Nameless (Nameless #1)(9)
Zo didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until they left the square. They had to a halt as a pregnant woman with short hair and a long thin nose walked in front of them to cross the cobblestone street. Like most of the Ram who passed, her clothes were made of coarse wool with touches of fur and animal hide. The guards gave her a slight nod of respect. Zo knew from her studies that all pregnant women inside the Gate were revered because of the declining Ram population.
The Ram woman gazed at Zo from the corner of her eye and quickly averted her focus, as if pretending Zo didn’t exist. She raised a hand to her ripe stomach and moved to the other side of the street.
The guards yanked Zo into one of the stone buildings. “In here,” one said, pulling her through a doorway and forcing her into a chair. A clean desk sat vacant across from her. The only light came from a humble fire in the corner of the room.
The guards stood at Zo’s back as the frog-eyed man she assumed was the Gate Master entered, followed by a woman wearing a boiled leather vest and a task whip at her hip. Her hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck making her tiny black eyes all the more severe. “Leave us,” the woman said to the guards.
Commander Laden had prepared Zo for seeing women of power inside the Gate. She never believed a female could inspire such fear until now. The woman settled into her chair and smiled at Zo. “Welcome, child. Our Gate Master tells me you’ve proven yourself as a healer,” she said with nasal sweetness.
Zo was careful to avoid direct eye contact as she nodded. Submission was everything. Laden had been quite clear on that point as well.
“You might guess that we need healers inside the Gate. It is a job left for those too old or unskilled to fight. There is little honor in the occupation, but still, there is a need.” She shuffled through a stack of parchment on her desk. Her spindly fingers moved inhumanly fast, like spider legs working over the body of a recent kill.
“We provide refuge for the women and children of other clans as long as they can contribute to our society. Even young girls like your tiny sister can serve a purpose.”
Zo’s head whipped up. Her fingers curled into claws against the wood of the chair.
The frog-faced Gate Master smiled down from his position next to the woman, showing his rotting teeth.
“You see,” the woman continued, “usually Nameless aren’t allowed near the Medica or surrounding buildings. Even if they have had proper training in the healing arts and blessings, how can we trust them to do everything in their power to keep our warriors healthy?”
Zo’s stomach soured.
“With you, it might be different.” The woman found the paper she’d obviously been looking for and dipped the tip of a black-feathered quill into a jar of ink. The tip scratched along the surface of the paper with wild precision. “I’ve decided to let you work in the Medica and be given food rations, water, a blanket, and a bed.”
Zo sat up in her chair, relieved to finally hear some good news.
“In the mornings your sister will be taken with other Nameless in your assigned barracks to work the fields while you tend to the sick and injured.” The woman looked up and smiled. “She will have to earn her stay too. Every day you prove yourself in the Medica, your sister will live to come back to you that night.”
Despite the heat of the fire, a tremor of chills rolled up Zo’s spine. “P-prove myself?”
The woman set down her quill and rested her clasped hands on the desk, a pleased expression never leaving her face. “As long as no one dies in your care, your sister lives.”
Zo clutched her stomach and scratched away some of the flesh around her thumbnails—a habit she often used to cope with bouts of anxiety.
It offered little relief.
The woman dusted the parchment with fine sand to clear the excess ink and handed them to the Gate Master. She stood up to leave and patted Zo on her head like she was a dog. “Welcome to Ram’s Gate.”
The following days dragged like a grindstone through the mud. After training, Gryphon walked to the Medica to sit with Joshua. The boy usually slept the whole time, giving Gryphon ample time to consider his meeting with Barnabas and the consequences of his mistakes with the Raven boy. He didn’t dare tell anyone—not even Ajax—about the mercy he’d shown. No man wants the world to see his weaknesses.
Gryphon tried to hide a bulge under his shirt as he smuggled his contraband past the Medica workers. He found Joshua staring blankly at a bare wall in a room with six empty beds.
The redheaded boy jumped when Gryphon entered.
“Slow down, kid. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
Wincing, Joshua settled back into his pillow. “I smell food. Please, please tell me you have food.” They both looked at the door, making sure no one heard him.
Gryphon eased onto the bed next to Joshua like an old man. After the last excursion, Zander had put the mess through a grueling series of workouts. “Is that healer still not letting you eat?” Gryphon half groaned as he tried to relax his tight muscles.
“She’s a monster. I’d rather take another arrow than force down more salty beet and barley soup.” Joshua’s shoulders sank with the burden of feeling sorry for himself. “Look at me.” He flexed his biceps. “How am I going to get big like you without any protein. A man needs his meat.”