Chapter 55 #2
As the deer meat roasts on the fire, Stide’s temperature holds fast, but I maintain hope that it will start to drop after we’ve eaten.
When it doesn’t, I give her another spoonful of the tonic, but it’s hard to ignore the niggling in my gut. The first spoonful should have done something by now, but she’s still burning up as much as before.
‘Sleep will help, won’t it?’ Thessa asks, fear and hope mingling in her voice.
‘I’ll check on her through the night,’ I answer, not ready to make promises I can’t keep.
As I go to slink away, Stide’s eyes flicker up to Thessa. ‘If I were half the woman you are,’ she says lightly, forcing a smile, ‘I’d be unstoppable.’
‘Oh hush.’ Thessa’s smile does little to mask the worry that fills her eyes. ‘You’ll be fine. You’re always fine. You’re as unstoppable as the sun.’
Stide smiles. ‘You have always been my dawn.’
‘It’s too late,’ Loch mutters. ‘Too late. With magic, without magic. Doesn’t matter. It’s too late.’
‘What’s too late?’ I ask Loch. I swallow hard and drop my voice to a whisper. ‘Is Mortidem close?’
There was a woman in the slums whose magic, people said, was to hear the whisper of Mortidem encroaching. I don’t know if it was true or not, but something tells me that if his footsteps make any sound at all, Loch would hear them.
‘Life and death. We worry about the wrong ones, don’t we? Gods. Gods. Gods. They know. They know which to fear.’ He taps his head knowingly, and goosebumps rise upon my arms, but I try to push them down. It’s the rambling of a madman, nothing more.
Loch’s delusions are growing worse, not better.
Benny clearly feels the same, for he shoots me a worried look and wraps an arm around Loch’s shoulders. ‘Come on, let’s settle you down over here. Nice and near the fire.’
‘It’s warm. It’s warm by the fire.’
‘I know, buddy. I know.’
Stide isn’t the only one we’ll worry about tonight.
The fire crackles low, throwing thin light across the camp, and the darkness beyond it feels thicker than it should. Whether it’s Loch’s words or something else, dread curls slowly in my stomach.
Sleep takes a long time to come.
And when it finally does, it is shallow and uneasy, as though some part of me is still listening for death’s footsteps in the dark.
Through the night, I give Stide spoonful after spoonful of tincture, yet nothing seems to be helping.
The quantity I’ve given her is enough to dull the fevers of a dozen people, and my only hope is that perhaps it’s not as potent as I thought.
That perhaps the magic waned after all that time stuck in my mother’s cupboard.
Yet I know in my heart that I felt the power within it.
Something is wrong and it’s not the potency of the tonic.
When I take my turn on watch, it’s hard to keep my eyes trained on our surroundings. I want to linger over Stide and Loch and ignore the hopelessness taking hold inside me.
The morning brings no relief. Though Stide tosses and turns beneath her blanket, she doesn’t awaken with the rest of us.
‘We can get everything packed up first,’ Ruben says, already tending to the horses. ‘She clearly needs the rest. We’ll wake her when we’re ready to go.’
None of us disagree, but I feel the unspoken thought whirring between us.
He’s right. Sickness so often needs rest, but we have no time for it. We’re still another two days from the base of the Coltan Mountains, which mark the edge of the Issen territory, and the weather is likely to get worse and worse.
Moving too slowly will get us killed in this cold. We must keep warm or keep moving – those are our only choices.
And the thought of further delay chafes at me. I cannot stop picturing the lacy ice pattern on William’s skin.
When all are ready, Thessa and I make our way over to wake the Sanning. Her tossing has lessened, and she is curled on her side, head buried beneath the blanket. How she withstood the heat from the fever that burned her up in the night is a mystery.
As I wait with the last of the ineffectual tonic, Thessa gives Stide a gentle shake, and then a firmer one.
‘Stide,’ she calls softly. ‘It’s time to get up.’
She shakes her again, this time pulling her slightly so that the blanket falls away. As her face is revealed, we lurch back.
‘No …’ Thessa’s voice is a whisper – heartbreak on a breath.
Tears sting my eyes as Stide struggles to sit, exposing more and more mottled green skin.
‘Thessa?’ Stide asks. So many questions hang in her single word, but as my heart lodges in my throat, I know I am not going to be the one to answer any of them.
‘Your skin,’ Thessa tries, as tears begin to stream down her face. ‘You’re … you’re turning.’
Stide’s eyes fall shut. ‘It was such a small scratch. I hoped … I hoped …’ As she trails off, Thessa leans tentatively forward, tugging open the layers of her clothes.
As Stide’s left arm falls free, we see that the mottled skin there is darker still, no sign of life left within it.
Nothing but the green veins of the Rottings.
And at the centre, a tiny mark, less than a fingernail’s width in length. That is all it took.
Caz appears behind us, stifling a cry at the sight of the green-webbed death sentence.
‘Thessa. What do we do?’ I ask, my voice determined.
The Sannings have far greater experience with the Rottings than we do.
They must know what can be done. The infection is not complete yet.
It cannot be, not if she can still speak, and still move without lurching towards us.
‘How do we stop it?’ I press. ‘Halt its progression?’
The Sanning offers no reply beyond her sobbing, which grows more ragged as her chest heaves in desperate breaths that bring no relief, no matter how deeply she inhales.
‘We do not,’ Stide says simply. ‘It cannot be halted, The Rose.’
I can feel the others gathering around us now. Silent sentinels, watching and waiting for a verdict that none of us wants to accept, even if Stide herself is willing to admit the truth.