by Lara Nance
“You got anything stronger than this?” he asked.
Perron gave him a grim smile, went to his saddle, and pulled a bottle from the one of the packs. He picked up some cups and strode across to Rett.
“We drink to the High Minister,” he said, uncorking the bottle with his teeth. He poured some of the tawny liquid into two cups.
Belle moved then and sat up. Her face was puffy and blotched with red and her eyes were terrible to gaze into. She focused on the bottle.
“I’ll have some of that,” she said.
Perron nodded and poured a good measure into another cup and passed it to her. He held up his and said, “Ha ah halla. It means ‘honor to the great one.”
“Ha ah halla,” the other men, Belle and Rett repeated. Then they tossed back their drinks.
Rett and Belle coughed as the fiery liquid burned inside them and made their eyes bulge out.
“Fire whisky,” Perron said. “It is good for sorrow.”
“Then I’ll have another,” Belle said. “For I am full of sorrow.”
He poured another shot into her cup. She struggled to rise and Rett jumped up to help her. She gave him a ghost of a smile and walked over to where her father’s body lay wrapped in the blanket.
“I just can’t believe he’s dead,” she murmured and knelt. She placed a hand on the still form for a moment, and then she pulled the top edge of the wrapping back and ran her hand over his coat and pulled out his pocket watch. It was made of polished brass and not nearly as fine as the one she had lost. But Rett was certain it would be just as cherished…a last token to remind her of her father.
Rett ran a hand through his hair. He wished he had an answer for her—something that would make sense of this tragedy, but he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound trite.
“His body has to go back to Urbannia. He deserves to be honored there in death, after all he gave his life for his country.” She stood and placed his watch in her pant pocket, clipping the chain to a loop on her cincher.
“You must take him to the Mandagol. They can prepare the body so it will be preserved for the journey. They know how to do these things.” Perron tossed back the rest of his whiskey and placed the cup and bottle on a log.
“My Lady, I grieve with you in this sorrow. Sir John was a great man. But now that we have rested we must return to Gandiss without delay and give our news to Lord Ismatan. He is the only one now who can avert the war.”
Belle looked at Perron and took a deep breath. “I understand. Although right now my grief seems more overwhelming than world war, I know you’re right.” She held out her hand and he took it. “Please ask the ambassador to tell the queen what occurred here and that my father died a hero to the Empire.”
“I will tell him,” Perron said. He gave her a low bow and motioned for his men to saddle the horses. They would ride through the night to reach Durbon Pass.
Rett let out a yell as the presumed lifeless body of the Sarc leader raised his arm from where he lay sprawled on the ground -- he wasn’t dead! Rett pulled his pistol and shot him in the eye. But not before he launched his last projectile at Belle. One of the Gandiss men fired three more times into his head for good measure.
Belle held her upper arm, looking at Rett with dazed eyes. He rushed to her side and when she moved her hand he saw the projectile had grazed her skin creating a two inch gash, but it hadn’t gone in. Rett let out the breath he had been holding.
“Thank God,” Belle said. “I twisted when you yelled and it just caught my arm.”
Rett closed his eyes in relief. But then they popped open as Perron rushed forward and grabbed Belle. He drug her over to where he had left the whiskey bottle, picked it up, and doused the wound with whiskey. Belle screamed as it burned in the wound.
“What’s wrong?” Rett ran over.
“The Sarcs, they use a deadly poison on their weapons. That’s why her father died so quickly. We must cleanse the wound if it’s not already too late.” He poured more whiskey on the gash and then rubbed at it with his sash.
Belle’s eyes went wide. “Oh, God, he’s right. I remember Benji told me they use the death lotus to make the poison. That’s why their stickpins are the shape of that flower. It’s their secret weapon.”
Sweat popped out on her forehead and upper lip.
“Pour more.” Rett grabbed the bottle from Perron and upended it, but it was empty. He threw it to the side and grabbed the water jug pouring what remained over the wound.
Perron watched with wary eyes. The other men gathered around, their silence ominous.
“Rett…” Belle’s mouth fell open and her eyes glazed over. He just managed to put his arms around her waist as her knees buckled and she went limp.
He eased her to the ground, his heart frozen in fear. “Belle, Belle, no, you can’t die. Hang on.”
Her eyes closed but her lips moved. He leaned over grasping her shoulders and stared at her in horror. It couldn’t be happening. First her father and then her. “No, no.”
“Rett,” the words slipped from lips that barely moved. Beaded sweat rose on her forehead.
“Yes, I’m here, Belle. I’m here,” he cried.
“I decided…” she paused for a moment and he thought she was gone. Then she whispered, “I…like…you…now.”
“Belle!”
Her head fell to the side. He cried out in despair and pulled her to his chest. He had lost her after finally figuring out that he loved her more than anything in the world. Silent sobs wracked his body and then he stopped. Her heart still beat! He could feel the feeble pulse where he had her crushed against his chest.
“She’s still alive.” He looked up at Perron who frowned. “Her heart is beating.”
Perron knelt beside her and put a hand on her throat. “Yes, it is weak but she is still alive. There is a chance then.”
He stood up and made a quick gesture to his men, and one left, running for the horses.
“You must take her back to the Mandagol. They have gifted healers. Some of the poison is in her blood, but maybe not enough to kill her right away. You have little time.”
They pulled him to his feet and pushed him into the saddle then lifted Belle up in front of him.
“Larvic will go with you as guide. Now go.” Perron waved his hands in the air.
Rett put his heels to his horse and followed Larvic who was already weaving through the hills. He pulled Belle tight against his chest. They reached the flat ground at last. Larvic gave a whistle and took off. Rett let the reins out and followed.
A full moon hung in the sky, so Rett managed to keep his guide in sight and halfway see the terrain. He’d never felt as much fear as he did during that wild ride by moonlight. At this pace he could no longer feel the beat of Belle’s heart and the ground was littered with rocks, animal burrows, and brush that could trip up a horse. But these amazing horses knew this country and rarely missed a step as they galloped through the night.
Light shone ahead and his heart surged with hope of survival. If only Belle’s heart still beat.
As they neared the hills where the Mandagol had their hidden camp, a group of riders poured out to see who approached at this hour.
He yelled, “It’s me, Rett and Belle. The kefmam is hurt. Let us through, she’s been injured.”
After repeating this several times, the Mandagol group slowed and turned their horses to escort them back to the camp. They galloped into the center of the camp and people yelled, running up to them.
“We need a healer,” he called as he took Belle up in his arms. “A healer.”
“Come, come.” A man took his arm and pushed people out of the way as he hurried Rett to one of the tents.
An old woman came out hearing the commotion. When she saw Belle’s limp form in Rett’s arms she tossed back the flap of her tent and motioned them inside. The interior was muted in the darkness of the night with only light from a couple gaslights. The healer motioned Rett to lay Belle on
a table in the center of the room. She moved one of the lamps closer to view the wound.
Rett stood panting, bent over with his hands on his knees. Benji’s raised voice outside heralded his arrival a few seconds later and he hurdled into the tent, eyes darting about.
“What happened to her?” His gaze settled on Belle’s still form.
“A Sarc,” Rett said gasping for breath. “He shot her with a dart that had poison on it.”
The old woman frowned. “Ayieee. The death lotus poison.”
“It grazed her shoulder and we poured whiskey on it, but she collapsed.”
The old woman nodded. “That was fortunate. The alcohol can neutralize that poison. But there is still some in her system.”
She ripped the shirt from Belle’s arm and inspected the wound.
“Is she going to die?” Benji whispered, his gaze fixed on Belle’s ashen face.
The healer did not answer him. She was busy mixing herbs in a dish and pounding them with a pestle. She took a jar from her table and scooped out a gelatinous glob and mixed it in with the herbs. She formed a patty of this mixture and placed it over the angry red wound, which oozed a thick, yellow fluid.
“Get Solmin,” she said without looking up.
The man who had brought Rett to the tent rushed away at once.
“What can we do to help?” Benji asked.
“Leave,” the healer said as she wound strips of linen around Belle’s arm.
Rett and Benji shared an anguished glance but they were willing to do anything to save Belle so they pushed aside the flap and left.
Events progressed quickly after that. The healer ordered Solmin to set up a steam tent. Sam dragged over the portable steam engine he had built to power the long range cannons and they set up a water tank then ran a steam pipe under the canvas of the tent at the bottom. Two men carried a table inside, and then they brought Belle from the healer’s tent and placed her on it. Women hurried in with buckets of water and the healer entered wearing a thin white linen shift and streaks of paint in odd designs on her face. She held a dipper to pour water over Belle as the steam and poultice worked to draw the poison from her body.
Several men built a large fire outside the tent and all the Mandagol gathered chanting and offering up prayers for the kefmam. Many of them had painted their faces as well. Armani and Jasper joined Rett, Benji and Sam and they said prayers in their own ways, sitting side by side.
Rett had not slept in so long he couldn’t remember when. His mind fogged over and his eyes burned making his whole vision of the occasion dreamlike. All the events in the last two days floated in his head, flashes of scenes etched with raw emotion. The image of Belle falling to the poison dart caused a pain to form in his stomach like a jagged knife that cut into his abdomen and twisted.
He wanted to go into the tent and be with Belle, but the healer wouldn’t allow it. Solmin explained she performed spiritual rituals as well as her healing practices and would tolerate no interruption. From inside the tent came the muted, rhythmic rise and fall of her voice as she chanted and many of the tribe outside murmured the chants along with her. He couldn’t understand the words in the ancient tongue of the Bedouins, but one of the women told him it was a prayer to spare Belle’s life.
The rest of their group suffered as well. Tears ran down Armani’s face as she held to Benji’s arm. That young man remained admirably calm despite his chalk-white face. Poor Jasper sat with his head down, his hands gripped tightly in his lap. Solmin and Sam kept the steam engine going, thank God, so the vapor poured into the tent and escaped from the seams in thin wisps.
Sometime before dawn, Mandagol guards escorted Perron and his men into the camp with the blanket wrapped body of Belle’s father draped over one of the horses. Rett jumped up and went to meet them.
He hadn’t considered how they would deliver the High Minister’s body back to Urbannia. But it was Belle’s wish, so they had to find a way.
Perron swung down from his mount and gave Rett a nod. “How is Lady Arabella?”
Rett shook his head. “I don’t know. Still alive at least, so that’s good.”
“We would like to offer to take care of sending the High Minister’s body to his home. Lord Ismatan can arrange for him to be properly prepared and sent back to Urbannia in a timely manner. Should Lady Arabella recover she will not be able to make such a long trip for several days.”
Rett glanced back at the tent, now enveloped in a cloud of steam mist. He had to do what he thought Belle would want. No doubt she would choose to be at her father’s funeral if she could, but he also knew she would find it more important that his position be honored despite her absence. He was important to the Empire of Urbannia as well as her.
“Yes, take him. It’s what she would want.”
Perron nodded and silently returned to his horse. He gave Rett a salute and wheeled his mount around to leave the camp and begin the journey to Durbon Pass, back to Gandiss.
“Who was that?” Benji asked staring after the black clad riders as they disappeared in the darkness. Jacob, Sam and Armani stood behind him.
“It’s a long story,” Rett said.
“I think we have time,” Benji said. “Let’s go to my tent, I can see you’re dead on your feet and we may not know about Belle’s condition for some time.”
Rett allowed them to shepherd him to Benji’s large tent where he was able to ease his tense muscles among the plush pillows and thick carpets. Women came in after a few minutes with trays of food and jugs of water and red wine. They kept their heads bowed in deference to the grief of their kef.
Rett poured a cup of wine. His stomach reminded him how little he had to eat in the past two days, so he grabbed some of the sausage balls. The others took cups of wine and sipped silently, their thoughts obviously back in the steam tent with their friend.
“Tell us what happened,” Benji said. “It will help pass the time.”
Rett took another bite of food and washed it down with a gulp of wine. He struggled to clear the fog from his brain and put the events in order. Beginning with the trip to Manu Picca, he described finding the camp of the Gandiss spies and all that occurred during their mission to the inside of the citadel and the return after the mountain was destroyed.
“Dr. Krakov? I’ve read about him,” Benji said. “And you say it was Sir John who ordered his death all those years ago? Interesting. Now this all makes sense, because Krakov is the one who made the clockwork eye for Wildeye Perry.”
“Poor Sir John,” Jasper murmured. “He was an exceptional man and leader. The queen will be devastated.”
“Krakov must have convinced Carabarras he could develop a weapon that would make them invincible,” Sam said. “But now they have nothing.”
“Do you think the Imperial Warlord was in on this hideous plan?” Armani asked. “Or just the warlord of Manu Picca?”
“He had to have been involved. Carabarras was poised to go up against the strongest nation on the planet. It couldn’t have been without his approval.” Rett rubbed his eyelids.
“What will happen now?” Jasper asked.
“Who knows. It’s out of our hands. Ambassador Ismatan must use all his diplomacy to convince the Queen of Urbannia of what really happened and keep Gandiss out of war.” Rett yawned. “It will be up to her to stop this madness.”
Armani rose and brought a blanket to Rett and draped it over him, her face filled with gentle compassion. “You need rest, Rett. You must be exhausted. We will let you know as soon as there is word about Belle.”
He mumbled some reply, trying to pretend he was fine, but his eyelids were like lead and with the sedating effect of food and wine in his belly he found it impossible to keep them open.
Chapter 22
Belle floated in a cloud of alternating pain and confusion. Images came to her and she tried to decipher their meaning only to be consumed with burning fire running through her veins that blocked out any thought. She wanted to scream but
couldn’t make her mouth work. In fact she couldn’t command any part of her body. All she had were her visions and the pain.
Time passed in a vacuum. It could have been years, months, days or hours that she struggled through the fire and agony. She didn’t know and she didn’t care. It took every ounce of her strength to fight the urge to give up and slip into the peace of death. But something pulled at her, a flickering light she had to follow, some unfinished business, and so she held on.
At one point, chanting broke through her cocoon of pain. The words had no meaning but the rhythm and tone soothed her suffering. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the pain receded. The images that had tossed about in her mind disappeared and she imagined her body floating in a room like the inside of a white cube—just plain white walls, ceiling and floor with no windows, doors or furniture. She floated, waiting and absorbing the flow of words from the chanting.
As the pain eased, she noticed small movements of her body, first the little finger of her right hand. She could lift it ever so slowly. Then a big toe twitched. Outside sensations intruded where the pain had been. Her hair clung to her face in damp curls and her clothes stuck to her body, wet and hot. Her white room turned yellow, then orange reflecting heat at her.
Then something blessedly cool touched her forehead and the heat melted away. She must have dozed off. The next thing she knew she felt cool and dry. Feet scuffed across a rug accompanied by the murmur of soft voices. The voices seemed familiar. If she could only get her mind to function properly she could identify them. Her mouth was dry like sand had been stuffed in it. She moved her lips and an arm went under her shoulders and lifted her up. A cup pressed against her lips and gloriously cool water flowed into her mouth and down her parched throat.
“Belle?” A voice made it past all the barriers her body had erected.
She fluttered her eyelids and finally opened them a crack. The canvas of a tent draped over her head, the interior dim and cool. On one side, an older woman supported her and held the clay cup to her mouth. On the other Rett stared at her anxiously and behind him she made out her other friends.