Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) (38 page)

Alyea lay motionless, her breathing so shallow as to be invisible. Deiq kept his fingertips against one of the few merely bruised spots on her ribcage, desperately tracking the tiny shifts of her breathing. On the other side of the bed, her mother knelt, praying in a low drone that had started out shaky and stammering, but long since smoothed out and turned to background noise in Deiq’s ears.

The low light of a table-lamp was the only illumination in the room, and shadows stretched long and wide, as though to gather in everything they could. His eyes prickled and burned; he made himself blink, made himself look away from the still, pale form on the bed. Alyea’s mother, lost in her prayers, swayed towards one side; caught herself with an outstretched hand, and stared at her daughter with an expression of utter despair.

“It’s my fault,” she said, seeming to have forgotten Deiq’s presence entirely. “It’s all my fault. I should never have. . . .”

As though something had startled her, she glanced up and saw Deiq watching her. A flood of color rose to her pale face, and she jerked to her feet.

“What are
you
doing here?” she demanded, her tone low and filled with venom.

“The same thing you are, Lady Peysimun,” he said; in a moment of compassion, he laced his words with what persuasion he had left. “Get some rest. I’ll send for you if anything changes.”

She glared, then sagged where she stood, her gaze turning vague with exhaustion. “It’s my fault,” she repeated in a low mumble, and left the room without looking back.

He made himself blink a few more times, to keep his eyes from drying out, then went back to watching Alyea.

Her injuries were healing, but slowly—too slowly. The tharr bastards had taken her to the edge and damn near pushed her over, and he didn’t know how to call her back. He’d never learned how to give energy, only how to take it; healing humans wasn’t something a ha’ra’ha was ever expected to do, especially not a First Born.

Tentatively, he tried to thread a reverse draw out through his fingertips. It felt strange, and rather painful, as though his fingers had been set on fire. And once again he met that thick grey fog of refusal. He began to back off, then decided to try just a little harder; he had to know if it wasn’t possible. He had to
try
.

Bright agony flared through his hands and up his arms; the grey streaked, abruptly, with red, and Alyea let out a wrenching scream, her back arching in protest. He pulled back instantly, and bent over her, trying to soothe her pain with helpless, agonized, ineffective hand movements; panic thudded through his entire body as he tried to figure out how to calm her.

She fell back, limp, into the same catatonic state as before. Moments later, Lady Peysimun burst through the door, screeching, and threw herself at him in a flurry of clawing blows.

“Get away from her! Get
away
! You
monster
! What are you
doing
to her?”

Deiq flung up his hands and backed into a corner, overwhelmed and desperately trying not to retaliate. One blow would send the woman through a wall, and Alyea would never forgive him for that. He fended her off, panting; it seemed an eternity before Eredion ran into the room and pulled the crazed woman away from him.

“I was trying to help,” Deiq said, catching his breath; her ranting imprecations overshadowed anything else he might try to say.

Eredion glared, his arms wrapped around the struggling woman to hold her back from another attack. The darkness of exhaustion turned his face haggard as he snapped, “Go! For the love of the gods, Deiq—I’ll sort this—right now, just
go
. Sit in the garden outside. I’ll come talk to you later. Please.”

Deiq cast a frantic glance at Alyea, at the hellish shadows reaching towards the bed; drew in a sharp breath and said, with forced calm, “Yes. You’re right. Of course.” He passed them without meeting their eyes; paused just before stepping out into the hallway and added, not looking back,
Tell her it’s not her fault at all. It’s mine.

Stop being so bloody juvenile!
Eredion shot back immediately.
That’s not helping anything!

Just tell her
, Deiq said, and left.

Alyea swam through depths of orange and blue, red streaking down around her in a light patter of musical tones. There was a high mountain, and a patio, and she stared out into the blue, blue sky; watched the bright orange of a breathtaking sunset, and flung herself over the edge of the cliff to catch the sun before it went away forever.

And fell . . . and fell . . . and fell. The sun fell away faster, however hard she swam, and soon she flew through darkness, watching tiny red droplets dance in asymmetrical patterns where stars should be. Orange lined her vision, a bright haze, and she rolled sideways into the heart of the sun; surrendered to its immense heat and burned to ashes instantly.

She scattered into millions of tiny black flakes, fluttering off in all directions; felt her heart break because the sun could never love her.

The red droplets streaked into sudden, harsh order, slapped the ashes of her self into form and substance, then rammed through her body like a million razor-edged spears. She screamed, pain breaking into the relatively pleasant haze. Someone else screamed, and the two sounds braided, broke apart, and echoed through canyons; skipped across ridges.

Guardian, the teyanin crow, sat on a branch that led nowhere and clacked its beak at her, its yellow eyes filled with amusement. “You’re lost,” it remarked. “Lost! Lost! Lost!”

“Where do I go to find what I’ve lost?” she asked, kneeling before it. Guardian clacked its hard black beak again, as though laughing at her.

“Lost!” it screamed. “Lost!”

She grabbed a rock that came to hand just then, and threw, hard and true. Guardian disappeared in a wild explosion of feathers and screeching. The feathers blew straight towards her as though on a sudden gust of wind; she put up a hand to protect herself, but they coated her, skin and hair and nostrils and mouth and ears, smothering her inside and out with bristly rankness.

She screamed, choking on musky feathers, and felt a hand on her wrist; heard a voice calling a name.
Alyea. Alyea. This way. Alyea. Over here. Alyea.

She didn’t want to be Alyea. She wanted to be someone else. Somewhere else. Following that voice, admitting to that name, would bring her back to pain past enduring. Would mean that she’d failed, in the end; because she couldn’t go through any more. She’d do whatever they asked. Anything . . . anything.

No
, the voice said.
You won. It’s over. You’re safe. Alyea, you’re safe. You won. Alyea. Alyea.

“Lost!” screeched Guardian, but far away, and fading with each iteration.

She hovered in grey fog, torn; she could still follow Guardian’s mocking voice, chase him down and kill him again. That would go on forever, and there would be no real pain involved; only the fierce joy of the hunt, of the kill.

Alyea. Alyea. Alyea.

She knew that voice; and with that knowledge came silence from Guardian, and a lessening of the grey fog.

“Alyea,” another, different voice said; this one was wracked with agonized relief.

She knew
that
voice too, and abrupt hatred blew the last of the grey haze away, turning it into crystal-bright rage, while everything else turned utterly black.

Deiq stood across the room from Alyea’s bed, watching Eredion work to call her back. The desert lord knelt beside the bed, fingertips laid against Alyea’s shoulder and hip, his eyes closed. Sweat beaded his forehead; he muttered her name almost continually under his breath.

Lady Peysimun had been put to sleep with a combination of desert lord persuasion and a simpler matter of drugs slipped into her drink; she wouldn’t be interfering for some time yet. And Eredion had absolutely forbidden Deiq’s involvement, at any level.

So Deiq stayed still, looking at his surroundings to distract himself from pushing into whatever Eredion was doing. Dawn limned the windows; the curtains had been drawn wide and shutters thrown back to allow cool air into the room. Not enough there to hold his interest; his gaze tracked back to Alyea after only moments.

The few cuts not concealed by the array of bandages wrapped around Alyea’s body scabbed with slow, webbing stealth; cracked and bled, and closed again. Bruises shifted across a variety of colors, faded, brightened, highlighting gaunt hollows under her high cheekbones. Eredion paused to sip from a mug of water and cast a bleak glance at Deiq. “She doesn’t want to come back,” he said. “I’m having a hard time convincing her it’s going to be worth it.”

“I could—”

“No, you can’t. Let me handle this. I’ve done it before. And at least
this
time, I’m proud of what I’m doing.” Eredion took another sip of water, shut his eyes, and resumed the low droning chant of Alyea’s name. Deiq settled into a chair, drumming his fingers against his legs; caught a sideways glare from Eredion, and forced himself to go quiet and still.

The air began to warm as the sun rose from dawn to early morning; Alyea gave a sobbing gasp, her dark eyes half-open but still hazed and unseeing.

Eredion sat back, grey relief breaking across his face. Unable to help himself, Deiq started up from his chair and said, “Alyea!”

Instantly, a staggering wave of rage crashed through the room. Deiq stumbled back, fetching up against the wall. Eredion ducked out of the way as Alyea’s arms flailed out in erratic blows; then she rolled from the bed and to her feet, nothing sane in her eyes or mind.

Her hand closed around the bedside table-lamp; Deiq barely ducked aside in time. It shattered where his head had just been, adding the sharp greasy tang of oil to the already-rank room.

She looked down at herself and snarled; clawed at the bandages, shredding them like paper, and stood naked, blood oozing from underneath multiple, fragile new scabs. Eredion moved to a crouch, working his way around the side of the bed. She spun, grabbed an empty glass vase, and pitched it unerringly at Eredion’s head. He only escaped by flattening himself on the floor, and the vase whirled past to shatter against the wall.

Someone screamed from the doorway, a shrill yip of astonishment: “She’s awake!”

Deiq glanced over just as Wian ran into the room, calling Alyea’s name; the girl’s reward was to have the ceramic bowl they’d been using for sponge-water pitched at her head. Water sprayed everywhere, and Wian wasn’t fast enough to duck in time. She went down with a yelp, and the bowl careened off, bursting apart into fragments when it hit the stone floor.

“Damn it, Alyea, stop!” Deiq hollered as she turned to face him again.

Her face was strange and grey, all angles and coldness. She stared without really seeing him, and reached for something else to throw.

“Eredion—” He ducked as the bedpan, mercifully empty, went past his ear. “Can’t you
do
something?”

“Lady!” Wian cried, one hand to her head. Blood matted her hair.

“Shut up, you idiot!” Deiq snapped. “Eredion!”

“
Don’t you touch me!
” Alyea shrieked, and picked up the night stand.

Medicines and salves slid off and crashed to the floor, creating an entirely new stench in the room. Deiq leapt to stand closer to the open windows, his eyes watering. Eredion ducked in another direction, and Alyea stood still, night stand held aloft, as though unable to track their movements well enough to aim properly.

“She’s too fragile,” Eredion panted. “There’s nothing to grab hold of. She’s raving from dasta, and gods know what else—”

A soft noise from the doorway caught Deiq’s attention. He looked up to find a horrified-looking young man with bright red hair and blue eyes staring, appalled, at Alyea.

“Get out of here, you idiot!” Eredion thundered.

Wian spun, holding out both hands to the stranger, and shouted, “No! Tank! Come help her! The way you helped me, come help her! Please!”

“Are you out of your gods-blessed
mind
?” Eredion roared.

Furious and horrified, Deiq moved to physically throw both the boy and the servant from the room; but Tank’s stare locked onto Alyea with a bizarre intensity, and then Alyea dropped the night stand and turned, her own haze clearing as she looked straight at Tank—

—and Deiq felt an inexplicable
click
, and a
shifting
—

“Shit!” Eredion said, in tones of deep, incredulous awe. “Deiq, wait—wait, she’s stopped, she’s
stopped
, she’s not trying to kill him—or us—”

“What in the hells?”

“I don’t know—but wait—”

Tank staggered a few steps forward, as though drawn against his will. Alyea watched him, unmoving, her face more alive and alert than Deiq had ever seen it: like an asp-jacau ready to attack.

“Godsdamnit, he’s only a human, she’s going to tear him apart,” Deiq said.

“No, she’s not, she’s not going to hurt him, there’s something else going on, wait—”

A moment later, Tank went to his knees, threw back his head, and screamed with nearly ear-shattering volume. Deiq put his hands over his ears, wincing.

“
That’s
not hurting him?”

Eredion just shook his head and urgently motioned Deiq to stay where he was. “I recognize him now,” he said as the scream wound down into a series of hoarse gasps. “I was even more tired than I thought, last night, not to recognize him. That’s the Aerthraim boy.”

Deiq backed up a hasty step. “The one who—”
You let him in
here,
you
godsdamned idiot?
he thought but didn’t say, too rattled to organize mind-speech.

“Yes. Now shut up—”

The Aerthraim boy staggered to his feet and lunged forward, catching Alyea in a tight embrace. She buried her face in his neck and burst into deep, gut-wrenching sobs. He stroked her hair and back unceasingly, his own head leaned into her shoulder; Deiq realized with a sense of icy shock that he couldn’t feel any emotions from the two. They’d retreated into a silent, shared world, blocking off every outside influence; there was literally no way to reach either of them short of physical violence.

He exchanged a helpless glance with Eredion, not at all sure what to do next.

The boy reached into his belt pouch and pulled out something that looked like a twisted, dry stick of black trail jerky; murmuring reassurances, he worked it into Alyea’s mouth. She chewed, obedient as a cow, but her eyes reddened and began to water almost immediately.

“I know,” Deiq heard the boy murmur. “Tastes awful . . . keep chewing . . . good. Spit out what’s left—” A blob of stringy mush landed on the floor, and Alyea sagged, her intensity draining away.

The boy caught Alyea up, cradling her against his chest as though she weighed nothing and he could carry the world without noticing.

Not looking at anyone—not seeming to even realize anyone else stood watching—he brought her to the bed, laid her down gently, and tried to step back. She shot out a hand, clutching at him frantically. He perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed; she continued to tug at him. After a moment he kicked off his boots, then stretched out, wrapping his arms around her.

Alyea gave a shuddering sigh and relaxed all over, her eyes rolling back then sliding closed. A rough shiver passed through the boy’s body; his eyes shut, and he followed her into a profoundly exhausted slumber.

Deiq watched them sleep, unable to believe what he’d just seen. Eredion, similarly stunned, slowly righted an overturned chair and sat, favoring his right leg.

“I
knew
he could help,” Wian said from her place on the floor, looking supremely pleased with herself, then flinched under the dark glare both men turned on her.

“How?” Eredion demanded. “When we couldn’t settle her down, what made you think he had a chance?”

“I met him before, is how I know,” she retorted. “He’s one of the men brought me back to Bright Bay. He’s got a gift. A healing gift.”

“A
healing
gift?” Eredion said incredulously; glanced at Deiq, and visibly held himself back from further comment.

Are you sure this is the same boy?
Deiq asked.

Oh, yes
, Eredion answered.
But I never heard of him being trained as a healer!

Wian, unaware of the side conversation, went on: “I knew Tank could reach her, because he’d already helped me without any idea what he was doing. I knew if he saw her, he’d have to help her. It’s how he is. He couldn’t have walked away.”

“If you’d been wrong,” Eredion said bleakly, his gaze going to the bed again.

“But I wasn’t.”

“She could have killed him, Wian, and what that would have done to her mind . . . You have no idea what risk you took. You should have warned him first. You should have warned
us
. Gods, my heart almost stopped.”

She shrugged and climbed to her feet; then winced, putting her hand to her still-bleeding head. Deiq noticed that the pain seemed to bother her less than the feeling of blood trickling down her neck, and filed the observation for future consideration.

“I’ll go tell Lady Peysimun her daughter’s doing better,” she said, and left the room without looking back.

Eredion and Deiq looked at each other. In the silence, the redhead snored quietly.

“Why him?” Deiq asked, feeling a deep ache press into his chest. “Why
him
?”

The desert lord sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I think,” he said slowly, “because he’s been through it too. Born in a katha village, as I understand it, and raised there for years. Didn’t you hear about him?”

“I knew a human boy was involved in the battle with Ninnic’s child,” Deiq said, “but I never understood why they chose that approach. I thought he was just a sacrifice—a distraction, perhaps with enough innate ability to keep him interesting to Ninnic’s child for a time; and I thought he’d died in the battle.”

Eredion flicked Deiq a sardonic glance.

“No,” he said. “His proper name is Tanavin Aerthraim, and he’s as fully trained and able as I am, if somewhat less aware of the potential of his abilities. And since he’s still fully human, ha’reye and ha’ra’hain can’t really see him, if I understand the theory correctly. You call ordinary humans
tharr
, right? ‘The invisible ones.’”

Deiq shut his eyes and opened other-vision. He couldn’t see the boy at all, beyond a vague blurriness. Beside him, Alyea’s presence wavered with an odd translucence, hazed by such close contact.

“Yes,” he said, barely audible. He swallowed hard, appalled. The humans had taken a ha’reye blind spot and turned it to their own ends with deadly efficiency. Not at all surprising that the plan came from the Aerthraim: the only Family without desert lords; the only Family without a protector. The only ones not afraid of retaliation for this gross offense against the Agreement.

Oh, gods, if the Jungles ever find out that humans made this leap. . . .

He reverted to human-normal vision and blinked at Eredion. “Did he actually get close enough to kill it?”

Before today, he’d deliberately avoided conversations or questions about that time. Best not to know things that could invite retaliation by his elders. But now he found himself filled with a morbid, horrified curiosity; and it was, after all, too late to be afraid now. Eredion’s damned trust had put him beyond any chance of redemption among his own kin.

“Close enough, yes; as for killing it, not quite.” Eredion began to pick up the larger shards of debris around the room. Deiq just stood still and watched, too shaken to seriously consider helping. “Things didn’t exactly . . . go as planned. Tanavin took off on his own, and ran more or less straight into the right place at the wrong time. We arrived rather later, to find that he’d hit hard and run like all hells. But he did more damage with that one blow than myself and five other full desert lords managed, combined.”

He piled the shards near the bedroom door and turned to regard the sleeping pair again, his expression grave.

“If it’s any consolation,” he added, “I really doubt he’ll want to get between you two. He’s not ready to settle down yet, and he’s developed an intense hatred of politics.”

Deiq stiffened. “That’s not—”

Eredion turned his head and met Deiq’s eyes.

“I know what it’s not,” the desert lord said. “And I know what it is. You forget, Deiq—the sharing goes both ways.”

“Mmph,” Deiq said after a moment, and looked away. “I didn’t think you’d see . . . that deep.” Most desert lords were too busy screaming and fighting to get away, or fighting themselves to stay put, to look at anything else.

“If I saw that,” Eredion said, “so will she. When the time comes.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll speak to her for you, when she recovers,” Eredion said quietly. “I don’t think you have the words to explain it.”

“Thanks,” Deiq said in a muted voice, and looked back at Alyea.

A moment’s cautious examination told him she was, steadily and gently, drawing the energy she needed to heal from the Aerthraim boy; or perhaps, even more incredibly, the boy was feeding her.

Deiq had never seen a human or a desert lord do such a thing. It frightened and elated him at the same time; if this was possible, maybe—

He roughly squashed the hope.
Human mutation
, he told himself,
nothing I can ever duplicate. It’s too late for me. I already proved that. I can’t give her anything at all. I can only take.

A shivering ache spiraled through his body, as though the hunger had just been waiting for a thought to activate it. He struggled to ignore it; he wouldn’t put Eredion, or any other desert lord, through that agony again.

Never again. Never. Never. Never.

Tanavin snored again, his arms tightening around Alyea, and Deiq fought the urge to rip the red-haired boy away from her and fling him through a wall. It wouldn’t be safe; Tanavin very nearly matched a ha’ra’ha for willpower.

Deiq grunted softly, remembering that Tanavin already
had
gone against a first-generation ha’ra’ha—and won. At full strength, Deiq knew, he could have done the same; but right now. . . .

“I don’t think I want to tangle with this one,” he said aloud. “What’s he doing here, anyway?”

Eredion rubbed his eyes. “He came in late last night with a message from Idisio.”

He briefly related their conversation. Deiq listened, frowning and anxious, then said, “What are you doing about it?”