This story is an old one, a short one-shot that introduces the reader to the culture of my beloved Desert Traders. This was eventually developed into a full-length story that I titled Crying Sky, but I had to scrap the completed story since it did not have what I had wanted it to have. For example, I decided that Zyen, in here, talked too easily. He needed to be more animal-like, so I turned out the old story.
But I loved this one-shot so much, I had to keep it. I hope to eventually publish a collection of short stories, and this one will be in the section called, Deleted Scenes. It's just a small idea that I'm mulling over, chances of it happening are nil.
So without further ado, my beloved Ensantii star in, "Desert Wind".
Somewhere in the Northern Deserts
The pile of camel chips was large enough by now, and he pulled out his flint and stone. A couple sparks later, he had his fire going. He sighed and pulled off the turban that had been protecting his face from the biting wind that had long ago died. Sand was stuck in his hair, and he grumbled slightly. "Zyen, Zyen, Zyen, Desert Lord, and he gets sand in his hair," he muttered, as if chiding himself. Yet again, there was no way he could not have gotten some sand in his hair. Sandstorms did that to people.
He pulled out his long braid and ran his fingers through his hair, sand falling out as he did so. Strange that he worried so little when he should care so much more. The caravan was long gone, probably a good day or so ahead of them.
The camel murmured, nudging his shoulder. It wanted food, but Zyen could give it nothing. He could give himself nothing either. But it was not for the camel or himself he worried. The Wetlander, who was the reason he was separated from the caravan as of now, had to eat as well. Sighing, he re-braided his long hair.
Zyen sat back from the pungent fire, listening for the shallow breaths of his ward over the crackling of the flames. He could hear them, and relaxed because of it. Around the camel-excrement fire, acres and acres of sand stretched. The moon shone down, lending soft silvery light to the landscape, making sand seem snow.
Snow. Zyen had never seen snow. The Deserts had been his home for all of his life, and like the rest of his people, he read the dunes better than a map. The people of the north said it looked like snow, though, and his people were quick to believe it. This was not because they were gullible; no, they were anything but gullible. This information simply had no impact on their life, and so they believed like children.
Some of the Far Northern Traders had seen snow on the mountains, and they confirmed the tale, as well as wove other tales. Snow, it seems, was wet, and –the word was new- frozen. The nights on the Deserts, the traders claimed, were warm in comparison. The River, the waterway between the East and West Deserts, the River was warmer than this snow.
That, Zyen concluded, was impossible. Nothing could be colder than the River. The first leg length was warmed by the sun, and it was this water that the people used for bathing. The Underwater, the cold water, was never touched. Others had swam in the cold water, and had died shivering, blue in color and warning others to forever not touch the Underwater.
Never touched it was. It was certain that the water was cursed. Why else would they die for simply immersing themselves in it?
Zyen jumped, his ears and unconscious thought prompting him to note the shallower breaths of his charge. Crawling over, Zyen noticed that the young man's limbs were twitching. He frowned and laid a hand on the man's forehead. Burning. With minimal effort, Zyen moved the man closer to the fire. Though not a healer, all of his people knew how to treat a fever.
But this was no ordinary fever Zyen reminded himself darkly, carefully picking around his supplies. He had seen the scars and wounds on the man's back. He had seen the silvery sheen of a dry, useless, sick sweat. The former slave had an infected wound. That injury was of the sort he could not treat.
The man suddenly jerked in a spasm, his eyes opening in unseeing terror. An unearthly bark of pain and fear left him as if the spasm shook it out of him. Zyen hurried over, reaching out to touch the forehead to make sure he had not gotten worse within such a short timeframe. The instant his fingers brushed the dangerously overheated skin, the man instinctively grabbed Zyen's hand.
For being sick, wounded, and starved, the man had a powerful grip. Yet even more painful than the grip was the sudden flick of a leather whip on his back. Zyen recognized his hereditary power reacting and tried to pull out of the man's dream wildly, but the grip on his hand was too tight. A boot hit his ribs as the whip cracked on his back again. His bare back.
It was forest he was in, grass poking like miniature spears into his cheek as his master whipped again. Funny. He did not remember the feel of grass before. He knew the feel of sand, but why did he know that?
Zyen fought, struggling with all of his mental might, which was a powerful force with which to be reckoned. Two minds were fighting, one to get free, and the other to hold onto the last piece of sanity in the dreamscape. Suddenly, Zyen felt the man's eyes open, and land on his body. He could see his eyes glowing in the Northern Desert Lord's power, and a short, terminating link was formed. Desperate, he leapt. The force of his leap knocked his body into the sand, and it came back to life. Gasping, he furiously pushed air back into his lungs, sitting up.
The man was gasping just as hard. "What did you do?" the former slave asked around gulps of cool, night air.
"Personally, I did nothing," Zyen insisted. "My hereditary power sensed the intense emotions in you and dragged me into your dream." Zyen paused, wondering if it was a good idea to comment, and he decided it was fine. "It was a terrible dream, too."
The man only nodded, swallowing dryly. His eyes watered and narrowed in pain, and Zyen started reaching before the man could ask. "Do you have water?" His speech was slow, calculating the words he was saying, testing the situation he was in. The Desert Traders had been barbarians before they went into Trade, and many still remembered the tyrant times from the legends. Zyen's hands closed around the lip of the water bag and he pulled.
"Not much," Zyen admitted, landing the water bag in the man's lap with a calculated toss. "But a Wetlander like you needs it more." The man gratefully took the bag and opened the end, sipping on some water, the relief obvious on his face. "It was unfortunate that Epiv did not let us get acquainted before she sent us out to The City."
The man smiled wryly, obviously remembering the way the woman had fretted. "That is true." Zyen waited for a moment before deciding to take the initiative.
"I am named Zyen."
"And you are a Desert Lord," the man added, smiling warmly as he saw obvious surprise cover Zyen's face. "Do not be surprised. The tales of the powers of Desert Lords has even reached the slave's ears. Your kind is well known. I am Kelno." Zyen simply stared in a polite way as he continued to go through his supplies, as he had been doing before he had been dragged into Kelno's dream.
Kelno looked out of place, Zyen noted, as he idly sipped on the water skin. Conversation drifted off as each studied the other. Kelno was out of place for certain among the Traders. It was not his build, though. Most Traders were broad-shouldered and muscular naturally, but he was pale, so white he put the white sands to shame. His hair was wrongly colored too, being yellow like the sun. His eyes were not odd, though. Blue was common among the Desert folk, but Zyen himself did not own such a brilliant color. His were brown. Everything about him was brown, yet in varying shades. His hair and eyes were darker than his skin, but he was still brown.
The only thing brown about Kelno was the formal traveling robe Epiv had given him to wear. It was, though, probably more red brown than brown, Zyen corrected as he examined the fine stitching.
Zyen finished his fever drink and set it beside the fire to warm. He crawled to Kelno, his mind racing over what he was going to do. Epiv would never let him live peacefully if she ever found out, which she would.
"Epiv never could tie the formal knots," he explained as he untied the simple knot and refolded the robe. Bright red lines across Kelno's pale chest made Zyen wince before he closed the robe and carefully tightened the belt. With deft hands, Zyen tied a double simple knot in front of Kelno's robe, as Zyen's was, and a double simple knot behind Kelno's head, as Zyen's was. The only thing different from Zyen's was the next set of a double simple knot around the belt in back before he finally let the ends hang loosely behind the man.
Kelno was silent, watching him with interest. Zyen finished and backed off, returning to his fever drink, and he could feel Kelno's eyes on him. "Your knot," Kelno started. "It's different than mine, but so similar." Observant. He could see simple things. "Why?" Now, there was the intelligence in his mind.
Zyen looked up, a smile crossing his face. "Each knot indicates a different level in our society," he explained, pouring the fever mix into a pottery cup. "To protect you, you've the knot of my servant. You're too weak to protect yourself as of now, and no one should protest if I help you. No one will hurt you or threaten you now." Zyen held out the cup he possessed and Kelno took it hesitantly.
"What is this?"
"Treatment for fever, and it will put you to sleep."
"Fever?" Zyen smiled at the tone in Kelno's voice. It sounded almost like he had never heard of a fever.
"Your wounds have become infected and you've become feverish because of that," Zyen explained. "All I can hope to do, as I am not a healer, is break it." Slowly, Kelno brought the cup to his mouth, and seemed to take a sip. Instantly, he made a face. "Drink it," Zyen commanded, and Kelno nodded meekly. He seemed to take another sip.
"Can I drink it slowly?" Kelno asked, sounding for the world like a child. Zyen smiled softer, turning his face away from the fire to not look like the parent he felt like.
"Fine," Zyen said. "But beware. It is a powerful sleep herb."
"I'll drink it before I fall asleep," Kelno said haughtily, and Zyen shook his head as the Wetlander sipped again.
"When I say powerful, I mean powerful." The young man shrugged and sipped again, a smile crossing his face. Zyen smiled, shaking in silent laughs as he waited for the inevitable.
Silence settled over the camp before there was a dull clunk from the former slave, lost in a drug-induced sleep. Zyen only smiled continually as he gathered up the cup and remaining liquid to save. Water of any kind was meant to be saved when one lived in the Deserts.
Zyen shook his head as he thought of the foolish Wetlanders. They wasted water all the time. People need only wash hands and face, as well as food. Yet the Wetlanders spread water over the clay floors and filled wooden tubs with water only to dip themselves in. Once imagined dirt and grime was washed away, fairly clean water was thrown onto streets that could not use it. The Wetlanders wasted much.
Silver light washed over the dunes as Zyen finished cleaning the camp, and he lay down, watching stars overhead flicker in their dark backdrop. A wind blew across the sand, and Zyen pulled his cloak closer to his body. No matter what those Far Northern Traders said, a night wind on the Deserts was cold.
A shadow danced across the moon, and Zyen glanced at it as it did so. There was no chance of rain in this desert, and clouds were rare and only at night; it was too hot during the day for clouds to form. As he realized that a higher-level wind had probably dissipated it, he frowned. That would have been the fifth cloud in all of his memory. Suddenly, a dark shape passed fleetingly over the moon again, and Zyen smiled in delight. Another cloud. Two in one night was rare, too.
Throwing another handful of camel chips onto the fire, Zyen wrapped his cloak around himself and was lulled to sleep by the moaning desert wind, protected by the almost impenetrable area of land called The Deserts.
Kelno was awakened the next morning by the soft sound of a crackling fire and the dull clacks of pottery that meant Zyen was making a meal. It was strange to him to awaken to the sound of someone serving him. For years, he had served and slaved for people that were willing to haggle over his worth, until he had almost believed that he really was worth what they paid for him. It had been just recently that he had been resold to the slavers, and then captured by the Traders to be freed, if not left to be on his own.
The Desert Traders had risked everything to free them. Kelno knew this, and he cherished the idea. The Traders had seen the slavers and instantly began to attack, to free the slaves. It had long since been a time that someone, anyone, would do that for the slaves. Slaves learned to fend for themselves, as no one else protected them. Some even were willing to turn in others if it meant self-preservation.
Kelno winced internally; what animals slavers traded.
Yet when the Traders had charged, had attacked the slavers, everything had changed. The slaves, all of them, had given up, given in, and sat down, refusing to run with the slavers. Some had been attacked when they refused to go; he had been attacked when he refused to follow orders and run, and consequently, the slaves tied the slavers down until the Traders could destroy them. Well, most of them anyway. Some slavers did get away, but they would not be coming back any time soon. The slaves had placed their fates in the hands of the Traders, and the slaves were protected by the Traders now.
Kelno was doubly protected, he reminded himself as he sat up slowly, bleary eyed from sleep. He could still remember the gentle, soft touch Zyen had used when tying the knot last night, obviously mindful of his still-sore back from the slaver's whips and blades. Even so, he had fought to hide the wince that had risen when Zyen had called him 'wetlander' last night. He knew it was just a name for anyone not of the Deserts, but it was still, at the basic form, a derogatory word.
"Here," Zyen's voice said, shattering his thoughts. "Eat so we can get moving." Kelno took the bowl placed in his hands and cautiously peered in as he lowered it to his lap. He was dismayed. Barely a mouthful sat in the bottom of the bowl, flaky and lumpy.
"It's so little!" he exclaimed, and Zyen only chuckled.
"Of course," he said with a grin tugging at his lips. "We are on rations now. Besides, that food was made by myself, which means it will stick to your mouth and sit in your stomach like a rock."
"Are you really that bad of a cook?"
"No, not quite. This food is meant to sit in your stomach. That way, you won't feel hungry very soon," Zyen explained, not seeming to have taken insult at the comment of his cooking skills. Kelno stared at the lump in his bowl, aware of Zyen's acute gaze. Delicately, he picked it up between two fingers and set it on his tongue. It was dry and sticky. With a grimace, Kelno swallowed what he could, his body instinctively salivating to make the passage down eased. Zyen was right. It stuck to his tongue and sat in his stomach. His tongue was fairly glued to the roof of his mouth and salivating was harder as the paste covered the glands.
A cup was placed to his lips, and he quickly took in the liquid, the bitter taste of the fever drink assaulting his senses. Kelno made to spit it out, but a hand gripped his throat, massaging gently. With the coaxing massage, the liquid and lump made their way down his throat. As the sticky, bitter mixture did so, Zyen spoke to him in low and soothing tones. "It may make you sleepy," he said, "but the herb has lost enough potency to not knock you out like last night." Kelno felt some embarrassed blush rise to his face.
Once the mixture was down, he attempted to swallow out the aftertaste, bitter and somewhat stale. "I hope you do not always have such horrid food," Kelno muttered. "I heard the Trader's feasted everyday!"
Zyen burst out in long, loud laughs, echoing off the dunes until the sound seemed to wrap around them as close as the warm air. For long minutes, Zyen laughed, urging Kelno to a smile, even though he did not know what was so funny. "We feast only in the City!" Zyen exclaimed. "Why would someone ever believe we feast everyday?"
"I do not know," Kelno admitted. "But that is the common belief." Zyen laughed again as he gathered up supplies.
"Well then, good sir, when you return to your people –not the slaves, but your people- you can tell them the truth. Desert Traders eat dry stuff and cannot boil water to save their life," Zyen jested, lifting a filled bag onto the camel's shoulders. "But when we get to the City, you will have the ability to experience our infamous feasts, not just hear of them."
Kelno smiled as Zyen mounted the camel, extending a hand down to him. "Come on," Zyen urged gently. "The journey south will take a while."
Kelno took the hand before him and clambered up. Once his arms were wrapped firmly around Zyen's waist, the Desert Trader gave the camel a light kick and gave a soft murmur, and the beast trotted off, the hot desert sun rising in the east.
For hours the camel trotted south with only the steady procession of the sun to speak to the time that had passed. The Mitselo Mountains, gray haze on the northern horizon at sunrise, were long gone, taken over by the overwhelming magnitude of the sands. The only other things that lived were his companion and the camel that moved beneath him.
He did not sweat. Though the formal robe had long sleeves and was thick, he did not sweat. He was too dry for sweat. Zyen's meal worked, though. He felt no hunger. In fact, his stomach felt bloated, as if he had overeaten. Yet Zyen's meal did not seem to work for Zyen. Under Kelno's hands, muscles twisted in complaint of no food, grumbling audibly. When the midday sun had passed, Kelno finally found the courage to ask of it, but Zyen's answer terrified him.
"Did you see me eat?" Zyen asked calmly.
"You did not eat?" Kelno exclaimed. "Why did you let me eat, then?"
"You need it," Zyen said simply, shrugging a little. "A man can live without food for many days. A Desert Trader learns to live a few days more." Kelno felt a small, rising hard thing in his chest, rising to sit in the back of his mouth and make swallowing hard. Without food, was what the Trader had said.
"We have no food?" Kelno whispered, staring at the back of Zyen's head.
"The sandstorm surprised us," Zyen explained calmly, obviously trying to ease Kelno's fear. "All of the food is with the food camels that are still with the rest of the caravan." Zyen paused as the camel slowed a little bit, loosening the reins to let it do so. "Besides, what you ate was for purely medical reasons, not nutritional."
"Those were just medicinal herbs?"
Zyen only nodded.
"So that's why it tasted so bad," Kelno whispered, smiling as he said it. Even though Kelno could not see his face, he knew Zyen smiled.
Days passed by all too slowly for the caregiver. The dunes were not yet the yellow color that appeared before one arrived at the City, and his charge was slipping further into a fever-induced sleep. Kelno hardly awoke to take the medicines Zyen made, and his grip was quickly getting weaker during the day.
Zyen wiped out a bowl and placed it in his saddle packs. Today, Kelno was riding in front of him on the camel. The day before, he had fallen off, completely asleep. The problem had been that it had been a restless sleep. He had yet to sweat in a good way, to help break the fever, and Zyen was running low on a liquid fever drink.
Zyen mounted the camel and extended his hand to a half-awake, bleary-eyed Kelno. Weakly, Kelno gripped his wrist and Zyen gripped back.
Tonight, he thought roughly, he would ride on. Sleep was a commodity when this young man was in danger. Zyen kicked and muttered to the beast, and another day in the hot, dry sun began.
The One had, to most of the Traders, abandoned the Deserts. It was for The One that Zyen rode on in the night. It was for The One that Zyen had chased after Kelno in the storm when he had strayed. Yet it was for Kelno that Zyen worried.
The young man was growing on the Desert Lord. Rarely had he complained before the storm, and rarely did he complain now. Before the storm, Zyen had watched the young man, lively and compassionate even when sick.
Helping people in need was a necessity. Becoming a friend to a Wetlander was generally discouraged.
The sun dipped from his high position in the sky toward the west, silhouetting Zyen's suddenly hard-set face. The Traders would just have to deal with it. He was, after all, seconded only by the king in power. Who would dare tell him he could not be a friend to one who needs it?
The elders might, claiming he was foolish and young, but they spoke of old times, even mentioning the return to their barbaric raiding times. If anyone was foolish, they were. The Traders were feared now, yet in more respect than terror. Slavers still terrorized their borders, but some of the people of the Wetlander villages willing traded through the Traders.
The unlucky villages welcomed slavers. Villages like Kelno's.
Zyen clutched Kelno's limp body to him as the fiery sun sank below the western horizon. Within a few hours, the sun would arrive around at the eastern horizon. Zyen pulled his cloak around Kelno's body, trying to share as much heat as he could. The nights were cold, and cold on a fever may soothe, but not always help.
Until the time the sun rose, the stars would guide him. Zyen glanced up as the glow in the west softened, and pinpricks of light appeared. To the east glowed the blue star, the star for which the Traders had no name. It was the blue star, and it was used by many for direction.
Tonight, it was useless for him. He knew where he was headed, as did his camel. South, to the City. South, to the Oasis. South, to healing supplies he did not have. South, to a discriminate force a Wetlander should not have to face.
The Traders would simply have to deal with it.
The stars finished their cycle overhead once again, one by one twinkling out as the sun's light appeared to his left. Night was leaving, as were the things of night. Beasts and stars alike, as was the cold, replaced by the desert heat.
How many days had it been? Light and dark blended into a gray haze in his memory, and he could never remember what occurred. Maybe his lack of memory could be attributed to his lack of sleep. All he knew was that too much time had passed for distance and for the hope of Kelno. Kelno was little more than a burning bundle of fading life.
Zyen's eyes were turned toward the ground, unfocused and weary. The sand, his mind noted dully. The sand looked wrong. And his camel. The ground sounded too solid under his camel's feet. When the beast stopped, Zyen nearly unbalanced at the suddenness of it. Slurping sounds came from nearby, and all of a sudden, Zyen was alert.
The River.
Within a space of seconds, Zyen was off the camel, crushing the wild plants at the edge of the River, dipping his hand into the water. Yet, to the surprise of his mind, his hand dropped to the slightly parted lips of the slave and dribbled water in. The liquid spilled back out, and he tentatively touched the forehead of the man.
His hand jerked back instinctively. Too hot. Much too hot. This was the rare time when cold would help. Zyen glanced up, his eyes falling on the deadly cold waters of the River. Maybe now the curse of the River could be a blessing.
Zyen gathered Kelno to his chest and walked calmly into the water, his teeth clenched as the cold intensified the deeper he went. He stopped as the steady current lapped at his chest, his feet shivering in their thin shoes. He took a hand off Kelno's body, only to plug the semi-conscious man's nose and mouth.
"Deep breath," he muttered to himself with his jaws still clenched, and pulled himself under.
Chaos greeted him, and his body nearly gasped in shock. Yet training, training to control his entire body, came in good stead. He firmly clamped his mouth shut and pushed off the bottom of the River, pulling a dead weight up with him. Kelno did not seem to be affected by the cold water, but the heat was lowered. Zyen floated the body on the River's face, pulling him back to shore.
A shudder danced up his back, and Zyen froze. He had shuddered, and the sun was high in the sky. A wind, normally warm under the desert sun, made his wet clothes even colder. Another shudder started, and Zyen focused his concentration, attempting to stop the shudder.
It danced around his firm grip, this time making his head snap as it shook muscles in his neck. Instinct told him he had to be dry, but his mind began to panic. It was a good thing his instinct was cooler-headed than his mind. If it had been any other way, all three probably would have died beside the River, not far from The City and safety.
Zyen mounted the camel, pulling Kelno's weak, wet form with him, and he pushed the camel into a long canter, certain it would be fine. The River soil was firm and unchanging. The City, an imposing stone on the horizon far away, grew at an amazing speed as the camel cantered. He could imagine the call going up around the walls, reaching the ears of a nervous-wreck caravan leader. She would wait until he entered The City and would begin to box his ears for the worry he gave her. Only then would she allow him the freedom to find a healer.
The camel let out a low groan and sped up, obviously recognizing the familiar scent. Zyen shuddered again, more violently. Epiv was going to have to wait for the ear boxing; he would not have ears to box if he did not warm up soon.
The gates of the City opened for him suddenly, and the camel slowed as a multitude met him at the gates. Cries greeted him, but only his servants drew near. Epiv was the first he saw, pushing through the crowds angrily.
"Milord." Zyen glanced down, meeting bright green eyes with his brown eyes. A black braid swung behind the manservant, his robe seeming to barely contain well-trained muscles covered in nearly black skin.
"Adan," Zyen acknowledged, nodding to give his approval. The manservant ran his eyes with a worried gaze over his lord, his eyes narrowing as he saw Zyen shiver.
"Milord, you are soaked!"
"The Wetlander is alive, and I want you to prepare Artaur."
"Milord, you are soaked," Adan hissed, obviously not going to let the subject drop. Zyen nodded, and a shiver raced up his spine. "And you shiver! You did not touch the Underwater, did you?"
"Prepare Artaur for an infection that needs urgent care. Later, come to my rooms to collect the Wetlander." Adan frowned slightly, his eyebrows coming together. Zyen gave him a hard stare, and Adan faded into the crowd, not pleased with the command.
"Zyen you little no-good, hard-headed, stubborn, fool! I should have never nursed you! Not ever!"
Zyen attempted to smile as his muscles shook. "It is nice to see you too, Epiv. Did you prepare my rooms?"
"For what? A funeral session? Of course I prepared your rooms! I had little else to do," Epiv shrieked, black eyes raging as she pulled the reins from his hands. Her hair, black waves streaked with gray, spilled loosely over her shoulders, and danced each time she turned to glare at him. Her skin was bronzed, but it had faded some during her middle age. As a young woman, she had been beautiful. Yet she had given it up for him.
Age had also gotten along well with her. When she had gotten older and was not thinking of his father, her tongue had gotten extremely sharp and her emotions rocked wildly. What was that strange food from Imbroglio territory? Oh yes, cheese. The older she got, the sharper she was. But he still loved her as his mother. He pictured her as his mother, not the fading image of a woman younger than him that had been Lady Alilana.
"Is that any way to speak to your lord, Epiv?" he asked, mocking her cross tone, sitting up straighter.
"Is that any way to speak to your nurse, Zyen?" Epiv countered, slapping his leg playfully. "You've got a sharp tongue, boy. Put it to better use." With her stolen reins and playful banter, she cut through the crowd easily, leading the camel for the safety of the Lord's Rooms. Each Desert Lord had a wing in the King's palace, and Zyen's was, as the tradition went, to the north.
He slowly dismounted, his arms wrapped tight around Kelno. "Zyen," Epiv hissed quietly, moving toward his rooms, giving the reins to a boy standing nearby. The boy left, crooning pet names to the camel as it sleepily followed him. Obediently, at her stare, he followed her inside the building as he had done years before as a child. The door closed, and the ear boxing began.
"Zyen, you idiot!" she snarled. "Idiot, moron, camel fodder, fool! You could have killed yourself with that stunt, running off into a sandstorm. A sandstorm! By the sand and sky, I thought you had died!" Zyen stayed silent, watching her face, knowing her insults were fear and her words compassion. Epiv stopped her tirade and stared at the ground. After a moment, she looked up, her eyes wet with unshed tears.
"You could have died," she murmured weakly, and Zyen wrapped an arm around her, rearranging the young man to be held in one arm.
"I could have," Zyen admitted. "But I'm not dead, yet." Epiv batted at his arm as he attempted to lighten her mood. "And yes, before you ask like Adan, I dunked him into the Underwater. His fever was too high." Epiv glanced at the man, her eyes taking in each minute detail. She clearly showed a tiny amount of disapproval, her eyes focused on the knot in his belt, but she did not say anything. "I need to get to my chambers, and he needs to get to Artaur." Epiv nodded, and then rubbed at some 'dirt' in her eyes, sniffling a little bit.
"What?" she muttered irritably. "You don't need an escort, do you Mighty One?"
Zyen shook his head, fully intending on teasing her the most he could. "I just want to make sure my nurse and surrogate mother can see before I leave." Epiv gave him a loving, scathing glare before she left, muttering about 'stupid, charming sons'.
Zyen let his smile grow as he moved up the hall, his feet knowing the way better than his mind. With a shoulder, he nudged the door open and examined the chambers. Gray, cold stone with brightly colored tapestries illustrating the history of the North Desert. A fire in its place, and a closet stocked with dry clothes -he hoped.
He placed Kelno's form on the bed, checking his temperature as he did so. Cooled, and as of yet, not one shiver. Zyen glanced back to check his door was closed, and untied the knot in his belt, fast fingers flying as his robe fell onto the ground. His top and pants came off then, and he sat before the fire, tempted to throw himself in. Shivers raced up his spine as the cold stone touched his bare skin, but first things needed to be first. He needed to dry his hair. Zyen slowly untied his braid, letting it hang around his waist in wet, wavy locks. A bone brush –silent thanks went to Epiv for thinking of everything- lay nearby. Running it through his neat hair, he focused on the fire's warmth.
Others that had died from the Underwater had not been able to feel warmth. His body relaxed as this realization calmed his mind. Warmth, like molasses, spread slowly over his shoulders and back, sticking to his muscles and skin. Zyen rolled his shoulders, sighing.
Adan would come up soon. Zyen grimaced and left the fire. The closets were still stocked from his last visit here, and, so far as he could see, there had been no moths to eat at the clothes. Deep, emerald green pants and top met his eyes, and he unfolded them. A thin layer of dust lay on some of the boxes, and he sighed. It had been far too long since he had used these rooms. He pulled the clothing on and took out a matching indoor robe to cover himself, tying the same knot he had worn before. In the City or on the Deserts, he was a Desert Lord, and all would know it.
Once dressed, he looked back at Kelno. No one would ever notice if the clothing was too large; in fact, that was the preferred way to wear it. Zyen reached into his own closet and pulled out clothing of a deep midnight-sky blue. The pants and top he lay folded beside him, and the indoor robe he draped over Kelno. Partly out of habit and partly out of concern, Zyen placed his hand on Kelno's forehead.
Sweat. The fever was broken. Zyen smiled softly and returned to his spot on the hearth, his back to the roaring flames. Every so often, he ran the brush through his hair, judging if it was yet dry enough to braid again. A knock sounded on his door.
"Milord?"
"Come in, Adan. Those clothes are for him," Zyen instructed, his eyes closed with his dark hair streaming down his back. There were sounds of footfalls as Adan gathered clothes and unconscious man. "Adan."
"Yes, Milord?"
Zyen looked up, making his eyes hard and warning, catching and holding the manservant's eyes. "Make sure his knot is the same," he commanded, his voice sounding neutral, but his face conveying all the warning he needed. The manservant nodded shortly, his eyes falling to the knot in Kelno's belt. He showed no emotion, but Zyen could guess what it was he felt. "One more thing. Send Melrach up here, please," Zyen added, his voice softer now.
Adan nodded, a smile touching his lips. He knew the reason why his lord wished for the fastest messenger, but he would not tell it, nor would Melrach. It was Zyen's reason, and it was so private that they were not allowed to speak of it, unless in Zyen's single company.
"With Melrach," Adan replied, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice, "the Lady of the Northern Deserts will be fine." Zyen smiled warmly, the fire getting to his emotions. He messily braided his hair as he answered his servant.
"She had better, or he is out."
Adan flashed white teeth before he left the room with Kelno tucked in his arms. Zyen stretched his back muscles, the fire still roaring away. Yet somehow, he could not take his eyes from the door.
"Idiot," he muttered to himself. "Artaur can more than handle some infection." Lazy heat seeped through his thin robe. His body started to pull his mind from the Wetlander, but his mind fought to worry about Kelno. The image of Kelno's still form, burning in its own heat, continually surfaced in his mind. The only other time he had trouble forgetting his immediate trouble was when Himsul had been sick.
Zyen felt his entire mind and soul whisper her name. Himsul. His first orphan, even though they were the same age. He had taken care of her, and then wed her.
Did this mean he had taken Kelno under his wing, as the Wetlanders would say? Probably, and it made sense that he would.
Zyen jumped. Something had disturbed his meditation. A knock sounded, along with a hesitant call. Of course. Melrach. "Come in." A boy entered, a short brown braid swinging behind him. Behind him was Epiv. She took one look at him and squealed in disapproval.
"By the sky and sand, Milord!" Epiv shrieked, and she brushed past the boy messenger. "What would you do without me?" She pulled out his braid and ran her fingers through his hair. "Honestly. Such good hair as this should be treated well." Zyen smiled slightly at her care and turned his attention back to the messenger.
"Melrach. I'd like for you to return to the main camp and bring the camp here, or the Northern Lady if no others wish to leave."
"Oh, no need for that!" Epiv exclaimed, giving Zyen a hearty slap on his back. "I sent out Epnel when we came in. I know how much you love having the Lady around." Zyen blushed and Melrach's face reddened as well.
"Please, Epiv!" he huffed, trying to pull his hair from her grasp. "That is a personal matter!" Epiv smiled; he could tell by the way she pulled his hair back, deft fingers twisting his hair into a perfect braid.
"Never the less, the Lady should be here soon."
"Thank you, Epiv."
The old nursemaid slapped his back. "That's my job: make the little child happy." Zyen smiled before he stood. "Where are you going?"
"Making sure Kelno is all right." At their confused stares, Zyen explained. "Kelno is the Wetlander's name." Epiv smiled slightly, and Melrach watched without emotion, knowing his opinion was not important at this time.
"Artaur can handle him," Epiv assured, but Zyen gave a waning smile.
"I know she can, but I believe I've subconsciously taken him as my orphan," Zyen muttered, and to this, Epiv smiled. "I do not care if she yells at me, yet I have a feeling she'll have questions for me."
Epiv nodded, a soft smile crossing her face. She knew this was not his first orphan. She had raised him to care for others, no matter the obstacles, and that, she was certain, resulted in who he had wed. His first orphan, and his first love.
The Desert Lord left the room, probably seeing the motherly affection in her eyes and smile. He replied silently, returning the smile before the door closed behind him, Melrach following him out.
Epiv sank down on his bed, pulling a pillow to her chest. Ever since the child's mother had died, she had taken on the daunting task, as most little boys were unmanageable. Yet he had been good, willing, and he had grown on her.
Epiv crushed the pillow to her chest, her eyes threatening to wet. Her little boy was now a man.
Yellow eyes flashed as she examined the infected wounds brought to her to cure. Red and black wounds on his back, starkly contrasted by his pale skin. His fever was still powerful, but being sweated out. He was soaked all the while, which was probably an attempt to cool the fever. The infection was very far advanced, and she doubted he would ever completely heal. This could have been easily avoided with some care.
If she ever got her hands on that lord, she would wring his royal neck. Artaur took a piece of twine and tied her blue-black hair back in a masculine style, but it did the job of keeping her hair out of the way. Her yellow eyes, uncommon but not rare among the Traders, were fiery as she moved around the healing ward the king had set up for any and all injuries.
Elderroot to ease any pain he might have to go through. Redleaf for cleaning out the wound. Willowbark to lower the fever.
Gently, the healer lifted the eyelid of the young Wetlander, her eyes narrowing as she recognized the light film over his eyes. Drugged as well.
Yep. She would wring his neck. A knock sounded, and she listened as her boy called out a name. Speak of the fool, and he would come. "Yes, he can come in. In fact, he had better." She crushed some redleaf and dipped a corner of a rag into the juice. The door squeaked open. Artaur pulled upon all of her anger and put it into her glare. Her boy peered in and froze, bright brown eyes wide in fear.
"Keep moving. She's mad at me."
She would maul him. "Yes I am!" she screamed, her boy shivering. "Dehydrated, starved, and drugged as well as sick and wounded! What were you thinking?" Her boy stumbled to the side as the Desert Lord gave him a powerful push, gaining access to the room, and the boy bolted out the door the moment he could.
"What was I thinking?" Zyen asked, his eyes meeting hers, but he did not hold the terror her boy did. She grunted and looked back to her work, rubbing the juice into the wounds. "I think I was thinking that he was too sick to drink, we had no food, he was drugged to prevent complaint and pain, and I have no such knowledge to heal wounds like that."
"Everyone knows how to heal a fever."
"I did not have enough water to keep a fever drink going, and Kelno could not wake up enough to drink it."
She glared at him, and his eyes only smiled back at her. With that sort of answer, she could not blame him. Completely. "You had no food?" she asked condescendingly. "What sort of a Desert Lord are you?" she snapped, knowing he thrived on playful banter. She was not disappointed.
"I'm a tough one," Zyen chuckled, moving closer to her as her mood lightened. "Actually, a sandstorm cut us," he gestured at the young man and himself, "off from the caravan. No food, only my pitiful medical supplies, and the water on my camel."
Artaur shrugged. "He's bad, though. I don't know if he'll ever be the same."
Zyen nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, serious. "Just do your best, as if it were me there."
"If it were you there," Artaur muttered wryly, "this healer would have decided it's your own fault you got into this mess and leave you." The Desert Lord laughed softly. "Are you planning on staying?"
"I'd like it if you do not kick me out," he admitted, and Artaur beckoned him even closer. She pulled out a bowl for grinding herbs, and gave him a grinder and a handful of elderroot.
"As of now," she explained, handing him the articles, "my boy is still afraid of blood and me."
"Yellow eyes will do that to people."
"I also need someone who can grind pastes evenly," Artaur finished, patting Zyen's muscular forearm. She smiled warmly at his surprised look, but his look faded quickly into a comfortable smile. "Welcome to the healing ward."
The Desert Lord began grinding the herb, glancing back at the Wetlander. "Will he be all right, though?"
"He'll live, but maybe not have the same flexibility in his back," Artaur explained, her voice soothing. There was something in the tone of his voice that told her that Zyen had more than a business interest in this Wetlander. A soft smile touched her lips, and she met his gaze. "Have no fear, Milord. The moment he entered my domain, he began the healing process. I can heal him."
The Desert Lord smiled, and continued to grind the elderroot.
Yeah, the more I read it, the more small errors I find. But this is just for enjoyment, maybe background for those who read Trusting Shadows and are interested in backgrounds on the Northern Desert Lords and stuff. And go ahead and point out places where I could improve. Someday, I might put up this scene as it is rewritten.
Until next time, then. -Shadow