23. Bria
Bria
I t’s a strange feeling when I wake to the dark of Ash’s room, realizing I have nowhere to be.
Cato should be off by now, trekking with a few rebel guards to our southern camp.
I have no more training to complete, though I’m sure Garrith would give me a one-on-one session if I asked nicely.
He’s likely tired of training the villagers who lack skill and would be happy for a more worthy sparring mate.
Though I’m only more worthy of that role because he made me that way.
In the five years since I arrived in this small camp set in the depths of the Kaanos Mountains, I have yet to have a day off.
How bizarre it feels to lie here with no agenda ahead, no one waiting on me, no training or tasks that need my attention.
Of course it finally happens when I can barely enjoy it, when battle is looming over me like an ever present storm cloud of fucking doom.
I roll to my side, deciding that lying here is far better than finding something to do.
I’m met with a sea of fiery red curls spread out along the violet sheets.
Ash has one arm thrust under her pillow and one flung out toward me as she sleeps.
Her legs sprawl beneath her, one bent slightly upward at her side.
Her mouth is parted in what I can only imagine is a deep and peaceful sleep.
I frown slightly, feeling a twinge of envy and trying to shove it back down.
I wish I could sleep like that, instead of in fits and bursts, interrupted by violent nightmares and confusing visions.
There’s a sour tang lingering in my mouth that brings back the troubling images of Nimai that visited me again during the night.
I recall my eyes flying open and throwing the sheets off myself before lunging to the washroom, barely making it before I heaved the contents of my stomach, nausea churning through me from the jagged pain slicing every inch of my body.
Despite efforts to keep quiet and contain the interruption to myself, my convulsing body had betrayed me and woken Ash.
She had run to my side with concern etched across her face, frantically trying to help in any way she could.
But there was nothing she could do, it just took time for the pain to pass, for the visions to fade.
I told Ash of the nightmares and the visions before, but I imagine actually seeing me in the throes of one was quite different than just hearing it.
Ash stayed with me, stroking my hair, pulling it back from my face as sweat beaded across my forehead and fell in racing drops down my neck and back.
She held me until the wracking sobs that came after had dwindled and I was ready for sleep once more.
Each night, the torment is worse than the last, the visions of Nimai more realistic. I try my hardest to focus on the images from last night, like Cato suggested. Nimai’s too-thin body was thrown upon the floor, her legs curled under her, palms pressed into hard ground beneath.
Dirt. The ground had been packed dirt. Somewhere old, the smell damp and musty and laced with something awful. Something foul and old, something I’d never smelled before and never want to experience again. She was panting, her head down, a dark expanse of hair shielding her face.
There had been a noise as well. One that I’d concentrated on, but had been unable to discern.
A scraping sound possibly? Or scratching?
Whatever it was, my sister’s head had lifted at the sound, her eyes widening to vast expanses of mossy green that clouded with fear and pain.
Her screams still echo in my head, sharp and scouring the inside of my body like hundreds of blades.
I shudder at the memory so vivid and clear. But the ache has faded now and all I can do is wonder what on earth is happening to her. Are the images ones of the future or the present? Are they even real at all?