Seer's Hope Page 2

  If he was trying to start a fire why use flint instead of matches or a lighter? It didn’t make any sense. None of this made sense.

  The fire crackled, warming Hope’s small portion of the cave. She racked her brains for clues as to how she’d gotten here—wherever here might conceivably be.

  “Hungry?”

  She jolted and swallowed a squeak, hating that she sounded like a scared little girl. “Yes. Please.”

  The smooth-skinned fruit he pressed into her hands smelled like a ripe apple. She dared a small nibble. Sweetness burst on her tongue. When she’d gnawed it down to the core she shuffled forward on her knees with one hand outstretched, intending to toss the core into the fire.

  His hand clamped her wrist. “Unless you want burns on top of everything else, stay put.”

  She choked down the angry protest bubbling to her lips. He had a point. This wasn’t her house, where she knew the placement of every last item of furniture and appliance, and could putter about with minimal risk. She handed him the fruit core and backed away, taking refuge beneath her blanket. Scenarios chattered in her mind. Where had he found her? Why had he brought her here? What were his intentions?

  She hadn’t realized she’d been gnawing on her thumbnail until he took her hand from her mouth, cupping it instead around a mug. At least this time, she’d managed not to squeak at the unexpectedness of his touch. Things were looking up.

  “Herbal tea,” he said. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  Herbal tea? She wrinkled her nose. She could do with a strong black coffee right about now. Cupping the mug in both hands she took a cautious sniff. “What is it?”

  “Anthemisia plus a mix of various other herbs.”

  Riiight. Smelled like chamomile tea. She paused with the mug midway to her lips.

  “I haven’t drugged it,” he said, his tone flat.

  She bit back the automatic apology that sprang to her lips. She didn’t know him. She hadn’t asked him to bring her here. Why should she apologize for anything? “I imagine that being a healer, such underhanded actions are beneath you.”

  Her sarcastic tone provoked a wry chuckle. “Depends wholly on the patient.”

  “And?”

  “And, I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Oh. Thank you.”

  When she’d drained the brew he substituted a bowl for the empty mug. The contents smelled savory and so delicious she almost moaned. Her stomach gurgled loud enough that he’d have to be deaf not to hear it.

  He handed her a spoon. “I like a woman with an appetite.”

  She detected amusement in his voice. Nice that someone found this situation funny. She examined the utensil with her fingertips. “What is this made of?”

  “Wood. What else would it be made of?”

  A wooden spoon. Sure. Why not? It was in keeping with the flint. And the odd utensil didn’t stop her demolishing the food with unseemly haste. She listened to the sounds of Blayne cleaning up and thought how ironic it was that her situation, which had seemed so dire a short time ago, was much improved by a full stomach.

  A portion of her mind drifted like seaweed buffeted by the tide. Wind whistled an eerie chorus, carrying with it the faint howl of a wolf. And in her mind’s eye, Hope was transported elsewhere.

  Moonlight swathed a velvety black sky, highlighting the woman who sat cross-legged atop a large boulder. Her eyes were closed, face serene. A silvery corona of pure power licked her pale skin. Beside her, a silver wolf howled at the night. The beast circled the woman once before settling and laying its shaggy head in her lap. The white owl perched on the woman’s shoulder preened its feathers. It stretched its wings and hooted once before settling to survey the night. The red-banded black serpent coiled about the woman’s neck hissed, tasting the air with its forked tongue.

  The woman’s eyelids fluttered, and slowly opened. She and her non-human companions gazed at Hope, their glittering golden eyes boring into hers.

  The woman was her. And the instant Hope recognized herself her vision cut to the blackness of her current reality. She felt tightness as the tiny muscles around her eyes twitched and spasmed. A pleasant tingling sensation warmed her toes, her feet, her calves. It swirled in her pelvis, building to a breath-stealing burn before moving upward. The blanket slipped unnoticed from her shoulders as the heat coiled in her chest, moved upward again, intensifying still more as it reached her eyes.

  Fiery power licked her eyeballs, burned down her optic nerve and into her brain. A pained gasp choked in her throat. Tears tracked heated trails down her cheeks. She wanted to scream. She yearned to blink. All she could do, all she was permitted to do, was to open her eyes wide. Wider—

  “Hope?” Blayne reached out to shake her and halted, hand outstretched. Gold flecks swirled amidst the intense blue of her eyes. The bizarre dance mesmerized him. And then her irises flashed to molten gold.

  He recoiled, snatching back his hand. Sweet Wisa protect him. As he watched, the golden color drained away, leaving her irises their natural blue. And she slumped forward and then toppled onto her side.

  He rocked back on his heels, shocked to the core. Only when the clamoring of his healer instincts became too loud to ignore did he rouse himself. Even then his hand hovered over her prone form for an achingly long moment before he dared roll her onto her back.

  He checked her pulse and respiration. Normal. He peeled back first one eyelid and then the other. The pupils expanded and contracted, functioning exactly as he expected healthy eyes to do. Both irises were completely normal—well, as normal as blue eyes could be. But her eyes had been as golden as Dayamar’s. He had not imagined it. And Dayamar was a Sehan, a Seer. Hope was—

  Gods. He didn’t know who or what she was. Deeply unsettled, he observed her until finally convinced she merely slept.

  She shivered. And the tiny bumps stippling her bare skin were such a normal human reaction to the chill that he snorted and berated himself for his previous fears. He scooped her up and carried her to the pallet, arranging her on her side. She murmured something incomprehensible and then her breathing deepened.

  As he tucked a blanket about her the glint from her finger-bands caught his attention. His people did not wear decorative bands such as these. He doubted even the most skilled craftsman had the skill to replicate such fine work. He marveled at the way the firelight reflected in the facets of the large silvery-white gem adorning one of the bands on her index finger. Her thumb-band was inset with a deep crimson gem that reminded him of the kuruvinda pendant that had belonged to his mother.

  He examined her clothing more closely. Short pants, a light shirt, and the unusually designed leather footwear he’d removed from her feet. Impractical. She couldn’t have traveled far in such flimsy clothing. It was as though she’d been snatched from another world and deliberately deposited in his path. For such a tiny thing she was a big bundle of anomalies.

  He rummaged through the spare clothing in his pack. His garments were far too large but they would at least offer her protection from the elements. He didn’t make a habit of carrying spare boots, however. With luck her footwear would last the distance.

  He checked on his perplexing companion once more before rolling himself in a blanket. But sleep was elusive. He tossed and turned, grinding his teeth until his jaw ached. He was a healer. His abilities might seem magical to his patients but his skills lay with diagnosing and treating physical ailments. If, as he suspected, Hope was manifesting Sehani transformation symptoms, there would be little he could do to help her. He needed to get her back to the settlement as quickly as possible.

  Chapter Two

  Blayne woke to tendrils of dawn creeping across the floor of the cave. Hope didn’t stir when he checked on her. The bluish smudges beneath her eyes indicated bone-deep exhaustion. She was so deeply asleep he knew she’d not wake for some time. He didn’t like to leave her unattended but he felt compelled to solve the mystery surrounding her appearance. He slipped
noiselessly from the cave.

  He backtracked to the clearing where he’d first spotted her, lying beneath a large tree. He’d cursorily examined the area when he’d first found her. Now he checked it again. Thoroughly. There had to be some small clue he’d overlooked that would reveal the truth.

  He found nothing that made any sense. Save for his own footprints, the ground was undisturbed. None of her footprints showed around the base of the trunk or, indeed, the surrounding area. Barring the compacted soil in the slight depression where she’d lain there was not a single trace of her passing.

  There were vast lands beyond the borders known to his people. Perhaps she’d accompanied travelers from some distant land and they’d either died or abandoned her. He discounted the thought as soon as it formed. Settlement trackers would have found evidence of strangers and reported them to the elders. And then there was the wolf that had led him to her—a phantom wolf that had left no tracks. A figment of his imagination? Or a messenger from the gods.

  He felt the gods’ hands in this mystery. And if the See-View place she’d spoken of was part of another world it would explain her clothing. Still, her speech might be overly formal and painfully polite, but it was recognizably Dayamaru. A mystery indeed. The sooner he could hand his disturbing companion over to Sehan Dayamar’s care, the better for his peace of mind.

  He jogged back to the cave. He’d organize breakfast before rousing her, and then convince her to return to his settlement with him. He could be a persuasive man—especially where women were concerned. Failing that he’d drag her kicking and screaming the entire way because by the gods, he was not going to leave a helpless blind woman to fend for herself.

  The instant he entered the cave he knew he should never have left her alone. She’d awoken and struck out on her own. And she’d taken neither food, water, nor the traveling clothes he’d left out for her.

  Stubborn damn female. Kunnandi’s snaky fangs, what was she thinking? Even if she didn’t succumb to dehydration along the way, chances were high she’d injure herself. “Great Wisa,” he prayed, “please watch over her and protect her from harm.” At least until he caught up with her and gave her a piece of his mind for being so foolhardy.

  He packed his possessions but left the pallet, along with a selection of non-perishables that he stored in a stone-covered cache. He’d used this cave before and would do so again. Its seclusion provided a convenient bolt hole when the pressures of his position and the attentions of young women angling for his Promise became wearying. Shouldering his pack, he strode from the cave.

  To an experienced tracker the path she’d taken was strewn with evidence of her passing. Flattened grass, imprints of her footwear in softer areas of ground, bent stalks of foliage, and even strands of her long hair. She wouldn’t be traveling too swiftly with that sprained ankle. The vice-like feeling in his chest eased.

  A mere half hour later he caught sight of her limping along, oblivious to all but some unseen path ahead. At least she’d removed her shirt and draped it over her head and shoulders to protect herself from the sun. Beneath it she wore a brief top—merely two triangles of bright crimson cloth that tied around her back and neck. Surprisingly, she was heading in the right direction. If she kept on this track she’d eventually end up on the outskirts of his settlement. Eventually. If she didn’t expire from dehydration first.

  As he watched, she blotted her face with her shirt. He admired her determination. He admired her, even if he did want to shake her ’til her teeth rattled for taking such a stupid—

  She stumbled and lurched forward, arms outstretched to break her fall. She almost disappeared from view in the long grass.

  Blayne broke into a ground-eating jog.

  ~~~

  Hope rolled onto her back, shielding her face from the sun with her shirt. When Blayne spoke she almost whimpered with gratitude.

  “Ready to be sensible now?” he asked.

  She licked dry lips. “In exchange for a drink of water I promise to do whatever you want.”

  “Really. I find that hard to believe.”

  He sounded more amused than irritated. Hopefully that meant he’d forgo the lecture she knew she so richly deserved. She struggled to sit, irritated by how difficult she found that simple task. He slipped an arm beneath her back to assist, then held what she figured was a water-skin to her lips. “Drink,” he said.

  The cool liquid slipped down her throat. She let him control the flow, allowed herself to slump against his chest. It meant nothing. She was exhausted and scared, not to mention thirsty and hungry—all good enough reasons to let him help her.

  “Enough?”

  She nodded, and her sigh segued to an indignant splutter when he upended the water-skin over her head. She tried to bat his hands away but he only stopped wetting her down when her makeshift headscarf was thoroughly soaked and water dripped from her nose. “What was that for?”

  “Call it sunstroke prevention.” He tapped the tip of her nose with a gentle finger. “With that fair skin you risk serious sunburn. Not to mention starvation, dehydration, and by the time night falls, add exposure to the list. So, I’ll ask you again. Are you ready to be sensible or do I have to truss you up and drag you behind me?”

  “You would resort to that?”

  “Try me. Like it or not you’re defenseless. I’d not forgive myself if you got attacked by some wild animal looking for an easy meal.”

  Her stomach cramped. “There are wild animals?”

  “Wolves. Boars. Even the occasional big cat that might fancy a change of diet. Venomous snakes, too. Plenty of dangers for the unwary.”

  “Snakes?”

  His firm hand pressed down on her shoulder before she could scramble to her feet in a mad panic. “Relax,” he said. “They’re more scared of you than you are of them. Will you stay put for a bit? There’s something I need to do.”

  Her heart stuttered. “You are leaving again?”

  That warm, comforting hand squeezed her shoulder. “I’m not going far, I promise. In the meantime, have a snack. You missed breakfast.” He tossed something into her lap before he walked off.

  Hope examined the leaf-wrapped package that had been tied with a length of what felt like raffia. She picked apart the knot and spread the leaf to reveal a large cookie-shaped object. She sniffed. An edible cookie-shaped object. Chock full of dried fruit and nuts. It had been baked to within an inch of its life, and the result rivaled biscotti.

  She lay back on the grass as she munched the cookie. This time, more attuned to her surroundings, she detected Blayne’s quiet approach. She didn’t believe he walked softly with the intention of deliberately startling her, more his stealth was an ingrained habit.

  “Here.” He plunked a hat on her head and the relief from the baking sun was instant.

  She removed the creation to examine it, running her hands over the tightly woven flax-like leaves. Clever man. She shoved her arms into her shirt and shrugged it into place, and then donned her hat, fussing with the brim until she had angled it to best shade the sun. “It is made well. Thank you.”

  She had the distinct impression he was pleased by her clumsy compliment. “You’re welcome,” he said. “More water?”

  “Please.” She soon discovered she didn’t have the knack of drinking from a water-bag. She spilled water all down herself and once more had to suffer his assistance. “I wish I knew exactly where on earth I was,” she grumbled, more to herself than to him while she wrung out her shirtfront.

  He heaved what she presumed was an exasperated sigh. “We’re in Dayamaria.”

  “I have never heard of Dayamaria.”

  “And I’ve never heard of—”

  “Seaview.”

  “It’s strange—”

  “What is strange?” Aside from practically everything she’d encountered so far.

  “That you speak Dayamaru so well. Your grammar is a bit stilted, and you speak quite formally but—”

  “I�
��m speaking Dayamaru?” What rubbish. How could she be speaking a language she’d never heard of? “I do not speak this Dayamaru. I speak….” She fumbled for the word. “English.”

  He grunted and muttered something beneath his breath. “Say something in your English then.”

  “Very well.” She scratched her nose, and wondered why it was so difficult to recall the language she’d spoken her entire life.

  Finally, thankfully, the familiar words seeped into her brain. “My name is Hope Delamore and I live in Seaview. I’m twenty. Um, I live alone and I like it that way. I love chocolate and mocha lattés and I’m a hopeless cook. Okay, that’s it. You understood all that, right?”

  After an awkward silence Blayne said, “Did you ask me a question?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you ask, exactly?”

  Hope opened her mouth, then closed it with a snap. “You did not understand a word I said, did you?”

  “No.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to believe he was playing some cruel trick on her. He had no reason to pretend he didn’t understand. He spoke with sincerity, and his every action so far led her to believe that he was an honorable man.

  Panic prickled her skin and she rubbed her arms. “This is ridiculous. There is no such place as Dayamaria. The last I remember, I was in my garden but it got so hot and stifling I rested beneath a tree. How could I have traveled so far from my home without remembering a thing about it?”

  She stared in his direction, searching her memories for answers. A dim recollection drifted tantalizingly close but when she reached for the memory, it skittered away. “Aargh! I—I cannot explain it.” She hid her face in her hands.

  “Neither can I,” he said, sounding as troubled as she felt.

  Her pulse hammered. Her determination to find her own way home was tempered by a growing suspicion that she would fail because she truly had been transported to some vast wilderness and left to fend for herself.

  “How do you think you got here?” he asked.

  “I do not know. I remember a voice calling me. Then I know no more.”