Ephemeral and Fleeting

by Patricia Reding

  “I see.” Aliza grimaced in pain.

  “Are you all right, Father?”

  “Yes.” She swallowed hard. “Now, off with you,” she said, tipping her head toward the door. “And don’t come back in here. I’ll find you when I’m ready to see you.”

  The man turned away. A second later, he glanced back for another look.

  “Go on,” she urged, then watched him walk away.

  When he was gone, she released her magic, dropped back her head, and closed her eyes. “Can we just get this over with? I don’t know how long he’s likely to obey my orders.”

  “That is an amazing gift you have,” Dixon said, grinning.

  She shook her head. “All right, what do I do?”

  He handed her a flask. “For starters, drink this.”

  She took a swallow, then pulled back. “Ugh!”

  “Just drink it.”

  She blew out her breath and lifted the flask again. She took another swallow, then started to lower the vessel once more.

  He pressed it back up. “Now.”

  Grimacing all the while, she followed his directions.

  “We’ll hold off on that one for now,” he said, pointing at the other canteen, “since we’ll need to put some on the wound itself to guard against infection.”

  She closed her eyes. Once again, tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “You’re going to be all right,” he said.

  Just then, Dax returned. “Here’s some water,” he said, “and a flat board I found.”

  “I expect it’s quite dirty,” Dixon commented.

  “Well . . . it’s not clean.”

  “Hmmmm. All right . . .” Dixon hesitated, thinking. “Listen, can you build a fire? You should keep it small, but we could use some boiled water to clean her wound and to disinfect these rags before we wrap her arm in them. Also, we could cover the board with some of them before laying her arm on it.”

  “Sure.” Dax stepped away.

  Dixon went for his pack, then returned to Aliza’s side with it in hand. From inside, he removed two cotton cloths. After using his blade to make a tear in one of them, he split it in two, then dropped both halves in the bucket. Once wet, he wrung the excess water out from the rags. Then he wrapped icicles into each of them.

  “The fire is started, and I’ve got a pot of water on to boil,” Dax said upon returning. “Now, if you don’t need me here, I can water the horses.”

  “Good,” Dixon said. Then he removed his cloak from around Aliza’s arm and, once done, placed an icepack on either side of it.

  “I’m cold,” she said, her teeth chattering.

  “Likely, you’re going into shock,” he said. “Let’s get you back down and cover you with my cloak here.”

  As he pushed the bale of hay away and then helped her to recline, Dax returned with another bucket of water. He set it on the floor before his mount.

  “Dax,” Dixon called.

  “Yes?”

  “Is the water boiling yet?”

  “I’ll check.” He walked out and then returned a minute later. “Just about.”

  “While we wait, could you clean out another stall and put some fresh hay in it? We’ll need to get Aliza down and warm before long.”

  Several minutes passed as Dax shoveled old hay out from one of the stalls. Then he retrieved a fresh bail, cut the twine that held it together, and spread the bedding out.

  “This is ready,” he said. “I’ll go check on the water now.”

  A minute later, he returned with a pot of boiling water. He set it down.

  Nodding, Dixon dropped several cloths into it. Then he turned Dax’s way. “I need you to sit behind her and let her lean against you. I want you to hold her at her elbow—firmly.” He looked his friend in the eye.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  Dixon bit his lip, then turned to Aliza. He leaned in. “Aliza, like I said, this is going to hurt. I’m going to pull on your arm just above your wrist here, to pull the bone back. Then I’m going to have to twist it to get it back in place.”

  The spirits having taken effect, she merely groaned.

  “Have you got her?” he asked his friend.

  Dax nodded.

  “All right then—on the count of three. One,” Dixon took her wrist in one hand, “two,” he grasped her arm just below her elbow with his other hand, “three.”

  Quick as a flash, he pulled and, before her resulting scream died away, twisted. Then observing that she’d passed out, and that her arm appeared to be set correctly in place, he let his breath out slowly.

  “Now what?” Dax asked.

  Dixon opened the remaining canteen of spirits. “Now, I pour some of this on it, splint it, and then wrap her arm up in these cloths.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “Yes, you can lay her back, now. Then I suppose you should put the fire out. We’ll eat some of our dried foodstuffs. They’re in my pack. I’ll be with you as soon as I get this done.”

  Minutes later, he crouched down to pick Aliza up off the ground. Then he carried her to the stall that Dax had prepared for them all. Finding a spot thick with clean hay, he put her down.

  “Here,” Dax said, passing over a loaf of semi-stale bread and some dried meat.

  As Dixon sat, the flits—Mercurial, Spectrum, and Evanescent—flew near him. They hovered at his shoulder.

  “That was amazing,” Spec said.

  “Oh, I’d almost forgotten you were here,” he commented.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” the flit asked.

  He shrugged. “Just observing over the years.” He dropped his head in his hand and rubbed it. “Listen,” he said, looking back up, “I think it’s time we sent one of you back to report to Lucy.”

  “I agree,” Merc said.

  “Tell her what happened.” Dixon let his breath out slowly, audibly. “If an infection sets in, I may not have any choice about bringing her back to Oosa, but I’d like to honor her wishes, if possible.”

  “I’ll go,” Spec offered.

  “Fine.” Dixon brushed breadcrumbs from his clothing. “We’re not far from Fallique now. Please just get to Lucy and back as quickly as possible. Maybe she’ll have some ideas for us in the event Aliza’s wound does infect.” He patted his thigh. “I wish we had a healer here with us.”

  “Maybe Lucy could deliver one here.”

  “I’d rather she didn’t. We’ve enough problems as it is.”

  “Shall I leave now?”

  Aware that the flits were ready to set out on their missions at any time of day or night, Dixon nodded. “Sure. Tell her everything. And please—hurry.”

  “I should be able to get there within a couple days. Then I’ll need a couple more to return.” The flit fluttered his wings. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Dixon leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. “Right. We won’t be going anywhere for some time.”

  With that, Spec flew away.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “You don’t dare go, Lucy,” Jerrett said.

  “He’s right,” Velia agreed.

  Frowning at them, she sighed. “If an infection sets in, we could lose her. It’s been days already.” Her hands on the conference table, she leaned in. “Although, I suppose, truth be told, there’s not much I could do anyway. That’s why I asked Percival to stop by here. I want to know if there’s anything I can tell Dixon to do, via Spec, that might help since he doesn’t seem inclined to just bring her back here.” She scowled.

  “Are you sure that’s wise? Telling Percival anything, I mean?” Jerrett asked. “What if he’s . . . you know.”

  “Our leak? Of course, that’s possible, but what choice do we have?” she asked, her hands raised, palms up. Then she dropped them, huffing, as her shoulders sagged.

  “I don’t like it.”

  She sat, then drew a circle in the dust on the tabletop. “I’m just going to tell him that Dixon, Dax, and Ali
za, are in trouble, but I won’t say where they are. I’ll only ask him questions in a general sense.”

  “Where exactly are they?” Velia asked.

  Lucy picked up a scrolled map. As she unrolled it, a crinkling sound filled the air. After putting weights on its corners to hold it flat, she grabbed her owl feather quill, dipped the end of it in a pot of ink, and then circled a place on it.

  “Right here is where Spec says they are—in some old barn on an abandoned farmstead.”

  Jerrett sat back. “If you’re sure,” he said.

  “I am. Now, I’m going to get Percival.” She went to the door and opened it.

  Percival nearly fell inside.

  “Oh!” she cried, surprised. “I was just on my way to find you.”

  He approached, his stride firm and determined. “Spec found me. He said there’s an emergency that you need help with.” He glanced from her to Jerrett, and then to Velia. “So . . . what is it?”

  Lucy told him of the predicament in which their fellow Oathtakers found themselves.

  “Maybe you and I should go,” Percival said. “You could deliver us there.”

  “No, but thank you.” Her eyes flickered toward her friends, then settled back on him.

  “Is that the place there?” he asked as he motioned toward the map.

  Lucy grabbed it and rolled it back up. “Listen,” she said, “I just want to know if there’s anything Dixon could do to help with any infection, should one set in. Apparently, the bone broke through her skin—and they were in an old . . .” She paused. “Well, they’re not in a sterile place, let’s just say.”

  “Sugar,” Percival said.

  She pulled back. “What?”

  “Sugar. If the wound is open, pack it with sugar. Dixon could mix honey with it as well.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Sugar? I’ve never heard of such a—”

  “Nevertheless, it works. Pack it with sugar, then flush it daily and repack it. It will draw the infection out.”

  She stared at him, as though expecting him to break out a big grin. “Are you sure?” she asked when his expression remained stone-cold sober.

  “I’m certain. The remedy dates back centuries. For those without healers readily available, it’s been used frequently—and with great success.”

  Lucy stood and paced again. “Dixon should have some sugar in with his general supplies,” she muttered. She turned back. “How much would it take?”

  “He just needs enough to make a sludge of it. Pack it in and around the wound, and then leave it open—or cover it. It doesn’t really matter.”

  “That’s it? You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Well,” Velia piped up, “you know, if Dixon doesn’t have any sugar with him, it’s usually fairly easy to get. So it seems the perfect option.”

  “Huh. All right. Thank you, Percival,” Lucy said to him. Then resuming her seat she added, “That’s it for now.”

  He stood and stepped toward the door, then turned back. “Ahhh, Lucy . . . may I have a word with you?”

  “Certainly.” She met him at his side.

  He looked down, then glanced back at her. “I wondered if you might join me—”

  “Thank you, Percival,” she cut him off, “but no.”

  He made as though to say more, then clamped his mouth shut and nodded. “All right then,” he said. “Jerrett,” he nodded his way, and then, “Velia,” he added addressing her. With that, he made his way out.

  Before the door fully closed, Spec flew up from the tabletop whereupon he’d been sitting.

  “Oh!” Lucy said, surprised at his sudden movement. “Well, you know what you’re to tell Dixon.”

  “If that’s it, then I’ll be off,” the flit said.

  “That’s all,” Lucy said, “but do have one of you report back again as quickly as possible.”

  “Consider it done.” With that, he flew to the door, waited for her to open it for him, and then sped off.

  He watched and listened through the hole in the wall as Lucy, Jerrett, and Velia, left the conference room. It had proven to be an excellent place to go when he sought information. From it, he’d learned all about Mara’s powers, including of her ability to make crystals from her flares that could be used as weapons. He’d warned Daeva about them before Zarek’s men captured her and the twins, so that if they were carrying any at the time, the men could confiscate them. He was also relieved when Daeva assured him that she’d be unable to make any more of them, or make use of any of her other magic in a manner that would allow her to break free from her cell. He smiled at the thought. Then he scooted nearer the door leading out from his hiding place.

  He brushed his sleeve across his face when the dusty air tickled his nose, recalling that he’d almost sneezed from it earlier. He frowned, considering the catastrophe that might have been. Fortunately, he’d not succumbed.

  Placing his ear to the closet door, he listened. Hearing nothing, he turned the knob, opened the door a few inches to the eerie sound of squeaking hinges, and then peeked out.

  Nothing.

  He made his way out of the closet and then to the doorway that led to the hall. Once again, he put his ear to the door.

  Just outside, Lucy visited with Jerrett and Velia as the three of them passed by.

  He looked out as they left the building. Then he shimmied around the corner to the conference room door. Quickly, he turned the handle, opened it, and then stepped inside.

  Ahhh!

  The rolled up map sat in the same place where Lucy had left it. He was grateful for the chance to get a good look at it, as it would provide him with the information he required.

  Lucy really is slipping. She’d just made another foolish, grievous, error.

  Hearing boots clicking in the hallway, he pulled away from the table. Seconds later, the footsteps moved on.

  Turning back to the map, he unrolled it. Then, after noting the markings on it, he quickly rolled it back up and returned it to the place where Lucy had left it.

  He made his way to the door, then cracked it open. Finding the hallway empty, he stepped out.

  Barely able to contain his glee, he rushed through the building and sanctuary grounds to his room.

  Upon arrival, he entered, closed the door behind, and locked it.

  He made his way to stand before a mirror that hung on the wall. Then as he’d done numerous times in the past, he called on the power of Daeva.

  When the underlord arrived seconds later, he gloried in the pain that came of the spirit’s heat. It was ecstatic; it left him momentarily speechless.

  Finally, getting a grip on himself, he relayed all that he’d learned.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Dax placed a fresh cold compress to Aliza’s forehead. “Her temperature is still rising,” he said. Then, turning to Dixon, he added in a whisper, “I’m afraid if you don’t take her back to Oosa, we could lose her.”

  Having started a campfire earlier, and then boiling water over it, Dixon put a pot of it on a nearby shelf before crouching down beside his friend. Covering his face with his hands, he tapped his fingertips to his forehead.

  “Arrgghhh!” he cried. He jumped to his feet, then stopped and patted out a rhythm on his thigh. “Spec should be back any time now,” he said. “Maybe he’ll have something for us. Above all, I’d like to honor her wishes of staying with us, if that’s possible.”

  “He left four days ago.”

  “Yes, and he knew we needed him to hurry back.”

  Aliza fidgeted. Then, slowly, her eyes opened. She stared at Dax as though unable to identify him.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  Groaning, her eyes closed again.

  Just then, came a flutter at Dixon’s side.

  “Oh, Spec! Thank the Good One!” he cried upon recognizing the flit.

  “I got here as quickly as I could.” He flew nearer Aliza. “How is she?”

  “Not wel
l, I’m afraid,” Dax said.

  “Did Lucy have anything for us?” Dixon asked. “As we’d feared, her wound has infected.”

  “Yes.” Spec landed on the hay mound that served as Aliza’s pillow. Then, “Sugar,” he announced.

  “What?”

  “Sugar. You’re to make a poultice of it, then pack it around the open wound. It will draw out the infection.”

  He pulled back. “That’s—”

  “Wild. Yes, Lucy would agree. But that’s what Percival said to do.”

  Dixon wiped his hair back with his fingers. “Well, I know he was a trained healer even before he became an Oathtaker. So he should know what he’s talking about.” He paused. “All right then, we’ll give it a try.”

  “It would be great if you can mix it with honey, as well,” Spec added.

  Dixon grabbed his saddlebag. “I usually carry some sugar with my standard supplies,” he said as he dumped the contents out. “Yes, here it is.” Holding a cloth bag that was tied up with a string, he tossed it, and then caught it in his other hand. “So . . . honey, huh? Where would I get that?”

  Once again, Aliza’s eyes fluttered open. At the same moment, the man who’d come to the barn the day the Oathtakers had first arrived, stepped inside.

  She looked his way. Somehow recognizing the potential danger to them all, she summoned her strength to turn her magic on.

  The man stood still, clearly bewildered. “Father,” he said, “I thought you were going to come to see me.”

  “And I will.” Aliza’s glazed-over eyes glanced Dixon’s way, then turned back to the man. “But I’m not well just now. I need honey. Get some, give it to these men, and then go away.”

  He bobbed his head.

  “Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Go now.” With that, Aliza’s eyes closed and her head fell to the side.

  “Follow him, Dax,” Dixon ordered. Then he proceeded to remove the bandages from Aliza’s arm. “Ughh,” he muttered as the putrid odor of the infection that had settled in, rose into the air.

  Her wound wept a green-yellow puss.

  He dipped a clean cloth into the hot water and then washed it. Tender though he sought to be, it broke open at his touch.