Down a Lost Road

chapter 20 – Healing


Even with four injured party members, leaving the tower seemed infinitely easier than entering it had been. We managed to sneak out through the conduit without encountering a guard – maybe they had all gone to find out what had happened to my uncle and the other patrol. Through the rest of the night and the next day we tracked as fast as we could across the desert. Damian’s strength started failing at about the same time mine did. Yatol had long been stumbling half-conscious beside me. I kept wishing that Akhmar would rescue us, but no matter how many times I scanned the horizon, I never saw him coming.

Finally I glimpsed the dark line of the forest rising to meet us, purple-grey in the early evening twilight. Somehow we kept moving. I don’t know how we did it. Tyhlaur had come back and had Mr. Dansy and me both leaning on him for help, while Kurtis supported Yatol and Damian on my other side. Aniira ran in front and sometimes skirted around behind us, scouting for any signs of trouble.

Everything began blurring together. I watched my feet squishing into the sand with broken rhythm. Trees swirling around us, clinging gossamer. Someone talking. The smell of cooking food. An acrid taste in my mouth. Softness. Sleep.

* * *

“…doesn’t surprise me, really. You just couldn’t leave the bandage on, could you?”

Someone was talking to me. He seemed to have been talking for a long time, maybe not even caring if I was conscious to listen. I struggled to pry open my eyelids, but they hung heavy over my eyes like they were chained down. After a minute I managed a grunt of reply, and my eyes opened a sliver. Shan crouched beside me, holding a spicy-scented compress near my head.

“Bandage?” I mumbled, tongue thick.

“You and Yatol, both the same. Not surprised. Think it will be…”

… My eyes snapped open. Shan was gone. My thoughts tumbled uselessly. Wet clothes in a dryer. Numb…

“How is everyone doing?”

Kurtis. I tried again to look around, found Yatol sitting on a chest by my bedside, Shan cross-armed beside him. Kurtis stood in the tent opening, holding back the flap.

“Damian still sleeps. Merelin seems to be awake,” Shan commented. “At least for the moment.”

Yatol’s eyes flashed to my face, and a faint smile touched his mouth. His skin still seemed grey and drawn. I blinked drowsily. Couldn’t stay awake.

“I’m aw…”

Couldn’t…

Woke to the bitter taste again. Found Yatol holding me upright, tipping a shallow dish to my lips.

“Come on, Merelin,” he murmured, as if he didn’t know I was conscious. “Fight it off. Please.”

I coughed and twisted my head away from the dish. Yatol set it aside and wrapped both arms around me, holding me close. His shoulders shook. Was he weeping? Was I dying?

Don’t go back to sleep. Wake up, wake up.

I forced my hand to move, dragging up like a dead weight to rest on Yatol’s arm.

“I’m awake.”

He didn’t say anything, just held me tighter and lifted one hand to cover his face.

I let myself rest in his arms, exhausted still but at least conscious. I’d never experienced anything like that lethargy, and never wanted to again. The idea that I couldn’t make myself stay awake was terrifying.

A stream of light flooded the tent as someone pushed back the flap. Whoever it was hesitated, then rushed over to Yatol and me. Shan again.

“Yatol! Is she—”

“I’m fine,” I croaked. “Where’s Damian?”

Yatol loosened his grip, helping me sit upright. On a pile of furs near mine lay Damian, asleep or unconscious, pallid. Deep purple shadows circled his eyes, and every few seconds he shivered. I pulled away from Yatol and crawled weakly over to him.

“Is he going to be all right?” I asked Shan over my shoulder, laying a hand on Damian’s forehead.

“He’s more stable than you were, but not out of the woods yet. Less intense ailment, but longer lasting. Seems to always happen like that. The harder you’re hit, the quicker you recover…if you recover.” He shook his head. “You crazy people with your encounters. I don’t know how any of you are still alive.”

Aniira thrust her head into the tent. “Merelin! You’re finally awake!” She came in and knelt down beside Damian, opposite me. “How is he doing?”

Yatol refilled the shallow dish from a stone pitcher and handed it across to her. I helped her prop up Damian’s head so she could give him a dose of the medicine. He made no reaction to the bitterness.

“Still far away, isn’t he?” Aniira murmured. She brushed a strand of his hair off his forehead, then she flashed me an abashed glance, cheeks rosy. “I’m sorry.”

I smiled and shook my head. “No need to apologize. He wouldn’t mind.”

Her blush deepened. At least she wasn’t acting manic anymore. I realized with some surprise that I actually kind of liked her. She seemed sweet enough, and she’d helped save my brother. Why had I hated her so much before?

Yatol got suddenly to his feet and left the tent, Shan trailing him. I watched them go in surprise, but didn’t think I had the right – or the strength, for that matter – to follow them. I turned back to Aniira.

“Why is he taking so long to recover?”

“He suffered, Merelin. Azik really hurt him.”

She lifted his hand, turning it palm up to reveal the grey spiderweb bruises. They seemed darker now than before, lacing all up his arms, even past his elbows. My gaze shifted to his neck, where the strange marks touched his jaw and wreathed his collar. I was almost ashamed when I glanced at my own wrists and found them completely healed.

“I don’t understand. Yatol…”

“Yatol is incredibly strong,” Aniira said quietly. Her gaze flicked up to mine. “I’ve never known anyone quite like him. It’s like he’s got the blood of some stronger race than ours in him.”

I frowned. Thanks for rubbing in how much better you know him than I do. It made me consider how little I actually knew about Yatol. Why did I think I had any chance with him at all? But down there in the dungeon, I was so sure…

Damian shuddered again, violently. I pulled one of the furs over him and laid my hand against his forehead.

“Hang in there, Damian,” I whispered in English. “This crazy girl here needs you. Well, both of us crazy girls do. Come on, pull through.”

I need her to need you.

Yatol returned a moment later with a bowl of stew and a few pieces of fruit. He sat down on the chest beside my pile of furs, beckoning me over with his head.

“You need to eat something. Being half-starved won’t help you heal.”

I inched toward him and took the bowl from his hands, sniffing suspiciously. It looked different than Tyhlaur’s stew, but it smelled all right. I took a few tentative bites and paused, waiting to see if I would pass out again like the last time I’d tried to eat stew. To my relief, I didn’t.

“Tyhlaur’s is better,” I said, smiling.

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

I ate a few more spoonfuls under Yatol’s concerned gaze.

“You didn’t bring me any, Yatol?” Aniira said playfully, standing up.

Yatol shrugged and lifted his hands. “Couldn’t carry any more. Sorry.”

She grinned and ducked out of the tent.

“Merelin…”

I stopped eating to glance up at Yatol. He sighed and bowed his head.

“You need to get your rest tonight. We have to leave in the morning.”

“Leave?” I echoed dumbly. “But Damian isn’t ready to travel yet. I don’t know if I am either.”

“You’re strong. You’ll be fine.” He hesitated. “We certainly couldn’t make Damian go, though.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, throat burning. “I can’t leave him.”

“He can’t come with us,” he said as gently as he could. “Not where we’re going.”

“But he’s been through so much for us! We can’t make him stay behind now!” I protested, ignoring how feeble my own logic seemed.

“He and Kurtis will stay with the army and help with the defense. I’ve already talked to Syarat, and Kurtis is willing. Excited even.” He shook his head. “The Ungulion host must be midway across the Perstaun by now. If we don’t go soon it’ll be too late.”

I nodded miserably. I knew he was right, I just didn’t know how I could do it.

Somehow I managed to finish the bowl of soup and one of the pieces of fruit. By then I was so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open. I had my chin propped up in one hand, drowsily gnawing on the last juicy bits of the fruit. Finally I gave it up, putting the hull of the fruit in the bowl and flopping back onto the furs. Yatol got to his feet.

“Good night, Merelin.”

* * *

When morning came, I felt infinitely better. I actually woke up refreshed, at least until I remembered that we were supposed to be leaving. That sucked away all my energy, and for almost ten minutes I sat in the semi-darkness beside Damian, holding one of his hands and wishing everything away. He still hadn’t woken up, and I couldn’t tell if he looked any better than he had yesterday. I hated leaving him in that condition.

Finally I galvanized myself into action. Braided my hair, donned my sandals. Found my pouch and Yatol’s knife, which looked cleaned and polished. I considered taking my sand-hued cloak, but decided it would just be extra weight. When I was as prepared as I could get, I stepped out of the tent and almost walked into Yatol. He surveyed me briefly and nodded.

“Good. You’re ready.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He ignored my implied complaint. “I’m going to get the last of our provisions. Wait here.”

He disappeared into a nearby tent, leaving me alone in anguish and uncertainty. I stood frozen, facing out toward camp so I wouldn’t see Damian, pale and weak, and so vulnerable. If I did, I’d lose all my nerve, all my courage. I’d go back into the tent and refuse to move, and I’d fail and let Yatol down, and my father and everyone else. They needed me to be strong. Damian needed me to be strong.

I peered around the camp to try to distract myself. Eventually I caught sight of Shan approaching from across the camp, striding along with that fierce, quick energy. His bald head swung this way and that, nodding at a few people, never smiling. In less time than I thought possible he was with me.

“So. I just get you healed and off you go again.”

I smiled faintly. “Believe me, I don’t want to go.” He moved to go into the tent, but I grabbed his hand. “Shan, take care of Damian.”

He fixed me with an intense gaze, then nodded. “I will.”

I released him and listened to the tent flap swinging behind him. It felt like hours passed as I stood there waiting for Yatol. I bounced a little on the balls of my feet, restless. What was taking him so long? And how could I be so anxious to leave, but at the same time want nothing more than to hide somewhere and never be found?

Finally I glimpsed Yatol returning, four waterskins slung over his shoulder and two bags of provisions dangling from his hands. His face seemed so somber. All I wanted was for him to smile, but he just met my gaze and dropped it again. Wordlessly he handed me one of the waterskins and a bag of provisions. I slung both across my chest, one to my right and one to my left. I felt a little awkward, kind of like a pack mule, but Yatol had three waterskins and a haversack on his back besides. When he’d gotten all of his gear adjusted, he took my arm.

“Do you want to say goodbye to anyone? Kurtis?”

Goodbye. It sounded so final. Tears tugged my mouth into a quavering frown. I couldn’t raise my eyes without giving away my grief.

“No,” I managed. “I can’t.”

“They’ve come to say goodbye to you,” he said gently.

I risked a glance past his shoulder, and saw Tyhlaur, Kurtis, Aniira and Enhyla all lingering nearby, watching in somber silence. I gave up trying to hold back the tears and ran to them, embracing each of them in turn. I wanted to say something to them, but couldn’t. They didn’t speak either, until I turned back to Yatol and heard Kurtis whisper,

“Godspeed, Merelin.”

I hesitated, then rushed on without looking back. Yatol laid his hand on my shoulder as we left the camp, while I struggled to stop crying. Finally the tears dried, leaving only a numbness in my heart. I sniffled once decisively, lifted my chin, and marched stolidly after Yatol.