Chapter 23 - Rhys
Every day since Rachel died, it’s been nothing but death.
We held Rachel’s funeral at the manor the day after she died. At that time, most of the pack was beginning to sicken. It swept through the pack so swiftly that we could barely keep up with the news. And now, a week later, I am beyond fear, beyond exhaustion, and almost beyond hope.
I walk between the beds, listlessly looking over the barely alive bodies of the people I’m supposed to protect. We had to convert our sports hall into a hospital because we couldn’t send shifters to a human facility, and the manor isn’t equipped to handle this kind of emergency.
To my disgust, the council has stayed at the manor. According to reports, they are sick as well, but not as badly as the rest of the pack. Their reason for staying away is that we still need a governing body, no matter what happens, and they should stay away from the really sick people.
I’d like to argue with that, but there is a chance I won’t make it out of this, and I do need to know that someone survives beyond me to rule the pack… that is, if we have a pack at all.
As I pass by one of the beds, I hear soft crying and immediately go to the person nearest me. To my dismay, it’s a very young girl. Her pale blond hair reminds me so much of my daughter; it causes pangs of pain in my chest.
“Hey,” I say, taking her hand. “It’s okay. You’re not alone.”
“Alpha Rhys,” she gasps. “Don’t worry about me… You have so many people to take care of…”
“Every single one of you is precious to me,” I say, holding her hand gently. “Just hang on. I promise you, we will find a solution.”
“So much pain,” she mumbles. “It hurts.”
“I know, sweetheart,” I say, stroking her hair. “Try to rest.”
She nods, and I let go of her hand and tuck her in. I can tell by the tense look on her face that she can’t sleep, but aside from rest, I don’t know what else to do for her.
I walk through the aisle, looking out across the hall with a heavy heart. We have fifty people here in intensive care, bedridden and worsening by the day. Besides myself, we have three others attending as nurses. There are reports coming in of wolves sickening in their own homes.
Will we even be able to care for the sick? What if all of us fall ill?
The questions are too painful for me to contemplate, especially when I can feel my own vitality draining away by the day. Walking has become difficult, my joints ache, and it’s getting harder and harder to sleep.
Not that I could. Even if the pain running through my veins like fire would quit for a moment, my anxiety won’t.
I head to the back of the hall and go through to the kitchen. I find Sadie there, just as I expected to. She looks worse than I, if that’s even possible.
Her beautiful, long hair is pulled up messily behind her head, tangled in a hair clip.
Her clothes hang loosely off her, an old, faded sweater and a pair of gray track pants.
Her eyes look wide and bright, sunken into her face with dark circles around them.
Her skin has a sheen of sweat and grime, as if she hasn’t showered in days.
She’s leaning over the bench, completely unaware of me as she carefully pours liquid from one beaker to another. The resulting mixture is bright green, and she watches the substances combine with great interest. Then, she takes a pinch of red dust from a nearby dish and sprinkles some over the top.
The mixture ignites with a sharp bang and practically blows up in her face. I jump forward to pull her back, but by the time I get there, the brief flash has died down, even though it leaves a trail of smoke in the air and a cloud of soot on Sadie’s face.
“Dammit!” she cries.
I grab her shoulders and try to pull her away. “Be careful,” I say, pushing against her and disturbed by how little it affects her. “You almost set yourself on fire!”
“I don’t care!” she replies, her voice low and harsh. “I have to do something.”
I put my arms around her and just hold her. She clings to my waist, gasping as she tries to hold back sobs.
Since the moment Rachel died, Sadie has been researching through the books on witchcraft and trying every spell she can to cure the disease. At first, the other wolves were furious, but over the course of the week, things had gotten so bad that no one has the energy left to be angry with her.
Sadie’s presence at Rachel’s funeral was also a tense moment, but I stood by her side, silently affirming that she had every right to be there.
Rachel’s death was an unexpected tragedy, the first time someone had died suddenly from the disease, and sadly, it heralded a quickening of the sickness.
More people began to succumb almost the moment we laid her to rest.
“How is Cassie?” Sadie asks. “Have you heard?”
“Yes,” I reply. “She’s with Jean and the other children. Jean is sick, but not too badly, and some of the grandmothers are there with her to help. No child under ten has been affected so far.”
“That’s good,” Sadie says, nodding against my chest. “Does she miss us?” Her voice trembles, and I hug her even more tightly.
“Yes, she does,” I answer, stroking her hair. “But she understands that people are very sick and we’re trying to help them.”
I feel Sadie nod again. She clings to my shoulders, her fingers gathering my shirt as she embraces me in a moment of high emotion.
“I have to—” she says breathlessly. “I have to find a cure!”
Suddenly, she pushes me away and steps forward to the bench, leaning on the edge as she scowls down at the ingredients and utensils scattered across the table.
“Maybe thyme?” she mutters to herself. “No, it would contradict the sage. I just don’t know enough about this!”
“Sadie,” I say, grabbing her shoulder. “Come away, please, you haven’t slept—”
“I don’t need to sleep!” she almost yells. “I need to fix this!”
“You also need to eat and rest!” I yell back. “You can’t help anyone if you drop dead from exhaustion.”
“I’m not going to drop dead,” she argues. “But they will if I don’t do something!”
I take a step back, disturbed that even though I pulled hard on her shoulder, she didn’t budge.
My strength has truly left me. I’m not even as strong as an ordinary man of my size.
“Sadie…” I sigh, completely lost for words. “It isn’t your fault.”
She keeps her head down and her back to me, but she doesn’t say anything. I can’t think of anything else to say, and I just stand there, feeling completely useless.
Using magic to heal the pack was an idea even I was skeptical of.
Right after the funeral, Sadie started researching.
She said that some of the healing spells were so strong, there was a good chance they could help.
I was willing to let her keep reading and even make some potions, but as soon as the council got wind of it, they wanted her back on trial as a traitor.
Because so many people were getting sick, I had a good excuse not to go.
While I was setting up the hospital, Sadie was home in our kitchen, coming up with potions and concoctions she took from the old books.
At first, she came up with a few things that eased people’s symptoms, and this quieted much of the pack.
There were still some people who wanted her removed from the pack and locked up at the manor, and even more so because she was actively performing magic. As the hospital filled up to capacity and the council howled for her blood, I didn’t know how to hold out another day.
Then Sadie hit upon a potion that worked. Instead of just treating the symptoms, it seemed to completely halt the disease in its tracks. By the time she mastered it, several more people had died, but once we began administering the potion, no one else was lost.
The problem is, it isn’t a cure. All it does is stop the progression of the disease. If you were bedridden before you took it, you stay that way.
We passed the potion on to the rest of the pack, and it seemed to halt the spread. Plenty of people refused to take it, but once the sickness came for them, they ended up caving in and giving magic a chance.
If they hadn’t, we might not have a pack left at all.
“Sadie,” I say, and she just shakes her head.
She’s convinced she can cure it. I hope she’s right, but I don’t want her to give her life for it, even if it means losing my own…
“I need air,” she says, and abruptly walks out of the kitchen towards the back doors. I look at the implements on the table, understanding absolutely none of them. There is a big leather-bound book open near me, and I don’t recognize half the symbols in it.
I’m so tired and sick, I probably couldn’t read a children’s book right now.
Children’s book.
I think of the beautiful routine I had with my daughter, and my chest aches as if a blunt blade has been turned over in my heart. For a brief time, I lived an idyllic life with the woman I love and the child we have together, and now I find myself in the worst hell I could possibly imagine.
Sadie’s potion has helped so many, and not just with the sickness.
A lot of people see how hard she’s working to cure us and really believe that she means us no harm—and that perhaps witchcraft isn’t evil.
The old prejudice still exists, though, and plenty of people don’t trust her. Including the council.
When I realize how long Sadie has been gone, I go back through the kitchen, pausing to look out into the main hall before I leave. All I see is row after row of beds full of sick people and exhausted, wrecked people like myself trying to care for them.
Hell. This is hell. It has to be. Maybe I died and don’t remember.
I shake my head violently, trying to clear it of that thought, but all I do is make myself dizzy.
I turn towards the back doors and go out into the night.
Even though I can hear the crickets sing and the rustle of creatures in the trees, it’s like my senses are muffled, and for the first time in my life, I’m actually afraid for my own safety.
I know what it is now to feel fear for my child or my wife, but this is the first time I’ve ever contemplated permanent disability for myself… or even death.
I walk a short way from the hall, and eventually I find Sadie kneeling under a tree. She’s rocking back and forth, her hands on her head, crying softly.
“Please,” she moans as if she’s imploring the sky. “Please help me.”
“Sadie,” I say, hurrying to her. “It’s okay.”
She shakes her head and tries to push me away, but eventually gives up and cuddles into my chest, clinging to me.
“Rhys,” she gasps through her tears. “Why? I’m trying so hard.”
“I know, baby, I know,” I whisper, stroking her hair. “It’s okay.”
“Stop saying that!” she cries. “Nothing is okay. Everything is fucked up.”
I have nothing to say to that, so I just hold her, rocking us back and forward. I’ve kept her shielded from all the pack business, so she doesn’t know that the council wants to speak to her, and much of the pack still rejects the idea of witchcraft, even when it’s helping them.
“I need to do something,” she mumbles, her hands on my shoulders as if she doesn’t know whether to push me away or hug me tighter.
“You have done something,” I point out. “You’ve eased everyone’s pain with that potion.”
“But I haven’t cured the disease. The potion will stop working, I know it will. Already, people are relapsing.”
A shudder runs down my spine at her words, but I’m simply too sick and exhausted to acknowledge that fact.
“We’ll think of something.”
“No,” she chokes out. “I have to think of something. No one else can.”
I rock her a bit more, finally feeling her relax in my arms. “How about we go back and lie down together?” I ask. “You’ll feel better after a bit of sleep, and so will I.”
“Okay,” she whispers, nodding, but we make no move to get up.
“Sadie,” I say, pulling back so I can look into her eyes. “It’s not your fault.”
She nods, tears pouring down her cheeks. I cup her jaw and nod urgently, trying to impress the truth of my words into her soul. Eventually, she nods again, and I kiss her before wrapping my arms around her and squeezing her as hard as I can.
“We’ll get through this together,” I whisper. “I promise.”