17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Reyna
“We have to quarantine them,” a voice says, but it sounds like I’m listening from underwater. My mind lags, unable to keep track of who is speaking, unable to hold onto a thought for more than a fleeting moment. I try to move my head to see where it came from, but I can barely open my eyes. A burning starts deep in my chest, like a painful itch. Pushing through the heaviness of my eyelids, I open them just barely but enough to see a nightmare unfold in front of me. One of my arms swings into view as the healer carries me, white pustules cover parts of it. The blisters are already forming.
“No.” The word comes out like a croak. I know what this is. I’m never going to see my family or friends again. Sobering tears fall faster down my face. I should’ve left Demendia when I had the chance. I could’ve been far away from here, living a happy life. My mind churns with regret and could-haves for what feels like an eternity before a large physician instructor comes and lifts me from the makeshift stretcher. My eyelids flutter, as the painful itch spreads up my chest and down my upper arms. Pain lances through my joints with every jostle. I just want to be home, in my bed surrounded by those I love. That’s how I was supposed to die.
“Please, I need more time. This isn’t supposed to happen,” I plead, sending a prayer to whatever god might be looking over me. The healers plop me onto a hard cot, the small mattress cold as the springs dig into my back. “Please, I just need more time, I can’t die,” I continue to mumble, begging the universe to listen.
“Reyna, drink this. It’ll make you feel better,” a gentle feminine voice says, holding a vial of purple liquid to my mouth. I can barely move, but I’m able to part my lips enough for the contents to pass my lips. The next thing I know I’m falling. Wind whips around me, and I scream only for the void to swallow me whole.
Wind rushes past my face as I fall through blackness. Nothing gives away how fast I am moving aside from the air blowing in my face. The thought of a ground coming for me flashes through my thoughts, but I know I’m dead. I don’t think I can die in the afterlife… er —at least I don’t think I can. The void around me morphs, melting to change shape. Whipping my head to the side, I survey the long grass broken up by moon lilies. The earthy scent of wet dirt and grass fills my nose when I spot the lake, fog rolling from it. The ground solidifies under my feet and then my feet plant in soft soil, grass tickles my hand as it sways in the calm breeze.
Where am I? My thoughts bounce through my mind. I take a step toward the water, looking behind me to find a field with the same long grass as far as my eyes can see.
You are in the between, young one. A familiar feminine voice echoes through my head. A woman swallowed by a black cloak stands at the edge of the lake, the silver of the twin blades on either side of her scythe glints menacingly in the moonlight.
Who are you? I ask moving closer.
I am Hekate, but your people know me as Death, and I need your help. The woman turns, and I stop dead in my tracks as my eyes land on the face of my best friend.
Astrid? I reach out a hand. I thought I was done for.
I am not your friend. You have passed on from life, but I brought you here. Demendia is in grave danger. Death takes my hands in hers. It is something the other gods could not have foreseen.
What could the gods not have been able to predict? You know everything, I ask, trying to process that I have died but my mind refuses to believe it. I’m still here, on one of the planes of existence.
You will find out when the time is right, but for now I am sending you back. You must bring your people together, form an army, and be ready to fight. It could be months from now, it could be weeks, but a horde is coming. The people must be ready, Death says, her figure fading along with the landscape.
Wait, they won’t listen to me! I throw the thought at the Goddess, and her answering whisper chills me even in death.
Then they will perish.
I sit straight up, the room cold enough to make me shiver. What once was the groans of the ill is a still silence. A white sheet covers my face, and I sit up, letting it flutter from my body, pooling in my lap. There are racks around me with still forms all covered by a white sheet and I freeze. Where am I? Why aren't any of these people moving, I can't see their chests rising with breaths. I have to hold back a scream when I realize I'm in the morgue’s freezer. My breath comes in fast puffs as a scream hitches up my throat. But the last thing I need is to be drawing attention to myself. I wrap my death shroud around me like a toga, and my bare feet land soundless on the tiled floor. I wobble to the freezer door, using the emergency latch to pop the door open. The health institute’s morgue is a more reasonable temperature than the freezer. The Oracle says Malia will claim you in death, and spare those he is not ready for. I’ve never been religious, never believed in the god that created us until now. Three empty stainless-steel beds take up the center of the room surrounded by cabinets and all kinds of chemicals they use to prepare the bodies for the pyre. I spot a door at the back; a small ray of moss-light illuminates it as if to say, “This is your escape.”
Without much thought as to what comes next, I walk to the door. I hold onto the hope that as soon as Ash found out I was sick, she committed to finding some kind of cure. I know she will be doing everything she can to help me. I can't help but let my fear creep up my throat. I don't know what is bad enough that a goddess would warn us to be ready. I don't know if I will ever feel ready to find out.