39. Chapter 39
“This one is deep — can you heal it any further before I close?” Isla asked Aurelia.
The Shifter lay on the narrow bed. What was left of the majority of his clothing lay in tatters, discarded on the floor, a thin sheet pulled up to his waist. Evric stood in the corner, arms crossed and expression seemingly frozen in fury as he glared at the unconscious Shifter.
With Evric refusing to leave the man’s side, Isla had insisted that Vaelin bathe and get some rest, finally allowing himself to relax after having delivered them all safely to The City. Reluctantly, he had agreed.
Aurelia’s brow was furrowed as she peered at the particularly large, parallel gashes that stretched across the Shifter’s torso.
It had sliced diagonally across his ribs through layers of skin and muscle, flashes of white rib bone showing through the opening before Aurelia had reluctantly closed the wound enough to staunch the bleeding early this morning.
“Yes, but these wounds need to be cleaned. I don’t want to risk trapping sand and other debris inside.”
Isla nodded, reaching to tie her hair into a tighter knot at the back of her head.
Glancing around the room, she bit her bottom lip.
The door to the room swung wide, two young women shuffling into the room.
They wore plain and simple robes compared to Asmarin’s sweeping, golden embroidery.
Novices, then, like Lyra. And in their arms, they cradled supplies.
Isla’s knees nearly buckled in relief as she took in the precious commodities - buckets of clean water and cloths for irrigating wounds, needle and thread, herbal remedies and tinctures.
“Asmarin sent us to assist you,” one of the women said softly, in a slightly lilting accent.
“Please let us know if there is anything further you need.” She pushed a red curl behind a rounded ear — human, then, from the Western region of Terravern.
The woman with her appeared to be Dunovarian, with dark hair, olive skin, and almond-shaped eyes.
Isla smiled gratefully at them both. “Thank you so much,” she said, her voice cracking. She moved to the basin of water and began to scrub the filth from her hands.
“I’m Maya,” the redheaded fae said, then motioned to the other Novice. “And this is Zina. We are happy to help — just tell us where you’d like us.”
Isla glanced from the supplies to the Shifter as she dried her hands on a clean cloth, trying to decide where best to place those without healing experience.
“Will you begin with irrigating the wounds to reduce the likelihood of infection?” Zina asked, her voice soft.
Isla turned in surprise. “I— yes.”
“If I’m not mistaken, these are Novices from within the Healing Quadrant,” Aurelia advised with a smile, now cleaning her own hands.
“Oh,” Isla said, blinking. “I had no idea. I thought all Novices were historians like… like my sister.”
Maya smiled at Isla. “There are many topics for Scholars to study at the Great Library. Now, how can we best be of use?”
Shaking off her embarrassment, Isla directed the Novices to irrigate the Shifter’s wounds while she prepared the supplies she would need for stitching the worst of the lacerations closed.
She ran her fingers along the bottles of herbal remedies Maya and Zina had provided, her mind cataloguing the best options for reducing the chance of infection, calming inflammation, and reducing pain.
“Is there something you need that we’re missing?”
Isla looked up. “I was looking for oregano, or something similar. I find it does twice the work of some of these other options.”
Maya nodded, “Yes, it addresses both inflammation and has antibacterial properties.” She reached for a bottle of an unfamiliar golden-brown liquid.
“This is myrrh. It’s native to Dunovar. One of the very few harvestables that has healing properties, instead of poisonous ones,” she grimaced.
“It works much the same as the oregano, and there’s no need to muddle it into a topical. ”
Together, they began applying the viscous brown liquid to the wounds. Isla wrinkled her nose at the confusing scent — a strange mixture of woody and sweet. Even still, she felt a thrill of exhilaration at discovering new remedies and methods of healing.
“I didn’t realize there were many human Scholars,” Isla said to Maya. “I thought my sister was something of an oddity.”
Zina snorted, and Maya shot her a warning look. Isla grimaced, thinking of her Lyra’s prickly nature.
“There are about twelve human Scholars enrolled at present. And about ten fae. The rest of us are from Dunovar,” Zina supplied.
“Fae too?” Isla asked, unable to suppress the surprise in her tone.
Maya nodded, and Isla was struck once more by just how little she knew of the world. Somehow, she had never realized how insulated she had been in Rowanmere. Shaking her head, she tried and failed to push away the uncomfortable feeling of ignorance that settled beneath her skin.
“For some reason, I thought that the fae and Dunovarians didn’t really get along,” Isla said.
Zina nodded without emotion. “That is the general sentiment. The fae typically look down on Dunovarians - especially the Seers - as eccentrics. But, the dominant opinion of many doesn’t reflect the opinion of all.”
Her words struck Isla, reminding her of her early conversations with Vaelin regarding her feelings about the fae.
She, too, had been prejudiced against an entire race, based almost wholly on the opinions and anecdotes of others.
So much so that Lyra had found it wildly inconsistent that Isla could possibly claim to have meaningful friendships with the fae.
“Eccentrics?” Isla asked, as she moved around the bed to the Shifter’s left side. She reached for her stitching supplies and began to bind one of the wounds, now glistening with myrrh.
Zina nodded. “The Sight is unreliable, and as a rule, the Seers are very protective of the knowledge we guard surrounding potential futures. The fae don’t like that.”
“It must be incredible,” Isla mumbled as she drew another flap of skin closed with her needle and thread. “Having the ability to See, I mean.”
“Not all Dunovarians are Seers, but many are.” Zina clarified. “All with Dunovarian blood are born with the ability to hone the gift, but not all choose to do so.”
“Why?” Isla asked, confused. The ability to see the future was surely a boon.
Zina shrugged. “It can be more of a burden than a blessing. What is Seen doesn't always come to be, and is rarely clear. It's like… living a life full of incomplete, incoherent prophetic possibilities. It’s just as likely to drive you mad as it is to benefit you.”
“And some people are driven to madness. Especially now,” Maya added.
Isla looked up, brows drawn together. “What do you mean, ‘especially now?’”
The Novices exchanged a look, but it was Maya who answered. “The illness you’ve been experiencing in Terravern, in Vaelora… we’re seeing it in this realm, too.”
Isla’s stomach seemed to drop, nausea building.
Somehow, she had nearly forgotten about their reason for making the journey to Dunovar in the first place.
Once she had laid eyes on Lyra and confirmed she was healthy, Isla had turned all of her focus to the Shifter.
Her pulse beat hard now in her throat as she forced the words past her lips, “The illness is here, too?”
Maya nodded.
“Deaths?” Isla croaked, though she dreaded the answer. She set down her needle and thread, fisting her hands against their shaking.
“Some,” Maya said. “Although, the fatality of the illness seems to manifest differently among Dunovarians — somewhat similar to the fae.”
“How so?” Aurelia asked.
“Every Dunovarian has the ability to hone the Sight, but we can also wield the lightning common to the desert storms,” Zina said.
“We’ve heard that infected fae have experienced a strange revolting of their magic, the elements growing unwieldy.
The same is true of Dunovarians. The lightning revolts, as though striking from within, stilling hearts. And the Seers go mad.”
“It’s a double edged sword,” Maya added. “For Seers, I mean. The Sight seems to become clearer, less ambiguous… but also more addictive. The clearer Sight appears to go hand-in-hand with a rapidly worsening fever and eventual death.”
“Have you had any success in treating it? A cure?” Isla asked, though she thought she knew the answer.
“Not yet,” Maya said sombrely. Isla’s stomach pitched, and she turned away abruptly, pressing a hand to her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing the burn in her throat as a furious, exhausted sob threatened to claw its way free.
No cure. No hope. They’d known all along it was a possibility — that they’d arrive in Dunovar after a hard fought journey to find no reward awaiting them. But it still pierced her as violently as a dagger to the chest.
Faces of the people she loved flashed through her mind. Cael. Gran. Oren. Had Blake already succumbed to the illness? Had others? Would there be a family left in Rowanmere for her to return to?
Hours passed.
With the help of the myrrh and other supplies the Novices had provided, they managed to close the majority of the wounds.
As the Shifter stabilized, his breathing improved, his chest beginning to rise and fall in a steady rhythm.
Isla reset his fractured elbow, aligning the bones so that Aurelia could stitch them back together.
Isla dragged a hand across her sweat-soaked forehead. “He’ll need to be monitored overnight. He’s stable, but after so much blood loss, I’m worried about him seizing.”
Aurelia nodded, “And the prolonged exposure to the sun, too. Dehydration is a real concern.”
Isla reached out to pinch skin on the shifter’s arm between her thumb and forefinger. She released it, frowning when the skin was slow to smooth out — a telltale sign of dehydration. She hummed with concern.
“We can help,” Zina offered, “But, we are only Novices. It may be best if at least one of you stayed with us?”
“I can take the first watch,” Isla said, stepping to the foot of the bed. As she moved, she stumbled sideways into a pair of sturdy arms.
Vaelin’s sound of displeasure rumbled in his chest, vibrating through his arms and into her own. “You need to rest,” he said.
“I thought you were supposed to be sleeping,” she grumbled. He did look as though he had gotten some rest, but the dark smudges beneath his eyes suggested that a deeper level of exhaustion still clung to him, as it did the rest of them.
His eyes flicked over the Shifter, still unconscious, but with considerably fewer holes since Vaelin had last laid eyes on him. He scanned Isla’s face, and she noted the heavy concern in his eyes.
“You promised,” he said quietly.
Even as she made to protest, the ache of exhaustion seemed to flare throughout her body. She sighed, relenting. “Fine. But I need to find Lyra first. I promised her we’d talk later.”
“I’ll find her and bring her to you,” Vaelin said.
That ought to be fun for him, Isla thought, the corners of her lips twitching.
“I can monitor him for the night,” Aurelia said. “You get some rest. We can switch at dawn.”
“Are you sure?” Isla asked, concern pulling at her. Aurelia had been awake as long as she had, and had been drawing on her magic for days now to alleviate their fatigue as they’d journeyed to The City. Surely, she was nearing burnout.
Aurelia smiled, "I'm tired, too, but I'm okay.”
“We can brew some Qishr tea for the evening,” Zina suggested. “Its a mild stimulant.”
“See? We’re fine here. Zina and I can monitor him for the night,” Aurelia said.
Isla nodded, feeling some of the tension leave Vaelin at her acquiescence.
A sudden, awful scratching sound filled the room.
They watched as Evric slowly dragged a chair across the room on two legs, the wood grinding against the stone floor.
Shoving it against the wall opposite the Shifter’s bed, he dropped himself into it, the chair creaking dangerously as he sat, crossing an ankle over a knee.
"Same," he said simply.
"You're just as tired as the rest of us — go get some rest,” Aurelia said.
"Don't need it."
She blinked.
"You're out of your mind if you think I'm leaving you alone with it.” Evric’s jaw was firmly set, his tone full of disdain as his eyes flashed over the Shifter and then back to Aurelia. "If you're staying up all night, so am I."
“Oh, good,” Aurelia said, her tone laced with sarcasm. "That’ll improve your mood."
"Come," Vaelin said quietly in Isla’s ear, prompting a small shiver to travel down her neck. "Before they come to blows."
Gently, he took her elbow. Isla allowed herself to lean into the solidity of him as he guided her through the open door and into the hallway.