The Age of Light (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 1) (18 page)

The end of the hollow light staff encountered the
pallet.

She rested a moment, puffing and trembling with the
exertion and slight reaction to overexposure to the wrath of Av, then attempted
to climb back onto the surface. She made it on the third try, after which she
was too exhausted and hurt to do anything except lie on her side, breathing
hard. Her skin felt lightly broiled, tight and dry, the physical sensation twin
to the beating her
ritu’chi
had taken.
It faded, slowly, but oh, so slowly. When she got her breath back she crawled
up to the pillow and pulled the
desi
up around her
and shivered within the cocoon it made. After the savage glory of the Rite the
room seemed chilled again. She let the staff dissolve, and worried. Even though
she had promised herself not to fret on her circumstances, as she lay there,
weak and spent and lightly crisped inside and out, the full impact of her
condition began to assert itself. She had been incapacitated for turns, and was
now almost totally helpless and completely dependent upon the goodwill of her
host. Her family did not know her whereabouts, and could not come to her aid.
She was totally alone, naked, with no trusted servant or
warru
to protect her. She began to realize that what she had done had been a rash,
foolish thing, leaving the majority of her escort to travel with only one
warru
in search of this being, Gavaron. And that lone
warru
,
she had left behind to track her prey alone. She was destitute. She did not
even know that warrior’s fate - did he search for her even now? Did he presume
her dead and at this moment suffer punishment for losing his charge? Did he possibly
lie dead, having succumbed to some even more sinister growth?

Her stomach knotted with a sudden fear, cooked
feeling forgotten. She had almost gambled away the future of her Realm on a
vague, uncorroborated story in unknown territory. That her supposition had been
correct was of no moment, for if she had died in the wilderness, the point
would have been academic. Her actions had not been those of an adult, but more
like a willful child, delighting in being right. She was not the mature woman
she thought herself to be. And she had come to terrible ends because of her
folly. What if her benefactor had a sudden change of heart? What if he
perceived her as a threat when she began to question him?

Jeliya heaved a breath and tried to think of a way
to make the best of a bad situation. She thought about her host, as she shifted
to a more comfortable position. She was sure that he was the key to the
Zehj’Ba
,
even if he was not directly responsible. Getting any relevant information from
him was going to be difficult, though. Her trap had back-fired. She had no
leverage, no bargaining chip to coerce him. Rather, he was in the position of
power, holding her life in his hands. Truthfully she really owed him her life.
That she had been deathly ill was all too clear from her body’s rhythms. She
was at his mercy; but what she perceived of him told her that he was not likely
to call in that debt, at least not lightly. But try as she might, she could not
think of a way to get answers from him.

When her thoughts began to run in circles she set
the subject aside and thought instead about what she would face when she
finally made it back home. She had missed the
Bolorn’toyo
,
which had occurred either a turn before or perhaps two turns ago. It was an
important event, and her absence was sure to have some semi-serious
repercussions. Her mother had counseled her that some of the Queens
might object to her taking the Throne so young, especially with rumors of
Turo’dan
flying about. The damage was done, however - she just hoped that there was a
way to minimize it. That hinged on her getting back as soon as possible with a
good story, preferably the truth of the whole matter...

A scrape of something on stone made the hair stand
on her arms and neck. The reek of old blood came to her, and an itch in her
mind, like a stare of blind hate upon the nape of her neck, made her blood run
cold. The staff reappeared in her hand without conscious thought as another
tiny click of nail against the stone floor sounded.

A
lor’ugawu
. She did
not have to see it to know where it was. It felt like a spiky hole in the
warmth of the room in her mind, a seeping, seething energy leech that stalked
her now that it knew she was aware of it. She heard it slavering slightly, and
the staff became a shield that closed around her as she put her back to the
wall. She could not fight a
lor’ugawu
directly
- not in her condition. She began building an
av’tun
with her waning
av’rita
- but a small one, centered on
her right hand, with the terminating end tapering to a cone. Just inside the
tip she put a hot bundle of energy. She hoped the thing could not sense what
she was doing.

The
shield will only hold for a moment. Hopefully that is all I will need. Where is
the healer?

The thing scrabbled around a little more and she
blessed the stones of the floor. The claws were non-retractable, and the noise
it made would give her warning. The scraping stopped.

It’s
going to pounce. Now!

The sick reek almost knocked her out as the creature
hit her shield. It held for the moment that she had calculated, and she used it
to thrust her
av’tun
-armored hand into the
lor’ugawu’s
chest, unerringly aiming for the coldest node of the heart within void of its
presence. The cone of light opened and closed around the vital organ as its
weight slammed into her, and the hot point of energy burned a perfect hole
right through the heart as she rolled to the side to throw it off before it
could slash her. The
lor’ugawu
gave a
blood curdling scream and thrashed on the floor, but it was already dead. There
was no exterior blood.

Jeliya sat back with her heart pounding, breath
rasping in harsh gasps, staring into the darkness of the bandage around her
eyes. She waited, turning her awareness inward, searching her body for any
burning or itching or some other sign that she had been scratched. There were
none. She breathed a sign of relief, only then noticing that she held a charred
heart in her hand. Her stomach turned, but she held off queasiness. She tossed
the heart up and used more precious
av’rita
to burn it
to ash, and used the last of her strength to obliterate the body as well. Then,
she fell over, and was out cold before her head hit the pallet.

the
light turned...

The clop of hooves woke her.
She stiffened and sniffed experimentally,
but even the stink of the
lor’ugawu
was gone.

“Are you awake yet,
ky’pen’dati
?”
the deep silver voice asked.

Relief was a warm balm. She nodded, suppressing the
urge to shake. Her slightly baked eyes ached only vaguely. The slosh of water
and the scrape of wood followed his footsteps.

“How do you feel this turn?”

“A bit better,” she said, and was thankful that her
voice did not tremor. She raised her head as the smell of food came to her. It
was not quite a lie. The burned feeling was almost totally gone and the sleep
seemed to have restored some of her vitality. “That smells wonderful. What is
it?”

He chuckled. “Something a little more substantial
than broth. Think you can handle it?”

In response she sat up slowly, carefully. He made a
noise of surprise. “You must be feeling much better,” he said, his weight
settling beside her.

“Only a little. It probably won’t last for long,”
and as she spoke, she felt what little energy she had acquired from resting
drain away. She leaned heavily on one hand, dizziness making her sway. Without
a word he moved closer, took her free hand and pulled her over so that she was
once again sitting between his front legs, leaning against his warm body. She
did her best not to cringe from his inviting warmth, biting back a protest. He
might not be aware of her sharing his senses, of the connection between them.
If not, she would keep it to herself for now.

And
the lor’ugawu attack. If he sees no sign of it, then there is no need to worry
him. I will set a gentle ward that should alert me if more come.

“Here,” he said gently, and the bowl touched her
lips. She sipped carefully, drank deep when she found that it was not too hot.
In it she found fine slivers of tender meat and finely diced vegetables. She
slowly emptied the bowl, leaned back with a sigh of contentment. The light soup
sat pleasantly warm in her stomach. She smiled, taking care not to lean too
heavily against him, partly from the wounds on her back, but mostly because she
really wanted to avoid overmuch contact with him.

“You look so comfortable that I almost hate to
disturb you, but I need to check your back,” he murmured. Obligingly she sat
forward, moving slowly and hunching over like an old woman. He peeled off the
uppermost bandages with great care. His fingers probed her flesh and she
flinched a little at the slight pain. He took the rest of the bandages off,
examining her entire back, it seemed.

“There is no sign of infection,” he said, sounding
relieved. “Your back, behind and legs all got lacerations, but only your back
actually had the nettles snapped off under the skin. I was afraid I might not
have gotten them all, but it appears that I did.”

Jeliya straightened at this news, and turned her
head as if she were trying to look over her shoulder, then reached around with
one hand to touch her back. She felt scabs and healing scars from puncture
wounds wherever her fingers touched. She gasped in dismay.

My
back...!

“Don’t worry,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.
“I’ve been rubbing you down with aloe and cocoa butter, enhanced with a rite of
healing. There will be no scars.” She could almost see his smile. “Now how
about a bath?”

“Bath?
But I can’t see,” she said plaintively. He laughed.

“I’ve been bathing you for a ten’turn, plus,” he
informed her, and logically she knew that he had, for she had been kept clean,
and she had certainly been in no condition to bathe herself. “What is the
difference now? Are you body shy?” His voice was ironic, almost a challenge,
for she now sat against him without a shred of covering save a small loincloth
under the
desi
.
“If you are, you don’t have to watch. You can keep your eyes closed.”

“No thank you, I’d rather see exactly where you put
your hands,” she shot back, having become expert at fending off many a barb
from her brothers. She was not self-conscious, having had bathers for as long
as she could remember. She had grown up with servants and attendants around her
constantly. She had both male and female bathers. But the thought of him laying
hands on her - she dredged up an image of him from her memory, the image of him
nuzzling
gului
- the thought filled her with a strange, excited fear. She clamped down on it,
however, almost by reflex. It was of no moment. She told herself this
vehemently. She told herself this several times, in fact, before she began to
believe it. “A bath sounds fine.”

He picked her up effortlessly. She clung to his neck
as he backed off the pallet and turned. He took two steps and leaned forward.

“Dip your
hand in and see if it is warm enough,” he said. She reached out, and her
knuckles knocked the side of the tub.

“Ow,” she said softly, feeling her way up along the
side of the tub. The water lapped her fingers and he lowered her farther to
submerge her whole hand. It was a bit cooler than she was used to. “Perhaps a little
warmer, please.”

He murmured and it warmed perceivably around her
hand. She was a little surprised - males had not as much
av’rito’ka
as women, could not wield
av’rita
as easily;
and usually it took longer for them to shape it. But he wielded it like an
adept, shaped it almost without effort. She filed the information away to
ponder later.

He lowered her into the tub. The water came up to
her ribcage. The end she leaned against sloped steeply.

“Bide a moment - I’ll be right back,” he said and
clattered away. He returned shortly, as promised, rummaging around at some
unseen task. Then his leg bumped the tub as he settled behind her.

A sweet scent drifted to her. His hands rippled the
water, making it lap her ribs. His hands then made squishing noises before her.
They settled on her shoulders and she fought not to startle. One held a sudsy
cloth. They began to massage the fragrant soap into her skin. His touch was
gentle, almost loving, as he moved over her shoulders and neck and face. He
silently urged her to lean forward. She complied, sucked in her breath as he
gently attacked her back and sides. He held her arm out and slid the cloth
along up to her fingertips. She relaxed against the warm wood and sighed in
contentment, held out the other for him. It was almost like she was back at the
Palace, except his touch was not as impersonal as her bathers. He scrubbed
under her arms, then, with the slightest of hesitations, his hands ran down her
chest to lather her breasts and stomach. Absently she stroked his forearm as
his fingers cupped her breasts, slowly working the lather into the skin, the
nipples hardening under his touch. It was habit, one that she and her bathers
thought nothing of. His hands, however, paused, and his surprise was almost
palpable. Jeliya tilted her head back against his chest when his hands lay
still on her abdomen.