“We should camp here and continue in the morning.”
Mayvard wrinkled his nose as he looked to the bog with weary eyes. “The smell is almost unbearable.”
“It will have to do.” She replied and she pulled her thick woolen blanket and her pipe out of her saddle bags.
She found a thick tree trunk to rest against, wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, wincing from the pain that shot through her like an arrow, and lit her pipe. The taste of the tobacco made her close her eyes and lean her head back against the trunk with satisfaction, melting away the dreariness of the last couple of days. All she needed was a flagon of mapleberrie liquor and she could slip into a peaceful slumber.
Mayvard knelt down beside her and placed his hands at her shoulders. He began to pull back at the thick leather from the gap in her neck to peer at her wounds.
“I told you, they are healing.”
Mayvard frowned as he pulled away the strips of cloth he had wrapped around them. “They are infected.” He said.
“I shall live.” Rhada replied, yanking back her leathers and leaning away from Mayvard’s prying eyes.
“I wish you would let me stitch them.” He said angrily as he stood.
Rhada shook her head and sighed. “You are no healer, Mayvard. If I feel it necessary, I will do it myself.”
Mayvard glowered down at her as she took another puff of her pipe and let the smoke escape her lips slowly around his legs.
“You are no healer either.” He said, unable to hide the hurt he felt.
“I have stitched myself back up at least twice before.” She said, looking back to Mayvard with a defiant gaze. “You, on the other hand, have never even watched a healer in their craft.”
Mayvard shrugged his shoulders. “I do not see what could be so difficult about it.”
Rhada did not answer. She had, in fact, been forced to stitch herself once on the leg after falling from her horse during a training outing with Viktor and once on the arm after the battle at South Fort. A frightened, runaway horse had forced her to jump away as it came barreling towards her. She scraped her arm alongside the splintered wood of a fallen barn. After that, she had had her leathers thickened.
She had no doubt Mayvard could do the stitching himself. She did, however, doubt the stitching, without proper cleaning, would help the infection.
“I will be alright until we reach North Fort. If the wounds have not improved by then, I will seek the help of a healer.”
This seemed to satisfy Mayvard and moments later, he lie sprawled out on his blanket, snoring loudly. Rhada could not help but smile at the sight of him and was glad for his devotion to her. She wondered what it would be like if she did not have Mayvard’s friendship. Life would be very lonely. She realized as she took another puff from her pipe. Mayvard was the only person who stuck by her. He was the only one left in her life that cared for her.
Suddenly, Rhada found herself thinking of a time before she knew how to wield a sword; a time when her life was uncomplicated and plain. She was young then, much younger than she was now. She had lost count of the years but she knew she had already surpassed the normal lifespan of a mortal person. And though she had already reached an unnatural age, her body remained the same. She could see that she had aged only slightly in appearance over the last eighty years since she had taken possession of the magical sword. Small, thin wrinkles only noticeable to her rested underneath her eyes but in the mirror, she still looked the same as she did on the day that Bloodbinder was bound to her.
She found herself looking down to the sword that lay next to her and knew it still vibrated vigorously. Though she was not touching it, she could feel its energy pulsing through the air towards her. It was the sword that gave her an unnatural long life. Its magical powers gave its wielder the same prolonged youth that people of magical abilities possessed. It had the same effect on every person it chose to bind itself to. She tried to remember how old Viktor said he was before he died. His face was wrinkled with time and his hair had grown white with age over the course of almost two-hundred years.
She wondered what it would be like to live that long. She had already surpassed those she had cared for in life and no longer had any friends that remained- not that she had had many to begin with. She wondered how long her life would go on after her only remaining friend was cold and buried in the ground.
There will be no one left to argue with about my wounds- no one to care enough to scold me when I do not take proper care of myself.
Rhada had, over the last several years, made the people of the realm despise her. She knew it when she looked at their faces when passing by. She could see their contempt in every village and every shrouded doorway she passed. They even hated her in her own city, Axendra. She realized any opportunity to bond with another person had vanished. Hers was a name that was spread from lips to lips with fear; like a plague spreads with breath to breath. She would always be remembered as the plague that destroyed the realm.
She scolded herself for thinking upon it. She had told herself not to dwell on the past. What’s done is done. She had tried to reason, knowing she could never change what had happened- never clear her once good name. But still, there was a longing within her to go back to the way things were, before the war had started, before Firion had taken over the throne.
It was under his father’s rule, Darrion, that the realm was peaceful- a time when Rhada was not hated by the people. But she was bound by duty to obey the King’s orders and it was through Firion’s desire to rule by fear that Rhada had become an enemy of the realm.
She had been proud to serve under Darrion; a King who cared for and loved his people. But with his son, Firion, it felt more like a curse.
She wondered where Darrion possibly could have gone wrong with his son. How could Firion have watched his father’s example, only to become the kind of King that he is?
Rhada took another, slow puff of her pipe, putting the question out of her mind. She knew the answer would never come to light and dwelling on it would drive her mad.
When her pipe was finished, she dumped the ashes then leaned forward and stoked the fire for extra warmth. When she leaned back against the tree, she could feel exhaustion behind her eyes like a heavy blanket, shrouding the world around her. She yawned and pulled Bloodbinder close before closing her eyes and falling into a restless sleep.
***
Rhada stood upon the brink of a crevice, deep and foreboding. A chill blew up from below, piercing her skin with its icy touch. She wrapped her arms tightly across her chest but could not stop the violent shaking of her frozen body. Even her teeth began chattering together as she leaned over the edge to peer inside.
Her eyes, which were searching for something, were met with only darkness. But there was something in there that called to her, something that needed her aid.
Rhada took another furtive step forward and looked all around; hoping whatever it was would make itself known.
Rhada. She heard her name being called upon the wind that rushed up from the depths of the black hole before her. It was not, as she had first assumed, a cry for help, but a menacing threat- the voice of a demon, hollow and as deep as the crevice below.
Rhada. She shuddered, but not from the cold.
As she tried to take a step back, away from the black pit, her foot slipped and she was suddenly falling; falling into the blackness, falling into the depths of the unknown. But something was waiting for her below. She could feel its presence- its impatient heartbeat as she fell ever farther.
Two eyes, like two balls of flame appeared before her and before she could even cry out in fear, the flames grew higher and swallowed her up.
Rhada sat upright and grasped for Bloodbinder, looking into the darkness of the fog she had fallen asleep in. It took her a few moments to realize she was no longer falling to her doom, but sitting exactly where she had been before falling asleep, against the trunk of a tree and Mayvard, lying upon the ground, snori
ng loudly into the night.
Rhada was about to wrap her blanket back around her shoulders and try to fall asleep once again, when pain shot through her shoulders and filled her chest suddenly, making her drop her blanket to the ground. She cried out and held tightly to the hilt of her sword like she always did when she sensed danger. It shook uncontrollably in her hand, making it difficult to hold and despite the cold that surrounded her, the hilt felt warm to the touch.
Rhada took in a slow and tormented breath- the pain in her chest throbbing as she did so. She wanted to wake Mayvard to ask for his aid but she could not speak from the pain. She lifted her free hand slowly and pulled at the leathers that suddenly seemed to restrict her breath and looked at her wounds. She could see, even in the dark of night, they were swollen and oozing. She could feel the red hot pain pulsing from them with the beating of her heart. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, knowing what she had to do and desperately seeking the courage to do it.
When she reopened her eyes, Rhada pulled Bloodbinder up, unsheathed the sword and held it out to her side. With her other hand, she pulled her leathers down as far as they would go then turned the point of Bloodbinder toward the wounded shoulder.
The tip was so sharp she did not even feel it penetrate her flesh. The long laceration seemed to appear out of nowhere, but when the wound began to ooze and drip its infection down her chest, she could feel the sting of the sword and she gasped.
It took her a few moments, but Rhada finally composed herself and readied for the other shoulder. She switched Bloodbinder in her hands, pulled down her leathers, and scratched at the wound until it too released its taint.
Rhada dropped Bloodbinder to the ground and began painfully squeezing at the fresh wounds she had made, hoping that her painful actions tonight would help relieve her suffering in the morning.
It was not long before she could bear it no more and fell to the ground on her back with her eyes closed, heavily breathing into the cold, night air.
And though the night was cold and the fog surrounding them only made the cold feel more pressing, she was suddenly taken over by a wave of heat, like that of the fires in the chasm of her dream.
She shivered, from what she could not entirely say, but as she shivered, her eyes opened and at the same moment, the fog around her dissipated, revealing the deadness of the forest which was their temporary home.
Rhada turned her head slowly and looked around. Though the fog had dispersed, the air around her seemed to grow thick and she felt a sudden dread building up inside of her.
Darkness enveloped her, making the trees in the distance seem like mere shadows but suddenly, the shadows began to sway and move even though there was no breeze. She clutched Bloodbinder tightly in her grasp and held still, waiting for whatever was out there to attack. Why do I get the feeling I cannot fight this foe?
Then a small breeze began to blow and with it came a subtle noise that was faint and nearly inaudible. Rhada lie motionless, with her head turned toward the direction of the wind, and she tried to listen for the sound. It came again, slightly louder this time and it sent a shiver down her spine.
Rhada. She heard her name being called in the howl of the wind just as it had been in her dream. She tried to pull herself up but the pain in her shoulders was unbearable and she knew in that instant this was not a dream.
Rhada. The sound was fainter now, as though whoever or whatever was calling to her was moving away, and with it the wind died, the fog returned and Bloodbinder was finally still at her side. Darkness filled Rhada’s vision but she struggled to keep her eyes open, wary of whatever could be out there. Her fight was in vain, however, and her eyes fluttered and closed, leaving her unaware and helpless in the shadow of night.
When she woke the next morning, she was startled to find Mayvard leaning over her, pulling at her leathers to look at her wounds. Rhada tried to protest and sit up, but Mayvard pushed her back down and commanded her to be still; which she decided to obey.
The first thing he did once the wound on her left shoulder was exposed, was dig his fingers deeply into the soft, swollen skin around it. Rhada gritted her teeth and moaned loudly as more infection began to ooze from the fresh cut she had made that night.
“You must get to a healer quickly.” Mayvard said, shaking his head. “I can wrap these for you but that is all I can do for now.”
Rhada nodded her head, unable to answer in speech, and closed her eyes against the pain. It was not long before Mayvard was wrapping her shoulders with fresh linens from his bags he had torn into strips. Once he was finished, he placed a gentle hand behind Rhada’s back and helped her to a sitting position then held a waterskin to her lips. She sipped the cool refreshment, careful not to drink too much, thanked him, then pulled her leathers back into place.
“I am worried for you.” Mayvard said with a frown.
“I will be fine.” She replied with a raspy voice, not quite believing her own words.
“You have run a temperature.”
Rhada remembered the sudden wave of heat she had felt the night before, and the heat from her dream. She remembered the voices that called her name on the wind. A bad fever can make a person hallucinate. She told herself, unsure if the fever she had suffered last night was just such a fever. She decided to believe that it was so and reached a hand out for Mayvard to help her to her feet. She swayed for a moment, dizzy from standing so suddenly and Mayvard helped to steady her.
“Can you make it to North Fort?” Mayvard asked, clearly unable to hide the worry he felt in his shaky voice.
Rhada nodded. “I must.”
Ignoring the screaming pain in her shoulders, she began to gather her things and pack them away for their journey. She rolled up her blanket, stuffed it inside her traveling bag and tucked Bloodbinder safely inside.
Both mounted their steeds at the same time and led them on toward the bog that lay before them. The horses were reluctant to walk in however and Rhada was forced to dismount again and lead her horse on by the reins.
The water was murky with what looked like thick oil and she could not see to the bottom of any of the pools. She walked on with caution, waiting for her foot to stop sinking and grip the mud below. At one point they found themselves waist deep in the fetid water and Rhada felt her stomach turning in knots as the smell raced up her nostrils.
No matter how bad this gets, it is still better than trudging through South Fort. She looked behind at Mayvard who followed her closely and knew by the look on his face that he did not feel the same.
Chapter 13
Myranda sat in her sun chair next to the window, bathed in the deep orange light of the rising sun. Her hair cascaded down the back of the chair in golden waves and her eyes sparkled like emeralds in the growing light. She had a look about her that was quaint, but repressive; like that of a dressed up doll abandoned for a newer toy. She had, as of late, felt quite abandoned but tried to tell herself she had no one else to blame but herself.
She sighed as she gazed out with watery eyes at the world below. It was a world she envied, a world that carried on with its purposeful meandering, like termites upon a hill, unaware of a larger world than that of their own. They never dreamt of the horrors of the realm, never awoke to the pounding inside the head that felt as though it could kill. They kept on with their day-to-days, never knowing there were people looking down upon the hill, watching over them, keeping them safe and paying the price.
Myranda knew she could not complain, because while she may be lonely and suffering from a splitting headache at the moment, she would never suffer from poverty or disease or old age like the ordinary people in the distance. She tried to remind herself through the throbbing and the nausea her magic was a gift not a curse. And when the magic ran out, she would lie down and fall into a deep slumber while her body slowly shut down its systems and she was no more- a peaceful, quiet ending, with no suffering or pain; just serenity. Myranda desperately tried to remember she was lucky in her positi
on, but instead she leaned forward and grasped the sides of her head that began to throb beyond anything she had felt before. Where is Derrick? She wondered as she fought back the urge to vomit.
The door to Myranda’s chamber was suddenly thrown open and she did not need to open her eyes to know that it was the maid, Valindra, who had entered.
Valindra stopped in the doorway as she peered into the room of her Lady. The light from the burning sun had bathed the ornate, wooden bed and its white sheets in a bloody hue. Beams of orange and red filtered in, reflecting off the wooden floors and antique wardrobe, giving them even more of a malevolent appearance. The sky outside seemed to be on fire and the open window was allowing the flames to flicker into the chamber, setting everything it touched aglow, even Myranda, who sat hunched in her chair next to the cauldron.
Valindra had seen before what Myranda’s stance meant. She had been witness to many of her headaches over the years and she felt sorry for the Sorceress. Her gifts seemed to come with an awful price and it made Valindra very glad that she had not been born with these gifts.
It was as she was sitting now, leaning forward, grasping with one hand her aching head and with the other, her snarling belly, that Valindra knew Myranda had had another vision.
She rushed forward and began pulling the drapes closed to block out the blinding, fiery light.
“You should not sit here in the sun when you are like this.” She scolded as she pulled the last drape closed and turned back to Myranda.
“I could not stand and close them myself.” Myranda said weakly.
Valindra stooped and grasped Myranda’s hands in hers. “Let me help you to the bed.”
“I have sent for Derrick. I must wait for him.”
“Would you like for me to go see what is taking him so long?” Valindra asked.
Myranda shook her head. “He will come.”
Valindra sighed and released Myranda’s hands which immediately took their places at her forehead. It was as though Myranda’s hands possessed some magical power to stymie away the pressure that pounded beneath the surface.
Shadows of Men (The Watchers Book 1) Page 13
