When the orange light faded, his flesh had lost much of the angry red color. The white scarring that remained gave the appearance his wounds were years old instead of minutes.
Boris sat up. “Cain’t shoot a harpoon one-handed. Or wrestle with a bowhead on churning seas.” He turned his incredulous stare to Selena and clutched her arm with his hand that had resembled a bird’s claw only a moment before. “You saved me life in all ways. Yer an angel, it’s true. Thank the Two-Faced God fer sendin’ you.”
Selena smiled faintly as the crowd cheered over the howl of the wind. Men moved to haul Boris to his feet but he waved them off and stood on his own accord. He tossed his head back and beat his chest, roaring at the storm to more cheers and hands clapping him on the back.
Selena struggled to stand but her legs buckled under her. “I can’t feel my feet,” she breathed. “I can’t…”
Julian bent swiftly and hefted her in his arms and she turned her face to his chest against the wind.
“Let me,” said a voice and Selena realized Ilior had followed them out into the storm after all.
“You can hardly stand,” she heard Julian snap. “Go. I’ve got her.”
The townsfolk ceased their cheers and Boris’s voice rivaled the storm’s ferocity. “Ye god, what’s a matter with the angel?”
“She’s fine.” Julian’s voice rumbled against her cheek that was pressed to his chest. “Healing wearies her.” Selena breathed a sigh of relief. Julian smelled of leather and salt, and his arms around her were strong.
The party on the beach trekked back to the White Sail. Boris showed off his red, puckered skin as it held battle scars, declared that the next round was on him. His “Aluren angel” would not be permitted to want for anything.
But when Julian made to seat her again by the fire, Selena shook her head.
“I can’t,” she whispered against his long black coat. “Please…my room.”
Julian said nothing but reversed his course and headed for the stairs. He placated the concerned townsfolk with a few gracious comments about the healing having worn her out and that she needed to rest.
“I’ll take her,” Ilior said again, but Julian ignored him. The captain carried her up the stairs to her room that was situated above the common room. She heard the heavy thump of Ilior’s footsteps behind.
At the landing, two old men crossed their path and stopped to let Julian pass by. Selena heard one say to the other, “Oi, look at this. An Aluren.”
“I still remember the Bazira witch, don’t you? Our good librarian will shit his britches…” and then the men were passed them.
Selena sucked in a breath. “Did you hear that? A Bazira…”
“I’ll see what I can find out tonight,” Julian said.
Selena had heard there was a library on Isle Nanokar –a curiosity that harbored ancient relics and scrolls, much of it flotsam that had washed on the beaches over the decades. A vague hope of being able to see it had flitted through her but the cold was unbearable. Now hope burned in her.
But a Bazira witch was here. Accora? If so, the god is good. My suffering here has a greater purpose.
In her room, Julian set Selena down on the feather bed while Ilior went immediately to the hearth to build a fire. It wasn’t a large room but not small either; homey and neat. Aside from the bed, there was a wardrobe made of fine teak, and desk and chair by the window, and some pleasant paintings on the walls of brigantines under sail. Selena tried to remove her sword belt but her hands wouldn’t cooperate. Julian appeared over her, his face hard and cold.
“This is all a bloody mistake,” Julian spat. He tore off her sword belt and dumped it onto the floor, then yanked off one of her boots.
“I had to help him. He was in so much pain…”
Julian looked to say something and then snapped his mouth shut. He pulled off her other boot.
“No, the fire please,” she said when he went to the bed and made to turn the blankets down. He nodded grimly and lifted her again. She looked up at him. A small hook-shaped scar marred the olive skin under his chin and his breath smelled of honey from the mead. His eyes were like chips of sea green glass; beautiful but hard and dark under furrowed brows.
“We had to come here,” she told him. “Or else be overrun with merkind.”
He grunted in reply and then set her at the hearth that Ilior was stoking into a huge blaze. Julian brought the bed’s blankets to the floor and Selena curled up on them while he tucked them around her. She burrowed in but with little hope. She had been wearing the wound long enough to know better.
“I’ll watch over her,” she heard Ilior intone from above her. Inside, in the warm room, his voice was strong again and brooked no argument.
Julian muttered something unintelligible, the door opened and shut, and there was silence.
“Is he gone?” Selena asked, staring into the fire. When Ilior said yes, her tears fell in earnest. She heard a great creaking of leathery skin stiffened by cold, and then her friend was beside her.
“Are you in pain? Are you…?”
“The townsfolk,” Selena said, her breath hitching. “Do you hear them? Down below, celebrating and laughing and dancing?”
“Yes.”
“It’s life.” Selena recalled the sound of Julian’s heartbeat against her ear and the strength of his arms around her, holding her. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a steadying breath. “If I weep too much I won’t stop.”
Ilior hand was heavy on her shoulder. “Rest. I’ll keep the fire burning.”
She drifted into a fitful sleep, waiting for the warmth of the fire to reach her. It never did.
Windpaint
Selena awoke with a miserable headache; the result of sleeping with her jaw clenched tight and every muscle in her body rigid. She healed herself to dispel the aches and pains, but the exhaustion of a fitful night lay heavy on her.
No, she thought, sitting up. A Bazira was here. I heard it. The god is testing me and I must answer.
The window revealed a sky was flat and gray, but still. The storm had ended and the moon would soon be full. She thought those good omens, both.
Even so, climbing out from under the bundle of blankets took effort. She moved like an old woman of ninety summers. Ilior was at the fire, stoking it with a poker. He met her eye, his brow ridges raised.
“I’m fine,” she told him, and he nodded. His silence was worth more to her, at times, than his words. “What is the hour?”
“Nearly noon,” he said and held up a hand when she would protest that she’d stayed abed too long. “You tossed and turned until the wee hours. It wasn’t until dawn that you actually slept. I was not about to wake you.”
“Thank you.” Selena rose to her feet to peer into the mirror. She still wore her bulky seal fur coat and her hair was a tangled mess. “I heard a man speak of a Bazira last night.”