Beyond Ragnarok

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  “Hold on!” Kevral slammed her gelding’s sides with her heels, and it pitched forward after the escaping ambusher. Before she reached him, however, Tae appeared so suddenly that the Easterner jerked backward with a gasp to keep from running into him. Tae and Kevral both lunged for him. Matrinka screamed, agony in Kevral’s ears. Tae’s eyes widened as he realized Kevral would not pull her charge, or her strike. He threw himself flat to the ground, rolling. Kevral’s sword hammered the Easterner, the cut sending his body flying, and the gelding’s hooves thundered past Tae.

  Tae scrambled to his feet and halfway up the nearest tree before Kevral managed to turn her mount around and walk calmly to him. “I’m sorry,” she said, not meaning a word of it and hoping her tone conveyed that.

  Tae clung to the bark. “Are you safe now? I mean, as safe as you get. Not quite so deadly to people on your side.”

  Darris rode up, assisting Matrinka from the rump of Kevral’s horse, a maneuver the young Renshai allowed without comment.

  Tae started down the tree. “Because I don’t think my heart can last through a lifetime of near misses. Forgive my criticism, but I only think it can stop and restart beating so many times.” He dropped the jokes for a moment. “I’ve seen you fight. You could have pulled that attack.”

  “Of course, I could have.” Kevral would not deny the truth, especially when doing so might disparage her sword work and her control. “I was trying to teach you a lesson.”

  “What,” Tae demanded. “A critical analysis of the moments prior to death?”

  “Not to disappear when we need you.” Kevral used the bandage still stuffed in her injured fist to thoroughly clean her blade. The gentle pressure of steel against her hand shot fiery pangs through the wound. Nevertheless, she managed to finish the job and sheathe the sword.

  Oblivious to Kevral’s agony, Tae defended his actions. “Is that what you think I do? Scurry off to another dimension to hide while my friends risk their lives?”

  The pain grew unbearable. Tae’s words flowed around her like an Erythanian drum chant.

  “I killed two Easterners in their camp in the woods and scattered their horses to even the fight. I’m not a Renshai or a knight or a bard. I’m not good enough with a weapon to plunge willy-nilly into combat and trust my sword to keep me alive. If I catch them by surprise, that usually gains me enough of an edge to make up for not having a lifetime of . . .” He trailed off, apparently cued by Kevral’s demeanor. “Are you all right?”

  Tae’s voice seemed to come through a tunnel, from a long distance. Kevral nodded, answering more from habit than honesty. “I’m fine.” Suddenly, staying on her horse seemed more chore than she could manage. She gripped the pommel with her uninjured hand while the world spun in lazy circles around her.

  “Matrinka!” Tae hollered, the worry in his voice penetrating Kevral’s fog. He turned his attention to the Renshai. “Here, let me help you down.”

  “I don’t need help,” Kevral responded mechanically, shifting her weight to the left for a dismount and overbalancing. She tumbled from the saddle with a suddenness that caught even Tae off his guard. He slowed her descent but failed to catch her. She flopped to the ground, unhurt but unsupported.

  Ra-khir’s face appeared above her. “Kevral, are you well?”

  “She just slid right off,” Tae explained.

  “I’m fine,” Kevral could not stop herself from answering, feeling as if she had drunk too much wine. “Are you all right?” She rolled to her hands and knees, but before she could stand, Ra-khir hefted her in strong arms.

  “Are you all right?” Kevral repeated. “I saw them shoot you.” A stomach cramp rammed through her abdomen, and she stiffened in his grip.

  “Didn’t make it through the mail,” Ra-khir responded absently, allaying her concerns in order to redirect the discussion. “Where does it hurt?”

  “My hand. My stomach.” Kevral glanced about for Tae, who seemed to have disappeared again. Restlessness assailed her, and she found herself unable to focus. Her eyes shifted of their own accord, and the forest jumped overhead.

  Ra-khir set Kevral down on a bed of blankets and leaves that Matrinka must have arranged. The Béarnide uncurled Kevral’s fingers and studied the wound while Ra-khir paced in frantic circles that only worsened her vertigo. “Something caught her right across here,” Matrinka drew a line parallel to the injury on Kevral’s palm, then dumped icy water over it.

  Pain ached from the wound, through Kevral’s fingers, and up her arm in a rush. “Ow!” The immediacy of the agony momentarily cleared the fog, and she followed the first expletive with a swear word she had never used in her life. The cramp passed, dispersing as if the water’s pressure had driven shards through the cut.

  Matrinka shrank from Kevral’s reaction. “Sorry,” she said meekly. “No matter what else I do, I have to clean it.”

  Kevral managed to quip through a dry mouth and a tongue that felt swollen, “But do you have to clean it with broken glass?”

  Matrinka dabbed at the wound more gently, then applied a salve, each faint touch sparking suffering that set Kevral sucking air through her teeth. The stress of trying to work under those conditions reached even Matrinka. She turned on Ra-khir suddenly. “Would you sit still! You’re getting in my light, and your pacing is making me crazy!”

  “Sorry,” Ra-khir said contritely. “Can I help?”

  “No,” Matrinka said, then changed her answer instantly. “Yes. Do something to calm her, could you?”

  Ra-khir carefully took Kevral’s other hand, staying out of Matrinka’s way and squeezing the Renshai’s fingers with an affection that did manage to distract Kevral from the pain. Darris launched into a low, sweet song that seeped into Kevral’s muscles and seemed to physically loosen them one by one.

  Tae returned as Matrinka finished with the wound. “Here’s your culprit!” He dropped an empty vial at Matrinka’s feet, followed by one filled with purple-black berries.

  Matrinka’s brows twitched as she stared dumbly at the berries.

  “What is it?” Ra-khir finally asked, his tone conveying that it must be something horrible, judging from Matrinka’s expression.

  Kevral shook her head, trying to clear it. She could scarcely contain the agitation that made her want to surge to her feet and do something, anything, to expend it.

  “I have absolutely no idea,” Matrinka admitted.

  Darris continued playing, his words becoming entwined with the music so that Kevral could no longer distinguish individual sounds. She concentrated on his playing, the diversion allowing her to maintain control she would otherwise have lost.

  “Isn’t this what you do?” Tae pressed. “You studied healing. You know herbs.”

  “I studied healing in Béarn.” Matrinka’s voice gained the breathy quality that accompanied tears. “That’s all the way on the other side of the world. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  Tae glanced at Ra-khir. Kevral watched their faces whirl and blur together. “You better check yourself, Red. Make sure that arrow didn’t nick you.”

  “It didn’t touch me. I’m fine.” Ra-khir shook off the question brusquely, unwilling to claim attention from one who needed it. Then, apparently recognizing the concern behind such a warning, he softened his tone. “Thank you for thinking of it and worrying for me. I really am fine.”

  Finally, Matrinka spoke directly to Kevral. “Kevral?”

  Kevral’s mind conjured a vortex through which Matrinka’s words spun before they reached her ears. She managed to croak out a “yes.”

  “You’ve been poisoned, and we’re trying to help you. Drink this.”

  Kevral wanted to tell Matrinka that her stomach seethed, and the idea of placing anything inside it seemed madness. But the healer poured a cold liquid down her throat before she could protest. Kevral forced herself to swallow.

  “What is it?” someone asked. Kevral did not waste concentration identifying the speaker.

  K
evral’s limbs twitched, beyond her control.

  “A universal antidote,” Matrinka returned. “It may or may not help, but it certainly won’t hurt.”

  Kevral’s guts pitched and rolled, then lurched. She tried to twist her head, her only thought to protect the blankets, then vomited. The warm acid set off an elaborate reaction. She felt every muscle twitch into a violent convulsion, then all awareness left her.

  Chapter 40

  Frost Reaver’s Charge

  There can be no skill without pain.

  —Colbey Calistinsson

  Kevral awakened to nausea and stabbing pains in her injured hand. She shifted, the movement sending agony tearing through every muscle. It also brought Ra-khir instantly to her side. “Kevral,” he whispered.

  Kevral placed a hand on his, not quite ready to attempt speech but wanting to let him know she understood him. She likened the discomfort to the soreness she suffered daily, after proper practices; only this seemed more generalized, affecting some parts she rarely worked so hard. She opened her eyes. Moonlight glared down, seeming too bright through the branches. She squinted, blinking to protect her vision. Her stomach felt knotted, twisting and writhing within her. “What happened,” she finally said.

  “Poison,” Ra-khir explained in a word, his green eyes sharp with rage, presumably against the immoral bowman who dared to use it. “You had a seizure.”

  “Oh.” That explained the muscle pains.

  “Several,” he added.

  “Oh,” Kevral said again. “Am I done?” Her hand did not throb as much as it had the previous day, and she seemed to have more control over her mind and body.

  “You seem to be. Do you feel better?”

  “Mostly,” Kevral dismissed the soreness. With time, that would pass. “What does Matrinka say?”

  “She said . . .” Ra-khir winced, but honor forced him to tell the truth. “She said there’re two parts to surviving any poisoning.”

  “The part I made it through.”

  “Right,” Ra-khir gazed off into the distance and kissed her hand with an absent fondness, as if he did not realize he had done it. “When you fell asleep, we didn’t know if you’d lapsed into a coma. Or if you’d awaken with your mind intact.”

  “Is that the second part?” Kevral ventured.

  “No.” Ra-khir clasped her hand in both of his and returned his attention directly to her. The moon lit blond highlights in his hair, softening its otherwise vibrant color. He looked like a Béarnian carving, an artist’s rendition of the male ideal. “There could be damage to a vital organ. Matrinka says poisons that do that usually target one system.”

  If it’s vital, one is all it takes. Kevral did not bother to speak the words aloud.

  “Kevral Tainharsdatter, there’s something I have to say to you.”

  Kevral closed her eyes again. Here it comes. She tried to steel herself from the inevitable flood of emotion his words would bring.

  “I love you, Kevral.” Ra-khir’s tone captured the depth of feeling words could never fully express.

  Despite preparation, Kevral could not stop the quickening of her heart. The previous day, she had believed Tae the one with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Now, that idea seemed strange. The man who sat vigil by her bedside through the night suited her far better. The maneuver she had seen him execute from horseback was worthy of the master warrior horseman, Colbey himself. She needed a man who could surprise and challenge her with his weapon work, one who took his lessons with sword as seriously, or nearly so, as she did. And their upbringings matched more closely as well. “I love you, too,” she admitted, speaking truth but feeling like a traitor to both men.

  Kevral had expected Ra-khir’s pronouncement. His next words caught her fully off her guard. “I’d like you to marry me.”

  Shocked, Kevral lost her voice.

  Ra-khir lowered his head, waiting patiently for some reply.

  “Now?” Kevral quipped, resorting to humor to dispel the tension.

  “Not necessarily right now.” Ra-khir laughed. “We’ve got other problems to deal with first.”

  “Like whether or not I live till tomorrow.”

  Ra-khir bit his lip. “So, the answer to my question. That’s a maybe?”

  “Yes.” Kevral caught herself. “I mean, yes, that’s a maybe not ‘yes’. . . .”

  “I knew what you meant,” Ra-khir reassured her. He huffed out a short sigh, caught her gaze with his, and delivered an insight Kevral never expected. “You love Tae, too, don’t you?”

  Kevral drew a deep breath, preparing for the long explanation Ra-khir deserved. But the words would not come, so she had to content herself with a simple, “Yes.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed. Finally, Ra-khir spoke, “What are you going to do?” His tone conveyed hope and curiosity rather than the demand she expected and he had every right to exercise.

  “First, I’m going to survive.”

  Ra-khir nodded at the obvious. “That goes without saying. Your death would clearly preclude any other action.”

  “Second, I’m going to help rescue the heir to Béarn’s throne.”

  “Of course.”

  Kevral paused while Ra-khir waited for the all-important third. “Then, I’m going to reassess how I feel and make a choice. Following that, I’ll gladly take whichever of you is still waiting for an obnoxious, young warrior to make a decision she had no right to expect either of you to tolerate. Or, if you’ve both had the sense to leave me for someone more deserving, I’ll die alone.”

  “Love comes when and where it does. I can’t just throw it away like a sword too chipped to keep an edge. I’ll wait,” Ra-khir promised.

  Kevral snuggled back into her blanket while Ra-khir prepared to watch over her again. “Somehow,” she said through a yawn. “Though I have no right to expect it, I knew that’s what you’d say.”

  * * *

  Ra-khir kept a close watch over Kevral through a day of travel and into the next. Her attitude told him that her morning practice did not go as well as she hoped. That she had only just recovered from the acute effects of poison apparently did not factor into her expectations, or else not fully enough. Thinking back, Ra-khir remembered she had accepted the news about her convulsions so easily, leaving him to wonder if she truly understood how near she had come to dying or that she was not yet out of danger.

  Losing Kevral to the delayed consequences of poison was only one of the many hazards plaguing the day’s travel. Tae rode ahead most of the day, returning at intervals to drag them deeper into the woodlands. Their progress suffered, and, with it, their tempers. Easterners like the ones they fought blocked the trails at widespread intervals, and no one seemed eager to face their swords or toxic arrows again.

  As day darkened into night, the trees became more foreboding. In daylight, the cheerful chorus of birds accompanied them through the trees, brush, and tangles; at night, they disappeared. The jerky rustle of squirrels collecting nuts and berries was replaced by unidentifiable swishing and the occasional whiff of musk where a fox had once passed. They chose not to light a fire, though no one dared to admit this caution stemmed from fear of whom the light or smoke might attract. To do so might mean forcing Kevral into a battle they could not win.

  After the evening meal, Matrinka took a seat beside Kevral and asked the questions a healer needed to know while Darris, Ra-khir, and Tae listened in silence. Although Kevral seemed embarrassed to discuss personal details in front of an audience, even one of close friends, she replied promptly to all of Matrinka’s queries. Only two abnormalities emerged: Kevral felt more fatigue than usual, and she had not urinated since the seizures.

  Ra-khir slept fitfully until his watch, worried throughout his time awake, then woke Matrinka for hers with relief. No matter how bad Kevral’s prognosis, it could prove no worse than the horrors his mind created from ignorance. Plucking at Matrinka’s arm, he let her know he wanted to talk to her beyond earshot of t
heir sleeping companions, and Matrinka followed him a short distance away. “What do you think?” he asked.

  Matrinka looked at him sleepily. “I’m tired, but I can handle it.”

  Ra-khir was taken aback until he realized she had answered a different question than he’d asked. Concern had caused him to make assumptions. “I meant about Kevral. Do you think she’ll be all right?”

  Matrinka mulled this over longer than necessary. Surely, she already had an opinion. “She seems reasonably well.” The tone suggested worries left unsaid.

  “You’d expect her to be tired, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s only natural after poisoning, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  The assurances only partially relieved Ra-khir’s tension. “And the urine?”

  Matrinka took a deep breath through her nose and released it suddenly through her mouth. “I’m sorry, Ra-khir. It’s a bad sign.” She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “A very bad sign.”

  Although Ra-khir had expected it, the truth still struck him a blow that took the strength from all the muscles in his limbs at once. He staggered a step, then caught his balance, which surprised him. His mind had prepared him for collapsing into a helpless heap. “Can you help her?” he asked meekly, feeling desperately useless.

  “I can try.” Matrinka took Ra-khir’s hand, the touch warm and comforting. “But I can only guess. I don’t know the poison, and I don’t know how it works.”

  “But you know how the body works, right?”

  “Actually, Ra-khir, all the healers in the world together only know a little bit about how the body works.”

  The news stunned Ra-khir. Healers had always seemed so knowledgeable. “But someone must know what to do for people who don’t . . .” Even the euphemism came hard. “. . . pass water.”