Draggah Page 6

  Then, like a bolt of lightning, he remembered his last visit with the Princess. His knees felt weak. He leaned against the door frame.

  “My lord, are you ill?” the torturer asked. “Does the sight of blood make you faint?”

  Leonosis looked up, suddenly remembering the other people in the room.

  “Don’t be a fool,” he barked. “Clean Robere up and await my orders.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Robere cried.

  “You had better hope this story pans out, or I’ll see that your skin is flayed from your body.”

  Leonosis spun around and stalked out of the room. He had been worried that the Princess had done something unnatural to him when they last met. In his haste to build his team of spies and learn the truth about Tiberius, he had forgotten that encounter. The truth was, Leonosis didn’t like thinking about how impotent he’d felt around the Princess. He’d wondered if she had used some sort of magic on him, but he’d dismissed the thought. How could she? Magic wasn’t just outlawed, it was the bane of the empire. No one in all of Valana would ever willingly use magic, or would they?

  As Leonosis slowly climbed the dungeon staircase, a plan began to form in his mind. He still needed answers to his questions. But if he was right, he was certain he could use this new revelation to his advantage. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it.

  Chapter 7

  Olyva

  So much had changed almost overnight. The sun was more than wonderful and warm on her skin, it nourished her. She could sense things through the soil as she dug her toes down into the spongy turf. She could feel the massive herd of Tamakas long before anyone from the tribe knew they were near. She could sense the pressure of the air and somehow instinctively knew that rain was coming.

  The people of the tribe treated her with reverent awe. Some laid flowers at her feet; others brought little gifts of jewelry or food. She had to pull herself away from the radiant glory of the sunlight when a runner came with news of the Tamakas. The Hoskali were a nomadic tribe. It took less than an hour for everything to be neatly packed away and for the tribe to begin their trek across the plain.

  One of the tribesman, an elder whose hair matched the white paint on his body, offered to let her ride in the Swanee’s wagon.

  “You can sit on the high seat,” he said. “The Swanee will not mind.”

  “No, thank you,” she said. “I prefer to walk.”

  It was the first time she’d ever considered walking a preference. She didn’t like riding horses. The beasts were unpredictable and smelly, but had never preferred doing something that was likely to be taxing. She could have rode on the wagon easily enough, but she wanted to keep her feet on the ground. She liked the feeling of soil on the bottoms of her feet.

  As she walked along, the children of the tribe surrounded her. Some spoke in quiet whispers, pointing when they thought she wasn’t looking, their eyes wide when she caught them staring. Others asked her questions.

  “Does it hurt?” one curious girl asked.

  “Does what hurt?” Olyva asked.

  The young girl pointed at the patches of soft, brown stem-like growth on her arms and legs. Olyva was still wearing the woolen pants and tunic that Rafe had given her, but she had rolled up the sleeves and pant legs so that more of her skin could soak up the precious amber sunlight.

  “No,” Olyva said with a smile. “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of becoming a tree?” asked another girl.

  “I don’t know,” Olyva said.

  She hadn’t really thought about becoming a tree. When she first noticed the changes, she had been frightened, but now she felt a calmness about her life that was unexplainable. The sun was her food, the earth was her home. She wasn’t afraid of who she was or what she might become.

  “I don’t want to be a tree,” said the girl.

  “We are who we are,” Olyva said. “We can’t change it, and we won’t be happy until we learn to embrace it.”

  The noble-born Olyva wondered at the words she was saying. They weren’t like her. There was an unmistakable wisdom to what she was saying, but she had never considered herself to be wise.

  “You’re different,” said a small boy with a giggle. “Your toes are the longest I’ve ever seen.”

  Olyva looked down. Her toes were long, longer than they had ever been before, and covered with rough, scaly skin that looked like tree bark. She realized that before she’d been banished from Avondale, the sight of such ugly feet would have revolted her. But now, she felt her feet served a very useful purpose—one more than just walking. She wiggled her toes and discovered she had a newfound dexterity in the long digits.

  “They are a bit strange, aren’t they?” she said.

  “Why are your toes so long?” the boy asked.

  “So that I can dig them down into the ground like this,” Olyva said.

  She pointed her toes down, and the ends disappeared in the turf. She wiggled them, working them deep into the ground. She could feel the warm soil on her feet and sensed a strength she’d never possessed before. She could also feel the tremors of the Tamakas, along with the much slighter vibrations of the tribe as they walked across the wide open prairie.

  “Like tree roots,” the boy said.

  “They are like roots, aren’t they,” said Olyva.

  “You’ll make a good tree,” the boy said with a smile.

  “Thank you,” Olyva said, not quite sure what to think of becoming a tree.

  She pulled her toes up and continued walking. She had never given trees much thought. The trees that grew in Hamill Keep were stunted twisting things that had somehow managed to take root in the mountain itself. Deep inside the Keep, the citizens mined coal, which they used to keep warm. They grew a very limited crop of vegetables on the southern face of the mountain. The soil there was gray and sometimes entire crops failed. The fight for survival in Hamill Keep was a bitter battle that consumed most people’s lives.

  When Olyva had been sent to Avondale, she had been amazed at how green everything inside the massive city was—the well-tended crops, the wide slopping fields that led to the forest, and the wonderful evergreen trees, like an army of towering sentinels standing watch over the deep lake at the heart of Avondale’s cone-shaped mountaintop. She had admired the trees of that forest, but she had never considered what it would be like if she became a tree. She probably would have considered such a fate tragic. The idea of being rooted in one place, unable to move or even communicate with other creatures, seemed more like slavery than life. But now she knew better. She wasn’t sure how she knew exactly, and she guessed that not every tree was as sentient as she imagined them, but she knew the glory of feeding on sunlight, of feeling the richness soak into every part of her. She knew how sweet water could be as it was drawn up through rooty tendrils in the soil. She understood that surprises came on every breath of wind, and she had felt the strength of a full-grown tree in the way that it shelters smaller animals and weathers storms.

  It was late in the day when they finally came upon the group of hunters. Olyva saw immediately that Rafe was alone. The tribe’s Rogu were busy harvesting the abundance that each of the slain Tamakas offered. The only parts of the massive beasts that couldn’t be used were a few of the internal organs and the copious amounts of blood.

  Once the tribe arrived, fires were kindled and the hearts of the great beasts were roasted over the flames. The smell of the meat would normally have made Olyva’s mouth water, but she found that food no longer tempted her. She watched as small parts of the huge hearts were sliced off and handed out. There was only enough of the rich meat for each person to have a bite or two, but the tribe celebrated, much as they had the night before when Moswanee and his champion Ummar had been defeated by Rafe. Olyva regretted that she hadn’t witnessed the duel, but she had heard the children talking about it. Olyva guessed that the Tuscogee, which had only been witnessed by the adult male members of the tribe, had
been exaggerated in the retelling, and of course the children embellished the story even more. Still, it was clear that Rafe had not won the duel unharmed. She was thankful that Tiberius was able to heal Rafe, who had seemed perfectly normal when she had roused him that morning.

  Rafe finally came back to Olyva after having a heated discussion with one of the hunters. She could tell he was angry, his face was set and his hand gripped the hilt of his rapier so tightly that his knuckles were white. Despite these visual clues to Rafe’s demeanor, Olyva found that she could sense Rafe’s emotional distress as he drew near. It was almost like an odor and she wasn’t sure how she was sensing it, but she could. His anger and frustration made her feel uneasy.

  “You okay?” he asked, but she could tell he wasn’t worried about her.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “What’s wrong with you?”

  He looked at her as if she was a raving lunatic.

  “I can’t keep up with all the things falling apart in my life,” he muttered.

  The tribe was moving again, making the slow trek across the open prairie. Olyva could tell that Rafe wasn’t happy about the direction they were traveling in.

  “Where is Tiberius?” Olyva finally asked.

  “That’s a good question, isn’t it,” he said, his voice dripping with cynicism.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “I thought you left together to look for Lexi.”

  “We did, but then the Rogu had to hunt the Tamakas and when I turned around Tiberius was gone. He took our horses too.”

  “You’re mad about the horses?”

  “No, I’m mad because I don’t know where the hell my best friend is,” Rafe said angrily, his voice getting louder and louder the more he vented his frustration. “I’m mad because the Rogu could track him, but they won’t. They say they have to stay with the tribe in case the Hulpatah attack during the night.”

  “The Hulpatah?” Olyva asked.

  “That’s what they call the Graypees,” Rafe said. “I have no idea where Tiberius has wandered off to, and we can’t even begin looking for him until the morning.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be alright,” Olyva said, trying to reassure Rafe.

  “It’s just like him to disappear. He’s the new chief of this tribe, as mind boggling as that thought is, and still he feels free to leave whenever the urge strikes him.”

  “You think he’s irresponsible?”

  “Not irresponsible,” Rafe said, “just undisciplined. A soldier never leaves his post.”

  “Tiberius isn’t a soldier.”

  “You think I don’t know that,” Rafe nearly shouted. “How the hell are you so calm? Look at you, you’re growing patches of stems, doesn’t that bother you at all?”

  Olyva thought for a moment. She guessed that seeing the strange looking woody patches on her pale skin would have horrified her before they had been banished from Avondale, but now, she didn’t seem to mind.

  “I know you don’t like the way I look,” she said slowly.

  “No,” Rafe said. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame me for this. I never would have gone near those damn trees if I had known what they might do to you.”

  “The trees were just doing what they had to do to survive,” Olyva said.

  “What?” Rafe shouted. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Should I blame you for slaying the Graypees, or were you doing what you had to do to survive and keep me safe?”

  “That’s completely different,” Rafe snapped. “We weren’t harming those trees. We wouldn’t have burned them down if they hadn’t tried to kill you.”

  Olyva felt her face flush with anger. She hadn’t realized that Rafe and Tiberius had set the grove of trees on fire.

  “You did what?” she said in an icy tone.

  For the first time, Rafe’s ire receded. He looked at her.

  “What did you do to those trees?” she asked again.

  “We burned them,” he said.

  “Why?” Olyva asked in horror. “You burned them?”

  “It was the only way to save you.”

  She turned her head away so that he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. She felt conflicted. On the one hand she understood that Rafe and Tiberius had been trying to save her. They didn’t know what was happening, and since Olyva didn’t really know what had happened to her either, she couldn’t blame them. On the other hand, she now had a repulsion to fire. She didn’t want to be anywhere near an open flame. She understood it; she knew that fire was used to cook food and keep people warm when it was cold, but she also had an overwhelming fear of fire. She felt so much empathy for the trees they had burned down that she couldn’t keep from crying.

  “What is it?” Rafe asked, his voice softer, more compassionate than before.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “I just feel differently about things now.”

  “Like what?” Rafe asked. “Us?”

  “No,” she said honestly.

  She reached a hand out and took hold of his. Her hands had always been long and thin, his were wide and calloused from his many hours of weapons training. He held her hand softly, but there was still a sturdy sense of strength in his touch that reminded her of the evergreen trees in Avondale.

  “It’s just that I can relate to things better,” she tried to explain. “I’m different, Rafe. I’m not just the Earl’s daughter from Hamill Keep anymore.”

  “I never thought of you that way,” he said.

  “I know,” she said, brushing a tear from her cheek and smiling at him. “Just promise me you won’t burn any more trees.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I promise.”

  She leaned into him and he put his arm around her. They walked on in silence after that. The tribe kept moving until just before sundown. Then they stopped and set up camp. Olyva felt a deep weariness come over her as the sun began to set. She watched in fascination as the tribe arranged itself. The night before, the tribe had made camp in a long line, but this time they put the animals in the center of the camp and the small shelters were arranged neatly all around.

  Rafe spoke to the Rogu, who were the warriors of the camp. It was obvious to Olyva that wild creatures such as the Graypees would be attracted to the smell of blood and offal from the slain Tamakas. Olyva could smell the blood on the wind, although it wasn’t an unpleasant scent. She didn’t marvel too much at her strange new abilities. Rafe came back to her as night fell. Olyva wanted to lay down and sleep, but she forced herself to stay awake. It wasn’t just that she was tired, she felt drained, empty. In the light of day, she felt full of energy. But without the sunlight, all she wanted to do was sleep.

  “The Rogu are setting up a perimeter,” Rafe told her. “I’ll stay here with you tonight unless they need me.”

  “Thank you,” Olyva said, stretching out on the ground.

  “Don’t you want something to eat?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Olyva, you have to eat. When was the last time you had food?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m not hungry. The sun feeds me.”

  “The sun?” Rafe asked, failing to keep the despair out of his voice.

  “Rafe,” she said calmly. “I’m still Olyva. I still love you. Lay down with me. We’re both exhausted.”

  “Don’t you at least want a blanket to lay on?” he asked.

  She realized that she didn’t want a blanket. She wanted to feel the warmth of the soil on her skin. She wanted to be as connected to the earth as she could.

  “No,” she said sleepily.

  Rafe lay down by her. The night was warm and there was no real need for blankets or even the tent-like shelters most of the Hoskali used. Still, Rafe was stiff beside her.

  “Hold me,” she insisted.

  He opened his arms and she scooted over, laying her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beating steady and strong. She felt safe and content. She had Rafe, the sun, the earth, and rain was coming. She could feel
the air becoming thicker as the weather slowly changed. She guessed that sometime late the next day, the rain would arrive. She couldn’t wait for it, and as she drifted off to sleep, she felt happier than any time she could remember in her young life.

  Chapter 8

  Rafe

  The night seemed to drag on endlessly. Rafe tried to sleep, but he couldn’t rest. His mind wouldn’t stop thinking about Tiberius. Rafe didn’t know if it was because he thought Ti was his best chance to help Olyva, or if he feared for his friend’s safety, but he felt alone and abandoned, despite the fact that he was surrounded by people.

  Olyva lay sleeping beside Rafe, yet he couldn’t relax with her. She seemed so different to him. It was true that he preferred her now to the weeping fearful girl she had been when they were banished from Avondale, but even that thought made him feel guilty. He had fallen in love with Lady Olyva, a noble-born woman who had never experienced danger or been forced to fight for her life. He had wanted nothing more than to make her happy, but that dream was shattered when Leonosis betrayed them. When they were banished, he hoped to be able to protect her and keep her safe, but since the incident with the killer trees, she acted as if she didn’t need him at all. Worst still, she was embracing the change that the sentient trees had enacted on her.

  He looked at Olyva in the darkness where she lay curled on the ground. She was still the same beautiful girl, her features hadn’t changed. The small patches of soft stem-like growth alarmed him, but didn’t make him love her any less. Even the rough scaly areas on her body that looked like tree bark and the way her feet were changing didn’t make her any less beautiful in his eyes. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like the woman he loved was slipping away from him.

  Rafe heard the distant sounds of animals, but none came close to the tribe. The Hoskali were part of the rhythm of life in the blighted lands, and comfortable facing whatever threats came against them. Rafe on the other hand, after living all his life in the great walled city of Avondale, felt exposed. To him, danger seemed to loom all around them. The absence of fear among the tribe, and more importantly, Tiberius’ cavalier attitude about that danger, distressed Rafe.