This must be what shock feels like, Elaine thought absently.
She couldn't even find it in herself to care that the body lying at the strange man's feet was not moving, and, most likely, would never move on its own volition again.
As the man started moving towards her, she haplessly dropped to her knees and closed her eyes, the life effectually draining out of her. Maybe if she had been in the right frame of mind she would have begged or pleaded for him to spare her. However, since the moment she had gained consciousness in this crazy parallel world, nothing was as it should be.
All right, she thought. All I have to do is wait until he comes over. And then—
She stiffened as the sun disappeared. She could hear the stranger breathing somewhere above her.
Then a string of unexpected and bizarre sounds, a foreign language given in a deep baritone, made her open her eyes and look up.
Elaine stared at him, trying to make sense of his words.
What now?
He bent down before her, and it sounded like he repeated himself, though she couldn't be sure.
Although he spoke in a gentle voice, there was a certain sense of urgency in his tone. It was almost as if he was afraid of scaring her but, at the same time, still needed an immediate answer.
"I don't understand what you're saying. I'm American," she said, shaking her head.
This time it was his turn to look confused.
He pointed down to her limp arm and tried repeating himself for a third time. Elaine followed his finger down and gasped. Dark red blood was running down her arm in veiny rivers, dripping off the tips of her fingers like ruby rain drops.
"Wait a minute—" She could hear her voice rising in panic, but it was weakened by the rushing in her ears as her head swam.
Before Elaine quite knew she was doing it, she reached out and touched her arm. The effect was swift. She bared her teeth and whimpered in anguish. She would have collapsed if not for the arms that suddenly encircled her.
She felt the back of her legs lift up. Then she simply was off the ground and in the air; she was being cradled, unable to move her useless arm.
She heard herself scream, but only faintly. A surge of pain, sharp and piercing, engulfed the left half of her body. It was all too much. Too much moving. Too much pain.
"Stop. Stop, stop," she cried, her eyes suddenly stinging. "Put me down. Stop." The constant jostling of her handler was making everything a hundred-times worse.
"Bors!" the man roared, before continuing in a thick command. At least, that's what it seemed like to Elaine.
She turned her head, finally catching a glimpse at the rest of the field. Lifeless bodies littered the ground. The stench of death was everywhere.
This is not happening.
"I don't understand…" The rest of her thoughts floated away, until her concern shifted inward.
I feel strange, Elaine thought.
Very strange. Dizzy. It seemed to come over her all at once. There was a pattern of flashing white spreading around the edges of her vision.
A husky whisper tried rousing her, but her eyelids were so heavy. How could she possibly be expected to keep them open?
Her body seemed to have gone numb.
She blinked, only barely managing to focus on the strong jawline hovering above her. A moment later, she realized that the jaw was moving.
As if someone had flipped a switch, his words became loud and clear. "You must stay awake. Don't fall asleep."
As Elaine registered his words, two things clicked simultaneously. First, she could understand him. And second, he was definitely not speaking in English.
She blinked again, astonished, and tried thinking of something to say.
"I feel cold," she finally whispered.
He looked down at her. "You've lost blood. You need to stay awake."
Elaine couldn't manage a nod anymore, or a sentence. "I'm . . . sorry."
"Woman, keep your eyes open—"
The voice stopped. She was going away. There was only a crackling noise in an endless blackness.
Then she stopped thinking at all.
-0-
Elaine woke up little by little. And it was awful.
I must be sick, she thought. That was the only explanation for the way she felt. Her body was heavy and achy. It felt like she was burning alive. While her neck was stiff and her head throbbing, her sinuses were almost completely stuffed up. She was breathing through her mouth, which was so rough and dry that her tongue stuck to the roof of it.
Thirsty. I need water…
It took every ounce of concentration to try and lift her head and open her eyes. However, her head merely flopped to the side. And her vision was blurring and indistinct.
Her brain tried to piece together her surroundings. Gradually she realized she was bouncing up and down and from side to side. There was a rhythmic noise coming from all around her that she felt she be able to recognize.
Pressed up against her check and the side of her temple was the roughness of something prickly…
A beard, she thought suddenly. Somebody's beard is against my face.
As soon as she put that much together, she realized what the rhythmic sound was.
Horses' hoofs.
Then, without warning, arms squeezed her on either side and that was it. Her stomach heaved and she felt a wave of queasiness, which continued up her throat and out her mouth.
-0-
Aside from the thunder storm raging outside its walls, the large healing hall was quiet and still. Sheets of rain rushed down the windows like living curtains, the oil lamps flickered with the wind that managed to slither through cracks and seep beneath the doors, and a great fire burning in the hearth crackled and popped.
It gave the hall an almost eerie atmosphere.
Ailidh, however, paid it no mind. She busied herself with collecting the clean wash from the basket at her feet, wondering to all the Gods where Three had gone off and disappeared to.
That girl isn't going to get her pay if she keeps running off, she thought, sighing. I can't believe she left all of this laundry just lying here!
Outside, there was a loud commotion. People were yelling. It seemed to come from behind the door that led out into the courtyard.
Dropping the linens back into the basket, Ailidh moved to investigate. The light from the entrance crack cut off briefly. But then the door flew open with a slam.
She felt a rush of air as Dagonet, covered in mud, passed in front of her. And in his embrace was a limp body tightly wrapped in a cloak.
Galen, the fort's physician, was hot on his heels. The older man practically had to run in order to keep up with the giant knight's larger strides.
"She is beyond my aide," Dagonet said in his quiet, heated way.
Galen pointed to the cot closest to the hearth. "Put her there. How long ago did this happen? Has she been lucid?"
"Two days. And no." Dagonet eased the figure onto the cot, and Ailidh started taking off the cloak to reveal a bruised and battered girl.
"A woad attack, you say?" Galen stepped around the knight and peeled the bandages off the girl's back. "Mace?"
Dagonet nodded. "It dislocated her shoulder. I had to push it back."
"You were right to have cauterized the wounds."
Ailidh remained silent throughout the exchange.
"She burns," Dagonet murmured.
Galen shared a pointed look with Ailidh, and she jerked her head in agreement.
Dagonet was still standing there, waiting and watching.
While Galen tore the girl's smock in half to further assess the damage, Ailidh patted Dagonet's arm. "You go now, lad. There's nothing more you can do here—"
Just then a young Roman soldier, holding his arm, limped into the triage. Right behind him was Arthur and Bors.
"What is this now?" Ailidh demanded.
Bors tutted and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Got in Dag's way," he informed her eventually.
Dagonet didn't look very remorseful. In fact, he stood a little taller.
She shook her head minutely, her expression reproachful. Then, when no one moved, she breathed. "Dagonet, clean up your mess." She gestured to the injured soldier, then turned to Bors. "Get the partition from the back. Move!"
As her years as a healer superseded everything else, she mulled over the most pressing aliment. She disappeared into the storeroom. Her old fingers easily gathering up strips of cloth and pots of salve.
I need to break the girl's fever, she thought. The fever will burn her out before the infection can even begin to spread.
When Ailidh got back to the cot, the girl was on her stomach. The light from the fire danced across her bare backside.
Her back was a mess.
"Will she live?" Arthur asked slowly, his face sullen.
Galen grumbled under his breath. Then, after a pause, shook his head. "I don't know. It depends." He prodded at a certainly worrying laceration. "But I have seen the damage such a prolonged fever can do to the body. Hard to say, really. Only time will tell."
-0-
Mace as in the weapon, not the spray. Share your thoughts!