Faery Worlds - Six Complete Novels (15 page)

“Why did they tie you up?” she asked him. “Why aren’t they healing you?”

He looked amused. “They would rather piss in our teeth.”

“Why do you serve the Bone Whistler?” she asked. “Nobody likes him.”

“The Bone Whistler does not aspire to be liked,” said the man. “He aspires to be loved. And people love most what they fear most.”

Vessia wrinkled her brow. “That is not how Danu explained love to me. He’s often told me he loves me, but never that he fears me.”

The prisoner studied her. “I’m not sure why, but I think I should fear you.”

She looked him up and down. Gashes crisscrossed his bare chest. His arms were pinned behind his back. Nothing remained of his leather legwals but shreds and he hadn’t shaved in several days. Blood, sweat and muck smudged the muscles of his chest and arms.

“Well, I don’t fear you,” said Vessia.

The prisoner laughed. It was a low rumble almost like a purr. “You wound me more than any of the weapons I have faced in battle, beautiful one.”

The Tavaedies had finished healing everyone in the first group as best they could. Now they approached the second group with drawn knives.

“Ah,” said the prisoner, jerking his chin in their direction. He smiled defiantly as he said it. “Here come my executioners.”

Danumoro stepped in front of the prisoners. “Don’t.”

The prisoners looked surprised. Vessia noticed that they all glanced at the handsome strong one for direction. Which was strange, she thought, because he wore no marks of leadership. In fact, he wore less than the other men. As if he had removed his outer garments to hide the markings on them.

He’s their leader. But he doesn’t want us—his enemies—to know.

“You of all people should rejoice in the blood of these murderers, Herb Dancer,” the Yellow Bear Tavaedies told Danumoro.

“Then listen to me when I plead for the lives of these enemies,” Danumoro said.

After much argument, they finally gave in to him. But none of them would heal the wounded warriors of the Bone Whistler. Danumoro crossed his arms and addressed the prisoners.

“If you give me your parole that you will not try to run, I will dance healing for you,” he said.

Again, the men’s eyes slid subtly toward the handsome one, who inclined his head slightly.

“We’ll do it,” said a gruff warrior who held an unconscious man in his lap. “Start with Bapio, here. He’s in a bad way.”

One by one, Danumoro took aside the wounded enemy warriors and healed them to the best of his ability. Not all survived, but Vessia could tell by his dancing that he tried as hard to save them as he had his own people. The handsome one sent all the other men before himself to be healed. He insisted his wound was not that bad. Finally, Danumoro gestured for him to come. Only then did Vessia realize that the entire time the handsome prisoner had been holding a broken arrow still in the flesh where it had punctured his lower back.

Danumoro was furious. “This is a terrible wound! You should have let me treat it right away!”

“I’m fine,” the handsome one said. Now that she knew what to look for, though, Vessia realized that his smile was pinched with pain. He had to have been in ghastly agony the entire time he was sitting there sending his men to be helped before himself. Grumbling, Danumoro directed the prisoner to the center of his healing circle. He pulled out the arrow—the prisoner grunted, but clenched his teeth rather than cry out—and staunched the wound with special leaves.

An aura of light surrounded the handsome prisoner. All people had auras, but some, Vessia had noticed, were stronger and more colorful than others, and his aura gleamed brilliantly. Danumoro noticed it too. After he finished his dance, the hole in the man’s lower back looked better, but Danumoro frowned.

“You’re a Tavaedi,” he accused the prisoner.

The handsome prisoner lifted an eyebrow. “If you were going to kill me, you should have done it before you drained your aura healing me.”

“Tell me your Shining Name,” demanded Danumoro.

“No.”

“You owe me your life, but you won’t even give me your name?”

“I won’t be in your debt for long.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The prisoner smiled cockily. “Even as we speak, the War Group of Vio the Skull Stomper, foremost Zavaedi of the Bone Whistler, is encircling your position. You’re trapped. When they close the circle, they will slaughter you like pigs on feast day.”

Danumoro paled. He ran to warn the others.

The prisoner had not issued an idle bluff. Not long after that, they all heard the enemy beat their war drums. The trap had closed. The Yellow Bear Tavaedies accompanied Danumoro back to the prisoner.

“You owe me a lifedebt,” Danumoro said. “You must allow us to leave.”

“I owe only you,” said the prisoner. “Your friends would have slit all our throats.” Before Danumoro could object, he held up a hand. “But since you showed uncommon compassion, and since--” the handsome prisoner glanced at Vessia, “I am feeling generous, I will allow your whole party to leave unmolested in trade for myself and my men.”

“Agreed.”

A short while later, the Yellow Bear war party walked silently through rows of Rainbow Labyrinth warriors, while the prisoners walked in the other direction. The last Vessia saw of the handsome warrior, he paused to call back to Danumoro.

“We are even now, Healer. Be wary. Next time we meet, the balance will be fresh, and I’ll owe you nothing. Don’t expect unearned mercy from me. I am Vio the Skull Stomper.”

An angry murmur rose among the Yellow Bear tribesfolk at that name. Danumoro clenched his fists.

“I wouldn’t expect unearned mercy from any of you scum!” he shouted back.

“And yet,” said Vessia, just to him. “You showed mercy to them.”

“I wish I hadn’t,” said Danumoro. “If I had known who he was, I would have rather died at the hands of his warriors afterward, if it meant I could have slit his throat first. The other Tavaedies were right. I was a fool to spare those prisoners!”

So many contradictions. She didn’t think she would ever fathom it.

Dindi

Dindi awakened from the Vision, drowning.

Blue-skinned rusalki grappled Dindi under the churning surface of the river. She could feel their claws dig into her arms. Their riverweed-like hair entangled her legs when she tried to kick back to the surface. She only managed to gulp a few breaths of air before they pulled her under again.

She hadn’t appreciated how fast and deep the river was. On her second gasp for air, she saw that the current was already dragging her out of sight of the screaming girls on the bank. Some of them, including Jensi and Gwenika, were running along the edge of the river, trying to keep up with her, but trees and rocks slowed them down, while the fae propelled Dindi forward even faster. Now she could see where they wanted her to go. A whirlpool of froth and fae roiled between two large rocks in the middle of the river. The rusalka and her sisters tugged Dindi toward it. Other water fae joined the rusalki. Long snouted pookas, turtle-like kappas and hairy-armed gwyllions all swam around her, leading her to the whirlpool, where even more fae swirled in the whitewater.

“Join our circle, Dindi!” the fae voices gurgled under the water. “Dance with us forever!”

“No!” She kicked and swam and stole another gasp for air before they snagged her again. There were so many of them now, all pulling her down, all singing to the tune of the rushing river. She tried to shout, “Dispel!” but swallowed water instead. Her head hit a rock, disorienting her. She sank, this time sure she wouldn’t be coming up again.

“Dispel!” It was a man’s voice.

Strong arms encircled her and lifted her until her arms and head broke the surface. Her rescuer swam with her toward the shore. He overpowered the current, he shrugged aside the hands of the water faeries stroking his hair and arms. When he reached the shallows, he scooped Dindi into his arms and carried her the rest of the way to the grassy bank. He set her down gently.

She coughed out some water while he supported her back.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded. He was young—only a few years older than she. The aura of confidence and competence he radiated made him seem older. Without knowing quite why, she was certain he was a Tavaedi.

“Good.” He had a gorgeous smile. A wisp of his dark bangs dangled over one eye. He brushed his dripping hair back over his head.

Dindi’s hand touched skin—he was not wearing any shirt. Both of them were sopping wet. On him, that meant trickles of water coursed over a bedrock of muscle. As for her, the thin white wrap clung transparently to her body like a wet leaf. She blushed.

“It might have been easier to swim if you had let go of that,” he teased. He touched her hand, which was closed around something. “What were you holding onto so tightly that it mattered more than drowning?”

Dindi realized she still clutched the corncob doll in one hand. She stared at her hand as if it were someone else’s.

“You must think I’m a fool.”

“Not at all,” he said. “You must be a strong swimmer to have survived in the water that long. I couldn’t tell if the fae were trying to hold you up or pull you down.”

Both,
she thought.

“Let’s get you dried off,” he said, with another dazzling smile. “My pack is back there.”

Great Aunt Sullana would have had quite a few words on the topic of accompanying a strange male through the woods, but Dindi followed the young man without question. His travel basket was not far. It sat on a large rock beside the river, next to a beached kayak. He must have taken it off right before he jumped into the river to rescue her.

“And I thought my rucksack was too big,” Dindi said. His was as tall as Dindi and must have weighed twice as much. “Can you really lift that monster?”

He grinned. “My friends were a little overenthusiastic when they gave their journey gifts.” He opened the basket flap and began to rummage through the vast piles of neatly folded blankets and wrapped objects. “You’re an Initiate, aren’t you?”

She crossed her arms over her breasts. “Yes.”

“I’m afraid I don’t really have any girls’ clothing with me.” Without looking at her, he held out some folded fabric. “Here, try this, at least until we can get you back to your camp. The Tavaedies responsible for you will be worried, I imagine.”

Dindi scampered behind some bushes. As quickly as she could, she dropped the wet wrap in a heap and rolled the new material around her torso.

The material felt like swan down against her chilled skin. She had never seen cloth so smoothly woven before, with such tiny, even threads. And the colors! Though they were the same six colors of the Rainbow Labyrinth tribe in her old wrap, the dyes in this textile were much more vivid. Nor had she ever seen the maze pattern of her tribe detailed with such intricacy.

“You’re from the Rainbow Labyrinth tribe too!” she exclaimed, emerging from behind the bushes.

He was facing away from her. In her excitement at the discovery that he was a fellow tribesman, she hadn’t bothered to check if he’d finished dressing. He had removed his wet legwals, and she had a fine view of his bare backside: powerful thighs, broad back with shoulders so defined they resembled wings, and everything in between.

“Oh, mercy!” She turned red. “I’m so sorry.” She backed up, tripped over a root, and bumped into a tree. “I’ll, um, go…”

“It’s all right,” he said easily. Her blunder did not appear to have offended him to the degree it had mortified her. “I’m almost ready.”

She ran to hide behind the bush. She only returned once he was lacing up his legwals. They were not leather, she noticed, but of the same richly woven fabric that he had given her. He shouldered his huge pack without a sign of strain, including the kayak, which cupped the rucksack like a turtle’s shell. He might as well have been carrying a kitten.

“Your people are back that way,” he said, pointing upstream.

Where were her manners?

“My name is Dindi,” she said. “Of Lost Swan clan of Rainbow Labyrinth tribe.”

He hesitated before he returned his name. “Kavio.”

How odd. Why did he not mention his clan and tribe?

“From the weave you lent me, I thought you were from Rainbow Labyrinth tribe—”

“I was. Once.”

“Oh.” Her heart sank. “You’re married, then?”

“No.”

It was obvious he didn’t really want to talk about why he had no clan to his name any more than she wanted to talk about the corncob doll, so Dindi fell silent, still confused. A new topic seemed best.

“Thank you for saving me,” she said. “I owe you a lifedebt.”

“I believe the traditional reward would be a kiss.”

The idea both terrified and thrilled her.

Sparks danced in his eyes, like mischief, but more intense, as lightening was more intense than burning oil. “But, I confess, there’s something I want from you even more.” He leaned forward. His voice dropped to a conspiracy, husky against her ear. “Tell me your Chromas.”

“Wh—what?”

“There’s no one who can hide from me. I mean no one—it’s been tried by the best. Except you. I honestly can’t tell.”

“You’re talking about Tavaedi colors? I thought you understood. I’m still an Initiate. I haven’t been tested yet.”

His bewilderment, almost anger, befit a man expecting water but given sand.

“Have I forfeited my lifedebt?” she asked, suddenly queasy.

“No.” He shook himself from his daze. “Of course not, I’ll accept something else, whatever you wish. I just thought…I’m not often mistaken.”

People rushed toward them along the river’s edge. Jensi was one, Gwenika another, the other girls were right behind—including Kemla, who was crying—and the Tavaedies from both tribes, led by Abiono.

“Dindi! Thank the Six Faeries, you’re still alive!” he exclaimed. “Kemla said you were fooling around on the log and fell in the river, and she was so upset…”

Kemla was upset? But, yes, there was Kemla, wailing like a baby.

“It was all my fault!” she screeched. “I was demonstrating a few flips—not dancing, mind you, just demonstrating—and Dindi insisted on copying me, even though she hadn’t the skill, and she just…” She trailed away into loud blubbering.