The Reader

Chapter Thirteen - Scars

Kallista opened her eyes and grimaced as the sunlight reflected off wood and stabbed into her pupils. She raised her head unsteadily, the ground rocking beneath her. After a few moments she realised she was lying on an itchy grey woollen army blanket on the floor of a wagon-bed. She looked towards the back of the wagon. It had no back gate and she was able to see the horses of her guards trotting a dozen yards away. When they saw her stirring they urged their mounts closer. One peeled from the ranks and cantered out of sight.

With a groan Kallista managed to push herself upright. She tried to lean back against the wall of the wagon but the second her shoulders made contact with the wood they seared with pain. She shot forwards and hissed through her teeth, trying not to scream. Gingerly she raised her right arm and reached over her shoulder. Her tentative fingers brushed against thick gauze.

Memories came flooding back. She remembered the battle with the shadowrith and a leaden weight settled in the pit of her stomach. She could almost smell its rancid breath once more. Her head spun sickeningly so she lay down on her side and let her eyes slip shut.

When she awoke she had no idea how long she had been asleep. The sun was still glaring fiercely and the day seemed to have heated a few more degrees. She stirred with a moan, pushing herself off the wagon bed for a second time.

“Do you feel okay?” came a concerned voice. Kallista squinted towards the open rear of the cart and saw Merric's bulk hunkered down in a crouch. Their horses Eagle and Dusk trotted behind, their reins looped through two frayed, tattered twine loops attached to rungs on the sides of the wagon. Eagle pricked his ears when Kallista spoke.

“I feel like I was run over by a coach.” Her tongue was thick and unresponsive, the words coming out slurred like a drunk's. She smacked her dry lips to try generate saliva. Wordlessly, Merric handed her a full waterskin. She took it and drank greedily, liquid spilling from the sides and soaking her dusty black tunic.

“Thanks,” she said, handing it back and swiping her forearm across her mouth. He laid it down on the floor and then scooted closer.

“You've been out for quite some time,” he told her, reaching for her right leg. Kallista hadn't realised that it, too, was wrapped in gauze. Her pant-leg had been cut off to just below her groin. Merric peeled the layers of cloth back to reveal a nasty, but cleanly stitched, wound. “Berta tended your injuries.”

“Tell her I said thankyou.”

“You can tell her yourself when we make camp tonight.”

He carefully rewrapped the gauze and then motioned for her to turn around so he could check her back. Kallista did as he bade and hugged her non-injured leg to her chest while he gently removed the bandages.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“No,” she lied.

He didn't reply but she imagined he was smiling as he replaced the cloth with tender care. When he was finished Kallista turned back around to face him, warily avoiding brushing her back up against the walls of the wagon bed.

“The blood must have been full of dark magic,” Merric commented. “It left nasty burns. You'll probably be scarred.”

“Just a few more to add to the collection,” she grinned.

They passed a few interesting minutes pulling back sleeves and pant legs to compare scars and share the stories that accompanied them. Merric told her she won with her blood burns, but she was impressed with a twisted, ugly purple scar that ran diagonally across his chest. He told her it had come from a knife-fight, but she guessed it had been something far more sinister. No knife could leave such a devastating wound.

“It was a knife, I swear,” he protested.

“I have seen many knife wounds,” she told him, “and none this severe. Not even killing blows.” Before she could help herself she reached out and lightly ran two fingers over his flesh. His skin was warm and taut over his rock-solid muscles. The feel of him and his close proximity to her was intoxicating. She snatched her hand back and leaned away, face burning.

He was watching her with his sharp blue eyes. She felt like a mouse being scrutinised by a hungry falcon and it heated her cheeks all the more. She averted her eyes and looked at Eagle instead. The black stallion whickered at her and Kallista grinned.

“He's missed you,” Merric said, buttoning his shirt back up. His clothes were as dusty as everything else, but it couldn't hide how strikingly handsome he was. “He wasn't very happy with just me for company.”

“He doesn't like men very much,” Kallista said, clearing her throat a tad. It was dry again.

“Do explain,” Merric said, handing her the waterskin once more. He took a swig after she was done with it.

“I rescued him from a brute. I came across him beating Eagle about the head with a driving whip and jerking him around. I confronted him and told him to stop what he was doing, that he was ruining a perfectly good horse. He laughed at me. 'He's nothing but a beast,' he said, 'and he's none of your concern, girl.' The driver tasted steel and Eagle tasted freedom. I'm the only one he really trusts.”

Merric was silent. Kallista looked down at her hands in her lap.

“Do you feel well enough to ride?” Merric asked after a few minutes. Kallista nodded. She didn't like the way the wagon lurched about on the uneven road. Merric stood and called for the driver to stop for a moment. With a jingle of harness and a cluck of the tongue the man obeyed, pulling his team to a slow halt.

Kallista stood, teetering slightly on her bad leg. Merric reached a hand out to steady her but Kallista flushed with the thought of feeling his skin on hers again and refused the help. Instead he jumped from the wagon and turned Eagle about, the stallion pinning his ears in suspicion, so that Kallista could easily clamber into the saddle. She slipped her feet into the stirrups and gathered the reins. Merric untied and mounted Dusk, then thanked the driver and clucked the mare back into formation. Kallista's guards, never more than ten feet away, followed.

It felt good to be back in the saddle and have the breeze on her face. The sun had made her black clothing unbearably hot and her feet were roasting inside her long, supple leather boots. One of them rested against the bare calf of her pantless leg and burned her skin. But Kallista ignored the sting. She longed to urge Eagle into a canter but knew she'd find a dozen arrows in her back if she so much as moved her heels.

“We'll arrive at Falls this afternoon,” Merric told her. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the jangle of tack and the drum of hooves.

“Then you'll finally be rid of me,” she replied with a grin.

But her heart settled hollow in her boots.