The Protector of Esparia (The Annals of Esparia Book 1) (10 page)

The blond woman looked up, her startled expression quickly changing to suspicion.  She handed the fallen boy in her arms to a man at her side then placed herself between John and the young soldiers.  Distrust played on her face, a hardened, unwelcoming look glowed in her eyes.  She reminded John of a tigress protecting her injured cubs.

His first reaction was to push past her to the dying youth, but a subtle warning sounded in his head.  This woman emanated danger.  She was not someone to easily dismiss.

“Is there another doctor, or healer to tend these boys?” John demanded.

An older woman cradling the smaller boy, Jeema, answered, “No, our two healers were with the warriors at Saylon Dorsett.”  Tears streamed down her face.

“Well, I’m a doctor…a healer.  My name is John Ernshaw and I’ve tended wounds like these before.  If you do not want them to die, then move out of my way and
let me heal!
” he yelled at the blond.  John’s own military training rippled under the surface and he felt his patience evaporating.

“Please, Lyrista” the older woman begged.

For a moment the confrontation continued.  Their eyes locked in combat and those nearest John stepped back.  Lyrista’s hand flew to the dagger in her belt, but she did not pull it.  A collective sigh of relief came from the crowd when she moved aside, but she kept her eyes riveted on the tall stranger while he assessed the condition of both young men.  Multiple stab wounds in soft tissue, lacerations cutting to the bone, patches of raw muscle, and massive blood loss were immediately discernable.  Jeema had lost so much blood his skin was translucent white.  He was by far in the more critical condition.  “How he made it here and through that ridiculous report was an absolute miracle.” John muttered to himself.  This boy should be dead…would be if he didn’t hurry.  “I need a clean place to work.  Did your healer have an office or place of labor?”

“Not in the hoffle,” Lyrista said.  “The closest healer’s house is at the Academy.”

“You can use my shop,” a brawny man, about John’s own age stepped from the crowd.   With his mass of dark wavy hair and matching mustache, John thought he held an uncanny resemblance to Sophia’s husband, Jacob Bartlowski.  Not a tall man, but a commanding presence none-the-less, this man’s jet black eyes held warmth and compassion.  “It’s over there,” the man indicated a dark blue and purple granite-like building bordering the square.  “I keep it dirtless and have some supplies you may be able to use.  I’m an animal preptor.” 

“That’ll be fine.”  An animal preptor?   Puzzled, John followed several men who had gathered the boys up.  The solemn group transported them to the offered building.  John hoped the supplies referred to were sufficient for the surgeries that lay ahead.  It was going to be a long night, and he was not optimistic about the outcome.

“I’m not sensitive and can assist you, if you desire.  My name is Alberod,” the animal preptor offered.

“That would be appreciated, Alberod.”  They entered the shop.

“To the back workroom,” Alberod ordered, leading the way.  One look inside the store and John knew what an animal preptor was.  Alberod was a taxidermist.  The boys were placed on two spotless worktables, then John and Alberod were left alone to do their work.

Anton

Sunrays streamed through a small, four-pane window above Jessica’s head.  Blinking against the bright light, she heaved herself to a sitting position.  A small, overstuffed mattress stretched beneath her.  Nothing else furnished the tiny room.  “Varnack,” she called.

“She’s awake,” someone yelled from beyond the closed door.  It flew open and Varnack bounced in, followed by High Older Tarin and an assortment of men, women, and children. 

Varnack licked her face.  “Worried.”

“What happened?  The last thing I remember was Karree’s husband.  He was dead and I was….trying…”

“Do I look dead to you?”  A man’s voice demanded from the hallway.  The crowd parted and Karree’s mate came through to stand before his benefactress, a broad smile on his face.

Shocked, Jessica sputtered, “How?”

“The Salupathic Gift.”  Karree stepped next to her man.  “You have it, My Lady.” 

“No way!  That’s impossible.  I…I couldn’t have…”

Varnack nudged her hand, gaining her attention.  He shook his head.  “Later.”

She swallowed hard, staring back at the healed man in disbelief.  “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Brayon, My Lady.  I hope to one day repay this gift of life you have given me.”

“I’m still not sure what I did, but you’re welcome.  How long have I been unconscious?”

“Two full days,” Tarin said.

“No wonder I’m so hungry.”  There was a ripple of laughter.

“Everyone out,” Tarin ordered.  “She has awakened, so there's a feast to prepare.”

When the room emptied, Varnack lowered his head to Jessica’s hand.  “Scratch.”

* * *

Varnack and Jessica were on their way the next morning.  A hundred questions bounced around Jessica's head.  Karree had answered one before they left Vorgen Hoffle.  “The Expanse of Gonta, you asked what it was.”  She reminded Jessica.  “It’s a source of profound sorcery.  It is seldom, if ever tapped, and few have found the keys to unlocking its power and mysteries.”  This single answer spawned more curiosity.  Would Varnack expound?  She doubted it.

The morning journey proceeded in silence.  Jessica took the quiet time to reflect on the past few days.  She felt certain Varnack would be grateful for the absence of her many queries.  The innocent faces of the Vorgen Hoffle people were burned into her mind.  Bareth’s valor, Tarin’s leadership, Karree’s courage and Chana’s parting kindness of food for the journey all served to kindle a love for the people of Esparia and loathing for the man responsible for their pain. 

During the previous night's feast Jessica witnessed firsthand the fruits of the nursing labors that she, Karree and the two other women had performed, for all but three of the once injured men were in attendance.  She was astounded at how fast the wounded had healed.  It seemed supernatural.  Most smaller cuts had vanished with not even a scar remaining.  Again, more unanswered questions.

After a few hours of traveling, Jessica’s thoughts turned to home and family. She wondered how her father was handling her absence.  Was Thomas liking Italy?  How did Rachel Bartlowski, her dearest friend, feel about her disappearance?  She heaved a great sigh.  She would go crazy if she worried about all this now.  She would worry about it later.

“All right Varnack, your down time is over.  I’ve got some more questions for you and don’t put me off.  Oh, by the way, if there’s water anywhere close by, I’d love to clean up.  There’s still grease under my fingernails and my hair smells like smoke.  I didn’t take any personal time at Vorgen Hoffle this morning.”

Varnack abruptly changed direction.

“Graesion is, or was, my grandfather.  Right?”

“Yes.”

“The old woman back at Vorgen Hoffle mentioned a Lady Gayleena was his wife.”

“Yes.”  Varnack picked up the pace, forcing Jessica to run.

“You always do this when you don’t want to answer any more questions.” 

Jessica mulled over the few facts she possessed.  Grandfather…
her
grandfather.  He must be Grandma Gaylee’s husband.  Grandma never talked about him, only that he died. 

Grandma Gaylee was from Edia?  The thought was incredible.  That meant Grandma was an extra-terrestrial…and that meant mom was too!  So that made her…  “OH, MY GOSH!”  She almost tripped over a twig when the impact of her heritage hit her.  Did Dad know?

From what pieces of information she remembered, she tried to piece together her genealogy.  “Varnack, who are Larone and Anton?” 

“Old uncles.”

Old uncles?  Then they were Grandma’s uncles.  Graesion was her husband and Haesom her son.  For some reason Grandma and Mom were sent away.  Larone called Daenon his nephew and that could only mean Segal, Larone and Anton were brothers.  Poor grandma.  Her husband was dead, her daughter was dead, and her son was dead. Only two uncles and she remained. Segal and Daenon, father and son, caused all of this pain.  At that moment, the full realization of who and what she was, fell on her.  She was a Saylon, heir to the throne, so to speak. 
She
was the remaining Protector.  

She now understood what the dreams had meant.  Remembering Haesom’s final moments shattered the hold she held over her emotions.  Grief welled up, spilling out through unchecked tears.  She cried for herself.  She cried for her mother.  Water flowed for her father, her grandmother, and a boy, Thomas Banks, all light years away on a planet she would probably never see again.  She wept for her mother’s brother whom she would never meet and his wife whom she would never touch, and finally for her cousins, Big Red and Little Red, murdered in their youth.  She could hardly see Varnack or the ground directly in front of her through the watershed of tears.  When her companion came to an abrupt halt, she barely avoided colliding with him.

Wiping the salty moisture from her eyes, she tried to blink away the melancholy that demoralized her.  A small, clear blue lake filled her field of vision.  For much of the shoreline, the forest grew down to kiss the water’s edge, but Varnack and Jessica stood on a small, pebbled beach outside of the leafy woodland canopy.  The sun beat down, its heat piercing through Jessica’s despair. “Varnack, what a wonderful surprise!”  She dropped the sacks tied around her middle and plunged into the cool water. 

Her apprehension washed away with all of the dirt.  Varnack sat on the shore, his head resting on his front paws, while she happily washed herself clean.  She scrubbed her hair with her nails and tried rubbing her clothes with the fine sand.

After several minutes of floating on her back, Jessica beckoned to Varnack with a wave of her arm.  “Come in.  You’ve got to be hot and tired.  The water’s wonderful.” 

It did not take more prodding.  The large animal stood, stretched, then splashed in after her.  A small tidal wave shot out in response to his massive body pushing through the surf, its force lifting Jessica off her feet.  She dove under it and came up laughing.  They romped and played for several minutes.  Just when her uncertainties had melted away, a sudden surge of nausea hit.  The feeling came with such intensity she barely stopped herself from throwing up.  Where did that come from?  As if in answer to her question, an arrow whizzed by her ear. 

Instantly Varnack tensed.  Three more arrows zipped into the water around them.  “Swim,” he commanded, then seized her shirt in his teeth and pulled her further out into the lake.  The air and water were filled with the lethal projectiles.  They swam for their lives. 

Crossing the lake, after jogging through the forest for most of the morning, strained Jessica’s muscles to the breaking point.  She urged herself forward, concentrating on pulling her body through the placid water.  She put her mind in a race situation.  She could…she would swim this lake.  Though not a champion swimmer, she matched Varnack’s speed and in time passed him.  With great relief, she finally touched bottom on the opposite shore.  She stood in shoulder-deep water, taking in huge gasps of air, her chest heaving up and down with the effort. 

“Varnack?”  She spun around.  With a hundred yards still to go, his eyes and nose barely showed above the waterline.

“Varnack!”  She dove back in.  Summoning everything she had left, she reached him just when his head slipped under the water.  Throwing an arm around his neck, she heaved him up and towed him to a treeless section of the shoreline.  In the shallow water, she crumbled beside him.

She fought to catch her breath.  When enough strength returned, she sat up and ran her hand down his head and back.  There were no outstanding wounds.  His side too appeared all right, but from underneath him, blood oozed onto the pebbles.

“Oh, no!”  She rolled him over and hissed an “Oh-my-gosh!” between clenched teeth.  The flesh of his back right thigh lay ripped open, exposing many inches of crème colored bone.  No blood gushed from the laceration, but steadily dripped into it from all sides, then trickled down his wet fur.  “How did you ever swim that lake with this?  You’ve lost so much blood, you’re hardly bleeding anymore.” 

She looked to the forest for anything that could help.  A small, purple fern growing under a scrawny tree about ten feet away caught her attention.  Somehow, instinctively, she knew it held healing properties.  Forcing her muscles into action, she stumbled over to the plant.  Pulling it up, root and all, she carefully carried it back to where Varnack lay.  The short stem felt mushy.  With a thumb nail, she punctured it.  Thin white sap trickled out.  By gently squeezing the tender stalk she was able to control the liquid’s flow and drizzle it throughout the dreadful gash.  The plant’s feathery fronds were then placed over the ripped flesh.  Using the sleeves ripped from her shirt as bandages, she bound the leg together.

“We really need to find cover, Varnack.  We’re too open here.  Whoever shot at us will be coming around for a second chance.  Can you walk?”

Varnack rose on three of his feet.  He managed to hobble several yards, to the first line of trees, then collapsed.  “Run.”

“That’s not an option, Varnack.  I won’t leave you.”

He closed his eyes.  He passed out.

Deep within the forest, a twig snapped, then several branches cracked.  Something or someone was fast approaching and within seconds footsteps pounded toward them.  Jessica placed herself between Varnack and the unseen threat.  Crouching, she braced herself for an attack. 

From out of the dense woods, a massive, bearded man thundered toward the tiny beach.  He pushed past Jessica with little effort and before she could cry out or stop him, scooped Varnack into his arms.  “Come!” he ordered as he ran back into the forest.  Jessica did not hesitate, but ran after him, not because he commanded it, but because she worried about Varnack.

The massive man carrying Varnack moved with surprising speed and agility.  Keeping pace with him required focus and stamina, which Jessica pulled from her years of cross-country training.  The swim across the lake had extracted much of her strength, and with little respite to replenish it, she now called upon the raw instincts deep within to keep her legs advancing.  Run, run.
 
The thought forced her to throw one foot in front of another.  The relentless pursuit by those who wished to destroy them drove her beyond usual thresholds.  Her lungs burned with every stride and soon she fell behind the burly rescuer.

Uphill they ran, through the compact trees and twisting shrubbery.  At length, they reached a stream where this seemingly tireless man splashed upstream at the water’s edge.  She stumbled after him, and within minutes, heard the faint thunder of rushing waters.  The bubbling roar increased with every step until the pounding liquid matched the pulsing blood in her ears.  After rounding a sizeable protrusion of jagged rocks, she beheld a waterfall cascading a hundred feet into a clear blue pool. 

Holding Varnack’s limp body above the water, the man waded into the pool up to his chest.  He walked directly toward the waterfall, then disappeared into it.  Jessica, panting for all she was worth, hesitated for only a moment.  She followed the same course, but with the water much deeper for her, she fought to gain footing and the force of the falls pushed her under.  She came up in the middle of the pond, sputtering and gasping for air.  Struggling to where she could touch bottom, she realized her stamina was all but gone.  The famous ‘wall’ that many athletes hit, loomed only inches away.  She steeled herself for a second attempt at plowing her way past the dense sheets of falling water.  In she plunged.  Just when she felt her feet slip once again and the shadows of the misty deep yawn wide to embrace her, someone seized her arm and pulled her to safety.

Jessica found herself standing next to the hulking man she fleetingly thought could have been a center for any pro-basketball team.  Well over seven feet tall and powerfully built, his sharp, sapphire blue eyes glowed in a weathered face half-obscured by a bushy, salt and paprika beard.  His shoulder-length, unruly hair was auburn in color, with slight graying at the temples.  His costume reminded her of a cross between an old Tennessee frontiersman and a knight of the round-table, complete with moccasins and chain mail vest. 

“Can ya stand?” he asked, his loud voice echoing in the small cave.