The Divining (29 page)

     Ulrika lifted eyelids to look at dilated pupils. She detected a rapid pulse. The girl's breathing was shallow. "She is very sick."

     "I did not want to leave her," he said. Lifting the blanket made of soft deer skin, he exposed a nasty wound. "She fell and injured herself. I tried my best to fix it, but infection set in. I knew that the only way to save her was to find help." He looked at Ulrika. "I saw you in the village. I saw how you treated a man's injury. And I recognize these symbols." He pointed to her medicine box with the Egyptian hieroglyphics and Babylonian cuneiform painted on the sides.

     "Do not let her die, do you understand?
You cannot let her die."

     Ulrika was momentarily arrested by black eyes that seemed deeper than night, and filled with unspoken emotion. It struck her that her young kidnapper was desperate, on the run, frightened, and angry, and perhaps not as dangerous as she had initially thought.

     He was also, she realized, quite handsome, and it crossed her mind that, should he ever smile, his sensuous lips would be most attractive.

     Ulrika reached for her medicine kit. "I will administer Hecate's cure. It is made from willow bark, which is inhabited by a very powerful spirit."

     "Are you a physician?"

     "No. My mother is a healer. She taught me."

     "You do not live here in Persia. This is not your home."

     She kept her eyes on her own hands as she busily dispensed powder into a cup, and mixed water into it. Her abductor sat uncomfortably close. She could smell his sweat, and the wild scent of animal skins, pine, and loamy earth. "I have come to find someone," she said.

     She did not look at him, but sensed his question.

     "I am seeking answers to a personal question," Ulrika said as she stirred the powder until it dissolved. "And I believe there is a man, called the Magus, who can help me."

     When he said nothing, Ulrika asked, "Is this girl your sister or perhaps your niece?" The girl's coloring was the same as his—an unusually white complexion framed by raven-black hair. But they were not father and daughter. The girl would be around thirteen and the young man appeared to be just a little older than Ulrika herself.

     "She is from another tribe," he said, and Ulrika thought: But sharing the same Persian-Greek ancestry I would wager.

     He suddenly turned toward the opening of the thicket-hut. "I will stand watch," he murmured. Removing the ivory horn from his belt, he laid it on the girl's chest and said, "The god of my people is Ahura Mazda, the Wise Lord of the sky, and this is sacred ash from his first Fire Temple. It is white and clean, and protects from evil." He stood, his midnight hair brushing the tangled weeds that made the ceiling. "Her name is Veeda," he said, and then he was gone.

     B
Y THE TIME THE STRANGER RETURNED,
Ulrika had been able to encourage the girl to take a few sips of Hecate's Cure. The medicine was famous for reducing fever, taking away pain, and conquering the evil spirits of infection. Then she had tended the wound on the girl's leg, cleaning it, washing
away the dead flesh to apply fresh salves and bandages. Ulrika did not fully understand how healing worked—the greatest Greek physicians in the world could not entirely explain how a cure worked—but Ulrika had used a method so ancient and proven that, once she was done, she felt confident the girl would soon begin to recover.

     "How is she?" the stranger asked, coming to Veeda's side.

     "You brought me to her in time."

     He nodded. "I have been praying."

     Ulrika had left the ivory horn in place on the girl's chest, wondering about the ash he had said it contained. She thought of the mound of kindling he had built but had not lit, and how he had apologized for not making a fire. "I cannot light a fire," he said softly now, and once again the words did not seem directed at Ulrika. She wondered who he was speaking to. "It would draw our pursuers to us. I have to keep moving. I must survive in order for this girl to survive." He kept his eyes on Veeda's face as he said this, and once again Ulrika wondered about their relationship.

     Veeda was from another tribe, he had said. Was she his bride?

     "I will find food," he said abruptly. "You must rest now. There," he added, pointing to folded rugs against the grassy wall. "You can make a bed. I will let you sleep. Do not fear. I have set traps, and I will be on the lookout."

     As he once again left the hut, and Ulrika suddenly found the prospect of sleep very inviting, it occurred to her that her abductor had not himself slept in a long time.

     He had sacrificed his own comfort and well-being to save this girl, she thought. He had risked getting caught by men who pursued him—
and for whom he set deadly traps
—in order to find medical help. Who was Veeda to him, and why was her survival so important?

U
LRIKA DREAMED OF
S
EBASTIANUS.

     He stood on a vast, windswept landscape with a boiling ocean on one side, violent crags and tors on the other. He appeared to be building an altar of shells and fire. He wore only a loincloth, his tight muscles gleaming in the sun. Ulrika tried to call to him, but as she drew near, Sebastianus began to climb the altar, which had become a golden tower rising in tiers shot with blinding sunlight. He was trying to reach the stars, she knew, for he was seeking answers that could be found only in the celestial bodies of the cosmos.

     But Ulrika saw that the top of the tower was a raging bonfire—a dreadful conflagration that she knew would devour him once he reached it. She called out, frantic, desperate to stop him.

     You cannot save him, a voice whispered all around her, on the wind, in the clouds. A woman's voice. Gaia ...

     Ulrika snapped her eyes open. Her heart galloped, and a fine sweat covered her body. In the dim light of the camouflaged hut, she saw that the girl
continued to sleep beneath soft deerskin blankets. Ulrika tuned her ears to the forest outside and heard heavy footsteps going to and fro. Her kidnapper, pacing.

     She thought of the dream she had just had. During her lonely days of journeying into Persia, Ulrika had continued her nightly ritual of speaking to Sebastianus. Every night before falling asleep, she would tenderly take the scallop shell between her hands, holding it safe and loved, and whisper words of hope and devotion to Sebastianus, closing her eyes to mentally send her message across the miles and days in the hope that they would reach him. She did so now, sending out a prayer that her beloved was alive and well and reaching his goal.

     At dusk the stranger brought fish that, though it must be eaten raw, was a welcome feast to Ulrika, who could not remember ever being this hungry. But first she checked on her patient and found with relief that Veeda's fever had already begun to abate, her breathing becoming more regular.

     As they quietly ate, with the stranger pausing now and again to listen to the deepening night, Ulrika asked him about the ivory horn that contained sacred ash. She had learned in her travels that encouraging someone to speak about their religious beliefs often broke down barriers.

     "Fire temples are our places of worship," he said as he picked at the fish flesh with his fingers. He had delicate hands, Ulrika thought. Feminine hands, and she adjusted her impression of him once more, from brutish mountain man to someone more refined.

     "We do not revere fire itself," he said in a low voice, glancing at the sleeping girl, "but rather the ritual purity that it symbolizes. Our faith was founded by the prophet Zoroaster in a fight against the image-cults brought to our land long ago by the Babylonians. We deplore imagery of any kind. We worship the open sky, ascending mounds to light our fires, so that Ahura Mazda, the Uncreated God, will see them. The prophet Zoroaster assured us that the Creator Ahura Mazda is all good, and no evil originates from Him. Good and evil are forever in conflict, and we humans must play a large part in that conflict, in making sure that evil never triumphs over good. We achieve this by living a life of good thoughts, good words, and good deeds. This keeps the chaos at bay."

     His words echoed those of Sebastianus, when he had told Ulrika that only through reading the gods' messages in the stars could chaos be averted.

     "Yours is an interesting faith," Ulrika commented as she lifted Veeda's wrist and counted the pulse, finding it normal.

     "It is the only faith," he said. Then he fell silent, and Ulrika wondered if he was curious about her. There was a constant tension within him, and she suspected it was not completely due to the fact that he was being pursued.

     She asked where he and Veeda were going, but instead of responding, he gathered up their fish bones and left the hut.

     As she listened to night descend over the forest, with mountain chill stealing into the hut, Ulrika wondered if she should try to escape. Would she get far? There were the deadly traps, and the pursuers. And she was not certain which way it was to the tavern. Besides, she no longer felt threatened by the young man, and Veeda still needed her help.

     The girl stirred and sighed beneath her blankets, and when Ulrika went to her side, Veeda opened her eyes and gazed at Ulrika with black irises framed by black lashes. "Who are you?" she asked.

     Slipping an arm beneath the girl's shoulders, Ulrika lifted her up to drink from the water skin. "I am Ulrika. Do not worry, Veeda, I am here to help you. How do you feel?"

     "I am all right, but my leg hurts."

     "We will take care of that."

     The girl looked around the hut. "Where is Iskander?"

     "He's just outside, keeping watch. So that's his name? Iskander? Is he your uncle? A cousin?"

     The girl shook her head. "He is from another tribe."

     "Where is he taking you?"

     "Away. To keep me safe."

     Ulrika's brows arched. "Safe from what?"

     "Evil men who wish to kill us. Please," a small hand reached for Ulrika's, "where is Iskander?"

     Ulrika paused to feel Veeda's forehead—she was a very pretty girl, and the fever only enhanced her natural beauty—then she said, "I will be right back."

     Ulrika found Iskander seated on a boulder, spear in hand. "She is awake."

     He was instantly inside the hut and at Veeda's side, looking anxiously into her face. "Are you feeling better?"

     "I woke up and you were gone. I was frightened."

     He stroked her damp hair. "I had to go for help. I hoped you would sleep until I returned. I did not mean to frighten you."

     Ulrika watched the scene in curiosity. Despite the tenderness between the two, there was a sense of formality also, as if they had not known each other for long.

     "Did Ulrika save my life?" Veeda asked.

     Iskander looked up and offered Ulrika a grateful smile that did indeed transform his face. "Yes," he said. "Ulrika saved your life."

     That evening, Veeda was able to sit up and eat a little food, and she asked Ulrika many questions about the world beyond their mountain realm. They slept after that, but when Ulrika awoke during the night, she found Iskander gone, and once again heard him pacing outside.

     The next day Iskander determined that they must resume their trek, although once again, despite her inquiries, he would not tell Ulrika where he and the girl were headed, or the identity of their pursuers. While Ulrika shouldered her own packs, Iskander took Veeda onto his back and carried her. She held onto him with her arms around his neck and they made a curious pair, for Veeda's dependence upon Iskander seemed like one of a child for a parent, while Iskander handled her with the sensitive formality of a stranger.

     They made camp that evening and when Ulrika looked up at the moon and realized they had traveled yet farther east, away from her intended route, she said, "Where are you taking us?"

     When he did not reply, she added, "You did not have to kidnap me. You could have asked me."