All Things Begin - The Anmah Series Book 1

Dinton rubbed his eyes and sat up, frowning when he saw pale sunlight drifting through the trees. He looked around and saw Ga'briyel sitting by the fire, his brow furrowed, his arm around his legs, and his chin on his knees. It was not often that Dinton remembered that he was four years older than his friend, but this was one of those times. In that moment, Ga’briyel looked very young and very alone, and Dinton was about to ask him what was wrong when Ga’briyel turned his head and stared at him.

“I am fine, my friend. Just thinking.”

“About what? And why did you not wake me to take a turn at the watch?”

“I did not wake you because I wanted to think. I needed to straighten some things out in my head.”

“Like what?”

Instead of answering, Ga’briyel stretched out a hand and stirred something that was cooking in the pot over the fire. It smelled like porridge.

“You were right last night. I am not a killer of children or women. I spoke without thinking, and I am truly sorry for that.”

Dinton rolled up his blanket and moved to sit beside his friend. “You do not have to be sorry. Everyone says things they do not mean sometimes. I know my words made you angry, and I apologize. I did not realize how strong your hatred for the Asabya was.”

Ga’briyel shrugged, and his eyes glowed. “I am sure very few people are alive who have as much hatred for the Asabya as I have. If my village was any indication, they do not leave people alive to hate them.”

Tero stirred across the fire from them, and he sat up, wiping a hand across his face.

“Why did neither of you wake me for the watch?” he asked gruffly.

“Ga’briyel did not wake either of us,” Dinton said, glaring at his friend before speaking to him. “How do you expect to stay ready in the saddle if you do not sleep at night?”

Ga’briyel chuckled and stirred the porridge again. “Do not worry about me, Dinton. I do not need nearly as much sleep as you do. Ma’ikel tested me once when I was twelve. I stayed up for four days straight, and my reflexes and alertness had not been affected one bit.”

“Nevertheless, you do need sleep, do you not?”

“Of course I do. But one night of wakefulness will not hurt me. I will sleep tonight when we stop. You can take first watch just to make sure.”

Tero had rolled up his blanket, and he now held out three plates for Ga’briyel to fill. “And I will take second watch. Otherwise, you may decide not to wake me again.”

“Fine.”

The camp was silent for a while except for the metallic clang of spoons against plates.

“Where exactly are we going?” Dinton asked as he shoveled in the last of his porridge.

“We will cross the Parbatas at the Ghata Pass. It is a three day ride from here. It will take us about that same amount of time to cross the pass into the plains. After that, we will travel north to Grama, their town. Once there…”

“Yes?” Tero asked.

Ga’briyel shrugged again and stood to pack up his things. “I am not sure. I know that I will make them pay for what they did, but I do not know how yet.” He whistled and Kumar trotted over to him from the stream. He readied the horse to ride, and after a few moments, the other two did the same.

The next sennight passed rather uneventfully. They traveled to the pass, stopping once at a fair-sized village to restock their provisions, and they spent four days crossing over the mountains. It was summertime, so there was little snow even at the summit, but the chill wind made them glad that they had brought their heavy cloaks.

Ga’briyel thought back to his own journey across the Parbatas, and he wondered if his life would have been the same if he had known about the pass. Since he had not known, he had made his way directly across the mountains, finding his way by means of deer trails and the occasional human-made path. For four moons, he had not seen another person, but on this trip, he could not seem to get away from them.

In every village they passed through, whether it consisted of ten houses or a hundred, he heard the gasps and saw the wide eyes of the people who realized he was Anmah. Twice, someone tried to stop him for news of the world—apparently Anmah were well-traveled—but he had to tell them that he knew nothing. He knew they did not believe him.

There had been no villages since they entered the pass, and the three men talked more amongst themselves than they had previously. Even Tero seemed to loosen up as the days unfolded, and by the time they reached the plains on the western side of the mountains, he and the others were discussing things as equals.

Dinton, for his part, was simply glad to be out of Torkeln. It was not that he was sorry he had joined the Palace Guard.It was just that he had not ever traveled, and he was loving it. Seeing new places and new people was something he had not been sure he would ever have the chance to do.

As the friends passed out of the trees into the tall grasses of the Kedara Plains, the sun was twice its own height above a horizon that Dinton and Tero had never seen. Ga’briyel had, however, and he stopped and watched for several minutes as the blazing ball lowered and started to change color from yellow to orange. The others flanked him and studied him curiously as he dropped his head. Memories of his family and his village pounded on his brain, and he felt the heat of his fury overtaking him. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths to try to calm down, while Kumar shifted uneasily, picking up on his master’s mood. Ga’briyel unconsciously bent forward and patted the horse’s neck, but the stallion still danced sideways, obviously discomfited.

“Everything all right, Ga’briyel?”

The Anmah’s hands had fisted around the reins, and Kumar snorted, voicing his displeasure with his rider’s rigidity. Ga’briyel kept his head down but turned his face toward Dinton and opened his eyes. Dinton frowned deeply when he saw the fire blazing out of them.

Without speaking, Ga’briyel snapped his head forward and dug his heels into Kumar’s flanks. The war horse bolted ahead, and Dinton and Tero had to quickly heel their own mounts in an attempt to keep up. The black horse and his rider stayed ahead of them, however, for over a league, and then Ga’briyel slowed his horse. Before the animal had completely stopped, he swung down from the saddle and stalked back and forth through the tall grass, fists clenched tightly and jaw clenched even tighter, taking long strides that covered a pace or more each time. Dinton and Tero pulled up not far from him, but neither spoke.

Without warning, Ga’briyel dropped to his knees and released a loud, wordless cry toward the sky. It came from deep within himself, and the pain in it hit the others like a physical blow. Dinton was about to dismount and go to him when Tero stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Stay,” the older man said. “Leave him alone.”

Dinton just nodded and watched his friend with apprehension.

The shout had turned into angry mutterings, but Ga’briyel stayed on his knees, his hands fisted so tightly they were shaking. His knuckles were white, and the tendons clearly stood out. After what seemed like a very long time, he stood up and moved to Kumar, swinging himself back into the saddle. Without a word, he kicked the animal into motion and headed west. The other two glanced at each other before following.

They rode for another hour, with the only sounds being the swishing of their horses’ legs through the grass, the soft thumping of their hooves on the ground, and the occasional jingle of tack hardware or the creaking of leather saddles, when Ga’briyel abruptly came to a halt and looked around the empty grasslands.

“What is it?” Tero asked as he reined in beside him, his tone eerily similar to one used with a wounded, cornered animal.

“I do not know,” Ga’briyel said, his voice cold. “I am getting something, but that does not make sense. I do not know anyone around here, and it is not coming from either of you.” He closed his eyes and swung Kumar in a slow circle. After two complete turns, he stopped and faced northwest. His eyes opened, and he pointed.

“That way,” he said and kicked his horse into a trot. They made their way through the late afternoon light for another league or so when Ga’briyel brought them to a halt. With hand signals, he told the others to dismount and follow him. They did so, shifting their hands to the hilts of their swords as Ga’briyel did. They crept soundlessly through the grass, their movements indistinguishable from the wind, and within ten minutes, the glow of a campfire was visible in front of them. The glow grew larger as they moved—Ga’briyel was amazed when he realized there was no watch set around the camp—and they were soon able to hear voices. They were harsh, masculine voices, and the laughter that carried on the wind was cruel. Eventually, they were able to make out words.

“Get over here, girl! We are going to have a little fun!”

Ga’briyel and the others snuck close enough to see the figures of several men moving in the light of a single small fire. Ga’briyel motioned again, and the other two separated from him to circle the camp. He moved silently closer until he could make out the faces of the men. He had to force his eyes not to glow and give him away when he saw the black and white painted faces of the Asabya. His mind sought out his companions, and he knew the instant they realized who the men were. Their fury was no match for his, but it was still fierce. As he watched, one man dragged a young woman into the light of the fire.

Ga’briyel guessed that she was about his age, and she was a tiny thing; if he were standing next to her, he thought that she might come to about the middle of his chest. She looked even smaller when surrounded by what Ga’briyel now saw were a dozen large, ferocious-looking barbarians. She had short, blonde hair that looked like it had been hacked off with a dull knife. She did not make a sound but only stood in the center of the circle made by the men, her hands behind her back and her head down. She was wearing a short, linen dress that came to mid-thigh. The dress might have been white, or perhaps a light blue, at one time, but now it was so dirty that it was hard to tell.

The men started laughing and began passing her around the circle, each man groping and pawing at her, a few fumbling at the laces of their breeches. Suddenly, images flashed in Ga’briyel’s mind, and he knew instantly that they came from the woman. How, he did not know, but pictures of pain and humiliation, of rape and torture filled his brain, and he slowly drew his sword from its scabbard. It slid out silently, and he readied himself to attack. He knew what the Asabya had in mind when they said they wanted to have fun—he saw it in the woman’s thoughts and in their actions—and he knew that he could not let them fulfill their desires with her. He was about to signal the attack when other contradictory images clashed with the first, images of the girl with a sword in her hand, hacking at the men abusing her. He looked back at her and was surprised to see intense hatred blanketing her face, her teeth clenched almost as tightly as his had been earlier.

He glanced around quickly and saw Dinton to his left and Tero to his right. They were both watching him, and he knew that, even without the images to help, they both knew what was about to happen. He nodded once to each of them and then burst from the grass with a loud battle cry, Dinton and Tero half a heartbeat behind him.

The Asabya were caught off guard, but they were warriors to the bone, and they quickly drew their swords. Two were too slow, however, and as Ga’briyel swung his sword twice, they lay dead, their blood quickly staining the grass a dark red.

The third man he encountered had managed to get his sword out, but it only took seconds to cut him down anyway. He heard the sounds of battle around him, but they were distant, and he focused on the men around him. He danced around the camp, striking out at anyone with a black face, his sword singing as it slashed through the night air.

Three more Asabya quickly went down, and he set his feet as four others settled themselves in front of him in a tight semicircle, their swords aimed directly at him. He let his mind discover that Dinton and Tero had each dispatched one Asabya in the time he had killed or wounded six, and they were now standing behind him, waiting.

He shook his sword once to remove some of the blood and gore so that it did not drip and make the hilt slippery, and then he raised it in a front guard. His eyes glowed brightly, and he was amused at the shocked looks on three of the Asabya’s faces, but the fourth just narrowed his eyes and set his own stance.

“Need some help, Ga’briyel?”

“No, I can handle them.” He quickly determined that the unconcerned man was the leader of these savages, and he decided to leave him for last.

“This should be good,” he heard Dinton whisper with a chuckle, and although he knew that his friend had relaxed slightly, he also knew that Dinton’s sword was still in his hand, as was Tero’s.

Ga’briyel smiled wickedly at the Asabya and gestured to them with his free hand. “Come on, you cowardly horesons. Come and die.”

At the insult, the three underling Asabya rushed him with loud cries while the leader stood back, watching them warily. Perhaps half a minute later, the three lay on the ground, two dead and one groaning in pain with a fatal wound to his abdomen. Ga’briyel now faced the last Asabya still standing.

“What are you?” the barbarian asked, completely unafraid.

Ga’briyel reached into his shirt, pulled out his family’s token, and let it drop onto his chest. He was about to answer when an image flashed through his mind—his village of Desa with dead and dying people lying everywhere. He quickly shut off his ability even though he was sure the image had come from the woman he had seen. He could not think about her now.

“My name is Ga’briyel Mistri, and you killed my family and friends.”

“Me?” the Asabya laughed. “Personally? Hmmm, I suppose it is possible. When was this?”

“Fifteen years ago,” Ga’briyel snarled. “Asabya raided my village and slaughtered everyone.”

“Not everyone,” the Asabya smirked. “You obviously survived the attack. That is strange. We usually make sure all the males are killed before we take the females.”

Ga’briyel’s eyes flashed again, but the man’s words struck a chord in him. Did the Asabya not know about the Anmah? It seemed not if this barbarian thought that he had simply survived the massacre. He took one step toward the barbarian in front of him, but the man took one backward. Ga’briyel stood up straight and stared. “A coward in battle as well as when killing innocents, I see.”

The Asabya’s brow furrowed, and he growled. “I am no coward; I simply want you to know who it is that will kill you.”

“And who is that?”

The man grinned and gestured with his sword. “I recognize that token. Your village was the first one that I helped raid. I was fourteen years old at the time, but I only killed one person—a young boy in the dining hall, so whoever killed the rest of your family, it was not me. I skewered that little brat, though. Sunk my sword to its hilt in his chest.” He shrugged. “No matter, because now I will kill you. Perhaps when you see him in the afterlife, you will tell him how much I enjoyed killing him.”

Ga’briyel returned the grin, absolutely certain now that the man had no idea what an Anmah was. “Feel free to try.” He heard Dinton chuckle behind him, and even Tero cleared his throat.

The man set his feet in what Ga’briyel recognized as an attacking stance and laughed out loud. “Just so you know, boy, no one has ever defeated me. I have been fighting since I was five years old. I am the best swordsman in the world.”

“Really?” Ga’briyel said, stepping once to his right. “We will just have to see about that.”

The next moment, the Asabya flowed toward Ga’briyel as if he weighed nothing, sword aimed directly at the Anmah’s heart. Ga’briyel smoothly ducked underneath the lunge and drew his sword lightly over the man’s thigh. The man grunted but followed through with his thrust and spun. Ga’briyel was ready for him, and the next few moments were spent with the Asabya attempting to draw blood while Ga’briyel did the same. The only difference between the two was that Ga’briyel succeeded. After several more attempts, the Asabya finally fell to his knees and dropped his sword. Ga’briyel kicked it out of reach, dropped his own, pulled a dagger from his belt, and quickly shifted behind the man. He placed the knife at his throat while holding his hair with his free hand. The man was bleeding from at least a dozen wounds, two of which would claim his life soon if they were not tended to, and Ga’briyel thought that his fist in the man’s hair was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Dinton!”

“Yes?”

“Get the woman and bring her here.”

“Are you sure?”

Ga’briyel’s eyes darted to his friend. “Now!”

“Fine.” Dinton did not sound very happy about what he was being told to do, but he did it. He found the woman on the edge of the camp, crouched as if to flee. “Come on,” Dinton said softly as he took her arm and drew her to her feet. She offered no resistance, but he felt the tension within her. Still, she stood and walked with him.

When they were standing in front of the Asabya and Ga’briyel, the Anmah looked at her closely.

Her blonde hair would have been the same shade as Ga’briyel’s if it had been clean, but that was all he could tell about her appearance since she kept her face bent toward the ground.

“Look at me,” he said kindly, and she slowly raised her head.

Ga’briyel tried not to react when he saw her face. She was beautiful. Dirty and obviously malnourished, but still beautiful. Her blue eyes looked at the scenario in front of her with two distinct emotions—fear and hatred. Fear of what, Ga’briyel was not sure, but he knew who the hatred was for.

“What is your name?” he asked quietly.

“Sophyra, sir,” she said without inflection, but then her gaze settled on Ga’briyel’s token, and he saw the hint of something else in her eyes.

“Sophyra.” Ga’briyel knew that name, but he kept his face and voice calm. “You are to tell me what you want me to do with this man.” He jerked on the Asabya’s hair, and the man grunted weakly. “Do I slit his throat, or do I let him bleed to death from his wounds?”

The something else in her eyes grew, and she looked at him. “May I speak plainly, sir?”

“Of course. You are the one he and the others were about to violate. His life is in your hands.”

She stood a little straighter and pulled her arm from Dinton’s grasp. She took one step toward the Asabya, and to Ga’briyel’s delight, spit in his face. He tried to keep from smiling at the action, but he did not succeed completely. He wiped the smile from his face when Sophyra looked back at him, however.

“How long until he bleeds out, sir?”

“Minutes,” Ga’briyel said. “No more.”

“Will it be painful, sir?”

“I would say he is in quite a bit of pain right now, but as he gets closer to death, the pain will fade until he dies.”

The woman frowned and then turned to Dinton. “Do you have a dagger, sir?”

Dinton’s eyebrows soared into his hairline. “Yes. Why?”

She simply held out her hand, and Dinton glanced at Ga’briyel. At the latter’s nod, he slipped a dagger out of his belt and held it out to her. She took it and hefted it as if testing its balance. Then she turned back to the Asabya, knelt directly in front of him, and placed the point of the blade over his chest.

“This is for my family, for my village, and for everything you have put me through the last fifteen years,” she said, her voice hard as marble. Then she slowly slid the blade into the man’s chest.

He groaned loudly and tried to pull away, but Ga’briyel held him still. The blade entered him bit by bit until it was sheathed to the hilt in his flesh. At that point, Sophyra roughly twisted it and yanked it out.

The Asabya cried out once as his life’s blood spewed from his chest and covered the woman in its crimson heat, and then he slumped, his head still held by Ga’briyel. The Anmah dropped the body to the ground in disgust and stayed where he was, watching the woman carefully.

She stared at the dagger in her hand for a long moment, and then she dropped it to the ground and tried to wipe the blood from her hands. Unfortunately, she wiped them on her dress, which was drenched with the same, and she only succeeded in reddening them even more.

“Sophyra,” Ga’briyel said softly as he replaced his dagger, picked up his sword, and started cleaning it on the back of the dead man’s shirt.

“What?” Her head snapped up, eyes angry, and her hands stilled. Ga’briyel was upset when he saw the fear return to them just before she dropped her gaze to the ground in front of her. “I…I mean, yes, sir?”

He sheathed his sword once it was clean and moved closer to her. “Do not be afraid of me. I will not hurt you.” He sighed when she did not move. “May I ask you a question?”

She just nodded without raising her eyes.

“Will you tell me where you came from? I know you are not Asabya.”

“No, sir, I am not. I come from a village to the north of here.”

“Desa?”

She tensed, and then she nodded again.

“May I ask you a question, sir?”

“Sophyra,” Ga’briyel said, laying his hand on her arm, “you do not have to call me sir. And please look at me.”

She slowly brought her eyes to his, and he was once again stunned by her beauty, marred though it was with the amount of blood on her.

“What is your question?”

Her gaze flickered to his token and then back to his face. “I know that symbol; it is from Desa,” she said. “What is your name, sir?”

“Now it is Ga’briyel, but that is not the name my first parents gave me. My first father named me Jala.”

She gasped. “Jala el’Adama?”

It was his turn to nod. “And you are Sophyra me’Dirgha, are you not?”

Her eyes closed, and two tears made their way down her cheeks, washing twin tracks through the blood and dirt. “Sophyra me’Dirgha el’Jonsa el’Sala.” Her eyes opened, and she stared at him, blue eyes sparkling. “I have not said that for fifteen years.”

Ga’briyel’s own eyes closed as he thought of his own full birth name. Jala el’Adama el’Altyara el’Illyama. He had not thought of that name since the day he had told Ma’ikel of his deaths.

He glanced up when he heard his men shift their feet, and he remembered where they were. He stood up and held out his hand to Sophyra. She shied away from it at first, but then she cautiously put her own hand into his. He pulled her to standing and then looked at his men.

They were standing behind Sophyra, their swords cleaned and sheathed. Dinton had already retrieved his dagger, and it was back in its place at his waist. They were watching him, and Ga’briyel did not need to read their minds to know they were curious about what they were seeing. He said, “You two go get the horses. I will make sure Sophyra gets cleaned up.”

“Right away, Ga’briyel,” Tero said, nudging Dinton with his elbow. They disappeared quickly into the tall grass.

Ga’briyel sighed and turned to Sophyra. “There has to be water around here somewhere.”

She nodded, her eyes wary. “There is a small river over there, sir.” She pointed to the north. “Perhaps half a hundred paces.”

“Lead the way.” As they walked, Ga’briyel asked, “Do you have anything else to wear?”

“No, sir,” Sophyra said.

Ga’briyel frowned. “You cannot keep wearing that dress. Perhaps one of my shirts will work as a dress for you. I will get one when my men return.”

“That is not necessary, sir. I can wash this one out.”

“Not a chance,” Ga’briyel said. “You will not have one trace of that animal’s blood on you any longer.”

They had reached the river, which was a good ten paces across and roughly one and a half deep. Sophyra had lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, and her head was once again hanging. Ga’briyel had no idea what had caused her to shut down like that until he opened his mind to her thoughts. He had apparently spoken more harshly than he had intended, and she was conditioned to expect violence from every man. She thought he was angry for suggesting the washing of her dress instead of meekly accepting his offer of clothing, and she was just waiting for him to strike her.

“Sophyra,” he said softly, laying his hand on her arm and frowning when she flinched slightly, “I am not angry with you. Please do not be afraid of me. I would never hurt you.”

She did not move or speak, and he simply sighed and gestured toward the water. “Go and clean off what blood you can. I have soap in my saddlebags you can use when my men get back.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ga’briyel expected her to wait for him to at least turn around, but she immediately drew the bloodied dress over her head, and he spun away from her before he could see anything. Her lack of modesty shocked him, but he kept his thoughts to himself and said, “I am going to head back to your camp. Will you be all right here by yourself?”

“Yes, sir; I will be fine,” she said, and then he heard a small splash as she entered the water.

“Good. I will be back in a little while.”

Frowning deeply, he made his way back to the camp to wait for Dinton and Tero to return. He had expected to feel something when he killed the Asabya, especially after finding out that one of them had killed him. He did not know exactly what—pleasure, satisfaction, triumph—but he felt nothing. He was not upset, he was not happy; the only emotion he could clearly define was unease, but not because of the killing. He was uneasy about Sophyra and what he was going to do with her.

As he stood in the middle of the carnage of the Asabya’s camp, his mind went back to his sixth naming-day. and images that he had banished for fifteen years bombarded him. He tried to envision his family as they had been before the massacre, but the only memories he could conjure up were white skeletons and freshly dug graves and wolves and ravens. That led to memories of his trip across the mountains and the deaths he had experienced. He shuddered and forced his mind to clear.

It was only minutes before he heard the sound of horses moving toward him, and he put his hand on the hilt of his sword just in case it was not his men, but then he relaxed and smiled when Kumar snorted. He walked to the edge of the camp, and soon Dinton and Tero halted in front of him. He took Kumar’s reins and swung up into the saddle.

“What are we going to do with the bodies?” Dinton asked.

“Leave them where they are,” Ga’briyel said with a scowl. “Let the animals clean up after us.”

“Do you want to go through the camp for anything usable?”

“No. We have what we need, and I do not want anything from them.”

“What about the woman?”

“She is washing up.”

“No, I mean, what are we going to do with her?”

Ga’briyel snapped his head toward his friend. “We are going to help her, what else?”

Dinton sighed. “I know that, Ga’briyel, but we cannot keep her with us. We have to find somewhere she can go.”

Ga’briyel dug in his saddlebag and pulled out a block of soap, a small linen cloth, a clean white shirt, and, after a moment’s pause, a pair of breeches. “For now, she stays with us. If we find somewhere safe she can stay…well, we will see.”

“What do you mean, we will see?” Tero asked. “You cannot possibly be thinking that she can travel with us for very long.”

Ga’briyel glared at the man, and his eyes flared. “Did you listen to anything that was said between us, Tero? She is from my village. She is one of my people; probably the last one alive. I cannot just abandon her to the first people we see.”

Tero had the decency to look apologetic, and he said, “That is not what I meant, Ga’briyel. I am just saying that if this…” He gestured to the camp. “...is going to happen often, she cannot be with us. She will get hurt.”

“You think I do not know that?!” Ga’briyel stopped and ran his hand through his hair. “I am sorry, Tero. I know she is in danger if she stays with us, but I cannot do anything else right now. I have to know what happened to her after the massacre. I have to know if anyone else was taken or if she was the only one. There are so many things I need to ask her.” His eyes turned pleading. “Please understand that.”

Tero nodded and moved Klynn close to Kumar. “I do understand. I am sorry it sounded like I did not.”

Ga’briyel moved his hand to clasp Tero’s forearm, and the older man reciprocated. With a small smile, Ga’briyel said, “There is a river about fifty paces north of here. That is where Sophyra is. I am going to take her these things, and I will meet you two upstream. I want to be away from here within the hour.”

“Yes, sir,” Tero said with a smile of his own.

Dinton had watched their interaction in silence, but now he nudged Shala closer. “Ga’briyel?”

“Yes?”

“I want you to know that, as far as I am concerned, she can stay with us for as long as you want. Even if we have to fight again, there are ways to keep her safe. She does not have to leave.”

“Thank you, Dinton; I appreciate that. For now, we will just take one day at a time.”

Ga’briyel kicked Kumar into motion and quickly ate up the distance between the camp and the river. When he reached the water, he kept his gaze averted from the woman in the water, dismounted, and placed the clothing and other items on the bank near her.

“These are for you,” he said, turning his back. “Let me know when you are finished, and we will meet up with my men.” Without another word, he moved downstream and knelt to wash himself.

“Is there something wrong with me, sir?”

The soft question almost had Ga’briyel staring at Sophyra, but he diligently kept his head turned away from her. “What are you talking about?”

“Why do you keep your eyes from me? Am I that disgusting to look at?”

“No!” he gasped, shaking his head.

“Then what is it?”

“Is it not obvious?” he asked, scrubbing at the blood on his hands and arms. “You have no clothes on.”

“So? Do you not like to look upon a woman’s body? Are you attracted to men instead, sir?”

“No!” he shouted, and then he did look at her. She was standing unashamedly naked in the water. It came up to just below her breasts, but it was relatively clear and left little to his imagination below the surface and nothing above. He wrenched his eyes away with a groan. “Sophyra, you are beautiful, but it is not right for me to look at you when you are unclothed.”

“Why not? The Asabya have done so since I was ten.”

Ga’briyel ground his teeth together as he thought of what that meant. “I am not Asabya, and neither are you. What they did to you was wrong, and I will not do the same. Please, just wash and get dressed. For my sake. Please.”

“As you wish, sir,” she said softly, and Ga’briyel could feel her disappointment.

He finished washing himself and then moved to stand by Kumar. He calmed himself by stroking the animal, and soon enough, Sophyra was by his side, dressed in his clothes that swallowed her small frame. His shirt came almost to her knees, and she had to hold up his breeches with her hand to keep them from falling. She was barefoot, but she had used the soap on her hair as well as her skin, and Ga’briyel could not resist inhaling deeply while trying not to let her notice. He glanced down at her and noticed that her eyes were downcast again. He sighed, took the soap and cloth from her, and pulled a piece of rope from his saddlebag before kneeling in front of her.

“What are you doing, sir?” she breathed, her eyes going wide. “You should not be on your knees in front of me.”

He smiled up at her. “You cannot keep holding up your breeches like that.” He slowly pulled his shirt up to her waist and then gathered his breeches with the rope and tied it snugly. “At the next village, I will get you some proper clothes, but I am afraid this is the best I can do for now.” The shirt dropped down around her thighs again, and he stood. Her gaze stayed on the ground, and he gently took her chin between his fingers and tilted her face to his. “And please stop calling me sir. My name is Ga’briyel.”

She swallowed thickly even as she kept her eyes averted. “Yes, s…Ga’briyel. As you wish.”

He took her by the hand and led her to Kumar. He easily lifted her onto the horse’s back behind the saddle. When he swung himself up, she immediately threw her arms around his waist and held on tightly.

“Sophyra,” he said as he pried her fingers apart, “we cannot ride with you holding me like that. I will not be able to breathe.”

He felt her stiffen and attach herself to his back as her fingers tightened around his own, and he could tell she was shaking.

“Have you never ridden a horse before?”

“No. Please do not let me fall, Ga’briyel.”

“I would never let you fall. Just place your hands on the back of the saddle. Hold on tightly, but do not tense up. Relax and enjoy the ride. We are not going far tonight, just another hour or so. You will be fine.”

With that, Ga’briyel heeled Kumar to a walk and started upstream to join Dinton and Tero.