Author's Notes: set about a year before Dawn Waker (never mind that these events have no mention in that fic *blush* - perhaps I should revise?). And it's my turn for an interpretation of Unicorn Fever, yay! In contraction of the disease, I have sidestepped the gored-by-a-killer-unicorn theory with alacrity, for all its conduciveness to hearty drama and angst. Not that I *cough* have a clear alternative yet, but more important is the disease itself and the individual's struggle with it. In Shari's case, I have… an idea what I want to accomplish in Ch. 2, but less how I'll go about accomplishing it. :-S Wish me luck! And please, please review!
Inexpressible thanks to Candice. *whistles* You must have really combed this one. Amazing. *glomp*
Disclaimer: Tortall, Numair, Daine and the premise of Unicorn Fever are Tammy's; Shari and the disease's specifics are mine.
Fever Dreams
The grass is dimpled where her lily footsteps fell
Tripping lightly through the forest
Long golden hair rippling behind her shoulder
A ribbon of honey laughter in her trail
Fairest of maidens, I will pursue you till the sunlight fades
The sky a pale silken blue, seeping into black
Fireflies swirling around us
Almien DeRaiso, "Lovers' Sonnets" 3: 19-25.
~~~~~
Daine stood alone in the middle of a vast, colorless plain that stretched infinitely in every direction. A howling wind shoved into her rudely from alternating angles, and whipped up clouds of dust as well as the scarce tree skeletons that thrashed their gray, scraggy branches as though in agony. She turned around slowly, scanning the horizon. She knew she was here for a reason - she had something to find. Something to recover.
A delicate note touched her magical senses, like the bright, limpid ting of a tiny bell. Closing her eyes, Daine reached into her magic to pinpoint the source. There it was - she tightened her magical map, focusing on the point. Now she had it - a presence as familiar to her as her own magic.
Once more in the plain, she forced herself to set off in the direction of her target, boots slowly and uncertainly moving across the dead, cracked earth, stirring up dust eddies that swirled around her. The dry wind raged around her under a turbulent sea of clouds rushing across the sky; Daine gritted her teeth and pressed through the storm, following the magical point that glowed like a tiny light in the distance, growing stronger as she neared.
Vast ribbons of flame bloomed ahead of her, flexing lithely into the tossing sky: scarlet entwined with rich orange and purple furling like a nest of rearing snakes. At the inferno's foot stood a small, neat figure - a young girl in skirt, bodice, and blouse, dark hair braided and hanging down her back, a wine-red tint to the air around her. Daine hurried forward against the brawny wind that seemed to drag at her footsteps.
Shari, she called, voice straining through the tempest.
Her daughter didn't turn away from the gigantic blaze, a towering edifice of color. She seemed entranced, staring into the ethereal flames that danced too lightly and gracefully for fire.
Shari! Daine felt like she moved through water. She had to get to Shari, but her muscles wouldn't obey.
The tumbling gray clouds contracted and burst open, seared by a slash of greenish lightning. Thunder rolled overhead.
Isn't it beautiful, Ma? Shari's voice was distant, fleeting, unlike her usual eagerness and focus. Look…. Not turning toward her mother, she raised a hand slowly toward the interweaving tongues of color.
No! Daine cried. Shari, don't touch it! She stood rooted to the spot as the storm pressed in on her. She could only watch helplessly, blood sizzling through her veins, as the girl brushed her fingers through a translucent sheet of red. The color clung, shimmering, to her fingers as she pulled her hand away. For a split second her body seemed to flicker, as though reflected on a pond's surface with a single ripple through it.
Now the young mage turned back to her mother, eyes lit but unfocused. I have to, Ma, she said, and sadness passed over her lovely face. I'm going to.
Shari, love, don't, the Wildmage pleaded. Come back - please.
I can't, Shari told her. I must go. She turned once more to the flames, squaring her small shoulders.
Shari! Daine screamed. But she could only watch, fighting desperately against her invisible and intangible restraints, as her daughter stepped forward into the blaze and was swallowed up in brilliant, rippling waves of color.
~~~~~
"Daine. Magelet, wake up."
A gentle hand on her shoulder; Daine awoke with a gasp and sat bolt upright in her chair, frantically scanning her surroundings. The search was easy; she was in a small, neat room of the palace's infirmary, and not six feet from her was the cot bearing her daughter's sleeping form. Daine stared at the bed another moment to make doubly sure Shari was there and safe, then sank back into her chair, breathing heavily.
"Sorry," she mumbled. "Fell asleep…." It was little surprise for a woman with a two-day vigil behind her. She and Numair had scarcely left Shari's bedside since she had first fallen ill, now taking residence in the chairs by her cot and (supposedly) eating meals sent in to them. They themselves could do little for their daughter, neither being trained healers, but none could begrudge their concern. Unicorn Fever was often lethal and had taken even the strongest in body and mind; survivors often boasted permanent disability or some loss of sanity.
"Ultimately," Baird had told them grimly, "it's a battle between the individual and the disease. A medical Chamber of the Ordeal, if you will - the patient often confronts his past, his fears, unspoken desires or faults - no two cases are alike, and so the disease's progression can never be charted absolutely. Daine, I'm sure you recall -" She had nodded and bit her lip, avoiding eye contact with either of the men. The places she had revisited during her own bout with Unicorn Fever fifteen years ago was something she shared only with Numair. "I'm sorry," Baird had continued, "that I can't give you better news. We've done all we can, and Shari was strong and healthy before she came down with the Fever. Now all there is to do is wait, and pray."
"Are you all right?" Numair asked now, squeezing her hand gently. "It looked like spidrens were running about your dreams."
"Oh, just…." Daine pushed sweaty locks of hair out of her face. "Well, yes, bad dreams." Her eyes flicked grimly to the bed. "Shari."
Numair sighed heavily. The past two days had clearly taken their toll on him as well: heavy shadows hung beneath his usually lively eyes, now missing their spark. "Daine, you should go to bed," he urged. "Get some rest, get away from here. You've been here for two days straight, and it won't do anyone good to exhaust yourself worrying."
"And you've been in here the same, so you're a fine one to talk. Besides, I doubt I'd sleep much better elsewhere - if at all." Daine rose from her seat and crossed the room to kneel by Shari's bed, an extra crease in her forehead. The twelve-year-old's long, curly hair lay in dark waves on the pillow; her face was flushed with fever. Her eyes moved frantically behind closed lids, speaking of troubled dreams, and her breathing was fast and shallow. She turned her face slightly to the side, murmuring something inaudible, when Daine laid the back of her hand on Shari's cheek.
The Wildmage shook her head and changed the damp cloth on her daughter's forehead for a fresh one. "Her magic's still strong, sure enough, but it's turning fair strange - changing color, almost, around the edges." She sat back, clenching her fists in helpless frustration. "I just wish I could get through to her somehow - wish I could talk to her, or that there was something there to work with, something to heal. But I don't even know what's behind all this - like Baird says, it's near impossible for healers to track." She bit a trembling lower lip and smoothed Shari's tousled dark curls. "She's so young…."
Numair put an arm around her shoulders. "You were fifteen," he said quietly. "No one thought you had a chance."
"And she's twelve, Numair. Gods know what the Fever puts her through, or how she might come out after."
"Shh." He kissed the top of her head. "You made it - so will Shari. She's too much like you not to."
She smiled thinly and turned back to Shari with a deep breath. "She will," Daine murmured, reinforcing her faith with the words.
Ellesharia Salmalí n slept deeply but without rest, her battle with the Fever driving her to the heart of her own fears, and down paths not even her parents could follow.