Kared's Children - Chapter 6

Damon was becoming frantic. Xeter still was breathing, however lightly. He didn’t want him to die of thirst.

He finally realized there would be only one way to get water into Xeter’s body: he’d have to force it. He filled his mouth with water from the brook nearby and then held the old man’s mouth open, placed his lips against the old man’s lips and opened his mouth. The water drained into Xeter’s mouth. Then Damon blew. The pressure forced the water down Xeter’s throat.

Damon was ecstatic. He did it twice more. From then on, as often as he thought wouldn’t drown the old man, he would force water into the Xeter’s mouth.

It was the only thing he knew to do.

. . .

Like all the others had been, the afternoon of the seventh day was bright, dry and lazy, an afternoon without edges. Damon had continued to wander the small clearing and to think, to force water down the old man’s dry, convulsing throat, to keep him covered, and to monitor Xeter’s rasping breaths. Nothing had changed.

He entered the hut and sat in the chair across from the unmoving healer, as had become his custom, and propped his heels against the edge of the cot. In that position he dozed while the old man’s breath rattled weakly and the insects outside buzzed. He dreamed he was some place else, some place he didn’t know, but where he was safe.

And in that dream, a woman entered the room. She was slender and pale-skinned. Dressed in green and brown, she moved with the grace of a gentle breeze. Her hair was blonde and flat and extended barely to her shoulders. She glanced at Damon, but bent over Xeter and unself-consciously flicked her hair behind an ear as she studied the old man’s face.

Damon awoke with a start and leapt to his feet. A woman was there; she was bending above the healer. Damon yelled and snatched at her arms. She had just begun to turn toward him when he grabbed her. With unexpected quickness and dexterity, she twisted in his hands until she was holding his arms. He wasn’t quite sure how she’d done it, but suddenly she held a blade at his throat, and he was powerless to move.

He struggled, anyway.

"Tss!" Her whisper was filled with venom. "Hold still or I’ll slit you like a jackalope."

Damon struggled harder. The more he squirmed, though, the more tightly his arms became pinned. He felt like a mouse caught within the contractions of a snake.

"Behave," she whispered in his other ear.

He smelled only her arms, the sharp lightness of her sweat.

"Calm down and I’ll let you go."

He was bent above the cot, staring into Xeter’s ancient, wrinkled face. He twisted once more. She let him do it, but he couldn’t break free.

"Who are you?" he muttered.

"Someone who knows better than to attack strangers," she said in a mellow, unthreatened voice.

He tried to squirm again, but felt a blow on the back of his head. "Ow!"

She’d poked him with the hilt of her dagger. "Then stop it!"

He struggled. "Ow!"

She’d poked him again. "If you’ll be nice, I’ll let you rub it. We can play again later."