by Wendy Wang
“I am always here anytime you need me, Son.” His mother touched his arm and gave Neala a pointed look. “And that goes for you as well, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you,” Neala said a slight smile tugged at her lips.
“Anytime. You send for me if you need me. You hear?”
“I will.” Neala nodded. “I promise.”
“You're both welcome to stay for supper.” His mother picked up a tea towel and slung it over her shoulder. “We're having rabbit stew.”
Neala’s stomach wrenched at the mention of food and she quickly covered her mouth. She felt the warmth drain from her face and she shook her head, muttering through her fingers, “Sounds delicious but, no thank you.”
“Appreciate it Mum, you know I love your stew, but I think it best if I get the queen back to the palace. I think she'll be more comfortable there.” Gordon said.
“You're probably right,” his mother said. She touched his arm and gave it a squeeze. “She’d probably do well with some toast or something bland.”
Gordon nodded and his eyes drifted from Neala to his mother and back to the queen.
“Not sick,” he muttered under his breath. “Not sick at all.” His mouth gaped. “Oh my sweet goddess! You’re pregnant!”
“I told you it wouldn’t take him long,” his mother said to the queen.
Neala instinctively moved her hand from her mouth to her belly. “Jerugia’s crown, I think I'm gonna be sick.”
His mother moved faster than Neala thought possible. The older woman grabbed a bowl from a nearby shelf dumping its contents on the floor before getting it underneath Neala’s mouth just in time. Huldah stroked her back and said soothing words.
“And don't you worry, Your Majesty,” his mother said. “Gordon is very good at keeping secrets. Aren't you, Gordon?”
“Well—I — yes. I suppose I am. But I can't keep something like this secret.”
Neala wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and glared at him. “Gordon Gubler swear to me that you’re not going to tell Cai.”
“I don't understand. Why don't you want to tell him?”
“I just—” She squeezed her eyes shut. She and Cai had talked about children, and she knew they were an inevitability but, not yet. It was too soon. They were in the middle of a war and there were so many reasons not to have children yet. “Please,” she pleaded. “Please. I need you to be on my side about this Gordon. Please don’t tell Cai.”
“Majesty, I don't know if I can do that. Even if I wanted to keep your secret, he could read me…”
“Only if you wanted him to.” Her voice crescendoed. “You are both like closed books, locked in a safe buried deep within a cave. No one sees inside you unless you let them. I'm not joking here Gordon I need you to promise me. Cai cannot know. Not yet.”
Gordon sighed. “I —”
Neala put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. After all this time, she thought they understood each other better. “Did you swear an oath to the chief? Or to the queen?”
“That is not fair, Your Majesty.”
“No it's not. Now which is it?”
He twisted his mouth into a grimace. She was using his own tricks against him and she liked that it made him squirm.
“I swore an oath to you.”
“Then you will keep my secret until I am ready to tell it. Do we have an understanding?”
“Yes of course. As you wish, Your Majesty.” Gordon said, giving her a curt bow. One thought escaped his head loud enough for her to hear— Damn the day I took that bloody oath.
******
Cilla grabbed the burnished copper kettle from the stove top and filled it with water. She set it on the big wood burning stove and waited for it to boil. Her body ached with tension and exhaustion. Cilla stretched her neck to the right, then left before bringing her hand up to massage the stiff muscles. Her fingers pinched the tight muscles and she took a couple of deep breaths trying to relax her shoulders. Once a long time ago, Egan used to rub her neck for her when it got like this. She pressed her lips together and felt the muscles in her shoulder tense up again. She needed to stop thinking about him. Needed to stop missing him.
“So, how does he look?” her aunt asked as she walked into the kitchen.
Cilla pushed the thoughts of Egan Crane out of her mind and focused on here and now. “He's thin and weak. It'll make healing him more difficult.”
Her aunt nodded and flattened her lips into a straight line. She pulled one of the blue hot pads hanging by the stove and handed it to Cilla. “I talked to Tahlulah. She’ll be here in the morning.”
Cilla let out a soft breath and some of the tension in her neck loosened. “Wonderful. Thank you.”
“Well, you’re welcome. I also fed the children and put them to bed early. The little girl is—” Her aunt stopped and her blue-green eyes became distant. “Unusual. Tom seems to be working his charms on her though.”
Cilla chuckled. “Good.”
“I made up plates for you and Birgit. Are you hungry?”
“Not at the moment, but thank you.”
“Well it’s in the oven when you’re ready,” her aunt said, handing her the hot pad.
“Aunt Merin, I don’t want you to worry,” Cilla said. “Mama and I will heal him. It just may take a little longer, that’s all.” She touched her aunt’s arm and gave a gentle squeeze.
“I know child.” Her aunt tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.
“The best thing we can do for him right now, is fight the infection and get some nourishment into him.”
Her aunt blinked, as if she was thinking things over. Her long square face shifted from uncertainty to purposeful and she met Cilla’s gaze. “Well, I can do that.”
“Of course you can,” Cilla said.
“I should make some broth.”
“That’s as good a place to start as any.” Cilla offered her aunt a tired smile. She and her mother had been healing other Kaels a long time, and it seemed to her that the family had it worse than the sick or injured. She could administer something for pain or sleep, but giving a family member an occupation while waiting was much harder. “Please don’t worry. We’ll fix him up and he’ll be as right as sunshine.”
“Of course.” Her aunt nodded and called up a smile causing the shadows on her tired face to deepen. She rifled through a shelf and pulled out a huge stock pot. “In the meantime I’ll start cooking.”
“Sounds good,” Cilla said.
Cilla listened to the ticks of the clock on the wall and tapped her foot. After a few moments the kettle’s whistle finally started to blow and she wrapped the hot pad around the handle and poured herself a large cup of tea. The leaves steeped while she watched her aunt chop onions, carrots and celery into large chunks and throw them into the pot. Her aunt disappeared into the cellar and returned with one of the smoked chickens she kept hanging in the cold meat storage closet.
Cilla added a good swirl of honey to her cup, stirred it and brought it to her lips. The scent of lemon balm, lavender, and chamomile worked their magic and her whole body relaxed almost immediately. After only a few sips the tightness across her skull disappeared, and warmth spread through her body. Nothing could heal a worried soul better than a good cup of tea. When she finished the warming drink she put her cup in the sink and headed back towards the bedroom.
Cilla found Birgit sitting in a chair next to the bed, holding her brother’s hand, staring into space. She was no Wood Kael, but it wasn’t hard to see her cousin’s fears had crept back into her body. Cilla moved to the other side of the bed and brushed the back of her hand over his forehead. His skin was too hot but she kept her face as neutral as possible. Morning could not get here fast enough.
“Your mother made you a plate. Why don’t you go eat? I’ll sit with him,” Cilla said.
“Are you sure?” Birgit asked.
“Of course. Go on now,” Cilla said. “I'll call you if I need you. Then afte
r you eat, go get some sleep.”
Birgit nodded and got to her feet. She stretched her long arms and yawned. “I am quite tired. I don't know if I can eat. It’s awfully late. I may just go to bed.”
“All right,” Cilla said. “Will you check on the children for me?”
“Of course,” Birgit said.
“Did he say who the little girl was by any chance?”
“No.” Birgit shook her head. “I made sure he's not feeling any pain so he's not going to wake up till morning. We could ask him then.”
Cilla nodded. “All right. Good night.”
Birgit left the room and Cilla took a seat next to her cousin. A large ceramic bowl with clean cool water sat on the nightstand. She dipped the cloth hanging over the side of the bowl, rung it out and pressed it against his overly warm skin.
“Oh Trygg, how did you get this way?” He didn’t move and she pressed the cool cloth against his cheeks, working her way to his neck. “Well, I don't want you to worry, but I do need to get your fever down and work on getting that infection under control before we can think about closing your wound.”
Dipping the cloth in the water, she wrung it out and guided the coolness down his arms. Dark crusty blood caked his palms and fingers from holding his hand against his side. She went to work in earnest, gently peeling away the layers of dried muck. The water turned brown with it and placed the cloth in the bowl of water. She’d have to change it before she could continue.
“I'm just going to take a look at this,” she said, peeling back the layers of oil-soaked and blood-stained gauze covering his wound. The sickening smell of infection hit her in the face, coating her tongue and turned her head to keep from gagging. The ragged skin looked as if someone had used a saw to open up a six centimeter gash in his side. The skin around it had turned deep purple with bruising and infection. At least the bugs had left him alone. She’d seen worse but the smell never failed to affect her.
“I need to work on this infection, all right? And once my mother arrives we'll make a plan for healing you completely. I don't want you to worry about that.”
She stroked the back of her fingers across his cheek and then placed her palms above and below the wound. Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth she closed her eyes and began to concentrate.
Her fingers thrummed with energy, and the air around her crackled. Heat burned its way up her arms, through her torso, past her feet and into the floor. The image of fire and smoke swirling through her, filled her head and she visualized the infection raging in his body drawing up into the fire, rushing through her body. The faint acrid scent of smoldering wood stung her nose. Her jaw tightened as she gritted her teeth, willing even more of his pain and weakness through her body. An image flashed through her head — Trygg, handsome and strong, shock sliding across his chiseled features as a tree branch impaled him, lifting him into the air as it pierced his body.
Her breath clogged her throat and her eyes flew open. She gasped for air, staring down his muscular abdomen. A thin white scar zigzagged down the middle of his taut midriff. She had been so focused on the gash she hadn’t noticed the remnants of another wound.
She lifted her hands from his belly and rubbed her thumb against her forefinger. The sticky wetness of his blood mesmerized her. Blood speak. It happened sometimes during a healing. Cilla wiped her hand on her apron and examined the open wound. The smell of infection had lessened and the purple-red bruise had lightened. It would do for now.
After fetching some clean water and a fresh cotton rag, she wiped his sweaty face, whispering, “My beautiful cousin, what happened to you?”
Four
Egan paced the length of his cell. The bright red woolen pants and shirt he wore chafed his skin and he hooked his finger in the collar, constantly adjusting it.
The eve of the new moon was just 13 days away. It was an old ritual. All those sentenced to death were hanged on the same night under a sliver of moon. It was thought to give the goddess a chance to turn her head if she so chose. It was a ridiculous nod to a dying religion and when the Emperor ruled, none of the rituals would matter. Not the feasts. Not the festivals. Not the sacrifices done in the name of justice. If there was killing to do the Emperor would do it while the sun shone overhead, not hidden by cover of night like some thief.
If he could actually trust Toby, he might get to take part in bringing this city under the Emperor’s rule. The question of whether Toby could be trusted still wasn’t answered yet. He needed proof first.
Four of his men had been arrested with him. Only one had been sentenced to death. The other three had been given life in prison, if it could be called that. The cell-block he was assigned to was called life-and-death. On one side were the men like him — all sentenced to die on the eve of the new moon. By his count there were four empty cells and six full ones. One of them was his man Hargett. The life cells were all full and it looked to be crowded. At least four men into a cell. The cell across from his had two of his men in it — Gaffrey and Pohlse. He'd worked close with them. But from what Toby had told him they had chosen life over death. And admitted remorse for some of the things they had done. Bjeraan on the other hand had remained stoic and more importantly silent. It was not a declaration of loyalty to the Emperor but it was not an admission of wrongdoing either. He would have to take his chances with them if he was to build a team. Assuming he could even overcome the challenge of communicating with them. The 6 feet between them may as well have been Dirh’s Canyon. Because it was just as impassable without his baton and free use of his affinities.
A horn resounded through the cell block and the metal locks clinked. Egan moved to the door of his cell and watched as three wardens walked the length of the corridor wrapping the tip of their baton across the bars of each of the lifer’s doors. The cell doors slid to the right and the lifers emerged. They put their hands on top of their head and fell into a line. When they started to move, most stared straight ahead but one of them, kept cutting his gaze towards Egan. A ghost of a smirk played on the inmate’s lips. Egan glared at him. He knew the man’s face from somewhere but couldn’t put a name to it.
Pohlse gave him a tentative glance as he passed and Egan glared at him for his cowardice. Pohlse looked away quickly his throat undulating as he swallowed hard. When the door closed Egan scowled and dropped down on his cot. He laced his fingers behind his head and stared at the sky through the small window high on the back wall. Hargett shuffled his feet across the stone in the cell next to him and Egan sighed. Hargett had never wavered in his loyalty but he needed something to focus on, otherwise he worried too much.
“Hargett,” Egan said quietly. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah boss, I can hear you,” Hargett asked.
“Dammit man, stop pacing. You’re driving me crazy over here,” he said.
“Sorry boss. I just — I can’t take this waiting.”
“We don’t have much choice, Hargett.”
Hargett sighed loudly. “You got anything going on in that head of yours, Sir?”
“You know I do, Hargett. You know I always do.”
“That's good Sir. When the time comes though you'll let me know what it is right?”
“Yeah, Hargett,” he said. “You can count on it.”
“Whatever it is Sir, I'm in.”
“Glad to hear it, Hargett,” Egan said. One he could count on. It was a start. “Glad to hear it.”
******
Neala leaned her forehead against the window and blew her breath against the window pane. A steamy irregular circle appeared and she traced the face of a baby with her fingertip, topping its roundhead with a curl held by a bow. She was just getting used to being married. Of course she wanted children. They both did. It was just such a hard time to think about bringing a new life into this world, into this war. Everything seemed so uncertain. She had barely held on to Tamarik. Both Casilladin and Iberebeth had refused to get involved in a unified fight. She expected as m
uch from Casilladin, they were ready to fight her mother for independence but Iberebeth was a shock.
A knock at the door drew her out of her reverie.
“Come,” she said.
Sorrel Qinsa peered around the door and smiled. The girl had become more than her personal seer. She had become her friend. Neala waved her into the room.
“Any news?” Sorrel asked, her voice barely above a raspy whisper. Neala still felt bad about that. It was her fault the girl's vocal cords were cut. She had not been able to stop Egan Crane from slicing Sorrel's throat.
“Not today.” Neala swiped her hand across her drawing wiping away the baby and turned around to face the girl. “I'm sorry.”
Sorrel's mouth twisted into a frown and she nodded.
“Will you stop worrying?” Neala offered a reassuring smile. “We’re going to the find her. Any day now. You just have to—”
“Don’t say believe.” Sorrel said. The sharpness of her tone took Neala by surprise. Sorrel wasn’t one to normally argue with her.
Neala brushed off the girl’s reaction. If anyone should be allowed to have a bad day, it was Sorrel. She tucked her hair behind her ear and moved away from the window.
“So, have you had any new visions?” Neala asked, not sure she really wanted to hear it. Sorrel pursed her lips and shook her head no. “That's fine. Good even. I'm going to take it as no news is good news.”
Sorrel shrugged and dropped into one of the cushy floral chairs in front of the fireplace in Neala’s office. She pulled her knees to her chest and stared into the fire.
“Well, perhaps we should see if lunch is ready.”
Sorrel shrugged again but didn’t move from her seat. “I’m not hungry. Are you? Is your stomach feeling better?”
“Oh yes.” Neala called up a smile and lied smoothly. “One hundred percent. It was probably just something I ate.”
Sorrel cocked her head, her gaze steady, as if she were seeing through her. Neala straightened her back. “Shall we go to the dining room?”