20. Chapter 20
Idid little over the next few days, as I was unable to heal myself, both because I was too weak and because it was impossible to push power into oneself.
It had to be done by another Mother Blessed, one who could control how much power they could push and pull.
And with no Mother Blessed but me in the camp, I found myself confined to the cot in Malik's camp.
My legs were still shaky, shivers continuing to run through me no matter how much stew and warm tea was brought to me.
It was as if the cold had made a home in my body, curling up in my veins and refusing to leave.
Malik stayed by my side day in and day out, and it didn't matter how much I tried to tell him that I was fine and that he could go see his men—he refused to leave the tent.
He said he was the leader of the men here, and they would wait for him as long as he needed.
"Most of them don't even know I'm here, seeing as I haven't left this tent since we arrived."
"Even more reason for you to go out and see your people," I said.
He shot a scornful look my way. "Lyra, I am not leaving you alone in this camp while injured."
I opened my mouth to protest, but he stopped me before I could get a word out. "I'm not going anywhere."
Malik stayed true to his word, and we spent those days relaxing in a way I hadn't in a long time.
I slept endlessly, my body demanding rest after such a harrowing experience.
Every time I woke up, I expected to see that Malik had listened to me and had gone out into the camp, but there he was, always sitting at my side, reviewing maps or plans his men had delivered while I was asleep.
And when I was conscious, I devoured the books in Malik's tent, reading until my eyes went bleary and I fell asleep from exhaustion.
I would often wake to a warm meal, the cuisine rather impressive for a camp populated by people who had not spent much time on Wellea's lands.
And every day before dinner, Malik and I took turns applying the salve the healer had left us to each other's wounds.
Malik’s injuries consisted of more cuts and scrapes that healed quickly, while the bruise that covered my back, side, and shoulder continued to deepen as it healed.
Malik’s touch was gentle as he tended to me.
His fingers skirted across my skin like a ribbon blowing in the wind and I did my best to not shiver as he skimmed the sensitive parts of my back, fearing that he would remove his fingers, thinking he was hurting me, when in reality, it was a great distraction from the pain.
On the third day, I attempted to stand, my body still sore and aching, but finally able to support my weight.
Though, what I hadn’t expected when I stood was the thrum I felt thumping under the earth when my feet touched the ground.
A gasp shot through me at the feel of it, the ache reaching all the way through my already sensitive body.
"What is it?" Malik asked, stress lacing his voice as he made his way towards me, his arms snaking around my middle to prop me up.
"We're close to Rida," I said. "There's lots of power here."
Malik studied me, concern flooding his eyes.
"You should continue to rest," he said, lowering me back down to the bed. I knew there was no way to fight my way out of it, so I did as he said.
It was on the fifth day that I could finally walk across the tent of my own volition. It felt good to finally move, and once he was sure I would not fall over after a few steps, Malik asked me, "Up for a walk?"
We dressed in our new clothes, kindly donated to us by men and women throughout the camp. Gone was the finery we dressed in the night of the banquet, our clothes now muted colors and simple cuts. But they were warm, and that was all I could ask for in the moment.
We walked out of the tent to find the camp alive with people. Everyone with somewhere to be and a task to be done.
The camp was a bustling place with rows upon rows of gray-brown tents with fires interspersed throughout. People came and went from the tents, some with baskets on their hips and others with game slung over their shoulders, all as if they had been settled here for years, not just a couple of weeks.
Malik led the way through the camp, and we didn't make it far until his men began to wave him down, greeting him as if he were a friend before anything else.
Malik greeted his men with a smile, calling out their names and clasping their hands, bringing them into a familiar embrace that could only be shared between two people who had fled the place they had called home together, had fought alongside one another, and had together faced standing up to the men who dared try to reach for power that wasn’t theirs.
"They all seem to be in high spirits, considering everyone here had to leave their homes not that long ago," I observed as Malik returned, a smile now on his face.
"They believe in my family. They know they are taken care of."
I felt a pang of jealousy go through me at witnessing such a show of camaraderie, knowing that I had struggled to find that my entire life.
These men had everything in common. A home they loved and had lost together, the struggle of adapting to a new foreign land, and that was more than enough to bond them for a lifetime.
It was then that the reality that I had missed the last ten years of Malik’s life truly sank in.
These people knew Malik better than I did—knew his new quirks, his likes and dislikes, had seen him at all of his highs and his lows.
They had celebrated birthdays and victories, all while I had been an ocean away.
"These men respect you greatly," I said to Malik.
"It is because I respected them first. I worked alongside them for years, fought the mainland men with them when they crested our shores weeks ago. I've never held myself above them. They are my men, but they are also comrades. Friends. It goes both ways."
I couldn't help but wonder if Malik would have ever left Uscal if he wasn't forced to by the mainland men. Would he have ever eventually returned for me? Or would he have kept his distance, thinking it was for the best? He had come back, yes, but not of his own volition.
It was refreshing seeing the way Malik interacted with his men as we walked around the camp.
Therian was always the type to see himself above those not in his station.
He had no respect for his countrymen and saw them as disposable.
He acted as if he was doing them a favor by letting them serve him, while Malik was honored to have men stand by his side while the storm raged.
We continued to walk through the camp, the attention of Malik's people following us everywhere we went.
While they focused mainly on him, I did not miss their quick glances at me.
They were brief, but the judgement was there.
I saw two women raise their eyebrows at one another at the sight of me next to Malik before turning and walking away together quickly.
I saw men jab each other in the ribs with their elbows, nodding towards me, yet dipping their heads in respect when our gazes met.
Malik was engaged with his people, so he did not see these interactions, but he stood no further than a couple of paces away from me the entire time, close enough to feel my tension as we continued making our way through the camp.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine," I answered, the strained tone of my voice betraying me.
Malik looked around and saw what I did as we continued to walk: the men looking at me and jeering as we walked past, the women who whispered to one another as they took me in.
"They are not usually like this, just so you know," he said.
"I don't want you to think that these are the people I talk so highly of.
They are all going through a bit of a shock being on Wellea, so they are grasping onto anything sort of entertainment or gossip they can to distract them from their new reality. "
"Maybe I should—"
"You don't need to do anything to gain their respect. If they speak ill of you, they will be hearing from me."
I would have been fine to linger in the shadows, to let Malik walk ahead, would have even returned to the tent, but he insisted I stay by his side, going as far as tucking my hand to the inside of his elbow to keep me close, keeping me in full view as we continued to make our way through the camp.
"Sir, you've returned to us," a voice yelled from the distance as we walked.
We turned to see a man approaching from the back of the camp where the tents were densely packed, a thicket of trees not far behind him. His hair was windswept and clothes worn down much like the ones Malik and I donned.
“Been back for a few days, but just now getting out,” Malik said in greeting while placing a hand on my back, pulling me close to him.
I didn't know whether it was because of my injuries, or because of the general atmosphere of the camp, but Malik seemed to be even more protective of me now than he had ever been.
It was almost as if he was making up for lost time, claiming me, protecting me and showing me off how he had always wanted before the Shroud.
The man’s eyes quickly shot to me, and a chill went down my spine at the attention in his gaze and the implication Malik’s words held. I did not want to be known as Malik’s companion, but the idea of explaining who I really was to everyone only stressed me further.
"My lady," the man responded, dipping his head towards me.
I smiled tightly at the man, clutching my shawl closer around me.
"Here," the man said, removing his coat from his shoulders and dropping it over the shawl. "Wouldn't want a beauty like you getting cold now, would we?"
"Oh, I couldn't—" I said, trying to take the coat off my shoulders and hand it back to him.
"I insist," he said. "Give it back to me next time you see me."
I smiled weakly, feeling Malik beginning to pull me away before the man continued speaking.
"Everyone will want to speak with you soon, sir. Now that you're back."
Malik nodded. "I will let you know when I'm free."
"Please do. And you can come too, miss!" the man said, his eyes alight.
Malik pulled me away before I could answer, glaring at the man as we continued our walk through the camp.
It was all I could do to not focus on the murmurs of Malik's people as we were spotted together.
It was overwhelming. Never had I had attention like this before, their eyes watching me as if I was the first game spotted on a hunt after a bout of hunger.
I was careful as I walked by Malik's side, still a stranger in their sanctuary, suddenly at the side of someone they had come to admire.
"But how do we know that what they say is true? How do the Mother Blessed know for sure that Yllsora is threatened by this rot?"
I nearly stumbled at the words I heard as we passed one of the fires surrounded by Uscal men. They spoke in hushed voices, heads bent together as if they knew at any moment someone might overhear the words they spoke.
"That's why the mainland king doesn't believe in them. He thinks the Mother Blessed are using that as a way to gain power over us common folk."
I looked at Malik then, his eyes scrunching as he listened to the words spoken by his men, his hand that had been guiding me gripping my arm tighter as he turned towards the group.
"Is that what you think?" Malik asked them.
The men's heads snapped up at Malik's voice, the guilt of what they had been saying all over their faces.
"Just speculation, sir," one of the men answered quickly. "We know your late mother was a Mother Blessed, and we would never dishonor her memory, of course."
"Yes," another answered. "We only wish to understand the situation better since coming to Wellea, that's all."
There was a brief moment of silence between us and them, all of us looking at one another, tension building as the seconds went on.
They did not know who I was, or what I was, and in that moment, I was grateful we had kept my identity a secret.
For it was apparent that while these were Malik's men, they were impressionable to the mainland men's word.
"Very well," Malik nodded, sending his men a weak smile before looking at me and guiding us away, the both of us on edge as we continued on through the camp, nothing but the assurance of each other keeping us steady.