9. Chapter 9
Chapter nine
S he shook her head but he didn't see, his eyes closing as he coughed, blood spattering her coat and the snow beside his head. His grip on her weakened and she felt the muscles in his great body go slack as he lay against her. Panicked, she pushed back the torn collar of his coat and felt for his pulse. It was weak, but present. Whispering a brief prayer to the Gods, she eased her legs out from under him and stood.
She would not leave him, not after he'd sacrificed himself for her, not after everything they'd shared over the past months. She cleaned her bloody hands in the snow and rushed back to camp.
Taking a burning stick from the fire to act as a torch, she hurried back to him, pulling frozen moss from the tree trunks. She thrust the torch in the snow to light her work and tore his coat and tunic open the rest of the way. Packing the moss against the gashes in his abdomen to stop the bleeding, she unwound her breast bindings, using them as a bandage to hold the make-shift poultice in place. She checked his pulse every few minutes as she worked, her fingers nearly numb with cold. He did not stir when she wound the bandage around him, using her legs to leverage his enormous body from the snow so she could reach behind his back.
When she had patched up his worst cuts as best she could in the dark, she headed back to the camp. She emptied the sled of their gear, packing all the rations she could hold into the pockets of her coat and leaving the rest in the snow. She crawled into the burrow he'd dug and put on her mittens, hauling out both their bed rolls and putting them on the sled. She pulled the sled through the trees to him and spread one of the furs over it to cushion him. Cursing under her breath at his weight, she rolled him onto the sled on his back. She covered him with the other bed roll to keep him warm and strapped him to the sled's frame so he wouldn't slip off. He was too tall for the sled, his feet hanging off the end into the snow, but it was the best she could do.
His spear was broken and there was no spare room on the sled for her bow and arrows now, so she pulled his hunting knife from the ice bear's corpse and cleaned it in the snow, tucking it back into the sheath in his boot in case she required a weapon on the way back to the village. Slinging one of their water skins over her shoulder, she ducked her head under the sled's hauling strap, positioning the thick leather across her chest, and leaned her weight into it, stepping forwards.
After a moment of resistance, the sled lurched. She braced her hands against the strap and staggered forwards, dragging the heavy sled slowly through the snow.
It was slow moving as she headed back up the valley, following their footsteps in the moonlight. Her muscles strained, her thighs burning as she trekked uphill through the trees and up onto the ridge above the valley. The cuts on her back where the bear had raked her with its claws stung. The strap pressed against her chest and she panted, feeling as if she couldn't breathe.
One step , she told herself. Then one more step. Put one foot in front of the other . Eventually, they would be back.
It had taken them almost a full day to reach the tree-lined valley. Dragging the sled with Sahginoth's limp body uphill, it would take her even longer to hike back. She forced that thought from her mind. One step, then another . She had always been strong. She could do this.
She had to do this. She would not let him die.
She paused every few minutes to check the orc's pulse. It remained faint but present. She tried to press some of the travel rations between his lips to give him strength, but he did not chew, remaining unconscious as she hauled him slowly back towards the village. She managed to pour a little of the water she'd brought into his mouth, but it was not enough to sustain him.
He'd lost too much blood. What if he did not wake?
She ignored that thought, too.
Gradually, the sky lightened, dawn rising pink and orange at the edge of the horizon. Gyrda's muscles screamed for a rest, but she refused to stop, afraid that if she did, she wouldn't be able to start again.
One step, then another .
She followed their faint footprints on the path back towards the village, stepping where Sahginoth had the day before and the snow was not as deep. She pictured him as he'd been only a few hours before, strong and tall, corded with muscle, seemingly invincible. And he'd been hers, his body eager for her in their den, his kisses hungry and consuming. He would be strong again. He had to be. He would be hers again; she would not let him go.
One step, then another .
She faltered, slipping and falling to her hands and knees on the thin path at the crest of a ridge. The sled slid backwards and sideways off the side of the hill, pulling her with it. She grabbed for the snow-covered rocks to halt their fall, clinging to a jagged boulder with both arms. Her mittens tore on the sharp rock, the strap of the sled nearly choking her. She screamed for help, her voice hoarse from hours of walking, but she knew there was no one nearby to hear her. The weight of Sahginoth's body was too great, her shoulder joints popping with the strain of trying to hold them both. Gyrda let go, the sled dragging her down to the base of the ridge, ice and rocks tearing at her clothes all the way.
They came to a stop at the bottom, the sled wedging into a snow drift. Gyrda slammed her hands into the snow in frustration and fury, turning her face to the wide cloudless sky and screaming again. Her anguish was swallowed up by the silent mountains as she slumped into the snowdrift beside her inert companion, sobs wracking her body.
A solid hour of climbing on that ridge, gone. She'd have to pull the sled back to the base of the path where it was not so steep and try again.
She couldn't make it.
She cried, her cheek pressed to the snow, her limbs trembling from exhaustion. She cried, face streaked with frozen tears, until she had no tears left. Then she stood and pulled the sled out of the snowdrift, readjusting the strap over her chest. She didn't have to make it all the way. Just one step, and then another.
Neither of them would die here. Not today.
She pulled him along the base of the ridge to a place where the angle was not steep, then pulled the sled back up to the path. She moved more slowly this time, watching her step on the icy rocks. Her knees stung where the rocks had torn her skin, her leggings shredded. At least she was sweating too much to be cold yet, but when the sun set that would change.
She almost paused for a moment at that thought. She'd been walking for a night and half a day. What if she couldn't make it another night?
Don't think about it. One step. Then another.
She kept her head down, watching the path directly in front of her. If she looked up into the mountains, gauging the distance left to the village, she'd feel too defeated to take another step. Looking down was simple. There was not a great distance. There was only a small length of snow in front of her, only a few of her and Sahginoth's footprints from the previous day.
Gradually, the sun sparkling on the snow faded, a pink glow filling the mountains. She kept her head down. Her muscles screamed for a rest, her throat raw from gasping the cold air. Pink faded to purple. Her head pounded. The night breeze cut through her torn clothing, freezing the sweat on her skin. She would have shivered, but she had no energy left to even feel the cold. She was nearly numb. She tried to take Sahginoth's pulse again but she could feel nothing with her hands, her fingers shaking and swollen from pressing against the strap of the sled. She could see small icy puffs of his breath in the air, though, so he still lived, and that gave her strength.
She gave in to temptation, looking up to see where she was. She recognized these peaks easily. The village was only through the next pass. With a grunt, she pulled harder, her feet aching and sore, the strap biting into her chest and the palms of her hands, surely leaving a thick bruise across her skin. But there was already so much pain that she could barely distinguish one ache from another. Her whole body hurt worse than it ever had, worse than when she'd woken, bruised and battered, after her fall down the stairs.
But they were so close.
She threw her weight against the strap and pulled, feet slipping in the snow as they moved faster. The last of the twilight faded into the deep blue of the night, the moon rising full over the jagged mountain tops. The plateau came into sight in the distance, huts glowing from within with the light of fires. She could feel the warmth, the soft furs of her bed. Gyrda pulled harder, groaning as the sled dragged slowly through the snow, her mouth dry and her legs shaking.
"Help!" she screamed as they neared the village. She screamed again, her voice weak. She could see movement in the darkness outside the huts, the bright lights spilling out onto the snow as door flaps opened and orcs spilled out into the night. Waving her arms, she called for them with the last of her strength, falling to her knees in a snowdrift.
She could not tell how much time passed, her vision blurring with exhaustion. Orcs rushed through the snow, grey bodies surrounding her. Some helped her to her feet and she pointed to the sled. "A bear," she panted. "He's hurt."
Someone lifted her in their arms. She could faintly hear the shouts as the other orcs dragged the sled into the village. Someone else pressed a water skin to her lips and she drank greedily, her stomach rumbling in protest at its lack of food. They passed the huts, their soft lights blurring together. Orcs were asking her questions, their voices raised and urgent, but she couldn't make out the words. Her eyelids sagged.
She had done all she could do. She could feel more of the numbness creeping over her, her body feeling heavy as stone. She closed her eyes.