Remnants: Season of Fire (39 page)
“No, he lives yet,” I said miserably, anxiety again filling me, but the connection between us as strong as ever. Mom took my hand and squeezed it. “He just couldn’t bear the pain any longer.” We could all see how the blood soaked his entire tunic and down into his leggings. It was amazing he’d lasted as long as he had.
“He’s so pale, he looks like the Pacifican women,” Vidar said.
“Vidar!” Bellona cried.
“Sorry,” he muttered. But he rose, padded over to the body of a decapitated Sheolite nearby, and pulled his cape off. “We should take several,” he said, lifting it, then glancing around for others. “We can use them as a disguise. Or even one as a stretcher. It’s sturdy and long.”
Niero took it from him with some distaste. We all sensed the lingering stink of evil in it, but perhaps it’d serve to cloak our passing, in a way. Vidar had been right to take it, thinking of a potential disguise. I wished I’d thought to cut a couple from the scouts, or even the gray uniforms of the Pacificans.
Next time.
Vidar suddenly froze and his face transformed into a glower. “More have entered the tunnels,” he said, his eyes shifting rapidly left and right.
“How far are they?” Niero asked.
Only then did I feel the faintest warning in my arm cuff.
“I don’t know. They might have reached that last battleground.”
Niero sighed and reached down with Bellona, Vidar, and me to lift Ronan onto the cape, each of us at a corner. We lifted Ronan fairly easily, but I knew it wouldn’t take long for our hands, arms, and shoulders to be screaming in protest.
“Let’s not dawdle, shall we?” Vidar asked in a bright whisper, looking over his shoulder at the rest of us. But I was getting a sense of what he knew already. They were many, enough to spread out and fill every tunnel in their efforts to capture us. We would not manage to escape them again. Not down here.
“This way,” Cyrus whispered, running ahead of us.
And as best we could, we hurried after him.
ANDRIANA
N
ear the end of the tunnel, we heard troops running and pulled to one side, setting Ronan down, freezing in place, and dousing our torch, hoping that anyone who looked in our direction might not see us. But within a few breaths we knew they were on the other side of the wall.
My armband grew colder and colder, and we heard a muffled voice call a halt from the other side of the concrete. I closed my eyes, reaching out to sense them, to try and get an idea of their number. But it was best obtained through Vidar, beside me. I reached out and laid one hand on his shoulder and the other on the wall.
“Andriana, no,” he whispered, but it was already done. I absorbed what he inherently knew. Eight on the other side, one of them a tracker, two of them scouts, the rest Pacifican soldiers. And the tracker — I could almost
see
him pausing,
leaning toward the wall that separated us, lifting his nose in the air and inhaling deeply, as if he could smell us. When he put his hand on the wall as I had, a shock ran through me and I pulled away, scrambling to the far side of our tunnel, fearing he might come through the wall itself.
Vidar struck a match and lit his last flare. He motioned to Bellona that our enemies were on the other side and then tossed her his flare. Vidar’s eyes met mine for a moment of recognition. It had been a while since we chose this passageway. The turn was a good half-mile back. We had only the time it’d take for them to double-back and enter our tunnel to get away. Our only hope was to outrun them.
Collectively, we turned toward Cyrus, praying he’d make the right choices. All our lives depended on it. And then, we forced ourselved onward, as fast as we could go.
My mouth and throat were parched, but I ignored my thirst. The last of the canteens had been drained hours ago, the water that flowed by our feet undrinkable. And then around the next corner, light. I blinked, wondering at first if it was a trick of the mind, or an electrical light, like those in the palace. But it wasn’t. Hope surged within us all, and we immediately moved forward, but more cautiously now, fearing exposure to any who might be outside.
It had been hours since we’d been in the sun, and I blinked repeatedly as we neared the grate.
“This is it,” Cyrus said excitedly. “Come quickly. We need to get a couple of us up there and lift the rest to safety.”
“Where are we?” Niero asked him.
“If I’m right, on the border of the city, near a canyon I once knew. And that doctor,” he said.
We four carrying Ronan set him down, and Niero and
Vidar bent down to give Cyrus a leg up. He grabbed hold of the bars and lifted himself up, peered around, then shifted and looked some more. I could feel his satisfaction before he dropped down and panted, “It’s good.”
Niero and Vidar lifted Bellona up next. She swung over to the right and then lifted her legs to a small ledge in the concrete, too small to rest her body on, but enough to release some of the weight. Then she set to reaching through and unscrewing one nut and then the next, until the grate swung open and there was an empty hole showing nothing but glorious sky. Moving swiftly, she swung through and disappeared a moment, then reached over, just her face and arm visible. “It’s clear. Send up Vidar first.”
Niero hoisted him alone, practically tossing him up. Then, with the two of them up top, they easily lifted my parents and me. Below us, Niero and Cyrus lifted the corners of the cape around Ronan — now fashioned into a seat — up to us.
“C’mon, c’mon,” Vidar hissed down at them as we set Ronan to one side. “They’re coming!”
Grimacing, Cyrus placed a muddy boot in Niero’s hands and he lifted him up to us with a grunt. He crawled past us, and they reached down again. “Jump, Niero,” Vidar grunted. Together, they caught hold of his arms and lifted him up, and I closed my eyes in relief. We were all out. Bellona carefully closed the grate, wincing as the rusty hinges squeaked in protest. Swiftly, she set to putting the nuts back in place as we hurried to a small copse of trees and hunched down, waiting.
“They have to be
right
there,” Vidar whispered, fear evident in his eyes.
I prayed for a shield of angels as Vidar slowly rolled to the side and stilled, listening, feeling, eyes wide, nostrils flared.
I dared not reach out myself, and instead attempted to sever any tie to any emotion at all, scared to death that I might open a door the Sheolites would recognize as me and betray us all.
Niero moved between me and Cyrus and grunted at us to get back, and we sank farther in and among the trees.
I stared at Niero as we settled in to wait. For good or bad, this was where we would take our stand, or slip from our enemies’ grasp. The muscles in Niero’s neck and jaw tensed and relaxed, the pulse in his neck visible. Other than that he was utterly still, in a crouch, as if poised to leap upward in flight. And for the first time, I wondered about the sense of comfort and protection I always felt around him. The same way I felt when . . .
We could hear voices, shouts. Vidar slipped his hand in mine, waiting, ready to leap and run. But after a time, the voices faded.
Vidar’s eyes widened. “Impossible,” he whispered. “They’re moving on. Passing us.”
“Not impossible,” I whispered back, even as I reached down to check Ronan’s pulse, faint but steady. “
Angeli
over
demoni
.”
Vidar grinned then, in the familiar dimpled-cheek-all-big-teeth way I’d come to know as his relaxed grin. I smiled too.
But after a moment my eyes shifted back to Niero. And stayed there.
ANDRIANA
W
e left the tunnel behind and took a faint trail down a shallow canyon. But we were deep enough to be hidden, and that gave me a sense of peace and hope that I clung to. At the end, I saw that the sun was sinking on the horizon. The day was coming to a close and we were still in Pacifica. And deep inside, I thought that if we didn’t get Ronan help soon, he wouldn’t live to see another sunset.
“Take heart,” Niero said, squeezing my hand. “We must be close.”
“Closer than you think.” Cyrus said. We’d come out on the edge of what appeared to be a vast ranch, fenced all around, with horses that were much taller than the mudhorses of home. I recognized them as like those the Sheolites rode and tensed.
A woman left her small house, and we ducked behind several boulders, watching as she moved to the barn.
“It’s her,” Cyrus said. “If I don’t return, bring Ronan to the barn when it’s dark. We can’t risk more than me crossing this distance and being seen.”
“And what if there’s someone else in the barn and they capture you?” Vidar asked, a frown wrinkling his forehead.
“She’s a doctor, Vidar, not a soldier. And I’m one of the Six.”
“And if there’s somebody else? Somebody hunting one man, in particular, of the Six?” he pressed, staring warily at the barn.
“Is there?”
He closed his eyes a moment and then opened them, shaking his head. “I still don’t like it.”
“Fortunately, you don’t have to like every one of our plans,” Bellona groused. “What other choice do we have? We’ll be lucky to keep Ronan alive until nightfall.” She tensed as the last words left her lips and looked over at me. “Sorry.”
I opened my mouth to say it was okay, but then closed it. It wasn’t okay. I needed them all to be praying. Believing that Ronan would get through this.
With a nod from Niero, Cyrus moved off and Niero turned to place a hand on my shoulder. “It will be all right,” he said, and his familiar strength seemed to move from him to me, warming me.
I moved out from under his hand and to Ronan’s side. I leaned down and put my head to his, noting that at least he wasn’t sweating anymore. But then the clammy chill of him made me worry anew. “Stay with me, Ronan,” I whispered in his ear. “Stay with me.”
Cyrus didn’t return. The woman left the barn, carrying a heavy pail, but she never looked our way. We paced, waiting for the sun to set and twilight to fade. Finally, when it was utterly dark, when I thought one more second of waiting might kill me, we were on the move again.
Cyrus opened a side door for us, one that rolled on wheels on tracks at the top and bottom. As soon as we were all in, he closed it again, and I sighed in relief as I saw what he had prepared for us. Fresh hay lined the room. A table, at the center, had obviously been cleared and cleaned. We placed Ronan atop it. A horse stuck his head over the wall of a stable and then shifted left and right, whinnying his agitation, ears back, unnerved by his sudden visitors and perhaps the scent of blood. Niero moved over to him and with low tones and a slow hand, reached up to calm the beast, much like he had me.
The ranch woman arrived then, and we all looked to her. Niero put a hand on the hilt of his battle axe, but Cyrus reached out a calming hand. “There is no need. Galen is our friend, a sister in the Way.”
“You are deep in enemy territory,” Vidar said with uncustomary hostility, staring hard at the woman.
“A fact for which I believe you should be thanking the Maker right now,” she returned. She was perhaps four decades and five, trim and dark, and edged past him to put her armload of clean rags and a tool box on the table beside Ronan. From the box, she pulled a bottle of clear liquid, uncorked it, and took a long swig. Wiping her lips with the back of wrist, then splashing more on her fingers, as if washing, she offered the bottle up. “Who will be assisting me?”
“I can,” Mom said. She took the bottle, and without dropping her gaze, swallowed a mouthful too, and followed her
lead in washing her hands in the stuff. The acrid smell of alcohol wafted through the room, momentarily even overpowering the hay. Galen also set up a bag of what appeared to be blood, attached to a long tube, and set out instruments. She intended to insert it into Ronan? I’d heard of transfusions; I’d just never seen one done.
“Good,” said Galen. “I’ll need others around us, each holding a leg or arm, in case . . .?” She looked at me.
“Ronan,” I supplied.
“In case
Ronan
awakes.” I walked around the table to take position beside the doctor and hold one arm. Bellona and Vidar each took a leg and Niero the other arm.
Moving efficiently, Galen unbelted Ronan’s trousers and pulled the right side down. She paused, momentarily, at the sight of the perfect crescent moon, and then moved on to fold under the bloody shirt, well away from the wound. She placed a clean cloth, scissors, a knife with a tiny blade, and several needles and thread on Ronan’s torso. Then she cut away the old bandage and slid it neatly from under his back. I wanted to weep at the amount of blood dripping from the bandage. It was a wonder Ronan remained with us now. Bellona had been correct. By all rights, he should’ve been dead hours ago.
Please, Maker
, I pleaded silently as Galen poured alcohol over the three-inch wound. Ronan didn’t flinch. Had he been awake, I knew the pain would’ve made him scream.
Please please please please please please. Save him. Don’t take him yet.
Galen bent and, using a metal instrument, pulled apart the skin to peer inside. She paused, then probed the wound with her finger a moment, then bent again to look inward. Blood poured out of Ronan and onto the table, so much so that it began to drip on the floor. “I need light,” she said. Dad
brought the kerosene lamp as close as he could, holding it over her shoulder. “There,” she said, pouring more alcohol on Ronan, inside him this time. She nodded grimly. “It’s his gut. But I don’t think they got his intestines.”