A/N: Hey, so I'm back once again. I've edited the rest of this book's first part (which goes from chapter one to chapter--well, it's chapter fourteen, but online I might have it vaguely different; more or less chapter breaks). Anyway, I should be posting all of it in a few days' time. Then you get to jump from Part One - The Prince (which is what you've been reading; I apologize for not mentioning this is chopped into three parts) into Part Two - The Princess, which is vaguely shorter. Then you'll get Part Three - War, which is by far the goriest thing I've ever written. (Except for "Barbara"--maybe. It's drawn out longer, though.) Just a warning.
Good luck with that.
Also, thanks so much to my readers and reviewers. I hope you continue to enjoy this little fantasy tryst I've had going since I was eleven. I know it's not perfect, but I'm glad people are getting to see it almost completed.
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CHAPTER EIGHT
Lotus Girl
Coh jogged between thick tree trunks, trampling ferns underfoot as he raced towards the sound. It came and went, the screaming--but that at least meant whoever was yelling was still alive and able to make noise.
“Hello?” he asked, as the sound started to become louder. Amber had stalled back several meters and he crept forward on his own, knife in hand. “Is anyone there? Are you hurt?”
The meaningless scream started again and he winced. There was no rhyme or reason to it--no other sounds carried through the forest anymore, and no words were formed.
“Hello?” he tried again.
This time he got his response. “Help! Someone, please-- It--” A shriek sounded and the statement was cut off.
Coh looked up. No birds were here, or frogs, or any sign of wildlife. He swallowed hard, sweat starting to run down his back, and he made the final steps--out of the black of the woods, towards a place where light filtered down and the world wasn’t unearthly dark and green-lit.
The girl was high in a twisted, pale-barked tree. Silvery-white hair flew into her face and her dress--white and powder blue--was half stained red, red slowly soaking further and further. Her mouth was opened in shock already and Coh’s jaw hit the ground to follow suit.
What was even going on here?
The beast at her feet, at the base of the tree, was legend. It had russet-tawny fur that moved over taut muscles and black-tipped ears and tail. It was a lion-cat, otherwise known as a catamount, cougar, or puma; a beast from beyond. Ironically, they were supposedly symbols of good luck.
He watched its giant paws land on the tree and its claws scratch six long scars into it. He winced. Perhaps not good luck for the silver-haired girl perched in the tree.
He looked at her then back to the cat and weighed his knife. He moved closer, closer, closer. The beast stayed focused on the girl, who let loose another scream. Its ears flicked in annoyance and it tried to rear again, to get up the tree, but the girl shoved a spike-ended stick at its muzzle.
He heard a sickening sound and the giant cat shrieked. It was wounded, then. No need to let it live, he decided. It’d die soon, anyway.
He raised his arm and threw the knife, sacred beast be damned. The knife sunk hilt-deep into the cat’s side and it let out a moan unlike anything he’d heard. It stumbled in an agitated circle and then collapsed.
All was silent for a long moment. The birds held their breath then one started a tune far-off. That seemed to awaken the girl in the tree, who had just stared in shock at the dead beast along with him.
“Help?” It was a raspy question and she met his eyes for the first time--pale orbs, crystal blue like that in stained glass church windows, the color of the shawl of the Madonna.
His breath caught and he stared dumbly, unsure of what to do.
“Can you help me down?” the girl tried again. “My dress is caught.” She tugged at the blue fabric to prove her point and some sparse branches wobbled.
He gulped and loped forward, straight for the tree. He came to the trunk of it, wider around than a man could hold, and clambered up.
He took a long look at the ripped gauzy white and blue satin then found the whip-like branches responsible for keeping the girl up ten or so feet. He snapped them easily and then looked over the girl. Her face, under her wild blond hair and the blue ribbons twined in it, was dusky, smudged with dirt and mottled with faint bruises on her cheekbones. Unhealed cuts littered her arms and one of her shoulders. His heart beat sped.
“You’re hurt,” he said. He reached out and touched one of the cuts. Blood clung to his fingers. She’d need help soon, or infection would set in. Coh knew that well enough. He’d seen full-grown horses drop from it. It wasn’t something to risk.
“I was treed by an overgrown kitty, of course I am,” the girl replied. Her voice, while hoarse, held a semblance of dignity. She lifted her chin and met his eyes dead on. “Well? Help me get down. My arms are useless at the moment,” she narrowed her eyes, “and if you try anything--my legs work fine, thank you.”
Coh raised an eyebrow, but complied with her requests.
Down on the ground, the girl smoothed out her dress with shaky hands--as if doing so could erase the tatters. She had a lifted chin and a fierce expression that made Coh wonder what sort of Viren dweller she was. Her features were--high class, as well. Sharp, high cheekbones, a small, straight nose, good teeth, and a higher forehead than what he was used to. He wasn’t sure if the last counted, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with the royals he’d seen--added to their somewhat haughty look somehow.
Yet, the barons and baronesses, ambassadors for the king of Volengrad, had been stamped out with the coming of King Dammar and few rich people inhabited the moorlands anymore. Most flocked to the cold, eternally dry Sabir, home of the new king. The Kalls, Slade’s family, had been here for generations and they hadn’t even thought of moving, regrettably, according to Coh’s father. Otherwise there were few families to go from--the McCoys, Tailors, and Roses. The McCoys only had sons, the Tailors had two daughters, but both too old, and the Roses--he’d seen their daughter, a red-head. So all he could do was frown at the blond girl, wondering where she had come from.
Eventually, she seemed to catch on to the fact he was sizing her up and she gave him an icy glare, mouth set at half-scowl.
“What?” she asked.
“What’s your name?” he asked back. “Mine’s Coh.”
She frowned. “What sort of name is that?”
“Mine.”
Her mouth twitched and she looked over her shoulder. “My name’s Sadira, if you’re so curious.”
He smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
There’s a pause as she walked over to the body of the animal. He followed, unsure of what he should be doing. The girl, Sadira, was hurt. He should--take her somewhere, or something. However, he’d taken her threat seriously, so he just followed silently.
She stops at the head of the animal, gives it some sort of glare (similar to the one she gave him), snorts, and moves on. She picks something off the ground--a simple wooden bow.
“That yours?” he asked.
“Who else would it belong to?”
He shrugged a shoulder. He wouldn’t know.
He watched as she bit her lip and looked around the clearing. “Have you seen my dog?”
The question caught him off guard. “Pardon?”
“It’s small. Patchy black-and-white.”
“I saw it a few days ago, sure.” Probably was an appetizer. “When did you lose it?”
“Today. I was out doing the wash for my gran and Tag just went and raced after some rabbit. He never could refuse a good chase.” A small smile graced her features for a minute but it disappeared shortly, a blank expression replaced it.
“Tag? That’s your dog’s name?”
“Yes,” she said. She looked at him and opened her mouth, only for a bark to sound off in the distance. He holds back a chuckle as she turns. The small terrier he saw before comes dashing out into the glen; his family’s white wolf-dog chasing after it.
Sadira gulps, but doesn’t move. He would nod approvingly, but he’d look dumb, so he doesn’t. He just watches as his dog chases hers in circles.
“I think I found Tag,” he said.
She shot him a look and walked over to the dogs, hands clenched at her sides.
He winced and hunched his shoulders. Amber padded out of the forest soon after, whining. The white dog barked at her and loped over, all smiles.
Coh frowned at it, wondering what sort of luck he had as he grabbed the collar of the male dog. The dog’s ears went back in response.
“Bad,” he said. The dog just stared blankly. “Useless animal,” he muttered, “didn’t even stay to protect me.”
“What was that?” Sadira asked from across the clearing.
He looked over. She had the patch-coated terrier in her arms and was giving him this particular look. He had the bad feeling that she thought he was mad.
“Nothing. Just talking to the dog--and myself,” he said. He tried out a smile.
Sadira’s eyebrows rose until they were hidden under her bangs. “Okay.”
He nodded and made to head off. He’d killed a beastie, one he was sure he didn’t want to touch--sure it had a nice pelt, but either he’d get robbed blind for it or attacked because he had it priced too high; sales involving exotics always went south--and he was tired; confused and tired. He didn’t feel like being out here anymore. He wanted to be back with his family, have a few normal experiences for a change.
However, he didn’t get that. Seconds after he was back into the fringe wood circling the clearing, the muscles of his stomach tightened and he was bent over at the waist, heaving nothing but throat-burning gunk down onto the ferns below.
Sadira was at his side in a second, a hand on his back. He choked for another good minute before whatever it was finally stopped.
He turned bleary eyes on her as her tiny dog decided to start licking on his arm. He glowered at it, but to no effect.
“Are you okay?” Sadira asked. She actually looked concerned.
“More or less,” he responded. He straightened up and wiped off his mouth. “I’ll just be going then.”
The girl rolled her eyes and pulled him back towards the clearing. “Come on. My grandmother is a healer, she can help.”
As she continued to drag him along, he tried to say that, no, her grandmother probably wouldn’t be able to help him, but she told him to stop being a superstitious sod and the tiny dog growled at him, so he shut up.
He wasn’t too surprised when neither of his dogs followed, just went back into the wood, heading towards home. No domestic animal stayed in this god-awful wood for long, nor did any sane human. Luke, even after living beside the Damis for so long, got twitchy after a few hours.
***
The hut that came into view automatically gave him a flashback to the other odd home he’d gotten in his sights today. The place looked like it had been half eaten by the earth. The roof was sod and only a few solid bits of wall peeked out, white plaster and pale wood. There were two bar-shutter windows he could see, but no doors. The whole place looked lopsided.
Coh raised an eyebrow and turned to Sadira. She was looking at the place and smiling, her eyes bright.
“You live here?” he asked.
She tilted her head. “Mostly,” she said. With that, she put Tag down on the mossy ground and then dashed over to the house, her tattered dress flying behind her.
Coh frowned, wishing he’d get some semblance of a straight answer today.
“You really shouldn’t run while hurt,” Coh he said finally, uncomfortable.
She just laughed and stopped at the side of her home. “It’s just a scratch,” she said. He tried not to comment on how much blood stained her clothes, or how her hands had been shaking so badly not long ago she couldn’t even climb down a tree by herself. “So, you want to go in the normal way or through the door?”
Coh barked a laugh. “How else would you--?” His question choked off as she scrambled up a stunted tree, one that seemed to grow from under the house and stretch towards the sun. She used dead vines that were wrapped around the thing for footholds and the occasional handhold and she was up to one of the windows in an instant. She opened the shutters, bars swishing to a metallic clang against the walls, and climbed in.
Coh blinked, open-mouthed, and wondered how his day could possibly get any stranger. Also, how did she climb like that hardly using her arms?
Eventually, after much pointed staring via Sadira, he cleared his dry throat in attempt not to squeak.
“Where’s the door?” he asked.
The interior of the hut ended up being roughly as queer as the outside. Dried plants hung from the ceiling upside down and a smell like old, burnt greens filled the house. Pots bubbled, hung over a few fires in a room that had a charred floor and was to the left of the entryway. A yellow cat glared at him from where it was perched atop a dresser in what would appear to be a mix of a lounge room, an art room, and a bedroom which was to his right. Ahead were darkness and the vague outline of stairs. Coh tried to avoid looking that way. Something about it gave him the creeps.
Sadira breezed down those same steps however, a white ghost against the black, and she swung into the multi-purpose room.
He let out a long exhale when he noticed she had changed, seemed clean and fixed up in a boxy white dress. Gone were rips and blond stains, much to his relief. She didn’t seem to feel like commenting on how she’d gotten herself cleaned up so quickly, though. All he could do was try not to stare at the bruises that remained, a shock against her pale complexion and her pale clothes.
“This is my bedroom,” she informed. “Make yourself comfortable as possible.”
Without anymore ado, she pointed up to the ceiling and he followed her in, to see what was literally up.
Drawings with rough black lines and faint pigment were pinned up there, beautifully done. Most seemed to be pictures of the forest, but a particular old woman and muscled horses were recurring. Two pictures caught his eye, though--one was a picture of a massive fire which was so detailed it boggled his brain and another was of a person with pale eyes and a shock of dark hair. The last picture was a watercolor lotus, oddly delicate amongst all the hard lines of the other pictures.
“Those are mine,” Sadira said, rather proudly.
He turned to her, grinning. “They’re amazing.”
She chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. “Not really.” She winced then. “Okay, so excitement's wearing off and I should probably go get medicines. My grandmother will be here in a minute to help you out. I already spoke with her.”
Coh froze, but tried to relax. What could an old lady do, anyway? He’d faced worse. It wasn’t like that was such a big deal, anyway. He was more concerned about Sadira. Sure, at least the girl wasn’t bleeding anymore. The thought of her being in pain, however, was off putting and upsetting for reasons he wasn’t exactly sure of. He’d always been too protective, though. Normally that was only towards Luke or his mother. But he was always good at latching onto people.
He shook it off resolutely.
“Hey,” he said, noticing something, something that might make the awkwardness go away, “where are your parents?”
“Probably rotting,” Sadira said, bluntly. Okay, so that wasn’t effective. She turned blue eyes on him. “Why?”
He gulped. “No reason,” he said. I’m just trying to make small talk so I won’t panic. I hate anyone who is supposedly a healer--they’ve never done any good for my family. He wanted to tell her all of that, but if Jacob had said anything it was not to wave around your dirty laundry in public.
He shifted awkwardly as she nodded and walked off, going through a swinging door into another dark part of the house. He looked around the room, with its slat-lined lighting, and wondered where in Razira he could sit without ruining something, getting pigment on himself, or acting perverted, because some sort of half flat, half vertical bed which he assumed Sadira slept on was the only clear place in the cluttered room to sit.
“So, you’re the helpless lad I’m supposed to be helping today.” The voice was a shock. Coh’s shoulders automatically tensed and he flinched, his eyes screwing shut.
He got the nerve to look up, even as his shoulders stayed kinked, muscles pulled tight too fast. Sadira’s grandmother blended in well with the house. She wore a long, wrapping garment, or maybe a few going by the mismatched patterns. Greens, purples, and orange fluttered as she stepped into the room and her jewelry clanked noisily around her neck. Her hair was long, dark grayish-silver, and loose. Her face was tan and smooth except for crows’ feet.
All in all, she wasn’t at all what she was expecting. He’d expected someone who waddled like a lame duck and had hit-by-lightning white hair.
He had the feeling that, going by Sadira, he probably should have expected the woman in front of him. Plus, this woman had been in her drawings, but those seemed tame compared to the older warrioress that stood before him.
That was crystal clear, too. The indigo tattoos on her arms still cried old words of battle, even if they had been stretched from muscle loss.
“Nice to meet you,” he said finally. “I’m Coh Gray.” He held out a hand. She didn’t take it.
He swallowed hard and let his hand flop back onto his leg.
“So, what would appear to be the problem?” Sadira’s grandmother asked. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him menacingly. He’d never realized old women could scare you, but this woman--whatever her name was--was about as scary as a rogue dog.
He ran his tongue around his dry mouth. “I just, uh, got dizzy and puked. It’s no big deal. Sadira was just worried about me. So, no need to worry, or, uh, help me. I’m okay, um--?”
“Gladys,” the older woman supplied; voice softer. “My name is Gladys.”
He nodded. “Okay.” He made a move to stand up. “Tell Sadira to carry a weapon?” he suggested. He looked around, a frown starting to grow on his face. “I should probably go.”
Gladys sighed and actually rolled her eyes at him. He blinked.
“First, I’ll get something to settle your stomach. That’s the least I can do. You saved the only person that matters to me,” Gladys said. “Then I will get Sadira to come and say goodbye to you, and thanks if she hasn’t said it already, the scatterbrained girl. Then you can leave.”
Coh gulped and sunk back into a sitting position. “Right.”
“Good lad,” Gladys said. She turned and went into the room across the hall without another word.
Coh pondered making a bolt for it, but decided that would probably be a horrid idea.
“So, are you feeling better?” Sadira asked.
Coh nodded. He was leaning against a wall, Sadira was sitting all prim on the edge of her bed thing, and, yes, he was feeling better. He had a funny taste in his mouth now and an odd gurgle in his stomach, but he was better--as in, he wasn’t throwing up throat-burning liquid.
“Great,” she murmured.
He nodded again and shuffled his feet awkwardly.
“So, I guess you need to go now?” Sadira asked, flicking a piece of pale blond hair from her face.
“Yeah,” he agreed, realizing his mother was probably completely frantic by now. “I should.”
Sadira nodded and stood up. “I’ll walk you out.”
Coh waved his hands. “No, no. No need for that. You should be resting. Well, probably. I don’t know anything--but it’s probably a pretty good idea.”
Sadira grinned, obviously amused. “Oh, is that so?”
“Yeah.”
“So we need to say our goodbyes now?”
“Probably,” she said and she blushed for some reason.
“It’s fine,” Coh said, moving off the wall. He stepped into the entryway of the bedroom, ready to walk down that dusky hall back to the door whenever needed.
“Bye, anyway,” Sadira said.
“To you, too. But, um, we will talk again, right?” he asked.
“Why?” One of her eyebrows rose.
“Just because,” he said. He shifted, weight going from one foot to the other.
“We’ll see.”
“Good.”
He stepped into the dark and walked unusually fast out of the house. Just because.
***
He’d found the dogs halfway back home. The pair fell into line with him as he kept up a fast tempo. He passed the boundary line of their property, a marked stone and remains of grass burnt to keep wildfire spreading in the driest days of midsummer--and then he was safe. He was back in familiar territory. His house and the knowe behind it with its hat of a twisted stump and tall grass were in plain view along with the multi-hued spots of feeding chickens loose in the yard. His mother was a lone figure in front of the house beside them, blond hair caught by the wind and blown in front of her face. Her dress’s skirt minutely pulled along with the breeze. Her arms were crossed and her attention was solely on the hens. One of the larger shepherd dogs, a black-masked sable, was at her feet.
He gulped, unable to help himself, and straightened up the collar of his woolen shirt. He sincerely hoped this wouldn’t end too badly. All he could remember was how that dog, old and his mum’s favorite, always came around when you were ill or upset. At least, that’s how it treated the others. It had grown away from him as he’d grown up--which didn’t matter much right now.
What mattered was that it was curled around his mother’s ankles.
The two dogs, one on either side of him, drifted off; going in two different directions as he walked down the hill and to their fields. Small plants, roots mostly, grew along the ground to his left and the rest of the land was wild moor, heather, gorse, and thick, plush grass, yellowed at tips from the sun.
“Coh?” His mother’s voice carried well, perhaps because of the wind. He could hear a muted note of panic in it--as well as anger, cold from waiting.
“Yeah. It’s me.”
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