Healer of Sakkara

Chapter 6 - Heat

Galen awoke to the unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, sensation of someone stroking his hair. In the liminal space between sleep and consciousness, his mind pieced together images made half of memory and half of dreams.

He lay in a luxurious bed, such as he'd enjoyed at the Haven, but in his own room in Dern. Strangest of all was the fact he was not alone in it but lay wrapped in arms that held him safe and warm.

A sigh of contentment escaped him, and he breathed in a scent that was not his own: a musky masculine spice that suggested both sensual strength and comforting security. A memory intruded: a stolen kiss so brief he'd hardly felt the brush of warm lips and the tickle of stubble against his own smooth skin; and another, given in the heat of rebellion against a fate he refused to accept as sealed. Two kisses, neither given nor received in harmony, but each a seed that promised lush harvests in seasons to come.

Drawn to wakefulness by such wandering thoughts, Galen opened his eyes and saw that while most was fantasy, one part of his dream was real. He still lay at the bottom of a deep crevasse, lost beneath the mountains somewhere, but he lay in Sevhalim's arms.

The other man watched him with keen gray eyes, his face mere inches from Galen's own, wearing a thoughtful, somber expression.

"You're awake," he said.

Galen frowned up at him. "I know."

The ghost of a smile touched Sev's lips, and his eyes brightened from gray to silver, lit by the luminescent lichen's pale gleam.

"You are a worker of miracles," he murmured, still absently stroking Galen's hair. "You saved my life."

Grimacing, Galen disentangled himself and sat up, though he immediately missed the warmth of Sev's embrace. "If I hadn't followed you, you wouldn't have needed saving."

"Untrue." Sev caught Galen's hand before he could turn away. "If not this, then something else would have befallen me. I'd have fallen victim to the barrowlings, or else been forced to use the Hand; and without you..." He touched the side of Galen's face.

Troubled by the slightly unfocused look in his eyes, Galen returned the gesture, feeling Sev's brow for signs of fever or shock, but detected neither unhealthy heat nor clammy chill. "How is your leg?" he asked.

Recovering himself, the natural guardedness returned to Sev's expression, and he withdrew his hand. "A little tender, as a freshly healed wound will be, but otherwise quite fine," he said. "What of yourself?"

"I'm not hurt," Galen assured him. "A little tired, but not as much as I expected to be. Perhaps I'm getting used to it."

"You did this?" Sev gestured at the eerie glow surrounding them.

"Not on purpose; not at first, anyway."

Sev got carefully to his feet with the heated boulder for support. The stone had cooled considerably, telling Galen they had slept for several hours, but still radiated a slight warmth. Sev laid his hands on it wonderingly. "And this as well? You are wonderfully resourceful."

Ignoring him, Galen stood and frowned as he surveyed the length of the crevasse. He wished there was something from which to fashion makeshift crutches, or a walking staff, at the very least, but there was nothing but rock and ice. "You really shouldn't walk just yet," he said, "but I suppose it can't be helped."

"No, it cannot," Sev agreed, "We should not linger here. The barrowlings did not follow us, and for that I am grateful, but I will be content not to learn the reason why they fear this place."

"Can we climb this?" Galen asked, studying the walls doubtfully. Some stretches looked inviting enough, but others were smooth as glass, or slanted inward at daunting angles.