by Candy Crum
They finally arrived, cutting the conversation off temporarily. Adam helped Bast get her twin sister inside and seated on a medical table.
Cleo grunted as she got herself in a comfortable position, at least as much as was possible. "Margit didn't elaborate, but she did mention the city having had a hard time as of late. I'm sorry to hear that. Even if she can't directly help, if she can point us in the direction of someone who can, I would be very grateful."
“The two of ye need ta get some rest, is what ye need,” Sven said from behind them.
Bast and Cleo both smiled, though the rearick couldn’t see it.
Adam nodded as two women came into the room to sit next to Cleo. "Very well, then. I'll be back within the hour to give you an update, though I can't promise when Amelia might arrive. She’s still very busy, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She's very kind, and I'm sure she’ll make time for you quickly."
Bast and Cleo both gave nods of thanks as he turned and left the medical building. Cleo groaned deep in her throat as the second woman began cutting her shirt off.
The woman grimaced as she looked at the wound. "Child, this looks terrible. It stretches all the way from your left shoulder to under your rib cage on the right. I don't know how you survived this."
Cleo snorted. "It's not as deep as it looks, but it sure as hell hurts like it was. If I hadn't dodged, I'd be a little less alive today. The Bitch has blessed me with speed."
The caretaker nodded, giving her a smile. "She certainly has. My name is Clarice. I'm the doctor here, and this is my assistant, Sherry."
Cleo nodded at both, and ground her teeth as Clarice began poking and prodding her wound. She saw the woman grimace again. "That's not the expression of someone who’s happy about what she sees."
Clarice sighed as she sat back. "Unfortunately, you're right. About a few things, actually. First, while the wound isn't as deep as it looks, in a couple places it went down to the bone. Deep or not, I don't know how you survived this. Secondly, your friend obviously did an excellent job of keeping you alive. I would have to say that if not for him, you wouldn't have made it here alive, much less in good humor. That being said, the wound wasn't properly cleaned, and I see signs of infection beginning."
Cleo swallowed hard, knowing what that meant. She took a deep breath and blew it out, nodding. "Knock my ass out hard. I don't even wanna know I'm alive."
"I take it you know what comes next?" Clarice asked.
Both Cleo and Bast nodded. Bast looked at her sister with compassion before turning her gaze to Clarice. "Where we come from, girls didn't used to train to fight. That slowly began to change, and now they'll take able-bodied fighters no matter their gender. But back then, our mom just wanted us to be innocent little girls. We didn't care much for that."
Both girls laughed, Cleo immediately regretting the decision as she tensed up with pain.
"One day, we got our father's swords and began training with them. We were twelve at the time. Cleo came at me and sliced my thigh open almost from hip to knee. It wasn't very deep, about like that one right there, but we had to hide what had happened."
Cleo nodded, continuing her sister’s story. "I ran and got the towels and the needle and thread. It was my job to slow the bleeding while she stitched it up. She did a terrible job, but it worked."
"Until a few days later, when it festered. I got a fever, and we had no choice but to tell Mama what happened. She had to use a hot wet towel to soften the scab and scrape it all off, then open the wound again and clean it with soap, hot water, and antiseptic. That's a pain I will never forget," Bast finished.
With a sigh, Cleo said, "I remember just how loud she screamed and how she damn near broke my hand. So, like I said—I want you to knock my ass out. I don't even wanna know I'm alive."
The doctor nodded. "Unfortunately, that's very true. Not only because that's what I'm gonna have to do, but also because this will probably be far more painful. It's on the chest, and you don't have nearly the amount of meat there that a thigh does. I'm out of some of my supplies because of everything that has happened recently. It'll take me a couple hours, but I can hunt down some belladonna and make you a tea."
Cleo shook her head. "That'll take too long. Now that I know you have to pull the stitches out, pull this apart, scrape it clean, wash it, and sterilize it, my adrenaline is going. I'm ready now. If you wait, I'll freak myself out. Either hit me with something, or get me some strong alcohol."
Bast shrugged as the doctor looked at her. While the doctor was concerned, Bast wasn't. She knew her sister, and knew she was very serious.
Sven came in holding a jug, and Cleo shook her head. "I'd rather be wide-awake while she does this than drink that shit again. That's probably what made it rot to begin with."
The rearick smiled and shook his head. "Hey, rearick brew ain’t all that bad. It prolly kept the rot away, young lassie. But this ain't that swill, so don't you worry. I went down ta the bar, anticipatin’ this might be painful fer ye, and she gave me what was left in this jug. It ain't a lot, but it should do."
Cleo held out her hand, immediately pulling the jug to her mouth and chugging some of it. It burned terribly, but it wasn't nearly as bad as whatever Sven had given her on the road.
In half an hour, Cleo was completely drunk, thanks to the empty stomach she’d had when she began drinking, and Doctor Clarice began removing the stitches. The girl held it together for a while, until the doctor began peeling away the scab she had softened with a hot towel.
They put a dry rag in her mouth as she screamed, but it didn't do much good. She spat it out, shrieking, "Ah! Fucking Bitch and Bastard!" before launching into a series of creative and admittedly comical oaths no one in the room—even her sister—had heard before.
Bast had to turn her head to keep from laughing, knowing just how painful the procedure was from her own personal experience.
"Get that rearick sonofabitch in here!" Cleo shouted. "Have ‘im punch me in the face!"
Brighter light shined in through the door as it opened, and a beautiful woman stepped through it with confusion and worry on her face. "What the hell's going on in here?"
Cleo lifted only her eyes, her chin still on her chest as she scowled at whoever had come in. "Who the fuck is that, now? It sure as shit ain't the rearick!" She screamed again, throwing her head back.
"Amelia," the doctor said, a bit of relief in her voice. "Cleo here came in with the group of rearick. They said she and her sister saved their lives. I'm trying to clean her wound, but it isn't going well."
Amelia's eyes widened as she stepped farther in and saw the half-naked girl lying on the table with her chest cut open. "Sonofabitch," Amelia said. "Why the hell didn't you knock her out?"
"Gah! Thank you," Cleo groaned out. "I'd like to know the same fucking thing."
"Wait, you're Amelia?" Bast asked.
"Ouch, motherfucker," Cleo said. "What part of Clarice calling her ‘Amelia’ didn't give that away?"
Bast snorted. "Boy, you sure are mean when you're in a little pain."
If looks could kill, Bast would have died with a thousand knives piercing her face right then. Cleo glared the daggers at her instead before grimacing with another round of pain.
"Clarice," Amelia said sternly, "anesthesia. Why isn't there any?"
Clarice sighed. "With everything that happened with the mystics, I'm out of drugs. I offered to find belladonna, but she said no. We gave her enough whiskey to take down a grown-ass rearick. She's all of ninety-five pounds, and she drank enough to kill a man twice that. She should've been unconscious by now."
Bast thought she saw the hint of a smile on Amelia's face as she came to stand at the foot of the table, but a concerned expression replaced it.
"I don't know if I'll be able to help, but I'll give it a shot," Amelia said as she pushed back Cleo's pants legs to reveal her bare ankles. She wrapped her hands around them, her eyes flashing white as she did.
W
ithin seconds Cleo's pain-filled expression faded. Her body was almost relaxed.
Amelia nodded. "I'm not as good as a real mystic, not by a longshot. We don't have much time, so get moving. She'll still feel pain, but hopefully it won't be nearly as bad. I don't have the power to knock her out."
No one spoke as Clarice once again began cleaning the wound. She moved as quickly as possible, using a new hot, wet rag to wipe away what little scabbing had occurred on the surface along with the pus.
As she was switching rags, readying the next step, the girl passed out. Having Amelia calming her and helping her deal with the pain had allowed her enough comfort to be able to fall asleep, and she had succumbed to the effects of the alcohol.
It was a miracle, one they were each grateful for.
Though Amelia didn't have to use her power much after that, she stuck around in case Cleo woke up. It took over an hour, but the wound was cleaned and re-stitched. From there, they would just have to clean it carefully and re-wrap it properly every day.
Several hours later Cleo finally awoke, her head splitting from the hangover. She groaned as Bast handed her a mug. "Drink this. I've had it ready for you, since I figured you'd wake up with a nasty headache."
Without speaking, Cleo took the mug and drank it all down before handing it back to her sister. She sighed heavily and laid back, lifting her hands to massage her head.
"That was seriously the worst pain I think I have ever felt in my life."
Bast smiled. "Before this is over, I have a feeling you'll be saying that again about something else."
Cleo knew her sister was referring to the fight back home. She gasped, her eyes widening and her hands falling to her sides as she turned to her sister. "Amelia! We need to talk to her!"
A soft shushing sound came from across the room. It was Amelia. Cleo had thought she had left. "Don't worry about all that right now. I know that's easier said than done, but do your best. Focus on yourself. Bast already told me everything."
Cleo looked at her sister again, obvious questions floating in her mind.
"Amelia says she is stuck here because of her duty to her own people, but she knows a group of people who would probably be willing to help," Bast said.
Amelia nodded. "Unfortunately, the druids of the Dark Forest are about to fight a war of their own. I have a friend there whose name is Arryn. The two of you should stay here in Arcadia where it's safe until that fight is over. It shouldn't be long now."
"Wait, they have to go to war too? Didn't you just have a war here? What the hell is going on in this valley?" Cleo asked as she looked from Amelia to Bast and back.
Her sister smiled, smoothing back the dampened braids that had fallen around Cleo's face. "It really is a long story. Arcadia’s problems have been settled, but now the druids must fight for their home. They helped take Arcadia back from darkness, and now they have to fight for their own people and for their own home."
Cleo's brows furrowed. "Fuck that."
Both Bast and Amelia's eyes widened. Bast leaned closer to her sister. "Cleo, if there's anyone in this world who understands what they're going through, it's us. How can you say that?"
Shaking her head, Cleo said, "No. I do understand. That's why we're not gonna sit here on our asses while they fight for their lives. How's that going to sound? ‘Hey, we knew you had a war to fight, but we kind of hung out in the safe city and let you do that by yourself when we totally had the strength to help. We didn't do shit for you, but how would you like to come back with us and help us fight our battle?’"
Bast nodded. "Okay, I see your point. So… what? Do you think you’re in any condition to fight? I agree we should help them with their fight if we plan to ask them for help with ours, but we also can't just run out there with you in so much pain. You could bust your stitches open. You could be slow enough that someone could kill you."
"Hmmm..." Amelia drawled. "I don't mean to get in the middle of this, but the druids have different magic than what you've probably ever heard of. They can heal, among many other things. Bast, earlier when we were talking, you mentioned the trees in the street. Those were grown in just a couple of minutes by several druids. All they have to do is touch your sister, and that wound would be gone in seconds."
Cleo smiled. "See? It's meant to be. We were meant to come here, especially right now. We can help them win their fight, and my injury won't even matter."
Bast seemed a bit more excited about the idea. "Once they heal you, we’ll be ready to fight by their sides."
Amelia smiled. "I'm sad I'm going to miss out on this one."
11
Arryn and Corrine once again woke early, before the sun had even risen. The Chieftain had resumed regular festivities the night before, which Arryn suspected was because he’d had such a hard time talking about the past. Most of his tale had been told, although he had skimmed over many years to keep his nightly storytelling sessions on that particular subject as short as possible.
The important parts had been told. She understood now, and so did everyone else.
High in the trees the birds were singing loudly, like they always did first thing in the morning—a sound that Arryn could never get enough of. As they walked, Corrine reached out and grabbed her hand. Arryn smiled and gave it a hard squeeze and twined their fingers as they continued to walk.
“Can I ask you a question?” Corrine asked.
Arryn smiled. “You just did, but yes.”
“I know you probably don’t like to think about it, but I heard you talking to Celine a few days ago about your father. You said the dark druids have him. Are you sure?”
“I’m not sure about anything. There’s no way for me to know if they have him or not, but I suspect they do. At the very least, they did. After all this time, they might have killed him, but several things tell me he’s still alive,” Arryn answered.
Corrine kicked a small rock out of her path, pulling Arryn forward a bit as she did. “Well, what things tell you that?”
Arryn shrugged. “It’s not proof or anything, but my gut tells me he’s alive. Deep down, I just feel like that’s the truth. Other than that, about two months ago I was dumped on the top of the tallest mountain in the Frozen North. While I was there, the dark druids attacked the southern village to take back one of their own.
“A mystic named Scarlett was with them, helping them. When I heard the story, I couldn’t understand why she’d do that, except that she’d planned to use them in return. The day I killed her, she talked about my father. She mentioned telling him something about how terrible I was—I don’t really remember. But she talked about him in the present tense, as if she knew where he was and that he was alive.”
Corrine looked up as a chubby squirrel loudly chased another through the branches. “Do you believe her?”
Arryn laughed. “You sure are full of questions this morning. Zoe told me Scarlett didn’t know where he was, but I suspect otherwise. Elon told us someone with what sounded suspiciously like dark druid abilities snuck into the city and took him. That tells me they have him now. Given Scarlett had helped them and had later mentioned him as she did, I think she might have even seen him. None of that is proof, of course, but I believe it.”
“Why haven’t you gone after him?” she asked. “I’ll help you find him!”
Arryn lifted Corrine’s little hand to her mouth, kissing the back of it. “You are a very sweet girl, but there is still so much for you to learn. You have lost so much, and so have I. Let’s not lose each other, okay? Because if I go alone, I won’t make it back. If you go, neither will you. Even together, we wouldn’t survive. It would take much more than that.”
She sighed as she looked down into eyes that had seen so much, yet still looked at her with absolute trust—a trust she hadn’t ever experienced in her short life.
“We have to wait until the time is right, and I have to believe the Chieftain and Elysia. I keep reminding myself that they’ve never led me astray. If the da
rk druids have kept him alive this long, they’re not going to kill him anytime soon.”
As they approached the training pit, they saw Samuel and Celine already out there practicing. They had spent a lot of time on ranged weapons, and now he was teaching her hand-to-hand combat. He wanted to show her the rearick way, because it was quicker to learn and very practical in a pinch. He decided that once she knew how to properly throw a punch, she could learn the “fancy footwork,” as he called it, if she wanted. She would have a great foundation.
“What if they’re hurting him?” Corrine asked.
Arryn stopped, a heavy sigh escaping her. “I know that’s more than likely the situation, but I can’t let myself focus on that. You have no idea how hard it is for me to stand around here knowing that could be happening, but the truth is, if I run off, I don’t just risk my own life.
“If I die, what happens to Cathillian? I know how much he cares about me, and he might do something without thinking first. What if he died? What would happen to his mother? To his grandfather? If anything happened to them, what would happen to the tribe?
“I would never think I’m important enough to determine the tribe’s future, but I do know how important family is. They love me, and I love them. Family means everything here, and if something happened to me, it would hurt them. That’s not a risk I’m willing to take. That was what my father taught me the day he sent me here—those you love are more important than your own personal well-being. I just hope I can hold it together a little while longer, because just between the two of us, I’m about to lose it.”
Jace had just finished gathering what he could for breakfast when a falcon flew overhead. It landed on a stone at the mouth of the cave before flying over to land on a tree stump that was used for sitting around the fire pit.
