A week. After enduring the pain and fear this virus caused, if she lived, it would take another week before he’d know for certain whether she was intact or mentally insane.
Tears hitched in Yulen’s chest, and he kissed his wife’s hair. Atty clung to his shirt as she leaned on him. It had been years since he’d prayed. Tonight, he did so again. But this time, he swore to whatever deity still reigned above that he would gladly give his own life if Atty’s could be saved. More so, if her sanity could be spared. The thought of her becoming one of the mentally enraged, who had no compunction about killing everyone within reach, was a future he couldn’t face. A Damaged Mutah would have few faculties left. Their instincts and uncanny abilities would force them into survival mode, leaving death and untold destruction in their wake.
If Atty survived, but was Damaged as a result, he couldn’t order her killed, which was the standard way all other Damaged were dealt with. But she wouldn’t be the person she was. His Atrilan would never exist again. Her body would continue to breathe, her heart would still beat, but the beautiful soul that was her would be as good as dead to him.
His own mind refused to consider the fact that his son was also infected. Within a day’s time, his youngest would be scourged by this damned disease. Yulen had to accept the fact that, within a week, he could be taking two corpses home to Alta Novis.
He fought the pain tearing at his heart. The reality of losing both was too emotionally shattering. Atty and Lucien...
Atty struggled for breath. “It…hurts.”
“I know. I know, my love. Don’t fight it. Don’t struggle.” He could hear the fluid in her chest gurgling.
“Now I know what you were going through,” she whispered.
“Not really, my Atrilan. You’ll have it worse. You know you’ll have it worse.”
She managed a watery chuckle. “It seems to be my lot in life, being a Mutah.”
“Why didn’t you admit to me you were feeling ill when we stopped to eat? Why did you try to hide it?” he gently admonished.
“I honestly didn’t know I was coming down sick. I thought it might be some sort of allergy. And I did have pepper fly up my nose.”
The door flap opened and Lucien walked in. He rushed over and dropped to his knees in front of his mother. Picking up her hand, he held it to his cheek. “I’m not going to ask how you’re feeling. I can tell by looking at you how bad it’s getting.” He glanced up at his father. “Please tell me we’re not going on to Schutz Ridge tomorrow. She shouldn’t be riding.”
“I haven’t made that decision yet,” Yulen told him. A movement behind his son caught his attention. It was Johna, keeping her distance to give the family some privacy. Yulen waved for her to join them. She initially hesitated, but finally relented and took a seat behind Lucien.
“How does she look?” he asked the young woman.
Johna barely glanced at Atty. “Like she’s on fire.”
Yulen buried his face in his wife’s hair to hide his distress.
“What’s holding you back?” his son asked softly. “There’s still time to take us back to Alta Novis.”
Yulen paused. He never discussed tactics, much less his private thoughts, with anyone but Atty. In the past few years, he’d gotten to where he would open up to Mattox, because it seemed his firstborn would be the one to take over the title of battle lord when he was gone, or no longer able to do the job. This time, however, he knew the time had come for him to bring Lucien into his exclusive inner circle of confidants.
Lifting his face, he sniffed. “I gave my word to Harank Pechard we’d try to help.” He didn’t look at Johna. He knew she was listening. “If there’s a chance there are survivors, they have to be rescued.”
“What about Mom? What happens to her while you’re gone?”
Yulen noticed his son didn’t mention himself. Perhaps he’d forgotten he was also infected. Or maybe he felt his own well-being was secondary to his mother’s. This child had always been closer to Atty than their other two children ever were. Maybe it was because of the miracle of his birth, and Atty’s extra nurturing to keep him alive, that a tighter bond had formed between the two.
Secondary. The word floated at the front of his mind.
The battle lord started to reply, when the tent flap parted again, and Iain entered. The young physician dropped onto the ground beside Atty and checked her pulse.
“How is the escapee?” Yulen inquired.
“He’s doing better. He’s out of the woods. But, as I said earlier, he’ll be a paraplegic for the rest of his life. Atty, your heart’s racing. Are you feeling lightheaded?”
“Yes.” The word was barely audible.
Iain turned to Johna. “I need you to do something for me.”
“What? Just name it.”
“I want you to go over to where Durrow is and give him a good visual examination. I want you to memorize every little detail. Every degree of heat and cold. Even little things you don’t think are important, I want you to make note of them.” The doctor looked at Yulen. “I’m beginning to believe the man is a carrier. If he is, he’ll need to remain in quarantine, in case we come across others who’ve not had the virus.”
“And, in the event we meet another such carrier, she’ll be able to identify them?” Yulen remarked.
“Exactly.”
“Good call. The last thing I need on my conscience is knowing we’ve needlessly caused others to become infected.”
“Wait.” Johna let out a weak laugh. “Have you forgotten I’m infected, too?”
Iain gave her a hard stare. “I’m going to fight with everything I’ve got, and with everything I’ve learned from my dad and Dr. Fergus, to keep all of you alive. One thing Dad and Mom instilled in me was that mental attitude is half the battle. If you choose to give up, you give up every chance to live. But if you mentally gird yourself, and tell yourself that you’re not going to give up so easily…” He suddenly grinned. “Sometimes people call it a miracle.”
Johna’s eyes focused on Lucien, then on Atty. “Okay. I’ll go study him.”
“I’ll meet you back at the tent,” Lucien told her.
The woman nodded and left. Iain continued examining the battle lady.
“You’re shivering. Are you cold?”
“God, no. I’m b-burning up,” she managed.
Rather than argue with her, Yulen motioned to his son. “Start a fire in the brazier, would you, please?”
“I’ll gather some extra firewood while I’m at it,” Lucien said, and exited the tent. He wasn’t gone long. By the time his son returned with an armload of twigs and branches, Iain had finished checking Atty. Yulen built up a pile of pillows for her to rest against, and covered her with two extra blankets.
“I’m going to grab a couple of bowls to keep on hand, in case I need to intubate her,” the doctor informed him, and left without waiting for a reply.