Free The Elementals by Morgan Llywelyn Page B

to have penetrated a lung. If he did not bleed to death he might survive.
    Fighting waves of dizzying pain, he gathered moss to stuff into the wound. There was a roaring in his ears like the sound of the sea. He lay on his back, clinging desperately to consciousness. He was afraid he would never wake up if he let himself fall asleep.
    The night was endless. The slightest sound was an assault on Ladra’s raw nerve endings. All around him people slept, blissfully unaware that he might be dying. He hated them for their indifferent comfort.
    This is me! he wanted to shout. This is my precious life seeping away!
    But he did not shout. He lay in silence, fearing. Hating.
    In the morning he was still alive.
    Ladra was surprised to discover he was actually seeing the first flush of dawn. I am not going to die after all, he thought. His survival seemed almost anticlimactic.
    With a great effort, he dragged himself to his feet and went to the stream to splash his face with cold water. It revived him a little. A close examination of the moss showed that blood was no longer seeping from the wound. He was weak, but he was alive.
    Every movement hurt, however.
    One-handed, he struggled to wrap his cloak around his body and
fasten it so no one would see the bloody mess at his shoulder. Only then did he allow himself to make enough noise to awaken the others.
    Kesair was already awake. She did not think she had slept at all. She heard him get up and go to the stream. She heard him return. He did not come anywhere near her.
    At least she had not killed him.
    She wondered how she felt about that.
    She got up cautiously, surprised to find the world much the same as it had been the night before. Familiar forms surrounded her. Familiar sounds: coughing, farting, a groan of awakening, a muttered, sleepy conversation. The new baby’s cry and Kerish’s tender answer.
    As Kesair bent over to pick up her blankets, the seashell fell from the neck of her gown.
    She caught it in midair, instinctively. Holding it to her ear, she listened for a moment to the voice of the sea. Then she tucked the shell back between her breasts.
    Though she watched him warily, Ladra gave no indication of what had happened between them. He moved stiffly as he gathered himself for the day, but he was able to walk. No one commented on his obvious discomfort. His women assumed it was a residue of his previous illness. The only one who reacted to it at all was Ramé, who trimmed a branch and gave it to him for a walking stick that he could lean upon.
    When they left camp and got under way, however, Ladra moved so slowly even Kerish could outpace him. Eventually Ramé spoke to Kesair. “Ladra is in considerable pain,” she said, “but he won’t admit it and he won’t let Ayn look at him.”
    â€œThat’s his right,” Kesair said through stiff lips.
    Ramé went to walk with Velabro. “Kesair is an unfeeling woman,” she complained.
    Velabro considered. “Aloof, perhaps. I wouldn’t say unfeeling. And she may have her reasons,” she added charitably. Velabro had a deep, slow, husky voice. Ramé liked to talk to her for the sake of hearing the music in her voice.
    â€œLadra’s hurting, Velabro. Kesair should be more solicitous of him. She’s the leader, after all. Our welfare is her concern.”
    â€œYou weren’t so solicitous of Ladra,” Velabro pointed out, “after the last time he flung himself on you.”

    â€œThat’s different, I just got tired of him acting like a rutting stag. But I hate to see him suffer.”
    â€œPerhaps you should suggest to him that we stop, then. He might be willing, if he really is in pain. Leel says this is fertile soil. We could settle here and let the others go on, and Ladra could rest and get well.”
    â€œYou make it sound simple enough, but it isn’t. Think, Velabro. What will it mean? A band of women alone in a strange place with