In the house, the hours dragged on, morning into midday, and hunger began to tear at Jonalla’s stomach.
“Wench!” she shouted. “Get me something to eat!”
Verdeyan hurried about the house, gathering together ingredients.
In a basket woven of bark, she carried martinells, greens from the garden, and a scrap of dried owl meat.
Strips of fresh bark and a handful of nuts were the last two things she found, which added to a handful of rice and an egg from a quail on the back porch completed her available supplies.
The martinells, and nuts and egg were mixed together with the rice once cooked, then baked, to create a sort of bread. The greens and owl meat and bark were shredded and stewed.
She carried a wooden tray of the food to Asabett, and one to Jonalla, who sat on the beaten chaise across from her mother.
Jonalla eyed the food suspiciously. Taking a bite of the bread, she grunted, saying “Heh, this rice is dry. And crumbly. Get me a napkin or else we’ll have mice running rampant for the crumbs.”
Verdeyan hastened to fetch a cloth, handing it to Jonalla before she sat down beside Asabet to her own bowl of stew and bread.
“Nevermind my daughter, child, this is quite good,” Asabet slurred.
Asabet took a bite of the soup, saying “Jonalla, when you’re done, I need that upholstery from the attic. Now, you know, Verdeyan cannot get it as she can’t fly.”
She dismissed Jonalla’s unspoken protest with a flick of her hand.
There was a knock at the door. Jonalla hastened to answer it.
A lean young woman leaned against the wall, her hair neatly fixed beneath a green kerchief.
“Sasha. Come in,” Jonalla ushered her inside.
Sasha set down her bag of supplies beside Asabet’s bed, crouching to the floor.
“Ah, who is this? I don’t believe I’ve met you before—“ she gestured towards Verdeyan with an open hand.
“I’m Verdeyan.”
“Yes, this is my brother’s captive. “
“Ah, well, how are you doing here?” Sasha smiled awkwardly to Verdeyan, extending a hand in greeting.
“I am fine.” Verdeyan refused her hand, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Oh. Well, I will wait for Asabet. I help Gattlin and Jonalla care for her.” Sasha smiled again, looking embarrassed.
Jonalla cut a sharp look at Verdeyan, her eyes narrowing at Verdeyan’s cold demeanor.
Verdeyan sat up rigidly against the wall beside Asabet, defiance showing in her very posture.
“I’ll wait while you eat, Asabet,” Sasha continued, her warm tone of voice out of place amidst the exchange of cold glances.
Asabet seemed oblivious to all of this, continuing to slowly eat the soup and bread.
The tension in the air of the room was nearly palpable.
Jonalla’s face burned in anger, and Verdeyan’s cool gaze was trained steadily on her, as if to challenge her to even look into her eyes. Jonalla stared out the open window, avoiding her gaze.
This continued for several minutes until Asabet had finished her meal, placing the dishes beside her on the floor, sighing.
“Ah now, Asabet, how have you been feeling today?” Sasha asked.
“Not much different from usual.”
“Tharso said you had a fit again this morning, a bad one. Do you remember anything about it?”
“No, I never do.”
“Well, let’s see how you are right now. Can you hold out your arms for me like this?”
Asabet did so, one hand twisting as she struggled to hold her arms still.
“It’s not been like that last time I saw you,” Sasha looked concerned.
“It does not matter, really, child,” Asabet muttered. “I have always been weak, and this is no different.”
“No, but it is getting worse, and rapidly. I’m afraid I don’t know what to do.” Sasha rose, holding out her hands to Asabet. “Try to stand up, please, I need to see how your walking is.”
Asabet groaned, heaving herself upright. With a startled gasp, she fell back onto her bed.
“Are you alright?” Sasha was in a flurry.
“Yes, yes, I’m alright.”
She sank down into the blankets, her eyes beginning to twitch in their orbits. Her arms reached out, tense, grabbing at something that wasn’t there, then her head snapped back, sending her entire upper body crashing against the wall.
“Asabet!” Sasha’s voice rose sharply, her case of supplies crashing to the floor.
“Catch her! Quickly!” Jonalla scrambled forwards, thrusting away objects that lay near her on the floor.
Gattlin was right beside her, pulling the blankets up around her. He wound them around her, restraining her flailing limbs in a wooly cocoon of quilts.
“She already had one fit this morning,” he panted, sitting back, watching the jerking of her limbs beneath the blankets.
“That’s unusual for her,” Sasha remarked.
“Yes, it is. Might you know why, if you’ve ever seen another person who has fits?” Jonalla crossed her arms, her eyebrows creasing her forehead with worry lines.
“I’ve only seen two others in this area who have fits like this. I’ve seen people who have movements, and people who go into trances, but not many who have such convulsive fits as this. It is as if an outside force sizes her limbs, and thrusts her into another state of consciousness, as if she leaves herself during these.”
“What , are you suggesting a spirit is inside her?” Jonalla rolled her eyes derisively.
“No, no, I don’t think this has anything to do with spirits or demons—I-I don’t know. I’ve only seen two others who have these fits, you must understand. I’ve cared for her since I was fifteen. My father is a much older and more experienced healer than I, but he knows more of wounds and fevers. He lets me care for those afflicted in the brain—“ she broke off, shaking her head.
Gattlin came between the two, holding up his hands “Quarreling won’t help. Neither of you can do anything. No one can. We all know what is causing this. The tree leopard eighty years ago gave her this affliction, and what’s done to her is done. We can’t change it. We can only be here for her.”
Verdeyan glanced up at Gattlin to see the tracks of tears on his face. He didn’t shift when Jonalla cut him a hard glance, nor when Sasha looked up at him, a helpless look upon her face.
“Please. Please.” He continued.
The only sound in the room was the bumping of Asabet’s limbs as they flailed about, like the wings of a panicked bird, trying to fly.
Suddenly, Aspen burst out of Jonalla’s room, his footsteps clattering down the stairs, he stumbled, falling through the air, and flared his dark wings, flying a few feet before crashing into Jonalla’s side.
“Oh!”
“Fly-fly-fly” he exclaimed, his tiny face lighting up. Then his gaze turned to Asabet, and he began to tremble. “Ase-bet,” he stuttered, beginning to cry.
Jonalla held him to her shoulder, trembling herself.
Everyone in the room turned to watch Asabet’s jerking limbs.
All there was to do was wait.
For a full fifteen minutes, the five stood, transfixed by the woman’s jerking limbs.
Slowly, the violent convulsions abated, leaving a limp form wrapped in the blankets.
“Asabet? Can you hear me?” Sasha gently shook her, tracing the curve of her forehead with her fingertips.
Gattlin sighed. “It’s no use. She always sleeps for hours after these fits.”
“I know. I shall return in the morning. If anything happens, come to get me. I’ll do anything I can to help you. I’m sorry I can’t do more.” Sasha turned to gather her supplies, tied her kerchief over her hair, and leapt out the door, gone into the winds.
Gattlin hung his head, his face covered by his hands.
Silence again pervaded the room.
Jonalla made her way up the stairs with Aspen in her arms to hold him.
This left Verdeyan and Gattlin alone in the room with the sleeping Asabet.
She shifted, sitting down on the chaise by the fire. Gattlin silently sat beside her.
For the first time in the days since he’d captured her, she did not move away from him, did not turn her back to him. She simply sat.
Slowly, awkwardly, she extended a shaking arm which she lay on his shoulder. He looked at her, his tear-stained face so grim, a hint of softness, gratefulness flickering on his lips, he lowered his eyes to look at the floor.
Verdeyan could feel her heart pounding in her chest, a strange rising feeling filling her. His skin beneath his thin woven shirt was taut with the anxious tension of a worried man’s muscles.
Presently, Asabet stirred, her hoarse breath forming a cough.
“Gattlin?” she called.
Verdeyan’s hand slid from his shoulder as he rose, kneeling over her.
His hand found her forehead, which was wet with sweat. He pulled tangled strands of white hair from her face.
Sweat beaded the woman’s brow, soaking her hair as she shivered, burning on the inside, freezing on the outside.
“Take care of your captive. And take care of yourself, Gattlinian,” she croaked, her breath coming in gasps.
“Asabet?” He watched her eyes fall closed, holding her in his arms for several minutes.
“How can I help you?” he whispered, bowing his head.
He lay her gently to the mattress, watching her lie there.
After an hour, he pulled from a basket at the hearth his carving knife, and a block of maple wood. He began to shave small flecks of wood from the block, working by the light of the fire. The sun had faded behind deep stormy clouds outside the window.
Jonalla moved about upstairs, speaking to Aspen in a low comforting voice.
Everything seemed still for what might have been hours.
Verdeyan sat, lost in thought, her blue eyes vacant, still.
The spell of silence was broken only when he fumbled with the wood, and it fell onto Asabet’s hand.
“Oh-“ he began, reaching for it. “I’m sorry, mother, I—“
He broke off when she remained still. Not a flicker of an eyelid. Not a grunt of pain. Only stillness, silence. Absolute silence, like that of death.
He gasped, then simply sat, staring.
Verdeyan noticed his strange presence, looking up, noticed the stillness of the scene before her.
“What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer her.
“Do I need to get Sasha?” She rose to her feet.
He looked up at her, his face rent with defeat, taking a moment before hoarsely muttering “No. She will do us no good. No one can.”
“What?”
“She’s dead.”
“I am so sorry, Gattlin.” Her words hung in the evening air like the mist in the branches.
“Th-thankyou,” he returned quietly, hanging his head, laying his arms over Asabet’s body.
Footsteps creaked on the stairs. Jonalla’s face was streaked in tears .
“She’s gone,” Gattlin murmured. Jonalla pressed the back of her hand over her mouth, kneeling to the floor.
Her movements slow, deliberate, Verdeyan pulled the blanket up over Asabet’s face.
“She rests now.”
...
Thanks for reading!
Reviews are quite welcome.
~Voxina
