Chapter 29 #2
They’ve turned out all the lights in the quarantine ward, drawing the curtains around the other infected citizens’ beds.
Nevis convinced her this was worth a try.
Even so, it’s immensely risky, but with no major improvement as a result of the pagadium antidote, Kit was desperate enough that she’d been willing to give it a go.
She could have, perhaps should have, tried this on Ambassador Remulus first, but seeing Knox deteriorate, knowing she could lose him, it was all too much.
She’d already lost her mother, her father a lightyear away, and she won’t lose her brother. She refuses.
Nevis has sourced a series of mismatched candles from somewhere on the Polaris, and they’ve placed them in a circle around Knox.
He looks eerie, his gaunt, pale face cast in flickering shadow, the purple-black rash appearing more stark than usual.
“Nothing has worked so far,” Nevis reminds her. “What can it hurt?”
Her pride, Kit thinks. She’s a Luminary, for Aaris’ sake, not some knockoff Wiccan.
Yet here they stand, a book of runes pulled up on Kit’s Prism, readying to perform some kind of counter-curse.
She wonders whether they should have dragged Amaltheia or Wynstann here to supervise, but then again, she’d wanted to show that they could do it.
That she could do it. That she is just as capable as any of the healers, any of the Nexarians, even without full grasp of her ability.
If this works, they can try it on the other patients too, and hopefully draw the nixos out before it can deepen its hold.
“Okay,” Nevis says, her voice ringing out through the quiet ward.
“Hush,” Kit whispers. “I don’t want to scare the other patients.
” She shoots a look over her shoulder, as if Grayson might appear at any moment, asking questions he shouldn’t be.
But of course, he’s sicker than ever, confined to his bed in the same way so many of the patients are, the Fever slowly draining the life from them.
Nevis drags a small metal table to the foot of Knox’s bed, where Kit places her Prism, the first page of runes enlarged on the screen. Kit draws a small knife from her pocket, holding it out to her friend. “You want to do the honors, or do you want me to?”
The spellbook called for the runes to be drawn in blood around the infected, something to tempt the black magic.
Nevis swallows, her hand shaking as she reaches out for the dagger.
Before she can think better of it, Kit swipes the blade across her own palm.
Nevis is visibly nervous, and Kit is certain she can do this.
It’s no different from brewing tonics and tinctures.
She just needs to follow the words on the page, draw the runes on the floor, and it will be done.
“Kit!” Nevis gasps, eyes large as she watches the blood drip from Kit’s hand.
“I’m fine,” Kit says, lowering herself to her knees and squeezing her palm so that the blood trickles onto the floor. She ignores the stinging of her hand, focused on executing this correctly. “Tell me what to do.”
“There has to be eight in a circle,” Nevis says. “You start by drawing Algiz. It looks kind of like a Y — here.” Nevis casts the Prism in Kit’s direction so she can see it.
Easy. Kit drags her finger through the blood that’s collected beneath her hand, quickly drawing the shape. She moves to the right, drawing her finger through her palm again to collect more of her blood.
“Next is Eihwaz,” Nevis says. “It looks similar to a backwards Z.”
Kit mimics the symbol Nevis shows her, then moves further down towards the head of Knox’s bed. She tries not to look at her brother, the slow rise and fall of his chest. She needs to focus. “Now, repeat those two.”
Kit squeezes her palm again, more blood welling to the surface. She draws the two runes once more, and waits for Nevis to give her further instruction.
“This one is a little more complicated, because it looks like Eihwaz,” Nevis says. “Sowilo.”
Kit steadies herself, looking at the Prism. She’s made it to the fifth rune, only three more to go. She tries to mimic the shape as she draws it on the floor, but it comes out looking more like Eihwaz than she wanted. She smudges it, tries redrawing it again, and then moves on.
“The same one again,” Nevis says. Kit draws it on the floor, near the foot of the ambassador’s bed once more. “Only two more. Next one is Gebo.”
Kit swipes her pointer finger through the blood pooled in her palm, draws the shape on the ground.
As soon as she completes the rune, the room goes quiet and a wind passes through, the candles flickering before they go out entirely. Kit snaps her head up, looking at Nevis, who stands frozen at the foot of the bed, eyes fixed on where Knox lays. “Nevis…”
“Shit,” Nevis breathes.
That startles Kit to her feet, and she sees the thing that’s caught Nevis’ attention before she’s reached her full height — the swirling black mass that has coalesced above Knox.
It looks a bit like a storm cloud, but it’s more ominous, shaped almost like a human man, black tendrils moving and flowing around it.
Kit gasps as her eyes lock with two yellow ones.
How does it have eyes? Kit has never seen anything like this in all her years of being a Luminary, studying magical maladies, viruses, bacteria.
They’re momentarily dumbfounded, feet glued to the floor. And then the moment snaps, the thing lunging at the two of them, a snarl emanating from deep in its chest. Kit stumbles backward, catching herself on the table, while Nevis trips over her feet, trying to duck as it comes at her.
It’s somehow semi-conscious, able to track where they are as Nevis scrambles to her feet and shouts, “Look out!”
The Fever lunges at Kit, extending a tendrily arm towards her, pointed claws reaching. She spins sideways, evading its grasp, but then it’s across the small room, cornering Nevis as she hovers against the drape they’ve pulled shut, frozen in indecision.
“Run!” Kit yells.
Nevis pulls back the drape, but the thing grasps her ponytail, yanking her backwards. She falls hard on the ground, her neck stretched at an odd angle as the creature oozes over her, face lowering towards hers as if to kiss her. Or drain her soul.
Kit doesn’t know what to do. This has gotten out of hand quickly, and she can hear other patients rousing from sleep.
The curtain is pulled back, and Grayson is standing there unsteadily, eyes wide as he takes in the scene. “Grayson!” Kit shouts. “Get out of here.”
She turns back to Nevis, picking up the dagger she’d dropped on the ground, even though she isn’t sure what good it will do against the creature. But the creature is no longer fixed on Nevis. Instead, it eyes Grayson, and something like a sinister grin crosses its face.
“Grayson, step back! Get out of here!” Kit tries again, but Grayson just totters there, looking at the thing.
The Fever moves swiftly, its pointed claws wrapping around Grayson’s neck, squeezing and sucking at him as Kit throws the dagger, trying to maim it.
Her aim is off — she’s never had to throw weaponry before — and it sails past the Fever, lodging itself in the wall behind it. Fuck.
“Nevis, get help!” Kit shouts, looking around for something else she can use as a weapon.
Nevis doesn’t wait for Kit to ask her twice. She runs from the draped room, and Kit hears the vestibule doors opening, shouts in the hallway.
They need to get the Fever contained again, somehow cage it back inside Knox’s body, which is where she imagines it came from. They can’t let it out of this room, can’t let it get to the other patients.
Grayson thrashes against the Fever and Kit lunges forward, wrapping her arms around its torso as she tries to yank if off him.
But the thing is solid, surprisingly heavy despite its wispy appearance.
She tugs harder, and as she does, she feels a strange sensation in her forearms, tingling throughout her body.
It feels like when she uses her power, except she’s not actively doing anything, not trying to sink into it.
It’s as if it’s just activated of its own accord, like touching the creature caused it to awaken.
Suddenly, the Fever releases its hold on Grayson, letting out a howl unlike anything Kit has ever heard on Lumaria.
But she doesn’t let go of it, wrestles it to the ground next to Knox’s bed, where she wraps her hands around its neck, sits on top of it as the thing thrashes, its yellow eyes frantic, searching.
A brilliant flash, as if a million pieces of crystal had just shattered in direct sunlight, and she’s left in the darkness, alone on the floor, breathing hard. She looks at her hand, still dripping blood, and wipes it on her scrubs, wincing.
Grayson lays on the ground just outside the drapery. He’s gray, unmoving, two bite marks in his neck. Kit crawls to him, taking his wrist in her hand and feeling for a pulse. There’s nothing, not even a faint beat she can decipher.
No. No, no, no. Not another. Not another person lost on her watch.
She refuses to believe it, grabbing the Calandrian token from her pocket to cast a diagnostic. A set of numbers hovers above him, all reading zero, and the screen to the left shows a flatline. The second she’s seen in as many weeks.
“Fuck!” Kit shouts.