Seer's Hope

By Maree Anderson

Chapter Three

Hope slumped, elbows propped on knees and head hanging. She ached in places she didn't know could ache yet, unlike Blayne, she'd only been carrying the clothes on her back rather than what must be a massive pack considering all the gear he had produced. It had taken a mammoth effort to do little more than remain awake to eat the meal he prepared for her.

She crawled inside the small tent he'd pitched. A sniff of her armpits compelled her to shuck shirt and shorts along with her sandals, before crawling atop the sleeping roll Blayne had laid out. She snuggled beneath a blanket and sleep immediately pounced.

Sometime during the night the covers slipped from her shoulders. A cold draught of air skimmed her neck. She shivered and a muscled arm encircled her and pulled her in close, settling her against a warm bare chest. She pulled away, murmuring a sleepy protest, but the arm around her tightened. Before she could awaken fully, she inhaled a herbal fragrance.

Blayne. He was warm and he was safe—the sole familiar thing in this frightening new world. She relaxed back into sleep.

When Hope woke, the only evidence Blayne had shared the tent was the faint herbal odor that always accompanied him emanating from the blankets. She caught a whiff of her sweaty body. Whew. What she wouldn't give for a bath and deodorant. Not to mention the sheer bliss of a change of underwear. And speaking of clothes, where the heck were hers?

Nowhere to be found, apparently.

Thankfully, she still wore the bikini she'd had on beneath her clothes when she "arrived". It would have to do.

Blayne hailed her the instant she ventured from the tent in search of water. "It's a beautiful morning," he said. "Come, I'll take you to the pool to bathe."

He took her hand . "Careful now. There are rocks here and the ground is uneven."

Hope encountered a great deal of bare damp skin when he wrapped an arm about her waist, and her stomach flip-flopped. She inhaled his clean fresh scent and couldn't prevent the rueful sigh that escaped her lips. "Uh, Blayne? I smell very bad. Do you have soap?"

"Here." He handed her a small cake of something and a damp cloth. "Bathe while I see to breakfast. And you can borrow some of my clothes—they're far more suitable for traveling than yours."

He paused. And she heard him suck in a deep breath.

She imagined his gaze raking her... and the bikini she wore suddenly seemed inadequate, provocative. Her face flushed with warmth. Damn! This would not do. She punched him in the arm.

"What was that for?"

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

She moistened her lips with her tongue. "You know how."

"Sorry." He sounded anything but. "Will you be okay here on your own?" he asked.

She nodded, ducking her head to hide her still-warm face. Bathing while Blayne stood by was an intimacy she wasn't prepared to face. So when she heard his footfalls fading into the distance, she told herself she was relieved. She told herself she was grateful to be left alone. Just for a little while, at least.

Hope dipped a toe into the cool water and ventured into the pool. The cake of soap lathered surprisingly well. She washed, and then worked soap into her knotted hair. It took three attempts to rinse out the suds, but squeaky-clean hair was worth the effort.

She waded back to shore, sluicing water from her body with her palms. Even at this early hour, it was warm enough to sunbathe. A large, smooth-surfaced rock proved a perfect place to sit and wring out her hair, and hopefully would help dry off her bikini.

The hissss sounded directly by her feet.

She froze, images of being bitten and enduring a slow, painful death flickering through her mind. She smothered her fear and extended all her senses in the direction the hiss had come from.

Time stood still. In her mind's eye, she saw a four-foot long black reptile with red bands. It lay coiled about itself and its tongue flickered, tasting the air. Tasting her.

It was magnificent, a creature encapsulating both beauty and menace, and Hope lost herself in the intensity of its cold gold reptilian eyes. Her own eyes began to tingle but she ignored the irritating sensation. Her heartbeat and breathing slowed. In a peculiar fashion she could not entirely comprehend, she and the snake communed.

~*~

Blayne sauntered up the path toward the pool. He spotted Hope perched on a rock, clad only in those brief red garments. An appreciative grin split his face. She was beautiful. And such a fragile little thing, so unlike the robust, tanned women of his settlement. Her hair was the rich russet of a cervida doe—a stark contrast to skin so pale he'd originally thought her a spirit. And those sky-blue eyes....

Her unnatural stillness finally registered. Blayne's gaze darted to the highly venomous reptile coiled at her feet. Kunnandi's teeth. Please gods, she hadn't been bitten.

He crept forward. Closer now, he could see that her eyes were wide open, pupils hugely dilated as she gazed fixedly at the snake.

Hope's lips moved. The snake hissed a response. Spirit-fingers played icy tunes up and down Blayne's spine.

"Hope. Don't move. Don't make a sound." He scanned the area for a weapon and his gaze lit upon a broken leafy branch.

Slowly, taking the utmost care to keep his movements smooth, Blayne reached for it. And once he got a grip on the makeshift weapon he inched sideways, measuring the distance to the snake, readying himself to spring.

Just a little closer....

He lunged, thrusting out the branch to sweep the reptile from the rock.

Continuing his forward momentum, Blayne grabbed Hope by the waist, snatching her from harm's way and tossing her on the ground. He pivoted to deal with the irate reptile, defending with the branch while he bent to grope for another weapon.

His hand closed upon a good-sized rock. Perfect.

He advanced on the snake, intending to pin it down and bash it to death with his makeshift weapon.

"Do not hurt it, please."

Blayne halted. She'd spoken calmly. A glance over his shoulder showed that she'd risen to her knees, lips curved in a dreamy smile—the same sort of smile women got when they looked at newborns or cute baby animals.

"Did it bite you?" Worry made him brusque.

"No. It did not hurt me."

Thank the gods. Blayne turned back to the snake, intending to pulverize it with the rock still gripped tightly in his hand. Too late: The snake had taken advantage of his momentary distraction to slither off and lose itself in the undergrowth.

He dropped the rock and tossed the branch aside. Three steps and he could grab Hope's arms to haul her upright. Her eyes were once more drenched with that unearthly molten-gold hue. And as he watched, the color drained away, returning her eyes to their natural blue. She whimpered once, a heart-breaking sound like a wolf-pup crying for its mother, and then she collapsed in his arms.

He laid her on the ground and checked her from head to toe for puncture wounds, unwilling to accept her at her word.

She'd spoken truly. She hadn't been bitten. Her breathing, pulse rate and skin tone were normal.

He checked her pupils again and finally allowed the terrible tension to seep from his muscles.

Hold on.... His gaze was drawn to a pale slash on the right side of her abdomen, near her hipbone. He ran gently probing fingers over the scar. It appeared to be a precise, intentional cut—yet another mystery he'd like to solve.

Blayne sat back on his heels to gather his thoughts. He'd commenced his healer training as a raw youngling—merely ten years of age. And he'd been gifted with such natural ability, his mentor had seen fit to shorten his apprenticeship. He'd honed his skills, risen quickly through the ranks and was well respected by his peers. Despite his youth, no elder had voted against his elevation to Panakeya, First among healers. Since then he'd witnessed many miraculous recoveries that couldn't be explained by a healer's skill alone, and he believed wholeheartedly in his gods and the magic that Sehani like Dayamar wielded.

But Sehani transformation only occurred in those with Sehani ancestors. There had been but one Sehan born since Dayamar, and although she'd survived the initial transformation, she'd not survived the aftermath. Whereas Hope was well past puberty, the age when Sehani transformation generally occurred. And she was not Dayamari—couldn't possibly have Sehani ancestors. She was an anomaly.

Anomaly or not, Blayne would give his life and his soul to keep a potential Sehan alive. But the middle of nowhere was hardly the place to even attempt to nurse one through a potentially life-threatening change. He had to get her to Dayamar.

He scooped her into his arms and hastened back to the campsite.

The instant he laid her on the ground, Hope stirred. She struggled to rise and he helped her sit while observing her closely. When she scrubbed her eyes with the back of one hand he gently grasped her wrist. "Don't rub your eyes. You'll make them sore."

"What happened?"

Pointless to worry her if he was mistaken. And he dearly hoped he was mistaken. He kept his tone deliberately light. "You fainted. Probably lack of food after all the walking yesterday. It's not uncommon when you're unaccustomed to such intense exercise. Can you stand?"

She nodded and when he assisted her to her feet, smiled tentatively up at him. "Do you have those clothes you mentioned?"

He snatched up the spare pair of trousers he'd laid out. And steadied her as she hopped about on one foot, trying to inch a trouser leg up over her foot. Given her diminutive stature and his six-foot-plus height, his trousers were far too long.

"You need a belt." Blayne rummaged around in his pack for a length of cord. He folded over the waistband of her trousers, tied the cord around her waist, and did his best to ignore the hitch in her breathing—and his own reaction—whenever his hands brushed her bare midriff. Finally, he rolled up the bottoms of her trousers to form large cuffs about her ankles.

"Much better," he pronounced for her benefit. "This clothing will help protect you from vegetation, sunburn and insect bites." Pity about her lack of boots but it couldn't be helped. He draped the shirt over her shoulders and she shoved her arms into the sleeves, fumbling with the toggles and loops.

While he organized food, Hope sat cross-legged, finger-combing her hair. And, noting her dazed expression, Blayne wished he dared stay camped here another night.

He was stirring porridge when movement caught his eye and he glimpsed the flash of a blade. "Gods, no!"

~*~

Blayne's lunge toppled Hope to her back and he followed her down, his thighs clamping around her hips, fingers digging into her wrist.

The knife fell from her numbed fingers. "What is wrong?" she yelled at him, the panicked thumping of her heart roaring in her ears.

"What do you think you're doing, woman?"

Good grief. What was his problem? "I am cutting my hair, of course. It is long and too hot during the day. Full of tangles, like the nest of a bird."

"Tangles? Tangles?"

"Yes!"

He muttered an imprecation. "Why didn't you simply ask for a comb?"

"It is my hair. I can cut it or not!" She glowered at him, wishing she could see the expression on his face. It might provide a clue to what was going through his mind. "Blayne? Are you all right?"

He barked a sharp laugh. "Gods save me."

"I am glad to provide you with amusement."

"There's nothing amusing about what I thought you were going to do," he muttered.

He couldn't have believed she was going to do something stupid like... like... slit her own throat. Could he?

Then again, given her distress and her foolishness in striking out alone, it wasn't surprising he might believe she was ready to end it all with the slash of a knife.

Shame heated her cheeks. What must he think of her? "Ah, Blayne? You are quite heavy. Please—?"

"What? Oh. Sorry." He rolled off and she scrambled to sit up.

She finally plucked up the courage to broach the subject. "You thought I was going to kill myself."

"Yes."

"I would not do such a thing. I have lived through far worse than this." She waved a hand, indicating her surroundings.

"I'm sorry. I saw the knife and—"

"Jumped to the wrong conclusion." She blew out a sigh. "It is understandable. I have made it abundantly clear I am not thrilled to be here."

"You can say that again." His snort diffused the tension that'd sprung up between them.

"May I please have the knife back?"

"I don't think so," he said. "I'll plait your hair to keep it out of your way."

"But I want to cut it." She rubbed her wrist, unable to fathom why he would go to such trouble when it was far easier to simply lop off her hair. She was beyond caring what she looked like.

"That would be a crying shame." He lifted a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his fingertips.

Hope sat perfectly still, hyper-aware of the intimacy of the moment, barely breathing until he dropped his hand.

"Give me a moment," he said, and she heard him rifling around in his pack. And then his arm encircled her waist and before she could do more than squeak, he had settled her in the vee of his spread thighs. He proceeded to comb out her hair, while she bore his ministrations with barely concealed impatience. Men. She would never understand them.

He plaited her hair into one fat braid and secured it with a piece of leather thong "How's that?" he asked.

"Feels good. Cooler. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Anything else you need help with?"

"No, thank you." She ventured a sunny smile—a fake smile, because her self-confidence had taken a massive swan-dive. She was useless. A burden. Her fierce pride at becoming self-sufficient after the accident that had killed her parents and brothers, and left her permanently blind, meant nothing in Blayne's world. She was now wholly dependent upon him. She needed assistance to perform even the simplest task. Many would be completely beyond her—sourcing food, cooking, erecting the tent, for instance. She was woefully ill-equipped to survive on her own, reduced to a helpless female reliant upon a man for food and shelter... for her life.

Still more disturbing, even as she silently railed against this twist of fate, a tiny part of her thrilled because Blayne was the man she was forced to rely on. That part liked that he took such good care of her. That part liked him very much indeed.

~*~

Blayne was already up and about—probably organizing breakfast, as was his habit. Hope lay abed for a while, gathering her thoughts.

They'd been traveling for two weeks, their progress slower than he had hoped because of her sore ankle and her blindness. She'd become accustomed to him sleeping beside her. If she woke disoriented, or shaken by a nightmare, she only had to listen to his breathing and she would drift to sleep again, comforted by his presence.

Now they were around two days easy walk from Blayne's home, and Hope both craved and feared what she would find at the settlement. The allure of meeting someone who might be able to explain what had happened to her, kept her plodding ever onward. But after so long without hearing another voice save Blayne's, the thought of being forced to interact with strangers was frightening.

Blayne had become a friend, a mentor. He patiently cared for her needs without making her feel like a burden. He'd even gone to great lengths to show her how to light a fire, and cook a basic meal. She was content—or at least, as content as she could be under these strange circumstances. And she wanted everything to stay the same.... Except that wasn't going to be possible.

Soon, Blayne would go back to his life.

Soon, Hope would be forced to throw herself on the mercy of others until she could learn to fend for herself again.

And, as if summoned by her innermost fears, an unfamiliar male voice yelled, "Hola, Blayne! Surely you're not still asleep, you lazy son of a she-wolf!"

~*~

Copyright 2013 Maree Anderson

www.mareeanderson.com

www.seershope.com