Light woke her a
second time. Bright sunshine streamed through small windows set high on the
gray stone wall. A woman with brown hair stood beside the cot. Who is she?
Where was this place? If this was a dream, why did the water feel warm and the
cloth rough? The soap smelled of flowers, but the scent was unfamiliar.
She tried to grasp
flickering memories of another time, another place. She caught glimpses of
women in white and heard a wheezing sound. Her eyes opened again.
“Mother, she wakes.”
At first, she had
difficulty making the syllables form words. Slowly she began to understand. A
girl with auburn hair touched her arm.
“Who? Where?” The
words seemed wrong.
“I’m Sammi. This is
the stronghold of Prince Genrai. He’s most anxious that you recover. Who are
you?”
She frowned and
reached for an answer. Two sets of memories collided. “D...Dian. Where’s the
respirator? When will Margo come? Am I well enough for the Olympic trials?”
“What is she talking
about?” The voice belonged to an older woman.
“I don’t know,” the
girl said. “Perhaps those who follow the one I may not name have a secret
language.” She grasped Dian’s hand. “You’re Dian and I’m Sammi. This is Quanta,
my mother and first woman of the prince’s inner court.”
Dian flexed her
fingers and ran her hands along her body. “What have you done to me?”
“You were ill from wound
fever and from a blow to your head. My uncle who is a physician of the
Thamaturg feared you would die. He permitted me to use my small skills on you.”
Dian closed her
eyes. The memories of other times and places were gone. A deep sadness she
couldn’t explain brought tears to her eyes.
“Don’t be afraid,”
Sammi said. “You’ll soon be well.” Her brown eyes glowed. “Mother, may I have
her for my personal attendant? Can she come with me when I leave this court for
the one belonging to the man my father chooses for me?”
“Your father has
other plans for her.” The older woman’s dark eyes glowed with anger. “I don’t
know why he wants her. Genrai prefers women with more flesh.” She shrugged. “No
matter. I’ll send word she’s awake.”
Sammi wrinkled her
nose. “She must have a bath. She smells of illness.”
Quanta laughed. “How
well you know your father. Send for a restorative broth. After she drinks it
have her taken to the baths.”
A short time later
the first woman Dian had seen returned with a cup. Dian sipped the savory
liquid and pondered over the unfamiliar taste.
When she finished
Sammi and the attendant helped Dian sit and then stand. Her legs shook. Her
feet felt like leaden weights and her knees refused to bend. By the time they
reached a room with three pools, her entire body shook.
“The middle one,”
Sammi said.
Two women clad in
purple smocks lowered Dian into the bath. When the warm water lapped her skin,
she closed her eyes. Dual images arose. In one, she stood in a narrow box where
a spray pelted her body. In the other, she swam in a tree-shaded pond. What did
these visions mean? While one of the women washed her hair, Dian tried to sort
true memories from false ones.
Once bathed the
women rubbed her with sweet-smelling oil and combed her hair. She frowned. Had
her hair always been this long or this pale? Once her hair was braided, she was
wrapped in a towel and helped to the cot.
Dian felt as though
she’d completed a month’s training in a single hour. Through a haze of sleep,
she heard a man’s voice. “She will live and your father will be pleased. Now
you can be marketed as one with healing skills.”
“Thank you, Uncle
Maldon.”
Dian opened her eyes
a slit. The bearded man wore a gray robe with bands of livid blue at the neck
and on the sleeves. The color brought a rush of uneasiness. She frowned.
Healers were women. They wore dark blue divided skirts and tunics in shades of
blue that denoted their level of skill.
Sleep drew her into
darkness and chaotic dreams.
Cool. Sounds like she traveled through time.
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