Souls of Aredyrah 3 - The Taking of the Dawn (16 page)

She moved to do what she was told, but was
too small to reach.

Reiv rose and hurried to retrieve it. “Keep
an eye on your sister. It is best you do not see this.”

“I’m not scared,” she declared.

Reiv pulled in a steadying breath; there was
no time to deal with a headstrong child. “Of course not. But Nely
is, so do as I say.”

Gem stared past him, her eyes focused on
Torin.

“Do not worry,” Reiv said. “I will help him,
and when he is well again, I will tell him how you fought to
protect him. You have been very brave, but you must be brave a
little longer. And right now the bravest thing you can do is stay
out of my way and help your sister.”

Gem nodded, then scrambled over to Nely. She
sat beside her and wrapped the little girl in her arms. “It’s all
right, Nely,” she said. “I’m here.”

Reiv returned to Torin, at a complete loss as
to what to do. “Agneis, help me,” he muttered. “I know little of
such things.” But a goddess would not likely help him in this; he
would have to depend on his own instincts. He scraped the mud from
around Torin’s mouth and nostrils, making sure the man’s breathing,
shallow as it was, was unobstructed. He then searched the pouch
that Jensa had sent with him, finding strips of cloth, herbs, and a
small bottle of liquid. Reiv opened the bottle and sniffed.
Definitely not to be taken orally.

Blood pooled around Reiv’s knees.
You have
to stop the bleeding
, he realized. He pulled out the cloths,
intent on pressing them against Torin’s wounds, but then he
wondered if he should extract the arrows first. He examined the
shafts to determine how deeply they were embedded. They were
deep—too deep. If he tried to remove them, the damage he caused
would probably be worse than it already was.

Reiv felt a lump rise in his throat. “I do
not know what to do!” he said.
Correct, fool. So do what you can
and get him back to Meirla.
Resolved to do his best, Reiv took
hold of the arrows, one at a time, and carefully snapped the
shafts, leaving a shorter portion protruding from Torin’s back. He
then poured the mysterious liquid onto the wounds and pressed the
cloths to them. He rose. “Gitta, come!” he said, and the horse came
forward.

Reiv eyed Torin, then the horse. How in the
world was he going to get an unconscious man onto the animal’s
back?

Gem rose and came toward him. “I can help,”
she said. “I’m strong.”

Reiv looked at her with skepticism, but
agreed. “Let me get the horse situated first. Then you can help me
drag Torin onto her.”

He positioned Gitta as close to Torin as he
could, then attempted to get her to kneel. But the horse refused to
cooperate.

Gem grabbed up a stick and slapped the back
of the horse’s front legs. “Down, horse!” she ordered.

Gitta struggled to her knees, then rolled
slightly onto her side. Reiv would have laughed if the situation
had not been so serious.

Between the two of them, Reiv and Gem managed
to drag Torin onto the horse’s back. Gitta scrambled to her feet,
nearly tossing Torin off. Reiv held onto the Shell Seeker as best
he could, maneuvering Torin’s body until at last his arms and legs
were evenly distributed on either side.

“Get your sister, Gem,” Reiv said. “Time to
go.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Meirla. There are people there better
equipped to help than I am here.”

“Will I see Kerrik?”

“Kerrik will be there.”

“Good.” A smile formed on Gem’s face. “He’s
going to marry me, you know.” Then she charged around the horse to
lead the way.

Back to ToC

Chapter 14: Open
Wounds

T
he return trip to
Meirla was agonizingly slow. It had begun to rain again, and the
road was becoming increasingly mired in mud. Torin, an arm and leg
dangling over each side of the horse, his cheek pressed against
Gitta’s mane, frequently groaned and mumbled. Gem marched ahead of
the horse, her pace like that of someone on a mission. Reiv walked
behind her, keeping his eye on her as well as Torin, and holding
fast to Nely’s hand.

The closer they got to Meirla, the more
refugees they met along the road. Many appeared ill, which was of
grave concern, but Reiv knew there was no way to stop them. He
could only hope that the Shell Seekers had made some sort of
preparation for the Jectas’ arrival, a separate encampment
perhaps.

Their advancement slowed, then stopped.
People were milling around, some clustered in groups in the middle
of the road, others huddled off to the side.

“Why the delay?” Reiv asked two women
standing nearby.

“The Shell Seekers have instructed us to wait
while they find us accommodations,” one of them said.

Reiv nodded, praying it meant none of the
refugees had yet made it into the village. He led Gitta onward,
weaving slowly through the crowd. The sun was just beginning to
rise along the distant horizon. Clouds were tinted here and there
with shades of peach filtering through the gray. As Reiv guided
Gitta and the girls through the mob, heads turned to watch as they
passed. Mutters were followed by hushed whispers, leaving Reiv with
the sinking feeling that he was involved in this more than he
knew.

At last they reached the crest of a hill and
stopped at the outer edge of the crowd. Down the road a line of
Shell Seeker men could be seen keeping guard, no doubt posted to
prevent anyone from reaching Meirla. Several Shell Seeker women
hustled back and forth, depositing bundles of food and gourds of
water onto the road between the guards and the refugees. Jecta
scurried to retrieve the bundles, then hurried back to transfer the
supplies into outstretched hands.

Reiv pushed through the perimeter of the
crowd, but stopped before he had gone more than a few steps. He
called across the distance, “You there, Shell Seekers. I must get a
message to Jensa of your village.”

One of the Shell Seekers took a step forward,
squinting at him. “Is that you Reiv?”

“Yes. I have Torin with me. He is wounded.
Can you fetch Jensa?”

The Shell Seeker waved a hand, then took off
in the opposite direction. Reiv turned to Torin and peeked under
the bandages. The bleeding had stopped, but the rain had washed it
in rivulets down Torin’s arms and along his spine, staining his
skin and the material wrapped around his hips. The broken shafts of
the arrows still protruded from his back. Around them the flesh was
puffy and inflamed.

“Gods,” Reiv said.

Torin’s eyes fluttered. His head jerked as he
attempted to move.

Reiv placed a hand on his arm. “Be still now.
Help is coming.” Reiv glanced over his shoulder. Where in the world
was Jensa?

“Reiv!” Jensa’s voice spun him around. She
was running toward him, oblivious to the Shell Seeker guards who
were scrambling to stop her.

Reiv took several strides forward and raised
his hand. “Stop!” he commanded.

Jensa halted, panting. “But, Reiv—”

“Torin needs a healer,” he called to her,
“but you cannot come any nearer. What plans have been made for the
wounded?”

“The healers are tending the worst cases,”
she called back. “An encampment is being set up nearby, but we
didn’t have enough time—”

“More wounded are coming. Can you direct me
and those with the most life-threatening injuries first? As for
those with the fever, perhaps a separate ward could be arranged for
them. Are there any volunteers to help?”

“A few,” Jensa said.

“I suppose you are included in that
count.”

“I am now.”

“What about Kerrik?”

“Brina will look after him.”

“So you would risk Kerrik losing both you and
Torin? No. You cannot come here.”

“Torin is my brother,” she insisted. “I
cannot ask anyone else to tend my kin when I am perfectly
able.”

“You do not have to ask,” a voice said from
behind her. “I will do it.”

Jensa wheeled around. It was Cora, and in her
hand was a basket of supplies.

Reiv could hear Jensa and Cora arguing, but
he could barely make out their words. Their voices rose and fell as
their hands gestured in the air, until at last they grew silent.
Jensa turned back to face him. “Cora will do it,” she said, but she
did not look happy about it.

Cora stepped around Jensa and marched up the
hill. As she approached, Reiv studied her face, hoping she would
acknowledge him in some special way. But when she arrived, she only
had eyes for Torin. She brushed past Reiv and headed straight for
the horse. Torin’s face was turned toward her. His eyes were closed
and his breathing labored. Cora placed her hand on his forehead,
then frowned at the shafts protruding from his back. Standing on
tiptoes, she rested her cheek against his. “I will take care of
you,” she said gently. And it was then that Reiv knew: It was Torin
she would have liked to have spent time with in the hut that day,
not him.

“This way,” she said, and led the horse away
from the group. Reiv took Nely’s hand while, once again, Gem
tromped ahead like an alpha leading the pack.

Reiv turned toward Jensa. “Torin will be all
right,” he called to her. “I will get word to you soon.”

Jensa raised her hand in acknowledgment, but
she did not turn away. She watched until Reiv was over the hill and
out of sight.

Beyond the rise was a small encampment.
Barely put together, its makeshift tents, pallets, and supply areas
were still being hastily assembled. Cora pointed Gem to the nearest
empty tent. “At least we’ll have shelter,” Cora said, eyeing a sky
still heavy with rain clouds. “But I fear there won’t be enough for
everyone.”

She ducked into the tent where two blankets
were folded on the ground. She spread one out, then returned to the
horse. Without a word she lifted Torin’s arm and placed it around
her shoulders. She was not tall, but she was determined and clearly
had every intention of carrying the man herself.

Reiv rushed over and grabbed Torin by the
waist. Between the two of them, they managed to drag his limp form
into the tent where they lowered him face down onto the
blanket.

Gem and Nely hovered in the doorway as Reiv
and Cora inspected the wounds. “How about starting us a fire,
Reiv,” Cora said as she dabbed Torin’s wounds with a cloth. “And
tell the girls to stay outside. I don’t think they should see
this.”

Reiv exited the tent. Before long he had
started a small but adequate campfire. He then instructed Gem and
Nely to stay near it, but not too near. He had not forgotten that
fire held no sympathy for the foolish.

“Your knife,” Cora called to him through the
flap.

Reiv ducked back inside and pulled the knife
from his waistband. He held it out to her.

“Over the fire, fool,” she said impatiently,
“but just enough to burn off any contaminants.”

For a moment Reiv felt annoyed by her tone,
but then he realized that she was only trying to save Torin’s life
and had no time to dictate his every move.

He stepped out and angled the blade over the
flames, then returned to the tent and handed it to her. She took
the knife by the handle. “Be ready with another cloth,” she said.
“The wound will bleed at first, but we will cauterize it
after.”

Reiv felt uneasy at the thought of burning
flesh. He glanced down at his own burn-scarred hands, then turned
his attention to Cora. She was inserting the knife near the first
shaft, trying to pry it gently from Torin’s back. Torin moaned and
jerked. Cora quickly withdrew the blade.

“Have you done this before?” Reiv asked.

“No,” Cora said, “but I’ve seen similar
procedures, though not removing Tearian arrows of course. More like
shards of coral, things like that.” She noted Reiv’s expression of
doubt. “Oh, just hold him still,” she snapped.

Reiv moved to Torin’s other side and knelt
beside him. He pressed his palm against Torin’s good shoulder, his
other hand hovering while he determined the best location to place
it. He finally decided on the base of Torin’s spine, but for some
reason he found it disquieting.

Cora looked up at him. “You all right?”

Reiv swallowed thickly. “I am fine. It is
just the blood.” But he wasn’t so sure.

Cora turned her attention back to the wound
and continued to probe. Torin moaned again, and Reiv increased his
weight upon him.

After a few moments, Cora shook her head.
“It’s too deep. We might need to shove it through.”

“What?” Reiv asked, appalled at the idea.
“But what if it pierces something on the way out?”

“It’s either that, or I go deeper and peel
the flesh back further. The prong is very wide.”

Reiv swallowed down the saliva that had begun
to pool in his mouth. “I—I think it would be best to draw it from
his back. We cannot risk damaging anything vital.”

“The pain will likely rouse him. Can you hold
him?”

“I think so.”

“I need more than ‘think so,’ Reiv. If he
jerks while the knife is doing its work…Maybe if you straddle
him.”

“If I what?”

“Straddle him. You know, sit with your legs
on either side of him.”

The thought of positioning himself across
Torin’s backside sent a wave of nausea to Reiv’s gut. Why the
hesitation? he wondered. Why the fear? It was to save a man’s life,
nothing more. He took a deep breath and planted his knees on either
side of Torin’s lower back. Leaning forward, he grasped the back of
Torin’s neck with one hand and pressed the other against the
uninjured shoulder.

Cora held the knife ready.

“All right. I have him,” Reiv said.

Then it was Cora’s turn to hesitate. Her
hands were trembling, and her face was beaded with sweat. She swept
her brow with the back of her hand, then drew a stabilizing breath.
With a sudden determined slice of the blade, she cut downward from
one side of the shaft, then upward from the other, making a wide
groove from which to work it free.