The Restorer Page 8

  Bekkah led the group out and everyone fell in, leaving Tristan and me to follow. Tristan crouched, weaving a belt through loops in his scabbard, preparing to wear his sword rather than carry it in his pack.

  I had to make at least one attempt to ease my guilt. I cleared my throat, and he looked up.

  “Tristan, I’m sorry.” My voice broke, and I couldn’t meet his eyes.

  He stood, wrapped the belt around his waist, and cinched it. “You’re not what I was expecting in a Restorer.” He adjusted the scabbard.

  I waited, hoping for some glimpse of understanding or forgiveness in his face.

  His grim expression didn’t change as he studied me. “I’m glad you came back from the voices,” he said at last. “Now move.”

  I headed up the trail and thought about Kendra. Tristan said the Rhusican from the sword fight had poisoned her. Had Tristan been with her when she was lured away by the voices? Had he fought through long hours trying to pull her back, with no success? Did he resent me for surviving when his wife had not? I wouldn’t blame him.

  These emotions tapped into familiar echoes from home: all the ways I didn’t measure up, all the hurting people I wasn’t able to help, all the struggles my children faced that I wasn’t able to solve for them. There, as here, I was helpless and inadequate.

  God, I hate letting people down. I felt a twinge of the despair that had almost destroyed me last night. What was it Linette said? Don’t forget your Songs. You’ll need their strength.

  An old melody popped into my head. It was from the liturgy we sang at my childhood church. As I hummed it, some of the words came back to me.

  Create in me a clean heart, O God;

  And renew a right spirit within me.

  Cast me not away from thy presence;

  And take not thy holy spirit from me.

  Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation.

  My voice caught.

  Restore me, I prayed in silence.

  We reached a long ridgeline, and the path leveled. Up the trail, Bekkah set a slow pace. She moved with a limp, and Davis stayed near, occasionally pointing out something along the trail. Wade followed, holding his arm to keep it from jarring. Linette and Kyle hiked close behind Wade. From the hard set of Kyle’s shoulders, I could tell he was still angry. I paused to catch my breath before following.

  Tristan stomped along the trail not far behind me.

  My mind drifted to his pain. He took his role as protector of his people seriously. Yet his own wife had been killed, and the very Council he served seemed to be forsaking everything he worked for.

  Restore them, Lord. It was all I knew how to pray at that moment, but it was enough.

  The trail continued to be studded with large rocks and roots, so I kept my gaze down, especially as we now edged along a steep cliff. Focused on my footing, I was startled when Tristan clapped a hand onto my shoulder.

  “Look.” His voice was as warm and happy as I had heard it so far. From our vantage, I could see a scattering of homes. Braide Wood made me think of a mountain retreat center where our family had once vacationed, except these log cabins were chinked with bitum. The simple architecture formed around the trees in a way that made the homes seem a part of the forest.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, making Tristan smile. “I thought it would look more like Shamgar.”

  “Shamgar is close to the clay fields. Why would we drag clay way up here for our homes?” He pointed to the right. “See the house between the two tallest trees? That’s my family’s home.” We all picked up our pace to weave our way down the switchbacks and into the valley.

  Bekkah shouted a “halloo” as we drew closer, and we stirred up plenty of excitement with our entrance into the village. Our company scattered, greeting friends, but I followed Tristan as he moved straight to his home. He paused to look over his shoulder. “Wade! With me.”

  Wade pulled himself away from a conversation with a few girls his age and joined us. As we approached the house, the door flew open and a white-haired woman who looked to be in her sixties ran out, moving like a young girl. She grabbed Tristan’s face in her two wrinkled hands and pulled him close. She rested her forehead against his.

  “Thank the One,” she murmured. Then she planted a quick kiss on his brow and released him. When she stepped back, her tone changed.

  “You couldn’t send word in two seasons? Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been? And how did you get here so early in the day? Tell me you didn’t spend the night in the transport.”

  I grinned. Some things transcended cultures.

  Tristan pulled me forward. “This is Susan. I found her in Shamgar, but she’s not from the Grey Hills. Susan, this is my mother, Tara.”

  Should I shake hands? Curtsey?

  Tara grabbed me in a bear hug. “Well met, Susan. Come in, come in.” She guided me toward the door.

  Tristan pulled me away. “We’ll come back soon. I have a lot to talk to you about. But first we have to go to the healers.”

  Wade, Tara, and I all protested in unison.

  Tristan glared at me. “Do you think Cameron will ignore you? He has people who report to him even from as far as our village. I have to take you there to be ‘healed’ before you spread plague throughout Braide Wood. And Wade needs care.”

  I was embarrassed to realize I’d forgotten all about Cameron and my convenient fake illness.

  Tara cupped my face in her hands, thumbs massaging the lymph nodes in my neck. “You don’t feel feverish.”

  Tristan pulled me away. “I needed an excuse to bring her here.”

  His mother sighed. “I’m guessing you haven’t stayed out of trouble. All right, just a moment.” She popped into the house and came out with a gourd-shaped canteen that she handed to Wade. He took a long swallow and passed it to me. I sipped tentatively; the tart liquid rushed over my tongue, reviving me with an earthy sweetness like papaya and a bite like pineapple. While I was drinking the tangy juice, Tara offered a small bouquet of wildflowers to Tristan, which he tucked into his belt near his sword.

  She rested one hand on his cheek, and they exchanged a private look that was heavy with sadness. He nodded in understanding and turned.

  I had missed something, but didn’t have time to think about it as Tristan hurried us down a path and back out of the village.

  It was a short walk—maybe ten more minutes—before we reached a clearing with a small waterfall splashing from a cliff. A lodge-type building stood near the falls, surrounded by several smaller buildings. I guessed we had arrived at the healers’.

  Good thing it wasn’t any farther, because Wade was looking pale. “This isn’t a very convenient location for medical help,” I observed. “How do really sick people manage the walk?”

  Tristan ignored me, so Wade answered for him. “Most towns have their own healers. This is a place for long-term or special care.”

  Tristan squared his shoulders and led us up the boardwalk ramp and through the door of the large lodge. We entered an open common room. Several people, whom I guessed were patients, sat near windows and gazed out at the trees. Tristan scanned the room and seemed relieved when he spotted an older man in a green tunic that looked like a uniform. Tristan walked over to greet him, leaving Wade and me standing in the center of the room.

  Tristan made urgent explanations in a low voice, gesturing with his hands and pointing back at us. The healer rolled his eyes and shook his head, but finally nodded and signaled to us. We followed him down a hall and into a small room.

  He looked at me first. “I hear you have a very contagious illness.” He frowned at me, making his bushy eyebrows meld into one furry line.

  I looked uncertainly at Tristan.

  The healer burst into laughter. “Here.” He poured me a drink from a row of pitchers and bottles on a shelf along the wall.
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  I sniffed. It smelled like harmless clove tea. I tasted it and looked up.

  “Amazing what cures we’re able to work these days.” The man threw us a wicked grin. “She’s completely better. Another triumph for the healers. Of course, we’ll want to keep her in Braide Wood for several days to be sure it doesn’t return.” He winked at Wade. “I cannot allow her to visit any large cities while there’s any chance of this plague returning. Can’t be too careful.”

  Then his mood sobered, and he turned to Tristan. “I know you have other things to take care of. You go ahead. They’ll be fine here.”

  Tristan thanked him and ducked out of the room. The healer made “tsking” sounds as he unwrapped the stained and dirty cloth tied around Wade’s arm. I looked away, not wanting to see how deep the claw wounds were. The healer said he needed to get some more supplies and left us. Wade twisted his arm, trying to see how bad it looked.

  I’d never been good with my kids’ skinned knees, or even loose teeth. Now I worked hard to look everywhere in the room but at Wade. The sweetly pungent smell of blood and growing infection hit my nose, and I felt a wave of dizziness. “I’m going to look around,” I said to a point on the wall several feet from Wade’s head. I turned without waiting for a response. He chuckled behind me.

  In the hall, I took a deep, cleansing breath and wrinkled my nose. Sour smells floated from other open doorways, and I decided to look for the exit. I’d rather wait outside.

  True to my ability to get lost anywhere, I found myself wandering down a long wing in a different part of the lodge from the lobby we had first entered. Here, rows of small windows revealed tiny, empty rooms. I continued to the end of the quiet hall, turned a corner, and pulled back quickly.

  Tristan stood in the hallway, staring through a window into one of the rooms. His palm was flattened against the clear plastic, and his expression was bleak. I peeked around the corner again. Now he rested his forehead against the frame. His hand closed into a fist and his face twisted. Unwilling to intrude, I watched in silence as a young woman in the green tunic of the healers emerged from the room and slid the pocket door closed behind her. Tristan straightened and exchanged a few words with her. She shook her head, and his shoulders sagged. They walked down the hall away from me, still talking.

  What had upset Tristan so much? Compelling curiosity drew me toward the room as soon as Tristan was out of sight. I peered into the window. A woman sat in a chair in the small room. On a tiny table, small flowers drooped over the lip of a stoneware mug. Tara had pressed that bouquet into Tristan’s hands. This must be someone that Tara knew.

  The chair angled toward a window, but I was able to see the woman’s face. She had been beautiful once. I could see it in the bone structure of her youthful face and her exotic black hair. But deep circles shadowed her eyes, and above her loose tunic, her collarbones protruded. Her hands moved aimlessly, picking at the edge of a blanket that covered her lap. She looked alone and forgotten. As I watched her, memories surfaced of visits to a local nursing home with my church Ladies’ Guild each month. The loneliness of the patients always stirred me, and their gratitude for our brief visit humbled and saddened me. Aged or ill, people needed to feel connected. Following an impulse, I eased the door open and entered the room.

  The woman didn’t respond. Her blue-gray eyes remained vacant and unfocused.

  I knelt in front of her. “Hello,” I said softly. “My name is Susan.”

  She continued to stare, unmoving except for her fingers. They no longer held the blanket, but pulled and turned in strange patterns. She appeared to be crocheting an invisible scarf, or weaving a non-existent tapestry. Then her lips moved. She mouthed some words.

  “What is it?” I leaned closer. “What do you need?” I waited, trying to make out what she was communicating.

  “Faster,” she said in a voice barely above a breath.

  “Faster?” I wanted to take her hands—stop their bizarre and random movements—but was afraid to upset her.

  “Not enough. More. Faster. Do more. Do more. It’s not enough.”

  As she spoke, my own pulse began to quicken. Yes. Hurry. Whatever I was here to do, I needed to do it faster. I shook my head, confused at the sudden urgency. I pushed it down with an effort.

  “It’s all right,” I soothed. “You don’t have to do anything.” Did her hands slow down a bit, or was I imagining it?

  The door of the room slid open with a bang. “What are you doing? You can’t be in here!” The young woman in uniform I had seen in the hallway earlier glared at me.

  And behind her stood Tristan. The rage on his face was an exact match of the expression he had worn in the moments before he killed the Rhusican. But this time he was looking at me.

  Chapter

  9

  The young woman healer grabbed my arm and pulled me from the room.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, my eyes on Tristan. “She just looked so sad and alone. I thought a visit might help.” I tried hard to ignore his clenched jaw.

  The woman shook her head in disbelief. “No one is allowed in these rooms. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Yes. We’ve seen cases spread, especially to close friends and family. That’s why we no longer allow visits.” She glanced at Tristan.

  He didn’t notice. He was too intent on glaring at me. “She’s a stranger,” he snarled. “She didn’t know. I’ll make sure she finds her way out. Right now.”

  Tristan grabbed my upper arm with a fierceness that would leave bruises and dragged me down the hallway. “What were you doing?” he ground out. “No, don’t say anything.” He cut off my attempted explanation. He wouldn’t say another word until we were on the wooden walkway outside the front of the building. He hauled me forward.

  I dug in my heels. “Where’s Wade?”

  “He needs to stay overnight. He’s fine.” Tristan walked faster, still gripping my arm.

  I stumbled trying to keep up. If he didn’t calm down, he’d soon be dragging me in the dirt. “What’s the matter? I don’t—”

  “Quiet!” His teeth clamped together. In moments, we were down the trail and out of sight of the buildings.

  As confused as I’d been by this world, I’d come to trust Tristan. After all, he’d saved me from the lizard back in Shamgar and from Cameron in Lyric. But what did I really know about him—or his culture? In the face of his fury, my meager trust dissolved, and I became acutely aware of being alone with him. My stomach muscles clenched, and I tried again to pull my arm free. A few YMCA self-defense classes wouldn’t do me any good if he—

  Tristan stopped, grabbed my other arm as well, and threw me against a tree with a force that knocked the wind out of me. His eyes were wild, and he was breathing hard. Bruised and terrified, I struggled for breath.

  “Tell me the truth. What were you doing?” he roared, his face inches from mine.

  My mouth opened, but no sounds came out. I swallowed and tried again. “What do you mean?”

  His anger grew. Releasing me, he pulled his sword from its scabbard. Before I could take another breath, the sharp point was poised directly over my heart.

  I froze. “Tristan, please. I wasn’t doing anything. I just wanted to help.” Please, God, don’t let him kill me.

  “What did you say to Kendra?” he shouted.

  His words slammed into me. “That was Kendra?”

  Tristan must have noticed the shock in my face because his rage dialed back one notch. But he didn’t withdraw his weapon.

  I was careful not to breathe too deeply. “Tristan, I thought Kendra was dead. You said she was poisoned, and I thought . . . I didn’t know who the woman in the room was. Please believe me. I’m—I’m so sorry.” What else could I say? I poured every ounce of earnestness into the apology.

  He stared at me for a long moment. Fin
ally, he pulled the sword back and then thrust it into the ground with a groan of frustration.

  My knees buckled, and my back scraped against the tree trunk as I slid down to bare dirt. Black spots peppered the edge of my vision, and I dropped my head forward onto my knees, sucking in oxygen.

  Great. Tristan wanted to believe I had been sent to help restore his people. And all I had done was cause harm. I concentrated on breathing until my pulse rate slowed and the black spots faded away. I was finally able to raise my head.

  Tristan sat on a rock across the path, watching me. The rage was gone; he looked confused, embarrassed, and bone weary. He said nothing.

  I wrestled with some confusion of my own. “What did I do? I don’t want to keep making mistakes. Please tell me what just happened.”

  He looked down and nodded. “You really don’t understand anything, do you?”

  I bristled. I was tempted to point out that I’d been adjusting to a world with technology, politics, and geography that was almost totally foreign to me, not to mention my own heightened senses and the ability to heal so quickly that the bruises he had just given me were gone almost before they could form. I thought I was doing a pretty good job of coping. But this didn’t seem to be the time to bring that up.

  “What was I supposed to think?” he continued. “The first time I leave you alone, I find you talking to a Rhusican. Then you keep us from reaching home before nightfall. Then I find you in Kendra’s room.” He leaned forward, meeting my eyes. “I won’t let anyone hurt her again.”

  “I didn’t know who she was.” I met his gaze without flinching. “She looked lonely, and I thought I’d talk to her. Besides . . .” I wondered how to describe the compulsion that guided me to her door. “I felt like I was supposed to see her.”

  Tristan’s eyes went cold. “Stay away from her.”