Clanless (Nameless #2)(58)
I don’t want to die, she thought as she spun through the rapid-moving water. I don’t want to die!
As if in response to her mental plea, someone grabbed her arm and then her waist. Together Zo and the man holding her pushed off the ground for air. “Swim to the side!” came the strangled voice of Boar, her rescuer.
Zo closed her eyes, kicked her legs, and allowed herself to be grateful to leave the river, even at the hands of her enemy.
The current was less violent near the bank. Zo’s feet found purchase on the rocky floor. She reached to accept the hand of one of Boar’s men, who yanked her from what could have been a watery grave.
Panting and soaked to the bone, Zo collapsed onto the ground with her cheek pressed into the dirt. The Clanless pulled Boar out of the water next. His hair and clothes hung from his trim frame like matted fur on a wet dog. A long cut stretched across his forehead like a misplaced frown. Blood gushed down his face and into his eyes like red tears. Every muscle in his shoulders and arms flexed as he stomped toward Zo.
He fell before he reached her.
A few of his men rushed to his side. Another thrust Zo’s medical satchel at her and ordered, “Help him.”
Zo’s icy hands hugged her mother’s satchel to her chest. “No,” she said, scrambling backward. She bumped into the chest of another of Boar’s men. She looked over at Boar sprawled out on the ground then down at the satchel in her arms. A clear memory of her mother sprang to the forefront of her mind.
Zo was young, maybe eight or nine years old. Her family had a few sheep that they used for wool and milk. Zo remembered them well because it was her job to care for them. They followed her around whenever she entered their pen. If she turned left, they turned left. If she ran, they ran. It was one of her favorite forms of entertainment.
Until they were slaughtered in a raid.
One of the men who committed the crime was injured and Zo’s mother called for him to be brought to her healing tent. Zo cried and cried over the loss of her sheep and when she learned what her mother had done, she stormed into her mother’s healing tent and yelled, “Don’t heal him, Mama! He killed my sheep.”
Zo would never forget the disappointment she saw on her mother’s face that day.
“I am not this man’s executioner, Zo,” she said. “I am a healer. If I do nothing I am as guilty as he is.”
Even as a child, Zo didn’t have her mother’s humanity. Her incomprehensible ability to love and forgive. Besides, this wasn’t about revenge over sheep, it was about self-preservation. Boar’s injury might be the key to her escape.
Zo fought a niggling voice in her head that wouldn’t be dismissed. “Heal him.” It was absurd and utterly foolish, but as those two words gently penetrated her consciousness, a blanket of warmth spread over her body. “Heal him.” It was her mother’s voice. She’d forgotten just how soothing it could be. Deep and smooth and achingly beautiful. Zo clasped her hands and pressed them to her chest. Remembering brought so much pain, but strangely, comfort too.
Zo raised her head to the heavens, wiped at a tear, and sighed. This is for you, Mother.
“Step away from him,” she ordered. The men parted to give her space. “Someone build a fire. I need boiling water. And you might as well set up camp. We’re done traveling for the day.”
Zo tuned out the clamor of men at work around her and gave Boar her full attention. Placing clean linen from her satchel on his forehead, she leaned over him to apply pressure and said, “I going to try to help you. But something inside me is broken and I have no love for you.” Blood soaked the cloth. She pressed harder. “It will be difficult.”
She knew her words likely didn’t make much sense to Boar. He closed his eyes at her touch and said, “I’m still taking you to the Ram.”
Zo used her free hand to rummage through her kit. “I know.”
Chapter 23
Gryphon divided his time between watching their backs and answering Joshua’s endless questions about his time spent in the Nest. Several times he had to remind the boy to keep his voice down. This was especially true when Gryphon told Joshua about Sani.
“What?” He practically shouted, earning him a stern look from Gryphon.
He pressed both hands over his own mouth, his cheeks reddening in chagrin. “Sorry,” he whispered. “But you’re telling me a kid my age thinks he’s responsible for protecting you?”
Gryphon nodded, and then scanned the woods once more. They were too quiet for his liking, but then that might have been Joshua’s fault. “He calls himself my ‘Atiin and claims that until he saves my life, he is honor bound to guard me.”
“Guard you?” Joshua shook his head like the idea was ridiculous, and then paused to add, “Is he bigger than me?” His chest inflated and he stood up tall, as if to remind Gryphon how much he’d grown over the past year.
“He’s actually pretty small. But he’s fast and really good with a bow. He also sounds and acts much older than he looks. Quiet. Dignified. A chief’s son.” Gryphon shrugged.
Joshua nodded and the skin around his neck flamed red. He was bothered by something, but Gryphon couldn’t imagine what. Together they walked in silence. Was Joshua jealous of Sani? Did he feel replaced because of the handful of days he’d spent with the Raven boy? The idea was beyond ridiculous.