Twilight Crossing

If only Timon could tell her she wasn’t alone.

Even as he completed the thought, a short, muscular man emerged from the tent. He growled at his challengers, who muttered threats and brandished knives and axes.

Pushing his way through them, Jamie’s kidnapper walked into the center of the camp and began to speak. The meaning of the rough words, Timon thought, didn’t really matter; their purpose was to boast of his strength and his prowess, to scare off lesser challenges and reinforce his claim over the female.

Apparently there would be no waiting for the fighting to start.

Someone bellowed, and the first duel began. In spite of the earlier display of weapons, the two men fought hand to hand, viciously and with no apparent rules to constrain them. The men seemed equally matched in height and musculature, but it was soon obvious that Jamie’s captor was stronger. Using little more than brute strength, he battered his challenger down to the ground and used both fists and feet to pummel the man into unconsciousness.

A heavy silence fell. The other challengers shifted and grumbled. A pair of boys dragged the unconscious man away.

Then another man, bearing a wicked-looking knife in one hand, flung himself at Jamie’s kidnapper. A knife appeared in the first raider’s hand, and the second battle commenced with quiet and deadly ferocity.

It ended much the same as the first, but this time the challenger didn’t get off so easily.

Again there was silence. Two of the remaining challengers withdrew, heads bowed. The victor shouted hoarsely, mocking the others for their cowardice.

Timon knew that he couldn’t put it off any longer. Lowering his head under the hat and drawing up the fur collar of his coat, he stalked toward his opponent. The victor grinned, showing half-rotten teeth, and beckoned the man he believed Timon to be.

He obviously wasn’t expecting much. He lunged at Timon with his large, long arms, as if he planned to break Timon’s back. Timon slipped out of his reach, darted underneath the man’s arms and butted him hard in the stomach. Confused by the suddenness of the attack, the man staggered back, holding his ribs.

But Timon knew it wasn’t nearly enough. His enemy recovered quickly and punched at Timon’s jaw. Again Timon was faster, and he landed a blow to the man’s face and followed up by heaving the tribesman to the ground.

There were murmurs of surprise from the watchers, undoubtedly wondering at their fellow tribesman’s unusual strength. Timon knew he didn’t dare drag the fight out much longer.

As soon as Jamie’s captor was on his feet again, Timon kicked his knees out from under him and dislocated both of his shoulders. Wailing in pain and rage, the man rolled onto his back. His efforts to rise failed over and over again, and after a time he lay still, his thickly bearded face a mask of fury and humiliation.

Checking to make sure that his hat was still in place, Timon turned to face the few remaining challengers. They looked from him to his opponent and, one by one, melted into the shadows. Timon turned and tossed back the tent flap, entering before any of the tribesmen could change his mind.

“Jamie!” he whispered.

She sat on the ground, bound to the tent pole, ropes digging into her wrists and ankles. Her lip was cut and bleeding, her hair tangled and wild around her shoulders. Her clothing was torn, and there was a heavy bruise on one cheek.

Timon swore, longing to charge back outside and treat her captor to a little more serious punishment.

“Timon?” she said, her voice hoarse. “Is it you?”

He was at her side in an instant, cutting through the ropes with his knife. “It’s me,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“They didn’t hurt me.”

Oh, no, Timon thought. The brutes had only handled her like a piece of livestock, hitting and terrorizing her with promises of worse to come.

But when he looked in Jamie’s eyes, he saw determination. And hope.

“We’re getting out of here,” he said. “Can you run?”

“I heard fighting,” she said as she rubbed her wrists. “Did you—”

“I defeated the man who captured you. He’s off his feet, but there’s no guarantee.” He grunted and finished freeing her ankles. “No time to talk. We’re going out the back, and hope they don’t see us until we’re out of this valley.”

He helped her to her feet. She staggered against him, and for a moment he simply held her, feeling the rapid beat of her heart and the stirring in his own.

“Can you run?” he asked again.

“I can do whatever is necessary.”

“Then let’s go,” he said. He ran to the rear of the tent and used his knife to cut a new flap in the patchwork of homespun fabric and deerskin. He went out first, paused to listen, and then grabbed Jamie’s hand.

The tent was backed against the slope of one of the hills, partially sheltered by the twisted limbs of an oak. Timon pushed Jamie behind the wide trunk, took her hand again and began to climb, constantly listening for sounds of pursuit.

Jamie struggled but never gave up, her hands and feet clawing at the earth as she focused on the crest of the hill. She and Timon had almost reached the place where Timon had left Lazarus and his captive’s horse when the cries started from the camp, echoing up into the woods.

Timon almost threw Jamie into Lazarus’s saddle before taking the other horse, knowing that she’d have a better chance with a Rider’s mount than that of a tribesman. His horse was about as gaunt as its former owner, but it felt Timon’s experience and obeyed willingly as Timon gave Lazarus the command to run.

They crossed the ridge, the shouts of the men behind them, and plunged down into the next narrow ravine, splashing through a creek that still carried a trickle of water. Timon whistled to Lazarus, signaling him to take the lead, and he fell behind again, preparing his rifle.

After following the creek for a good quarter mile, Timon turned his mount up the slope. Lazarus climbed ahead of him, Jamie clinging like a burr to his back. The sounds of pursuit grew louder again. The horses galloped full-out along the ridge and into another dense stand of oak and underbrush. The wider Santa Clara valley lay below, a grassy expanse broken only by the occasional low hill or clump of trees.

The tribesmen knew these hills; they preferred the protection the higher ground afforded, but Timon had no doubt that they’d follow him and Jamie onto the plain.

He pushed the horses on to the foot of the final hill and brought them to a halt beneath a single oak at the edge of the valley. “Stay on Lazarus,” he commanded Jamie. “If we can’t stop them here, you run. Lazarus is very fast and strong. He can outrun the tribesmen’s mounts easily. You have to ride low and stay on until there’s no one left chasing you. Cross the valley to the old highway and the pass through the hills to the east. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said. “But I won’t leave you.”

“I’ve fought these kinds of men many times in the past. If they take you, your life will be slavery and degradation.” He checked his rifle again. “I didn’t come after you to see you fall to that.”

“You shouldn’t have come,” she said, her thick, dark hair falling over her face. “You should have stayed with the others, to protect them.”

“Get behind the tree, and be ready to run at my signal.”

But he knew she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t abandon him because she believed she owed him her life. And so he would have to make sure that their pursuers lost their nerve before they got to the bottom of the hill.

Crouching behind a thorny bush, Timon took aim. The first of the enemy riders crested the hill and began to descend at a breakneck pace. Timon shot the ground just ahead of the first horse, who squealed and hopped to the side, unseating his rider. Another tribesman, close behind, took a shot at Timon, but the bullet fell short. Timon returned the favor by shooting the man in the shoulder.

After that, the rest of the world went away. Timon saw nothing but the enemy, felt nothing but the rifle in his hands. Bullets whizzed past him, some close enough to stir the air near his body. He continued to fire, aiming, as most Riders did, to wound rather than kill, scaring the horses into throwing their riders.

It took a moment for him to realize when the tribesmen began to retreat, some on foot with their horses temporarily lost to panic and fear. A few paused to help their wounded; one man screamed threats down at Timon and shook his fist ineffectually before plodding uphill.

Ineffectual for now, perhaps. But Timon knew that Jamie was too great a prize for the tribesmen to simply give up. They’d try again.

Setting his rifle aside, Timon crawled backward to the base of the tree trunk. Lazarus peeked around and nickered, his ears swiveling back.

Jamie was slumped on the ground just behind Lazarus, her wrist bent oddly, blood flowing steadily from the bullet wound in her outer thigh. Her eyes were closed. Timon dropped to his knees beside her and felt for her pulse. It was a little thready but still regular. He cursed steadily as he examined the wound. The bullet had passed in and out of muscle, and hadn’t nicked any major blood vessels. But she was still bleeding freely, and her wrist appeared to be fractured, possibly a result of her falling out of the saddle. Only the luckiest of shots could have caught her without also wounding Lazarus.

He knew he had to stop the bleeding, bind Jamie’s wound and splint her arm. He had his medical kit and oak branches littering the ground around him, but he’d only be able to do a quick fix under the circumstances. He needed to find them a place where he could give full attention to her injuries without fear of attack.

“Jamie,” he said, stroking her cheek. “Can you hear me?”

She moaned softly, and her eyelids fluttered.

“Lie very still. You’re injured, but I’m going to do what I can so we can get out of here quickly and find a better hiding place. It’s going to hurt.”

“I...know.” She reached out with her good hand, and he gripped it gently. “Do what you have to.”

She made barely a sound while he cut a long slit in her pants, carefully lifted her leg atop a heap of saddlebags so that the wound was above her heart and got the bleeding under control. Once the worst of it had stopped, he started a fire and boiled water to clean out the wound before bandaging it with more clean cloth and an outer covering cut from a bedroll.

Tears ran down Jamie’s cheeks as he set her wrist, but she never flinched. He bound the wrist and lower forearm to straight, sturdy branches with additional cloth and fashioned a sling with the rest of the blanket.

It seemed little better than butcher’s work to Timon, but at least now he could carry her on horseback without worrying that she might bleed to death.

“You’re very brave,” he told her, “and I’ll need you to keep your courage up a little longer. We have to run before the tribesmen come after us again.”

She nodded, her face drained of color. “I won’t...disappoint you.”

“I know you won’t,” he said. Overwhelmed by a feeling of gratitude and tenderness, he kissed her dirt-smudged forehead. “I’ll get the other horse.”

But the tribesman’s horse had gone lame sometime during the chase, and the best Timon could do was leave him for his previous owners to reclaim. He loaded the saddlebags on Lazarus’s back and returned to Jamie.

“Hold on,” he said.

He lifted her in his arms and placed her in the saddle, then hopped up behind her. She collapsed against him. He wrapped one arm around her waist, gathered up the reins in his other hand and turned Lazarus toward the valley.

Chapter 7

As Timon had predicted, the raiders began to follow again when he and Jamie were halfway across the valley. But Lazarus had all the heart and courage of the Riders’ specially bred horses, and he didn’t slow until they reached the hills on the opposite side. The tribesmen never had a chance.

By the time the chase ended, Jamie was deadweight in his arms. Timon found a place in the hills just south of the pass through which the delegates and their escorts would have gone only a short while before. He laid the half-conscious Jamie down under a tree and reexamined the bandages around her thigh.

The wound wasn’t bleeding heavily, but the pain would be excruciating, and he doubted she’d ever have experienced anything like it before. He was driving her body to move instead of rest when it had two injuries to heal.

He propped her head on his thighs and urged her to drink from his canteen. Most of the water dribbled down her chin, but a little got into her mouth, and she opened her eyes.

“Where are we?” she whispered.

“Away from the tribesmen,” he said. “They won’t find us now.”

“Thank...God,” she said. Her lips twitched. “And thank you.”

Timon felt deeply uncomfortable with her gratitude. Protecting the Enclave delegates was, after all, his job. If he’d observed well enough in the first place, this never would have happened.

He didn’t like owing anything to anyone, nor did he like others owing him. If she felt there was a debt to be repaid...

Then she’ll trust you, he thought. Isn’t that what you want?

“Lie still,” he said. “Your body has suffered multiple shocks, and you need rest.”

She moved as if she was trying to sit up, then fell back with a gasp. “We have to get back to my people,” she said. “My godfather—”

“They know I came after you,” he said. “We’ll meet up with them when we can. But driving yourself now will only increase the risk of your becoming worse.”

Jamie swallowed several times. “I understand,” she said. “It’s just... I wasn’t prepared for anything like this.”

“I know.”

“The...man who took me told me what he was going to do to me, and what would happen to me afterward.” Her words came out in a rush. “If I’d done enough research...if I’d paid enough attention, maybe I would have been ready to deal with it. I—”

“No. If I’d explained things more clearly—”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.” Tears rolled from the sides of her eyes. “Even after the first attack... I couldn’t have imagined such cruelty by humans against their own kind.”

Timon didn’t know how to answer her. He wet a scrap of cloth with the water and dabbed at the dirt on her forehead. Her skin felt cool, but that could change.

“You shouldn’t talk anymore,” he said. “If you’ll sleep a little, I’ll give you something to eat when you wake.”

“Sleep?” She coughed out a laugh. “I’m sorry, but... I’m afraid I’m a coward. It hurts too much.”

“There’s nothing cowardly about you,” he said, looking through his med kit for a packet of pills.

“How many of the humans living out here are like that?” she asked.

“Most aren’t,” he said, trying to ease the sting of her chagrin. “Most only want to survive peacefully, as you do.” He picked out one of the pills. “This might help with the pain, but I won’t lie to you. You’re going to be uncomfortable.”

“I’ll take...whatever I can get.”

He offered the pain pill with a sip of water, and then gave her an antibiotic. His supply was limited, and he had to be careful about the dosage.

“Thank you,” she said. She looked into his eyes. “You could have been killed, fighting those men.”

“I was lucky. I was able to pose as one of them.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t think they...bathe very often.”

For the first time since her capture, Timon felt like laughing. “I’ll change,” he said. “I have an extra shirt and pants you can wear, when you’re able to put them on.”

“You’re twice my size,” she said. “I can repair my own clothes, if you have a needle and thread.”

“Later. Nothing matters now but that you’re safe.”

“Is it that important?” she asked, closing her eyes.

It seemed to Timon that she was asking herself as much as she was asking him. “You’re important, Jamie. I know you have a contribution to make to the Conclave, maybe something no one else can.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and Timon saw them spark with surprise. “How did you...” She clamped her lips together. “You couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what, Jamie?”

She fell silent. The sun had grown warm, but suddenly Jamie was shivering. Timon fetched a blanket and tucked her under it.

“No more talk,” he said. “While you sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed.

“No,” he said, taking her hand. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

She began to shake her head, exhaled slowly and drifted into sleep.

Timon held her hand a little longer, amazed by its delicacy and softness. It wouldn’t be so soft at the end of their journey. Inevitably, she would lose whatever innocence she still had left. But her second capture, so soon after the first, had been a brutal way for her to experience the outside world.

He had lost his innocence much earlier, when he’d been kidnapped as a child by a power-hungry warlord. But even before that, growing up in a mixed human and Opir colony, he’d known how much danger lay beyond the seeming safety of the colony’s walls.

But he would regret the hard lessons Jamie had yet to learn. He knew he couldn’t afford to allow his personal feelings to get in the way, and yet he felt that if he could have kept Jamie in a bubble, protected from all unpleasantness, he would have done it.

He berated himself for his weakness. He couldn’t allow himself to get emotionally involved. He could still take her back to the Enclave.

And she would resist him every step of the way. Fear wouldn’t stop her from forging ahead, even though she had only one Rider to protect her.

A Rider who had ulterior motives. Even though he’d already come to hate the idea of manipulating her into giving up information he now had reason to expect she possessed.

This was the time to learn it. When she was vulnerable and dependent on him. When she had begun to trust him.

Rising quickly, Timon walked to the top of the hill. The grass in the valley rippled like water. It was very peaceful.

Timon’s heart was not at peace. He had the overwhelming conviction that it never would be again.

* * *

Jamie woke at dawn. Timon had built a small fire, sheltered from view by the hills. He crouched beside it, the planes of his face carved of shadow and firelight, his big hands dangling between his knees.

Instinctively, Jamie felt her thigh. The pill had done some good, but the wound throbbed constantly, and her wrist wasn’t much better. She felt weak and useless, worth no more than Timon’s pity.

She watched Timon as he rummaged through his saddlebags. He wore a homespun shirt and pants with leather insets tucked into his boots, and even from a distance she could tell that the odor of his “disguise” was gone. Each of his movements was efficient and smooth, well-developed muscle working harmoniously and with no extraneous mannerisms.

Had he moved the same way when he’d fought for her in the tribesmen’s camp, with such ease and grace? He’d overcome her captor, gotten her away, treated her injuries. She was completely dependent on him and his considerable skill.

Her face felt flushed, and she touched her cheeks. They were warm...with embarrassment, she thought. No matter how many times he told her she wasn’t at fault.

“You’re awake,” he said, turning as he spoke. He smiled, and the strong lines of his face relaxed. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” she said, though she wasn’t sure it was really true. Her stomach grumbled loudly enough for him to hear, and she winced. “Thanks to you.”

“You’ve already thanked me,” he said. He laid his hand on her forehead, frowned and touched her cheek. There was nothing detached about that second touch. It was almost a caress.

She started in spite of herself. “No sign of the raiders?” she said, her lip cracking open as she spoke the last word.

Timon got up and returned with a small piece of gauze. He dabbed at her lip. “Nothing,” he said. “They’d expect us to be long gone by now.”

“We should be,” she said, making an effort to rise. “We can’t stay here.”

His violet-gray eyes gazed into hers with a calm wisdom that made her feel self-conscious all over again. “We’ll only move when you’re up to it,” he said, “and that won’t be today.”

Rising again, Timon fetched a tin plate filled with a kind of gruel and a strip of dried meat. “I’m sorry this is all I have to offer,” he said. “But I was only able to bring my own packs with me, and I haven’t had the chance to hunt. Do you think you can eat?”

Jamie nodded, her gut rebelling at the sight of the gruel. She let Timon feed her, though she began to resent every spoonful that went into her mouth.

“I still have one hand,” she protested.

“I don’t want you moving around any more than you have to.”

“There are some things you can’t help me with.”

He grinned, showing his pointed cuspids. “I’ve lived most of my life on the move. Do you think something like that would bother me?”

“You only travel with men,” she said.

“But I’ve known plenty of women,” he said, an almost mischievous light glittering in his eyes. “Biology is biology. If you think you can manage it, I’ll help you get up.”

“You just said you didn’t want me to move!”

All at once he was serious again. “I would rather you didn’t.”

With a feeling of queasiness, she imagined him cleaning up after her. That was out of the question. “Help me get over to the tree,” she said. He half carried her to the tree and gave her a small measure of privacy, though she knew he was alert to the possibility of a fall. She was very careful not to fall.

Then he was easing her to the blanket again, laying her down with exquisite care, with something so much like tenderness that she almost didn’t feel the increased pain as her arm and leg touched the ground.

“I’ll give you another pill,” he said, adjusting her head into a more comfortable position.

“I don’t need one,” she said with greater asperity than she’d intended.

“You kept insisting that you’re a coward who can’t stand pain.”

“I am,” she said, meeting his gaze.

He laughed softly. “Don’t ever suggest such foolish things again.”

“What—”

“That you aren’t one of the most courageous women I’ve ever known.”

“And you said you’ve known plenty.”

She didn’t know what had gotten into her. God knew she didn’t want to hear the real answer.

“Do you want the details?” he asked, his eyes dancing.

Eager to change the subject, Jamie closed her eyes. “How soon will I be well enough to travel, so that we can catch up with the others? They can’t be too far ahead.”

“We have to make sure that the arm sets properly and the leg wound remains clean and healing. We’ll find a more permanent camp, and stay there for a couple of weeks.”

“What?”

“You need plenty of time to heal.”

She began to sit up, but Timon was already pressing her down again. “That’s too long!”

“Because you’re anxious to rejoin your friends?” he asked. “Or is it the fact that you’ll be alone with me?”

His bluntness surprised her, and she felt an unfamiliar heat swelling in her belly. “I’m not afraid of anything, remember?” she said.

“Good. Because the last thing I want is for you to have doubts about me.” He leaned over her, a quiet ferocity in his voice. “I won’t let anything else happen to you. All you have to do is trust me.”

The emotions in his eyes were far too complex for her to read. She turned her head away.

“I do trust you,” she said. “I don’t have any choice.”

His sigh told her it wasn’t quite what he wanted to hear. “If that’s true,” he said, “I can suggest a way that might allow us to move a little faster.”

She turned her head toward him again. “What?”

“It may not work. But there’s a chance, Jamie.” He touched her cheek with his fingertips. “All Opiri have a component in their saliva that can heal human wounds. Usually those are the small wounds that come with a bite. But sometimes...” He leaned closer, the subtle colors shifting in his eyes. “I’m only half-Opir. But some of us inherit the healing ability. If I bite you, I may be able to hasten your healing more efficiently than any antibiotic.”