Chapter 4 Cost

There were no dreams. No subconscious pulls or even much of anything else. If there were sounds, they were distant, completely indecipherable. There was more than just one, that was for sure. Even if they did all mash together, there were only a few that remained consistent.

Talking? Were they talking?

He wasn’t. Someone had to be. But, talking about what? What was there to talk about?

Could it be the Matanians? Had they come across them lying in the street and decided to interrogate them? Did Matanians even take prisoners? The notion seemed rather ludicrous.

Well, what else could it be? Those were voices, he was convinced of that. Perhaps the invading force sought to question them before execution; that would probably seem their style.

But why question a couple of random civilians, what would they know about any of this?

That train of rationality was derailed with thoughts of the Wybriks. The Matanians had been utilizing those monsters for attack; they had been shooting from the back of one for DON’s sake! What sense did that make? There was no thought response to his rhetoric. All that could be done now was to wait - to move, to speak, to die; silence would claim them all.

From the front, there was pressure. Two distinct sources of it. Something was fighting against the consumption of the nothing; begging, struggling to break themselves free. And from under that growing fissure, two other things fought alongside, seeking to utilize their full potential. He could feel it.

Drowning to let his will come to fruition, the crevices began to widen and allow an inflow of invasive light. He quickly shut them, almost regretting his course of action before swapping sides again and rebelling against the ocular shells. The flood of illumination was on him again but he bottled it with a barrage of rapid blinks.

He thought the light had settled but wasn’t quite sure by the lackluster sight of a whitish-grey sight ahead of him. The muscles in his face contracted themselves and his arm responded by moving up to rub near his sensitive eyes. It was an action that he never got to complete as a sudden cry of, “Marik!” sounded and he felt unable to move as something slammed into him with gentle force.

The human projectile had wrapped her arms around his shoulders while her head of pale-blond hair was buried into his neck. Feeling the urge to move on their own, Marik’s limbs shifted to encase his sister as best they could. Even with no thought or idea of what had happened, he knew that she was alright, at least.

When she pulled away, her hand went up to his head but he didn’t feel her direct touch. His own hand came up and he felt it, too. A gauze wrapping encircled his brow and most of the top of his head.

Someone had tended to him?

“Where is…? Where are…?” He wanted to find the right question.

“You’re safe and alive,” a familiar voice spoke. “And now that you’re awake I guess I can finally go to sleep.”

Turning his neck so he could partially sit up, Marik spotted Ephram leaning against the wall by the door. He was still dressed in his military outfit but several patches of soot and grime marred the once posh drab. Even as Ephram gave him a relieved smile on his long face, Marik couldn’t help but feel the strain behind it.

“He’s not wrong,” Mackenzie then said while tucking some hair behind her ear. “But to give a more definitive answer, we’re in the Son of Perpetual Servitude Infirmary. We’re in the capital.”

Walhia? That was just about six hours of travel. He knew for a fact that they didn’t run there.

“How?” he asked.

Mackenzie spared a glance over in Ephram’s direction. “Do you want to tell him about that?”

“Evacuation,” Ephram plainly stated. “Once the first alarm went off our guys in the station managed to send word to the capital for immediate aid. They dispatched an entire division of the militia there and even managed to arrive in less than half the time it normally would. As fortune would have, soldiers were already advancing to our town from the capital.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” It sure seemed that they had taken their sweet time getting there. How long had he even been out anyway?

“Ah, I figured you’d say that,” Ephram shrugged. “But when the aiding militia is being led by Captain Killian, I figure that’s incentive enough to hustle.”

“The Head of Defense was there?” Marik questioned. “Personally?” The name was a familiar one.

Being the highest ranked captain in Tamaples, even someone disinterested in the militia knows the name of Captain Killian. Marik knew of him primarily because of his deceased father. The two of them must have met during their tenure working in the capital, maybe with Captain Killian overseeing some of the research his father conducted there. Ten years ago, Marik found a letter in their post box from the captain before his mother took it and explained that he sent one every year on the date of their father’s passing to offer his condolences. And as a kid, Marik had sent a reply under his mother's supervision. If any letter came after, he never saw it.

“In the flesh,” Ephram affirmed. “Now, I’ve seen Captain Zebes put us through some drills to toughen us up, but Captain Killian could have been an entire squad all on his own. And since we’re alone for right now, I don’t feel regretful admitting that I really didn’t think anyone was going to make it out alive until he showed up.”

Mackenzie pursed her lips to the side. “That’s quite the attitude shift from when you told me what happened.”

“Yeah, well, I just figured Marik would appreciate a more humbling attitude from me,” Ephram stated. “Wouldn’t want him to go and call me a boor.”

“So is that what you two were talking about before I came to?” Marik asked. The two other Crandon residents looked at one another.

“No, we weren’t talking at all really,” Mackenzie said with blunt concern.

“You were out for four days in a comatose state,” Ephram informed. “That might have been the physician talking while you were out. Speaking of which, Mackenzie, I’m going to go and grab the doc; he’ll want to check him over.” He left, leaving the two Kaisers to themselves.

“A coma?” Marik repeated what Ephram had just said.

“A small one, thank god, but yeah. The physician said that you had a concussion from the blows you took to the head. They treated you as soon as they could but since it was a head injury it took precedence. Hospitals all around the capital are filled with evacuees now.” He took notice of just how soft this pillow actually was.

“Yeah, I believe that.” Impossible as it may be, he did. He doubted that the morning he woke up that the next time he opened his eyes he would be in a distant hospital. The room smelled overly sanitized far beyond regular soap and water, with a hint of lemon. Nothing at all close to a warm and earthy aroma of-,

“Wait, Mackenzie,” he realized.

“Hm? What is-? Hey! Take it easy.” She went to push him back down. “It isn’t smart to start pushing yourself. You could-,”

“What happened to mom?” The question was enough to stop any beratement she could give him.

Mackenzie did not answer. The concern in her eyes blinked into resounding silence and fell to the ground. “Marik, what happened was-,” she halted herself. Whatever words she had planned failed to carry through.

“She’s gone,” Marik said, unsure whether to say it as a question or not. Somehow, that made it worse.

The bed did not feel too comfortable at all right now. The warmth had left to give room for an earthly chill to tickle his spine. Wet soil was stuffed inside the mattress and new grass covered the blanket tucked and folded above him. To lean back and lie down would collide his head with a carved stone. He would leave his sister a mere specter, burdened with a gift far greater he had yet to understand.

He wanted to jump from his bed and retch his stomach out to free it from the hand holding it hostage within, but he dared not do so. If he did, he’d be giving up a memory of her with that breakfast. He was a fairly skinny person, too, there was room in there for so much more than just that.

“Marik, please, listen.” Mackenzie’s voice was miles away but he wanted to grab onto them, to have the sound pull him down that tunnel and back to that morning so he could take more memories of her with him.

“Mackenzie?” Her hand encased his own.

“Marik, mom isn’t gone.”

The mist from that tunnel parted to reflect his image staring back at him. There was no deceit in the look he was getting, no half-truth or false hope to raise his spirit. Not even a shred of pity marred the mirroring gaze. Mackenzie told him only the truth.

“I… what do you mean?” Marik asked, not trusting his own words.

“Relax, just listen,” Mackenzie instructed, easing him back down. “She’s alive, the doctors have her in another room. I was over there earlier visiting before coming back here.” What sense of relief he had was aging worse than milk.

“What room? What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s… Marik, what’s the last thing you remember about the attack?”

“What’s that have to do with anything?” he cautiously asked.

“Just answer me, please.”

“I… we were running down the street and a Son of DON was tossing pieces of homes around.” Mackenzie nodded along.

“After you went down, I dragged you over to an alleyway thinking you might be safer there,” she explained. “I went back for mom, too, but… I couldn’t get her out on my own.” He put the pieces together.

“She was buried.”

“Partially. She… look, when Ephram gets back with the doctor, you can ask him about her condition; he may even clear you to go and visit her.” Taking the cue, Marik listened.

He listened and he waited.

He waited and listened.

What else was there?

They didn’t have to wait too much longer. Ephram returned as promised with a man with receding brown hair and a weathered face dressed in the typical white and blue colors befitting a medical practitioner. A blue and red meandering emblem adorned his left breast. The man introduced himself as being Dr. Johann Rechter and began his check-up on Marik.

He asked the standard questions: “Can you hear my voice clearly?” “Do you remember your name?” “How are you feeling?” “Can you remember what happened?”

Marik’s answers consisted of: “Yes, fine.” “Of course, I had a concussion, not amnesia.” “I’m feeling fine. Can you tell me how my mother’s doing?” “Yes, yes, I remember what happened, but I don’t know what happened to my mother so can you please tell me?” Dr. Rechter wrote down his responses and had a nurse go and fetch a glass of water.

“It’s important to keep your fluids up,” the doctor stated. “Now that you’re awake we can get you a proper meal and examinations.”

“Yeah, thanks and all, but you still haven’t answered my questions,” Marik pushed. “What’s going on with her?”

Dr. Rechter handed him the drink. “Here. Drink this first then we’ll try integrating some medication with food.”

“Medication? I’m not some loon, I’m feeling fine enough to walk out of here.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that.” So he listens to that. “Given the nature of your injury and development, your cognitive skills will need time to readjust. My belief is to have you stay and rest for a day or two more so we can get a better diagnosis.” Marik fought down a hard breath.

“I’ve already been out for a few days. I won’t know if I’m better if I can’t get up and move around.” It wasn’t like he would wander far; maybe to wherever they were keeping his mother, but it couldn’t be that far. Dr. Rechter was about to retort before Mackenzie interjected.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay with him and make sure he doesn’t push himself.” She sent him a look urging him to nod along. Trusting her, he did. Dr. Rechter appeared relieved. “But, he has a right to know, too. Our mother’s condition, has anything changed?”

Flipping through some pages on his clipboard, Dr. Rechter found it. “Your mother, Miriam Kaiser. Her condition remains stable.” Mackenzie nodded along but Marik was still lost.

“Stable how? What’s wrong with her?” He wished this doctor would just say it already. She was alive, great, but was she in a coma as well? Did she have amnesia? If he saw her would he recognize her? Would she recognize him?

“Your mother is alive and awake, young Mr. Kaiser,” he replied with still professionalism. “From your sister’s account, your mother was partially buried under a pile of rubble from a local house. Once she was recovered and brought here she was treated for any internal bleeding or concussions she might have suffered. Luckily, her head was spared of any injury and she remains mentally sound.” He was leaving something out and Marik knew it.

“So what about the rest of her?”

Dr. Rechter’s eyes focused solely on the page. “Her body has been majorly paralyzed.”