He was too close, and Rialla stiffened slightly, but nodded. Terran started to say something else, but stopped abruptly. He turned her abraded cheek to the sun, where he could see in more clearly.
It occurred to Rialla that she wasn’t feeling any pain from the scrapes now, just a warm tingle. She pulled her face out of his hand and looked down at her arm that should have been covered with an abrasion from shoulder to wrist. The wound was still there, but as she watched, it faded rapidly, until the only thing that marred her skin was dirt.
She stared dazedly at her arm, and tried to gather her scattered thoughts.
“How are you doing that?” asked Terran with a touch of excitement in his voice.
Rialla blinked at him stupidly for a moment. “What?”
“This,” replied Terran, gripping her wrist and shaking it at her. “How are you healing yourself?”
“I’m not.” She shook her head and pulled her arm back out of his grip. It wasn’t something that a slave would do, she couldn’t tolerate his touch. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Father says that you’re an empath. What else are you?” Terran asked intensely, leaning forward. “This is magic, but it’s nothing I’ve heard of anyone having the ability to do. What are you?”
Rialla scooted back from him and shook her head, whispering, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She decided to take the offensive. After her performance when her leg cramped, Terran was bound to think that she was a few kernels shy of a full measure. So she let her voice become shrill as she continued, “I don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
Rialla needed something to take his attention from her, so she used her gift to find his horse. The mare had stopped at a nearby patch of wheatgrass. Rialla didn’t have to work hard to persuade the animal to return, because the little horse adored her rider. With scarcely any reluctance she left her snack and started back, the packhorse following her lead.
“I’m not doing anything. It’s you. I can feel it, the healing magic in you.” There was conviction in his voice and a touch of wonder. “I’ve heard there are creatures that live in the Northern forests that can heal like that. Are you a shapeshifter?”
Rialla looked at him incredulously. She knew quite well she had no magical abilities. Yet she could feel Terran’s sincerity; he knew that she was healing herself. She knew that she wasn’t.
Tris could heal, but she couldn’t imagine he was stupid enough to do so without making sure than no one else was around. He wouldn’t have lasted in Darran if he weren’t careful about things like that.
The gray mare trotted unconcernedly into the clearing, followed by the packhorse. She whickered softly when she saw Terran, and thrust her nose against him, rubbing enthusiastically.
Without taking his eyes from Rialla, Terran reached up and rubbed the mare’s face. “Good girl,” he crooned soothingly.
Rialla pulled her legs up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them. She rested her face against her knees and closed her eyes, shutting Terran out. After a moment she felt him move away. He was only biding his time, but she was thankful anyway.
Tris? she called.
His reply, when it came, was faint, but steady. In it she could feel relief. Are you all right? What happened?
I’m fine. At least I think so. Tris, did you heal me a few minutes ago?
What? he asked. Before Rialla could tell him what had happened, she felt his sudden comprehension followed by a brief flash of guilt.
It’s all right, he said. There’s nothing to worry about. Do you remember the bond that I formed between us to allow you to communicate with me?
Yes, she answered.
The healing is a result of that bonding.
What? She let him feel her exasperation at his inadequate explanation.
The magic I use is not like that of humans, he explained. Sometimes it requires little initiative to work.
She thought about the implications of what he’d said. Do you mean that some of your magic decided to heal a few scrapes and bruises in front of Terran, without any action from you—and it could do it again and neither you nor I could do anything about it?
Some of her feelings must have made it through to Tris, because when he answered her it was with a strong burst of reassurance. I should have warned you that this would happen, but I didn’t expect it quite so soon. I can control the healing; I wasn’t aware I needed to.
You knew that this would happen? What do you mean? What else should I expect? Rialla didn’t know exactly what she was feeling—some combination of anger and bewilderment.
Again she felt a touch of guilt from Tris. I should have told you before. I’m sorry. I suspect that now is not the time to go into it, but when we get through with this mess, I’ll sit down and explain what’s been going on.
Rialla opened her eyes to see Terran watching her intently. She reburied her face in her knees and said, This had better be quite an explanation.
Without looking at Terran again, Rialla sat back and began to work her weak leg. Tris’s magic had taken care of her cramping muscle, but she needed to occupy herself with something in the face of Terran’s steady regard. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew she was communicating with someone.
Winterseine finally returned, looking harried. When he saw that the horses had returned on their own, he didn’t look any happier.
“Stupid beasts,” he commented sourly, swinging off his horse with athletic grace. “We might as well spend the night here. There’s a storm coming in, and we won’t make the keep before nightfall.”
Rialla hadn’t realized that they were so close.
While Terran occupied himself with lighting a fire and starting another traveler’s stew from dried meat, Winterseine unpacked the horses and staked them out nearby.
Since no one seemed to be paying particular attention to her, Rialla decided to make use of the creek. She took off her shoes before walking into the stream, clothes and all.
Shuddering at the cold, she sat down in the knee-high water and scrubbed off the dirt and sweat she’d acquired over the days of frantic travel through the forest. By the time she was finished, she was numb with cold, but blessedly clean. It was still warm enough out that her clothes should dry before she had to sleep in them—although judging by the black clouds overhead, it would probably rain tonight anyway.
She got out and began squeezing the water from her tunic as best she could without disrobing. She suspected the fabric was permanently stained, but at least it didn’t stink anymore.
“Rialla.”
Warily, she turned to look at Terran where he stood near the small camp fire. Winterseine was some distance away, picketing the horses.
“There’s some wild onion to your left. Would you pick it for me? If you see anything else that’ll add some flavor to the stew, get it as well.”
Relieved, Rialla knelt to do as he asked. The onion was easy enough to see, once it had been pointed out to her. She wasn’t fond of it, but she harvested it until she had a double handful. She looked around for anything else that looked edible and noticed a familiar plant growing in the shade of a small bush.
Sliding over to it, she examined it carefully. It looked like the plant Tris had called whitecowl. Whitecowl, she remembered, was a sleeping draft. She hesitated, but the thought of arriving at Winterseine’s hold tomorrow gave her courage.
Rialla didn’t know how much to use, so she gathered all the leaves from the plant. The leaves would be obvious next to the onions, but she found some dandelions nearby. Torn off the plant, the two leaves looked similar enough that Rialla couldn’t tell the difference.