The stars glitter high in the sky and the night is absolutely clear. The weather is beautiful and the sea around us calm. If it weren’t for the fact that Ranan is grievously wounded, I might appreciate the quiet, perfect night.
As it is, it just emphasizes how much is wrong.
Ranan continues to sleep, but his dreams are fitful and unpleasant. He sweats. He tosses. He turns. He breathes rapidly sometimes, as if he’s running up a hill, yet he remains asleep. I keep his leg wet, because seawater has to be more sterile than the sand that crusts everything, but I worry it’s not enough. If we were in a city, I’d insist the local healer come by. They’d sell us some stinky potion for him to drink, sew up his leg, say a few prayers to Kalos, the Lord of Disease, and ask him to stay his hand.
And while I can do the prayers here, I don’t know if they’ll do any good if his leg doesn’t get sewn up. Right now it’s just an open wound, and I know that isn’t good at all.
I prop his head in my lap throughout the night, stroking the delicate fin that rises from his head. Even it feels overly warm, and it worries me. At least back at the grotto I could give him my willow bark. I could bathe him with fresh water and feed him soup. I could sew up his leg.
Being out here in the middle of nowhere will be death for him if he doesn’t awaken.
Daylight comes, and Akara returns with a bellow. She slaps at the water with her fins to demand that I come greet her. I wade back out to her, my face raw from the sunlight and my mouth parched. My stomach rumbles, but I’ve been saving the white flesh from the nuts for Ranan in case he should wake up. But now that Akara has returned, I have a new idea.
“I’m glad you’re back, because we need to talk,” I tell the turtle as I wade out to her side. Akara immediately comes to me and pushes her nose against my hands, not unlike the barn cats used to back at the farm in Parness. I stroke her nose and images of Ranan drift through my mind, pushed to me by the turtle. She’s asking how he is. I send my thoughts back to her, filling my head with the unconscious Ranan and then mental images of Ranan back at the grotto, Ranan awake and smiling. “We need to go back. I can’t tend to him here. Can you take us?”
She makes a sound I don’t quite grasp and turns her head in a different direction, as if pointing at something. I hope we’re thinking along the same lines. There’s no way to tell.
I’m going to have to gamble that she understands me. I think she does, because when I move back to Ranan’s side, she remains calm, leisurely turning her large body in the shallow waters. That’s a good sign. I bend over Ranan, ignoring the throb of my bare feet and the pain of my overly pink sunburned skin. I can bear all that if Ranan lives.
Touching his cheek, I stroke it to try and wake him. “Ranan? Can you rouse? I need to get you on Akara’s back and it’s going to be a lot easier if you’re awake.”
There’s no response. I stroke his cheek again, and he moans, the sound heart-wrenching.
I need to get him back to the grotto and soon. Leaning in, I kiss his cheek and stroke his face. “I’m going to fix this. I promise.”
I have to.
It takes a long time for me to tug him back to the water’s edge. The sandy strip turns into rocks, and I don’t want to knock him against them. Plus, he’s twice as heavy as me. Using the fabric as a travois, I manage to drag him a little at a time, and the fabric rips and tears in my grip. By the time I get him into the shallows, it’s practically shredded. I manage to pull him through the water over to Akara’s side, and then have to figure out how to get him up the turtle’s sloping back. I send a lot of mental images to Akara and use the strips of fabric to make a harness over his shoulders, and brace myself on the join of Akara’s head and neck, straining to haul him upward.
The hamarii turtle flicks her head, sending me tumbling backward, but it also shoves Ranan’s limp form high enough that I can haul him up.
I want to weep with joy as Akara pushes off from the spit, heading out into the deeper waters once more. But there’s no relief for me just yet. I gather the ripped remnants of fabric and start to piece it back together with knots, because Ranan needs to keep his head covered from the relentless sun.
I can rest when we return to the grotto, I tell myself.
Nothing else matters if Ranan dies.
Chapter
Eighteen
RANAN
Islowly come to.
My mouth feels like a wad of dried out seaweed. It tastes rotten and yet is somehow parched. Something pricks my hot, throbbing leg, sending a dagger of pain sheeting up my calf. I jerk, trying to move away from the stinging pain, but something heavy weighs down my thigh.
“Of course now you’re awake,” I hear Vali mutter. “Your timing could not be worse.”
My eyes feel gritty, and I manage to open them a sliver. As I do, I see her naked back—fiery red with sunburn—facing me. She’s sitting on my thigh. Another hot, stabbing pain shoots up my leg and I vaguely remember the sea dragon. It’s hard to talk—my tongue feels as if it’s coated with sand. “What…are you…doing?”
“Sewing your wound. Be still or I’ll have to strap you down.”
She’s sewing my wound? I repeat the thought several times.
She’s…sewing…
…my wound?
When did she get here? Wait, where is here? I focus my gaze on the ceiling and see the familiar stone of the grotto. Another stab lances up my leg and I hiss. “Ow!”
“This was easier when you were unconscious,” she mutters.
“How long…?”
“Almost two days that I know of. I’ll give you some water once I’m done with this.” She pauses, blows out a loud breath, then breathes in again just as deeply.
“You…all right?”
“Great, just great.” She doesn’t sound great, though. Her voice sounds tight.
I lie back, exhausted and weak and still slightly dazed. I’m so thirsty. I feel hot, too, but that can’t be helped…can it? My leg feels as if it’s on fire, and I wonder if it’s even there or if the sea dragon bit it off. “How bad…is it?”
“Bad.”
And yet she went out and found me? I don’t know how, and I can’t imagine why. I haven’t been kind to her. “Leg…?”
“Still on, but it’s not pretty. It needs sewing.”
“Doesn’t hurt that bad.”
“Well, thank the gods for that. Could be all the willow bark tea I’ve been dripping down your throat.”
Has she? I didn’t realize.
“I’m lucky I had some steeping for a long time. It’s really strong. You’ll feel it when it wears off, though. I guarantee that.”
Lovely. Something to look forward to. Vali has obviously been hard at work tending to me. “Could have…robbed…me. Left. You’d be rich.”
“I’m your wife,” she points out, her weight shifting on my thigh. If I didn’t feel like I’d been pounded by an entire flotilla of hamarii, I might be able to appreciate that she’s straddling my thigh naked, her cunt snugged against my flesh. “I wouldn’t be robbing you if you died and I got your things. And besides, where would that get me? I’d be murdered at the first town I went to.”
“Mm.” I lick my lips. They feel like fish scales.
“Besides, I like you,” Vali continues in that determined voice. “Even though you make it difficult at times. Now, hold still. I need to stitch again.”
Hot pain flares through my leg, and this one seems to go on for longer. A growl rises in my throat and I clench my fists together to keep still. She’s helping me. I know she is. I’m grateful, even if I want to pull her off my leg and have her never stab me with a needle again. The pain ebbs and I wheeze, collapsing back against the soft fabrics under my body. As I do, I think about her admission. “You…like me?”