Nameless (5 page)

Rough fingers dug into Zo’s arms as Ram soldiers dragged her through the damp, cobbled streets to meet the Gate Master.

From where she walked, the tall wall enclosing Ram’s Gate lay in the distance, barely visible over the massive structures surrounding her. Ram buildings made of stone and plaster conveyed a sense of arrogant permanence contrary to every other clan’s way of life in these desperate times. They were buildings built to last, instead of the adobe and hide preferred by her people. It was no wonder the Ram stood undefeated for two centuries.

They reached an open square large enough to accommodate several thousand people. In the middle of the vast square stood a raised platform sectioned off by fraying rope.

The Ram dragged Zo across the open space, until they came so close to the wooden platform, Zo might have been able to reach out and touch it. Rows of tally marks were carved into the wood. Darks stains ran like tears down the slats in some places and splattered in others. A chill rolled over Zo’s skin and she turned away. It was only a simple platform, but the feelings that seemed to cry from the structure were real. This square was a place to avoid.

Zo didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until they left the square. They had to a halt as a pregnant woman with short hair and a long thin nose walked in front of them to cross the cobblestone street. Like most of the Ram who passed, her clothes were made of coarse wool with touches of fur and animal hide. The guards gave her a slight nod of respect. Zo knew from her studies that all pregnant women inside the Gate were revered because of the declining Ram population.

The Ram woman gazed at Zo from the corner of her eye and quickly averted her focus, as if pretending Zo didn’t exist. She raised a hand to her ripe stomach and moved to the other side of the street.

The guards yanked Zo into one of the stone buildings. “In here,” one said, pulling her through a doorway and forcing her into a chair. A clean desk sat vacant across from her. The only light came from a humble fire in the corner of the room.

The guards stood at Zo’s back as the frog-eyed man she assumed was the Gate Master entered, followed by a woman wearing a boiled leather vest and a task whip at her hip. Her hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck making her tiny black eyes all the more severe. “Leave us,” the woman said to the guards.

Commander Laden had prepared Zo for seeing women of power inside the Gate. She never believed a female could inspire such fear until now. The woman settled into her chair and smiled at Zo. “Welcome, child. Our Gate Master tells me you’ve proven yourself as a healer,” she said with nasal sweetness.

Zo was careful to avoid direct eye contact as she nodded. Submission was everything. Laden had been quite clear on that point as well.

“You might guess that we need healers inside the Gate. It is a job left for those too old or unskilled to fight. There is little honor in the occupation, but still, there is a need.” She shuffled through a stack of parchment on her desk. Her spindly fingers moved inhumanly fast, like spider legs working over the body of a recent kill.

“We provide refuge for the women and children of other clans as long as they can contribute to our society. Even young girls like your tiny sister can serve a purpose.”

Zo’s head whipped up. Her fingers curled into claws against the wood of the chair.

The frog-faced Gate Master smiled down from his position next to the woman, showing his rotting teeth.

“You see,” the woman continued, “usually Nameless aren’t allowed near the Medica or surrounding buildings. Even if they have had proper training in the healing arts and blessings, how can we trust them to do everything in their power to keep our warriors healthy?”

Zo’s stomach soured.

“With you, it might be different.” The woman found the paper she’d obviously been looking for and dipped the tip of a black-feathered quill into a jar of ink. The tip scratched along the surface of the paper with wild precision. “I’ve decided to let you work in the Medica and be given food rations, water, a blanket, and a bed.”

Zo sat up in her chair, relieved to finally hear some good news.

“In the mornings your sister will be taken with other Nameless in your assigned barracks to work the fields while you tend to the sick and injured.” The woman looked up and smiled. “She will have to earn her stay too. Every day you prove yourself in the Medica, your sister will live to come back to you that night.”

Despite the heat of the fire, a tremor of chills rolled up Zo’s spine. “P-prove myself?”

The woman set down her quill and rested her clasped hands on the desk, a pleased expression never leaving her face. “As long as no one dies in your care, your sister lives.”

Zo clutched her stomach and scratched away some of the flesh around her thumbnails—a habit she often used to cope with bouts of anxiety.

It offered little relief.

The woman dusted the parchment with fine sand to clear the excess ink and handed them to the Gate Master. She stood up to leave and patted Zo on her head like she was a dog. “Welcome to Ram’s Gate.”

The following days dragged like a grindstone through the mud. After training, Gryphon walked to the Medica to sit with Joshua. The boy usually slept the whole time, giving Gryphon ample time to consider his meeting with Barnabas and the consequences of his mistakes with the Raven boy. He didn’t dare tell anyone—not even Ajax—about the mercy he’d shown. No man wants the world to see his weaknesses.

Gryphon tried to hide a bulge under his shirt as he smuggled his contraband past the Medica workers. He found Joshua staring blankly at a bare wall in a room with six empty beds.

The redheaded boy jumped when Gryphon entered.

“Slow down, kid. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Wincing, Joshua settled back into his pillow. “I smell food. Please,
please
tell me you have food.” They both looked at the door, making sure no one heard him.

Gryphon eased onto the bed next to Joshua like an old man. After the last excursion, Zander had put the mess through a grueling series of workouts. “Is that healer still not letting you eat?” Gryphon half groaned as he tried to relax his tight muscles.

“She’s a monster. I’d rather take another arrow than force down more salty beet and barley soup.” Joshua’s shoulders sank with the burden of feeling sorry for himself. “Look at me.” He flexed his biceps. “How am I going to get big like you without any protein. A man needs his meat.”

Gryphon pretended to cough into his fist before unrolling the chicken leg from its wrapping. He offered it to Joshua just as the healer strolled into the room.

“I hope you plan to eat that, soldier.” The girl was young and slight, but had a stern quality to her voice.

Gryphon sat back and took a modest bite before setting the chicken back in its wrappings. “Of course.”

She eyed him as she walked over to Joshua’s side carrying a tray of medicines and bandages. Her white Medica uniform was clearly meant for a man. It hung off her small frame in an almost comical way. A red headscarf covered her hair and most of her face; the exposed portion of her skin was hidden behind a cracked layer of mud or plaster. Like she herself might carry some disease. But beneath it all were unique eyes framed by thick black lashes. Very different from the old men and women who usually attended the sick in the Medica.

Joshua grumbled something about systematic starvation as he rolled onto his good side. The healer’s practiced hands undressed the bandage. She unstopped a bottle from her tray. “Try to relax this time,” she whispered.

Three drops into the wound made Joshua’s whole body flex into a ball. He breathed hard through his teeth.

Gryphon didn’t remember gaining his feet. “What was that?”

The girl ignored him. She rested her hands just outside the raw hole in Joshua’s side and said, “Take. Clean. Heal.” She repeated the words over and over again. They flowed like a calm wind.

Gryphon’s arms dotted with goose bumps.

The healer’s hands swept along Joshua’s skin, starting at the wound then moving outward, as if willing the medicine into his bloodstream. Joshua’s legs and arms turned limp. His eyelids sagged. His jaw slackened. The healer continued her words as she dressed the wound and rolled him onto his back. She pulled the blanket up over his shoulders and cleared the wild red hair from Joshua’s eyes with a sympathetic grin before moving toward the door.

“Wait,” said Gryphon.

The girl stopped but didn’t turn around.

“Show me your hair.” Gryphon didn’t have the right to demand anything of this healer, but something about her voice sounded familiar.

She grimaced, but pulled the linen wrap from her head to reveal a tangle of thick black hair that fell in an uneven line below her shoulders.

“You’re the Nameless who saved Joshua.”

She stared back at him, daring for a small moment to look into his eyes. Willful, if a tad frightened.

“I’ve never met a Nameless healer,” said Gryphon.

She flinched, but then seemed to remember herself with a tight curtsy before escaping the room.

Gryphon stared at the door until he felt sure of his privacy. Only then did he bring out a stout brick of wood and a carving knife. He hummed random notes as he worked the wood. The beginnings of a new song danced on the tip of his tongue. Lyrics formed in his mind about a faceless girl who spouted magic from her fingertips. The melody begged to be sung, but Gryphon resisted. No one would ever sing his songs. Not even him.

Ram did not sing.

Though Zo didn’t get to see Tess until the evenings, her every action and thought revolved around keeping her little sister safe. Was she hungry? Were the Ram field bosses kind to her? Were they working her too hard?

Zo left Tess when she reported to the Medica every morning, and every morning she wondered if it would be the last time she saw her sister’s face. No matter how much skill and knowledge Zo possessed as a healer, it was only a matter of time before someone died under her care.

Healing wasn’t just cleaning infection and wrapping bandages. To really
heal
someone you had to care about him enough to open your heart and let compassion travel through your hands. But how could she feel an ounce of compassion for the people who’d taken everything from her?

Zo picked up a smooth stone on her way to the Medica. She weighed it in her hand then threw it into the forest lining the path. She wanted to scream, to release the fire in her stomach and rid herself of all the hate gathered there. But it would take more than stones and screams to relinquish her dark emotions.

She needed to find some way to care for these people. For Tess’ sake. But how?

Just as she did every day, Zo held her breath as she hurried through the vast square and past the sinister platform. She reached the pale stone Medica building just as the sun crested the eastern wall of Ram’s Gate. There were few Nameless here in the center of the town. Mostly Ram women walked the street. Many of them carried a long dagger or sword at their hip. Every now and then, Zoe saw a girl around her age with her head completely shaved, bringing emphasis to the Ram’s trademark long, narrow nose and dark features.

Zo pulled her headscarf lower and kept her head down. She did her best to blend into the heavy stone buildings until she slipped unobserved through the back door of the Medica.

Joshua, with his flaming red hair and excess of dimples, was still asleep when she entered his small room. But he wasn’t alone. The Ram soldier called Gryphon sat hunched in a chair next to him. His dark hair fell forward, framing a defined jaw and downturned lips. His knife and wooden carving were held loosely in large hands as he dozed.

Zo pressed her back to the wall and worked her way around the room, careful to keep as much space between her and the Ram soldier as possible. She set her tray of medicines on the edge of the bed. Gingerly lifting Joshua’s wrist, she timed the rhythm of his heart.

Stronger today. Good.

Joshua woke with a loud yawn. “Good morning.”