Nameless (Nameless #1)(5)
“We don’t allow Wolves … Ever.”
No clan could afford to refuse a healer, not even the Ram. But a healer’s little sister? Would they kill her? She forced the thought away and kept searching until every inch of the cavernous room was accounted for.
It didn’t take long to realize that Tess wasn’t among the sour-smelling men asleep on the floor. Zo crawled back to her blanket and hugged her legs to her chest. Resting her head on her knees, she tried to imagine her mother’s arms wrapped around her. Squeezing the despair away and leaving behind a blanket of gray unfeeling. A safe place where the demons of doubt couldn’t find her.
“Your voice. It’s familiar.” The boy’s words sliced through the darkness.
Zo startled at the sound. “Who are you?” she asked, choking on the heavy stench of the room.
“I know who I am,” said the boy. “Who are you?” He spoke with an edge of arrogance uncommon for one so young.
“My name is Zo.” She inched to his side. Her eyes had adjusted enough for her to make out the outline of the boy.
“That is a strange name. You’re a … a Nameless, aren’t you?” he whispered.
Zo reached out to him, gently feeling for the bandage around his waist to confirm her suspicions that he was redheaded boy she’d healed. “How are you feeling?” She pressed her hand to his brow. The boy didn’t flinch beneath her touch, but Zo could sense his unease. Commander Laden told her the Ram didn’t usually trust Nameless slaves as healers.
“But you’re a—”
“Yes, boy. A Nameless saved you.” She did her best to keep the contempt from her voice. The clan wars weren’t his fault.
She split the thin cotton cloth that was her blanket into long strips for new dressing. The boy didn’t make a sound as she rolled him over to change the bandage, though he trembled from pain.
His bravery triggered a memory from Zo’s childhood.
A foreign soldier beaten beyond human recognition. Her clan took him in. His defiant, black eyes followed her as she helped her mother clean, sew, and essentially piece him back together. He never screamed. Never cried to an unseen god for mercy. He had just stared at Zo without ever truly seeing past the thick haze of pain. Suffering in silence.
The boy’s voice brought her back to present. “I might know how to find the girl, but first we need to get out of here.”
“Do you know where we are?” she asked.
A violent shudder ran through his body. Zo tried to cover him with the scraps of her blanket but he pushed them away. “I think we’re in the Waiting Room,” he said.
Zo sat back. “Waiting room?”
The boy rolled onto his knees, fighting back a sob as he struggled to his feet. “A place to wait for death.”
Zo looked around and suddenly understood the stench of decay. Everyone in the Waiting Room was close enough to death that they couldn’t leave on their own. Left to rot and die alone. Zo fought the bile rising up her throat. “Why would they do this to you? You need a clean bed and time to heal.”
“This is a test. I must earn the right to rejoin my people.” He grunted as he gathered his feet to stand. “Prove my strength.”
“You can’t just walk out of here,” she said, “not with that wound in your side.” She grabbed his arm, but he shook her off. “At least let me help you.”
“I have to walk away from my own death.” He took a pained step into the darkness. “No one can do that for me. Not even you, healer.”
Gryphon and his mess had been scouting the rocky terrain outside the Gate for over a week. It was rumored the Raven, a rival clan, had stockpiles of grain hidden somewhere in the mountain range. Food the Ram needed if their crops didn’t produce higher yields than last year.
Food hadn’t always been a problem for the Ram. Several hundred years ago the Ram had fought a major war, forcing other clans out of the most fertile areas in the region. A mighty tiger clearing the vast forest so she could stretch her legs. The wall of Ram’s Gate was built by thousands of captured slaves. Ram military forces defended their lands with absolute aggression. Its people enjoyed full stomachs while lesser clans struggled on the crusts of Ram society.
Over the years, as the greedy fingers of winter stretched longer and the growing season shortened, many of the lesser clans migrated south. Over time, the Ram region, with its exhausted, frozen soils, needed food more than protection. But the traditions of war died hard, and the proud Ram refused to leave the legendary fortifications of Ram’s Gate.
And so the raids began.
The Ram would do whatever it took to get food, even if it meant sentencing lesser clans like the Raven and Kodiak to starvation. Fate favored the assertive. It was just the natural order of things.
Zander held up a fist to call a halt and staked his long spear into the ground. With only twenty years behind him, Gryphon was one of the youngest in the mess company huddled around their leader. Zander stood with quiet confidence, eyeing every man who entered his circle. His gaze penetrated deeper than most. Hands flexing in fists at his sides accentuated the thick bands of muscle along his arms “We’ll cross the gorge in alpha formation. Rotate on my call. Watch for Birds this time.”
Gryphon distractedly adjusted the shield on his back. He buried his mourning for Joshua long enough to raise his head and meet Zander’s stare.