Reluctant Concubine (25 page)

“Thus the first war began, and the unjustness of this great killing rose to the spirits and made all mankind distasteful to them so they no longer walked among men. And when they so abandoned the people, more famine came, and more war and diseases with it. And the number of those First People waned like the moons. Many of the Gates were destroyed in those times. On all the islands of Mirror Sea, only one remained.”

Which was all right, since our Mirror Sea was one of the few waters where hardstorms rarely reached, so our waters could still be sailed.

I had heard of the Gates before, from travelers who had come to seek my mother from distant lands. But back then, the stories seemed like children’s tales to me, and only now did I understand the full wonder of such a creation.

“Ages after that, new people arrived from faraway kingdoms and repopulated the islands, but they knew little of the First People or their extraordinary ways,” the Guardian of the Gate said.

“In places, the few First People who remained were hunted and tortured for their knowledge. They were enslaved and abused until the last of them died. Their brothers, hearing of this on other islands, hid and never passed on any of their wisdom. When the last of them disappeared, so did their secrets. Some of those distant islands still have Gates, but no one knows now how to open them, so the people who live there are trapped.”

I drew closer to the fire to keep warm as I listened to the Guardian.

“On Dahru, our people the Seela showed great respect for the First People, and thus they shared their knowledge with us. They knew, I think, that their race was coming to an end. A new world emerged, with new ways that left little room for theirs.”

“It is said the blood of the First People mixed with that of the ancient Seela, and we carry it on still,” the Guardian of the Cave interjected.

The Guardian of the Gate nodded. “So say the legends.”

He poked the fire before he went back to his tale. “Those lands that have Gates use them if they can and guard them, for they are true treasures the likes of which can no longer be made. Those who settled on lands without Gates or lost the knowledge to use their Gates are cut off. They no longer remember where they came from and forgot the rest of us. There are many islands and lands like that and many people. We call them ‘Sorlan’—Beyond.”  

He shifted on the hard stone of the cave floor. “Some of the islands of Sorlan are thick with magic, they say, and ruled by sorcerers.” He fell silent.

I had heard some of this before, as parts of the story were familiar to my people, but not the whole history. I knew little about the First People, and I had never before heard of the people of “Beyond.” The Shahala stories spoke mostly about our kind, how they came from afar and settled on Dahru where they found sanctuary. And how the Kadar came after that. My people thought the ancient race of Guardians long extinct.

The Kadar warriors protected the island, and when their numbers grew greater, they went away to fight foreign enemies in faraway places, never giving those enemies a chance to reach our shores. The Shahala lived in peace, and the power of healing in them grew even stronger, and they repaid the Kadar by healing them from the wounds of war when their services were called upon.

I told the Guardians as much, and they nodded, for they knew that tale as well. And the Guardian of the Cave knew even more—the names of all the great healers of our people and the names of all the great High Lords of the Kadar, from Coulron all the way to Batumar.

At the end, my thoughts circled back to the Gate. “I never knew our Dahru held the Gate of the World.”

“Not many people do.” The Guardian of the Scrolls glared at the Guardian of the Gate again. “We do our best to keep the Gate’s true power concealed, lest it become a prize fought for by evil men.”

“Most Gates can open only to a handful of other Gates, their range limited. The Gate of the World can reach all the other Gates,” the Guardian of the Gate said with pride.

“As long as it has a true Guardian,” the Guardian of the Cave added.

“Why do you stay hidden?” I asked them the question burning in my mind. “If you have the powers of the First People, you could do such good in the world.”

“We have little of the power of the First People, but even for that little, our ancestors were hunted without mercy,” said the Guardian of the Scrolls. “Other nations came to Dahru before the Kadar and Shahala settled here. Some of those nations used the island as a resting place on their way to other destinations; some sought to conquer our people the Seela and stay here.” He fell silent for a moment, and I knew he had more tales of those dark times, tales he did not care to share.

His frail body shuddered as if wanting to shake off his grim interloping thoughts the way furry land animals shake off water. He rubbed his knee and went on with the tale. “The wind of centuries blew away the conquerors. They died of wars and diseases, hunger and treachery. We feared that soon the Seela too would perish, so we hid ourselves in the mountains and swore to protect the last of our people so we could go on preserving our ancient knowledge.”

We talked about the past for some time, mostly about the First People, until the Guardian of the Gate pushed himself to his feet with effort. “The High Lord is returning. We should not hold the mist much longer.”

I had wanted to see my mother’s grave again, so I stood with some disappointment but said farewell, even to the Guardian of the Scrolls, who did not seem to notice I was leaving. I hurried back to the palace after a brief glance at the path that led south through the mountains. Freedom still awaited there, but many warriors would be coming home from battle who would need my help with their injuries. I found I could not desert them.

I reached the palace unnoticed, just as the light of morning broke through the disappearing mist. Walking into my bedchamber, I left the door open behind me to allow in clean air and held my breath as I dipped the glowing tip of the sleeping stick in water. I changed into my gossamer nightrail, lay upon the bed, and pulled the cover over me. 

Leena’s eyes fluttered open after a short while. I closed mine and listened to her move about the room, readying my clothes for the day.

I must have fallen asleep, for I woke to the sound of the horns proclaiming Batumar’s return. Leena barely had the time to help me dress and arrange my hair before the High Lord sent his summons.

She fed me a few bites; then we rushed down the corridors, Leena clinging to the single charm hanging from the belt she wore only when Batumar was out of the palace.

My stomach clenched as her anxiety spread to me. Had he been injured? If so, I prayed to the spirits the injury would not be beyond my abilities.

I pushed open the door of the High Lord’s antechamber, leaving Leena outside. I did not need escort when I was with Batumar. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him and closed the door slowly, allowing Leena a glimpse.

He sat on one of the ornately carved chairs in his antechamber while one of his stewards stood before him with a scroll in hand, giving his report. Batumar’s gaze cut to me when I entered, but he did not interrupt the steward. I bowed, startled by his appearance. Like a stranger was he, in clothes stained and soiled beyond recognition, most of his face covered by a generous growth of beard, except the jagged line of his scar.

His obsidian eyes shone with intensity, his large frame, even slumped in the chair as he sat now, radiated true strength. His dark hair, longer than when he had left, hung in the thick braid some Kadar preferred for battle. He looked as if a warrior of old had come to us from the legends.

The steward droned on about supplies stored for the eventuality of siege, while the voices of servant women filtered from the sleeping chamber. I skirted around the men and walked in there, not wanting to disturb the report.

Two servant women poured water into a wooden tub, the largest I had ever seen. They bowed as I entered. They were palace servants, assigned to someplace other than Pleasure Hall, so I did not know their names. I helped them lift the heavy pails despite their protests. They were older than Leena, and besides, I always welcomed exercise. A healer had to have enough strength to lift or turn her patients if needed.

At home, I had roamed the woods and climbed numaba trees all day long. At the House of Tahar, I worked alongside the servants. But since I had come to Karamur, I had barely done more than walk from Pleasure Hall to the kitchen. Climbing the cliff made me realize how soft I had grown. The effort strained me more than it should have.

When I finished with the last pail, I moved out of the women’s way and caught sight of Batumar watching me from the doorway. A good fire roared in the hearth, its heat touching me as if I stood right next to the flames.

The scent of freshly split wood filled the air, coming from the armload that must have been carried in recently. The servants noticed the High Lord too, at last, and fell silent, bowing to him as he strode into the chamber.

I had forgotten how tall he stood, how imposing, how mismatched we were in strength. I swallowed and glanced away. Perhaps I should have run while I had had the chance, while I had the advantage of his absence. Had I doomed myself by remaining?

The bed groaned under his weight as he sat and stretched his feet toward the fire. The women immediately set to undo his boots and strip off his clothes. His armor of leather, worked nearly to the hardness of metal, already lay in the corner.

One of the women removed his doublet, and I caught my breath at the sight of fresh blood on his tunic. I had hoped the blood stains on his outer garments were the blood of the enemy. I watched his face to see if the movement of any limbs caused him pain, and searched from afar for the site of the injury.

I found it as soon as they pulled the tunic over his head—a gash in his side where he had caught the tip of a sword. I could not see how deep the cut went, as dried blood covered most of the wound. I searched his body for other injuries but did not find any, although the women had tugged off the last of his clothes, and he stood before me naked.

Even tired, dirty, and wounded, his body looked more powerful than any warrior’s I had seen, and I had healed many. He did not have that lean look of youth—he had daughters probably not much younger than I—but instead he was built with solid muscle, his skin covered in scars. Decades of battles had shaped the man, his body having been sculpted by fighting, honed by sword work.

He stepped to the tub and sank into the steaming water, closing his eyes the moment his head came to rest on the edge. As the women washed him, I picked up his discarded clothes to set outside the door. Then, having nothing else to do, I waited for him to be ready for my healing.

The women washed him without gentling their touch as they scrubbed around the cut.
Oh, for the spirits’ sake…
Had their eyesight weakened with age and they mistook the wound for grime? I stepped forward. The water had turned red too fast. Too hot, I guessed, making Batumar’s blood flow faster. 

I walked out to the antechamber, moving to the corridor where Leena waited should I have need of her.

“If you could bring clean cloth for bandaging, and lavender for cleaning, chamomile and hyssop for infection, and ruhni powder too, I think. I have a small bundle of shlunn hulls. Please bring all of it. He is not injured badly,” I added as she wrung her hands, her eyes clouding with worry.

Then I went back and sent the servant women away with instructions for more water. “Warm, not hot. Comfortable to the touch.”

I disliked the look of that soiled water. I wanted him out so I could clean and close his wound. The women had done a fair job of washing him, so I had not much left to do.

“Your hair, my lord.”

He sat up without sparing a glance back. Water ran in rivulets down the hills and valleys of his muscles.

I swallowed as I reached for his thick braid that needed to be loosened first. Then I combed the tangled strands with my fingers as they fell over his shoulder to the middle of his back. He dipped under the surface to wet his hair, then sat up again. Steam rose from the water, the fire burning hot behind me. As my skin tingled with heat, I wished I had on a lighter gown. Better move to the to the other side of the tub, away from the fireplace…

But the women were returning with water, and soon their buckets were lined up there, so I stayed where I was, resolving instead to hurry with my task.

Leena followed the women, bringing strips of white linen and my herbs. I set those aside, not ready for them yet, and reached instead for the small jar of powdered soaproot on the floor next to the tub. I lathered a handful of the powder into Batumar’s hair.

He closed his eyes and kept them closed, even as he dismissed all the servants.

The fire crackled in the hearth, the only other sound in the room the soft, oddly intimate squishing noises as I worked the suds into his hair and beard. His hair was roughly textured, almost like the manyinga’s fur, but I liked something about the way the thick strands slipped between my fingers.

I stepped back. “Ready to rinse, my lord.”

He stood and reached for one of the pails by the tub, then poured water over his head, then another pail and another. I busied myself with carrying out the empty pails as he finished rinsing and walked to the bed.

I had seen and healed many naked men, but now a sudden desire to run from the chamber grabbed hold of me.

“Come.”

I turned, filled my lungs, then went to him as he had commanded. He did need my healing.

He tugged on a clean pair of leggings and sat on the bed with his arm out to the side to give me a better view of the gash.

Even with his gaze intent on my face, I forgot about my misgivings at once, my full attention on the injury, on the blood still seeping down his skin. The cut went deeper than I had thought, its edges dead, the severed muscles underneath infected and swollen.

I kneeled next to him, then ran my fingers around in a circle on his hot skin and drew the pain. I grabbed for the edge of the bed as it slammed into me and throbbed through my veins.