Page 130 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Shemza

T here is a brook not far from where the shelter is, and I take my Lorna there to get cleaned up.

Much as I don’t ever want to wash the scent of her from my skin, it does not agree with our decision to keep things between just the two of us.

So we rinse off in the cold, fresh water before dressing and beginning the journey home.

It is not as late as it was yesterday, so there is no need to carry her.

We walk, my arm around her shoulders, until we come close to the village, when we put an acceptable distance between us.

As we arrive at the village edge, my Lorna gives me a smile full of the knowledge of what we have shared, and I confess, it is hard to let her walk away from me after that.

I head for the healer’s hut. It has been some days since I have given proper attention to my craft - busy as I have been with warrior patrols and my project.

I’m pleased to find Grace inside. It appears that she has been doing experiments with her ointments again.

She makes them for the females to protect their skin as they clean the unused huts ready for Darran and Walset’s arrival.

The basic ointment is easy to make - a treatment for rashes and skin irritations - but Grace likes to include strong scents in it.

It makes the human females very happy. I often see them trying the new ointments and exclaiming over the scents with delight.

It makes my heartspace glad that they can take pleasure in such simple things.

“Good evening, Shemza,” Grace says, the words slow from her tongue, but well shaped.

“Good evening, Grace.” I point to her latest concoction. “ Good? ”

Grace nods, holding it out for me to smell. Floral scents tickle at my nose, and I suppose they are pleasing in their way. I just prefer the scent of my Lorna’s cunt, though I would never say such a thing to Grace.

I help her tidy away her things, checking our stores as I do.

It has been a quiet few days in the village, with only Ahnjas’ teeth requiring any healing treatment.

Although it can mean long days for me without any cause to sharpen my skills, I would always prefer my skills to be blunted than my brothers or sisters injured.

But as if Lina is displeased by my complacency, the door bangs open. Grace jumps, her hand flying to her chest as if to contain her heartspace. I turn and see Vantos holding Rachel in his arms, my apprentice looking pale and sickly.

“Rachel!” Grace says, all concern and worry in her voice.

I note that Vantos hesitates to put Rachel down with interest.

Grace ushers Rachel over to the bed, where she promptly bursts into tears.

Some of the females have been tearful since their arrival, but Rachel has not been one of them.

She has always seemed at ease in my presence, a little nervous when tasked with something new, perhaps, but otherwise comfortable.

I wonder what has transpired to render her so upset.

Vantos is clearly almost as distressed as Rachel, though he does a good job of holding himself in check, his expression mostly neutral, not snarling and angry.

I hope she has not misunderstood him in some way, read his surliness as contempt or dislike.

Surliness is just Vantos’ way, the same as Endzoh’s silence and Maldek and Rardek’s teasing. He does not mean anything with it.

“What happened?” I ask him.

He tells me of how she has sickened on the journey, growing weak and unhappy.

I look to her as Grace tries to calm her, but see nothing that puts any fear in me.

She is pale, yes, and certainly unhappy.

But she does not favour any part of her body as Grace guides her to sit, and her eyes are bright and alert.

Exhaustion, perhaps, from the travelling.

It was a lot to ask of the females, so soon after their hungering on the sands.

“I do not think she is in pain,” I tell Vantos. “At least, not pain of the body. Pain of the heartspace, perhaps.”

“She has been sick. Pain of the heartspace does not cause such things.”

I pay no mind to Vantos’ snapping. He is worried he has done Rachel harm, and his warrior’s spirit is wracked with guilt for it.

“You would be surprised what pain of the heartspace can cause the body to do,” I say.

“Grace,” Rachel says, her voice hoarse from being sick, or perhaps from her tears, “ ahmpregnant. ”

Well. That explains much.

It takes much consoling to convince Vantos he has done nothing that has brought any harm to Rachel.

He is beside himself with worry - worry that I think goes beyond his warrior spirit’s urge to protect.

And I wonder if perhaps I am not the only one whose heartspace sings.

Whose heartspace’s song goes unanswered.

I wonder if something has happened between them.

If this is why he is so over concerned that Rachel’s sickness is a result of something he has done.

I am intensely curious, but it is not the time to speak to him of it when he is so worried about my apprentice.

When he asks if I think it would be okay for him to speak to her, I merely look politely confused, as if I could think of no reason why he should not.

He decides he will, and I am not surprised when Grace comes out of the healer’s hut a moment later.

I gesture for her to walk with me toward the central fire. Vantos will know to find us there if we are needed.

“Molly?” I ask Grace. There was some argument between them this morning, I know.

Grace huffs a frustrated breath which tells me plenty without need for more words between us.

I grip her shoulder and try to give her a reassuring smile.

Younglings push at the borders we put around them, and Molly’s greatest wish is to be older than her seasons.

Any border is too much for her to tolerate.

There is an anxious bubbling to the conversation of the females when we arrive, and Liv goes to Grace immediately.

They know that Rachel has returned, and that Vantos has brought her straight to me.

Grace makes reassuring noises to appease them, but ushers Liv away to speak with her privately.

To tell her of the youngling that Rachel carries, no doubt.

I smile, delighted for my apprentice. She is perhaps sad and frightened at the moment, but when she knows she has the tribe behind her, that we will help her in this new venture of hers, I am sure she will warm to the idea. She has a caring heartspace and will make a fine mother.

My Lorna will be pleased. Another youngling for her to play with and dote on.

And Vantos. If he cares for Rachel the way I think he does, he will not allow her space to worry about a thing. The youngling will be the most well cared for and protected youngling to ever be born in this village.

Hannah is handing out bowls of food, so I take one for myself and a spare for Vantos, as Grace takes one for herself and a spare for Rachel.

“Yuko root,” I remind her. The remedy for upset stomachs.

We are most of the way to the healer’s hut when Vantos comes storming out of it, a look of determination in his expression. I gesture for Grace to carry on to Rachel, and turn to follow him.

“You seem much in a hurry, brother. Will you not sit down and eat something?” I say, holding out a bowl toward him.

“I must speak with Gregar. Is he here or on patrol?”

“I believe he is here, but is it a thing so urgent that you must speak with him now? It cannot wait for you to fill your stomach? I bet you have not eaten since Rachel took ill today.”

Vantos grumbles, but he slows in his march, turns and takes the bowl. We have come to a halt by my hut, so I step inside, taking out a chair for him.

“Sit with me a moment, brother. Your spirit seems full of fire this day.”

“I have things I must do.” His words are terse, and he shovels food into his mouth after speaking them. Hungry, or eager to be on his way, I am not sure.

“Words to speak with Gregar. It is Darran? He will not come?”

Vantos shakes his head. “Darran comes. He and his brothers were enchanted by Rachel. Those of mating age are eager for a pretty human female of their own. They will follow a few days behind us, I should think.”

“This is good news. Gregar will be well pleased.”

Vantos grimaces. “I hope so. Perhaps he will be more like to grant my request if he is well pleased.”

“Your request?”

I try to keep my expression as plain as I can.

Vantos bows his head, his cheeks darkening.

“It is Rachel. I wish…” He takes a breath, squares his shoulders and firms his expression. “I am going to request to live with her. As mates do.”

Even expecting something such as this as I am, it is shocking to hear him say it. It goes against everything we know about mates and how they are chosen for us. And it is Vantos. Vantos of all people who is casting aside tradition and expectation to ask this.

He must care for her so very deeply. I think of my Lorna, and find it is not at all hard to believe.

“I know it is not the raskarran way of things,” Vantos says, his tone defensive, though I have said nothing.

He expects an objection to his request. I think Gregar will find it hard to grant, but would Liv?

Humans do not find their mates the way we do.

Would this idea of Vantos’ be so objectionable to her?

Would it be to my Lorna?

We would not need to go deep into the forests to touch. She could live with me in my hut. As mates do. Would this be enough to satisfy my heartspace?

No, it would not. I want to name her linasha and share in dreams with her. I want to seed many younglings in her belly and raise a large family. This alone would be to my heartspace’s satisfaction.

But if I cannot have that, I would take Vantos’ idea over nothing.

“It is not the raskarran way,” I say, gripping his shoulder a moment before taking his empty bowl. “But she is not raskarran. Do you have her heartspace? The way she has yours?”

“I am so blessed, yes.”

“Then I wish you every luck, brother.”

Vantos straightens his back, looking as stiff and serious as I have ever seen him.

“I thank you. And I thank you for taking care of my Rachel.”

“Always,” I say, rising as he does.

With a solemn nod, he leaves my side, heading to find Gregar and make his request. I watch him go, wondering if ever there was a braver male than he.