Nameless (Nameless #1)(3)
Chapter 2
The cold air traveling over Zo’s skin smelled strangely mineral. She walked blindfolded with Tess in her arms, and the tip of a spear at her back. She memorized the turns as they prodded her forward, knowing it would do little to help if she couldn’t pass whatever trial the Ram leader had in store. The path sloped down and the moist air grew colder. Her foot caught on a rock and Zo fell to her knees, sending Tess flying into the darkness. Hands grabbed Zo’s collar and hoisted her back to her feet.
“Carry the small one,” the leader ordered.
“Zo?” Tess’ voice cracked, weak and distant.
“I’m here,” said Zo, straining to see through the blindfold. She didn’t want her sister to say more. Her accent might betray them both.
The ground leveled beneath them, and a guard yanked off the blindfold, taking a chunk of Zo’s dark hair with it. She didn’t cry out.
They couldn’t hurt her.
She looked at the limp form of her sister in the arms of a bare-chested Ram guard and crumbled at the contradiction. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. If only Tess hadn’t followed. If only …
Guards lined the opposite wall. Shadows from the torchlight made the scowls on their faces all the more sinister. Each carried a round shield at his back, a spear in hand, and a short sword at his hip.
A redheaded boy lay on a narrow bed in the center of the room silently weeping. His body was long, but judging from his young face, he couldn’t have been much older than twelve or thirteen. The deep wound just above his hip swam in dark red blood. He whimpered while biting down on a stick.
Zo didn’t ask questions. “I need blankets!” she yelled, as she washed her hands in a basin of scalding water. With pulsing, red hands, she took a stack of linens from a supply table and pressed it to the wound. The boy kicked and jostled.
“Hold him down or he’ll bleed out!” shouted Zo.
No one moved.
Two women in white robes came in through a different tunnel entrance carrying woolen blankets. When they saw Zo, they froze.
“Help me!” Zo snatched the blankets from their hands and rolled the boy onto his side. Lifting his legs, she wedged blanket rolls under his good hip. The redheaded boy cried out in pain but Zo needed to keep the wound above his heart. She wrapped a bandage around his trunk, keeping as much pressure on the open wound as possible.
The boy’s skin turned alabaster from blood loss. Zo yanked more blankets from the hands of the women, covered him up, and rubbed warmth into his arms and legs while muttering the words of one of her mother’s blessings. “Hold as still as you can,” she whispered into his ear. “You’re going to be fine. I promise.”
Zo approached the intimidating line of Ram soldiers. Each wore animal hide trimmed with fur. Thick leather straps crisscrossed their chests housing a variety of evil-looking weapons. “Where is my pack? It has the medicines I need.” The men barely moved, barely blinked, with hands clasped behind their backs like dangerous statues of unfeeling.
The bald leader shook his head. A taunting, wicked, grin stretched across his face. Tess whimpered from one of the dark corners of the cave. Water dripped from the jagged, rock ceiling. The quiet symphony of sounds and silence contrasted with Zo’s rapidly beating heart.
She swore and darted to the opposite wall where the healers stood just as still and lifeless. “Do you have any pseudo ginseng root?”
The aging healer looked over to the Gate Master, shook his head, and looked down at his hands.
So they would put this boy’s life in danger just to see if she would fail?
I shouldn’t be surprised.
Zo ran back to the steaming water and plunged four inches of her long braid into the basin. Sweat dripped from her forehead. She scrubbed the crusted mud from her hair and went to the closest soldier, holding out the dark braid. “Cut it,” she said.
His gaze swept over her body before fixing on her face. His lips curled into a crooked grin.
She hated when men looked at her that way.
“Cut it!” she yelled, eyeing the knife at his hip, wondering if she had any chance of taking it from him without meeting a quick death.
A young soldier to his left stepped out of rank. His long dark hair was tucked behind his ears, his brows knit together and a muscle in his neck leapt as he frowned. The unexpected flash of his dagger made Zo scream. A small segment of her braid dropped to the ground and the young soldier took his place back in line, ignoring the disapproving scorn of the Ram leader.
Zo gasped as she snatched up the braid. She stumbled over to the sink again to rinse the hair one final time to prevent infection. Convinced the hair was clean, she darted back to the boy and removed the crimson-soaked dressing from the wound. The blood had slowed, but not enough. He’d die if this didn’t work.
She shoved the hair into the wound and piled the excess on top.
The boy screamed then passed out.
Zo placed her hands over the mound of hair and uttered words of healing. The flame of her energy flickered as she willed the blessing to take effect. Her head swayed without permission as she reapplied a bandage.
When Zo finished, she slumped to the floor before they carried her and Tess away.
Joshua’s dried blood tugged on Gryphon’s arm. A deathly plaster, equal parts unforgiving and taunting. He scratched away at the memory of the ambush, the way young Joshua’s eyes doubled in size when the arrow entered his side. It was Gryphon’s fault. He’d let the kid come with his mess unit against his better judgment.