“I knew the Galadheon was a determined person,” Enver said. “Lhean told me as much, but he may have understated it.”
“Short of tying her down,” Estral said, “she won’t give up.” All of Karigan’s adventures, it seemed, had only conspired to make her more headstrong, rather than less.
“Then we must do what we are able for her,” Nari said.
“Or come up with a better plan in the meantime,” Enver said.
SINGING THE HEALING
Monsters, tombs, a Rider in ancient garb, torture, and Blackveil cycled through Karigan’s dreams. Her brief interludes of waking were no less nightmarish, her consciousness overlain by shadows and dominated by pain. In bouts of panic, she felt that she must get up, get up and—and do something. King Zachary. She had to get him away from Second Empire. Then she’d fall into a restless sleep again with dreams full of blood and disaster, Nyssa and her whip of vipers.
Periodically, songs of peace would roll over her, and all the troubling visions, and even the pain, would dissipate for a time. She was quite certain the words were Eltish, and yet she seemed to understand, or perhaps she merely dreamed it all.
From the bones of the earth beneath,
Along the rivers that flow
through root, branch, and leaf,
Rising into the air of the sky,
Into the cleansing fire of the stars . . .
She imagined some power of the Earth rising through her, building as it rushed through her blood and continued onward into the heavens. It made her feel lighter, until Nyssa reappeared and the lash fell once again.
• • •
She cried out and jerked awake. As before, everything was a hazy veil around her. The pain washed over her anew. What was the hour? The tent walls were bright enough that it was daytime. The same day as her earlier awakening? Or, a day later? The thought that it could be a day later brought on the panic and she tried to rise.
“Easy, Galadheon,” Enver said. He was sitting beside her.
“How much time have I lost? Since my last awakening?”
“It has been only a few hours.”
Could he be lying? Telling her that just to placate her?
He placed his hand against her forehead, and then her cheek. His touch was cool and the tension went out of her muscles.
“You should drink,” he said, “especially with the fever.”
He helped her sip from his flask of cordial, which cooled her without chilling her; then he switched to water. It was not easy to drink, she just did not feel like it. He encouraged her with quiet words.
“I need to go to the Lone Forest,” she said.
“I know. Resupplying your body with fluids is important for you to be able to do so.”
The urgency was building within her once again. “Yes, but—”
“Galadheon, it has not even been two full turnings of the Earth.” He described how he’d been treating her with oils, herbs, and salves to fight corruption of the wounds, and to ease her pain. He said, “We have been singing the healing, even Lady Estral, whose voice has begun to deteriorate.”
“Oh, no,” Karigan murmured.
“You must come to an accord with the healing of your body. You will be weak for a time, and it may be that, due to the deep injuries to your back, you will find it difficult to do all you did before.”
Her sword work. “Permanently?”
“I do not know. You are young and in otherwise good health. It could be you will find new ways of completing old tasks.”
He was being very careful in his wording, which made it all somehow worse. The darkness in her mind only grew deeper, and the only piece of sanity she could cling to, to keep herself from going under, was her need to return to the Lone Forest and retrieve both King Zachary and Lord Fiori. She would do it if it was the last thing she ever did.
She must have dozed off, for Enver was suddenly gone. The heaviness, the darkness, descended on her once again. All seemed so bleak and gray, but then soft footfalls padded alongside her and a soft furry body plopped beside her face and started purring.
“Hello, Whiskers,” she murmured.
His fur smelled of the cold air and a sunny rock, and of an indefinable cat spice. It hurt to lift her hand and reach up to pet him, but when she did so, she was rewarded with even louder purrs.
She’d been hurt before, injuries inflicted during clashes with enemies, but never had they been so systematically applied. She’d been made to feel as helpless as possible, unable to defend herself. Nyssa ensured she’d had no control over the situation. Though Nyssa had demanded information, Karigan knew it was only a pretense. She’d seen the look in Nyssa’s eyes, that she enjoyed the torture for the power she held over others. She liked inflicting pain just for the sake of it.
I did not give away the king’s presence, Karigan tried to tell herself, but Nyssa’s voice came into her head, I did not care. Any illusion that Karigan had maintained some vestige of control by withholding information evaporated. A small cry passed her lips, and Mister Whiskers’ purrs grew louder, more resonant. He licked the sweat from her brow with his rough tongue, then settled down again next to her face. More soft footfalls entered the tent, and a small warm body snuggled against her leg. Midnight added her purr to Mister Whiskers’, and perhaps it was their own form of singing the healing. While they were with her, she did not lapse into dreadful memories of Nyssa and her whip.
• • •
When Nyssa did return to Karigan’s dreams, it was King Zachary who was chained to the beam. Only, King Zachary was Cade. She tried to reach for him, crawl to him, but he was always too far away and she was held back by a web of knotted yarn that burned where it touched her. She had nothing with which to slash it.