Night of the Zandians (Zandian Brides 1)

As I venture further, the air grows moist and a floral smell lingers. There are no bird calls here, just the crunch of debris under my feet. I pause as a shadow passes over the sun. It’s a long way back, and I need to leave soon if I want to stop by Holla’s dome on the way back home. She has herbs I need, not for a project, but for myself. If I stay on schedule, I can fit it all in and still beat my mates back home to avoid questions.

It’s then that I see it—the epiphyte I need. “I found you!” I exclaim. I pull another vial and scrape the loose, papery bark into the container. To my surprise, it rolls up into little scrolls, and it’s easy to get a lot of it.

I put on gloves and carefully unwind a smaller Agrax from the branch it has claimed, careful not to tear roots or rip leaves. It’s not toxic, but I don’t want to damage the fragile plant. I wrap it in a piece of lintless cloth and place it into my bag. If this bark is useful, I may be able to figure out how to make this bush grow back in my dome. I extricate another.

It’s then, as I turn to place the second Agrax in my bag, success flooding my brain with liquid gold, that I see the eyes of vipn. Red eyes, three pairs, one much lower to the ground. A young? What are they doing here?

I crouch and freeze, knife tight in one hand, the Agrax in the other, like a sword. My heart speeds up until it’s a blur of energy. I’m on a hair trigger, ready to react. The animals look as intent as I feel, and then the young one gives a raspy mewl of pain that is unmistakable. At that, the two taller animals bend down, one of them yelping in reply; the second looks back up at me and growls, a long, low angry snarl, and I see long teeth, wet with saliva. Poisoned saliva?

I cannot risk getting bitten. I drop the Agrax and reach into my satchel, feeling around until I grasp the smooth glass of my acid vial. Holding it at the ready, I wait, sick to think I could destroy an animal, even a vicious one, yet I know it may be necessary to save my own life.

The young one whimpers again and licks its leg—I can see clearly now that my eyes have adjusted. I notice something else—their scratch marks, claw marks, on the trunk of a tree where an Agrax grows.

I stand my ground, and inspiration strikes— without looking away from the animals, as if breaking eye contact will allow them forward, I shift the vial in my hand, crouch down, touch the Agrax with my fingers where I dropped it, and peel off a long strip of the thin bark. It curls up in my hand, releasing a pleasant, woody aroma. I toss it towards the trio.

The taller one growls more loudly, and howls, and my thighs quiver. But then it darts forward and grabs the bark in its mouth and retreats, dropping the bark at the foot of the other adult. She (I assume it’s a she) chews the bark, soft slick slurpy crunches, and then, to my surprise, bends down to spit the mouthful on to her young—onto its leg.

Sweet Mother Earth! These intelligent beasts are using medicine to heal!

I step forward, hoping to leave while they’re occupied, but the larger one snarls and acts like it is going to leap, and I freeze. I repeat my action; prying off a piece of bark, tossing it forward.

This time the larger one chews the bark, and when I move past their group, they don’t stop me. A few more feet, and I race as fast as I can, still holding my knife and the branch and my vial, not pausing to look back, until I am a mile out, then two, and I can barely breathe, heading toward Holla’s homestead.

I whirl around, half-expecting to see a hoard of furry monsters racing at me, fangs bared, but the field is empty, so I run again until my chest burns. I bend over, panting; when I look up, a sparkling dome refracts the sun into my eyes in a thousand shards, and I realize that I made it to Holla’s place. I lope up, and when she sees me, her whole face drops in shock and dismay.

“Riya!” She extends her arms for a hug, sees my knife, draws back. “Come into the dome.” She tugs my arm. “What are you doing out here, alone? Are you hurt?” She sits me down on a wooden stool. “What’s in Mother Earth is going on? Where are your mates?”

She glances out the dome at the tall grasses blowing in the wind, then to me. Even in my exhaustion, I’m careful to put my Agrax, my vial, and knife, back into my pack.

“I was running,” I rasp, and grab at my water packet.

“Save yours, I’ll get more,” she offers, and she fetches me a pitcher. Water never tasted so good. I suck it down, greedy for more, and she refills it.

Finally sated, I look at her. “Thank you,” I say. “I need your advice.”

She nods and takes a breath. “I expected you to come. But not like this.” She gestures at my sweaty, wild appearance. “What’s in your satchel?”

“My salvation,” I murmur, and I’m grateful she doesn’t ask me what I mean.

“So?” She quirks one brow.

“I would like to…” The words won’t come. “I need…”

She waits, silent, still.

“I cannot bear young.” I force out the sentence. “Is there any way you can help?”

Her eyes, so full of sympathy, meet mine. “That depends,” she says, “on the reason for the infertility.”

“Shock sticks.” I stick up my chin. “My fallopian tubes were scarred.” I squeeze my eyes for a second. “From all the electricity, over time.”

“Oh, Riya.” Her face falls. “I’m so very sorry.” The look in her eye tells me what she’s about to say next.

“There are herbs,” I begin, grabbing her hands, leaning forward. “Old traditions.” My voice shakes, and I realize I’m squeezing her fingers too hard, panting into her face. I release my sweaty grip. “Things the slave elders spoke of. I don’t grow them, but I think you do.”

“Those work for specific ailments.” Her voice is gentle. “There are herbs to bring on menses that have failed, and salves that can make a woman more fertile. However, if she is not fertile at all to start, the herbs will have no efficacy.”

“I need to try them.” I tap my foot.