Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

She tried to talk. Sharp pain lanced through her throat. She retched and then choked on her vomit. Raul turned her onto her side and held her while she heaved blood and bile onto the stones. Gently he laid her head on his lap and ran fingers over her throat. Through the roaring in her head, she heard his fluting voice murmuring in Old Erythandran. A kiss of air upon her face. The sharp scent of green. She drew a long breath, less painful than before. Swallowing still hurt.

“Who? What?”

“Hush. Do not speak. You are badly hurt.”

She heard a ripping sound. He was doing something with her arm now. It occurred to her that she heard nothing else. No fighting. No other voices. “Herrick?”

“Dead. So are Klaus and all the others. So nearly were you. Come. We must try to walk away from here.”

Raul helped her to stand. Vaguely, she realized that he was injured, too, but how much she could not tell, nor could she think clearly enough to worry about it. He urged her to walk, holding her upright though he was grunting in pain. What followed was an agonizing stumbling journey through dark streets and back alleys. The water salt scent receded. Ilse was aware of climbing uphill a distance, then back down toward a dimly lit row of shops and taverns. Raul guided her along a cramped and muddy lane, to a low door sunk into the stone wall.

He knocked once and fell against the doorframe, still holding on to Ilse with his one arm. “Call me Stefan,” he whispered in her ear. “And I shall call you Anike.”

She didn’t have time to wonder why. The door flung open and a stocky man in a dirty apron demanded what they wanted. In a gruff voice, Raul demanded a room.

“You look a mess,” the man said. “I won’t have any brawlers here.”

“Don’t want to fight,” Raul grunted. “Did that. Want wine. Lots of wine. And sleep.”

“And whatever else you can get, eh?” The man leered at Ilse. “She looks too bloody to fuck.”

“Like ’em that way.”

“So I see. Well, come with me, rough boy. I wants two silver denier for the room. Two more for the wine, and that’s cheap. Sheets are extra.”

Raul shoved coins into the man’s waiting hand. “Lots of sheets. Lots of wine.”

The man peered at him curiously. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

Ilse roused herself. “Nothing’s wrong with his voice. Not to me.”

“Oh I see. You’re both strange. Well, go inside. I’ll

send a girl with the wine and the sheets.”

He gave Raul a candle and warned them against setting fire to the place. Raul helped Ilse into the room and lowered her onto the bed. A mattress, really. Moldy straw. A dirty cover. She tried to take in her surroundings, but the candle cast only a little light, and her vision had gone blurry again.

“Let me see what they’ve done to you,” Raul said.

She started in shock at the sight of his face, just a few inches from hers. One eye was swollen shut. Blood caked his hair and streaked his face, which had a pinched gray look under the blood and dirt.

“You look terrible,” she whispered.

He started to laugh, then winced. “So do you, Anike.”

When the wine and sheets arrived, he tore the sheets into rags and soaked them in the wine. With a deft hand, he washed the many scrapes and bruises that Ilse had not noticed before. She tried to take up a rag, to do the same for him, but he pushed away her hand. “Let me take care of us both. Besides, I know more about wounds than you.”

He worked quickly and gently; still, she had to grit her teeth against the pain. Every part of her body registered an injury. Lips swollen and bleeding. A cut over one eye. Scrapes and bruises on her knuckles. More bruises on her shins. Her knee twinged when she bent it, but Kosenmark told her that nothing had broken.

He left her arm for last. Unwinding the blood-soaked bandage was more painful than all the rest put together. The cloth stuck to the blood and pulled at her wound. Ilse clenched her teeth but could not help crying out. Raul stopped at once and poured her a cup of the wine. “It’s dreadful stuff, I know, but it should help.”

She forced down a mouthful. Her stomach heaved at the bitter metallic taste, but nothing came up. Bit by bit, she finished off the cup. Meanwhile Raul had soaked another rag with wine and told her to bite down hard while he worked. Between the wine in her stomach and the rag in her mouth, she managed to endure the rest, though she was sweating heavily and tears streamed from her eyes.

“A bad cut,” Raul said as he wound a new bandage around her arm. “Badly bruised as well. Did you know you could fight? I saw you once. Ault would be proud of you. I know I am.”

He continued to murmur praise and nonsense alike until he was done. Ilse collapsed against the wall, unable to talk. The wine roiled in her stomach. She closed her eyes and fixed her thoughts on keeping it down. Nearby, she heard more splashing and grunts from Raul. He must be washing his own wounds. She wanted to ask how he did, but talking was too difficult.

“How do you feel?” he asked.