CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

From the upper level of the hospital, Gantalla stared out the window, watching the warriors train in the town square across the street. The festival had officially finished the night before, though Gantalla hadn’t ventured back to see the finale for this cycle, and the tables and decorations had all been cleared away.

It was an impressive sight to see the men sparring with each other and going through sets of exercises. Several of them had removed their shirts, sweating freely in the afternoon sun, and the display of finely toned bodies and bulging muscles had fixed her attention as she’d taken an idle glance out the window after stripping the sheets off one of the patient’s beds. Their motions had a hypnotic quality, and it was easy to see their dedication to their craft.

“There you are,” a voice said from behind her, and Gantalla turned to see Nanta crossing the room to her side. “What are you… Oh! I see,” she said, cutting herself off as she saw what Gantalla was looking at. Nanta shot her a knowing grin. “Mm, well, I can’t blame you for wanting to watch. They make a fine sight, don’t they?”

Gantalla was a little surprised to realise it was true. The discipline and skill of the warriors was impressive, regardless of which side of the battle they were on, and Gantalla reflected that the hoards of Chalandrians fighting to get through the gate might fare a lot better if they could coordinate themselves and fight together even half as well as this army was doing. And while not as impressive as the salas warriors back home, Gantalla would have had to admit that there was something enticing about all that muscle on display.

As far as humans went, even Nanta and Henrietta were looking less ugly now, familiarity softening Gantalla’s perspective of them. Their brown skin was still plain, as compared to the red stripes on the chests of the black salases, or the almost iridescent glow of a blue rodolan, but kindness went a long way towards making up for a lack of physical beauty. Was it odd how quickly she was getting accustomed to this world? She thought perhaps that she should be feeling more resentment about the humans, blithely carrying on with their lives with no concern whatsoever about what was happening on the other side of the gate…

But that had always been an inevitable part of Gantalla’s plan to cross the gate. Her own survival depended on her making a new life for herself in the human world, fitting in, joining their society, and there was little point in being angry with them for providing the exact thing she was seeking.

But nonetheless, that made her wonder what was currently happening back in Chalandros. The desert would be empty now, the crowds of people who hadn’t made it through the gate returning to Iddishmeil until it opened again. Food would be scarce. Fights would break out over the limited supply of water. Salas warriors still loyal to the Stone King would be guarding the city, protecting their scant resources from bands of raiders. But far from getting on with any semblance of life, the people in the city would just be waiting. Waiting for the gate to open again, to risk their lives in the next run into the human world. Some of them would simply be waiting to die, too old or weak to make the crossing through the desert. And the days would be getting ever hotter, the population sheltering in stone buildings or hiding in underground bunkers, emerging at dawn and dusk, when the temperatures were more bearable.

“I was just coming to tell you you’ve got the afternoon off,” Nanta said, interrupting Gantalla’s thoughts. “The nurses work five and a half days each week, so you’re free for the afternoon, then again on Saturday. Since you’re still fairly new here, you might want to take a look around the town. Visit some shops. Spend some of that coin you’ve earned.” She glanced out the window again. “Or maybe go and visit that handsome warrior I hear you’ve been hanging around with?”

Gantalla blushed, but said nothing. Apparently, the time she’d spent with Nalyx hadn’t gone unnoticed, though Nanta clearly hadn’t heard about his decidedly cool attitude towards her the day before. Nalyx had left the hospital after getting his wounds checked without so much as a goodbye.

“Thank you,” she said to Nanta, managing a weak smile. “I might just do that. Some of the shops look very interesting.”

She gathered her things, dropping the soiled sheets off in the hospital laundry, then let herself out the front door. The shops were a tempting option, though Gantalla only intended to look, rather than buy anything. With coin still scarce, she was more inclined to save what she’d earned rather than splurge on luxuries. But the sight of the warriors training beckoned, and without quite intending to, she found herself crossing the street. Just a quick look, she told herself. Then she’d head off to explore the city.

But as she reached the edge of the square, a familiar figure caught her eye, sitting on the wall at the side of the training ground. Nalyx. He was dressed for training, in a loose pair of pants and a light, cotton shirt, but he wasn’t taking part in any of the exercises. And the strip of bandage peaking out from beneath his shirt was a clear reminder as to why.

But Nalyx had made it clear she was no longer welcome in his life, and Gantalla resolved to leave him alone. But just before she turned to leave, Nalyx looked up, and his eyes met hers for a brief moment. He looked away… but then a moment later, he looked back again. His scowl softened, and he tilted his head, inviting her over. If he was inclined to make peace between them, it was probably worth seeing what he had to say. Gantalla headed in his direction, not entirely sure what was going to happen when she arrived.

“Hey,” Nalyx greeted her, sounding subdued, but not angry. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good,” Gantalla said. “I have the afternoon off. One of the nurses suggested I take a look at the city.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Good idea. You haven’t had much of a chance to look around yet, have you?” For a moment, he said nothing more, and Gantalla wondered if that was the end of the conversation. But Nalyx wasn’t done. “Look, I owe you an apology,” he said, after a pause, though he avoided her eyes. “It’s been a rough couple of days, and… well, that’s not an excuse, but I suppose I ended up taking that out on you. So I’m sorry.”

Gantalla smiled, taking a seat beside him. “It’s okay. I probably haven’t been behaving quite the way you expected me to, either. I never intended to try to be one of the serving women. I was just on my way through town, and everyone was so excited about the festival, and one thing led to another, before I quite knew what was happening.” She cleared her throat. “It must be frustrating, not being able to train.”

“Yeah. It’s not just the shoulder. I can’t even pick up a sword at the moment.” He looked down at his hands, the skin still pink and healing. “I just wish I could do something useful. It’s driving me crazy just sitting around all day.”

“Well, if you’re looking for something to do, you could go for a run,” she suggested, before she could think better of it.

Nalyx raised his eyebrows. “I could what?”

Gantalla shrugged. “It’s exercise. And it won’t put too much strain on your shoulder. And surely it’s better than sitting around here glaring at Hallix.” The imposing warrior was currently sparring with one of the other men, as tall and muscular as himself, though perhaps a little older, and sure enough, Nalyx’s expression darkened into a deep scowl as he glanced Hallix’s way.

“I don’t give a flying fuck about Hallix,” he growled.

“Good. Because neither do I. And if he’s of no concern to you, what’s to stop you making good use of the time?”

“A run, you say?” Nalyx stood up, stretching his back and shaking out his legs. “It’s not the worst idea. And it would get me a little peace and quiet for an hour or two. You know, you’re right. Thank you. I’ll see you around.” With that brief goodbye, he set off, heading north out of the square, then breaking into a slow jog as he cleared the lines of warriors.

Gantalla watched him go, feeling perplexed by her own behaviour. She knew all too well how great a threat this army was to her own people, and yet here she was, offering training suggestions to try and cheer Nalyx up. Why was it so easy to overlook the role Nalyx played in defending the gate, in killing the people who were trying to cross? She was baffled by the way she kept returning to his side, when there was really no need for it anymore.

She stood up, intending to return to her task of exploring the shops, but then she remembered another errand that needed seeing to. With Nalyx occupied for an hour or so, it was a perfect time for her to collect her things from his room, and so she headed in that direction, skirting around the edge of the square. She lingered along the way to look into a few of the shop windows. Fresh pastries were lined up in one. Dozens of pairs of shoes sat on racks in the next window, and Gantalla felt a sharp longing for a particular pair of evening shoes in red leather. But the price tag made her eyes widen, and so she moved on. The next shop was more utilitarian, stocking cooking pots and candle holders and brooms. Nothing to get excited over, but she made a mental note about the location, in case she found herself in need of practical tools for some task or other.

Long minutes later, Gantalla finally dragged herself away from the shops and wove her way between the buildings at the edge of the square, heading for the warriors’ compound. She was relieved to find both the courtyard and the barracks empty.

She found Nalyx’s room again easily and let herself inside. Her skirt and cloak were folded neatly just where she’d left them, along with her court shoes. They were stained and worn now, but with only her pair of boots, it was as well to keep them as a spare, just in case.

Feeling suddenly nostalgic, she paused to take a look around the room. It hadn’t been a bad introduction to the human world, that first night sleeping on the floor beside Nalyx’s bed. And wherever the next few months took her, she knew she was going to remember that night for a long time. She cast her eyes around, looking at the newly polished armour, hung on the wall, the bed – rumpled and unmade, though somehow that didn’t surprise her – and then another item caught her attention, one she hadn’t paid attention to before.

Nalyx’s sword was resting against the wall, and Gantalla found herself suddenly curious about the weapon. It was longer than the swords the hadathmet used, but the blade was narrower than the greatswords wielded by the salases. She gave a quick glance behind her, checking that no one was around to see her meddling with a warrior’s weapon. Then she took three quick steps across the room and carefully pulled the sword from its sheath.

It was lighter than she’d been expecting. The hilt was plain but sturdy, with obvious wear on the leather grip. And a closer inspection of the blade told her it had been made by a master blacksmith. It was perfectly balanced, and she noticed a small inscription near the hilt. Honour. Courage. Sacrifice.

She turned the blade to have a look at the other side, but as it glinted in the sun peaking through the window, she noticed that the blade was chipped, a few burrs visible where it had likely run into rock or armour. No doubt Nalyx hadn’t yet been able to sharpen it, or perhaps hadn’t been able to find a willing hand to do it for him.

Well, she knew how to sharpen a sword. And with Nalyx’s hands still healing, it would be another few days before he could do it himself. Without looking too closely at why she still felt compelled to help him, she rummaged around in his supplies until she found a sharpening stone, then seated herself outside in the sun.

◊          ◊          ◊

Nalyx wandered back across the town square, feeling better than he had in days. Gantalla had been right – his run had burned off excess energy, and had been a good workout for both his legs and his lungs. He’d taken a path north through the city, then into the forest, though he hadn’t gone quite as far as the gate. At this time of the cycle, the battlefield would be deserted, save for a few of the helpers still clearing away the last of the bodies, but aside from the ongoing need to train, the warriors preferred to spend the second half of each cycle relaxing, and he didn’t need the reminder of so much bloodshed and hard effort.

But as he approached his room, he was surprised to see a figure sitting on the stone wall, hunched over and fiddling with something in her lap. He felt a smile tug at his lips as he recognised Gantalla. Perhaps his rude departure the other night hadn’t chased her away, after all?

But as he got closer, he realised what she was working on, and a cool thrill of trepidation settled in his gut. She had his sword in her hands. The sword that was very often the only thing that stood between him and a painful, grisly death.

“That sword belonged to my father,” he snapped as he approached, not meaning to sound so harsh, but unable to help himself. “It’s worth more than three months’ pay. What the hell are you doing?”

Gantalla looked up, her hands stilling in her lap. “I was sharpening it.”

“I can do that myself,” he said, reaching to take it from her.

“I highly doubt that, given the state of your hands.” She moved it out of his reach, daring to look affronted by his cold greeting.

“Give it to me. That’s not something you should be messing with.”

“I know how to sharpen a sword. I used to help my brothers with it all the time.” She still refused to hand it over.

“I’m sure you do. But I don’t need your help. And if it gets damaged, I’ll-”

“Maybe you should actually take a look at the damn thing before you get all high and mighty,” she snapped, standing up and holding it out. “And then stop assuming that a mere woman couldn’t possibly know how to look after a weapon.”

He took it from her, examining the blade to see whether she’d damaged it, or more likely, just blunted the thing from poor technique. Her brothers, whatever their skills might have been, were not in the same league as the warriors of the gate. He held it up in the light, relieved to see that the blade didn’t look any the worse for her attentions. And maybe… okay, so yes, the blade actually looked sharper than it had been at the end of his last battle. But even so, she shouldn’t have been touching his weapon.

But before he could mutter a grudging apology, she reached over and picked up one of the leather scraps she’d been using to polish it. She held out a corner of the rag, sliding it lightly along the edge of the sword. And as he watched, the blade cut cleanly through the leather, with only that feather-light pressure.

Nalyx froze, his mouth dropping open in astonishment. “What the… How did you…?”

“Like I said; I know how to sharpen a sword.”

He turned it over in his hands, then tested the edge with a gentle scrape of his thumb. “Fuck me. I don’t think I’ve ever got it this sharp in my life.”

Gantalla folded her arms, a smug grin on her face. “Is that so?”

“Fuck,” he muttered, feeling like an ass all over again. “Okay, so now I owe you another apology. Maybe I overreacted.”

“Very kind of you to admit it,” she said, clearing away her cleaning supplies. “How was your run?”

Nalyx slid the sword back into its sheath. “Refreshing. You were right. It was a good idea.”

“It seems I’m full of those, lately.”

Nalyx snorted. “When did you get so damn sassy?”

She smirked. “I’ve always been sassy. The last few days I’ve just being laying low. Trying to get a feel for a new town and a bunch of customs I’m not quite used to. But I think I’m getting the hang of it now.”

He just stared at her for a moment, not sure what to say next. “Would you like to stay and have dinner?” he blurted out. The sun was hanging low in the sky, and the only thought in his mind was that he didn’t want her to leave yet. It was the first excuse he could think of to get her to stay.

But Gantalla looked startled at the invitation. “I thought the festival had ended.”

“It has. There won’t be a celebration like the last few nights, but plenty of people will still be bringing gifts of food. That goes on pretty much for the whole time the gate’s closed. And the serving women will be hanging around. I know you said you don’t really fit in with them, but my point is that it’s pretty common for the men to have guests, even after the festival’s over. No one would think anything odd about it.”

Gantalla’s lips pursed, like she was thinking hard about the offer, and he held his breath, willing her to stay. “Okay,” she said finally. “I think that would be nice.”

◊          ◊          ◊

It was fully dark by the time they’d eaten, Nalyx managing to feed himself for the first time in days. Around the courtyard, groups of warriors were talking and laughing with the serving women, and one of the local brewers was wandering around, handing out cups of beer. It was more relaxed than the nights of the festival, but the atmosphere was still upbeat. And one thing that hadn’t changed was that plenty of the men were still taking a keen interest in the advances of the women. Over to Nalyx’s right, Calium was sitting with a woman in his lap, grinning as he tried to subtly slide her skirt higher over her thigh. Further along, a group of two men and three women were being far less discreet, one woman’s blouse unbuttoned and another woman’s hand disappearing down inside her warrior’s trousers.

Nalyx glanced at Gantalla, seeing that she’d also noticed the illicit activities and noting the blush on her face. She looked up and saw him watching her. “Maybe we should wrap things up,” she suggested. “Before they manage to remove any more of their clothes.”

“We could go inside, where it’s a bit quieter,” he said. “I’m not trying to seduce you,” he added, as he saw her sceptical look. “But it’s been nice spending more time with you, and there’s no reason it has to end just yet.” She hesitated, taking another glance at the group at the end of the row. One of the men had a woman straddling his lap now, while another woman slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

“My bed has to be more comfortable than the nurses’ quarters,” Nalyx said, willing to use whatever leverage he could come up with to convince her. She’d filled him in on her last few days while they’d been eating, including a description of the decidedly utilitarian standards of the hospital’s boarding house.

Gantalla sighed and looked away. “Look, I know what the usual standards are for women spending time with warriors. But honestly, Nalyx, I didn’t come here looking for a husband. I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

“The only idea I’m getting is that you’re interesting to talk to and you enjoy looking after people. You’ve made it clear you’re not interested in anything physical, and I respect that.”

She sighed, but he could see her resolve beginning to crack. “You promise you’ll keep your hands to yourself?”

“I already did the other night, didn’t I?”

Gantalla gave him a wry, knowing look. “And I’ll note that at the time, you couldn’t actually use your hands.”

“If you think it’ll help, you can wrap them in bandages again. If that’ll make you feel better.”

Gantalla laughed at that. “Okay, okay, I’ll stay the night. I like you, Nalyx. You know, in a platonic sort of way.”

“Platonic it is,” he agreed. But then, because he couldn’t help himself, he added, “Does this mean you won’t be helping me take my pants off again?”

Gantalla rolled her eyes and smacked his arm lightly. But she stood up and started heading for his room, and after sparing only a moment to admire the view of her shapely behind, Nalyx got up to follow her.