Besieged Page 9

Kyam followed her gaze. “Masters be praised!”

  The orange trunk had split lengthwise from a point several farthongs above their heads all the way to the cone. The edges slid back, exposing rungs perfect for climbing.

  “Quickly, on my back.” Kyam was on one knee.

  Using the resre for balance, Cierra placed one foot on his shoulder and pushed with the other. She stretched. He rose, lifting her higher. Her fingers latched onto the lowest rung. The polished orange wood was cool, easy to grasp. She pulled herself up. Wrapping her legs around the smooth trunk to lessen the pull on her arms was useless. With Kyam’s hands on the soles of her feet, he lifted her. Her arms and shoulder muscles bunched and trembled as she strained to reach the second, and then the third rungs. When her boots finally rested on the bottom rung, climbing was quick and easy.

  She must hurry. Kyam and Castoff couldn’t climb until she was out of the way. As desperately as she wanted to see if the werfs were closing in, she forced herself to focus on reaching the cone overhead.

  She heard claws scrambling below her. Since Kyam hadn’t sounded an alarm, she was confident Castoff, not the lead werf, followed her skyward. Once her head and shoulders cleared the basket’s base, she levered herself in with elbows and forearms. Without bothering to stand, she twisted to look below, and came nose to nose with the dog.

  By tugging on his pack, she helped Castoff clear the edge. Hoping to see Kyam close on his tail, she leaned over the hole. He was still on the ground. He jumped, caught the rung, and began to pull himself up.

  The sight of their last victim escaping must have overcome their aversion to the resre. The lead werf sprang forward, clattering jaws working furiously.

  “Hurry!”

  Kyam’s left hand was on the second rung, right hand reaching for the third, when the lead werf jumped and caught his foot in its mouth. Kyam kicked and struggled. The werf dangled from his foot like a fishing lure. Those lethal jaws clamped fast. Should she hurl her pack at the awful insect? Such a bulky object was likely to hit Kyam. What to do? Every idea was like smoke in her hands, none of substance. A few blue leaves peeked between the woven branches—no help there.

  The Masters’ Signature swung in front of her eyes; it must have worked free while she climbed. Her fingers closed over it. Dare she? All that it represented streaked through her. Yet was not Kyam’s life more valuable than a symbol?

  She fumbled with the clasp. It released. There was not time to disconnect her wedding token. “Forgive me, Masters.” She drew a breath, let it go. She pulled back her arm and hurled the necklet with all the strength and fear in her body.

  It hit the lead werf in the eye. When it howled in pain, it lost its grip on Kyam. He climbed the tree—two and three rungs at a time. She backed up as he neared the opening.

  His grin was one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen.

  She looked past him to the insect. It held her Signature in its mouth. “No. Let it go.”

  It looked at her. Then it tossed the piece into the jumble of fallen branches that surrounded the resre.

  Cierra moaned. “I’ll never find it.”

  “Later we will look and ask for Ya-Wyn’s assistance. Do not despair.” Kyam pulled her back from the opening.

  “I should have found something else to use. But in my panic I could not think. Will The Masters forgive such an affront to their dignity? And my wedding token. That can’t be replaced.”

  “The Masters are not displeased. Fear not.” He leaned against the side of the cone and tugged her back to lie next to him. They rested side by side, staring at a turquoise sky with drifting pillowy clouds. So serene despite their danger.

  She jerked upright. “Your foot.”

  Kyam tugged her back. “A slight scratch.”

  She looked at Castoff. “And his wounds?”

  The dog yawned.

  “Typical male response.”

  “We must appear tough in front of our females, lest they deem us incapable of protecting them.”

  She peered over the side of the basket-cone. Because of the slope she could only see the two canine werfs farthest from the resre. To see those closer to the trunk, she pressed her eye against a slit in the weave. The feline werfs still prowled in a circle about four farthongs from the resre’s base. But the leader stood on its hind legs, and propped by a sturdy tail, peered up at the basket. From her vantage point she could see that what had appeared to be a hard shell head was actually covered in fine green hair. And beneath the hair the shell was vermillion like the legs.

  Protruding from each side of the head were large, round persimmon colored eyes. At least she thought they were eyes. They were not shiny and moist, but instead, tiny nibs like irregular rows of corn kernels covered the orbs. Lavender antennae, set between the eyes and pincer jaws, twitched, testing the air.

  "Why does he not ascend? Surely his wings can carry him this high?"

  "Perhaps our resre holds him back."

  “What if the werfs scale the tree? What if they remain at its base for weeks?” Her heart tapped an uncomfortably fast rhythm. Her legs shook.

  “None have tried to scale the tree.” Kyam sat half-reclined, against the side of the cone. He certainly didn’t appear worried.

  She allowed her muscles to go lax. Safe.

  “Ya-Ray be praised. They provided a way of escape that even Castoff could enter.” Kyam laced his fingers through hers.

  “Hmm. Just once I’d like to give thanks for a rescue that happened before danger had sunk its fangs into us.” Cierra nestled her head into the hollow between his shoulder and neck.

  He kissed her forehead. “Most likely we would never recognize Their hand or our need. And so we would not laud Their efforts.”

  She shoved a stray curl out of her eyes. “Probably true. But surely our hearts can be trained to see.”

  Kyam ran a hand up and down her arm. “Excellent idea. Shall we make it our first joint mountain climb?”

  She threw an indigo colored leaf at him, and pretended to scowl. “Your love of mountains is unending.”

  “A distrust of comfort is one of the first lessons learned in Elpan.” He plucked a small round nut from the weave and flicked it toward her. “Trust me. One day, your heart will know great satisfaction in conquering mountains.”

  Snatching the nut before it tapped her chin, she rolled it between her fingers, noting color and texture. “My imagination stumbles trying to conceive of such a time.” She grinned. “Still, I’ll rest in your word and hope to see that day arrive soon. However, our first mountain will be getting down.”

  “Down?” His eyebrow rose.

  She pointed to where the stairs had been. “The opening has disappeared.”

  He scratched his jaw. “A problem, though not immediate. They will leave one or two at a time to eat and drink. I have heard of them guarding their prey for two weeks or more.”

  “Two!” Cierra jerked upright. “But we haven’t food and water for that duration.”

  Kyam closed his eyes—the picture of calm. “The answer will appear. For now, the wisest thing is to rest.”

  She pressed her eye to the slit once more. The leader hadn’t moved. What was its most vulnerable spot? The hit to its eye had caused a reaction but nothing close to death. Below the head was a bony section in moss green that lay like a mantle across its shoulders. That appeared as tough and impenetrable as its skull. Surely there was a chink somewhere in its armor.

  As she unclasped her pack, she heard a chorus of wheezes. Castoff lay on his side, ear inside out. Kyam lay against the sloping basket side. Both were snoring. She shook her head; they faced death one moment and fell asleep the next.

  Tremors still shook her from time to time—it was impossible for her to sleep yet. She decided to explore their nest instead. Smooth, almost spongy branches formed a spacious bower. Their bowl-shaped haven was shallow, the sides rising to shoulder height. All protruding twigs and leaves were on the outside—no jabs or tickle
s to interrupt her sleep—if she ever relaxed enough to enter slumber’s chamber.

  Sighting an unusual weave pattern on the opposite curve, she crawled over for a closer inspection. An intricate, almost lacy design made her itch for her sketch pad. She reached for her pack, and jostled Kyam’s leg. He jerked awake. She turned to apologize and was blinded by the sun. On its downward arc, it perched on the rim of the basket. “Tomorrow’s sun will roast us and greatly increase our thirst.”

  He grunted, “Don’t carry tomorrow’s troubles today. The solution will come. The Masters’ wisdom is bottomless.” He looked at her open pack. “Have The Masters given you another picture?”

  “No. The weave of our cone is beautiful. I wished to remember it.” She drew quickly then showed the finished sketch to him.

  “Such intricacy. How like The Masters to create such wonders.”

  Cierra tucked the sketch in her pack. She scooted over to sit next to him. Castoff sprawled at their feet. Head on his shoulder, she traced his arm from elbow to wrist, “The night will be cold.”

  He pulled her closer. “It will be a sacrifice, but I shall keep you warm.”

  “A sacrifice?” She pretended indignation.

  “You will snore in my ear.”

  “I will not! In your sleep, you mistook Castoff’s noise for mine.” She tried to make her lashes move like butterfly wings.

  He hugged her and roared with laughter. “How ridiculous of me to confuse the two of you.”

  “See that you do better in the future.”

  “Hmm, that will require a great deal of practice; you will need to sleep thusly for nights on end.”

  She tried for a martyr sigh. “Well, if I must.”

  “Teasing female.”

  “Comfortable male.” She settled against his chest.

  ✽✽✽

  Quiet for a time, they savored their safety. Heartbeats settled to a normal rhythm. Muscles grew lax. Cierra’s eyelids drooped. She yawned. “Tell me a bedtime story.”

  “Rapacious female. Is it not enough that I serve as bed and pillow? I must be nanny as well?”

  “Of course. I’m your Mela Dolsi—whatever that may be. You have yet to make it clear.”

  “I do not know of an equivalent Caparian term. It is ‘treasure of the heart.’ Most prized possession. Source of unending joy and delight. So great is its value that death is preferable to losing it.”

  “Such extravagant emotions. They are almost...frightening.”

  “Fear not, beloved. As long as I hold The Masters dearer still, those passions will not harm you.”

  “I was thinking more of smothering.” She sat up. “And expectations. Those I dread most fiercely.”

  He nodded, “I think what you fear is disappointing someone’s expectations. But as a Mela Dolsi you are loved regardless of your actions, not because of them.”

  She sat back. “That is an idea that requires thought. It is foreign to me. For now my story, if you please.”

  His hand stroked her hair over and over. “Very well. I will repeat the tale told to me by an ancient one in Tesmore.”

  “Is there anywhere you haven’t been?”

  He tapped her nose. “You are the listener, I am the speaker.”

  She huffed, “Very well.”

  “In the beginning days, when thorns were rare, werfs dwelt with man. Of all the beasts they were the most loyal and dedicated to The Masters, even to giving their lives if need be.”

  “What happened?”

  His finger rubbed her lips. “Patience.”

  She nipped his finger. “Merely indicating the keenness of my listening.”

  “Harrumph. Both the number and excellence of a man’s werfs said much about a man’s heart. For werfs were drawn to men of noble character. Now, the king of Tesmore had two sons.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Exactly. The elder had two werfs—one blind, the other aged.”

  “Worse and worse.”

  “This story is becoming a chorus.”

  “All the best epics have refrains.”

  His chest shook with silent laughter. “The younger had forty werfs.”

  “Forty? Wasn’t that a bit excessive?”

  “For a princeling?”

  “Oh, well, continue.”

  “Certainly, Your Highness. Ouch. All of his werfs were of the finest quality. Strong, playful, obedient, and excessively handsome.”

  “So this isn't a true story.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “Oh, come now. Handsome? Werfs?”

  “In those days they were groomed daily and the coats glowed like warm honey. Nor did they mutate.”

  “Must have had half a dozen servants dedicated solely to werf-care.”

  “The wise one didn’t mention it. May I continue?”

  A languid lift of her hand granted permission.

  “On the day of the old King’s death, the werfs turned on their humans, killing the younger son.”

  She sat up. “Why?”

  “No one knows.”

  “Perhaps the elder son incited them?”

  Kyam shook his head. “He’s the one who ordered all werfs destroyed.”

  “All? Was that not excessive?”

  “Terror gripped the people. Who would be next? How could they trust any werf?”

  Cierra toyed with the hem of her tunic.

  “Something bothers you. What?”

  She scowled. “How do you know I’m bothered?”

  He pointed to her tunic. “You twist that when something is out of place—in one of your paintings, or when people do not act as you think they should.”

  She pushed aside feelings of vulnerability—he was beginning to know her too well. Better to think about the werfs. “One incident, one attack was all that was required to destroy centuries of faithful companionship?”

  “Tenderhearted female.”

  “Logical male.”

  He curled a tendril of her hair around his finger. “Logical? When your laughter scatters my thoughts like pigeons? Sleep well, Mela Dolsi. Sleep well.”

  ✽✽✽

  “Caw-caw.”

  Cierra rubbed her eyes. Morning came far too soon.

  “Caw-caw.” A crow cocked its head to study her. Wings flapping, body leaning forward, it scolded her.

  She flung out an arm. “Shoo, go away.”

  With a final caw, it left. Its feathers were the same dusty black as the fulcarry. She sat up and scanned the sky. What if fulcarries followed them? She trembled. Nothing would be easier for them than to swoop down. Open. Vulnerable. They weren’t safe at all. What could they do? Where could they go?

  Kyam tried to sit up and winced.

  “What? Where are you hurt?” On hands and knees she was moving toward the pack even as she asked the question. Praise The Masters for Their water.

  “Foot. Bitten.”

  “Those terrible werfs.” Water sack retrieved, she hurried back to his side. “Which foot?”

  His left leg stirred. “Thish one.”

  Her eyes flew to his face. Never had he slurred his words. She eased his boot off. He stifled a groan, his face pasty behind his tan. “Sorry.” Her head spun. She must have turned just as pale at the sight of his swollen, discolored ankle with its deep puncture wounds. “Here.” Holding the pouch to his lips, she steadied it as he drank and held his head with the other hand. “Why didn’t you drink some last night?”

  “Don’t shcold, kitten, I didn’t think shuch a shmall thing could grow to sho large a problem.”

  She watched his face for signs the water was working, until a feeling of wetness on her leg drew her attention. “Oh no. How could I be so clumsy?” Cierra re-corked and sloshed the water skin to gauge how much remained. It seemed heavy still so perhaps her neglect hadn’t been too costly.

  She laid it aside to watch Kyam’s recovery. Already color tinged his face and the pain lines were gone.

  He winked. “Injuries have wondro
us benefits.”

  “I’m sure Castoff will be happy to lick your wound.”

  “Just so long as you cushion my head and run those gentle hands over my chest, he may do as he wishes with my foot.”

  “Flirting, husband?”

  “Always, wife.”

  The possessive gleam in his eye when he said ‘wife’ filled her with unfamiliar sensations: powerful and soft, bold and mysterious at the same time. Never before had she been so delighted to be female.

  Strange sounds erupted below. Whines, mer-rows, and clicks all seemed to hold a pleading note. Kyam flipped over and pressed an eye to a hole in the basket weave near the base.

  Sitting next to Kyam, she found her own peep hole. All five werfs stood on their hind legs with front paws, or claws, pressed against the resre’s trunk. Faces tilted up they stared at the basket. The stems which sprouted from the lead werf’s head, felt the orange bark, while the feline werfs licked up and down the base. The canine werfs sniffed vigorously.

  “Pleaz. Beg you.” The voice sounded just as she had always imagined her bells would if they were to speak—a breeze through metal. She looked at Kyam.

  “What do you want?” How could he be so calm and natural while holding a conversation with those creatures? Creatures who were their enemies, at that.

  “Wat-er. Must have.”

  “You wish a drink of the Masters’ Water?”

  “Yez. Pleaz.”

  “The water I spilled. They must have smelled it.”

  Kyam reached for the skin.

  She snatched it away and clutched it to her chest. “You aren’t going to give them any?”

  His eyebrow rose. “Should not all The Masters’ creatures have access to Their water if they so desire?” He reached for the skin.

  She twisted to the side, shielding the water. “But they want to kill us. Won’t the water make them stronger, more dangerous still?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. Many have used Their gifts for evil. And yet The Masters have not withheld them.”

  “Or maybe they would be like Inge and be destroyed.”

  “Inge didn’t want the water, which according to your picture is not the river water.”

  Shoulders slumped, she placed the sack in his outstretched hand. “Their ways are always difficult.”