The Outworlder Read online

  So this will be my end. Buried alive in the sand. Sahara’s eyes burned. So many things flashed through her mind, things regretted and things hoped for, and all seemed shadows.

  She turned her head to the left and squawked in surprise. Planted not six inches from her face were heavy leather boots, almost the color of the sand that swirled around them. She pushed herself over onto her side and looked up.

  A man stood over her.

  She blinked slowly at him, capturing details. A strangely mottled, sand-colored jacket and pants. A sword with an ornate ivory hilt in a shoulder scabbard. Some kind of goggles dangling from bronzed fingers. A silver cloth bound around his nose and mouth to keep out the sand. Dark hair framing eyes of shimmering silver.

  Sahara stared at those eyes, cold seeping into the pit of her stomach. She knew those eyes.

  He pulled the cloth down so that he could speak to her. His jaw was strong and covered with the dark stubble of a beard.

  “What keeps you here, xenali?” When she made no answer, he gestured at the swirling sands around them. “The harbingers warn you to seek shelter.”

  “And where do you suggest I go?” she barked hoarsely. She tried to lick her cracked lips. “You got any ideas?”

  He made no answer, but crouched next to her and helped her to sit up. He pulled a small flask from his deep thigh pocket and held it to her lips. A thin trickle of liquid ran into her mouth. She took it eagerly enough, but discovered immediately that it was not water but something that burned horribly. It set her coughing violently, and she shoved his hand away and grabbed at her throat. His mouth twisted into a smile and he stood, pulling her to her feet with him.

  It was another minute before she could finally straighten up and face him. In spite of the nastiness of whatever he had given her, it had restored some of her strength and refreshed her a little.

  As he saw that she had recovered, another grin swept across his bronzed face. “I will bring you to shelter, xenali.” He hesitated for a moment, and then added, “They said I would find you here.”

  With her returning strength came a sudden irrational rush of fury. “They? Who’re they? And why should they care? Or you, for that matter? Why should you care what happens to me?”

  Much to her irritation, the venom in her voice did not seem to surprise him, and she couldn’t push away the nagging sensation that she knew this man somehow. It enraged her.

  The sand swirled more thickly around them, and he handed her a silver cloth like his own, folded over into a triangle.

  “Put this over your mouth and nose. And put these on.”

  He handed her a pair of glasses. She put them on and the bands automatically clasped her head snugly, making a tight seal around her eyes. He nodded briefly, then gestured to her feet.

  “I can’t do anything about that right now, I’m afraid.”

  She looked down and saw how badly the sand had blistered them. Even the sight of them made her want to wince, and she didn’t dare touch them for fear that she would show pain.

  “We have herbs that will soothe them in Albadir. You’ll have to wait till we get there.” He glanced up at the horizon and the dunes around them, then beckoned to her. “Come on. The sand will be unforgiving soon. We’ve got to get to shelter.”

  “Tell me your name first,” she demanded as she tied the cloth over her face and breathed deeply.

  He replaced the cloth over his own mouth and nose, and, just before he put on his own glasses, his eyes glinted at her in a sudden, hidden smile.

  “My name is Jared. Jared Alareth.”

  Chapter 2

  Jared trekked swiftly northeastward, holding her firmly by the hand so that she wouldn’t lose him in the rising sandstorm. His pace was so quick that she had no breath to ask him where they were going and why they didn’t just lie down and let the sand take them to whatever afterlife awaited them.

  Only once did he look back at her, when she lost her footing in the shifting sand and nearly fell. He said nothing, but she felt somehow that he was asking her if she was all right. She nodded, and he turned around again.

  Night had fallen. Sahara could see no stars through the whirling sands, and the world was utterly dark. She wondered how Jared even knew where they were going. She felt utterly blind, and her helplessness made her rage inside.

  At last, Jared stopped. Sahara stumbled into him and then stubbed her toe, not against a wall of sand, but against bare rock. She snapped her teeth shut to stem the tide of curses that welled up within her.

  “Careful,” Jared said, his voice husky from the sand and the long walk. “This is stone now, not sand. We’re in the foot-hills just west of the city.”

  “Thanks for telling me that now,” she grouched.

  She curled her hurt toe and tried not to show how much it pained her. Even if she couldn’t see in this darkness, maybe he could.

  Jared seemed not to hear her. He was feeling for something on the face of the rock.

  “What are you doing?” Sahara snapped. She wanted to sit down, but he still had firm hold of her hand.

  “Stone by stone,” he murmured. “Patience, xenali. You must have patience.”

  “Sorry, I ran out of that a long time ago.”

  She heard stone grind on stone and then cool, slightly musty air gushed over her from an opening in the wall in front of them.

  “Patience doesn’t run out,” Jared told her. “It’s like a river. The only way the course runs dry is if you choose to—”

  “Look. I’m tired, and I just want to rest. Let me in already.”

  She thought she heard him sigh, but he stepped inside the cave and drew her in after him.

  “Stand there,” he said, letting go of her hand.

  She heard a noise of stone striking flint, and a moment later light flooded the cave from a torch on the wall beside the door.

  It wasn’t just bare stone, this little hole in the foothills. Lush rugs were spread over the floor, in hues of red and gold that reminded her of the rich wines that had made her own city famous. Gorgeously carved wooden chests squatted against the back wall, and huddled along the wall on her left were five or six tall stone jars. Next to these lay baskets full of some kind of flat bread and dried fruits. On her right she glimpsed a sort of low couch, made from large embroidered cushions laid flat on the floor and upright against the wall and scattered with smaller pillows of all shapes and sizes.

  Sahara blinked and glanced at Jared, who was calmly lighting the torch on the other side of the door.

  “My people keep this place as an oasis in the desert,” he said, without looking at her. “If anyone has the need to travel this way, they’ll find this place provisioned and watered. It’s also useful as an outpost.”

  “An outpost for what?”

  “You needn’t trouble yourself about that tonight.” He pulled the silver cloth from his face and took off his glasses. “Come and rest. We’ll finish our journey to Albadir in the morning.”

  He moved another stone, and the door slid shut, blocking out the darkness and the howling sands.

  Sahara staggered forward, pulling off the goggles and face cloth. She dropped them beside her as she collapsed on one of the rugs. It was softer than she had expected and smelled faintly of some kind of spice.

  “This won’t smell so nice after I’ve slept on it,” she muttered.

  Jared laughed and she jumped, feeling a warmth flood her face.

  “Don’t worry about that,” he told her. “These rugs are woven to keep out sand and odor. It is a great art that the women of our land have developed over hundreds of years. You won’t ruin them.”

  “I didn’t know you’d heard me,” she murmured as she crawled fully onto the rug and pulled a cushion under her head. “How about these? Can I use these?”

  “Of course, xenali.”

  “Why do you keep calling me that?”

  Jared took off his jacket and tossed across one of the chests in the back of the cave. The sho
rt sleeves of his black undershirt revealed corded arms and a small, strange tattoo on his right bicep. He crossed to one of the stone jars, removed its lid, and dipped out a cupful of clear water.

  “Why do I call you what? Xenali?”

  He brought her the cup and held it out to her. She took it eagerly, gulping the liquid down her parched throat.

  “Xenali is our word for stranger,” he explained. “You didn’t give me your name, so I have nothing else to call you.”

  Sahara tipped the cup to get the last drop of water and then handed it back to him. “It’s Sahara.”

  “Sahara.” He repeated it slowly, as if tasting the syllables as they rolled off his tongue.

  “Yeah.”

  She lay back on the cushion and sighed. She would close her eyes. Just for a moment….

  “Would you like to wash?” Jared asked.

  She opened her eyes and realized that she must have fallen asleep. Jared was crouching next to her, letting a white cloth drip over a basin of smooth, rose-colored stone. She sat up slowly and hesitated.

  “You’ll feel better if you do,” he said, holding the cloth out to her.

  She snatched it out of his hands and rubbed it over her cheeks, chin, and nose. It came away black with dirt, smoke, sweat, and sand. Jared rinsed it out in the basin and handed it back to her. She gingerly dabbed at her forehead and winced.

  “Let me help you,” Jared offered, his voice gentle. “I can see the cut—you can’t.”

  He gently moved her tangled red hair away from her face and started to cleanse the wound.

  “This is very deep,” he said, looking down into her eyes.

  There was concern in his steady gaze, and an unasked question. Sahara hesitated for a moment, wavering between irrational anger and tears. Anger won out, as it usually did.

  “Just leave it alone!” She pushed his hand away and scrambled away from him.

  She could sense his surprise, but she couldn’t explain even to herself why she had lashed out at him. Feeling wretched, she huddled down in the cushions piled in the far corner of the cave.

  “Just leave me alone,” she whispered.

  With a shuddering sigh she turned to face the wall, hiding her face so that he would not see the tears that she could not stop. She wiped her nose and hugged her knees to her chest.

  She could feel Jared watching her in the silence that followed, which was broken only by the faint dripping of the cloth into the basin of water. She neither moved nor spoke, and after a moment she heard him move to the other side of the cave, and heard the trickling of water as he poured what remained in the basin down a small drain hole cut in the stone floor. She began trembling all over.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked from behind her. “We have food here—bread, some dried fruits, even a bit of dried meat, if that is to your liking.”

  “No.” The word was short, sharp, hurting.

  “Are you cold?”

  Sahara only shivered. Part of her hoped that he would leave her alone, but the other part was silently, wordlessly, crying for help. She felt him kneel on the rug behind her, and a wave of relief, surprising her with its force, swept over her. He had heard what she did not know how to speak.

  Jared laid one hand on her shoulder and the other gently across her wounded forehead.

  “You’re radiating heat,” he told her. “A fever is beginning. You were exposed to far too much sun today, and that cut on your head is beyond my skill to treat.”

  Sahara’s teeth chattered together and she pulled her knees up closer to her chest in a futile attempt to stop shaking. Jared left her and opened one of the wooden chests along the back of the cave. He pulled out a soft blue blanket and brought it back to her. Quietly and deftly he arranged some cushions, eased her onto them, and covered her snugly with the blanket.

  “I’ll make you something to lower the fever for tonight. Tomorrow you’ll be in better hands than mine for healing.”

  Sahara watched him build a tiny fire in a large beaten copper bowl. He placed a twisted metal tripod over the fire and set a mug of water on top of that. She nestled further under the blanket. It was softer than anything she had ever felt before in her life, and her shivering melted away under its warmth. But her body ached with fever now, and her eyes were burning so that she could barely hold them open.

  Jared took a leather pouch from one of the wooden chests and sprinkled some dried herbs into a mortar bowl. He ground them into a fine powder and then tapped it into the water over the fire. He waited for a few moments as the water and the powder swirled together into a fragrant crimson liquid. When it began to steam, he removed it from the tripod and carried it to Sahara.

  “Here.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and raised her head so that she could drink. “This will ease the fever and the pain. Then you should sleep.”

  Sahara hesitated for an instant, hazily remembering the pungent drink he had given her earlier. He gently pressed the cup against her lips and tipped it. As the warm liquid slid into her mouth, she swallowed. It was slightly sweet, and she felt its warmth seep into her. She drank it to the last drop and let him settle her back onto the cushions.

  “Sleep,” he told her with a smile.

  Sahara’s eyes closed, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

  *****

  Jared put out the fire in the copper bowl and set the mug in the basket with the cloth. He took another blanket out of the wooden chest, this one a rugged crimson, and pulled some cushions onto the rug on the other side of the cave. He pulled off his boots and tossed them against the wall, then laid his sword on the ground within easy reach of his hand. All the while, his eyes never left Sahara’s sleeping figure. He waited until he saw the fierce red stain of fever leave her face pale but peaceful, and then he lay down on his side, pulling his blanket up under his arm.

  Sleep would not come. Too many unanswered questions lingered in his mind.

  Who is she? And why do I feel like I’ve seen her before? That I know her, somehow?

  He remembered how she had stared up at him from the sand, surprise and shock mingling with recognition in her eyes.

  And why do I feel that she knows me too? Where did she come from? Why is she here? Is it a portent?

  Jared rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling of the cave, watching shadow dance with light.

  “I don’t believe in portents anyway,” he muttered. “Portents are for fools.”

  But he couldn’t brush away the feeling that finding her in the desert was not an accident. She was meant to be there, and he had been meant to find her.

  Recognition.

  It was a strange idea, really. He rolled the concept over in his mind, considering how two people who had never met, and—here he glanced over at her sleeping form—who weren’t even from the same world, could have a memory of one another.

  He rolled over again so that he was facing the wall of the cave. He closed his eyes and told himself to sleep. But sleep, like love, runs when forced, and he opened his eyes again. Rolled onto his back. Laced his fingers behind his head and stared upward.

  A chill suddenly flashed through his veins. He remembered now.

  It came back to him in disjointed images that flashed into his memory and left almost as quickly as they came. The stone colonnade of the great house of Albadir, wavering, fading into obscurity as something in his mind clouded his eyes. The blazing contrail of a ship plummeting through the atmosphere. A woman lying in the sand, blood caking her head and her left arm. The arc of the sun, the heat, the sand. The woman, standing on top of the sand dune, searching. The stone colonnade of the great house of Albadir.

  He sat up with a sharp gasp. His hands trembled as he rubbed them over his face and then through his dark hair. Those disconnected images had been enough for him to equip himself for the journey into the western desert, bringing supplies for two. He glanced over at her. She was still sleeping, but on her side now, and anguish had formed a faint knot be
tween her eyebrows.

  Suddenly her hand tightened convulsively into a fist, and tears slipped from underneath her lashes. Her lips moved as though she was speaking, but no sound came from them. Then her face was quiet again. Peace smoothed the furrows from her forehead and dried her tears, and she slept on.

  Jared sighed and rolled over, closing his eyes. There would be time for questions and answers soon enough, but the time for sleep was almost gone.

  His eyes snapped open some hours later. The torches had guttered out, but the cave wasn’t totally dark. It was morning.

  Jared got to his feet and opened the door of the cave. The violent night winds had stilled into a gentle breathing, and the eastern horizon trembled with light. To the west, the last of the night stars were ending their dance, drowning in the glow that was spreading across the sky. He inhaled deeply as the dawn breeze stirred his hair, and then he turned back to wake Sahara.

  To his surprise, she was already up, sitting with her back against the wall and her knees drawn up under her chin.

  “How long have you been awake?” he asked.

  Sahara shrugged.

  “Do you feel better?”

  She shrugged again. Jared arched an eyebrow but said nothing more. He drew a cupful of water from the jar and drank it down in one draught and then drew some for Sahara.

  “Here,” he said.

  She moved stiffly, wincing when she put weight on her right foot, and reseated herself near the copper fire bowl. She took the water and Jared watched with amusement as she tried not to drink as greedily as she obviously wanted to.

  “We have some distance to go today before we get to the city,” he added, “so the sooner we begin the less we’ll suffer the heat of the day. Are you hungry?”