Chapter 38: Change of Plans

   She tried to kill me. Tarek knew that he should focus on the raging waters sweeping them out of the Kuruk village, but his mind wouldn’t obey. She saw me and she pulled another arrow. Yaretzi had always been a better archer than him, courtesy of a long-dead father who trained her from childhood, but he’d never dreamed she’d point an arrow in his direction. Did the tribe turn her against me? Was she lying before? Does she want me dead? He wanted to jump out of the river and march back up to her, demanding answers, but now he feared he’d never see her again.

   His lungs screamed for air. He’d kept all three of them as deep in the rushing Guriya as he could manage in the hopes that they’d outpace any pursuit, but too long underwater was just as bad as exposing themselves to arrows on the surface. He tightened his grip on the others, kicking for the surface. His face breached the water, and he gasped in sweet air. Tavi coughed and sputtered beside him. Bachi made no noise at all.

            He let go of Tavi. A quick swipe to clear his eyes showed him that they were already in the outskirts of the village, the river broadening as it cleared the stone-bound confines of the Kuruk streets. They swept past a group of women washing clothes in a shallow eddy, and the women squawked and pointed, yelling that some boys had fallen in the river. Looking upstream, Tarek could see runners with bows, but they were well out of reach and falling farther behind by the heartbeat.

             Looking to Bachi, he saw the boy’s round face pale, his mustache thin and dark against bloodless lips. His eyes were closed, and he couldn’t tell if he was breathing. The arrow jutting from his neck offended Tarek, but he didn’t dare pull it free yet. This is my fault. Please be alive. Ones Beneath, how could she shoot him?

            Tarek looked ahead and saw turbulent waters. “Help me hold him up,” he said to Tavi, who swam nearby. “We have to keep him away from the rocks.”

            They hoisted Bachi’s limp body between them, keeping his face clear of the water, trying their best not to bump or brush against the protruding arrow. That got harder as the river gushed past a series of huge boulders that swirled the water in strange ways, sometimes speeding them past and other times sucking them under in whirling eddies. Tarek pushed against them with his feet, free hand, and shoulders, and soon had bruises all over his feet and shins and deep scrapes on his back. Bachi went under and resurfaced without complaint, and Tarek wondered if they were expending their energy on a corpse. He couldn’t feel anything through their touch, but that didn’t necessarily mean much – he’d touched people every day of his life before he knew his blood magic had an effect through skin contact, and he’d hardly ever noticed anyone’s emotions unless they were obvious.

            They were well into the forest now, and Tarek pointed to a large rock well downstream that sloped up out of the water on the eastern shore. “There. Let’s get out there.”

            Tavi nodded. The sun would dry the rock faster than dirt, and they didn’t want anyone following to know where – or if – they’d exited the water. They wrestled their way through the strong current toward the shore, and Tarek was grateful that the Guriya was nowhere near as wide here as the Ix had been in Catori lands. It was difficult and tiring rolling Bachi up onto the rock, but together the brothers managed. Hauling himself free of the water, Tarek scooped Bachi up in his arms and stood.

            “We have to get away from the river. Once we’re out of sight and the rock dries after us, no one will know we’re nearby.”

            “What about Pahtl and Zulimaya?” Tavi asked, following at his heels as Tarek loped into the underbrush.

            “Pahtl’s coming this way already,” Tarek said, jerking his chin to the southeast. “I can feel him getting closer. He’ll have Zuli with him.”

            “Is Bachi dead?”

            “I don’t know, but it’s not safe to stop yet.”

            They scurried away from the river as quickly as they could, retreating to the thickest part of the forest they could find. It was less than half a fingerspan before Tarek set Bachi down amid a crowded copse of white-barked trees that shielded them from view. Part of him itched to keep going, but the other part of him needed to know if his friend still lived.

            “Can you take the arrow out?” Tavi whispered, leaning over his shoulder.

            “Not yet,” Tarek said. “Not until we know we’re ready. My blood heals, but he’ll start gushing the moment we pull it out. We cut me first, pull the arrow, and then hope the flesh closes before he loses too much more blood.”

            He doffed his shirt and handed it to Tavi. “Tear a couple of strips to stanch the bleeding.” He pulled the knife from his belt and prepared to cut himself.

            “Was that Yaretzi?” Tavi asked, his voice small.

            Tarek paused. “Yes. Now hold tight on that arrow, and when I say so, snap off the head and pull it out.”

            Tavi knelt above Bachi’s head, one knee by each ear, took hold of the arrow, and paused. “You don’t have your mask.”

            Tarek bit back a curse. “We can’t wait for Pahtl.”

            “If we don’t, you’ll just end up killing him anyway!”

            “So the fat boy dies,” said a reedy voice. “Would that be the worst thing?”

            Tarek was on his feet in a heartbat, ready to lunge. Xochil leaned against a tree and lazily put up his hands.

            “Oh no, please don’t stick a knife in my illusion.”

            “Xochil,” Tarek said, lowering his knife. “Is there some way to keep myself from losing control when I smell blood?”

            The old man stroked his beard. “Practice. Years of practice.”

            Tarek gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to throw his knife at the insufferable hermit. “Something I can do now.”

            Xochil sucked at his teeth and looked at Bachi doubtfully. “Why would you pull that arrow out? Not that I’m opposed, mind you, but it’ll kill him quickly.”

            “Once the arrow is out, I can heal him.”

            “No,” Xochil said flatly. “If you’re going to waste your blood on healing, save it for someone that matters.”

            Tarek knelt by Bachi again. “If you’re not going to help, stay quiet.”

            “A drop of your blood is worth kingdoms, do you realize that? He’s nothing!”

            “He’s my friend!”

            Xochil pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Moon Mother Shaka, save me from emotional morons.”

            Tarek nodded at Tavi. “Do it.”

            He hesitated. “But the blood hunger–”

            “Please!” Tarek shouted. “He’ll die.”

            Tavi looked around desperately, then the light went on in his eyes. “I have an idea. Don’t hit me when I move.”

            Tarek was too focused on Bachi to bother asking what he planned. “Now. Do it now.”

            “Fools,” Xochil sighed.

            Tavi reached down and deftly broke the shaft of the arrow. Tarek sliced the pad of his forefinger, wincing against the hot bite, and closed his eyes, not wanting to see Bachi’s blood. It won’t help; it’s the smell. But I have to try!

            He heard the schlick sound of the arrow pulling free of Bachi’s neck, and the sharp tang of blood assaulted him. Before he could so much as whimper, he heard Tavi scuffling in the dirt, and a hand closed over Tarek’s nose, clamping the wet strip of shirt against him. He breathed in reflexively, and the familiar smells of both himself and Tavi filled his lungs. The blood was still there, and it still called him, but with his eyes shut and the smell of home before him, he could resist.

            He reached forward, feeling blindly across Bachi’s chest and neck to the spot where hot blood pumped sluggishly from a circular hole. With his lacerated finger he pressed against the hole as if plugging it. Immediately the warm, oily flow lessened, and he massaged the flesh with his throbbing finger, feeling the flesh firm up and close beneath his touch. As soon as the skin was whole, he moved to the other side of Bachi’s neck, repeating the process. It was done in fifteen heartbeats. With his uninjured hand resting on the boy’s chest, he thought he could feel the slow rise of a breath.

            “I’m going to stand,” he warned Tavi. They rose together, his brother’s hand still cupped over Tarek’s nose. He backed away from Bachi, breathing shallowly and moving slowly. He held his wounded hand well out from himself, knowing it was covered in Bachi’s blood.

            “I need water,” he said.

            “Uh,” Tavi replied. “We could walk back to the river.”

            “Too far,” he said. “Not safe. They could find us.”

            “Oh, just lick your hand and be done with it already,” Xochil said irritably.

            Tarek ignored him. “Don’t you have a water skin?” he asked his brother.

            “Lost it in the river,” Tavi said.

            “Here,” came a new voice. It was Zulimaya, approaching from the west. “I have one.”

            “So much blood,” Pahtl said, bounding up. “How is the fat one not dead?”

            Tarek reached out blindly with his free hand, and a leather skin appeared in it.

            “Good timing,” he said, pulling the stopper and dousing his hand and forearm.

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            “Where did you find a redhead?” Xochil asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

            “Who is this man?” Zulimaya said.

            “Xochil,” Tarek answered. “Long story.” He scrubbed his hand and forearm before rinsing them with the last of the water. Risking a glance, he saw his hands were clean, though his fingertip still dripped blood. He nodded to Tavi, who cautiously took his hand away from Tarek’s face. Tarek breathed freely. He couldn’t smell Bachi’s blood from the twenty paces they stood distant, and he relaxed.

            “I felt him breathe,” he told the others. “I think he’ll survive.”

            “Jubilations,” Xochil said.

            Zulimaya’s face darkened. “Speak again and I will beat you.”

            “He has magic,” Tarek warned. “And he’s meaner than you.”

            “Finally, some wisdom from the great one,” Xochil said.

            Tarek turned to the old man, but before he could formulate a reply, a thought occurred to him. “Tavi, you have the bag with the cloths, right?”

            Tavi pulled it around to his front, untying the flap and checking inside. “A little water got in, but the cloths are fine.”

            Tarek felt a mighty surge of triumph. “We have the blood,” Tarek told Xochil. “All twelve chiefs.”

            Xochil raised his eyebrows and stroked his beard. “Have you now? How many did you drink from?”

“None!”

Xochil huffed and shook his head. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able.”

            “It’s still more than a fortnight until the equinox,” Tarek said. “Can you cure me? Now?” Maybe I can sneak back and explain to Yar. Wake her at night when she doesn’t have a weapon. She’ll listen. Won’t she?

            Xochil rubbed his bald head. “I said I would. But I can’t do it now; I’m not actually here in the flesh. You’ll have to come meet me.”

            Tarek’s heart sank. “We can’t make it all the way back to Yura lands by the equinox!”

            “Wouldn’t do any good even if you could. I’m not there. I’m in the north.”

            “You’re not at home?”

            “I don’t just sit around and knit, waiting for you,” he said testily. “As it happens, I’m in a place of even more power than my own home. An old place. It’s perfect for what we need. Go north and meet me. Take the lowest pass through the mountains and I’ll find you when you get close. You’ll have to go fast to arrive by the equinox.”

            A weak cough sounded from the far side of the copse. Bachi was struggling to sit up. Tavi and Pahtl rushed to the boy, and Zulimaya wasn’t far behind. Tarek stayed where he was, not daring to approach his friend while he was still soaked in his own blood.

            “Are you all right?” Tarek called to him.

            Bachi nodded unsteadily and tried to speak, but immediately grabbed at his throat and grimaced in pain. He coughed, and fresh blood dribbled from his lips. A look of panic spread on his face, and he opened his mouth again. No sound came out.

            “Oh no,” Tarek murmured.

            “Don’t try to talk,” Tavi said.

            “I didn’t think about wounds inside,” Tarek said. “Maybe if I dripped some blood down his throat–”

            “Try it and I’ll kill him right now,” Xochil said. “You ask for knowledge and when I give it, you ignore me! I am telling you: you must not let others taste your blood. It’s vitally important.”

            Tarek thought of Kanga and said nothing.

            “Ahhh, you’re just going to wait until I leave. Stubborn boy! If that walking waste of flesh is able to speak when you arrive in the north, I’ll know you’ve given him blood, and I’ll murder him and all the rest of these fools right in front of you. Do you understand me?”

            “Why is my blood so important?” Tarek asked bitterly.

            “Come to the north and you’ll find out. No more games or running about; I’ll answer any question you ask. Just get here. Bring your pets if you must. It’s time to be done with all this.”

            Tarek stared at the old man, a dozen complaints and frustrations on his lips, none of which he could put into words. “I wish there were anyone else but you,” he finally said.

            Xochil’s lips twisted. “You’re not the first one to say it. A fortnight. Be there.” He shook a finger at him. “And no more healing!”

            He vanished.

            Tarek sighed. He turned to Bachi, who looked pained and morose. Dirt and blood stained his clothes. Tarek sat down where he was, not trusting himself to get any closer. “I’m sorry, Bachi, but your throat will have to heal on its own. If I let you drink my blood bad things will happen. Or so I’m told.”

            He put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry for everything. It’s my fault, all of it.”

            Leaves crunched underfoot, and he saw Zulimaya’s pale feet stop in front of him. “Did you wound him?”

            “I might as well have.”

            “Did you hold the bow?”

            “No.”

            “Then stop. You cannot control what others do.”

            “I know, but –”

            A hard hand caught him on the side of his head. He fell sideways, gasping and holding his ringing ear. “What’s wrong with you?”

            She towered over him, impassive and stern. “This is what the Shinsok do when their children whine. Act like a child and I will treat you like one.”

            He gaped at her, but she ignored him and strode back over to Tavi and Bachi, both of whom were watching with wide eyes. She squatted beside Bachi, and he edged away from her a little.

            Pahtl approached and slung the front half of his body into Tarek’s lap. “She is right.”

            “You don’t have to hit people when you’re right,” Tarek grumbled.

            “No, but it looked fun. I wish I had long arms for hitting.”

            Tarek slumped, hugging the otter. “She hates me, Pahtl.”

            “No. If she hated you, she would have used a stick.”

            “Not her. Yaretzi. The one who should have been my mate. I saw her, and she…” He trailed off, seeing her face again in his mind.

            Pahtl nuzzled closer. “Shh. We are safe. The fat one will not die. This is enough. Do not worry about the other until you can do something about it.”

             Tarek stroked the otter and wished to absent gods he could follow that advice.

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