Breathe (The Destiny Series: Book 1) (24 page)

Darius nodded and set his mouth in a line of grim determination. With a hard shove and an upward thrust, Daniel set the shoulder back into place. Darius ground his teeth in an effort to hold in the moan of agony he felt, and then, as the arm settled, he felt a surge of relief. Daniel set the arm in a makeshift sling, and then used the last of the linen to bind the arm tight to his side.

The four of them sat in silence for some time, staring at the fire as it crackled and sputtered. Reo nuzzled tightly to Darius’s side. Darius used his good arm to stroke the wolf.

“That animal saved my boy, and you saved me. I owe you a debt I can never repay. It is not an easy thing to admit when you are wrong, but I thank you, Darius. I give you my hand in friendship. If you accept, I will call you brother.”

Daniel stared in amazement. In his life, he couldn’t remember William saying so many words together.

Darius was awestruck by the honor paid to him. He reached out his good hand and clasped the one William offered. “The honor is mine, William,” he said. “I would be proud to have you as my brother.” The two men shared a smile. When their handshake broke, Darius resumed the slow, comforting strokes to the young wolf. 

William draped an arm across the now sleeping Royce. Unable to look away from his child, he sat and stared until exhaustion finally won out, and he too drifted off to sleep.

***

When they finally made the gate of the keep, the storm had blown itself out. Everyone rushed at them at once, offering blankets and hurrying them to the fire in the Great Hall. Dearra, hearing the commotion, raced to throw herself at the returning Breken.

Caution, girl,
Brin warned.
All of Maj is watching.

Dearra slowed her pace to a less-than-frantic trot, and welcomed the men home. When her eyes locked with Darius’s, peace settled over her, and she allowed herself to calm. 

Catherine came through the crowd of happy people to fold Royce in her arms and she kissed his face and hugged him tightly.

“Mother!” Royce sputtered in protest. “Stop! Everyone’s watching!”

Catherine took a step back, smiled, adoringly, at her son, and then her eyes went to the large bandage on her husband’s head. “William? You are injured! I will get fresh linen to tend you. Come, have a seat.”

William set a hand on her sleeve, and looking at Darius as he spoke, told her, “No. First we will see to my brother.”

Catherine’s eyes went wide, but she knew exactly what this meant: William credited Darius with the saving of his life, and perhaps that of his son. Catherine turned to Darius, and catching him off guard, curtsied deeply before rising to search for the bandages and medicines she would need.

Royce followed closely behind her. For all of his protests at her public displays of affection, he was not so anxious to be separated from her.

Darius and William were ushered to the soft chairs before the fire, and a dozen people clamored to bring whatever was needed or desired. Finally Hugh stepped in to send them on their way. Stories could wait. For now, the men needed their hurts tended to, and a good rest.

When Catherine returned, Dearra reached for some of the supplies she held so she could see to Darius.

“Please, Dearra,” Catherine said. “Let me tend to him. It’s…important to me.”

Dearra thought she understood the need to make amends, and graciously conceded to Catherine’s request. “May I be allowed to see to you, William?” she asked the quiet man before her. He nodded, and Dearra quickly set about the task of removing the soiled bandages.

Once more, Darius found himself embarrassed at exposing his ugly childhood to yet another person. Catherine, however, gave no indication of seeing the scars that covered him. She never once paused in her task, but removed the sling and probed with delicate fingers to ensure the shoulder had been set properly. Nodding to herself, she rubbed in a liniment that felt cold at first, but after a few minutes, Darius could feel a warm heat seeping into his shoulder, soothing the muscle.

“Warm compresses would do the same thing,” Catherine said, answering his unasked question, “but heat is not good at keeping the swelling down. This just feels warm. I can give you some to take with you. It will help when you try to sleep.”

Darius watched as the ragged sling he had used was tossed casually into the fire; his eyes opened wide when he saw the beautifully dyed piece of silk Catherine used instead. After, securing his arm to his side with another strip of soft cloth, she draped a fine, new shirt across his bare shoulders.

“Catherine, I thank you,” Darius said, “but this is too much; it’s not right!”

Catherine waved a hand dismissively. “What is too much? This piece of cloth? Is it truly worth more than my child? The simple shirt I lay across your back…does it have more value than a husband safely returned?”

Put that way, Darius could hardly refuse her generosity. “Thank you, Catherine.”

The sometimes sharp tongued Catherine looked at her son sitting beside her husband, and then back at the Breken. Her forehead scrunched a little as she struggled with some inner decision. Once she’d come to a conclusion, she placed a kiss on Darius’s cheek and said, “Thank you, my brother,” and she gathered her supplies, and left the hall with her head held high, gliding past the gaping people who had been watching the scene from a distance.

***

Carly slipped from the hall unnoticed as everyone was gathering around Darius and William. She followed stealthily behind Daniel as he made for the privacy of his room, listening outside of the screen that served as the wall separating his bed from the common area, until she heard him fumble the pitcher with his bandaged hands and utter a low oath under his breath.

She went around the screen and without speaking a word, picked up the half-f pitcher, and poured the contents into a small basin beside the bed. With great care, Carly unwrapped his battered hands, and holding them in her own, bathed them in the cool water, then turned his palms up to examine the deep cuts.

Daniel watched as silent tears slipped down her porcelain cheeks and onto the wounds in his hands. Still, neither of them spoke.

Carly coated his hands with a healing salve and wrapped them in fresh linen. Tentatively, Daniel reached up a hand to wipe a tear from her face. Carly’s hand encircled his, holding it flat against her cheek, then, turning it inward, she placed a kiss on his palm, before rising and leaving as quietly as she had entered. Daniel could do nothing but watch her go and stare at the tiny tear he had captured on the tip of one large and calloused finger.

***

The day had been a long one for many, and most people found reasons to make for their beds early that night. Alone in her room, Dearra argued back and forth with herself. She knew Darius didn’t want her going to his chamber anymore, but she longed to check on him, to be with him. His absence had been the first time she had been forcibly separated from him since he had come to Maj. She felt like a piece of herself had been torn away, and the wound was still raw, even with his return. Finally, she scooped up her robe and headed towards the door. “Well, I suppose you will have something to say about this, Brin.”

I’ll tell you, Fuzzy, another ten minutes and I would have found a way to push you out the door myself. Go to him. He needs you.

Upon arriving at Darius’s door, Dearra didn’t pause to knock, but slipped into the room and shut the door, silently. Thinking something was wrong, Darius struggled to lift himself from the bed, but she got to him first, and pushed him gently back to the mattress. Without a word she climbed into his bed, lay beside him on his uninjured side, rested her head against his chest, and twined her fingers in his.

Darius felt all of the pain and tension ease from his exhausted body. Now that she was here, he could finally rest. Dearra began to hum an unfamiliar lullaby, and his eyes drifted shut as her voice and warm skin offered all the comfort he needed.

It was the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. It was at this time that people started to feel the weight of winter. So much time remained until the warming rays of spring, and confinement started to wear on nerves. By tradition, the people of Maj gathered on this day to feast and tell stories. It was not a formal occasion, like Harvest Celebration. Though no finery or dancing would be included in the day, great platters of food and plenty of good wine would be available all day for people to enjoy at their leisure. Informal groups would gather to tell stories and hear tales of daring deeds, how a couple first met and fell in love, or humorous situations in which people had found themselves.

Darius moved slowly, supported by Dearra on one side and guarded on the other by Reo. It had only been a few days since his injury, and if anything, he was sorer than when he had first received it. Dearra led him to the same, soft chair he had used when Catherine had tended to his injury. Unfortunately, Jacob was already lounging in the chair, his feet stretched out towards the fire, legs crossed at the ankles.

“Just let it go, Dearra,” Darius said softly. “I can sit anywhere. He’s not worth ruining our day over.”

“No. If you are going to join us today, you need one of the softer chairs. You’ll never make it on one of the benches.”

“Thanks, Dearra. Your confidence in me is overwhelming. I
am
a man, you know. I am not some soft, fragile—”

“Some soft, fragile what? Do you really want to finish that sentence, or would you rather just let me talk to Jacob?”

Given those options and knowing he wasn’t going to win in either case, he waved her forward with his free arm.

Dearra approached the two chairs by the fire and nodded to Marcus who sat in the other chair. At one hundred fifty-five, Marcus was the oldest resident of Maj. He had lost a leg in battle at the venerable age of one hundred, and had spent the last fifty years working with cloth, and because the colors he could coax from the dyes he worked with were amazing, his dress designs were always in high demand.

“Good morning, Jacob,” Dearra said quite pleasantly.

“So, you have decided to honor me with a greeting,” Jacob said, smarmily. “How touching.”

Undaunted, Dearra continued, “I wanted to ask if you would mind giving up your seat. Darius would like to join us, and the wood benches are, I’m afraid, not comfortable for him to sit on for long.”

Jacob remained where he was and closed his eyes as if settling in more deeply. “If the Breken dog wishes to relax he may lay in front of the fire at my feet.”

Darius stiffened, ready to stop the attack he was sure Dearra was about to launch. Instead, a form came from behind Darius and moved with great speed. William reached the chair in only a few strides, dumped the unsuspecting Jacob onto the floor, set the chair upright again, and said, “My brother thanks you for the chair,” calmly.

Jacob jumped up and stood glowering at William.

Daniel walked up casually, leaned against a wall, and watched silently. He was joined by Carly. Catherine came and stood beside her husband. Royce slipped between his parents, and he, too, stood watching Jacob silently. Even Marcus used the aid of his crutch to struggle to a standing position, and gave Jacob a disapproving scowl. Hugh came to put an arm around his daughter.

Jacob was humiliated. These people, his people, were standing against him, standing
with
the Breken. Jacob kicked the chair out of his way and slammed into Darius on his injured side before storming from the Great Hall.

Darius controlled the dart of pain that ran through his arm. He felt useless and disconcerted over the encounter.

Hugh straightened the chair so it was upright. Catherine took Darius’s good arm and led him to the comfortable seat by the fire. The others pulled benches close and sat in a ring around the warm hearth.

Daniel slapped a knee as he sat and said, “Well, then. Who’s first? Darius, what about you?”

Darius shook his head. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what this is,” he said.

“It’s not that complicated, boy. We tell stories. Surely, one or two interesting things must have happened to you…even in
your
dull life.” Laughter pealed from the group. Everything about Darius seemed new and exciting to the Maj.

“What would you like to hear?”

“Tell us how you got all those scars!” Royce chimed in.

“Royce!” Catherine scolded. “That’s rude! Perhaps Darius doesn’t want to talk about such things.”

Chastened, Royce hung his head. “Sorry, Darius,” he mumbled.

“No, it’s okay, Royce. I don’t mind so much anymore.

“When I first came here I thought nothing of them. They were part of my life, like a skinned knee. When I saw the reaction to them, however, I felt shame. Shame at the cruelty of my people, shame at being branded as different. Then, when your mother tended to my shoulder, she did not shy away or make a fuss. It made me realize that they could finally be part of my past. They didn’t have to define who I was any more than the tattoo on my face. And if some feel pity for me, I can accept the sympathy. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

Catherine looked at Darius. She had seen the scars and had been as shocked as anyone would, but ignored her initial reaction and tended to the man who had saved her family. She had no idea that her lack of a response had been a comfort to the Breken warrior, and she was glad she had been able to ease his distress, even in such a small way.

“First, Royce, I will tell you that the scars happened over many years. It is not one great tale that captures the imagination. When we Breken are children, we have teachers who train us to be warriors. We are taken from our families very young and taught to fight. Only those who show promise are allowed to continue in their training.”

“And the others? The ones who aren’t good fighters? Are they sent home?” Royce asked, his eyes wide.

“No, Royce. Those that fail do not go home.”

“But you said…” He paused when the brutal reality set in, then Royce blinked, looking first at Darius and then to his parents, in shock. His father nodded once, confirming Royce’s fears. “Oh,” Royce said.

“Breken life is hard, Royce. There isn’t room for weakness. The instructors use any means necessary to inspire fear and respect in their pupils. When we do not meet expectations, the whip or anything handy, really, serves to motivate us.”

“Maybe this isn’t such a good story to tell,” Catherine said, looking with concern at her son.

“It’s exactly the story to tell. The boy needs to know these things, Cat.” William placed a reassuring hand on hers and nodded for Darius to continue.

“I suppose I can tell you about the first scars I received. I had been luckier than most. I learned early to avoid notice, and I was quick at dodging blows. I was seven. One of the instructors kept lions as…training tools. Once in a while, one of the lions would get a little too fond of the taste of human blood, making it too volatile to control. One of the masters had needed to ‘retire’ one of his favorites and was in a foul mood. I, along with three other age-mates, were called in to his room and instructed to go out into the desert to acquire a new pet for him. We were given no weapons, as he wanted no risk of damage to the cat. The four of us set out with little more than water, rope, and knives we wore belted at our waists.”

“I thought you said no weapons. Wouldn’t the instructor have been angry with you if he knew you carried knives?” Carly asked.

“First rule of Breken society, Carly: everything is allowed…so long as you don’t get caught. To answer your question, no, he wouldn’t have been angry. A knife isn’t really considered a proper weapon, but more of a tool.”

“Oh,” she said, looking down at the dagger at her own waist.

Darius smiled at Carly and continued. “We figured the first thing we would need to do was dig a pit trap. Not an easy thing to do in a mostly sandy region. We chose a spot near one of the isolated watering holes, where the great cats were sure to come, and dug as far as we could until we reached hard stone. The trap really wasn’t as deep as it should have been, but we were exhausted, and didn’t have a lot of options. We covered the exposed hole with sticks and fronds from the few trees surrounding the water. Next, we went out and cut four, long, sturdy poles, and using the rope, devised a system for hooking loops over the cat’s head so that each of us could take a side to control the animal on the return trip. We hoped the poles would be strong enough to keep the cat some distance from us.

“We spent the next two days scaring off animals who threatened to ruin our carefully made trap until, at last, a large, male lion sauntered towards the pool. We all held our breath in anticipation. The male seemed especially cautious; our scent probably lingered and alerted him to danger. He drank his fill, lifting his head frequently to sniff the air. When he was done, he began to walk back the way he had come rather than in the direction of the trap. Out of desperation, I ran into the open and yelled. The lion must have seen me as an easy meal, for he sprang almost at once.”

“Wow! Darius, you were really brave!” Royce couldn’t contain his awe.

“No, Royce, I was really stupid, and really lucky. Had the cat taken one or two more steps before he sprang, he would have cleared our pathetic trap completely. But, as I said, I was lucky. The lion’s front feet did, indeed, land on solid ground, but his hind quarters hit the concealed trap, and as he crashed through, his whole body was dragged down. We were jubilant…for about ten seconds. Then we saw that the animal was trying to jump out again, and it wouldn’t take long for him to succeed.

“We got our poles as fast as we could, and slipped loops over the angry lion’s head, tightening the ropes about him. One of the other boys kicked a log into the hole, and the lion used it to get clear of the trap. Now we fought for our lives.

“The cat spun one way and then another, and we swung wildly just to keep hold of our poles. It must have gone on for a half hour, but by the time the lion was spent, we were as well.

“We dragged, pushed, and pulled the lion towards home. He snarled viciously, swiping at us with no warning every little while, but even that seemed to lessen as we made our way back. I think we were all so tired and anxious to get home that we grew careless. We could see the city in the distance and hurried our steps a little. One of my companions, the one in the lead, stumbled, fell down hard, and lost his grip on the pole.

“It was only a fraction of a second before the lion sprang. I jumped on the lion, leaving the other two boys to control the beast, pulled my almost useless knife from my waist, and dug it deeply into the animal’s eye. Its roar of rage and pain echoed around us, and the cat sprang away, and I was left to look upon the broken form of my companion as his life drained into the thirsty sands around him. He never had a chance.

“We had not been close. None of us were, really. Life was too fragile, too fleeting, to make friends, but I grieved at the loss anyway. It seemed such a stupid waste. I picked up my pole again, and the three of us led the wounded lion the rest of the way. When we returned at last to the tower, my master was very displeased. In order to better instruct me not to make the same mistake in the future, I was given ten of the scars you see on me now.”

Royce’s face was pale as he spoke. “But, Darius! It wasn’t your fault! You tried to save the boy! How could he blame you for the death? If anything
he
was to blame!”

Darius shook his head sadly at the naive child before him. “Royce, the instructor didn’t punish me for the death of my classmate; it was the injury to the cat that earned me my lashes.”

Royce stared at Darius, too shocked to respond, and then buried his face in his mother’s side.

“I’m sorry, Catherine. You were right. It wasn’t the story to tell.”

“No, I think William was right,” Catherine said, stroking the hair on Royce’s head. “I think it was exactly the story to tell.”

Catherine stood to leave, taking Royce with her, using the excuse that more food needed to be brought and he could help her with it.

“Who shall we hear from next?” Daniel said.

“How about you, Weapons Master? Or are you more interested in putting others on the spot?”

“Not at all.” Daniel said, rubbing his hands together. “I have many stories to tell.”

“I’m sure you do,” Dearra teased. “But why don’t we try a true one, for a change.”

Everyone laughed, knowing Daniel liked to embellish his tales from time to time. The laughter seemed to lift some of the heavy mood that had descended upon them.

Sensing the need to keep things light for the time being, Daniel began. “It must have been…oh, let’s see…almost sixteen years ago now.”

“No! No chance, Daniel! You tell this story every year! We’ve all heard it a million times. Why do you insist on doing this to me?” Carly said.

“Darius hasn’t heard it. Besides, I like this story, so just sit down and be still.

“As I was saying, it was almost sixteen years ago. I was a young man of nineteen, and feeling every bit the proud warrior. I would strut around the keep for hours on end with the other young men, trying to attract the attention of one of the women warriors at the barracks across from our own. One day, a call went out. A babe had wandered away from her mother, and though only two years old, could not be found anywhere. Being the manly warrior that I was, I imagined all sorts of peril: dangerous wolves, a snake, bandits who had snuck onto the island and kidnapped the infant.