by G. P McKenna
Sedna shook their head, “no, I don’t think so.”
“I will shoot. I swear, I will.”
“You won’t,” Sedna said and rested their blade against Ilya’s neck, “you would’ve risked her life to get me, but not his. He’s your darling’s most beloved pet. Yours too, I hear.” Pogue’s eyes narrowed and his grip on the trigger tightened. Sedna cocked their head, “I’m faster than you, Shield. You release that arrow and the only thing you’ll hit is his remaining eye.”
Pogue bit his lip and looked at Ilya, “you okay?”
“Pogue, I- ‘' The flat side of Sedna’s sword smacked into Ilya’s mouth. It wasn’t a powerful strike, but it was enough to split his lip.
“Quiet,” Sedna screeched, “dolls only speak when their owners permit them.”
“Doll?” Pogue demanded.
Sedna giggled and pulled Ilya’s hair from his face, “that’s right. The baby Ilavrjo is my love doll. Has been for months. I know that goes against your self-righteous moral code, but not his…or hers for that matter.”
“SHUT UP,” Pogue roared, “just let them go. They’re only kids. Whatever bone you’ve got, it’s with me. If you want a rematch, I’ll fight you again. All you gotta do is ask.”
Sedna looked Pogue over, eyes lingering on the hilt of the Ivory sword on his back before bitterly laughing, “as much as you’d like to believe so, the sun didn’t rise with you. However, if you’d like a rematch, I’m happy to leave you with the same parting gift as last time.”
“No,” Pogue lowered the crossbow, “don’t.”
Sedna licked their lips and leaned into Ilya’s ear. His breath quickened as they whispered, and he stumbled as Sedna pushed him forward. I sighed in relief, only to have it choked off prematurely as Sedna drew back their shadowy blade and plunged it into Ilya’s back. The tip emerged through his chest. Sedna grinned manically, twisting the blade as they withdrew it. Ilya took a step forward before tumbling over.
Time stood still.
I was vaguely aware of Pogue shouting, and he all but trampled me as he flung himself at Sedna. The Morrigan’s grin twisted. No, their entire body twisted; arms elongating and sprouting black feathers as bones popped and replaced into the form of a crow. They spread their wings, almost in a mocking wave. Pogue lined up his crossbow, shouting, but I didn’t care if he hit or missed. On my hands and knees, I crawled to Ilya. My pinafore was filthy, but I ripped it anyway. Pressure, pressure. Need pressure. But there was too much blood. Sticky red everywhere, I couldn’t even see the wound I was trying to stem. Ilya was gurgling, saying something I couldn’t hear and I leaned in closer. Something swooped over my head, a crawling laugh, and then it was gone. And there was nothing more to be done.
Nineteen
Selenophobia
Fear of the moon
The walls were closing in and it was too dark to find the way. Hours of my life wasted committing every twist and turn of the maze to memory only to have it collapse when I needed it most. It was almost enough to throw myself to the floor, kicking and screaming, but there was something on my face, and it was drying to a stifling mask. It tasted of iron when licked it away, but scratching caused a pain strong enough that I wanted to die. Something was wrong, off centre. That wasn’t my face upon my head. I stopped touching it at all.
I wasn’t alone.
The familiar gurgling rattle that haunted my waking hours and dreams was behind me, in pursuit, so despite my misplaced nose, I ran faster. Death wasn’t going to corner me in a maze. Against all odds, my legs carried me to the exit, and I gasped for breath the moment I emerged into the light.
“Kilco?” a familiar voice I couldn’t place called, “where’s Pogue? He was supposed-” there was a deep gasp and then the voice was screaming, making demands beyond my comprehension. The horrific rattle closed in, carried on heavier footsteps, and then a deeper voice was shouting too.
My breathing was beginning to calm, drawing in enough oxygen that I could look to see what the ruckus was about. My stomach flipped as the memories hit me like a sledgehammer while Pogue battled off the imposing hands of the Royal guards who tried to take Ilya from his arms, “Oh…no, no.”
“Kilco,” the voice called again. It took a moment to recognize the serious face in front of me as Princess Amicia. She grabbed my arm and squeezed, “tell me what he needs?”
Why was she asking me? How was I supposed to know? Pogue, his leathers more red than brown, headbutted one of the guards who dared stray too near. I raked my nails down my arms and as if on its own my mouth moved, “bandages, boiled water, needles, thread. Whatever healing tonic you have.”
“Should we call anybody?” she asked.
Should we…? Unbelievable. I stared at her, incredulously, “call everybody.”
Amicia nodded and motioned to one of her many servants loitering about, no doubt there to nosey about the commotion. Wankers. My firsts were clenched tightly as she patted my shoulder and walked towards Pogue. I couldn’t go there, could hardly swallow, “is he dead?” I asked.
“No,” she called without pause, “and you’re going to keep it that way.”
When the Princess called for physicians, physicians came running. It seemed every doctor in camp had squeezed themselves into the tiny office where Ilya had been placed on a desk. They swarmed around: some studying the wound in his chest, others taking vitals, and all making a lot of noise as they behaved like peacocks in heat, fighting it out for the rare opportunity to dominate without their tolerated leader shouting them into submission. Where was my mother? She was the one person I trusted to save Ilya’s life, but she wasn’t there. Eventually, a victor was crowned. The old bald physician from the mid-camp infirmary whose name I could never remember but who always smelled faintly of blue cheese. His first act of power was to chase the Princess and Shield from the office before marching over to me.
“You need to leave,” he said, crossing his arms. I didn’t even give the dignity of a response. Ilya was dying and I needed to focus on massaging his throat to force him to swallow the healing tonic that would artificially replenish his blood long enough for the good doc to arrive and fix it. He wouldn’t bleed to death as long as I did that. Everything would be fine. The bald physician leaned in closer, his funky scent nauseating, “didn’t you hear me? You need to leave. Now.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yeah, you do,” he said through gritted teeth, “I doubt Doctor Escamilla has bothered teaching you operational etiquette, but when the head physician tells you to do something, you do it. Look at you, you’re bleeding all over it,” he grabbed my arm, “you have to go.”
I slapped him across the face.
“No, you have to go. All of you,” I shouted and raised my hand again, “None of you are doing anything. You’re just standing about, measuring cocks. You’re incompetent. Useless. Get out, the lot of you. I’ll figure it out myself.”
Boy, it felt invigorating just to yell at somebody. Anybody. The bald physician threw his hands up, stepping back when I leaned forward to slap him again, “you’re exactly like your mother. You realize that, right?”
He said that like it was an insult.
The door creaked open, and all mindless chatter silenced. I exhaled deeply. It was about time she showed up. But it wasn’t Doctor Kira. A tall woman, her blonde hair beginning to grey, closed the door behind her and turned to look the room over with deep wine eyes. “About bloody time.” the bald physician exclaimed and strode to her. They spoke in hushed whispers by the door, baldy making more elaborate hand movements towards me with every word that passed his lips until the Ilvarjo nodded. The physicians parted as she approached, though she paid them little heed, face stoic as she looked Ilya over before gently touching my arm, “You need to come with me, child.”
I shook my head, “No, they’re all idiots. They’re not trying to help.”
The Ilvarjo put two fingers against Ilya’s pulse before carefully taking the tonic vial from my h
and. She set two fingers against his bloody lips and looked at me with a small smile, “they’re doing everything they can for him, let me do the same for you.” And though I didn’t want to leave Ilya, I was so tired, and her voice was so soothing. I nodded. The Ilvarjo handed the vial to one of the physicians who’d crowded into the room and took my hand in hers, so warm and full of life, and led me out into the hall where Pogue and Amicia were sitting on a bench. Pogue seemed to have aged ten years since I’d last seen him. It made my heart clench.
Amicia looked up as we approached, puffy eyes blinking slowly, before flinging herself at the Ilvarjo, “Eteri,” she cried, burying her tear-stained face into the woman’s chest, “this is my fault. I didn’t know the Morrigan was still alive, let alone that it had escaped. I don’t know how this could’ve happened.”
Eteri gave me another soft smile before releasing my hand to hug the princess tightly, “it’s alright, Your Highness. There was no way for you to have known.”
“It’s not alright. I should’ve known, I-” Amicia pulled away, her face suddenly not appearing so pretty as snot mixed with her tears in an unsightly ocean, “Ilana is going to hate me again. I sent him there. I know that I wasn’t supposed to, but it was supposed to be dead. He told me it was gone. Eteri, Ilya lied!”
“No, Your Highness,” Eteri pulled Amicia closer, “he doesn’t lie. You know this.”
“I also know there are ways to deceive without ever speaking a word of untruth,” Amicia said and pulled away. She wiped ferociously at her face while glaring at Eteri, “why are you so calm? Ilya is dying.”
“Yes, he is,” Eteri dropped her arms, “and behaving irrationally will not change that.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness?” a melodic voice said from behind.
“Can’t you see that I’m busy?” Amicia snapped.
The masked Ilvarjo bowed their head and knelt to one knee, “I apologize, Your Highness, but Commander Ramsey said it was urgent. There are two women outside who are demanding to speak with you. One of them punched Officer Fleajoy in the face. The Commander has advised that you grant them an immediate audience.”
About bloody time indeed.
“Never have I witnessed such irresponsible conduct from those sworn to preserve and protect life.” None of the physicians appeared to know what to do with themselves as Doctor Kira’s tirade continued. Those who worked on Ilya moved with the careful precision typically reserved for the King himself. The rest lined the walls, seeming to try and make themselves appear as small as possible. None dared to meet Kira’s apocalyptic gaze as she marched around the desk, examining every inch of Ilya, “what were you all thinking?”
“It was my fault,” Amicia said, straightening her back, “Ilya was bleeding out and-”
“And nothing,” Kira snapped. She stepped in front of the Princess, scowling down, “you left the rest of your citizens without assistance in an emergency, and for what? So these dimwits can bumble around without doing anything practical to help him?” she scoffed while effortlessly snapped on a pair of gloves and shoving two physicians aside. The room was quiet enough to hear a needle drop as she checked Ilya’s vitals. Kira glared over her shoulder at Amicia, “Melly and I were completing our final rounds for the night when I noticed most infirmaries had only healers on duty. Some not even that. You abandoned dozens of patients who are just as critical as him. I agreed to this position under one condition and you just spat on it. I’m disappointed in you, Amicia.”
Amicia looked to the floor with a choked sob, “I’m sorry, Doctor Kira. I didn’t think.”
“You don’t when you play favourites,” Kira said and pushed her spectacles up her nose, “this wound is deep. An obvious hemothorax caused by probable pulmonary laceration, and there’s a continuous discharge from his ear which suggests intracranial hematoma. Put simply, both his lungs and brain are bleeding.”
“But you can fix him, right?” Pogue asked.
“I’m going to try. Kilco, my bag.” Kira demanded, and I grabbed the leather Gladstone she had dumped by the door. She grunted as I placed it on the desk chair, staring pointedly at my nose, “that’s unfortunate. Who reset the bone?”
“Eteri,” I said. The Ilvarjo woman had worked with impressive speed and finesse. It had hurt like Hades, but Eteri had located the dislocation, manipulated it, then packed it faster than almost any physicians I knew could’ve. And she was only a healer. Kira looked her over.
“You’re the one who came with Ilana, aren’t you?” she asked. Eteri nodded and Kira exhaled, “you stay. Everybody else who didn’t come with me or from me, get lost.” the blanket of anxiety lifted as the rest of physicians all shuffled back out in much the same way they had packed in. Pogue and Amicia remained put. Kira pointed at the door, “that includes you two.”
Pogue frowned, “But-”
“We’ve been here before, Shield. Three assistants are enough trouble. You’ll only get in my way, so if you care about him at all,” she clicked towards the door, “out.”
Pogue clenched his first and met Kira’s eyes. For a moment I thought he was going to argue, going to physically fight her, and then I would have no choice but to jump in because there just was no time, but then he hung his head, “fine,” he said, “I’ll wait outside.”
Without another word, he stormed out the door with Amicia on his heels. I watched him go, the twisting in my gut not easing. I prayed he wouldn’t do something stupid.
“Stop bleeding,” Kira leaned over to peer deeper into Ilya’s chest, “Melly, I can’t see what we’re doing.”
“Sorry, Doctor Kira,” Melly said and wiped more plasma onto the crimson coated floor. Twenty minutes had passed but nothing had changed. At least, not for the better. Blood flowed from Ilya’s chest faster than I could force the healing tonic down his throat to replace it, and my supply was getting lower by the minute. I could hear his breath gurgling in his throat and every few minutes pink foam dribbled from his lips. I wiped it away before the others noticed. I’d grown up around death, I knew what that meant, but it wasn’t over yet.
Then came the convulsions.
“Don’t you dare,” Kira shouted and grabbed the soiled gauze from Melly to wipe the blood away herself, “hold him still. Don’t let him choke.”
The contractions were so violent that the door being slammed open was almost undetectable over the commotion. I didn’t look up, too preoccupied with clearing away the excess fluid that was suddenly flowing from Ilya’s mouth in mass, but I could make out Amicia moaning.
“Is he okay?” Pogue asked.
Kira shook her head without looking up, “I can’t stop the bleeding.”
“But he’s gonna be okay?”
“Are you stupid? I just said that I can’t stop the bleeding,” she snapped and looked up. Her teeth were locked in a snarl but her eyes were wet. Knowing exactly what that meant, mine watered too, but I blinked them away. It wasn’t over until he was dead, and he wasn’t dead. Kira didn’t kick them back out, she simply resumed working with less urgency than before. Another half-hour ticked by and nobody made a sound, too focused on listening to Ilya’s increasingly laboured breathing and Kira’s muttered cursing, “shit…balls…twat…FUCK.” she threw her scalpel onto the floor with a hiss and stormed out without another word. Melly and Eteri stepped back from the desk.
Pogue covered his face as pearly tears dripped off Amicia’s chin as she stared at the empty spot where Kira had stood, “I guess that means it’s over.”
“It’s not over until he’s dead,” I said and picked up another vial, “right Melly?”
Melly put down her gauze. Eteri stepped forward and took the vial from my hand before recapping it, “he’s had enough, child.”
“But-” my words died in my throat as Kira returned. Her eyes were dry and her bu had been redone, but the tell-tale scent of cigarette smoke lingered as she went to looked at Ilya,
“I cannot stem the haemorrhaging while he keeps seizing”
she calmly explained while checking his vitals, “he has both cardiac and pulmonary injuries that I might’ve been able to repair, but I would first need to treat the head injury to prevent the seizures, which isn’t possible here while the haemorrhaging remains uncontrolled. There’s nothing more I can do.”
“Alright,” Amicia whispered, wiping the tears from her eyes, “thank you anyway.”
Pogue went to stand beside Kira, taking Ilya’s hand, “will it hurt?”
“He’s unconscious,” Kira said and crossed her arms, “but the process could take a while. The body fights until the very end and there’s a possibility he will wake. It might be kinder too…” she looked at Eteri. The Ilvarjo woman nodded.
“Kinder to what?” Amicia asked, startling backwards when Eteri removed the pillow from the office chair, “no.”
“He won’t feel anything, Your Highness.”
“No,” Amicia shouted, “what kind of healer are you? You’re supposed to heal my Ilvarjo, not kill them. There must be something else we can try. What about my mages?”
“You’re Highness,” Eteri’s tone invited no interruption, “I was the one who delivered him. I have cared for him from his first breath. If there was anything else to be done, I would do it, but you know that none of the mages are trained to heal. It’s forbidden, but even if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t thank you for doing it. It would calcify his lungs. Keeping him alive means nothing if he will live in agony.”
“But he’s Ilvarjo. He has the energy reserves to withstand the healing.”
“Not in this state, Your Highness,” Eteri said and held the pillow out, “but he belongs to you. If you’d prefer he passes naturally, your decision will be respected.”
