by Willow Danes
Her russet eyes, with their touches of golds and greens, met his. Suddenly he was back in this same house when the Scourge first tore through the enclosure. The halls echoed with the keening of warriors, his father staggering from his mother’s deathbed, his face distorted with grief. How he, only eight at the time, held the infant Tarsh wailing in his arms, Ke’lar clinging to him too, their sisters and mother gone forever, three children left trembling as the world crumbled around them—
“There is nothing to fear, little bird.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his heart squeezing at the heat of her skin against his lips. “They will make you well.”
Then he was running, throwing the wooden door to their quarters open so swiftly it damaged the plaster wall, to race down the stairs.
He was maddened, frantic to get out to the transport, so much so that he fought to shake off the man’s grasp when another warrior caught him at the foot of the stairs.
“Brother?” It took him a moment to recognize Ke’lar, peering worriedly into his face. “What is it? What has happened?”
“Help me!” he gasped. “Jenna is—ill.”
“Ill?” Ke’lar brow creased. “Is she—?”
Ra’kur shook his head sharply, forcing the words out. “The Scourge.”
Ke’lar’s eyes widened. “How is that possible?” His gaze went to the stairs, to the level above. “No female has contracted it since—”
“I have been gone years!” Ra’kur grabbed his brother’s arms like a drowning man. “There must be something now—a treatment—something to help her!”
Ke’lar hesitated and Ra’kur’s stomach clenched at the unspoken words.
“Ready an escort,” Ra’kur rasped, letting him go. “Call ahead to the medical center and tell them—tell them we are coming.”
“I will accompany you,” Ke’lar offered instantly and then added quietly: “And I will tell Father that Jenna is . . . ill.”
Ke’lar took off at a jog. Ra’kur turned and the hall suddenly seemed to swim around him.
There were females who survived the sickness, even at the height of the Scourge. The Goddess will not take her from me now.
Still, he had to clasp the handrail to steady himself enough to get back up the stairs. She was shivering by the time he returned to their room. He quickly wrapped her in the quilt then gathered her into his arms and lifted her from the bed.
“I should get dressed,” she protested as he was already striding for the door, cradling her in his arms.
“There is no need.” He focused on using care as he carried her down the steps. “They will only make you change into a smock once we reach the hospital.”
“Still, I should have underwear on at least, for heaven’s sake.” She ventured a smile, a faint splotch forming on the soft curve of her cheek. “Whatever will they think?”
Ke’lar, his father, Tarsh, and a number of the household—warriors, servants, tillers of the land—had gathered in the center hall, their eyes shocked and grieved, silent as he carried her through their midst.
As if they are come to mourn her already.
His arms tightened around her and he looked to his brother. In response to his silent question Ke’lar turned to lead the way to the transport that awaited them in the courtyard.
The evening air was growing chill for spring, the transport vessel already powered up. He kept his stride smooth, even as he quickened his pace across the courtyard, anxious to get her on board and inside the warmth of the cabin.
He settled on one of the vessel’s upholstered bench seats, she in his lap, disregarding the safety straps so he might keep her in his arms.
She stirred against him, seeking a more comfortable position as the three other clanbrothers accompanying them quietly boarded, their faces grim. They dispensed with the pre-flight check and the transport lifted off the moment the ramp retracted and the outer door was sealed.
As soon as they were in the air, Ke’lar made his way back from the pilot’s compartment.
“We will maintain the highest speed possible. I have contacted the medical center.” His growl was soft, seeking not to disturb her. “They are summoning the chief physician now. If there is anything else I—any of us—can do . . .”
Ra’kur gave a short nod and with a final look at Jenna, Ke’lar made his way back to the cockpit.
“That’s nice,” she murmured. “The rocking.”
He hadn’t even realized he had been doing it, trying to comfort her, trying to comfort himself.
“We will be there soon,” he promised.
“I know how worried you are,” she murmured. “You shouldn’t be. I’m tough as nails. This virus—or whatever it is—is gonna be sorry it ever messed with a McNally.”
“You should rest.” He brushed wisps of her hair away from her forehead, her skin hot against his fingers. “Save your strength.”
Jenna eyes were a little glazed and splotches of red marred her cheek now. “’Cause we’re going dancing later?”
“We are going to the hospital in Be’lyn City,” he reminded gently. “You are delirious, beloved.”
She gave a quick smile. “No, just got me a lousy sense of timing. I was joking.”
“You are ill.” He swallowed. “You should not try to cheer me.”
“Well, someone has to perk things up around here or this road trip’s gonna just suck.” She wet her lips. “Is there any water?”
“Yes,” he mumbled. “Of course.”
He signaled to one of his clanbrothers and the man brought him a drinking pouch. He held the straw to her mouth and she drew long swallows but the action seemed to exhaust her.
He resealed the pouch and placed it beside him in case she wanted more.
“I think you’re just upset because I’ll be seeing Doctor Elaran again. Jealousy,” she tsked. “It’ll get you into trouble every time.”
“He will not lure you away from me.” The smile he forced for her sake felt like a grimace. “I will give him no time to flirt with you.”
“But promise . . .” she whispered, her eyes closing. “We’ll go shopping again. Si’hala . . . snagged all the really good dresses for herself.”
“Yes, of course. Anything you wish.”
“I’m gonna remind you that you said that.” Her eyes opened to meet his gaze. “I love you.”
His chest burned with joy and fear. “I love you,” he said hoarsely. “My Jenna, my little bird.”
A smile flitted across her face and then her eyes closed again. “I think . . . gonna sleep for a little bit . . .”
“Yes,” he whispered. “Sleep now.”
She settled against him her eyes moving beneath her lids, shadows purpling the skin beneath her eyes. His hand rested on her ribs so he could feel her breathing even as he watched the blood rash spread across her cheek.
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to silence, to swallow back the keening building in his throat.
Twenty
Sometime later a warm hand touched his shoulder and Ra’kur tore his eyes from her, cradled against his chest, to blink up at his brother.
“We will land in a few moments,” Ke’lar murmured. “A medical team is already assembled. They will meet us at the landing platform.”
Ra’kur nodded. Her mouth was parted in sleep like a child. Her breathing hadn’t become labored yet; that would happen later, when fluid began to fill her lungs.
He stood with her in his arms as soon as the transport touched down and had to force himself forward. She seemed to weigh less to him now, as if her spirit were no longer wholly in her body.
Full darkness had fallen but the landing platform was brightly lit, the wind strong here, so many stories above the ground. A team of four medics, the senior physician and the younger healer, Doctor Selai, were already there with a gurney for her.
“Get her on,” Doctor Elaran said to him then threw a stern glance at the medics. “We need to get her straight to Critical and I want one of
you monitoring her vitals at all times. First aberrant reading, you report it to me.” He nodded at Doctor Selai. “Make absolutely sure the respiration unit has been prepped to accommodate her physiology. I want it ready to go the moment we need it.”
The young doctor jogged ahead. The others were standing ready with instruments, waiting for him to turn her over to them.
To let her go.
Ra’kur cradled her close, breathing in her sweet scent, sick with the knowledge that once he released her, he very well might never hold her again.
Gently he laid her on the gurney and took a spare, precious moment to press a kiss to her forehead.
Her eyes fluttered open to look at him, her gaze dull with fever. The rash had reached her other cheek now.
Then they were gone, speeding her away, snapping off readings to each other.
“How long since the symptoms began?” Doctor Elaran asked as they hurried after.
“I do not know,” Ra’kur admitted. “She had little appetite today, but I did not think that—a few hours, perhaps more. The rash began tonight. The treatment—”
“I will do everything I can,” the senior physician promised as they entered the building.
“My brother said—” Ra’kur glanced back at Ke’lar, who followed them down the hall. “There have been no new infections?”
“We thought the disease had burned itself out but if it is resurging, or if—may the All Mother help us—it has mutated . . . This entire floor has been cleared and we’re on quarantine protocols.” Doctor Elaran threw a regretful look at him. “That lockdown has to be extended to your entire enclosure.”
“The Yir visited us yesterday,” Ke’lar reminded. “Council member Mirak as well.”
“Damn it,” Doctor Elaran muttered. “Until we know more they will have to go under quarantine too and anyone they have had contact with.”
He waved Doctor Selai over and quickly communicated the information to him. The young physician’s eyes were wide and fearful as he went to relay the new instructions to the peacekeepers outside tasked with enforcing infection control.
The medics lifted Jenna onto a hospital bed, crowding around her to insert an IV, to attach skin sensors. Her readings scrolled across screens on every wall, the room filled with medical equipment.
“I think it is best if you wait outside and give us room to work, Warrior,” Doctor Elaran said, standing in front of the monitors, making tiny adjustments as he scanned the information. “I will keep you apprised of her condition.”
“No,” Ra’kur said, not taking his gaze from Jenna. “I will stay with her.”
“I truly think—”
“I will not interfere in your efforts,” Ra’kur broke in. “I will not hinder you in any way but I will not leave her.”
Elaran spared him an impatient, frustrated look but seeing that Ra’kur would not be moved, let him be.
The staff circled around her, drawing blood, taking readings. They changed her into a hospital smock, two medics holding a privacy sheet as the doctors examined her. They covered her again, adding several blankets, and raised the temperature of the room to stop her shivering until Ra’kur felt the sweat break out on his forehead.
She was having trouble breathing by then and Jenna batted weakly at the mask as the young doctor fitted it over her face. Ra’kur clenched his fist against the impulse to push them all away. He had to trust them; he had to let do what they needed to do heal her.
One of the medics came to his side, silently offering him something. Ra’kur put out his hand and the man gently put Jenna’s little gold bird necklace into his palm.
He blinked down at it, gleaming faintly in his hand under the light of the medical monitors. It was a lovely, delicate thing, its tiny wings spread as if poised to fly away any moment, still warm from resting against her skin . . .
Doctor Elaran touched his arm. “Come outside, please. We need to speak.”
Jenna’s eyes were closed, most of her face obscured by the breathing mask. Swallowing hard, Ra’kur slipped her necklace securely into his pocket then followed the doctor into the hall.
“You have a decision to make,” Doctor Elaran began as soon as the door shut behind them.
“Whatever will help her,” Ra’kur said hoarsely. “Whatever she needs.”
“To extend her life she will be on total support and with the amount of pain medication she’ll need she won’t be conscious but—”
Ra’kur felt the floor tilt away from him as the doctor’s meaning came clear. “There must be something you can do! A treatment you can try, anything—”
“We can address the symptoms,” the doctor interrupted. “But the disease itself has no cure. I had hoped . . . but the blood rash has already spread to over eight-five percent of her body. In my experience, when the Scourge has reached this stage the patient has a few hours at most.”
Ra’kur shook his head. “No . . .”
“I am truly sorry.” Doctor Elaran said. “I can make her comfortable—”
“No!” Ra’kur roared and in an instant had the doctor by the throat. “You must save her! You must treat her!”
“This is the Scourge!” Doctor Elaran gasped, struggling. “There is no treatment!”
“Let him go, Ra’kur!” Ke’lar cried, trying to peel his hands off the physician. “Let him go! This will not help her!”
No, nothing will.
He released the man and the doctor fell back, gasping.
Ra’kur caught himself against the wall, recalling the ragged sound of his own breath from his run, Jenna dying in his arms from the peacekeeper’s weapon. Remembered watching desperately for the stasis indicator light to know that he had made it to the ship in time, how his fingers, stained with her blood shook as he raced through the final recalibration, praying the whole time to the All Mother . . .
But he had hope then.
He felt so numb now he could not even form a prayer.
“I brought her to Hir,” he murmured, his hand pressed hard to the wall to keep himself upright. “This is my fault.”
“You could not know—” Ke’lar began.
“She did not want to come! She did not want to leave her world at all.” Ra’kur swallowed hard. “I should have gone then, before I was discovered. Left her in peace, but I loved her, so very much. . . I could not bear to be parted from her. I cannot now.” He met Ke’lar eyes. “I have killed her, brother.”
“It has been so long since any female has become ill . . .” Ke’lar shook his head. “None of us could have known.”
“My Jenna.” Ra’kur closed his eyes. “I have killed her . . .”
“Brother,” Ke’lar urged, his hand on Ra’kur’s shoulder. “Be with her now, while you can.”
He was right; there would be time enough for grieving.
I will have the rest of my life for that.
Ra’kur sought the doctor’s gaze. “You said . . . Promise you will not let her feel pain.”
“She will not,” the doctor said quietly. “I give you my word.”
Ra’kur swallowed hard and made his way to her bedside. She was asleep, resting easy now despite the breathing mask over her face, the rash that covered her now. She looked so delicate lying there, so fragile.
One of the medics carried in a chair for him and he could not even summon the words to thank the man as he set it at her bedside. The medics and doctors withdrew to a respectful distance. There was nothing they could do now, save keep her comfortable.
There was nothing he could do but be with her.
Ra’kur sank down and took her slender hand between his, marveling again at the softness of her skin, the softness of her being.
He was dimly aware of the others as the hours passed, how one of the doctors would draw near to check one thing or another and then retreat again.
Ra’kur watched her with stinging eyes, his life condensed to the spaces between one of her breaths and the next.
Sometime near mornin
g Jenna stirred, her eyelids fluttering, and his grip tightened, desperate to hold her here, to keep her with him.
She turned her face toward him and her brow creased when she met his gaze. She pulled at the mask weakly with her other hand, her voice muffled by it. “Stupid . . . thing off . . .”
The young doctor hurried over. Selai exchanged a glance with him then removed the breathing mask.
Once free of it she turned her face toward him. “Ra’kur . . .”
He leaned close. “I am here, little bird. I have been here the whole time. I will never leave you.” He brushed her hair away from her eyes. “Do you hurt? The doctors have medicines they can give you for the pain.”
She waved her other hand dismissively and after a moment, Doctor Selai stepped back.
“Do you want something?” Ra’kur pressed a kiss to her hand, and held her palm against his cheek. “Whatever it is you want, you will have it.”
She wet her lips. “Pancakes.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I want pancakes,” she repeated. “With bacon. And muffins.”
His brow furrowed.
“Oh, come on,” she urged when he did not answer. “You guys gotta have something like pancakes, right?”
“Are you saying you are . . .” He shook his head a little. “You are hungry?”
“Ra’kur—” Jenna shifted toward him, her beautiful eyes clear and focused on him. “I am freaking starving.”
Every occupant of the room went still. In the next moment Doctor Elaran was across the room, standing at her bedside, checking her readings, his fingers flying over the displays.
“How is this possible?” Elaran shook his head, his brilliant yellow eyes wide. “The virus is dying. By the All Mother,” he croaked, “she has beaten the Scourge.”
Twenty-one
“Jenna . . .” Ra’kur warned.
“Well, I’m sorry but this . . . fucking . . . itches!” Jenna snapped, scowling up at him three days later from her hospital bed, clenching her fists to stop from scratching.
