The Outworlder (11 page)

He was quiet, and she was thankful. She
wanted nothing more than to drink in the moment, the feeling that
was coursing through her. After a moment she closed her eyes,
heightening her other four senses.

*****

Jared couldn’t trust himself to speak. He had
always appreciated the fact that Sahara was a beautiful woman in
her own way, and he had always felt, too, a strange connection with
her. But he suddenly had the sensation that he had never really
seen her before tonight. All her usual guards were down, and he
wondered if this was what she had been like before the Dragon-Lords
had destroyed her life.

She doesn’t need to change
, he
realized.
She just needs to be in a place where she feels
secure, with people she trusts.

In that kind of place, she could let her
guard down. She could become the Sahara that hid within.

If I were Kirin
, he thought,
she
wouldn’t look like this. It’s me —it’s because she trusts
me.

He held her gently, but the sudden
protectiveness he felt for her made him feel suddenly powerful. And
then, before he knew what was happening, she laid her head on his
chest.

Jared was so surprised that he hardly dared
to breathe. He had never even let himself imagine a moment like
this, and now that it was actually here, he didn’t know what to
do.

“Are you…are you all right?” he murmured in
her ear.

It broke the spell.

Her eyes snapped open, and she shoved herself
away from him, her cheeks flaming. He caught her hand as she turned
to run.

“Sahara! What is it? What’s wrong?”

Her eyes flickered up to meet his. “I’m
sorry,” she mumbled.

“Sorry for what?”

She shook her head, pulling against his hand.
“Let me go,” she whispered.

She glanced back up into his eyes, and Jared
caught her gaze and held it. For a moment, he thought he could read
her very soul there in her eyes—confusion, heartbreak, pride,
embarrassment, insecurity, and smoldering resentment.

Then she dropped her eyes and tugged against
his hand. “Please,” she begged. “Let me go!”

He released her, watching as she slipped out
of the crowd and vanished.

Jared made his way slowly through the orchard
toward the library, still puzzling over the previous night’s
events. The afternoon was shimmering with heat, and as the rippling
of the river cut through his thoughts, the sultry air seemed
suddenly to weigh on him with oppressive force. He paused. A swim
would do him good in this weather, and might help clear his
thoughts.

He began descending the gentle slope of the
orchard toward the river, but slowed his pace when he noticed
someone sitting on the bank. It wasn’t until he was within twenty
paces of the person that he realized who it was, and he immediately
groped his way behind one of the trees.

Sahara.

She sat staring out over the river, water
from her wet hair coursing down her skin. Three long scars marred
the rosy smoothness of her back. Two were cut crosswise from her
shoulder blades down to her waist, and the third ran straight along
her spine. Where they intersected, there was a strange tattoo.

Jared ducked around the tree again and
knocked his head back against its trunk.
I’ve been so
stupid!
he thought.

Without another moment’s hesitation, he tore
back up the hill. He entered the kitchen at the back of the main
hall and then ascended a small, winding flight of stairs that ended
abruptly at an oaken doorway. Jared paused a moment, his hand
raised, but with a shake of his head he dropped his knuckles
against the wood.

He hadn’t been to see Childir in months, not
since Sahara had come to the city. He’d seen him in passing at
council meetings, but had never stayed around long enough to speak
to him. He didn’t think his former master would hold a grudge, but
he felt suddenly awkward about facing him anyway.

“Come!” summoned a voice from within.

Jared opened the door and entered quietly.
Light flooded the room from the open north windows, and the
faintest breath of a breeze whispered through bunches of dried
herbs hanging along the ceiling, releasing their sweet and savory
fragrances. An old man sat at a table facing the door, surrounded
by piles of books. A plate with cheese and bread and a cup of clear
water sat untouched at his elbow.

“My lord Childir,” Jared said with a bow. “I
hope the day finds you well.”

“As well as ever, my son,” Childir replied
with a twinkle in his eye. “But what brings you here?” He beckoned
Jared to a chair against the western wall of the room. And though
he didn’t say anything more, Jared felt like squirming in his
seat.

“It’s…hot today, my lord,” Jared said.
That’s a stupid thing to say. Why would I say that? Who cares
about that?

Childir studied him. “It is…but that isn’t
why you are sweating.”

Jared sighed. “No, it’s not.”

Childir stroked his long beard with one hand,
the ghost of a smile on his face. “Then why don’t you speak what is
on your mind?”

“It’s Sahara, my lord.”

Childir’s eyes flickered. “Ah, yes. The
outworlder. I haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting her, even
though I’ve heard so much about her.” He waited for a moment, but
when Jared said nothing, he prompted, “Well? What about her?”

Jared took a breath. “I just don’t understand
her very well, even after all these months. And I have been meaning
to bring her to see you…it’s just never a good time.”

The most recent time he’d planned to bring
Sahara to see his old teacher, she’d bruised her ribs in a bar
fight. He cleared his throat and continued. “But there’s something…
I think you need to know something about her.” He hesitated, and
then rushed on, “She was a prisoner bound for the Dragon-Lords’
labor camp in the mountains, but her ship crashed and she
escaped.”

“That much everyone in the city knows.” There
was just a hint of impatience in Childir’s voice, but Jared was too
agitated to notice. “Arnauld has told me something of her, and I
have gathered information about her in other ways as well.”

Jared regarded him with surprise. “Arnauld
told you about her?”

“Of course he did. He came to me the day you
carried her through the gate and asked for my advice.” Childir’s
eyes twinkled at Jared. “He is not so remiss in his attentions to
me as some are. I have more or less kept up with her comings and
goings, and I have my ways of learning things. But she isn’t very
tame, is she?”

Jared frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean by
tame, my lord. But she’s certainly nothing like the women of
Albadir.”

“No, so much is certain,” he chuckled. “But
there was something you wanted to tell me about her?”

“She bears the mark, my lord. Three scars and
the mark. On her back.”

Childir fixed his eyes on Jared, his face
suddenly serious. “Did she show you these herself?”

Jared stared at the floor, feeling suddenly
very young and very foolish. “No, my lord. At least…not
exactly.”

“Then how do you know of them?”

There was a long silence. “I…saw them. Just
now. I came upon her at the river…”

The image of her sitting alone on the
riverbank, the sunlight dappling her bare skin and wet hair,
everything reflecting the heavy sadness that clung to her, flashed
into his mind. He couldn’t finish what he wanted to say, so he just
sat there, silent, hoping Childir would understand.

After a moment, he hazarded a glance at the
old man’s face and found Childir watching him with an intensity
that made him thoroughly uncomfortable.

“Does she know that you saw her?”

“No.”

Childir turned away at last, swiveling about
in his chair to look out the northern windows. “My son, do you know
what it means? What you saw inscribed there on her back?”

“I know something of it, but not much. Not
everything. I know that the scars are from the flagellation, but
that much is customary for any who are taken prisoner by the
Dragon-Lords.”

“It is. But there are three strokes, not two.
Two is the customary number.”

Jared nodded. “I know. And the mark—I have
only seen it worked in a drawing, and there was no explanation of
its meaning. I was hoping that you might know, and that you might
help me to understand what it means.”

“It is fascinating,” the old man admitted,
his voice low. “But what it means?” He rubbed his jaw, his eyes
fixed on the line of mountains visible outside the windows. “Time
will tell, I suppose.” He swung around to face Jared again. “Have
you considered asking her about this yourself?”

“If I do,” Jared protested, “then she’ll know
that I’ve seen them. What if she didn’t want me to know?”

“And what will be the cost of your silence if
you don’t admit to her what you have seen?”

Jared stood up. “Nothing. There will be no
cost.”

“Secrets have a way of poisoning even the
best of intentions, my son. Consider this carefully before you
decide.”

Jared bowed his head. “I will. And I’ll bring
her to see you as soon as I can.”

“Yes,” said the old man thoughtfully. “Yes, I
should very much like to see her.”

Jared made his way back down the steps with a
heaviness in his heart that he couldn’t explain. Somehow he felt
that he had betrayed Sahara, that he had violated an unspoken
pledge of trust. He wondered suddenly whether he would feel the
same way if he’d told Arnauld about it, but he brushed that aside
as foolishness.

It’s no good
, he thought
wretchedly
. I’ll have to tell her. Not to tell her would be as
good as lying to her face. I just have to tell her and deal with
the consequences.

With a sigh, he headed back to the river. A
great wave of relief washed over him when he saw that she was still
sitting on the riverbank. Her hair was bound up in a silver cloth
and she was dressed in a black halter top and white cropped
pants.

“Sahara!” he called.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled
faintly at him. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and he wondered
suddenly if she had been crying. Then she turned away and stared
out over the water. Jared stood beside her for a moment,
hesitating, then took a breath and dropped down on the cool
grass.

“It’s…a fine day for swimming,” he said,
feeling horribly awkward.

“Yes. I’ve already been.” Her voice was
quiet.

The horrible moment had come, and so
quickly.

“I know.”

She looked at him again. “How do you know
that?”

So many things he could say, so many things
that would hide what he came to tell her. “Well, for one thing….”
He stopped and looked straight into her eyes. “I saw you,” he said
simply. “I saw you sitting here after your swim. About twenty
minutes past.”

The realization of what he meant spread
slowly across her face, and a fierce red blush suffused her cheeks.
“And I suppose you saw…”

“Yes.” He touched her cheek gently. “But you
needn’t be ashamed of that.”

“Yes, I do.” Her eyes were swimming with
tears. “Even if I could forget my past—even if I could change and
become someone different, like you want me to—“

“I don’t want you to—“

She waved him to silence. “The point is, I
can’t change. I can’t ever get away from it. It will be inscribed
on my body for the rest of my life.”

“On your body, maybe, but not your heart,
Sahara!” he said. “It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“I’ve tried your way, Jared.” She was once
more in control of herself. To Jared, it was as if she had enclosed
herself in plated steel. “That’s just not who I am. I’m not about
pretty dresses and…and things like that. I felt…I felt like a
fool.”

“You didn’t seem like one.” He smiled at her.
“You were wonderful last night. Everyone’s talking about it.”

And I can’t stop thinking about it
, he
thought, remembering once again how it felt to hold her.

Sahara blushed again and turned her head
away. “That’s just perfect,” she muttered.

“I don’t understand,” Jared said. “What are
you so ashamed of?”

“Can’t you guess?” she asked, so softly that
he barely heard her.

“No, I can’t guess.”

She shook her head and sighed. After a
moment, she roused herself and turned to Jared with some of her old
fire.

“We don’t have time for all that. There’s
work to be done here. What do you read all day in the library? And
why do you collect maps?”

Jared blinked at her. “What?”

“You heard me. Books. Maps. What do you study
all day, Jared? What are you searching for?”

Yes, her armor was on now, the visor down,
the sword steady in her grip. It was a fitting image, it seemed to
him. A fitting image for an impenetrable heart.

I wonder if she’ll ever trust me enough to
tell me what happened to her
, he thought.

“If you’re so hell-bent on knowing, come with
me and I’ll show you,” he said.

He stood up and waited while she gathered her
bathing things into a neat pile and placed them next to the trunk
of the nearest tree. When she was ready, he led her across the
bridge and into the library. It was dark and cool inside and
smelled of dry parchment. Sahara sneezed.

“Does anyone else ever come in here?” she
asked, rubbing her nose.

“Not anymore,” he said. “But I was
practically raised in here. My father was the official scribe of
the city, and he spent many days and nights transcribing messages,
accounts, birth and death records…whatever might be useful in
constructing a picture of daily life in Albadir.” He went to a
series of bookshelves in a small alcove. “These are all his work.”
He ran his fingers over the faded bindings. “Almost twenty years
they have lingered here, untouched and unread.”