Shadows Return

CHAPTER 42 Sebrahn Stirs

THEY STAYED AT the barn until nightfall. By the time they set out again, striking south by the stars, the rhekaro’s hair was halfway down its back again.

“I told you,” said Alec, as he braided it and tucked it under the head rag he’d fashioned for it. He was wearing his, too, and Seregil decided that they didn’t do much good. No one was going to mistake either of them-or him either, probably-for a Plenimaran, unless they tried dressing as women. And that wouldn’t work, either. Even if they did manage to steal the proper clothing, none of them could pass as the male protector no proper Plenimaran woman would be without. Since there was no help for that, they’d just have to make do with trying to stay as far as possible from any locals.

Ilar was even more sullen now, opening his mouth only to complain. The others ignored him, scanning the moonlit landscape for signs of trouble.

The land grew drier and more desolate as they went and Seregil began to worry about his travel estimations. Their water was nearly gone and so was the food. It was colder tonight, with a hint of frost in the air. Walking kept them warm but left them thirsty. To spare Alec’s strength, Seregil took turns carrying the rhekaro. It weighed very little and hung in its sling without wiggling or any sign of discomfort. Several times, though, Seregil felt it touching his hair with its cold little fingers. It was a disconcerting feeling, but it occurred to him that if the rhekaro could learn, then perhaps it could be curious, as well, and wondering at the fact that Seregil’s hair was a different color than Alec’s. He also noticed that whenever they stopped to rest, regardless of who had been carrying it, it always went to Alec’s side.

A child of no woman, Seregil thought again. And the oracle claimed it was a blessing. His mind and heart both rebelled at such a thought; how could this unnatural thing be a blessing?

And yet, it had healed Ilar’s lip.

The days grew steadily colder, and the wind never dropped. The further south Alec led them, the rougher the way became and he couldn’t seem to find a way that was easier.

As far as the eye could see, the land fell steadily to the south. The ever-present wind cut deeply, sculpting the landscape into strange shapes and deep canyons they had to scramble around. It was slow going, and all of them suffered a fall or two. Alec found a small spring that night, but no food. When dawn came, they slept huddled in the shade of an outcropping, with Seregil and Alec trading short watches. Exhausted and a bit feverish, Ilar slept fitfully.

It was a miserable time, and made more so when Alec was forced to rely on Ilar for warmth while Seregil was walking about on watch. He wasn’t certain which was worse: having to be so close to the man or seeing Seregil with him like that when Alec was on watch. It was some comfort that Seregil didn’t appear to be enjoying the situation any more than he was, so Alec kept his bitter thoughts to himself, hating the whispers of jealousy at the back of his mind.

When it was his turn to rest, he had no choice but to sit close beside Ilar, with Sebrahn, who never showed any sign of being cold, on his lap. Unlike Ilar, the child gave off no more heat than a newt, but it was still good to have the weight of another body against his-one that he didn’t detest, anyway.

“Keep still,” he snarled as Ilar shifted around, trying to get comfortable on the stony ground.

“I’m helping you stay alive. If you were out here alone, you’d die.”

“I’ve managed before,” Alec muttered. “Don’t talk to me.”

“How long are you going to hate me?”

Alec rested his cheek against Sebrahn’s cool hair. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“I know how it all looks to you, the way things were at Yhakobin’s, but what choice do you think I had? The man owned me, body and soul. My life was in his hands.”

“And your comfort,” Alec reminded him. “The way I heard it, you had an easy life there. If it wasn’t for Seregil escaping, you’d still be there, wouldn’t you, Ilban’s pet slave?”

Ilar sighed. “You’re right. I would be. But I don’t hold that against Seregil. How could I, after what I did to him, and to you?” He gestured out at the barren, broken land around them. “If not for your mercy, I’d be dead or in the hands of another cruel master. If not for your forbearance, I wouldn’t be sitting here now, a free man.” He looked sidelong at Alec and smiled. “Well, almost free. Do you really think we’ll get away?”

“We always do.”

“I’ve heard a bit of your adventures. A kinsman of Vargûl Ashnazai is a good friend with Il-with Yhakobin. Is it true that you were the one who killed him?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So you’re a reluctant killer, too? Did Seregil teach you that as well?”

“We’re not assassins, just nightrunners.” Alec left unsaid the fact that before he’d taken up with Seregil, he’d never killed anyone.

“There’s a difference?”

“For those who know,” Alec replied, teeth chattering in spite of the cloak he had pulled over him and Sebrahn.

Ilar shifted this way and that, then leaned closer, pressing against his side. Alec bristled at that, but there was no denying that it was warmer that way. He was too tired and too cold to argue the matter right now. His eyelids felt heavy as books.

Ilar was still talking softly when he fell asleep.

Seregil’s eyes burned from staring into the distance. He longed for the cover of night and the feel of his feet eating up the distance that separated them from freedom with every pace.

The others were sheltered between two large boulders. As he passed, he heard the murmur of voices, and guessed that Alec was not enjoying the situation much. When he passed again later, however, he saw that he was fast asleep against Ilar’s shoulder. The other man was awake, and nodded slightly, acknowledging Seregil’s presence.

Seregil wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. But at least Alec wasn’t going to die of a chill.

When his own watch ended and he woke them, Alec looked surprised and none too pleased at his own position. Standing up unsteadily with the rhekaro in his arms, he glared down at Ilar for a second, then walked stiffly away.

“You should leave Sebrahn with me,” Seregil offered. “You’re going to end up a hunchback, lugging it-him-around all the time.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Alec replied, preparing to nick another fingertip; they were all red and stippled with scabs now, except for his thumbs, and looked sore.

“I wonder if he could heal those for you?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Seregil walked over to him. From here Ilar was hidden in the lee of the rocks. “Talí, talk to me.”

Alec gave him a weary look. “I told you, I’m fine. I just wish we trusted Ilar enough for him to take a watch now and then. But I don’t, and now you have to go sleep with him.”

“I won’t enjoy it, I promise.”

“I know. Go on. You look like hell.”

“So do you, love. Just keep thinking of the baths in Gedre. That’s what keeps me going these days.”

That actually won him a laugh. “I believe it. Micum always says you could go through fire and ice and shit without a complaint, but deny you a hot bath at the end of it, and-”

“Yes, yes, I know the rest.” Seregil gave him a mock scowl and went to join Ilar.

That night’s march was a bit better. They began to see a few big-eared rabbits, and some other small, furry nocturnal creature that would do in a pinch. Alec went off on his own, armed with nothing but a makeshift sling and a handful of pebbles, and came back with two conies and a long snake.

“That’s a rock adder. Is it safe to eat?” Ilar asked, disgusted.

“So long as you chop off the first third or so, that gets rid of the poison sacs,” Alec explained, doing exactly that and tossing the head away. “Do we dare make a fire?”

“My belly says yes,” Seregil said.

Cobbling together a tiny fire from what brush there was, they cooked the meat and the coney livers until they were black on the outside, and mostly raw inside, but warmed through. When it was done, Seregil sliced it all up in three equal parts and doled out a few sips of water.

“Meat!” Alec laughed, ripping a mouthful off a leg bone with his teeth. “By the Four, Yhakobin was stingy with that. How about you?”

“My master was kinder,” Seregil said with a smirk, plucking the tiny bones from a chunk of snake meat. “I got a bit now and then.”

Ilar took a tentative bite of underdone rabbit. He gagged on it at once and spat it out.

“Don’t go wasting that,” Alec warned. “Those were hard to come by, and we may not get any more for a while.”

“It’s dreadful!”

“Better than starving, though,” Seregil told him, chewing happily. He passed Ilar his portion of the coney liver. “Here, try this.”

The man nibbled hesitantly at the dark morsel, then ate the rest. “That isn’t quite as bad.” He cast a longing glance at Alec’s portion.

Alec popped his into his mouth and chewed loudly. “Mmmm. Delicious!”

When their scant meal was over Alec stamped out the fire and buried the remains of it and the bones. Then, still hungry and thirstier than ever, they continued on.

A few hours before dawn, Seregil was carrying Sebrahn when the rhekaro suddenly grew restless, squirming in his sling and clutching at Seregil’s shoulders.

Seregil put him down, in no mood for any complications.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, Sebrahn clasped Alec’s hand and tried to pull him in a more easterly direction, heedless of the stony ground on his bare feet. It was the first time Seregil had seen the rhekaro show this much initiative.

“What do you think he wants?” he asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

“I don’t know. He’s never done this before.”

Seregil turned to Ilar. “Do you have any ideas about this?”

Ilar looked baffled, too. “No.”

“Well then, I guess we’ll have to follow him.”

Set loose, Sebrahn tugged at Alec’s arm like a dog on a leash and he led them down into a deep gully Alec had been trying to avoid. Tough little plants lined a dry creek bed at the bottom. Alec sniffed the air, then plucked a sprig and nibbled carefully at one thin leaf.

“I thought so! This is teawort. Chew it, and it will keep your mouth wet.”

It tasted a bit like pine, a bit like rosemary, and made the spit well under their tongues, making the dry air easier to bear as they hoarded the last of their water.

But Sebrahn didn’t let them stop for long. Taking Alec’s hand again, he continued on to where the gully let out onto a small valley.

“Well, look at that!” Seregil exclaimed. Less than a mile on, they saw the warm, square glow of firelight through a window.

As they came closer, they could make out the shape of a low stone cottage ringed with a stone enclosure. The wind carried the scent of water, and goats.

“How could he have known that was there?” wondered Alec.

Seregil gave the rhekaro a grudging smile. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s part divining rod.”

They approached the place with caution, but all was silent.

“Doesn’t anyone in Plenimar keep dogs?” whispered Alec.

“They’re considered dirty creatures here, good only for coursing, and for fighting,” Ilar explained.

“Fighting what?” asked Alec.

“Each other, or slaves.”

“Let’s hope they don’t keep that kind here,” said Seregil. “Ilar, keep quiet and follow our lead.”

Skirting the house, they stole a few knobby turnips from a rocky garden patch and discovered a large, strong-smelling cheese in a covered bucket let down the well to stay cool. They pulled up the water bucket and drank thirstily, slaking their dry throats.

Alec wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then looked around in alarm. “Where’s Sebrahn?”

The rhekaro had stayed right beside him, as always. Now he was nowhere to be seen.

“Shit!” Seregil pointed toward the house, where the front door now stood open, letting out a long bar of firelight. “Ilar, stay here. Alec, let’s go fetch your-him.”

They stole up to the open door and peered inside.

The house was a humble one, just a single room, with stretched skins on the walls and chunks of dried meat hung from the rafters. Apart from a few crude stools, there were no furnishings, and it appeared that the family had been asleep on pallets on the floor. Now a man and his wife and several small girls were sitting up among their blankets, staring in terror at Sebrahn.

The rhekaro was kneeling beside the only occupied pallet. His headcloth had come off and his long hair fell in tangled disarray down his back. The ruddy light of the fire made it look more blond than white and lent his face a little color, but there was no mistaking his strangeness. The man made a sign against evil with two fingers and muttered the word “urgha,” thinking the rhekaro was a demon or ghost.

A gaunt young woman lay on the pallet in front of Sebrahn. Seregil could hear her labored breathing from here, and smell the sickly-sweet odor of diseased flesh.

As he and Alec watched, Sebrahn pulled the lower end of a tattered blanket away, exposing a foot that was dark and grossly swollen.

“He wants to heal her, like he did Ilar’s lip,” Alec whispered, moving for the door.

Seregil grabbed him by the arm and signed, Stay here. Keep watch. I’ll do the talking. Making sure his sleeves were well pulled down to hide the slave brand, he stepped inside, hands raised to show he meant no harm.

“Who are you?” the man demanded in thickly accented Plenimaran as his wife hastily turned away and covered her head with a shawl. He had the curly hair and swarthy skin that spoke of mixed blood, probably Zengati. The little girls had curly hair, too, but were fair-skinned.

“Just a wayfarer,” Seregil replied, knowing his own Plenimaran spoke of western cities. “We were so glad to see your light. I’m sorry if my companion there has troubled you, but he’s a healer.”

“That pale little thing?” the man growled. “What does he care about my daughter? How did you come here?”

“We were lost, up in the highlands.”

The man remained suspicious, but Seregil pressed on. “My little friend here smells disease and follows it like a hound.” Actually, he suspected that wasn’t much of a lie. “If you’ll allow it, I think he can make her well.”

The man started to object, but his wife muttered something low and urgent and he softened as he looked over at the dying girl. “Well, I don’t suppose he could do her much harm as she is.”

“What happened to her?”

“Rock adder bit her last night as she was bringing in the flock. She screamed most of the night, ’til she wore out. If your little fellow can help her, or give her an easy passing, you can ask of us what you will.”

“I need a cup of water.”

“She can’t take none.”

“I know, but he needs it for the healing.”

One of the little girls hurried to dip a cracked bowl in a bucket. Seregil took it with a reassuring smile and set it down beside Sebrahn.

“Give me your hand,” he whispered, drawing his poniard.

The rhekaro immediately shrank back from him, eyes fixed on the long pointed blade.

“What are you playing at?” the man demanded, reaching for a cudgel on the floor beside him.

Alec came in and went to Sebrahn. “Let me do it.”

The woman peered at them from the folds of her shawl and let out a trembling cry. She uncovered her head and turned her face to the firelight.

“You’re Aurënfaie,” Seregil said, in that language. Worn and hollow-eyed from hard living, she still had the fine features of his kind. She also had a large bruise under one eye.

“I was,” she whispered. “I thought you must be, and now I see the boy.” She held out her right forearm, showing them an elaborate, flower-shaped brand mark there, as well as bruises left by rough, large fingers. “I’m a freedwoman. This is my man, Karstus. I’m Tiel. Please, can you really help my girl?”

“I hope so.” Alec pricked the rhekaro’s finger and let several drops fall into the bowl. Two dark blue flowers floated up. When Sebrahn placed them on the affected foot, they both disappeared as soon as they touched the hot, discolored flesh. He held his finger over the bowl again and made another. This one he placed on her mouth, where the same thing happened, but this time her eyes opened and she looked up at him in sleepy confusion. “Where’s Mama?”

Her mother let out a happy sob and crawled over to take her daughter’s hand.

But Sebrahn was still busy, making more flowers and putting them on the girl’s foot and leg. A sweet fragrance filled the air as, one by one, they disappeared.

Ilar crept in and knelt just inside the door, making the husband a humble bow.

“How many of you are there?” Karstus growled, suspicious again.

“That’s all of us,” Seregil replied, shooting Ilar a dark look.

“Oh, look!” Tiel exclaimed, with no eyes for anyone but her daughter. The swelling was already noticeably lessened, and the angry red streaks that had extended up her shin were fading. “Oh, thank Aura.”

“Don’t cry, Mama. It doesn’t hurt so much now,” the girl said.

“By the Flame,” her father grunted, gripping the cudgel in both hands now. “What sort of sorcery is this?”

“What’s he saying? Why is he still angry?” Alec whispered.

“Stay calm,” Seregil told him quietly. Then, to the man, “It’s a healing, that’s all. See? Your girl is better. She’ll be up tending the goats for you before the next full moon.”

“That may be, but I still don’t like the look of your little one, there. I’ve never seen a natural child do such things, or look like that. He’s a demon, sure enough. How do I know you’re not a pack of necromancers, come for my soul?”

Seregil held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “No, we’re not. I swear it by Sakor.”

“What does it matter what they are? He healed our Saria!” his wife cried, clinging to her daughter’s hand. The younger girls had retreated to a corner and were clinging to each other there, watching Seregil and their father with wide, frightened eyes.

“What now?” Alec murmured, staying close to Sebrahn; he didn’t have to understand the words being spoken to tell that the situation was going sour.

“Let me handle it,” Seregil muttered back in Skalan. “Master Karstus, we’ve done you a good turn tonight, and we ask nothing in return but a scrap of food and some directions. We’re making for the coast.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s how it is, is it? If I was to look at your right arm, what would I see, eh?”

Seregil glanced at the bruised and fearful wife. “You were a slaver yourself?”

“Never!” Karstus pushed back his right sleeve and showed Seregil a large double brand, gone white with age. Then he shifted on his pallet and stuck out his left leg. It was just a stump. “I was born to slavery, me, and kept until I was no use anymore. I found my woman starving on the road after her kind master freed her and turned her out with nothing.” He pushed himself up on his good leg with the help of the cudgel. “Do you think you’re the first escaped slaves to break for the Strait?”

Seregil looked sharply over his shoulder at Ilar. “Did you know?”

“No, I swear it.”

“For what that’s worth,” Alec muttered.

“How far is it to the coast?” Seregil asked the man.

“Two or three days, maybe.”

“Any towns?”

“Just steadings like this one, far as I know. Goats are the only things that thrive out here. Goats and freedmen.”

Seregil retrieved his bundle from Ilar and took out a few pieces of the silver jewelry he’d found in the attic, and one of the little gold lockets. “If slavers come by here, will this be enough to make certain you never saw us?”

“That sword of yours is enough,” Karstus replied, scowling.

Seregil tossed the trinkets on the closest pallet. “For your girls, then. And any advice you’d give.”

“Due south should bring you to the coast. There’s a little port along there somewhere, called Vostaz. Slave takers’ll be thickest there. South and west will get you to the ocean in three days or four, maybe. There are some fishing villages ’round there. If you’re handy at stealing and sailing, you might get off. The takers’ll be watching there, too, but there’s less of ’em.”

“Is there no better way?” Ilar demanded.

“Not for any purebloods like you two, or that yellow-haired boy. Or that.” He made another sign at Sebrahn.

Seregil held out his branded arm. “Do you know anyone who can fix this?”

Karstus shook his head. “There ain’t enough money in that pack of yours to buy that of anyone in this part of the world. We’ve seen too many drawn and quartered who tried.”

His wife leaned close and whispered in his ear. He scowled at her, then shook his head. “Do what you will, woman!”

Tiel went to the makeshift kitchen at the back of the room and placed a loaf of coarse bread and some sausages into a clean rag.

Alec went to her and held out the cheese they’d stolen. “I’m sorry we took this without asking.”

But she only raised an eyebrow at him, then cut half and added it to the bundle. Knotting it, she put it in Alec’s hands. “We’ve enough to spare, brothers. Thank you for saving my daughter. I’ll always be grateful, and so will she.”

“What clan are you, sister?” asked Seregil.

“Akhendi.”

“I know the khirnari there. Can I bring any word to your people?”

She gave him a sad smile and shook her head. “Tell them that Tiel ä Elasi is dead.”

Her words haunted them as they set out again.

“They’re so poor. I feel guilty, taking their food,” Alec said, though the smoky aroma of the goat sausage in Seregil’s bundle was already making all of them hungry.

“We gave them back their daughter,” Seregil said with a shrug.

“And you think that will make any difference if the slave takers come pounding on their door?” Ilar scoffed. “There’s always a bounty, you know, as well as swift retribution for those who aid runaways.”

“Then it would be better for them to keep their mouths shut, wouldn’t it?” said Alec.

Seregil looked over at Sebrahn, riding placidly on Alec’s back again. “This rhekaro scared them both, even after he healed the girl, and he’s too strange to forget. That might make it worth their while.”

“You should have killed them, then,” Ilar muttered.

“Aren’t you the bloodthirsty one, these days?”

“Oh, how that wounds me, coming from you!”

“I only kill when I have to. I don’t enjoy it.” He gave Ilar a dark look. “Well, not usually. As for killing those poor starvelings, it’s no different than stealing Yhakobin’s horses.”

“You could have burned the house.”

“You want to go back and paint an arrow on the wall to make sure they know we came this way?” Alec snapped.

Ilar shut his mouth and kept his distance.

They hurried on, Alec leading them east to confound any trackers who talked to the goatherd. Suddenly Seregil-who’d been uncommonly quiet-reached out and ruffled Sebrahn’s hair. “You surely aren’t human or ’faie, but you’re not just a thing, either, I guess.”

“No, he’s not,” Ilar agreed, much to Alec’s surprise. “As great an alchemist as Il-as Yhakobin is, I don’t think he understood what he created.”

Alec spared him a mocking grin. “Because of my mongrel blood.”

“That may be exactly it,” Seregil mused, still studying Sebrahn. “We don’t know what a rhekaro is supposed to look like.”

“I saw a few drawings in the old tomes Yhakobin used,” Ilar told him. “They showed something with a human shape, apart from the wings.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose. So, he has teeth but doesn’t eat. He moves and bleeds whatever that white juice is but has no heart. He appears to have some sort of mind-”

“And he can feel pain,” Alec reminded him. “But not cold.”

“When Yhakobin finished with the first one he made…” Ilar began.

Alec stopped dead, a dangerous look in his eyes. “You were there? You helped butcher it?”

Seregil gripped Alec’s arm, holding him back. “What did you see, Ilar?”

Ilar looked rather ill. “It didn’t die easily. He had to keep cutting it up.”

Alec sank to the ground and pulled Sebrahn into his arms, holding him tight.

“What did he find?” Seregil asked.

“Something like bones and organs, but they were all colorless, and he could not guess their function.”

“I see.” Seregil squeezed Alec’s shoulder. “Let’s keep going.”

Alec settled Sebrahn in his sling again and took the lead without a word, but Seregil could feel the rage boiling in his lover’s heart. It coursed along the talimenios bond like molten lead.

He had to keep cutting it up…

Seregil glanced over at Sebrahn and felt sick at the thought.

When they stopped in a dry gully, just before dawn, Seregil’s thoughts had turned to other things.

They settled as comfortably as they could, sheltered by a few wind-twisted cedars that overhung the bank. Seregil sat down beside Sebrahn and stroked the rhekaro’s hair. “You’re a fine healer, little one, with those flowers of yours.”

That got a wan smile from Alec. “He is, isn’t he? Maybe if Yhakobin had figured that out, he wouldn’t have hurt them so much.”

“The fact that he didn’t know makes me wonder what he was after.” Seregil paused, working up the nerve to broach the idea that had come to him during the night’s march. “Alec, I’m going to need your help with something. Is your knife still good and sharp?”

“Yes. Why?”

Seregil pushed back his right sleeve and ran a thumb over the slave mark.

“Oh, no! Are you insane?”

Seregil grinned. “Probably, but that’s beside the point at the moment. I’m going to need your help.”

“What are you talking about?” Ilar demanded.

“You said it yourself,” Seregil replied. “These marks are nothing I want to wear for the rest of my life. And if we’re caught with them here, then there’s no talking our way out of anything.”

“And I told you that the first thing the slave takers look for is a new wound where the brand should be.”

Seregil nodded at Sebrahn. “But what if there isn’t one to find?”

He unbuckled his belt and folded the end over, then clenched it between his front teeth. “That should do. Let’s do the leg brand first, Alec. That’s less likely to be noticed in passing, if this doesn’t work.”

“Why not try it on Ilar first?” asked Alec.

Ilar was halfway to his feet already, and looked ready to bolt.

“That’s why,” said Seregil. “He’ll fight and scream and we could end up hamstringing him. And it can’t be you, either. You’re the only one Sebrahn listens to, and if he sees me come at you with a knife, he might not be very cooperative.” He grinned and ruffled Alec’s hair. “Don’t worry, talí. I’ve been through worse.”

True. But not for a long time.

It took a little more convincing, but finally he talked them both into it. Ilar stood with Sebrahn, holding the cup of water. Seregil stretched out in the dirt on his belly, clutching the folded belt. Alec knelt over him with the knife and pulled up his trouser leg to expose the brand.

He gripped Seregil’s leg, and Seregil was glad that hand was steady. “Be quick, Alec, and try not to cut too deep. Just the skin.”

“I know.”

Seregil put the folded leather between his teeth and bit down. He felt Alec pinch up the skin on the back of his calf, then bit down hard on the belt as Alec started cutting.

Seregil probably had been through worse, and Alec probably was working as quickly as he could, but it certainly didn’t seem like it as white-hot pain shot up Seregil’s leg. Having the brand flayed off hurt worse than having it burned on. Panting around the folded belt, he was only dimly aware when Alec stopped and said something to the others.

An agonizing moment later, hands gripped his calf and he snarled and jerked in their grip as something cold and wet touched his raw flesh.

“Lie still!” Alec ordered.

The cold sensation came back, but this time the pain subsided considerably. He tried to look over his shoulder, but Alec pushed him down again. “Stay still, please. It’s going to take a few more.”

After the second flower the pain was bearable. After the third he spit out the belt and buried his head in his folded arms, covered in cold sweat and overwhelmed by the heavy perfume of the healing flowers.

Alec used one more, and the last of the pain was gone. “It worked!”

Seregil rolled over and stuck out his arm. “Do the other.”

“Maybe we should wait.”

Seregil let out a shaky laugh. “If we do that, you’ll have to run me down and catch me. Just do it!” He jammed the belt back in his mouth and locked his left arm across his eyes.

Either he had more feeling in the underside of his arm or Alec had to cut deeper. Seregil was fighting back wheezing little screams before Alec stopped and applied the flowers.

When it was over he let his left arm fall and lay staring up at the dawn sky, willing himself not to throw up.

Alec bent over him, concerned. “Does it still hurt?”

“No,” Seregil gasped, “but that was less fun than I thought it would be.”

Vomiting less imminent now, he sat up and examined his forearm. The brand was gone. The skin where it had been was smooth and thin, but whole. There was some lingering pain, actually, but nothing he couldn’t stand. He looked up at the others. Alec was pale, and the fingers holding the knife were bloody but still steady. Ilar looked sick as he knelt beside Sebrahn with the cup. “Thank you. Everyone.” He reached over and gave the rhekaro a shaky pat on the head. “Especially you!”

The rhekaro held out its right forefinger; a drop of his white blood had welled out from the little cut there.

Seregil smiled. “Yes. You made my pain go away. Thank you.”

Alec managed a grin when he handed the bloody knife to Seregil. “My turn, if you’re up to it. Pinch up the skin and cut under it. You’re less likely to cut into the meat that way.”

Seregil shuddered as he handed Alec the belt. “I’m really glad you didn’t say that while you were still cutting.”

Alec shrugged, then put his hands on Sebrahn’s shoulders. “Seregil is going to cut me now. That’s all right. I’m letting him, and you’ll make those flowers for me, too, won’t you?”

The rhekaro gazed up at him, silent and emotionless as ever.

“All right.” Alec stretched out on the ground between them and buried his face in his arms. His voice was muffled as he added, “I just hope you’re as good as I am at skinning things.”

Seregil’s hand tightened around the black hilt. “Bite on the leather. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Ilar gripped Alec’s calf at the ankle and just below the knee, his face inches from Seregil’s. Their eyes met, and Seregil was surprised at the encouragement he saw there as Ilar murmured, “Don’t make him wait.”

Seregil pinched up the smooth golden skin around Alec’s brand. The hard muscle underneath was lean and corded. Seregil took a deep breath, then sliced away the brand in one go, leaving a raw oval of exposed flesh. He sat back on his heels and watched as Sebrahn placed a large dark flower on the bleeding wound. It disappeared, just as he’d seen at the goatherd’s cottage. The rhekaro made three more, and when the last had done its work and the wound was closed, Alec let out a choked moan and rolled over, still clutching the belt between his teeth. Tears of pain welled in his eyes as he stuck out his arm and gave Seregil an imploring look that said hurry.

Seregil quickly sliced out the second brand and helped Sebrahn place the flowers. When that wound was healed he grabbed Alec’s hand in both of his, heedless of the blood. “Better?”

Alec spit out the gnawed belt and closed his eyes. “You’re right,” he whispered. “That wasn’t much fun.”

Sebrahn curled up next to him with his head on Alec’s chest. Alec stroked his hair. “You did a good job.”

Seregil looked over at Ilar, and saw him swallow hard. He was terrified. “I could hide if the slave takers come.”

“We can’t risk that. If we’re caught with a marked slave, Alec and I are just as dead as if we’d stayed branded. It doesn’t take long, and the flowers take away the pain very quickly.”

Ilar nodded slowly, though he was trembling badly. “I’m not as brave as you two. You’d better hold me down. Seregil, will you do the cutting?”

“All right. Lie down.”

Ilar was already whimpering as Alec lay down across him, pinning Ilar’s leg with both hands. Seregil braced one knee on the back of Ilar’s calf and went to work.

Ilar screamed around the belt but didn’t struggle very much as Seregil sliced off the branded skin. Sebrahn placed the flowers as before, but Seregil noticed that they were smaller now, and it took more of them to heal the wound.

When that was over, Alec got off Ilar. “Turn over.”

“I can’t! No more!” Ilar whimpered.

“Yes, you can.” Alec roughly flipped Ilar over and flattened himself across the sobbing man to grip his arm.

Ilar did struggle this time, making it harder for Seregil to make a single clean cut. His fingers were slippery with blood and he got only half the brand, and managed to slice his own thumb, too.

“Stop moving, damn it! You’re only making it worse.”

Ilar froze, trying to choke back his sobs.

“Cover his eyes, Alec.” Seregil got the rest of the brand off and sat back to let Sebrahn do his healing work.

Despite the healing, Ilar was a sobbing wreck. Seregil patted his shoulder awkwardly. “That’s enough, now. Come on. Get up.”

Seregil tried to pull him up, but Ilar’s legs wouldn’t hold him and Seregil ended up on the ground again with Ilar halfway in his lap, clutching Seregil’s coat in both hands. Seregil had little choice but to hold him until he calmed down. He could feel the raised ridges of old scars under his hands, through the back of Ilar’s thin robe. Past suffering had made Seregil stronger, and Alec, too. It had broken Ilar.

“You’re getting blood all over him.”

Seregil looked up to find Alec cradling Sebrahn in his arms. He was watching Ilar with a mix of pity and disgust. But when he looked up at Seregil, he caught a flash of resentment there, too.

They sat like that for a long time as the sun came up, each of them holding another in their arms.