30. Chapter Thirty
Chapter thirty
Oh, fuck .I think it's an arivenne. Their venom can do serious damage.
With an agonized roar, Cayzenn rips his arm back and slams it and the creature into the wall, over and over again.
Dark venom sprays from its fangs as it shrieks, black and orange body protected by the hard shell hidden beneath fur.
Its beady crimson eyes whir, and golden blood trickles down Cayzenn's arm where fangs meet flesh.
The venom has to be potent, because he's already sluggish and stumbling when he conjures a viscous-looking serrated knife.
Maneuvering the blade into one of the animal's soft spots with his left hand is proving impossible.
He's squinting, squeezing his eyes shut until I'm terrified he's going to miss and stab himself.
The sight of his dripping blood turns mine acidic.
I have to do something. Ignoring his protests for me to stay back, I duck under his feeble attempt to keep me away.
He stumbles again, swearing and dropping the blade.
It lands at my feet, holding shape instead of dissolving as soon as he loses contact, like his magic refuses to give up.
Crouching to grab it, I stand and shove the hilt back into the delirious man’s empty hand, letting him slump against the wall.
I’m surprised I could even pick up the weapon he conjured.
I’m not about to attempt to wield it. Doing my best to block out the revolting guzzling sounds emitting from the arivenne, I close my fingers over Cayzenn’s, lift the near dead weight of his arm to my shoulder, and use his hand to plunge the blade under the creature’s thick exoskeleton, skewering it to the stone with a sickening crunch.
The animal releases its grip with an ear-splitting squeal, dropping to the cave floor when I yank the blade free.
I kick it away with the toe of my boot in time to help Cayzenn slide down the wall to collapse in a heap.
Sweat beads rapidly on his forehead, dripping down his temple, and when I gently touch his forehead, it's blazing hot as poison courses through his veins.
Without magic, there's not a damn thing I can do to ease his suffering except keep him hydrated. That, I remember from my malevolence studies, and that much I can manage. While the toxins aren't fatal, especially to someone of his size, he is in for an agonizing night and next few days.
Easing his body to lie flat, I prop his head up with both our folded jackets to keep his airway clear and grab the canteens to slowly trickle what's left of the water down his throat. He's semi-conscious, barely lucid, the fever raging through him only fed by the furnace of a cave we're trapped in.
In dire need of a drink myself, I picture the stone water fountain above and know I'll have to run up there as soon as I can.
After thinking only this morning how I'd happily never see snow again, I would kill for outside access right now.
It's the only thing that would bring his temperature down enough to let him sleep this off.
From the corner of my eye, I see the conjured blade start to disappear and hurry to grab it, slicing the bottom of my shirt into two pieces.
Thoroughly checking my hands and arms for any cuts or scratches, I use what's left of the water to wash the blood from his wounds, using the other piece to tightly bind the two puncture marks once they’re clean.
Without supplies, there's nothing I can do about the toxin coursing through his body.
Terrified to leave him alone for long, I force myself to ignore the ache in my ribs and my exhaustion so I can get to the cavern above as fast as possible.
I’m grateful the water is clean, even if I wish it was colder.
Thank the Goddess we have another fully charged light stick.
I'm too terrified to risk pricking my finger to feed more blood into the refill valve, and I sure as fuck won't be spilling Cayzenn’s.
Sitting by his side, I monitor his erratic pulse and fluttering eyelids, desperate to do more than keep him hydrated. "Aly," he rasps, "I need you…to distract me, please."
"Ok, just let me think of something."
"Anything, I don't care," he chokes out. "Tell me a story, or nerdy plant shit, or something."
I almost laugh at the insanity of that, as if reciting a Remedy text would distract anybody.
My frantic mind is blank of anything useful until I remember a well-known poem we're taught as children.
A pained groan escapes Cayzenn's already cracking lips, and he tries to move, as if he can escape the pain.
I trickle more water into his mouth, and he protests weakly, struggling to swallow even the tiniest sip.
Aware that extra body heat will only add to the inferno raging within him, I gently lay my hand on his forearm and, with no other comfort to offer, I take a deep breath and start to softly sing the words of the poem, to what I think is a melody I'm making up, even if it feels oddly familiar somehow.
The words speak of the selfishness of the unnamed gods, painting the Goddess and her lover as the reason for Atafye's split, praising the High Sage and her tri-sacrifice to limit the damage from Envenar, generously sharing her immense power to gift us with magic.
The poem comes to a close with the evocative final lines, as it is, was, and always will be.
Three to build, three to break, three to set us free.
I sing the same words and melody until my throat’s too dry to continue.
Without the task as an anchor, I spiral into panic, listening to Cayzenn's raspy breaths grow shallower with every passing minute.
I can't just sit here doing nothing. What if I'm wrong?
What if he got a lethal dose, or it wasn't even an arivenne?
What if he's dying, and I sat here singing like a fool?
Clenching and unclenching my fists, I reach out to Aven, hoping I can be loud enough mentally to wake him. It takes a few minutes before he responds to my plea for help, promising to try and wake the others. “You should contact Varistia."
Hope surges in my chest. I need to get more water anyway, so I may as well try in case there’s something she knows.
Damn near out of my mind, I rush to clamber over the pile of rubble and race back up the path to the antechamber of pools, ignoring the pain in my calves and pushing myself to go faster.
I skid into the room, hitting my knees at the edge of one of the bigger pools.
Aven thinks it shouldn't be hard for me to make contact with her, but I have no idea how.
We were interrupted before she could explain it to me.
He's not much help, telling me to go inside and reach out, like I do with him. It takes me precious minutes of searching my mind to find an opaque panel of glass blocking shimmering purple light, and I know with absolute certainty that’s her.
Feeling beyond ridiculous, I give the glass a few quick, hard taps and look at the surface of the water again to see those silver-threaded lavender eyes staring back at me, unblinking. "Oh, so now you want to talk?"
There's no time for awe. I have to get back to that cavern, to him. "Yes, please. I need your help." The tepid liquid I drank did little to soothe my gravelly voice.
"What is it exactly you think I can do?" she asks when I finish explaining the situation.
"You said you have magic. Is there anything you can do to help from wherever you are?
Since we can talk like this, I thought maybe you could heal him from a distance too, or clear the exit so I can get to the snow or something, anything.
" It's borderline insane, expecting her help without knowing which kind of magic she has, or if she'll even care.
But when Aven suggested it, my instincts screamed at me to try.
"I told you, I barely have any remaining magic.
" My heart sinks. "I will help you, though, under the condition you make contact again and listen to what I have to say, as soon as your friend is better.
" Friend? Huh, I guess that's accurate now.
I hurriedly agree to her terms, mentally willing Cayzenn to hold on.
There's a flash of violet light, and a searing pain stabs at my stomach, my lungs, my throat.
Not knowing what to expect, I blink through the feeling of being torn apart and gasp when I realize the entire pool is coated in a thick layer of translucent ice.
While I can't say that's what I was expecting when I asked for help, it might just be enough to get the fever under control.
I grab the canteens, bashing them against the ice until it shatters, and I can fill them to the brim.
When I make it back, Cayzenn's eyes are closed, skin clammy, hair drenched in sweat.
Thank the Goddess, he's still sucking in those excruciatingly dry breaths.
He's also shaking so violently, I'm worried he'll give himself a concussion.
I slump down beside him, exhaustion finally getting the better of me as I shuffle to pull his head into my lap and start feeding him chips of ice.
I don’t care my hands are turning painfully raw while I hold the bigger chunks against his forehead and neck, the inside of his non-injured wrist, and even the top of his chest.
He's delirious, mumbling nonsense I can't understand. But slowly, so very slowly, I feel his heart rate steady and the ferocious heat begin to subside until his whole body shudders. As the last of the ice dissolves into slushy water I force both of us to drink, his fever finally breaks.
Running on fumes, I lean back against the slab of rock and close my eyes, smiling when my icy hand drops from his forehead, and he manages to reach up and drag it back.
Message received. I gently scratch my nails through his sweat-soaked hair and along his stubble-covered jaw until he falls into a deep sleep.
I drift off for what feels like minutes when that sharp, tearing pain rips into me again. I slam my too-hot hand over my mouth to keep from crying out and disturbing the man asleep in my lap, trying to breathe around the inexplicable pain until it subsides.
What the hell was that? A residual effect of Varistia using her magic through me? Something to ask her about next time, I tell myself as my eyelids grown heavy again.
Only realizing as they close, that my left hand is firmly intertwined with Cayzenn's.