as a castle wall.

"It's time you
were back at Saxa's," he said and began steering her in the
direction they'd come.

"I'm not weary."
She rooted as best she could to her spot. "I want to walk more. I
feel much stronger."

He didn't look as
though her believed her. "mmph," was all he said but he reached for
her waist and Alaysha was certain he'd hoist her over her shoulder,
except he paused as he pulled her close enough to do so. He paused,
cocked his head, and pushed her instead to the ground.

An arrow landed
just next to her ear as she fell with a thud. Even as she was
wondering how he could possibly have heard it winging its way
toward her, several more thunked into the earth around her. A girl
screamed. A hound yelped and fell a few strides away, an arrow
protruding from its belly. The chatter of Sarum's people doing
daily chores turned instantly into chaos.

Rather than cover
her head with her arms as he instinct told her to do, Alaysha
rolled toward the well and curved against it as best she could,
opposite where the arrows seemed to be coming from. She'd wait till
they'd spent and had to reload. She doubted the assailants had
thought to rally the shots – there were just too many at once. By
then, all unwounded citizens had found some shelter. A few lay on
the ground moaning. Some wept. Alaysha steeled herself against
their cries and sought out the source. And found it.