Firestorm (18 page)

"Are they, now?" Bahir quickly opened the carrying pack and found that there was indeed a metal box within. He hauled it out. "How do I see this . . . this biosphere? How do I truly know if there's some life form within it?"

"Flip open the locks. Inside you'll find a membranous sphere. Shake it and you'll see a green luminescence appear. Those are the temeritas. They maintain Rand's Volan entity through a biochemical process similar to that in the neural network of a Volan host."

"Host? The Volans need hosts?"

Raina nodded. "They burned out their own bodies long ago. Now they travel through the universe in search of new bodies. That's why we need that special Incen-darian stone. It's to be used to keep the Volans out of the Imperium."

"We've seen no Volans on Incendra."

Gods, Raina thought. Must she give lessons to the man now? "They're almost impossible to detect once they've entered a body. And once they're within, they rapidly burn out their host and kill him. Hence their insatiable need for new hosts."

A pained expression stole across Bahir's face. He set aside the box and began to rub his temples. "Not so fast," he mumbled. "You're going too fast."

Raina paused, cocked her head, and eyed him curiously. "I beg pardon. I suppose this is all quite overwhelming for you, as isolated as Incendarians now are from the rest of the Imperium."

Bahir shot her an irritated look. "I'm neither slow nor stupid. I just . . . suddenly have a . . . a terrible headache."

"I'm sorry." Raina felt inane saying that, but she didn't know what else to say. "Is there something more you'd like explained?"

He sat there a long moment, a puzzled expression on his face, as if he couldn't quite work through a reply. "No," the Tuaret leader finally replied. "Aban. I . . . need . . . Aban."

"I suggest you go and get this Aban, femina," Rand said. "Our friend here sounds ill."

Muttering, "he's not our friend, Rand," Raina shoved to her feet, shot one last glance at Bahir, who had begun rocking back and forth, a blank expression on his face, and turned and ran back to the camp. "Aban," she cried, motioning him to her side. "Bahir. I-I don't know what's wrong with him, but he appears to be very ill."

The big Tuaret shot her a disbelieving glance, then headed for the trees, Raina at his side. "What have you done to him? I swear, if you've harmed him in any way—"

"I've done nothing!" Raina said fiercely. "One moment we were talking, and the next, he said he had a headache. Then he became increasingly confused."

A stricken expression twisted Aban's swarthy face. "By the firestorms, not again! It's too soon. They're coming too close together now!"

"What? What's coming too close together?"

He shook his head, his mouth gone tight. "Nothing. It's none of your affair."

She couldn't get another word out of him after that. They reached the spring and the spot where she'd left Bahir and Rand. Aban's gaze took in the open pack and the metal box, then swung to where his leader sat, rocking to and fro.

"Bahir," he softly said, dropping to his knees on the grass beside his friend. "It's Aban. I'm here to take you back to camp." As he spoke, he reached up and stroked Bahir's head.

Raina couldn't believe her eyes. Aban was treating the proud Tuaret leader as if he were a child or a doddering old man. She walked over and squatted beside Aban. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong with him." The denial came out in a strained, choked voice. "Just help me, if you will, to get him to stand. He can walk back, if we can just get him up."

She moved to Bahir's left, grasped his arm with one hand and, with the other, slid it across his back to clasp his other side. Aban did the same on the right. Together, they managed to get the powerful Tuaret leader to his feet. In a slow, halting procession, they led him back through the trees.

"Aban," Raina tried again, "I don't mean to pry, but if I knew what was wrong with Bahir, I might have some medications that could help him. Our medical technology, where we come from, is quite advanced, and—"

"There's nothing that can help him!" the big nomad cried in a tear-choked voice, pulling Bahir to a halt. "Nothing, no cure, no hope. Let it be. Let us deal with this in our own way."

Taken aback, Raina flushed, then nodded. "Of course. I beg pardon. I meant no harm."

"I know you didn't, femina. But just ... let it be."

***

The Tuarets fashioned another litter, strapped it in place between two more equs, and laid Bahir on it. Then, after tying Rand's carrying pack to the back of Raina's saddle and packing the remaining supplies, the little caravan set out across the Ar Rimal, heading west, in the direction of the Barakah Mountains. They traveled all day, halting for several hours in the noonday heat to rest and take a light meal. As the sun finally began to sink toward the distant horizon, Aban called once more for them to head out.

Both Teague and Bahir slept a good portion of the day. When Bahir was awake, he rocked to and fro within the confines of the straps that bound him securely in his litter. Teague, whose equs walked alongside those of the Tuaret leader's, watched him, a concerned, thoughtful expression on his face.

Twilight blanketed the desert before Aban finally called a halt for the night within a steep-sided gully that meandered across the land. Wildflowers and hardy desert grasses grew in profusion along the rocky floor. Though the rush of water from the last rainfall had long ago been sucked into the earth, there was at least enough forage for the hungry equs.

Raina immediately swung down from her equs, her muscles, not used to the strain of riding, screaming in protest. She walked stiffly over to check on Teague. He was awake.

"How do you feel?"

He shot her a wry glance. "Coated in sand and baked to a crisp. Aside from that, as good as can be expected. I'm giving serious consideration to riding on the morrow."

Raina gave a disbelieving snort. "A bit premature, don't you think?"

He shrugged. "Thanks to your expert care and the torpine, my wounds are sore, but healed. And, more to the point, I tire of being an invalid."

She untied the ropes binding him to the litter, then stepped back and motioned to him. "Then climb down and show me how healed you really are."

"Is that some joke?" Teague shoved to a sitting position and eyed the considerable distance to the ground with misgiving.

"No." Raina cocked her head. "The distance to the ground is the same height as climbing up onto the back of an equs, only a lot easier. If you can't make it down on your own, how can you expect to make it up the same way?"

"I see your point," he muttered. Teague swung his legs over the side of the litter and, grasping the pole for support, gingerly lowered himself down. The sudden demands on his abused muscles nearly sent him to his knees. As it was, his legs buckled and he gasped in pain.

Raina quickly strode over to assist him. Though he tolerated her hands on him because he needed her help, the look he sent her was anything but grateful. With slow, halting steps, they made their way across the gully to where a campfire was already being laid. Raina helped Teague to the ground, then ran back, unsaddled her equs, grabbed the water bag, and brought it and the saddle back to Teague.

"Is there anything else you need just now?" she asked once she'd gotten the saddle propped comfortably behind him.

"You're not my nursemaid" he gritted. "I can manage without you for a time, I suppose."

"Just like I managed without you when I was ill." She handed him the water bag. "Here, drink some water. You're probably just irritable from dehydration. I'll take care of my equs in the meanwhile."

Teague glowered up at her but accepted the bag and unstoppered it. He took a long, deep swallow of the water, then lowered the bag and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Satisfied?"

In the dying rays of the sun, a soft rose color washed the desert, reflecting off the high rock walls of the gully and Teague's face. Rugged strength was carved into every plane of his increasingly sun-bronzed features, from his thick, dark brows to his long, straight nose and strong mouth. But it was his eyes, little more than glinting silver shards in his narrowed gaze, that caught and held Raina's regard.

A guarded antagonism, a barely contained anguish, gleamed there. The contradictory emotions puzzled Raina. It was as if ... as if he hated her, yet didn't want to, all at the same time.

The realization filled her with a startling surge of compassion. She wanted to sit beside him, take him into her arms, and comfort him. He was a good man—she knew that now with every fiber of her being—but a terribly tormented one. And he didn't deserve to suffer so.

There was little, however, that she could do about it, or, if the truth be told, dared do about it. Though Teague might believe he risked his soul in taking her as friend, she risked just as much. It was a risk Raina realized now she'd willingly take, but she wouldn't and couldn't force that same decision on him. It wasn't right, wasn't fair, and it would be a poor show of gratitude for all he'd done for her.

"Yes, I'm satisfied," she said softly, knowing that to linger there an instant longer might be their undoing. Wordlessly, she turned and walked back to the equs.

Teague watched her retreating form, a painful knot forming in the middle of his chest. Gods, but she was so beautiful, so kind to him, so caring. She didn't deserve the way he'd treated her just now, or for the past few days. He was being intentionally cruel, and it sickened him.

Yet what choice had he? He had to drive her away in any way he could or lose everything. Everything . . . Once more the panic swelled within him. His breath grew ragged. His heart pounded. Clenching his eyes shut, Teague began the old, familiar litanies. Over and over he mentally intoned them, drawing on them for comfort, for support, for sustenance in a time in which he found himself drowning, bereft, lost.

And like the blade ritual powers he'd forfeited in his unholy desire for her, the litanies and the sacred teachings failed to give him surcease. Teague's hands fisted, his nails scoring his palms. Tears of pain and sheer terror welled in his eyes.

Gone . . . everything was gone. Crazed irrational thoughts whirled through his mind. He had nothing.

Nothing . . . and it was all Raina's fault. Gods, how he regretted agreeing to come on this quest, regretted ever meeting her! Yet he had, and now she was slowly but surely destroying him.

Anger filled him. She would take it all, then walk away untouched, unaware of what she'd done, unconcerned and uncaring. More than anything, her lack of concern over what she'd wrought infuriated him. She would take everything from him and leave him a quivering, impotent, needy specter of the man he'd worked so hard to become—and never know or care.

He hated her for that most of all.

Twelve

Bahir woke from his illness—whatever it was— shortly before dawn. Until then, Raina hadn't been allowed near him. The Tuaret leader was cared for by his men in a gentle, solicitous manner that surprised her. She hadn't thought men capable of such tender concern.

It was also evident from their protectiveness and care that Bahir elicited great loyalty and affection from his followers. Though she found him overbearing and arrogant to a fault, Raina was also astute enough to know these were traits most men would find admirable. They'd see them, instead, as signs of self-confidence and forceful leadership, invaluable attributes in a leader. Strange, she mused, how the same qualities men found commendable in each other could be turned against women to control and intimidate.

After a quick breakfast of journey bread, last night's leftover mentha tea, and more dried fruit, they began to break camp. Teague, now even more taciturn and disagreeable than the eve before, stubbornly insisted on riding today.

"One more day of rest," Raina pleaded. "Just give your wounds and your strength one more day. If you push yourself too hard too fast, you'll lose all the headway you've made."

"Let it be," he gritted, struggling to stand. His gaze never met hers as he straightened his cloak and head-cloth, then brushed the sand away. "I've told you before, you're not my nursemaid. It's past time you began to listen."

Stung, Raina struck back in the only way she could. "You didn't reject my nursing after you were attacked by the sand cat. You thought my judgment and care was good enough then."

"And if you hadn't stomped off in a snit," he retorted, riveting a pair of blazing ice-blue eyes on her, "I'd never have had to fight the sand cat at all. They fear fire. They'd never have come near our camp. So let's just say we're even and leave it at that." "Why, you ungrateful crock of—" A throat cleared loudly behind them. As one, Teague and Raina wheeled, ready to pounce on anyone foolhardy enough to intrude on their self-absorbed dispute. It was Bahir, quite recovered.

His piercing gaze swept over them. He smiled a small, secret smile. "A lover's spat, I gather?"

"It's nothing like that." Teague inhaled a steadying breath and forced his tension to ease. No purpose was served by his and Raina's argument anyway, save to stir his frustration and fury to greater heights.

He managed a tight smile in Bahir's direction. "I'm glad to see you've recovered from your illness. What can we do for you?"

"You look like you're recovering well from your recent injuries, too," the Tuaret leader replied, obviously choosing not to elaborate about what had recently befallen him. "Are you yet ready to ride?" "No, he isn't," Raina said.

"Yes, I am," Teague ground out, casting her an icy glare.

Bahir's lips twitched. "Good. I'd like you to ride with me, then. There are things I need to discuss with you."

It was evident from the look the Tuaret sent Raina that he hadn't included her in the invitation. Satisfaction, albeit admittedly childish, filled the monk. "As would I with you, Bahir." He glanced over to where all the equs were tethered. "I'll need a mount of my own."

Bahir nodded. He took Teague by the arm. "Then come. There are several to choose from, depending on your level of riding expertise. Have you ridden much, or . . ."

As they walked away, their voices faded. Raina stood there, gazing after them, seething at their overt snubbing of her. Curse Bahir, she raged. And most of all, curse Teague Tremayne!

She had half a mind to follow after them and remind them both that she was an equal partner in all this. But that smacked too much of a child begging to be allowed to play with the older children, and she'd never beg. Let them think they'd gained the upper hand. They'd soon see the error of that. No man—save one—had ever bested her before.

No man ever would again.