The Prison Healer

by Lynette Noni

  The guard arrived minutes later, her face stormy. “Please tell me Harlow’s rash is painful as well as itchy.”

  Kiva swallowed her laugh and said, “Judging by how he winces when he walks, I’m guessing so.”

  “Good,” Naari said, sounding satisfied. She jerked her head toward the ladders descending into the shaft. “Let’s get this over with.”

  * * *

  They headed to the pumping station first, but only for convenience reasons, since it was located nearest to the bottom of the ladder—or ladders, really, since there were a number of them to climb down before reaching the tunnel floor, all connected by platforms narrow enough that Kiva felt her stomach jump to her throat every time she transferred from one to the next.

  She’d ventured beneath Zalindov only twice before, both times to test the water in the aquifer for algae and other natural contaminants, and both journeys had been just as harrowing as today’s. Her legs felt like custard when she finally touched the earth at the base of the shaft, perspiration dotting her forehead from both exertion and the humidity that clung to her skin. She’d once believed the tunnels would be much colder than the outside temperature, but she’d learned during her first underground venture that hot air became trapped more easily, keeping the environment almost balmy in winter, and downright uncomfortable in summer. Many of the prisoners who worked belowground suffered from heat-related ailments and dehydration, especially in the warmer months. Not to mention, it was a stink factory, with all those bodies pressed together and laboring side by side with little ventilation.

  “I hate it down here,” Naari stated, landing lightly beside Kiva. “I don’t know how anyone can stand it.”

  They can’t, Kiva wanted to say. That’s why so many of them die. The prisoners, at least—the guards rotated out every few shifts. Even Naari came and went only sporadically from the tunnels, spending considerably more time topside than she did beneath the earth. Kiva tried not to judge her for it, especially since she herself was so fortunate with her own work allocation. But it was hard, acknowledging that the guard wasn’t forced to remain down here all day, when people like Jaren had no choice.

  “Let’s keep moving,” Kiva said, stepping forward.

  She spared a glance to the right, where a long passageway had been carved out, luminium beacons affixed to the limestone walls and lighting the space that continued on out of sight. Later, Kiva and Naari would head down that path, eventually hearing the echo of the tunnelers working tirelessly to extend the labyrinth. Some of the passages were dry and could be walked down, but others, the ones the inmates labored to uncover, were partially submerged by water, and required floating paddle boards to maneuver along. It was that water that fed into the aquifer, and, ultimately, kept everyone in Zalindov alive.

  No one acknowledged it, but without the tunnelers and the water they found and guided to the aquifer, every single person at the prison, guards included, would be dead within days. That was why it was so important to have a steady flow of laborers underground, despite the poor conditions and high mortality rate. It made Kiva feel sick, and yet, she also understood what would happen if they stopped searching for more water. There was no winning—either a few died, or they all died.

  As Kiva led Naari down the narrow passage to the left of the ladder shaft, the sounds of the pumping station met their ears long before they reached their destination. Operated manually with two prisoners to a pump, the continuous up-down-up-down motion drove the water where it needed to go. Some of the pumps pulled water from the tunnels into the aquifer, but most siphoned water into smaller wells that were then accessed aboveground, like the ones used by prisoners to fetch fresh drinking water. Others fed directly into the shower blocks and bathing chambers, where gravity-fed pipes did the rest of the work. Anywhere water was used, it was only because of the laborers who were pumping day and night to keep a steady supply available topside.

  Kiva always struggled when pumpers came into the infirmary, usually for nerve damage to their hands, or for strained backs, necks, and shoulders. There was little she could do for them other than offer painkillers, and after a while, the effect of those began to dull, which was why so many pumpers became addicted to harder drugs, like angeldust. Unlike Kiva’s predecessor, she’d never been willing to supply it for them. She had no idea how it was getting into their hands now, but seeing their glazed eyes as she began to swab the equipment and collect her samples, she knew they were still obtaining it somehow.

  Feeling the desolation in the air, Kiva didn’t stay long in the pumping station, quickly taking what she needed while Naari conversed with the guards on duty. They weren’t using their whips, but they didn’t need to. These prisoners were already broken.

  “I asked if the pumpers get allocated extra rations,” Naari said as they headed down the next passage, the sounds of moving levers and strained moans fading the further they traveled.

  Kiva tried not to reveal her shock at what Naari had just said. “And?”

  The guard shook her head and repeated, “I hate it down here.”

  It was only a short walk between the pumping station and the aquifer. As the narrow passageway widened and the reservoir came into view, Kiva’s heart began to beat faster in her chest. The luminium beacons were spaced intermittently enough to provide only limited light, but there were still enough spread throughout the underground chasm for Kiva to acknowledge just how far the body of water stretched—further than she could see—with the darkness indicating an equally nightmarish depth.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Kiva turned to find Naari studying her closely, so she asked, somewhat nonsensically, “It’s here, isn’t it?”

  The luminium beacons cast shadows over Naari’s face, but not enough to hide her puzzled look. “What’s here? The origin of the sickness? Isn’t that what we’re trying to figure out?”

  Kiva shook her head. “No—tomorrow’s Ordeal. Is it being held down here?”

  It was still her best guess, enough that she felt queasy as she took in the seemingly endless underground lake.

  Naari’s features cleared with understanding, and she glanced out across the aquifer, as if looking at it from a new perspective. “I don’t know.”

  Kiva wasn’t sure what her face must have shown, but when Naari looked back at her, the guard was quick to say, “I swear, Kiva. I didn’t know what the last two Trials were beforehand, either. If I knew what tomorrow’s task was, I’d tell you.”

  Her tone was so earnest that Kiva believed her. A few weeks ago, she never would have had the courage to even ask, but somehow Naari had become one of the people Kiva trusted most in the world. If the guard said she didn’t know, then she didn’t know.

  But that still didn’t help Kiva, at all.

  “How long do you think it’d take to swim across?” Kiva asked, crouching beside the nearest edge of the water and scooping some into a flask, careful not to lose her balance.

  “Frankly, I don’t want to think about it,” Naari said, a shudder in her normally unwavering voice. Seeing Kiva’s expression, she hastily added, “But I’m sure it won’t take too long, if that’s what you have to do. And it’s freshwater, so there’s nothing nasty living down here, no sea monsters or crocodilians or any other saltwater beasts.”

  That idea hadn’t even crossed Kiva’s mind. She yanked her hand from the water and backed away quickly, half expecting a maw full of teeth to come raging out of the surface.

  “At least the water’s drinkable,” Naari tried when she realized she’d only added to Kiva’s distress. “You won’t get thirsty if you have to swim for hours.”

  “You think you’re helping, but you’re not,” Kiva said flatly.

  Naari remained blessedly quiet as Kiva collected the rest of her samples, after which they retraced their steps along the narrow passageway. Both were lost in their own thoughts, with Kiva’s lingering back at the aquifer and worrying about what she’d have to do the next day. Obsessin
g over it failed to provide her with any answers as they passed the pumping station and headed back to the entrance shaft.

  Their intent had been to venture down the larger passageway into the tunnel labyrinth next so that Kiva could collect the last of her samples, but that plan changed when they found Olisha waiting for them at the base of the ladders.

  “I didn’t know which way you’d gone, so I thought it best if I stayed here until you returned,” the woman explained, wringing her hands.

  Kiva couldn’t think past the panic that sprang to life within her, all thoughts of tomorrow’s Trial fleeing her mind. “Is it Tipp? Is he sick again?”

  “Oh! No, dear, it’s not Tipp.”

  “Is it his stomach?” Kiva asked, not listening, just reaching for the bottom rungs of the ladder and preparing to bolt up them and back to the infirmary. “Did his fever come back?”

  “Kiva, sweets,” Olisha said, stopping her with a hand on her arm. “It’s not Tipp. It’s Tilda.”

  A wave of relief flooded Kiva, before it was swept away by one of dread. “Did she have another convulsion? Is she— Has she—”

  “She’s fine, she’s fine,” Olisha interrupted in a calming voice.

  Confused, Kiva released the ladder and looked to Naari, who appeared equally perplexed. Turning back to Olisha, Kiva asked, “Then why are you here?”

  “Because she’s awake. Tilda’s awake.”

  Even more confused, Kiva said, “She wakes up a few times every day.” She paused, then added, “See if you can feed her some broth before she goes back to sleep. We need to keep up her fluids.”

  “No, dear, you don’t understand,” Olisha said impatiently. She held Kiva’s eyes as she explained, “Tilda’s awake—and she’s lucid.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Kiva struggled to control her breathing as she, Naari, and Olisha climbed up the ladder shaft, having determined to come back later for the remaining tunnel samples.

  Finally, the three of them reached the surface, panting and sweating with their muscles on fire. Or, Kiva and Olisha, at least. Naari was barely out of breath, the picture of physical fitness. If Kiva hadn’t been in such a rush to get back to the infirmary, she would have asked for more details about her prosthesis and how it worked so effortlessly, the guard having had no trouble gripping the ladder, nor anything else she set her hand to do.

  Ignoring her body’s need for a moment of respite, Kiva strode out of the domed building with Naari at her side, Olisha breathlessly calling that she’d catch up.

  Unsure what she would find, unsure what she wanted to find, Kiva’s mind was awhirl with thoughts, concerns, and questions by the time they arrived at the infirmary and stepped inside.

  “Kiva! You’re b-back!” Tipp called, sitting beside Tilda’s bed, holding one of her hands.

  Kiva’s heart gave a pang as the woman’s face turned, not quite in the right direction owing to her blindness, but close.

  Swallowing, Kiva moved first to place her samples from the pumping station and aquifer on the workbench, finding Nergal on a stool there, right where she’d left him.

  “You can go,” she said to him. “Tell Olisha, too—she’s on her way back from the tunnels.”

  The man was up and out of the infirmary so fast that it was as if he feared she’d change her mind. But Kiva didn’t want him here for this. Nor Olisha. In an ideal world, Tipp and Naari wouldn’t even be in the room, allowing Kiva a private moment with her patient. But Tipp was already quietly talking to Tilda, and Naari was striding toward her bed, the guard’s features wary enough that Kiva assumed she was recalling the Rebel Queen’s unprovoked attack soon after her arrival. Tilda had been restrained ever since, but Naari was no doubt still on high alert.

  Kiva’s heart was thundering in her ears as she walked on wooden legs over to Tilda’s bedside. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous. No, that wasn’t true—there were so many reasons, not the least of which was if Tilda remembered anything from before she’d arrived at Zalindov. Did she know about the note from Kiva’s sister? Did she know Zuleeka had sent it, that Kiva had risked everything, and was still risking everything, to keep her alive? And what about her followers outside the walls—did she know they’d tried to free her? That they’d failed? Did she know if they had a backup plan? Or was that just a fool’s hope on Kiva’s part?

  So many questions, none of which she could ask while Tipp and Naari were present.

  Approaching with courage she didn’t feel, Kiva stepped past the guard, who was looking down at the woman with a closed, distrustful expression, and stopped at Tipp’s shoulder.

  “I hear someone’s feeling a little better,” Kiva said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.

  “She hasn’t r-r-really said anything,” Tipp shared. “Just a-asked where she was. And for some w-water.”

  Kiva felt a pang of alarm, since the last time Tilda had been even remotely lucid, she’d known she was in Zalindov—until she hadn’t, forgetting just moments later. It was good that she wanted water, though. Everworld knew Kiva was having trouble keeping her hydrated.

  “Kiiiivva,” the woman said. “Kiiiiiva.”

  “That’s r-right,” Tipp said encouragingly, patting her hand. “This is Kiva—the p-prison healer. I told you a-about her, remember? Kiva M-Meridan. The best healer in all of W-Wenderall. She’s been looking a-after you.”

  “Kiiiiiiiiiiva,” Tilda said, staring sightlessly in the direction of Tipp’s voice.

  Kiva’s nails dug into her palms at the sound of her name coming from Tilda’s lips. Despite Olisha’s summons, the Rebel Queen didn’t seem wholly lucid at all. Or perhaps she was again having trouble with her speech, as she had the last time Kiva had tried speaking with her, weeks earlier.

  “Have you given her any gumwort?” Kiva asked Tipp.

  His eyes lit up and he released Tilda’s hand, jumping from his stool and hurrying over to the workbench to collect the sludgy brown paste. He then handed it to Kiva and she smeared some on Tilda’s tongue, waiting to see if it would afford her any clarity and relax her mouth.

  “Kiva,” the Rebel Queen said after a few moments, no longer slurring the word, but still saying nothing else.

  “She’s h-here,” Tipp said. “And N-Naari as well. I told you a-a-about her, too. She’s a g-guard, but she’s nice. You’ll l-like her.”

  Tilda turned her face this way and that, as if trying to see them. Kiva again wondered how long she’d been without vision, whether it was a side effect of whatever ailed her, or if she’d lost her sight some time ago.

  “Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” Kiva made herself ask, determined to remember that she was the healer and she had a job to do. “Headache, nausea, pain anywhere? You’ve been here for nearly six weeks, and I still haven’t been able to figure out what’s wrong. Anything you tell me could help.”

  “The . . . Trials,” Tilda said. “Why haven’t . . . they come . . . for me?”

  Kiva, Tipp, and Naari were all silent, none of them knowing what to say.

  “Why . . . am I . . . still alive?”

  Tipp shifted on his stool. Naari crossed, uncrossed, and crossed her arms again.

  “I . . . should be . . . dead.”

  Those four words tore something in Kiva. Not the statement of fact, but the emotion behind them. She remembered what Tilda had said during their previous conversation: Why keep me alive only so I can die?

  Tears prickled behind Kiva’s nose as the thought hit her hard and true: it sounded like Tilda wanted to die. Like many who came to Zalindov, it sounded like she had nothing to live for, nothing to make her want to survive. But Kiva knew that wasn’t the case. As the Rebel Queen, she had a purpose, she had people looking up to her, she had a kingdom to reclaim. She should have been the last person in the world to want to die, not before fighting with everything she had to take back her family’s crown.

  “Kiva . . . why?” Tilda asked, her words begging, as sweat began to glisten on
her brow, the effort of this conversation costing her.

  “Why, what?” Naari asked, speaking for the first time.

  Kiva jumped, almost having forgotten the guard was monitoring them, watching closely.

  “Why?” Tilda repeated, emotion threading her voice.

  “I think she w-wants to know why she’s still here—still a-alive,” Tipp whispered, even though they already knew that was what she’d asked.

  Kiva, however, wondered if Tilda sought a different answer, one that she couldn’t give her.

  “I’m sorry,” Kiva said around the lump in her throat. “I’m not sure why you’re sick, but I’m doing everything I can to help you get better.” Including taking on Tilda’s sentence as her own, but Kiva didn’t plan to reveal that, and a quick warning look at both Tipp and Naari silenced them as well.

  “That’s w-why you’re still alive,” said Tipp in an upbeat voice. “Because of K-Kiva. She’ll have you f-feeling like your old self in no time.”

  A low moan left Tilda, the sound piercing straight to Kiva’s heart.

  “Kiva,” the woman said, her voice trailing into a whisper. “Kiiiiva.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Naari asked quietly.

  “She’s sick,” Kiva said, barely keeping from snapping.

  A loaded pause from Naari, before she cautiously, almost gently, said, “I know she’s sick, Kiva. I meant, why does she keep saying your name like that?”

  Kiva only shook her head, unable to say anything around her constricted throat.

  “Tell me . . . the story,” Tilda said, closing her eyes and laying her head back.

  Naari and Tipp both frowned with confusion, but Kiva had to breathe deeply to hold in the tears that were no longer just prickling her nose, but stinging her eyes. This woman, this poor, sick woman . . . Kiva didn’t know how long she had left. Didn’t know what she could do to help her.