Leamus banked the fire just outside the small lean to that he had built that first rising here. It was basic, a couple of decent size tree limbs and some fronds from what the tablet called a coconut tree. The friggin' things were almost impossible to open but he almost had the knack of it now.
He looked over to where she lay sleeping on the frond bed he had made. Tomorrow would be their fourth rising here and in all that she had not moved, gave no signs of improvement, no spark of life. He bathed her forehead in the cool, salty water several times a day, pressed sips of the fresh water from the stream that ran through the center of their island home to her lips, but she barely drank any. He had tried to get her to take some of the sweet milk from the coconut earlier but doubted that any made it to her stomach.
What the frig was he going to do? This was what he tried to tell them. He was not ready for this, did not know how to care for her. If the Morian had listened to him, taken her with him and the High Priestess of the rock or even sent her with the Councilor and young priestess, then her sisters might have healed her as they did that morning. But was good was he to her. Twenty-five cycles...what the fuck experience did he have? Even the High Priestess of the air was two hundred cycles.
"Frig me," he cursed as he stood up and looked out across the waters as they glistened black and silver in the faint light of this planets solitary moon. The days were tolerably warm, though with only a single yellow star, this place was more than a bit cooler than Tavia. But its nights could actually be cold.
He slept beside her each evening. Held her in his arms...as a primary ought. But he was not. Not her primary. Not even a true primary at all. A novice. An acolyte still. He shook his head, perhaps he should have taken the other one up on her offer to indoctrinate him. But he had been in no hurry to fulfill his duties as her primary, was more than glad for the rituals that allowed them time to get to know her. He wondered for a moment what had become of the other priestesses, but he was sure that no matter what came that one was fine. She would have no trouble whoring herself to the Morians or anyone else.
But that was not his concern now. He had only one worry...her survival. And he was failing on that one too. He looked over at her once more in the soft light of the fire. What was he to do? If only her sisters were here. If they were back at the temple, perhaps the healing pools might restore her. He frowned as he stared at the waters, what had the man said. That the waters of this place were not as pure as Tavia's but they were passable. Was it possible that they might heal her? It was worth a chance was it not?
He walked over and knelt next to her. He could see the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, knew that she still breathed at least. That was something at least. But for how long, if he could not get her to eat or drink? He scooped her into his arms and tried to stand. The pain lanced through his thigh. It too was healing but slower than he would have liked. If the Morians followed how could he defend her properly when he was wounded? He shifted her weight and winced through the worst of the pain. This time he managed to make it to his feet with his burden.
It was slow going crossing the distance from their hut to the soft waves. He sucked in a deep breath at the intense sting of the salty water as it reached his thigh and flooded the wound. But he kept going. Kept wadding into the waters, they were actually warmer than he had thought they would be, warmer perhaps than the air itself this night.
When he reached chest high, the waters covered most of her naked body. He saw her nipples harden, felt the tighten in his own groin. "Friggin' ass shat," he cursed. The last thing he needed was his body reacting as her as it always did. It had been many cycles since the little boy had become a young man and his love and devotion for the woman, who saved him, took such a dark turn. He cursed it this evening as he had almost every one since then. It was wrong, so friggin' wrong for him to feel like this about her.
About her. He strained through the pale moonlight to see any sign of renewed life, of even the slightest rousing. But there was none. Her arms floated open at her side, her weight though lighter than it had been when he first took her into his arms, was still completely dead. Only the gentle rise and fall of her breasts and the impossibly hard tips that called to him in some perverse way gave any signs of life.
He shook his head, inhaled deeply. He was a complete ass shat. How could he still want her? She was gravely ill, her body though recovering slowly was still covered in bruises, her mind though was fractured, her spirit that had always been so strong was completely destroyed by the monsters.
The metal circle about her neck caught the light and glinted across the waters. He hated it. Hated this symbol of what they had done to her. He reached up, allowed her body to float on the soft waves as his hands sought it out, grabbed it between his two fists and pulled with all his might, trying to separate it. Perhaps if that was the problem, perhaps the collar as the man had called it was what was making her ill, continuing to sap her energy, her life force, the power of the goddess inside of her. But it did not budge, did not bend or give even the tiniest bit.
"Frig, frig, frig," he cursed to the universe. How could her goddess do this to her? Desert her like this? His heart hardened even more against the only deity that he knew. The loving and nurturing goddess seemed as callous and heartless as the Morian dark god of Fate, about which he had been reading on the tablet. It seemed that the two were a perfect match, uncaring of those mortals that served them, quick to use and discard their devotees.
What was the point? What was the point to any of it? He thought as he turned with her in his arms and headed back to the shore line. She had stood up to the Morians, perhaps bought precious time for her sisters and this was her reward. Cast off to some goddess forsaken chunk of rock in some far corner of the universe that no one had ever heard of.
Another curse rose upon his lips as he made his way across the white sand towards the fire. They were both naked. Her robes that marked her as a High Priestess had been stripped from her by the enemy. His trousers were bloodied and practically destroyed. And he had used his tunic as a blanket of sorts to keep her warm at night.
He sat close to the fire. Held her close as the gentle breeze off of the water turned almost cold. Perhaps this had not been such a good idea after all, he cursed. His hands ran up and down her arms, trying to warm her. But it was he who was getting heated. He shifted in the sand, trying to find a comfortable position. It only served to rubbing the soft curves of her bottom across his growing erection. "Frig," he cursed.
He felt the slightest of movements in his arms. He frowned. It was probably just his imagination, wishful thinking. He looked down her, seeking any sign of renewed life, but was disappointed once more. He shook his head as he gave into his darkest fear...what if she never recovered? What if she continued to waste away into nothingness?
"Goddess damn you," all he seemed to say anymore was one curse after the other. He smiled, it was a good thing she could not hear him. He remembered the nasty bitter jakar berries that she had fed him every time he used foul language as a boy.
He rose from the fire and carried her to the make-shift bed of leaves. He laid her down softly and drew his tunic about her. How had they come to this he thought as he did the same thing that he had every evening since that first, he bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Sweet evening, Rata," in her unconscious state, he dared to take liberties he would not have otherwise.
He climbed in behind and wrapped his arm about her waist, drawing her back into his embrace as he had every other evening. Sharing body heat with her was the worst form of torture he could imagine. Almost as bad as watching that ass shat, use her for the power he could glean as her primary. He brushed her deep red hair out of his face as he nuzzled in deeper.
"Friggin' ass shat, you are no better," he cursed as he tried to find some position that did not align his hard cock with the sweet crack of her round ass that seemed made just for the job of cradling it. He forced his mind from that line of thought and towards plans for revenge should he ever get the chance. But not even spilling the blue blood of his enemies could deflate his cock when he laid this close of her.
***
Rata's head throbbed. Her body ached. Her mouth was dry. She struggled to remember where she was, what had happened. But she could not. All she knew was the warmth of the hard body that cradled her so gently. But that did not seem right either. When was the last time that Tsu had held her as a primary ought? But she could not remember that either. It seemed that everything was fuzzy this evening.
And cold, so friggin' cold she thought and she pushed back, snuggled closer to him. Sought out his warmth. It was nice she thought as she felt the slight roughness of his unshaven face nuzzle against her cheek. Why had they not done this more often she wondered? Perhaps if they had then Larca would have never come between them. She frowned something was not right. Some memory, some important piece of the puzzle lay just out of her reach.
