Lyra…my head hurts and I turn back to the door and race to it, pounding it once with my fists. I think of my promises to protect her, my swear to be there always when she wanted me…dearest…I feel my heart falter and hurry to the wall which is the barrier to her room, pressing against it and putting my ear to the wood. I listen and try to stop breathing so hard.
There is nothing I can make out. A few shuffles over the ground and faint murmurs. There is no sound of my Lyra in the room. I grimace and drop my head against the wooden boards in pain…If they had harmed her on purpose…
I pull away and start up my pacing again. I look down at the ground as I pace and my head spins with thoughts and unanswered questions. I swallow dryly and try to relax my walk, but there is no hope in it.
This is my fault…I tear away from my endless path and brush against the wall again. I hear the resonance of people speaking but can’t make out words. It is hushed. I once more break into my pacing…God let her be alright…
My eyes flicker to the color on my shirt and I halt to a dead stop seeing the dark stain on the worn fabric. My heart pounds as my mind informs me of what it is; Lyra’s blood. I suddenly want my shirt off at the thought of her bleeding. My hands start to shake as I reach to unlace my collar, but I find it gone. I stop…I had tied it around her hurt hand for a bandage…I clench my hand into a fist and drop it to my side. I begin unbuttoning the shirt’s closing, but stop as I realize this is all I have. I stop and quickly re-button it. I want her close to me. This is the closest I can get.
I pace around in a circle and then back and forth across the room as I think. When I realize thinking isn’t my best confidant I make myself sit down on the bed at the back of the chamber and lower my head into my hands, leaning over my knees.
I must get out of here…I rest my eyes and try to unwind my body, but it isn’t working. I breathe out and in deeply and listen to it as my breath shakes. I hear something over the breath and stiffen…murmurs. They are close to my door. I hear steps creak over the boards as someone nears. I raise my head as the door opens but remain sitting to keep them off of me.
It is two men, one stands at the door and shuts it behind him, and the other steps forward. The one in front examines me, as though scanning my form for any hidden weapons or tricks. I have none. I also have no patience and I cannot stand it any longer. I voice my thoughts.
“What has happened to her?” It is weaker than I had thought it would be, but also firmer than I thought possible.
The man swallows and glances about the room as though viewing things.
I wait, not pushing it.
“She is…” He looks to me, his eyes intense and his voice lowered. “She is bleeding hazardously and is unconscious.”
It hits me hard, harder than it maybe should. I feel my heart falter and before I can stop them the words escape me. “Let me heal her.”
The man’s face is surprisingly grave. “She is tossing constantly when we try to touch her, and her illness, of whatever kind it is, looks dangerous…we cannot dress the wound unless she lets us, but we do not want to put her through shock if…”
I lose him there; she is sick. I remember what we went through that night with Grace and Harold. I taste sour spit and force myself not to break out into discomposure.
“We cannot wake her…it would be hurtful…but her vader needs assurance. He has decided that we need something to prompt her to be there, to let us treat her.”
I tune into the last part and the words are filling in some parts and in others not. “Take me.” I am on my feet before I know it.
He watches me carefully. I look at him with a straight and earnest face and I am still. He seems convinced of my one purpose and slowly moves towards the door. The other opens it and I hastily follow. They fold in on me, one in back and one in front to chaperone me out the door and around a corner bend in the hallway. It is too slow for my fast beating heart to take, but I make it remain under control. We reach the door where the one before stops me to open it.
The moment I am through the door my body zones into the environment and within less than two seconds I find her. She is lying on the bed in the middle of the back of the room, and is unmoving. At her feet a low conversation is taking place between three men, none of them her vader.
Without thinking I race forward, and to my unfocused relief (as my attention is all on her) they do not hold me back. The moment I am at her side I drop over the bed and scoop her face with my hands. She is cold and does not respond, and her eyes closed and lips parted. I hurriedly stoop close and put my ear to her lips to listen for any sign of breathing. It is there and soft against my ear, but much too soft. I lift my head away and lightly feel her soft cheek with my hand as I wish to hold her but settle for this much. She isn’t warm, but not frozen or burning, letting me know that she is not in a feverous state.
I glance at her hand lying out and limp half off the side of the bed from her position on her back and quickly place my hands around it. I carefully begin to remove the bandage and curse inside as I feel the material stick. I look to her to see if she has stirred, but she is as still as before. I slowly peel the last layer off the wound and, having finished undoing the wrapping, I observe the cut. Seeing its stage in healing I know what must be done.
I turn and, still holding her hand, order to the men who brought me. “I need salted water, clean water, cloths…and lavender for disinfecting…and to compress the bleeding wool for bandages.”
They hesitate a moment, but when they see their company at the foot of the bed, they take the orders and hurry out. I turn back to Lyra and wish to be able to comfort her, in any way to let her know I am here. She looks flushed and frail in the bed, and though I do not put much thought to it, she looks more serene than when I came into the room. I do not release her until I see my need for a chair.
I see one at the other side of the room and gently set her hand down palm up on the sheets. I return with the chair and set it at the bed side, but instead of sitting in it I continue to hold her hand and lean over her, watching her for any change. Nothing.
There are the sounds of boots stomping over the wood floor and I hear the two men reenter with the supplies. I turn my eyes on them and after quickly seeing what they bring, order the next assistance. “Set them beside me and on the bedside table.” They do as I say and, when finished, step back to the door, guarding it as though I would run off.
Once I have the materials, I instantly sit down and break into my work.
I reach for the bowl of salted water and take a cloth from the stack they brought me. I gently take her hand into mine and, dipping the cloth into the water, I soak it over her palm. I look up to see if she reacted but she lays still and quiet. I take another dip and, holding the bowl beneath her hand, squeeze out the water from the cloth so that it runs over the gash and takes out any further infections. I set aside the bowl with the cloth and take the one full of clean water and a new rag. I steep it in, and then gently move it across the cut to clean off the remaining salt and sting if she feels it.
Setting this part of the job aside, I take up another dry cloth and wipe away the water on her hand. I feel my stomach clench at the cold skin. I reach out for the stem of lavender they brought me, and then take the wool and lay it over my knee. I smooth out the fabric, then rip off the frayed part of it and fold it to fit her hand. I lift the lavender and, with the promptness of practice from training, I dig my nails into the plant and break the stem so that it is wet. The oil bathes my fingers, and I carefully touch it to her cut, drawing it across the raw skin as an ointment and disinfectant. I throw it into the dirtied salt water, now holding her hand and the wool.
I slowly wrap it around the palm and tuck the leftover length into the back folds. I look over the fabric and see to it that I have not tightened it too much or let it go too loose. Neither is the case. I set it down onto the bed and turn and wash my hands in the clean water bowl to get off the blood and salt. I dry it on anoth
er rag, and, feeling calm once again begin to flow through me, I breathe slower. I turn back to her and relax as I watch her rest. Her hand is clean and delicate in its wrapped up dressing, and her expression guarded by the soft sleep of her unconsciousness.
I swallow hard as I wish to lie down and cradle her to me; knowing they would end the little liberty I have with her if I did so. I watch her dark lashes and the gentle slope of her jaw, the curve of her brow to her lid, and the smooth wash of color at her lips. I absorb it all at once and wonder how I will be able to sit here and wait for her to wake up without reaching for her first. I reach out a hand and pretend to fix the bandage, but only do it to hold her hand longer. I look down at the ground and think of nothing as I stare at the cracks in the wood and listen to the silence.
Then, I feel it. I look up to my hand as I feel the flicker of her knuckles on my palm as she moves her fingers. The movement aids me and my heart flutters as I beg for more. She stops and continues to lie still. For some reason, this terrifies me and I bolt to my feet and lean over her, balancing my weight on my knee as I settle it against the edge of the bed.
She remains asleep and does nothing, but for some reason I know she knows I am here. I curl my fingers around hers and wish to speak to her but feel her need to rest far above the need to converse. I sigh and make myself move back and sit in the chair again, observing her lying still. I feel a little lost and need something to do, but then it happens and I am found; her fingers tighten around mine.
Chapter 27
I toss and turn every time they try to help me, not letting them get to me as I drown in pain. I sob out as someone reaches for my face to feel my forehead, and toss so hard dizziness enters me and I have to stop. I pull away my hand and continue to do so for five minutes as someone tries to treat it, all the time thinking of nothing but escape and freedom from my agony.
Then, there is a pinch in my stomach as something squeezes my cut and I drift into a deep darkness and feel nothing.
I awaken to the world as I hear the soft sound of feet thudding over the wood floor and my ears tune in to my surroundings. I listen and wait as I feel a new presence in the room. I know it, but cannot believe it.
I know not how he came here or why, but I feel parched and dead without him and whimper for him to come to me. I am relieved as I feel the weight of two soft warm hands beneath my jaw. Nadeje. I relax to his touch and the anguish drains from my soul. I feel something warm hover close to me, and there is a light brush of heat to my lips before it is lifted away. My heart wavers in my chest as I feel the presence of Nadeje at my side, and it is all I want.
Prickles run through my arm as I feel him lift my hand, and soon the pressure and sickening wetness on it is taken away. It stings in the air, but the knowing that he is keeping his promise to restore it is enough to make me remain at peace.
Without meaning to, I drift further away and cannot feel him here anymore as I am blanketed in sleep. All I feel is the connection of his touches to me, and the occasional warmth of his hand in mine. I feel my palm burning. It goes away but it returns as a sting when something rough brushes the sore spots. I feel warmth and cold depending on if he holds it, my hand my gateway to awareness.
I notice a silence, and all I feel around my hand is warmth. I feel sentience slowly come back to me and I slowly move the fingers of my hurt hand. I feel a change in space as there is a shadow above me and I feel something twine with my fingers, gripping me. Nadeje. It disappears and I acknowledge him sitting down and waiting for some response. I cannot move or speak it seems, but the little I manage is to curl my fingers with his.
I drift.
I waken to the feeling of the soft pulsation in his hand to find it still in mine. I feel dry inside and yet cold, but the heat of the room seems extreme. I swallow faintly and it burns my throat with the parched feel. My head feels light and toes tingle in their places. I feel exhausted yet want to wake up. My eyes flicker open only to close again, but a breath escapes me as I see a faint form at my side.
“Nadeje,” it is weak and hardly there but his hand tenses around mine.
I feebly try to look again and manage a brief image of a blurred face staring at me from the side of the bed. This time I want help to be wakened if I cannot do it myself.
“Gilch,” it is stronger now, a full breath, taking my entire chest’s worth to drive it from my lips.
There is a clatter and the bed sinks a bit as I feel him tower over me. Darkness shades my lids, and I feel his hand’s pressure on the bed beside me as he leans over me. I wish to reach up and hold him but I cannot even begin to try. I feel his breath beat down and waft to me as he breathes in anticipation of my call for him, but I cannot make sound anymore. Then, his face is against mine. He breathes against me and leans so close our noses brush.
For a second, everything is as it was again.
Then, there are shuffles in the background and I feel that Nadeje is not the one making them. I hear gruff words and sense him moving away. He breathes an incomplete sentence to someone as though trying to make it stop, but they seem not to listen. He is backed off the bed.
I glimpse blurry figures and Nadeje being lead back from me and feel the absence of his hand in mine exist as unaccustomed. I open my eyes again to look and a second passes as they stay open. This time, it is not blurry, and I can see Nadeje clearly as he is guided backwards to the door. I cannot understand it and groan out a sob.
“Nadeje!” it is weak and wanting.
Immediately, I see him jerk forward for me.
My eyes close.
“Let me go to her!” It is begging and seeps into my mind with other words from the people driving him.
I feel my head pound and I swallow dryly, all my strength gone again.
There is a loud clash and something bangs to the floor. I wince in pain at the sound. I let out a pant as I feel something close up in my chest, and I can hardly get breath.
“There is no need for you now, she is healed…” it is soft and low, and not Nadeje.
“Lyra…” I hear him strained and fighting to get away.
Suddenly, I feel awake. I open my eyes and lift up a little but fall back again. I hear him falter as though my movement struck him with worry. I breathe deeply and try to stay, but it is growing hard.
“Leifde!” It is a sob now, not with as much desire as with fear, and is farther off than before.
I weaken as I hear the sound of him clattering near the door. The warmth of his hand lingers in mine and I can’t help but wonder why he was brought to be taken away again so soon.
I am asleep the moment he leaves.
Chapter 28
I hear the soft drone of silence in the room and can’t help but feel abandoned. The weakness in my body is nearly gone but I feel exhausted and still cannot rise. I lay here searching my atmosphere for any fraction of Nadeje’s being. I breathe and every breath sounds out like a rattle into the quiet. Only an occasional murmur around me implies my guarded position. I am tortured as all I can do is wait for someone or something to aid my waking up.
I feel the flood of tingles run through my body and shiver from the sensation. My head is sore in the back and this tells me where I must have hit it. I weakly begin to open my eyes and the dim light from the candles seems too bright after what feels like hours of darkness. I squint a moment then open them all the way and make myself stay with them like this to adjust. I blink and my lashes tickle each other with the stiffness from the perspiration and tears which I had felt dripping from them when I was tossing earlier tonight…or whatever time it was.
I frown a little, but feeling my eyes are stronger, I stop and gaze around me as I turn over in the sheets. The room is nearly empty except for the bed I lie in and a dresser to the far right of me against the wall. A bedside table is to the right and beside it is an empty wooden chair. I feel something plunge inside me but can’t figure out what it tends to. I look for any other sign of life and find two men. One sits dozing
in a similar wooden chair beside the dresser, and the other is propped against the wall seated on the floor, also sleeping.
The chair at my side is still, yet I feel like it should contain movement for some odd reason. I move my hands up the bed a little, but stop at a burn which runs through my palm in my right one. I slowly raise it up to see, and my eyes find the wool bandage secured tightly around my hand. I feel my heart waver. Nadeje. My eyes catch on the chair past my fingers and I let it fall down onto the blankets above me. He had sat in that chair. I close and unclose my hand and feel the absence of his in it return. I close my eyes and clench it tight. I feel the scab on the cut stretch and threaten to break. I almost let it, but remembering all Nadeje has done for it to heal I loosen my fist.
I tersely feel as though I just fell into the bed. My eyes shoot open. I stare at the ceiling above me and no longer feel the weight of my body in the bunk. Where had they taken him?
I feel something inside stir. I turn, rolling over and balancing myself on my elbow. I look to the men both still resting in their places and swallow. I hesitate a moment at my strength, but given that I am able to hold myself with my arm, I think I am doing pretty well. I slowly prop myself up with my hands, weighing less weight on my injured one than the other. I turn my body so that I can sit up and silently slip out of the bed.
The moment I am on my feet I almost decide to lie back down. Pins and needles are in the bottom of my arches, and I have a feeling being stealthy is not my talent right now. Nausea threatens to overcome me but I breathe five times, counting each breath and waiting until my mind clears from dizziness. I manipulate the easiest way to get through the door for at least a minute before I make myself step forward. The ground feels like it is slanted, and I immediately have to stop in order to not fall. I breathe at least five times again, and when I grow my courage, I once more step forward.
Tears of Leyden Page 26
