Divined (6 page)

She reached the fire and knocked her bag open, spilling its contents across the floor as she fumbled for the cloak concealing the draught.

“Are you all right?” a frail voice asked.

Clio’s head snapped up too quickly, tugging on her wound, and sending the decanter into the dirt near the fire.
 

A small woman stood just within the light. She wore next to nothing. Her arms were folded across her chest, hugging herself as she tried to stay warm.

“You’re one of the slaves,” Clio said, realizing. “Please.” Clio held her hand out to the fire in invitation, biting her lip as she fought to hold back her blood.

The woman nodded and stepped in closer to the heat. Bruises ran the length of her jaw, along her neck, down her shoulder, disappearing under her crossed arms.

“Do you have a home you can go back to?” Clio asked after the woman stopped shivering.

She looked down, pain briefly closing her eyes. “I cannot say. The warriors burned our village. Those they didn’t kill, they took.”

“What warriors?” Clio asked, considering how much blood she would shed if she reached for the decanter.

“Empire men,” the woman answered, and Clio froze, dropping her hand back to her side.

“But this is outside the Empire.”

The woman laughed bitterly. “That’s never stopped them before. The High Priest demands more offerings.”

“What did you just say?” Clio winced as she sat up straighter.

The woman looked surprised. “But you come from the Empire, surely you’ve heard of the famine.”

“I’ve been on the road a long time.”

The woman gave Clio a considering look before continuing. “The High Priest demanded every territory supply the Empire with increased offerings so that he can appease the Deities and end the famine. Those cities that can’t fill the quotas have been sending warriors over the border to find women wherever they can.”

Guilt gnawed in Clio’s chest. The Order. They were getting worse. But what could she do to stop them? Vazuil would know her plans and keep her too weak to be of any help.

The woman shivered again, violently, and Clio got to her feet, picking up her golden cloak. “Here, take this,” she said, holding the cloak out.

The woman stepped forward, then stopped, her eyes drawn down to the bloody rag at Clio’s hip. “They hurt you,” the woman said suddenly. “You fought them. Thank you, you’ve saved us,” she added.

Clio shook her head. “I didn’t. Those two”—she pointed to Ixie and Ashira, still at work cutting free each of the twenty or so girls—“they saved you,” she finished, tossing the cloak into the woman’s hands.

The woman unfurled the cloak, letting the firelight catch the golden plumage. “How did you get this?” Her voice was hushed.

“It doesn’t matter. I have no use for it anymore. Take it.” Clio lowered herself onto all fours, reaching for the decanter that had fallen against the rocks around their fire. She undid the stopper and gulped down a swallow. “It’s all I can do for you,” she finished, sinking back and letting the pain close her eyes.

CHAPTER NINE

She slept for a long time. So long, that Clio wasn’t sure how many days had gone by. She woke once by the fire and found her wound had been sewn closed, but something was wrong and her side felt swollen and tight. It hurt to move her head. Her mouth was dry, but she had a dim memory of trying to drink something and choking on the sting in her throat. All she could do was stare up at the stars, and then the blue sky once the sun came up.

The next time she woke so dizzy she retched, but nothing came up. Trees and rocks passed behind her, and Clio realized she was moving. There was something hard under her back—a pallet. Someone had tied a rope around her chest, holding her in place against the pallet as it was dragged across the ground.

“She’s awake.” She heard Ashira’s voice, but Clio’s head was too heavy to turn, and she collapsed back into a dreamless sleep.

“Something’s wrong.”

“Should we burn it again?”

“It nearly killed her last time. We need a healer.”

Clio tried to speak but all that came out was a low moan.

Vazuil flickered behind her eyes, but for once, Clio didn’t care. She realized she wasn’t moving anymore, but her vision was blurry, and the light hurt her eyes.

“It’s because she took that draught. We should have kept a closer watch on her.”

“If she took it, it’s because she needed to keep the Deities out of her head.”

“No, Ashira. She took it because she wanted to die. We should just grant her wish.”

Someone gasped. “You don’t mean that.”

A pause. Clio tried to move her hand, tried to speak, but she couldn’t claw through the heavy fog in her head.

“I don’t know anymore. I’m going to find a healer. Stay with her and see if you can get some milk down her throat.”

Clio woke to a man’s voice. Icy sweat ran down her forehead, her neck, her chest. But she was so hot. She kicked off the blankets covering her legs and tried to roll over, but cool hands held her shoulders.

“Try to hold still,” the man said. There was something soothing about his voice, and Clio was too tired to fight.

“Good. I’m going to do something to you that will hurt, but it will help you. You’ll need to trust me,” he said. She heard a rustling, and then something cold, colder than the man’s hands, was pressed into her side. She screamed out even though the blade had hardly touched her.

“No…” she managed. “Don’t trust you. Don’t…know you.” Her voice was weak, but the man heard her.

Something was placed in her mouth. Wood. Clio bit down, and then fear pulsed through her. “No,” she said around the wood, struggling to sit up.

“Help me hold her,” the man said.

Two more sets of hands found Clio’s arms, holding her down.

The blade pierced her side, and Clio screamed until the world went black.

CHAPTER TEN

The next time she woke, Clio felt light. She moved her head, testing, then her fingers, her toes. Her stomach was wrapped tightly, but for the first time since before the injury, Clio could breathe. She filled her lungs, not minding the dull ache it brought in her side.

“Ah, she wakes,” a man’s voice said. It was a voice she didn’t know, and yet she remembered it somehow. She remembered him telling her to trust him, and then sometime later, she remembered, he had sung in her ear as she slept.

Clio’s eyes flew open, and she sat up.

A man sat on a low stool in the far corner of the room. He wore white robes. Something golden sparkled in the fabric as he stood and approached her. His face was unlined, and Clio realized he was young. Maybe even her own age. His hair was curly and brown, and his skin was dark, darker even than her own.

“Where am I?” Clio asked, pushing off her blanket and finding that someone had dressed her in a thin, plain shift.

“In a small inn in the western quarter of Cearo.” He knelt at her side and ran a hand lightly along her stiff bandages.

The room was bare, with only a small fireplace and bedding for three. There was a narrow window set in one wall, and Clio caught a glimpse of a red tower outside.

“Cearo?” she repeated, confused. Cearo was days from the Empire’s border.

“The Red City,” the man said, not unkindly.

“I know what Cearo is. It’s just, how did—where are my—I was travelling with two young girls,” Clio stammered, not wanting to tell this strange man too much.

“Your sisters are at the market. They asked me to check in on you while they were gone.”

Clio grabbed his wrist, pushing his hands off her. “No offense, but my sisters and I are private people. I’m struggling to understand why they would trust you enough to leave me alone with you. Who exactly are you?” Ixie and Ashira should have known better than to let this man in unguarded. It would be all too easy for someone to find out who Clio was and what she would be worth to the Emperor. Even outside the Empire, greed and politics could easily send Clio straight back to Morek. They needed to keep to themselves.

The man laughed. “To be honest, I don’t think your sister Ixie likes me very much. But I’ve been checking on you for several days now, and Ashira really needed help at the market today. My name is Ealis. And you are?”

“You don’t know my name?” Clio looked to the door, hoping Ixie and Ashira weren’t far away.

“Your sisters didn’t say. They don’t talk much beyond asking how you are doing.”

“Maia. My name is Maia,” Clio said quickly.

He looked at her a moment too long as if he knew she was lying. But the moment passed, and he smiled at her like nothing was wrong.

“It’s nice to meet you, Maia.”

Clio nodded, uncomfortable. “Did my sisters say when they would be back?”

“They didn’t.”

“I suppose I can’t convince you I’m not in need of watching?”

Ealis’ grin broadened. “Probably not. Can you stand?”

“Of course,” she answered, desperate for this man to leave. There was something about him. As if he knew too much or he was hiding something. Maybe both. Either way, she didn’t trust him.

“Would you be so kind as to demonstrate for me?” he asked, returning to his stool in the corner of the room. He didn’t think she would be able to do it.

Clio bit her lip. She pulled her knees to her chest, sucking in a breath at the sting the movement caused in her side. Blowing it out, she placed her hands beneath her, ignoring the stiffness in her scarred palms as she tried to push herself to her feet. She almost got to her knees, but then something seemed to tear in her gut as her muscles failed, and she crashed back into her bed, biting back cries.

“So you’re from the Empire,” he began, settling more firmly on his stool, clearly without any intention to leave Clio alone.

“I didn’t say that.” She felt her side, feeling the thick row of stitching holding her flesh together.

“You didn’t. But Cearo is one of the few cities safe from the Emperor’s reach. With the increased offerings, more and more people have been fleeing the Empire and seeking shelter in Cearo. I just assumed you were one of them.”

“And your king simply lets all these runaways in? I would think it hard to resist the demands of the Emperor.”

Ealis straightened his robes. “Cearo doesn’t have a king. We are ruled by the Council of Six Prophets. And no, the council doesn’t mind. Slavery is not tolerated in Cearo. For generations, slaves from every land imaginable have found their freedom here. We see no man as greater than any other. That holds as true for the Emperor and his warriors as it does for runaway slave girls. Wherever you come from, whoever you are, you’re safe here.”

Clio felt her forehead crease as she considered what he’d said. It was too good to be true. There had to be a catch. “This Council of Six Prophets, they make and uphold these laws?” she asked.

“They do.”

“Six kings. I find it hard to believe any true peace exists while six men vie for power.”

Ealis chuckled. “They aren’t kings. And they aren’t all men either.”

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted him. Ixie pushed open the door, carrying two sacks. She dropped them on the floor before facing Clio.

“You’re awake.” Ixie turned to Ealis, a frown settling on her features. “You may leave whenever you wish. I’m just finishing bringing up the rest of our purchases.”

Ealis nodded, and Ixie left the room once more without another word or glance in Clio’s direction.

“She really doesn’t like me,” he said.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think she’s too fond of me either at the moment.”

Ealis smiled and stood. “I’ll be going then. I’ll check in on you when I can, but should you need anything, or if you have any further trouble with your wound, you can find me at the temple. It’s in the middle of town—you can’t miss it.”

“The temple?” Clio repeated, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Refuge for all the sick and poor. You’re welcome there anytime.” He stooped down to pick up a small woolen bag beneath the stool and then strode to the door. Clio watched him go, unable to move. How could Ixie and Ashira have been so foolish as to bring a priest into their lives?

Just before the door, he stopped and turned around, his expression suddenly serious. “The mark on your chest—I couldn’t help but notice as I was tending to you—I wondered if you might tell me how you came by it.”

Clio clutched at her chest where she knew the remains of Daizon’s mark were seared into her skin. “It’s nothing. A burn.”

“It’s all right, Maia. You don’t need to tell me. It’s only, well, I have some experience with curses like that, although I’ve never seen one quite like yours. It reminded me of something ancient and dark, evil even.” He shook his head, and looked up at her with his smile firmly back in place. “I hear Ixie on the stairs—best I go.” He sunk into a low bow and came up with his right arm crossed onto his left shoulder. “As one of the six prophets of Cearo, I welcome you and your sisters to the city.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Thank the Deities he’s gone.” Ixie re-entered the room with three more misshapen bags.

“Did you know he was a council member?” Clio asked, still stunned.

“Look, I know what you’re about to say, but he’s not going to go run and tell the Emperor about you even if he did know what you are, which he doesn’t. So don’t worry. You can hide in peace here.”

“I wasn’t going to say that at all.” Clio sat up straighter so she could rest against the wall. Ealis was a puzzle. Prophet, ruler, healer from a temple. All of these things made Clio feel uneasy. And yet there was something about him. Something that made Clio feel safe. “Why don’t you like him?”

Ixie sighed. “We’ve been here a couple days now. I’ve heard some things about these prophets and their council.” She pulled out linens and robes from one of the sacks and started folding them on the floor by her side.

“What?” Clio leaned forward, and a stab of pain made her instantly regret it.

“Well, first I heard they possessed strange magics, but if they do then they certainly don’t use them for any purpose I could see. They sit there in their council house and their temple and their library and they do nothing. Nothing! They read, they heal people, they talk about mundane matters like repaving the south road or planting a new city garden, and no one says a word about what’s happening in the Empire. And look at him. Just the sight of him. He seems better suited for a life of books and reading than he does leading and ruling. Even Derik looked more intimidating back when he couldn’t walk without a crutch during the war.”