The Outworlder Read Free Page B

his
black undershirt revealed corded arms and a small, strange tattoo
on his right bicep. He crossed to one of the stone jars, removed
its lid, and dipped out a cupful of clear water.
    “Why do I call you what? Xenali? ”
    He brought her the cup and held it out to
her. She took it eagerly, gulping the liquid down her parched
throat.
    “ Xenali is our word for stranger,” he
explained. “You didn’t give me your name, so I have nothing else to
call you.”
    Sahara tipped the cup to get the last drop of
water and then handed it back to him. “It’s Sahara.”
    “Sahara.” He repeated it slowly, as if
tasting the syllables as they rolled off his tongue.
    “Yeah.”
    She lay back on the cushion and sighed. She
would close her eyes. Just for a moment….
    “Would you like to wash?” Jared asked.
    She opened her eyes and realized that she
must have fallen asleep. Jared was crouching next to her, letting a
white cloth drip over a basin of smooth, rose-colored stone. She
sat up slowly and hesitated.
    “You’ll feel better if you do,” he said,
holding the cloth out to her.
    She snatched it out of his hands and rubbed
it over her cheeks, chin, and nose. It came away black with dirt,
smoke, sweat, and sand. Jared rinsed it out in the basin and handed
it back to her. She gingerly dabbed at her forehead and winced.
    “Let me help you,” Jared offered, his voice
gentle. “I can see the cut—you can’t.”
    He gently moved her tangled red hair away
from her face and started to cleanse the wound.
    “This is very deep,” he said, looking down
into her eyes.
    There was concern in his steady gaze, and an
unasked question. Sahara hesitated for a moment, wavering between
irrational anger and tears. Anger won out, as it usually did.
    “Just leave it alone!” She pushed his hand
away and scrambled away from him.
    She could sense his surprise, but she
couldn’t explain even to herself why she had lashed out at him.
Feeling wretched, she huddled down in the cushions piled in the far
corner of the cave.
    “Just leave me alone,” she whispered.
    With a shuddering sigh she turned to face the
wall, hiding her face so that he would not see the tears that she
could not stop. She wiped her nose and hugged her knees to her
chest.
    She could feel Jared watching her in the
silence that followed, which was broken only by the faint dripping
of the cloth into the basin of water. She neither moved nor spoke,
and after a moment she heard him move to the other side of the
cave, and heard the trickling of water as he poured what remained
in the basin down a small drain hole cut in the stone floor. She
began trembling all over.
    “Are you hungry?” he asked from behind her.
“We have food here—bread, some dried fruits, even a bit of dried
meat, if that is to your liking.”
    “No.” The word was short, sharp, hurting.
    “Are you cold?”
    Sahara only shivered. Part of her hoped that
he would leave her alone, but the other part was silently,
wordlessly, crying for help. She felt him kneel on the rug behind
her, and a wave of relief, surprising her with its force, swept
over her. He had heard what she did not know how to speak.
    Jared laid one hand on her shoulder and the
other gently across her wounded forehead.
    “You’re radiating heat,” he told her. “A
fever is beginning. You were exposed to far too much sun today, and
that cut on your head is beyond my skill to treat.”
    Sahara’s teeth chattered together and she
pulled her knees up closer to her chest in a futile attempt to stop
shaking. Jared left her and opened one of the wooden chests along
the back of the cave. He pulled out a soft blue blanket and brought
it back to her. Quietly and deftly he arranged some cushions, eased
her onto them, and covered her snugly with the blanket.
    “I’ll make you something to lower the fever
for tonight. Tomorrow you’ll be in better hands than mine for
healing.”
    Sahara watched him build a tiny fire in a
large beaten copper