“Who can say,” the Liam tucked the vial away.“Except that blood is life.And as she lives, perhaps the blood flows.”
“You think she can speak of the Warborn?”Jillia asked.
“Vren told us that he was given the memories by Queen Kara.If Dust was with him, if the magic works for her,” the Liam shrugged.“That is my hope.”He turned to survey the rest of the room.“What of the others?”
Scattered about, on heaps of bedding or straw, were all the creatures that they had found lying around Dust’s human form.Muzzled and hobbled, they all lay in a stupor.
The Marcusi and the Vore of Athelbryght had forged connections over the years, brought together when one of the Chosen had married into the Blood of Xy.The Liams had always understood that the vore were magical constructs, created through blood magic.But it was one thing to know and another to see for oneself.
The bear was understandable, as was the wolf.A feline of a type that the Liam didn’t recognize; an owl, not that vore could fly.He assumed it had something to do with vision.He didn’t understand the flat-tail, but those creatures with their dams of wood and mud were persistent and determined.
But the one that seemed like a deer, but so much larger, with horns that were flat and wide and reminded him of the old pictures of ehats, that had been a shock.It had taken six of the strongest to bring it within the lodge, and its antlers had scraped the walls as it was carried.But none of them could be left in the Wastes as they were, easy prey for the taking.
Now they all lay sprawled, unmoving and unknowing, just barely breathing, the same as Dust.It was…disturbing.Unsettling.The Liam gazed around the room, then looked at Jillia.“Are they well?”
Jillia glared.“As well as can be expected, given that any injuries would be outside my skill.”She paused.“Have you noticed?”she asked.“They breathe in unison with Dust.”
He hadn’t noticed, but he did now.“Skies help us if one wakes before she does.”
“I’ve no fear of that.”Jillia grimaced.“They breathe, but do not eat or drink or shit or pee, and I’ve noticed that their throats move when I give water to Dust.They seem suspended, somehow.No injuries that I can see or feel.Not that I would know how to care for them if they were hurt.”
Her worry was reflected in her tone and eyes.The Liam nudged her with his shoulder.“Always good to stretch yourself against the challenges the elements send us.”
That earned him a glare and a poke in the ribs from his old tentmate, one of the few that remained.
“Why don’t you go off and be the Liam and leave me to do my tasks.”Jillia growled.“Or do you plan to supervise?”The glitter in her eyes made it clear what would happen if he tried.
Healers.The Liam lifted his hands in mock surrender.
Worry returned to Jillia’s face.“Our people do not thrive, Oskander.”
The shock of his old name made him pause.
“And that is my challenge,” he said, bowing his head to her truth.Then he straightened and smiled.“Send word if there is a change.”
At her nod, he turned and walked out, starting to weave his way through the various tunnels, absently greeting his people as he went.Night had fallen, so they prepared to hunt, to gather, to bring water back.He stepped to the side, letting them pass as they went about their chores.
At the lodge entrance, he passed through the series of hanging hides.The ramp to the surface was still warm from the heat of the sun.The Liam paused to talk to the posted guard.An older warrior, crippled with the bone ache but well able to sit, watch, and give warning.
“The Singer?”he asked.
The guard nodded out the doorway.“Said she would be out watching the Heart this night, from the highest rise, the one to the south.”
“I will be there as well, should any need,” the Liam said, and ascended the ramp.
The night air was cooling, the sun almost set past the horizon.The stars were just starting to appear.Various groups of marcusi were vanishing in the distance.The Liam started to walk, the familiar crunch of the sand and rock under his shoes.
His people had been scratching a living from the Wastes for generations.The Plains of the past were gone, swept bare when the elements had lashed out during the Betrayal.He couldn’t imagine the land of the stories, a land of green grasses, flowing water, and herds and plants enough to feed the People.He’d seen the pictures, all through the lodges of old, heard the tales, listened to the songs, but he didn’t believe.
And all his hope had died with Vren.
He kept walking through the dried brush, avoiding the sticker plants and the worst of the rock.There’d been deaths before, losses.But this one hit hard, bit deep, and he wasn’t sure why.The weight of it all was burning his shoulders like the sun at its height.
Even at this distance from the Heart, he felt the heat on his face and the scent of sulfur in the air.He walked on, listening to the soft sounds of the Wastes stirring around him.
The Singer sat on a blanket, her face glistening in the glow of the setting sun and the molten lava.She grunted as he sat, shifting to make more room for him, but said nothing.
The Liam took a breath as a breeze carried a wave of heat into his face and made his eyes water.From here, he had a good view of the Heart and could watch the molten rock spurt and flow, black rock and red lava ever churning in a roiling boil.The heat, the burning redness, felt like the earth’s sullen anger and pain made manifest.
