Sons of the Falcon (The Falcons Saga) (57 page)

“Stay
away from him,” Drona said, coiled like an angry serpent. The false blue light
hardened the planes and creases in her face.

“You
want
him to die?” Thorn tossed back.

“He
already did,” Carah said. “For a moment.”

“But
she brought him back.” Lieutenant Rance joined them at the foot of the wagon.
“Lady Drona, stand aside. Let them help.”

“Hnh,”
she grunted, not budging. “You killed our last king, avedra. Why help this
one?”

Carah
eyed her uncle. He made no move to deny Drona’s accusation. Had he really? This
was a tale he had neglected to tell her. “Everything in its own time, Lady
Athmar,” he said. “Everything in its own time.”

She
rose to her feet, looming high over them. “If he dies, Thorn Kingshield, it’s
you I’m coming for.”

“I
tremble.” They waged a battle of glares. As stubborn as Drona was, Carah
guessed her uncle was more stubborn still. One did not move earth and fire
without such a quality. “With every moment you impede us, you hasten his
demise,” he said at last, never once blinking away.

Drona
huffed and vaulted over the side of the wagon and stalked away into the dark.

Thorn
watched her go. “Lieutenant, will you guard my back while I work?”

“Yessir.”

I
saw her leave like that once before
,
Thorn confided to his niece.
She returned with a poisoned dagger that nearly
killed the Black Falcon.

Not
Valryk.

No,
the better one.

They
climbed into the wagon and the lieutenant with them. The white cloak was just
as damp and filthy as the rest of their garments. “All this wet, Uncle, it
can’t be helping his fever.”

“No,
but you can.”

Is
it wise to learn on him?
Carah asked.

We
don’t have a choice. Be brave.

Thorn
pulled back the cloak to inspect the wound. As Carah feared, some of her
stitching had torn loose. Fresh blood dampened the dark stain on his right
side.

Arryk
tossed. His eyes opened and he shifted away from Carah’s outstretched hand.
“Nathryk, don’t!”

Startled,
Carah glanced up at the lieutenant. The alarm in Rance’s face, in his frantic
gestures to quiet his king, told her she had overheard a secret. “Sire, you’re
safe,” he said. “Do you hear me? Safe. Lie still now.” In an instant, his
tenderness turned to ferocity. “You’ll respect his privacy, avedrin. No mind
reading.”

Thorn
leant away, as if taken aback. “It’s just a fever dream, Lieutenant. Saffron,
quiet His Majesty.”

A
glittering of stars gathered over the flailing king. To his credit, Rance
swatted at the creature as if she were a wasp with her stinger bared, but
Saffron darted nimbly aside and smiled bashfully at him, her golden lashes
sweeping across large lavender eyes. Awed, the lieutenant muttered something
about the Mother’s mercy and let the fairy work her magic. Her tiny hand
touched Arryk’s cheek, and she blew a sweet breath across his face.

Arryk
sank back into the bed of the wagon, restful at last.

Thorn
took up Carah’s hand, laid it across the bloody splotch on Arryk’s shirt. “If
you concentrate, you can feel infection just like any other energy. It’s a
poison in the blood, in the tissue. You can command it like you command fire
and water and draw it out.”

“Not
yet, I can’t.”

“In
time. This is more important than fire and water, love.”

Carah
breathed and let her mind dive down into the wound, just like before.
Don’t
stitch it up yet,
 her uncle said.
It needs to seep. Do you feel the
rivulets? Rivers of infection?

Rivers?
No, to her they were shards. Yellow and black shards like broken glass,
coursing in the blood, gnawing at the tissue. Some of them were rancid green. Around
the tear in Arryk’s skin and down through the broken, bruised flesh, the shards
pulsed red-black, as though they had a heartbeat of their own.

Draw
these out, a little at a time.
Some of the shards drew up and away from her awareness, gathering to her
uncle’s touch. She tried to emulated him. The healthy tissue responded, tossing
the shards at her as though it vomited the infection away. But in the damaged
tissue the sickness was too deeply rooted. And there were so many shards. Too
many to count. She would never gather them all.

Take
one at a time,
her uncle consoled
. One area, one touch, don’t worry about the rest.

Carah
took a deep breath, let it out slowly, focused on the shards sweeping by her in
the blood while her uncle concentrated on the deep wound.

Check
your palm. Keep it clean.

Hard
to disentangle herself, like forcing herself awake in the middle of a nightmare.
She turned over her hand and found ugly yellow beads like thin pus mixed with
mercury puddling in her palm. The fluid reeked of sewage and rot and salty
sickness. Without opening his eyes Thorn whipped out a kerchief, dried his own palm
on it, then passed it to her. Time and time again, Carah dived down to gather
shards and sat back again to clean her palm. Sweat trickled down her face,
between her should blades and breasts. Pain pounded at the base of her skull.
Her hands began to tremble.

After
what felt like hours, Thorn said,
That’s enough for now
. Carah wanted to
try one more time, but her uncle lifted her hand from Arryk’s side. “This is a
long, slow process. It will take days, love. Let’s get cleaned up and eat
something. Then we should all rest. Lieutenant, you too. Our fairies can see
what you can’t. They’ll alert us.”

Rance
glanced at Saffron who sat on the bench seat, swinging her twig-thin legs.
“Forgive me if I’m skeptical.”

“Suit
yourself,” Thorn said and hopped out of the wagon.

Carah
wasn’t so quick to abandon her patient. Arryk’s brow felt a measure cooler. Or
perhaps she was merely hopeful. She tucked the damp cloak about his shoulders
and told Rance, “I’ll bring him water.” She clambered out of the wagon, stiff
and awkward, and followed the glow of the blue light to the lakeside. Her uncle
knelt on the bank washing his hands and face.

“How
did you bring him back?” he asked.

“I
don’t know.” A touch, a whisper, a lie. Carah scooped up a handful of sand to
scrub between her fingers. “He thought I was his queen. He followed me back.”

“Are
you sure that was the right thing to do?”

Carah
sat back on her heels. “I couldn’t let him die! And I did it right this time. I
found the right moment to separate myself—”

“I
mean, are you sure he wasn’t
meant
to die today? Did you act according
to the Mother-Father’s desire, or your own? Did you think of that at all?”

Carah
scrambled to her feet. “I didn’t have time to consider. He was
dying
! I
told you, I was meant to come to Bramoran, and keeping that man alive is the
reason, I’m sure of it. He still has some purpose to serve. If you think I’m
wrong, then you must believe
you
were wrong to blast a hole in the wall
of that slaughterhouse, but you
can’t
believe that … and you were just
testing me.”

Thorn
stood. “That’s my job, love.”

She
clenched her fists, wanting nothing so much as to pelt him. “Don’t ‘love’ me,
you flaming pile of ogre shit! Go rot and fester!”

Her
uncle’s laughter echoed across the quiet waters and silenced the crying of the
wolves. It only made her angrier. She stomped off, but he hauled her back, held
her firmly by the shoulders. “I am proud of you, Kharah.” The difference in
pronunciation won him her attention. He tenderly swept a curl from her eyes and
cupped her face. “Our fierce healer. I envy you your gift.”

She
forgave him after that, and they started back to the clearing arm in arm. The
highborns were settling themselves for the night. Roots and musty leaves made
for uncomfortable pillows under highborns’ heads. Paired with the fear of
wolves and swords striking from the dark, Carah doubted any of them would sleep
well. Two of the White Mantles curled up under their cloaks while two more
guarded the wagon. Lieutenant Rance nodded heavily but roused with a start when
the blue light whisked past him. Drona laid at her king’s feet, eyes blinking
up at the canopy.

“How
do I get water to him?” she asked her uncle.

“There’s
a flask on my saddle. We’ll have to boil lake water.”

“But
we can’t risk a fire.”

“My
dear, you’re not thinking like an avedra.”

Rhian
had unsaddled both of the Elaran horses; they stood bare-backed under the trees,
sleek black shadows. Thorn untied the flask from his saddle while Záradel
lowered her muzzle and sniffed at his hands in the dark. “Nosy,” he accused
her, and she blew hot air into his face. He gave the flask a shake and took a
swig, then handed it off to Carah. “Mead. Give the rest to the White Falcon.
The spices and honey will do him good. Then we’ll see if you can boil water.”

Of
course, she couldn’t. She thought she managed a puff of flame for a fraction of
an instant, but finally gave up and let her uncle take care of it. He set the
copper flask on a stone and directed a small jet of blue flame from each palm
until the water inside bubbled happily.

“Hnh,
I envy you your gift,” Carah tossed at him.

He
chuckled and handed her the flask by the leather strap. “Wait till it’s cool
enough to drink. Goddess help us if we burn an invalid, and a king at that.”

In
the wagon, Carah found Arryk as feverish as ever.
Oh, please, Ana, let him
live
. While helping him drink she thought it strange that she should pray for
the life of a man who might consider himself her enemy when he woke.

Whispers
floated across the clearing. Someone making plans, likely. Or promises,
perhaps. Maeret was huddled in a tight ball with her knees drawn up inside her
dress, shivering with quiet sobs. Aisley slept in the crook of her
grandfather’s arm. Drys laid on his back with his hands laced across his belly,
snoring. Nearby, Da slept with the sword close at hand, and standing under an
andyr tree Uncle Thorn leaned heavily on his staff, chin drifting lower and
lower toward his chest. Where was Rhian? Veil Sight helped Carah find him. His
azeth glowed brightly farther along the bank.

She
tip-toed across the clearing and through the trees, expecting her uncle’s voice
to call her back any moment. But why shouldn’t she seek the company of a fellow
apprentice? Emerging from the trees, she saw Rhian rear back and fling a stone.
It skipped silently across the water, three-four-five-six times. The ruddy
moonlight turned the ripples pink. He must’ve gone for a swim. Wet hair swung
heavily down his back. Stooping for another stone, he said, “You know, I’m
starting to believe in the bad-omen theory of the feuding moons.”

Was
Carah’s step so loud in the underbrush? Rhian tossed the stone. Two-three-four
skips. “You should be asleep,” he said.

“Is
that so?” Why did he treat her like a child? Maybe he just dreaded her company.
“I’m not here to argue, you know. I thought you might … ach, never mind.” She
shouldn’t have come. Why should he talk freely with her? She was nothing but a
bother.

Rhian
reared back another stone but hesitated. “I’m used to killing ogres, not men.
What we saw….” He hurled the stone. It made a hollow
plunk
. He watched
the widening circle of ripples, staring into the same nightmare Carah did, all
over again. “And when I saw the soldiers shooting at you … all of you … I
didn’t think we’d find any of you alive.”

Any
and all, was it? But it was
her
hand he’d sought in the dark. Carah’s
heart rose into her throat, delicious and dangerous and suffocating.

“Sandy
Cape is as dull and safe as ever, it’s sure I am of that. I miss the sea. This
stagnant water is nothing like it.”

“Weren’t
you ever afraid of those big waters?”

“Afraid?”
He glanced around at her at last, as if surprised. Then he shrugged. “Sure.
Only the greatest eejit doesn’t fear the sea. It can break you to pieces or
steal you away into the dark forever if it has a mind to. But there’s no end to
the wonder of it. It’s another world down there. A world upside down. The dance
of the kelp and swirl of the fish. The taste of the salt, the thunder of the
breakers, and an oyster filling your palm.”

Carah
remembered the dream she’d had of swimming deep into the sun-bright water,
seeking the treasure trove of blue moons, and was sure now he had placed it in
her head to put a stop to her nightmare.

“No,
I don’t fear it half as much as I should, even though it drowned my own da.”

“Drowned?”
The way he blurted it caught her off guard. “I … I’m sorry.”

“I
was ten. ‘Twas a lifetime ago.” He started back for the cover of the trees,
gestured for Carah to come along, but she didn’t want to go back yet. She
wanted to hear his voice in the dark.