Eden-South (19 page)

Not wanting to repeat the situation, Rose
went back over to her bed and lay down. The summer was slowly
approaching; she could feel it in the air. It was stuffy and humid,
so she kept the blankets off her while she slept. When she woke up
a short time later, both men had gone and the small woman sat where
Callum had been before.

“You come with me,” she said in the heavy
accent of the mountain people. Rose got up slowly and followed her
out of the tent. Men were sitting around and moving in and out of
other tents. Rose couldn’t help but wonder if they actually did
anything besides kill innocent people. How could this old lady
associate herself with them? She must have been in her sixties, or
even older. Her hair was completely white, and her skin was
wrinkled from age.
She must be someone’s mother,
Rose
thought as they walked through the camp. Everyone turned to look at
them as they went, men calling out rude remarks and whistling at
her as if she were cattle. Rose tried to look for any other women
as they moved through the tents, but she didn’t see any. Her heart
felt heavy with concern for them. All she could do was pray they
were all right.

“Here,” the lady said, pointing at a wooden
shack. Rose stopped and looked questioningly at the small
building.

“What is it?” she asked, hesitating
outside.

“You go in,” the lady said in a harsh voice.
Rose jumped at the sound of it, and went to open the door. It was a
tiny room with a tub inside. Fresh clothes were folded on a bench
beside it, and a towel lay on the floor. The old woman followed in
right behind her, forcing Rose to move deeper inside. “Clothes
off,” she instructed.

Rose’s cheeks went hot. She had never
undressed in front of anyone before. The woman’s face left no room
for discussion, so Rose had no choice but to comply. Taking off the
nightgown she wore, she looked nervously over at the door, praying
no man would come in. The old woman saw her face and shook her head
in response.

“Everyone stay out,” she said. Rose narrowed
her eyes in wonder. Did Callum have something to do with that? The
woman walked over and grabbed her dirty clothes, tossing them to
the side. She helped her get into the tub and then proceeded to
wash Rose as if she were a child. Too embarrassed to argue, Rose
sat there while the lady scrubbed her back and washed her long
hair. When they finished, the woman braided her hair into a neat
rope, twisting it at the base of her head. The clothes were made of
fine, rich fabric. She didn’t know where they came from, but she
wasn’t about to object. Anything was better than her nightgown. The
dress was a cream colour, setting off her red hair and pale skin.
It was tight around her breasts, but it didn’t expose enough to
make her uncomfortable. The length was perfect, reaching just to
the ground. Along the top seam were pearls, stitched by hand into
the thick fabric.

“It was my daughter’s,” the lady said,
smiling for the first time as she looked at her. Rose smiled back,
avoiding the obvious question of what had happened to her daughter.
They walked back to the tent in silence, the lady turning to leave
as soon as Rose was inside.

“Thank you,” she called out. The old woman
paused, then continued out without another word. Looking around,
she noticed a book lying on the floor beside the bed. It was called
The Art of War
, and looked to have been written centuries
ago. Curiosity overcame her, and she grabbed the book, sitting down
on the bed to read. She had always been a fast reader and was
instantly pulled into the fine details of war. It was like a game
of chess, with the opponents always anticipating the other side’s
moves before they were made and countering them while still
carrying out their own attack. She was a third of the way through
when Callum returned. Her body jumped at his appearance, and she
lowered the book instantly. He glanced down at the novel in her
lap.

“Do you find that interesting?” he asked,
sitting down on the chair. His front was covered in mud, his face
clearly betraying his fatigue. She shrugged her shoulders in
response, pushing the book aside. “You look … refreshed,” he
continued awkwardly. She looked at him questioningly, wondering if
that had been a compliment.

“Thank you?” she replied softly, making it
sound more like a question. He slowly took off the vest he wore.
She gasped as a large gash in his side came into view. It was
fresh, blood still dripping from the wound. He looked down at it
uninterestedly.

“It’s just a scratch.” He winced as his
movements opened the cut wider.

“Don’t move,” she instructed, getting off
the bed to get a closer look. Her father had been the blacksmith in
their small village, but he was also the provisional doctor for
wounds like this. He had been well versed in the care of wounds
made by his weapons, so Rose was used to looking at large gashes.
She knelt down beside him, placing her face close for inspection.
It ran along his ribcage, under his left arm. The opening was too
large to heal on its own and would definitely leave another scar on
his torso. She could feel him watching her intently as she
inspected him. His eyes practically burned her.

“Are you a nurse?” he asked, tilting his
head to the side as he regarded her.

She shook her head. “I’ve seen a lot of
wounds like this before. It will need to get stitched.” Sitting
back on her heels, she created some distance between them, ignoring
his eyes on her. Looking around, she asked him, “Do you have a
needle and thread?”

He got up without talking and walked over to
a small table beside his bed. Inside the drawer was what she had
asked for. He brought it over to her, placing the objects in her
hand. Rose burned the tip of the needle in one of the candles
before getting the thread ready.

“Sit still,” she instructed. “And keep your
arm lowered, so the wound isn’t pulled open more.” He flinched as
she made the first incision. She couldn’t help but smirk. “This
can’t hurt more than the wound itself.”

He chuckled softly, holding his breath
against the pain. “When it happens during combat, you have too much
adrenalin to really notice. I don’t have the same adrenalin now.
Not to mention you’re being awfully rough.”

Rose looked up in defence. “No, I’m not. I’m
just trying to make sure it heals properly. You don’t want a
massive scar, do you?”

“I thought women liked scars on men.”

She ignored his jest, focusing on the task
at hand. “You shouldn’t let your men fight with such blunt swords.
From the look of the sides, it wasn’t a clean cut because the blade
is worn, and if I’m correct it is also quite rusted. You’d better
watch that this doesn’t get infected.”

“How do you know all this?”

“My father was a blacksmith,” she explained.
“I’ve been around weaponry my whole life.”

“How unfortunate for him that he never had a
son then,” Callum commented. Her body stiffened in response.

“What is unfortunate is that he is now
deceased,” she replied bitterly, pricking his skin roughly. His
hand immediately shot out, grabbing hers in midair.

“That was not nice,” he said through
clenched teeth. “What you need to learn, little girl, is that this
is a war. There will always be casualties during times like these.
That’s life.”

She looked up defiantly, meeting his eyes
for the first time. “That’s not life; that is what man brings into
this world. There is no need for war, especially not against one’s
own blood.” The colour drained from his face.

“You’ve overstepped your boundaries,
madame,” he said slowly. “I’d watch your tongue if I were you.” Her
face was hot with anger, but she didn’t argue further. She met his
gaze with as much courage as she could muster before he finally
released her hand.

Continuing on with the stitching, she began
speaking again. “In any case, my father does have a son. His name
is Felix.”

Callum’s face looked down at her in
surprise. “We found no boy there.”

“He is not here,” she said sadly. “He fights
now for the High King of Eden.” His body stiffened, but he didn’t
speak. Neither of them did again, until she was finished. “Be
careful not to pull the stitches again,” she said as she got up
from the floor. He looked inquisitively at her.

“Do you even care if I do?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Not really—I
just don’t want to have to do this again.” Surprisingly, he began
to laugh, making her jump at the sound.

“You’re too much, Rose,” he said lightly.
She looked back at him in surprise. He addressed her so casually,
it took her off guard. An awkward silence filled the room
afterward. Rose avoided his look, walking over to the small area
she slept in. “Are you hungry?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“A little,” she admitted. Callum got up and
left the tent momentarily, returning with a tray of food for the
both of them. Rose ate cross-legged on her blanket, while he ate on
his bed. “What am I doing here?” she asked, the question that had
been foremost in her mind since her arrival.

Callum swallowed the mouthful he had been
chewing before answering. “It is normal for the men to bring back
the young women from destroyed villages. Most of the time they end
up becoming servants to the men; some don’t make it past the time
we’re stationed in one place. They usually dispose of some, so
we’re not dragging dead weight around from camp to camp.” His words
frightened her, making her wonder who would be killed before they
left. It didn’t really explain her situation, though, and she
guessed he knew it. They both continued to eat before she got up
the courage to speak again.

“What am
I
doing here, though?” she
emphasized, looking over at him. He looked back with a blank
face.

“I don’t know yet. I haven’t decided.”

“Why did you even bother to save me in the
first place?”

“I don’t know, Rose. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?”

“Yes, complicated. Now leave it alone.” They
didn’t speak about it again. She didn’t want to get him angry, and
she could tell she probably wasn’t going to get anything out of him
regardless. Callum finished his meal and got up to put his boots
back on. “I need to go meet with Brutus. I’ll be back late.” He
started toward the opening, pausing to look back at her. “Don’t do
anything stupid.”

CHAPTER NINE

They stayed at the camp for two more days
before the soldiers started to pack up all the tents. Three men
came to pack up Callum’s, sending the girl off with the others to
be loaded onto the wagon. Callum wasn’t sure how many were left,
but it was few. He walked through the camp, making sure all the
fires were out. The last thing they needed was a fire starting,
sending the forests and grasslands into a blaze. They didn’t need
that coming up behind them. The air was already reaching the
humidity of summer, making it almost unbearable for the men. Their
armour was hot, causing sweat to drip into their eyes. If the
battle did take place at the emerald fields, they would have the
breeze off the water to help cool them down, not to mention the
shade of the forest.

It had taken them ten years to prepare their
army, making sure it would be one to reckon with. There was no room
for failure now. If they were going to do this, they had to win;
otherwise, all their efforts were for nothing. Brutus was known in
Eden as being a barbarian, but Callum knew him better than most. He
was rough around the edges, but he really wasn’t a bad man. He had
a light humour, and affection for those he cared about, such as his
wife and children, who stayed in their mountain castle. His motives
were to expand his people’s horizons, make a bigger home than just
the frozen mountain tops. It wasn’t easy living there, as Callum
was well aware: the air was freezing, the food scarce. Brutus
wanted to expand his kingdom so his people would have an easier way
of life. Callum found nothing wrong with that, understanding his
desire for a better life. Aziz’s motives were still a mystery to
Callum. He was a strange man, Aziz. He often would keep to himself,
and he would hardly say a word when they met regarding plans. The
men he had brought with him as personal guards did not socialize
with their men. He couldn’t recall a time when he saw them even
speak to each other. Callum never quite understood the Sand People,
but Aziz’s intelligence and talent were undisputed. Even Diana did
not have the talent he did. The creatures he had created from
nothing were terrifying. Jameson had no chance, he told himself as
he readied his horse.

Callum rarely thought about his brother as
anything but the opposing side. Childhood memories were pushed back
in his mind, and any affection he might have once had was
forgotten. Sometimes, at night, he would think of their father. It
was no secret that Callum had been fiercely loyal to his father—he
had loved him very much. That final betrayal had been too much,
though, and now the thought of his father was like a rock on his
chest. It hurt, even if he thought about Jameson as the person he
knew him to be before he had left—his fun-loving brother, always
getting away with whatever he did and avoiding his
responsibilities. The men had loved him because he acted like he
was one of them, but he wasn’t. They were the sons of the High
King, and that required them to be above the others in the Kingdom.
It had never bothered Callum at the time, the way his brother
acted, because he knew their father saw it too. Everyone knew what
Jameson was, what he had to offer, and Callum was sure their father
would do the smart thing and appoint him as the new King. Then it
had gone terribly wrong. He shook his head, pushing away the
painful memories. It had been a whirlwind of events that night, and
he didn’t like to remember them.