Page 51 of The King of Koraha
“You. You’re going to tell me everything the King knows and then you’ll tell me why you can do things like disappear. And then you’ll teach me how to do it.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because it will please me.” He gestured to the others. “Come on before she regains her strength.” They hurried away.
That was odd. How did he expect to force her to comply? Especially when she was at full strength? It didn’t matter because they didn’t test the door again. Thank the goddess. While she waited for them to be well and gone, she finished the water and ate. Then she tied the new water skin to her belt and shoved a couple rolls of jerky into her pocket in case she was stuck inside the monastery. She’d no idea what angle it was. If it was close to the danger zone or if it was darkness, she’d have to hide until a safer time. However, it made the most sense that the woman who brought her fresh supplies had come after the angle zero prayer session.
The door squealed when she opened it. Shyla froze. Her heart banged against her rib cage, demanding action. When nothing happened, she crept down the tunnel. Keeping her senses open, she scanned for bumps.
As she navigated through the monastery, she had a few near misses. There were more monks living here than in Zirdai and they moved in packs. Quiet, too. Unwilling to drain too much of her magic, she avoided the bumps and searched for an empty room. She needed to change into the red tunic and pants the monks wore when on the surface. In the first empty room, the trunk was locked. In the second, the clothes were three sizes too big. It wasn’t until the sixth room that she found the perfect combination of an unlocked trunk and clothes that almost fit her.
Then she needed to decide her next move. It was angle twenty and she should have enough time to reach Nintri. It all depended on her energy level. But staying here any longer would increase the risk of being discovered. At least now that she was dressed like a monk and her hair was hidden by a turban, she wouldn’t need to wield her magic as much.
Walking like she belonged, she headed for the surface. No one questioned her even though the sound of her heartbeat was loud enough to trigger a cave-in. When she reached the surface building, she used her magic on the greeter.
Look away.
Look away.
Then she aimed it at the monks on patrol. Only a few were nearby. Once she was out of sight, she stopped the commands and erased her boot prints. Taking her first full breath since she escaped, Shyla headed to the city.
At first she kept a quick pace. Then the heat increased and her steps slowed. It was hard enough to walk in the sand when she was rested, but with fatigue turning her limbs into stone, it was a tough slog. Each step was a victory. She dangled the promise of being reunited with Rendor in front of her. One step closer to him. Two. Ten. Fifteen.
Halfway to the city, she stopped to wield her magic, scanning for bumps. She paused long enough to swallow a couple large gulps of water. The liquid tasted divine.
It had a slightly citrusy taste. Reminding her of… The memory slipped away. It didn’t matter. She continued her trudge.
After a couple steps, a strange languid sensation flowed through her, melting her tensions, soothing her aches and pains. It reminded her of…Zhek’s healing tea. Or so he called it. The tea hid the taste of…pain relief? No. His restorative? No.
The dunes around her softened, resembling giant cushions. Standing became difficult as the ground sloped suddenly to the side. She stumbled and fell to her knees. What had Zhek given her? Healing tea? But that made her…sleep!
“Ha!” she said aloud. “I figured it out.” But she wasn’t sleepy. She was…off kilter and spinning. Just like…before. When she…drank…she drank…
“Holy water!” she said in triumph. Then she blinked. How? That Heliacal Priestess was dead, dead, dead. Shyla giggled. Everything around her blurred. The sand melted into pools of water. The thought made her thirsty so she took another drink. And stopped at the citrusy taste. Holy water was bad, bad, bad.
All her humor evaporated as a small part of her brain set off warning sirens. Lonato had filled her water skin with holy water. Why? To talk. To tell him everything. To please him. It’s all about him, him, him. That son of a sand rat!
No. Sand rats were wonderful, smart, loving creatures. He was the son of a sand demon. And she needed to move, move, move. Except her body was no longer following orders. She struggled to her feet. The world tilted and spun. Drawing in a deep breath of hot air, she focused on her legs. They were useful things and would have to do all the work. “I’m counting on you,” she whispered to them.
She then concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. When she managed it, she knew she was one step closer to Rendor. “R!” A second step. “E.” Then two more. “N. D.” Another two. “O. R.” Six steps! She celebrated with a moment’s rest before starting again. “R. E. N.” A pause to catch her breath. “D. O. R.” Six more steps! “Woot!”
Time blurred. The sand blurred. Even the sun’s harsh rays wobbled. The heat turned into a living thing, pressing on her head, shoulders, and back. Her entire focus remained on her boots, willing them to keep moving. Six more steps. “Just six more,” she muttered. She only glanced up to check her bearings. But even that became too much of a drain.
Then her legs quit. They gave up and collapsed under her. She cursed at them as the hot sand burned through the fabric of her pants. Stupid legs. Now she would have to crawl and that messed up her counting. What was considered a step when on your hands and knees? After all four moved forward? Or just the hands? No. When one side advanced, since both the hand and knee moved at the same time. Pleased that she figured it out, she placed her palms on the sand and pulled them back with a cry of pain.
She stared at the red burn marks on her skin. She needed to rethink crawling. But if she couldn’t move, she’d be cooked alive. What about burrowing under the sand? Her magic…was as fried as her brain. Stupid holy water.
Then a shadow blocked the sun. The relief was instant until the shadow crouched beside her and asked questions that she didn’t understand. She stared at the shadow… It slowly coalesced into…Rendor. Blinking, she stroked his cheek, ensuring he was real. He stopped talking. She was lifted and cradled and…
Awareness came in the form of her burning throat and the lack of moisture in her mouth. Her tongue had shriveled and sand crunched in her teeth. The room was dark. She tumbled out of the cushion and searched for her water skin by feel. As if by magic, it pressed into her hands. Opening the top, she brought it to her dry lips and stopped, remembering.
“Go on,” Rendor said. “You need to drink.” He was a black shadow in a room full of them.
“No.” Her voice rasped. “It’s—”
“Clean. I dumped the holy water.”
She guzzled it, only stopping when her stomach threatened to send it back up. “How did you know?”
