XXIV. Wake Anxious

The streets of Auld Ferrons were darker than pitch, turning Maleah’s frost edged window into a mirror against the soft glow of an oil lamp. Her uniform had been washed to the best of her ability, and Leila attempted to repair it in the living room. Fortunately, she and Leila were around the same size, though her blouses fit a bit tight. The bath had done wonders for both her and Rassvette, with the monk now laying comatose in bed following a large lunch and a final healing session.

Maleah had taken the tiny guest bedroom with its creaky iron bed frame and lumpy mattress in the corner. It had the best view, though admittedly, there wasn’t much going on outside. She had never thought her journey would wind up being taken in by carnies. They were called many things, if they were called anything at all. Everyone knew of them, they traveled around during the spring and summer putting on circuses or followed one army or another as entertainment during Battle Faires. Everywhere they went, something valuable was sure to turn up missing, or a woman with a small child would turn up on some nobleman’s door escorted by fifteen of her “brothers” demanding monetary redress in exchange for silence.

“Tell me something,”

Maleah jumped and spun around to see Leila standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. Maleah swallowed and backed against the wall, Leila was oddly terrifying, sort of like Séverin.

Leila closed the door behind her as softly as she had opened it. “Did you travel with a man named Aichlan and a woman named Alice?”

“Why do you ask?” Maleah asked cagily.

Leila chewed on her thumbnail, a half smile on her lips and her brows furrowed. “So they are alive…”

Maleah regarded her for several moments, before turning back to gaze at the empty streets below. “Do you know them?”

Leila shook her head, her earrings and bobbles jiggling pleasantly. “No, we met some travelers searching for them, they helped us get this far. They came from Aes Sidhe in search of them, in search of Alice and Aichlan.”

Maleah picked at her ear with her little finger. “Huh, small world.”

Leila laughed and took a seat on the bed. “It is. Did you know a knight by the name of Rémann?”

Maleah leaned her head against the glass with a loud sigh. “Can’t say that I did. Then again, there were so many people coming and going out of the palace, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“You were at the palace?” Leila asked doubtfully. “In Marquez?”

Maleah straightened up and crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t act so surprised. General Aichlan considers me a close friend and confidante. I even had to hold his hair back when he couldn’t handle his liquor.”

Leila laughed again and leaned against the wall, pulling her knees up to her chest. Maleah scrunched her face in annoyance before turning her gaze back to the empty streets and her reflection.

“What brings a woman of the north and a monk of The Order all the way to Auld Ferrons?” Leila mused.

“Hunting.” Maleah’s tone was so thick with sarcasm it was almost insulting.

Leila gave Maleah a reproachful swat on the arm. “And your men were all killed by that wizard.”

Maleah was silent.

Leila lay her hand on Maleah’s shoulder and massaged gently. “Do you know why my brother and I have such disdain for the black army?’

“You’re probably gonna tell me regardless.” Maleah muttered.

“Don’t get cheeky,” Leila chastised, “you are our guests still. It’s in poor taste.”

Silence hung between them for several moments. Maleah idly doodled in the fog her breaths created on the window pane as Leila hummed a folky ballad and bounced her leg, making the bells chime in tune.

“Don’t you people travel in groups?” Maleah blurted, aware that Leila had been staring at her intently for some time.

Leila stopped her song, but continued to bounce her leg. “We do, my brother and I were a part of a caravan. We were in Blyth upon Woe when the black army sailed in and ransacked the city. However, they weren’t looking for entertainment in their battle faire.”

Maleah shrank into the wall, forcing her gaze out into the darkness. If she could have melted into the wood, she would have, to escape the guilt and knowing gaze of Leila. Maleah had left by that point, but she knew what the men she left behind were capable of. She sighed, slowly wiped away the fog on the back of her sleeve, and was surprised to see dozens of torchlights approaching from the distance.

* * *

Fiora awoke to a ravenous hunger unlike any she had felt before. Underlying the hunger was a sense of panic and confusion, she lay naked in a warm tub of some thick and slimy fluid. The fixtures were bronze, and the counters were marble with nearly burned out candles providing a soft glow to some lord’s personal bathroom. Whatever the liquid was, it had a familiar yet sickly smell that caused her to gag. As she drew herself out of the tub, her left arm gave out and she nearly tumbled out before sinking back into the mire. She spat and took several retching breaths as the intense wave of nausea slowly began to subside.

Fiora knew nothing of how she arrived here, only that it was not where she should be. Her last memories were a vague jumble of garbage fallen from the skies, a frozen battlefield, some fell creature of Dusk and drowning in a field of mud. The double doors opened without a knock and Fiora shielded her eyes from the sudden brightness. Emarosa glided into the room and nearly dropped her tray upon finding Fiora awake. She uttered a mild swear and set the tray down by the wash basin.

“By Dawn child, you’ve the fortitude of a bear in rut.”

Emarosa bustled over with a damp rag and sat on the edge of the tub. Fiora instinctively drew back as Emarosa reached out to wipe the gunk from her brow. Emma gently lowered Fiora’s arm and cooed to her as if she were a child, only confusing and angering her more.

“What is this? Where am I?” Fiora attempted to pull herself out of the tub, her eyes wide with panic at awaking naked in an unfamiliar room.

Fiora struggled against Emarosa’s oddly strong grip and tried to extract herself from the tub once more. Much to her irritation and concern, her left arm was like jelly. Emma shushed her again and mopped the slime from her head with the calm, stalwart serenity of a mother.

“Where am I?” Fiora demanded again, her voice cracking as hysteria set in.

Emarosa wrung out the rag into the tub. “A town called Auld Ferrons I believe.”

“What?” Fiora squirmed again and was quickly rebuffed. “How? Where…?”

Emarosa brushed a lock of hair from Fiora’s face. “You were on death’s door, his threshold even, with more than a foot over the jamb. To extend the metaphor.”

“Then, how…”

Fiora looked down to her breast and torso, there were scars she didn’t have previously, but they looked as if they were from years ago rather than a day or two. Assuming that it had been only a day.

“A young nun sustained you, and several others,” Emarosa soberly made the sign of the dawn across her chest, “One was taken by the light.”

Emarosa stood and crossed the room towards the box of poultices on the counter. Fiora attempted to rise out of the tub again, but slide back in, dejected. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem dangerous, merely unpleasant. Not nearly as unpleasant as the knowledge that a woman had died trying to save her life. Fiora had never seen someone taken by the light, most healers never found themselves taxed to that point, but she had heard stories. When the healer draws too much upon The Dawn, The Dawn consumes them like fire devours tinder. It is most likely an excruciatingly painful way to go out.

“Don’t look that way child.” Emarosa chided. “She was following her mandates, like we all do. You just focus on recovery so her death was not in vain.”

Emarosa briefly glowed as she imbued a cup with the light.

“How long?’ Fiora croaked.

Emarosa handed Fiora the cup and took a seat on the edge of the bath. “How long what dear?”

“Was I dead? And what is this shit?”

“Dead?” Emarosa shrugged. “Perhaps, we can’t say for certain. You endured constant healing just to stabilize you. I’m honestly surprised to see you awake so soon.”

“And the tub?”

Emarosa’s smile was noticeably strained as she rubbed her stomach. “The fluid of a mother’s womb.”

Fiora’s expression was of abject disgust as she attempted to extricate herself once more. With unforeseen strength and deftness, Emarosa pushed her back into the fluid.

“You’ll die.” Emma said rather ominously. “Besides, you’ve spent nine months in the same once, what’s a few days to a week now?”

“Still, it’s disgusting. Why don’t can’t you use The Dawn?”

Emarosa nudged Fiora’s hand, prompting her to drink. “We already tried that, and after three days and a dead sister, all we managed to do was close your lung and throat.”

Fiora gagged upon tasting the cold bitter tonic Emarosa had given her. “Both Donough and Eth suffered far more grievous wounds than I, and Sister Clarissa healed them completely. What is this?”

“Cardinal La Roux is something of a prodigy.” Emarosa admonished. “You cannot compare the rest of us to that one.

As Fiora cautiously raised the cup to smell the liquid inside, Emarosa grabbed her head and tipped the mug, forcing her to drink. Fiora coughed and gagged, spilling much of it, but most unfortunately went down.

“This is effective, The Order has been using this method for thousands of years on those that have lost limbs or organs to sickness and war. It is said that before the collapse, men could be submerged in tanks of this fluid and emerge fresh as a newborn.”

“I can’t breathe!” Fiora wheezed through spastic coughs.

“Hrm? Oh.” Emarosa shrugged and took the cup from Fiora’s hands. “I’m sure they could breathe, the people of that era had a great deal more advanced in all matters except those of spirit.”

“What the hell did you give me?” Fiora gasped as she clasped her throat.

“We of The Order have first and foremost been healers,” Emarosa continued as she absent mindedly rubbed Fiora’s back. “though that mission has sadly been forgotten of late, obscured under politicking and greed.”

“I’m going to be sick…”

Emarosa patted Fiora on the shoulder. “It’ll pass. Mending a broken bone, lacerated skin, or purging sickness and cancer are relatively simple and routine tasks for clerics. We cannot grow anew however. Severed limbs, necrotic or ruptured organs, these are things beyond our ability. It is in these instances we call on the knowledge of our forebears, the hôspitalites and Order of Doc-tor.”

Fiora felt as if her body had turned to stone. Her vision began to narrow and it took all of her strength to keep her head above the water. Emarosa gently propped her up against the back of the tub, using a rolled up towel as support and pillow. Fiora’s body tingled and she swore she saw arcs of lightning dancing through the liquid before her sight failed her.

“You should be up and about come morning, that is, assuming Rowena’s herbal concoction is as effective as she boasts.” Emarosa said with a hint of incredulity. “Tomorrow evening at the very latest.”