“I am as astonished as you,” he said, eyes narrowing.
“Voice ... activated ... biometric start ... screen,” Fillion groaned, the sound full of such misery that Willow tensed against a forming sob. Ember leaned toward the head of the bed and placed the Cranium to Fillion’s ear, who said in a thin voice, “Cranium ... phone ... Mack.”
Then Ember strapped the device to her ear and sat upon the bed, taking Fillion’s hand in hers. “No, I am afraid not. This is Ember Watson, Coal’s sister.” She remained perfectly still. Joannah and Timna exchanged curious looks, but then busied their hands as before. “Yes, sir, unfortunately, there is a problem. Before I explain, please know that he is breathing well and interacting on a limited level; however, we believe he may have been poisoned.” Ember lifted her other hand and caressed the back of Fillion’s, the act so tender and compassionate that Willow could no longer hold back the tears. “Yes, he wished to speak to you. Do not be alarmed if he fades in and out of reality, for he is afflicted by hallucinations.” In deft movements, she removed the Cranium and fastened it to Fillion once more. “Speak, My Lord. Your friend awaits you.”
“Mack.” Silence for several heartbeats. “Diagnosis site. Drag0nMaiden2038 is Ember.” Another pause. “Take care ... of Lyn ... if ... No. No leave. Don’t. I’m ... finally happy ... floating on a cloud bed. See colors in ... the air ... angel gone ... she’ll come back ... when I die.” A longer pause. “Love you, too, mate... You’re not ... pathetic. Yeah. Peachy.” Fillion lifted his arm, shaking with weakness before it fell to the bed. “For ... you.” Then his body went limp.
“He has slipped beneath consciousness once more,” Joannah whispered. “Shall I apply smelling salts or shall we allow him peace?”
“Peace,” Timna answered. “Skylar, the pillows please.”
“Yes, Madam.”
Ember plucked the device from Fillion’s ear and placed it back onto her own. “This is Ember. Yes, sir, one and the same. Pleasure to officially meet you.” She lifted a finger and tapped the device and then a finger danced through the air. “Yes, I have a browser screen.” Her fingers flew around more.
Willow spun toward Leaf. His gaze was riveted onto his wife, though, brows deeply creased and mouth in a straight, thin line. Nevertheless, when he looked at Willow, she noticed in his pale green depths a marked pride toward Ember’s actions despite the betrayal.
Skylar returned with the pillows and looked to Timna for direction. “Joannah, slowly ease Fillion down with me.” When he lay flat upon the bed, Timna continued. “Skylar, use the bed and chair pillows to gradually elevate his legs, the feet supported the highest, and at least two or three hands high. Thank you, My Lord.”
“The site says we need a small sample of blood,” Ember said, directing her comment to the two women.
Timna removed a knife from her belt, poured a small measure of whiskey over the blade, then held it over a candle flame while Joannah gathered a clean linen strip from a medicinal bag.
“The Naturopath is sanitizing a knife,” Ember reported to Mack. “Once we prick his finger, I simply align the blood sample beneath the holographic scanner? Thank you, sir. Yes, your directions are understood.” Timna held the knife into the air for the pre-dawn chill to cool the blade. “It is true, Fillion does not wish for Outside medical attention. No, sir. A man and woman should always choose their path, in life and in death. I shall respect his wishes and Fillion trusts you shall, too.” Ember closed her eyes with a pained expression. “I know, sir. I share your fear and grief this moment, and that of his sister. Rest assured that we care deeply for your friend and will do all possible to ensure his comfort.”
“The blade is ready, Your Highness,” Timna said to Ember. “Skylar, please hold Fillion down should he wake while we lance his finger. Joannah, please secure his arm.”
With a steady hold, Timna opened Fillion’s hand and selected a finger. Willow buried her face into Leaf’s chest, same as Laurel. Yet her distress also demanded she watch. Peering through lowered lashes, Willow held every muscle still as if wielding the knife herself. Quickly and carefully, Timna sliced through the tip of Fillion’s finger, which blossomed red before one could blink. Remarkably, Fillion did not move. Nary a sign of discomfort crossed his face. Ember maneuvered the blood offering, which pooled and dripped from his finger, to a desired location up high from the bed and tapped the air.
“The diagnosis scanner is calculating,” Ember reported in a low, even voice. “The sample was acceptable and the screen is loading the results. You may clean him up, now.” Timna wiped Fillion’s finger and placed an ointment upon the wound and Joannah wrapped the linen strip, tying it off. “The first result: psilocybe cubensis.”
“That would explain the hallucinations. I had my suspicions,” Joannah said. The Herbalist looked toward Willow and Leaf. “Psychedelic mushroom, Your Majesty.”
“Another result: grayanotoxin.” Ember lifted her eyes to Joannah’s. “There do not appear to be any more potential toxins listed, only what the site declares as normal properties and chemistries.”
“Did he ingest honey recently?” Joannah slowly met each pair of eyes in the room, to which most shrugged or shook their head. “It typically comes from a rhododendron or azalea bush known for its production of ‘mad honey.’”
“Is it fatal?” Willow asked, unable to remain quiet.
“No, rarely fatal,” Timna said, with a small smile of relief. “Although, it can cause bradycardia and hypotension, which would account for the low pulse and general weakness. It is most known for inducing vomiting and convulsions. He shall recover.”
“The poor man,” Willow said, coming to a stand, careful to not wake her sister, who somehow found sleep through the chaos. Resting her head upon the doorway, Willow wrinkled her nose with the pungent smell of sickness. Fillion’s breathing had slowed to a restful rhythm, and her throat tightened.
Timna placed her middle and index fingers upon Fillion’s wrist with a look of concentration. After a measure of time passed, she looked up and said, “The hallucinations might have influenced additional sickness depending on the sensorial effects he experienced.”
Joannah rested a hand upon Fillion’s arm. “I do believe the worst has passed. However, he is in dire need of hydration and salts.”
“I shall wake Cook, if she is not awake already, and have her prepare vegetable broth,” Skylar said. “Do you wish for her to brew a pain reliever as well?”
Joannah dipped her head. “Yes, thank you, My Lord.” The Herbalist turned to Timna. “Shall I administer another dose of activated charcoal?”
“Yes, please.”
“Did you hear the conversation, Mr. Ferguson?” Ember’s finger slid through the air with an occasional tap. “Yes, you may rest easy. I sent your contact information to my account and shall call you if there are any changes. And worry not, I shall relay a message to Fillion to call you once he regains strength. Thank you for your assistance. Of course, sir. Farewell.” With a final tap upon the device, she pulled the silver machine from her head and looked directly at Leaf, before lowering her eyes to the floor.
“I wonder if highly concentrated rhododendron and psilocybe hash oil were placed inside one or more of his joints?” Joannah asked, as if sensing the need to redirect the tension. “It is the only way to ingest either that I can conclude at the moment. Unless there are more modern applications involved that I am not aware of, which is, of course, entirely possible. Dried rhododendron leaves contain trace amounts of toxins and would not warrant such a strong reaction.” Joannah turned to Timna. “Usually psilocybe loses psychedelic affects with direct heat, too, except when an oil.”
Timna held a thoughtful look. “We do not have either of these ingredients within New Eden naturally.”
“There is a hatch in the rainforest with technology that connects to the Outside world,” Leaf said, his eyes solely upon Ember, “and an airlock, granting both parties a means for commerce.”
&nbs
p; “More neighbors have gathered outside, Your Majesty,” Skylar said in a hushed, hurried voice, his eyes bouncing between Leaf and Ember.
“More?” Willow asked.
“Yes,” Leaf replied. “They have come in a steady stream, many awakened by Fillion’s thrashing and screaming. It appears news is traveling despite the hour.”
“A crowd has gathered to keep vigil.”
Leaf regarded Skylar once more. “Please tell those who have gathered that the Son of Eden shall make a full recovery and presently rests.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
With an easy rise, Leaf repositioned Laurel and carried her toward her room. A few moments later, he returned and peered in to watch Ember as she sat beside Fillion on the bed, stroking his hand while Johanna held his head up and spooned a small amount of black, shiny liquid into his mouth. The Herbalist pinched his nose while cleaning up the dark dribble that spilled from his mouth, and Fillion grimaced, then swallowed before opening his mouth for air with a slight cough. She lowered him back upon the straw mattress, and his head rolled on the pillow with a soft moan. But he remained unconscious. Joannah left a hemp rag bunched beneath his mouth to catch any residual drips or saliva, ensuring the linens were not stained.
“You should find whatever rest this night promises before sunbreak,” Leaf said softly to Willow. “The matriarchs and village matrons shall arrive soon after first light to prepare you.”
“To prepare me?” Willow knit her brows together.
Leaf leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “Happy sixteenth birthday, Willow Oak.”
“Oh...” Her eyes widened and she placed her hands upon her cheeks. “I had completely forgotten.” She studied Fillion once more, the covers drawn to his upper chest now. “I am afraid to leave,” she whispered.
“He shall not die.” Leaf frowned with understanding. “Nor does he wish to leave you. However, you both need rest.”
“Yes, I am only in the way, nor is my presence desired,” Willow said with a shallow curtsy, trying to not blush and doing a rather poor job of it. Leaf placed his hand upon her arm and she paused, looking up.
“He loves you. Those words were true,” Leaf said. “Do you remember what father would often share?” She watched the flicker of candlelight upon the wall and clasped her hands together. Willow was not in the mood for one of Leaf’s lessons, but she would oblige him. “Our feelings are real, they often become our reality, but they are not always based on truth. Many of Fillion’s fears and heartaches became reality while under the influence of the hallucinogenic. And, for a while, he forgot the truth. He shall remember come morning and you shall see that all your worries were for naught.” She provided a quick nod, feeling her neck and face suffuse with warmth. “Rest well, Oaklee.”
“Willow.”
“Indeed.” Leaf raised an eyebrow. A hint of smile contrasted with the deep circles and lines of fatigue. “Rest well, Willow. It makes my heart glad that at least his company is preferred over that of a snake.” She did not wish to smile, but could not help the pull on her lips with his words.
Just then, the entry door opened and Connor worriedly peeked inside. Leaf gestured for the former Fire Element to enter. Connor slipped in quickly and quietly shut the door. His heavy footsteps clacked across the wooden floor.
“The rumors are running wild,” Connor said, glancing inside the room. “Will he fare well?”
“If you will excuse me,” Willow said, lowering to a curtsy. Both Connor and Leaf regarded her with a bow, remaining quiet as she rose.
After one last glance, taking in Fillion’s pallid complexion and matted hair, she backed into the hallway and trundled to her room. Connor and Leaf could debrief and deliberate with one another. She did not possess the fortitude to listen and relive the horror of this evening.
Collapsing upon her cot, she wrapped the wool blankets around her form until they felt like warm arms, holding her tight while her tears dampened the pillow and her mind drifted into fitful slumber.
A sudden bounce jostled Willow’s body and she flew to a sitting position. A strong ache pounded within her head. She touched her forehead with a grimace, then relaxed her face upon seeing her little sister. Laurel slipped into the covers beside her with a large grin, her amber eyes sparkling.
“You gave me a fright,” Willow said, placing a hand upon her chest. She fell back onto the pillow with a few more deep, measured breaths.
“Oaklee, you will not believe what is in the living room!”
“No?” She rolled to face her sister until they were nose to nose. “Shall you tell me, or must I guess?”
“Neither, you must come see for yourself.” With a giggle, Laurel hopped from the covers and gamboled toward the bedchamber door. “Hurry!” Braids skipped to the beat of her sister’s footsteps, the sounds echoing in Willow’s head until her sister disappeared into the hallway.
“The little imp,” she muttered to the morning shadows.
Sunlight peeked through the shutters and Willow released a tiny groan. Her eyes winced with pain, their swollen state a reminder of all the heartache and intense emotions of the previous night. She came to a sitting position once more, ensuring her nightgown draped over her toes, and luxuriated in the warmth. Then, after several groggy heartbeats, she forced her tired and achy frame into motion. Thankfully, her linen work dress fell over her chemise with ease—one less struggle—and she thus decided against a belt or brushing her hair in favor of traveling into the hallway to see this great surprise.
However, she was not prepared for the image that filled her vision. Willow inhaled sharply, her lungs gulping for air, reliving the shock over and over again. In a trance, she trod toward the corner of the living room where stood a magnificent spinning wheel. The sun’s golden fingers stretched across the floor and nearly touched the wheel’s warm finish. Still, enough light reached the corner to cast a magical aura around the simple, wood machine.
“Am I in a dream?” Willow asked, breathless. Laurel sat in a chair upon Leaf’s lap, barely containing her glee. Her brother, however, met Willow’s eyes with the same weariness she possessed. Nevertheless, a small smile appeared on his face. Incredulous, she asked, “Where did this come from?”
“Inspect the legs and you shall see.”
Smiling, she turned toward the wheel and brushed her fingertips across the smooth surface and over each carved groove. Tingles of excitement shot up her limbs and through her body in sharp bursts of wondrous joy. She knelt on the ground, her exuberance overshadowing her fatigue. As if extensions of her fingers, her eyes caressed each carved and notched oak leaf, every scrape of a whittling blade. Willow nibbled on her lower lip, not sure if she wished to laugh, cry, or perhaps both.
Suspense almost became unbearable when not finding any clue as to the gift-giver after studying two legs. Her knees inched closer to the third leg and her body stilled. There it was, perfectly etched into the wood and her hand flew to her mouth. She snapped her focus back toward Leaf, and her brother’s face softened.
Willow returned to the initials. Her fingers caressed the “F” with reverence before pressing into the leaf that formed from the tip of the last line in the “W,” similar to her father’s carved initials in the linden tree. A giggle emerged, followed by another, and her entire body soon shook with felicity.
As she looked more closely, she noticed salvaged parts from her previous wheel. A blend of the old and the new. Then, she spun the wheel and listened to the melodious whirl, the mechanical song stretching to every corner of the room.
She swiveled toward her brother with a wide smile and asked, “May I see him?”
“And break tradition?” His expression remained guarded, but she recognized the small twinkle in his eyes. “Hurry before the matriarchs arrive. I warrant you would not relish their chastisement.”
Willow nodded her head, while grinning into her shoulder. Per tradition, a woman on her sixteenth birthday was to remain hidden until the even
ing celebration, most especially from potential suitors. With light, quick steps, she entered the hallway and paused before the bedchamber door. The wood groaned with the pressure and movement, and she cringed with the sound. Fillion, however, remained unmoving, his chest rising and falling with deep, peaceful breaths. The bed was positioned back to a normal state and pillows now rested behind his head.
Skylar stirred with her entry and came to a stand, blinking away the sleep. “Your Highness,” he said, stifling a yawn.
Willow pulled her gaze away from Fillion’s undressed state to Skylar, placing a hand to her throat. “Oh, I did not mean to disturb your rest, My Lord.” Willow curtsied, and fussed with her unbrushed hair before turning her back to the bed out of modesty. “I shall return later.”
“No, please. I shall step out momentarily to allow you a private moment.”
“Really, that is quite unnecessary.” And rather scandalous, she continued internally. What would her brother or the matriarchs say about her being alone in a room with an undressed man? Perhaps everyone was too tired and preoccupied to think of such things.
Although she knew better, her feet remained fastened to the floorboards when Skylar brushed past her. Dark circles lined his eyes and he reluctantly looked her way, guilt tinging every movement and gesture in his departure.
Once the door shut, she slowly faced the bed and took in Fillion’s presence with unabashed curiosity. The covers swirled around him in dips and rivulets of shadows cast from the limited light, one of his hands clutching a fold. His waxen complexion seemed unnatural in the gray morning dusk, made more so by his pale lips; although, he possessed more color than a few hours prior. The dark hair had been washed and groomed, a faint shadow of stubble lined his jaw and mouth, and his skin glowed clean.
Willow approached the bed and bit her bottom lip as she admired his bare chest. Although she had seen glimpses of the upper male body on occasion, they were always fleeting and fraught with embarrassment. Now, she felt no shame, only curious reverence as she admired the limp and weakened form of the man who knew her heart as if it were his own. Faint definitions of toned muscle moved across his abdomen with each breath. The hand that clutched the blanket shaped his forearm with the intensity of his grip, and Willow’s mouth parted in pleasure. He was the very definition of beautiful masculinity and she had to remind herself to breathe.
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 55
