Azaria (50 page)

Realizing now she was only teasing, he smiled. "Yes. It's all I could hope for." He pressed his lips up against hers and kept them there a bit longer before pulling away again. Then he smiled and said, "Anyway, Quzo deserves credit too. If he hadn't come and told me they'd taken you, I don't know if I would’ve realized you were gone until it was too late."

"Don't tell Quzo that," she laughed. "He's already well aware of his part. He makes sure everyone knows about it too."

Dogahn laughed with her until the moment turned silent once more.

Azaria realized she’d have no better opportunity. Her need for closure finally overcame her fear. "Dogahn," Azaria started. "Do you know why I was on the altar? Were they going to do the same thing to me they did to Jesenia?"

Dogahn was taken aback. He’d hoped Azaria would fill him in on some of the details, but now realized she knew absolutely nothing. "I don’t really know. No one knows anything about what happened, not for sure anyway. None of the Ta’araki have said anything."

"Oh..." Azaria said.

He detected the disappointment in her voice, and thought he should at least volunteer what he’d heard. "Everyone is speculating though. Some people think it was because of your cough. That the Ta’araki were scared you… that the evil spirits would spread."

"But I felt better," Azaria blurted out, a little more harshly than she meant.

"I know... It’s just what people are saying. I don’t think it makes any sense either."

"Huh," Azaria said. "What else are they saying?"

Dogahn was still uncomfortable, afraid Azaria would lash out again. "None of it makes any sense, Azaria. It doesn’t really matter anyway. All that matters-"

"No!" She nearly shouted, before softening her tone. "Dogahn, I want to know what they’re saying. I don’t blame you at all. You’re the one who saved me."

Thinking that was true, some of his confidence returned. "Well... some think Takur wanted to fulfill Fahim’s wishes. They say Fahim believed you were a favorite of the Ta’ar and wanted to give you to Them."

"Ohhh..." Azaria answered, turning inward. "Dogahn," she finally said.

"Yes?" he answered.

"I never want to be Ta’araki."

"Me neither," he answered after a moment, thinking it was a rather strange thing to say.

"I never told you, but I’d been thinking of it. Because I like shaping the stone so much. I wanted to be like Dholuhn, the Master Carver at the Temple. But now I don’t want anything to do with the Great Temple. I don’t want anything to do with the Ta’araki. I hate them."

Dogahn was speechless. He’d found most of her admission understandable, but her last statement shocking. Even given what had happened, it was out of character, especially since her father was Ta’araki. "Azaria," he finally said, "I don’t know why your father-"

"I don’t mean father," she interrupted. "Of course I love him. And Hadir too. I mean the whole group of them. What they’re capable of, when they get together."

"Ohhh..." Dogahn answered, not sure what else to say. She was right of course.

Azaria knew the conversation was getting very grim. It wasn’t what she’d intended and decided to turn it in a direction she thought he’d appreciate more. "So what I’m really wondering... What made you think you could face down a group of Ta’araki? And how did you convince Tiriz to come with you?"

Dogahn laughed. "Well as far as Tiriz, I lied. I told him a pack of wolverines had been spotted near the Temple and we’d be heroes if we drove them out."

"That was only a half-lie," Azaria laughed.

"The truth is, I didn’t really know what I was going to do. But I remembered what they did to Jesenia... and, well... I had to try something."

Azaria reached up and rewarded him with a lingering kiss before asking, "What about Yumineh? Why was she at the Temple?"

"You haven’t heard?" Dogahn asked. "That’s the one part everyone knows. She said she was following me and Tiriz..."

"I don't think she had any interest in following Tiriz."

Dogahn's face turned red. "Yeah, well..." he answered, "she'd made a habit of it."

"I noticed."

"But we won't have to worry about that anymore."

Azaria smiled back. "That's true."

"Azaria, I'm sorry about Yumineh. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Shhh..." she answered. "I know now it was mostly her fault."

Afraid to say anything which might change her mind, Dogahn kept silent, returning his gaze to his feet. Azaria knew why he didn't speak, but wondered why he'd felt the need to apologize again. She'd already forgiven him. She thought he understood that. She decided to change the subject. "So they're banning her from the Summer Gathering?"

"Yeah, ours anyway. She'll be allowed to go to one of the other ones. But they won't let her anywhere near you."

"Hmm... Why didn't they banish her completely? She's dangerous."

"People are saying the Ta'araki decided she was serving the interests of the Watchers. Because of her, the offering was made on the altar, sort of. But they think the Ta'ar decided They didn't want you yet. And since it was all part of the Ta'ar's Plan, they think it was the best possible outcome. And some even think Yumineh should be praised. So they're going soft on her."

"That's so wrong..." Azaria said, making sure not to direct her anger at him. Nothing made sense anymore.

"Yeah, I know..."

Dogahn stood for a long moment with his head down, staring at her feet, wondering if she’d ask anything else. But Azaria kept silent. Convinced she would stay that way, he came to a decision. He lowered himself down to his knees, taking both her hands in his.

He gazed up into her eyes. "Azaria, I first kissed you in this very spot. It was the best thing I've ever done. But I've made so many mistakes since then. I've hurt you so much. Beyond forgiveness. What I did was horrible. The worst mistake I've ever made. I want you to know I love you and I'll never hurt you again."

"I know, Dogahn," Azaria whispered.

"I want to be with you forever, for the rest of my life. Will you tie with me?"

Azaria smiled, tears welling up. She did want to tie with him. "Oh Dogahn, I love you too. So much. But no... I'm not ready yet. I want to be with you... I don't love anyone but you... but not yet. Will you wait until I'm ready?"

He lowered his head, disappointed, yet hopeful some sun his dream would come true, if only he could master his desires. "Yes, of course I'll wait for you."

Back inside his mud-brick shelter, Azerban stood, his head writhing, pounding in pain. The headaches had been worsening of late. Although he knew not the cause, he suspected he was being punished. He felt it just sanction for his crimes, and he endured the agony gladly. It was less than he deserved. The bout had woken him early before the dawn and had gradually risen in intensity until growing into a throbbing, pulsating wasps’ nest rattling around inside his skull. The agony was so severe he'd been close to vomiting. It was only when he'd conceded he couldn’t even meditate that he allowed himself the comfort of mild medication.

He swirled around the shelter, searching desperately for the valerian root, even though he knew he wouldn't find it. He'd already been through his medicine bag three times, its contents now splayed out carelessly across the rug floor. Had he used up his last stock? Or had Quzo been rummaging through his things again? He damned his son in silence, before guiltily castigating himself, half a moment later. No, it wasn’t the boy. It was more likely he'd neglected to restock. His fault, not his son's. Why was it he'd recently been so quick to blame him, so swift to ire, so ready to chasten? Since the Equinox, he'd been irritable with almost everyone, but his son took the brunt of his fury, although he knew the child didn't deserve it and was even partially responsible for saving his sister. Everyone except his daughter had felt his wrath. With her he'd had infinite patience, boundless guilt-filled tenderness.

His thoughts turned to her once again. There was no reason not to let her go off with Dogahn. He couldn’t keep her in the shelter forever. He’d told himself he was protecting her, but it was really himself he was protecting. Dogahn would tell her everything that had happened. How her father had put a blade to her throat, had almost cut it, had almost killed her. In his mind he
had
done it. In his vision atop the altar, he had.

She would now know everything. And she would hate him for it. She would never comprehend his reasons. He didn’t understand them, how could she? How could he explain that he was protecting Quzo? How does a father tell a daughter he chose his son over her?

Azerban spun around the room once more before dropping to his knees, sobbing, his head tight within his hands. The pain was piercing, smothering. There was no choice, he'd have to find more of the root, or use a substitute, something more potent. But he wouldn't allow himself anything stronger. He would not tolerate such luxury. He would not slink away from penance. He would endure it, with honor.

Kneeling on the floor with his ears covered and his eyes closed, and pondering the unsettling paths in front of him, Azerban did not notice his son walk in or pause in front of him, eyeing him cautiously. Nor did he see him walk over to the water bowl and attempt to tip it over enough to fill his cup. Normally, the boy would’ve asked his father for help, as he was still not yet strong enough to handle the heavy container on his own, but he’d recently become wary of bothering his father. His father had become erratic, unpredictable. The safest course was to proceed alone, making as little disturbance as possible.

When the young boy lost control of the water bowl, its contents spilling across the floor, his eyes had already flooded, even before his father felt the invasion of cool water on his feet. Shocked, Azerban turned and instantly coming to furious conclusion, exploded. "Quzo!!! What have you done, boy?"

Terrified, his son fled the shelter, tearing through the camp to his aunt Shaledar's, the one place he knew he'd find protection and understanding. Azerban leapt after him, determined to punish. Almost immediately though, he made a different decision, one which would alter the lives of Boar Camp forever.

Facing him is better,
Azerban decided,
than terrorizing my son for every little infraction. Quzo was probably only afraid of asking for help, seeing me wallowing on the floor. How can I blame him, given the manner in which I've behaved?
His mind set, he made his way to Takur's shelter and slapped on the leather flaps, stowing his hatred for another sun. He needed assistance, not a confrontation. That could wait for later. When no answer came, he slapped again, harder. And when only silence continued to greet him he circled, searching for his elder, but found no sign of him. Azerban stood for a long moment, thinking his options through. He could hunt him down. Ta’araki was probably at Sakon’s, strategizing. Or he could enter the First's shelter unpermitted. It was a lowly offense, but nearly unheard of. It would be exceedingly embarrassing if caught, but Azerban had little patience for the social customs at the moment, especially with Takur.

With a final cautionary glance over both shoulders, he ducked his head inside and slipped the rest of the way in, simultaneously attempting a stealthiness he was not accustomed to and a confidence he did not feel. Once inside he peaked through the flaps, just to be certain he hadn't been seen.

While the great muscle inside his chest thumped wildly, Azerban surveyed. Fortunately, Takur was much more orderly than his late mate. There wasn’t a litter of unfinished projects strewn about the floor. No distasteful fumes shocking his nostrils. Takur's hearth was tidy, its contents arranged with a deliberate formality. Azerban's eyes immediately found the subject of their search. Takur's medicine bag waited front and center on a low-lying shelf, surrounded by an assortment of bone and wooden bowls, carefully set.

He made to pick up the sleek otter-skin bag, when he noticed another, similar purse sitting by itself at the back of the table, leaning against the shelter wall.

Fahim's medicine bag.

Although he had no idea from where his curiosity sprang, its pull was undeniable. Without thinking, he took Fahim’s bag and worked the drawstring loose. For a moment he sat there, staring down at its contents, his attention set on one familiar item over all others. It was a small leather pouch, tied tight by a short strand of dried sinew. Azerban recognized it before he picked it up. The pouch contained the medicine she had used to treat Zephia. Tears of anguished memories filled his eyes as he held the pouch in his hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the leather, as gently as if it'd been her soft cheek. Without a second thought, he stuffed the pouch into an inside pocket of his tunic. He doubted the treasure would ever be missed by Takur. And if at some point it was, Azerban would deal with the theft then. Ta'araki should have given him the item anyway when Zephia died. It was more hers and therefore his, than anyone else's. Or so Azerban convinced himself.

He was ready to close Fahim's medicine bag and return to his original search, when he noticed a second item. Another, twin container was tucked just underneath the first. It only caught his attention because it was so unusual for a healer to keep two identical pouches. They were the same size, the same shade of gazelle leather, even the sinew ties were of even length. In fact, there was no way to tell one from the other.