Besieged Page 4

  She had to trust her back to Kyam—she dare not lose her concentration.

  ✽✽✽

  Cierra shuddered; only minutes remained before she would need to begin again. Taking care to keep her hands tucked out of sight, she gingerly rubbed them against her tunic and tried to ignore the burning pain. If Kyam would turn away, she could get Castoff to lick her open blisters, removing dirt and reducing the chance of infection. She couldn’t let him see them. He would insist that she take some of the healing water. But when she swished the skin, it sounded almost empty. Some had been used to draw Lyn back from death. More had been used to battle Kyam and Castoff’s wounds from the arrows. And Lyn’s fulcarry wound as well. There could easily be a more serious need for it later: Orig’s attacks had ended in a draw so far, but Kyam and Watcher Lyn were tiring.

  Lusan rotated her shoulders and Cierra mirrored her motions. Pain shot up her neck. Tears pooled and she blinked them back. Every muscle she had trembled with fatigue.

  One for certain. Perhaps two more. She had already done more than she thought possible. But she might be able to ring twice more. Or perhaps not.

  The others were just as exhausted. She’d seen the Watcher’s hands trembling and Lusan biting back cries as they rang. Kyam’s face, gray with fatigue, appeared more craggy than usual.

  “Masters have mercy,” Lyn groaned, her eyes fixed on something outside the window.

  “What is it, Mama?”

  “Another fulcarry has arrived.”

  “You’re sure it isn’t Orig?” Cierra lurched to her feet.

  Kyam scanned the ground. “Orig is by the citadel. This one is circling.” He turned to Lyn, “Our strategy must change. We will each need to defend a window. If they pull us both to one side, either Cierra or Lusan will be vulnerable.”

  Lyn swallowed hard and nodded. “I most selfishly wish you would guard Lusan’s back, but that is not right.”

  Lusan’s eyes grew wide and her face whitened.

  “If Castoff were to stay with Lyn at my back, that would be a fair distribution of strength.” Cierra traced her lips with a dry tongue. “I have no desire to remain safe at the cost of another.”

  Kyam’s smile grew slowly. He nodded approval. But it was the pride she saw in his eyes that warmed her heart and gave her fresh courage.

  “Lyn, renewed petitions to The Masters would be beneficial. With two fulcarries, this will be the last battle.” Kyam stationed himself by the window to watch the activity on the ground, but stood close enough to place a hand on Cierra’s head. She felt The Masters’ blessing and care flow from his hand to her wilted body.

  Her eyes drifted closed as Lyn beseeched The Masters’ intervention. A picture formed...

  She looked down on the land of Capular as if from a great distance—higher even than if riding on the back of a bird. Mountains appeared as piles of rocks, rivers like threads, and cities as stone cubes. And to the north at the edge of her vision, a series of bumps. Could it be the fabled archipelago that formed the Outer Realm? And beyond that the lush green shoreline of what must be The Masters’ Empire beckoned. Something flashed gold in the distance—was it lightning? Or the splendor of Their realm? And above it a white cloud formed. Wind carried the cloud toward her. When the cloud reached Capular it separated into individual petals and scattered. A blossom drifted down onto each city and rested on the citadel.

  In each city a hand plucked the petal from the roof top and then stretched toward the center of the land until all the blooms met and melded into a piece of parchment paper.

  “It’s time. Be our shield, Masters.” Kyam’s voice jerked her from the picture and propelled her toward the bell ropes. Her heart pounded out a rhythm that left her breathless. She pulled air into her lungs and slowly blew it out again. Her hands steadied and her heart slowed. With a nod to Lusan, she grabbed the rope and, ignoring the pain, pulled with all her strength.

  The overpowering smell of rotten things warned her of Orig’s approach. Screams, shouts and growls swirled around her. Opposite her, she saw Kyam parry a black beak. It slashed in a blur of movement and left a trail of blood in its wake. Cierra bit her lip to stop her cry. It would only distract the others.

  She wanted to leave the bells and tend to Kyam's wound, but she had promised him to ring no matter what. Besides, to leave the bells would hand Orig the victory. So she took that well of fear and longing and let it flow through her hands to the bells.

  Never had she played better.

  A cold, sure calmness settled over her. Either Orig and the other fulcarry would falter or they would die fighting in this tower. Once she faced that awful truth, her decision was made. If this was the end, so be it.

  Her eyes kept returning to Kyam. Blood flowed from his arm and chest. He swayed; he was going to collapse. No, he straightened and began to rock his rope weapon like a cradle. When the fulcarry—Cierra couldn’t tell whether it was Orig or not—surged forward, Kyam ignored the beak aimed at his chest and swung the iron tip toward the bird’s throat.

  The impact was simultaneous. The beak jabbed Kyam and the iron sank into the fulcarry.

  Kyam crumpled to the floor and held his good hand against his wound. It was immediately covered in bright red blood.

  The bird opened its mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. Thick black ooze poured from its wound. Its eyes rolled back and its head draped across the sill like an empty cape.

  Kyam’s eyes found hers. He mouthed the words, “I love you, Mela Dolsi,” before his head sagged to one side and his hand dropped listlessly to his leg. No, please Masters, no.

  Tears blinded her. The need to rush to Kyam—to hold and comfort—was an overwhelming tide inside of her. What did she care if they won or lost if he was lost to her? Kyam’s voice sounded in her mind, “Climb your mountain, Cierra. Stay with the bells.”

  Like thick fog, a vile stench enveloped her from behind—the second fulcarry.

  “Fools, dreamers, miscreants of The Masters. Now is the time of your demise.”

  Across from her, Lusan’s face whitened. Cierra gave an extra strong jerk on the bell’s rope to drown out the words.

  Castoff bayed a wild challenge.

  The bird laughed—very like a witch’s cackle.

  One long yip. Cierra closed her eyes against the pain in that sound. Both were lost to her now.

  Only then did she realize that the fulcarry had screeched while Lyn screamed. And then the foul odor receded.

  One final bong from the bells and all was silent except for Lusan’s sobs as she hurried toward her mother.

  Now she could go to Kyam. No, first she must make sure the second fulcarry was not returning. She choked back bitter tears—choosing the responsible action rather than her heart’s headlong rush was so hard. Duty grated. But she must first protect Lusan. It was what Kyam would do.

  Cierra stepped over Castoff’s inert body and past Lyn’s moaning one—now cradled in Lusan’s arms—and sidled up to the window. Pressed against the wall, she eased her head out the opening. Heart rapping, she tensed, imaging the feel of a beak piercing her flesh.

  When no attack came she scanned the sky. Nothing. Then she leaned out to check the street below.

  The second fulcarry huddled on the cobblestone street, its one wing dragging on the ground, incapable of flying. She grinned at Lusan. “The guards are turning in circles. They seem not to know what to do.” The bells had befuddled their enemy.

  No time to celebrate that it was done. And that they were free to aid their protectors. “Lusan, grab cloths while I get the water skin.”

  Carefully dribbling healing water in Kyam’s mouth, Cierra watched for signs of hope. Lusan’s sobs reminded her that Lyn needed help as well. Reluctantly she turned from Kyam to give others the water. Lyn and Castoff lay sprawled on the floor—eyes closed and blood flowing from their wounds.

  There was so little left in the skin. She trickled precious drops in Lyn’s mouth and waited. She returned to Kyam; n
o signs of change. She looked over her shoulder at Lyn. No movement. There were just a few droplets left. Would she have to choose between the two? Tears welled. She had hoped to save at least one tiny drop for Castoff.

  At the edge of her vision she saw a pile of black feathers shift and move. Lusan must have seen it as well for she grabbed Lyn’s rope and with a screech of rage began to flay the bird still lying half in half out of the window. “Filthy, vile, murderer.” She slammed the pickaxe handle on the body over and over. “Disgusting, evil…” She shook her head, “Where are the words to describe such an awful creature?”

  She stared at the now-still carcass. “Move again, so that I might beat you more. I want you to feel more pain. Endless pain. I loathe you, despise you, hate you.”

  With a cry, Cierra rushed to her. Wrapping her arms around the girl, she said, “No, you mustn’t. Your plume will rise to the heavens and it will give him great pleasure and advantage over you.”

  Lusan pushed Cierra away. “What plume? Who will see? You are not making sense.”

  “I haven’t time to explain now. Just trust me that hatred puts you at great risk.”

  Lyn’s groan had them both spinning around. Plumes were forgotten as they saw her eyelids flutter. While Lusan went to her mother, Cierra hurried back to Kyam, hoping to find him improving as well. A faint flush of color had replaced the gray in his face. She heaved a sigh, the water was working.

  She glanced at Castoff.

  Her heart dropped; he wasn’t breathing. Too late. She had waited too long to give him healing water. She bent to run a hand through his shaggy fur. Beloved companion, loyal defender—how she would miss him.

  Her hand rested on his chest as she bid him farewell. In her grief, she did not at first notice the faint thump beneath her palm. When she did, she turned her cheek to lay it next to his nose. She felt it—a tiny puff of breath. Scrambling on all fours she grabbed the water skin and returned. She looked at Lusan, “Hold his head so that I can give him water.”

  One drop trembled on the lip of the skin and fell short of his mouth. “No, no. We can’t lose it.” Cierra rubbed her finger across the damp spot on the floor and then ran her finger across his tongue. She tried again. She squeezed and shook but no more droplets appeared.

  “Turn the water skin inside out and stick it in his mouth,” Lusan said.

  Cierra grabbed Kyam’s knife to cut off the neck. It took endless moments to hack through the leather, her hands slippery with sweat and blood. The pain she brushed aside. She set the top down.

  Knowing that haste might lose whatever remained of the water, Cierra forced herself to slowly, carefully push the bottom up through the top.

  The skin glistened.

  Touching it as little as possible, she stuffed it between his teeth, then held his mouth shut. She smiled at Lusan. “Thank you for your quick thinking. Perhaps there is still hope.”

  Chapter 3

  Kyam’s weakness and pain receded as the river water healed his wounds. With his back against a rough stone wall, he battled a smug smile as Cierra ran a hand over his hair, smoothing the clump that always flopped across his forehead. He wished he knew how to purr. He needed some way to release the delight surging through him. She fussed with the blanket covering him, her hand pausing on his chest; surely she had to feel the increased cadence of his heart.

  Lyn struggled to sit up. Lusan put a supporting arm behind her shoulders as she shuffled on her bottom until she could lean against the wall. She grinned at Kyam. “I saw the Empire’s shoreline. If not for Lusan and my city, I would have fought my return to Capular. Even that glimpse filled me with a joy I find impossible to describe.”

  He nodded. “I have held the dying as they strained to enter in, their faces radiant.” He patted Cierra’s hand as she wiped his brow. “Tend to Castoff.”

  She bit her lip and blinked rapidly, “I’m so sorry, my love.” Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, “There was not enough water—”

  Throat so tight words could not pass, Kyam began the crawl to the opposite side of the room.

  Lusan touched his arm as he passed. “We did everything possible.”

  A valiant death. A warrior’s death.

  “Lusan even thought to turn the water sack inside out for the moisture clinging there. But it was not enough.” Cierra walked at his side a hand resting on his back. He kept his eyes trained on the body of the large furry mutt lying beneath a window.

  “Why did our ancestors not pipe the river into the city?” Lyn stretched a hand toward Castoff. “But then there seems to be any number of things they neglected to do. Such neglect has a great price.”

  Kyam reached the dog’s body. A moan built in his chest pressing outward until it was impossible to breathe. He traced the wounds, rusty red, on Castoff’s neck and body. He cupped the still warm muzzle—how he would miss that canine grin. He smoothed a large ear and turned it right side out—the dog never could keep them from flopping. He buried his face in the matted fur and let his tears soak it. Ahh, my friend. How I will miss you.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Cierra gripped his arm, “Kyam. His tail!”

  He lifted his head. As weak as a newborn’s first mew, the tail moved. It moved! “Masters be praised. He lives.”

  “Yes, but—” Cierra pressed into his side, “It may have been his ‘farewell.’ You and Lyn are far more recovered.”

  “That little bit of moisture may have only slowed his death,” Lusan whispered.

  Kyam stroked Castoff’s flank but kept his eyes on the dog’s belly. There. An infinitesimal movement. He waited, willing another rise and fall. It came. He was breathing. Leaning in, he whispered in the dogs ear, “Our task is not done. Cierra needs us. Do not leave me.”

  She clutched his tunic. “Is he?”

  A faint whine was her answer. She hugged him. “He lives.”

  Kyam grinned. “He returned to us.”

  Lyn stood. “Truly, the water is powerful. How did our ancestors neglect such a treasure?”

  Lusan flexed her fingers. “Will you show me the portal? I want a supply on hand. Why isn’t it mentioned in our traditions? The pain we have needlessly suffered!”

  “There is a fruit, layrosa, which grows in Umpur. Eating it ruins you for all other kinds because they become no more than dust and ashes in your mouth.” Kyam tickled Castoff’s ribs when the dog sneezed. “So great is men’s passion for that fruit, that they will not travel more than one day’s distance from its native soil. To gain land where it grows drives men to outrageous risks.” He fed the dog some dried meat. “The Masters’ Water could be that consuming as well.

  “And as such would stop expansion, travel, commerce. There are a number of economic reasons such a powerful compulsion would be considered dangerous to human plans. If a Watcher’s objective shifted, even slightly, from fellowship with The Masters, that could prove a powerful reason to limit access to the river.”

  “Choosing dross over gold,” Lyn muttered, “and leaving a legacy of lack for generations to come.”

  ✽✽✽

  The low-hanging sun threw long shadows across the bell tower floor. Kyam and Cierra sat side by side, his arm circling her shoulders. Castoff sprawled at their feet, occasionally swishing his tail. Lyn and Lusan sat, eyes closed, not far away.

  With a groan, Kyam stood up and turned to survey the street below. “No citizens have appeared even after a full day’s ringing.” What a mountainous challenge the Masters had gifted to him this time. He and his companions would need to be as nimble as the deer who grazed on its steep slopes and ascended to its peaks. But what tremendous rewards if they conquered this problem. They dare not stop.

  He looked at his bedraggled troops. Hope would keep them from losing their “footing.”

  “A night’s rest with the memory of the bells may draw them out.”

  Or it might dilute the bells’ impact.

  “They are most likely cowed by the guards.” Lusan stretche
d both arms over her head. “They discouraged all independent thought. Instant obedience to their every command was required. And the bells wrongly played made thinking almost impossible.”

  Lyn muttered through gritted teeth, “The better to make them docile and obedient.”

  “Mindless sheep easily led to the slaughter.” Cierra rose to stand next to Kyam. “It’s not safe to leave the tower until we know they have regained their senses.”

  “Agreed. And the enemy must be kept disoriented.” He cupped her lacerated palms in his hands. His stomach clenched at the sight of torn flesh. If only he could take her wounds and pain. But there was no strategic alternative…the bells must continue. And only she and Lusan could ring them. He would produce only noise.

  Cierra rested her forehead on his chest. Gradually she allowed him to bear more and more of her weight. A sigh, more felt than heard, shivered out of her. “Hourly ringings are needed.”

  “Your hands will make it difficult. Where are your gloves?”

  She shook her head. “Gone, I know not where.”

  He looked around. “No water. No salve. You risk infection.”

  “It’s of no importance compared to the lives in this city.”

  Surely there was something.

  Castoff raised his head. Of course.

  “Come, my friend, there is work to do.” Castoff lumbered to his feet and poked his nose into their cupped hands to investigate. Once he saw her palms, he began an industrious and thorough cleansing, his tongue swabbing her open wounds.

  Cierra flinched but didn’t draw back.

  Not one sound of distress. Strong, valiant woman. His.

  “Lusan’s hands need the dog’s ministry as well.” Lyn searched the sky. “No sign of more of those filthy birds. But even so our future is precarious.”

  Lusan held out both hands, palms up for Castoff’s lavish washing. “You worry that our peoples’ sleep has gone too deep. That the bells can’t reach them.”