Chapter Two
As the crystal's glow faded, so did the villagers' hope that the caravan would return. They still worked as they usually did, though there was a certain dejection in their demeanor, their faces now lacking the former vitality and elation they once held. Claire would now sit near the bridge, trying to keep her father's words in mind. They had to hold onto faith, faith that the caravan would return and restore the crystal's glow once more. Sometimes the caravan would be a few days late, but it always made its way across the bridge. Still, several days have passed, and no caravan crossed the bridge back into the village.
Claire's father still worked at the forge, as he usually did, though Claire suspected that he welded swords with renewed vigor, perhaps to fight off the gloom and dampening spirit that affected them all. However, a disturbing cough came over her father, something that had never afflicted him before. Was the crystal's glow fading away that quickly? Claire had lost count of the days since the designated day that the caravan was supposed to arrive. She understood the symptoms that miasma caused, having read it somewhere, a burning in the lungs and throat. It first started as a cough, something like her father had now, trying to expel the poison. Accompanying coughing would be a fever, with burning high temperatures.
Her father raised the hammer, and Claire could see the muscles cord in his neck. A spasm overcame him as he began coughing, dropping the hammer onto the ground and collapsing onto his knees. Claire immediately went by his side, supporting him and hugging him fiercely. "Father, you should come and rest. I'll prepare some water and medicine for you."
"No," her father said, a severe determination on his face as he shrugged her away from himself. "Not yet. Not just yet, Claire. I still need to do this. I can't…can't leave a sword unforged."
His hand clenched around the hammer once more before he stood up and raised it above his head to strike against the metal. Sparks flew, causing Claire to flinch with the intensity he struck. There seemed to be a madness overcoming him as he continued forging the blade despite the coughs wracking his chest. She saw that it took a lot of effort for him to simply raise the hammer and continue shaping the burning piece of iron. Claire watched while Arion was in the throes of passion for his work, invigorated by his sense of finishing forging the sword. Distantly, Claire hoped that it wouldn't kill him, though her father refused to go back to bed to lie down.
Hours seemed to pass by, until her father finally gave the final blow onto the metal. Using a pair of tongs to grasp the bright-red blade, Arion then put the sword into a vat of water in order for it to cool. Claire watched as the water steamed from the vat with a maddening hiss. At this point, he allowed himself to rest for a moment, continually wiping at his brow with a handkerchief from his pocket. Once the sword had been properly cooled, Arion then added the finishing touches, like adding the pommel at the crossguard and polishing it to perfection. After everything had been complete, Arion at last allowed himself to relax.
"This sword…it's meant for you," Arion managed to breath, looking at the newly forged blade with pride.
"For me?" Claire said faintly, disbelieving what she'd just heard.
Her father nodded. "It's yours, Claire. For your thirteenth birthday."
At this, Claire wrapped her arms around him in a fierce embrace. Her shoulders shook, but even then, she couldn't bring herself to weep.
Her father's health began failing after finishing his last work. He lay in bed, coughing and struggling to breathe, his eyes unseeing while he stared at the ceiling. The crystal was no longer strong enough to keep the miasma at bay and the poison started seeping through the village. Claire had to put her red bandanna over her mouth to help stave off the miasma. Though Claire found herself overcome with racking coughs as well, she did her best to help tend to her father. The other villagers were also not faring well-and she heard that Farmer Marius and Goodwife Obelia passed away. Claire swallowed her grief and continued taking care of her father. She desperately clung onto the hope that the caravan would come back. That Samuel would come back.
Every night, Claire fixed her father light meals, such as thin-broth soup to help his throat. Yet her father, reduced to his helpless state, dribbled some soup down from the corner of his lip and onto the front of his shirt. Claire dutifully wiped off the mess with a napkin, before carefully serving him small spoonfuls of soup. Once this had been finished, she then went back into her room, closing her eyes. Perhaps it was the miasma, though Claire felt a dragging tiredness seep down into the very marrow of her bones. Closing her eyes brought her no relief, as they itched with irritation from the miasma. While she was drifting off into sleep, she wondered how long it would take until the miasma choked the life out of her.
When she finally slipped into slumber, she dreamed that Samuel was waving goodbye to her before he went off on the caravan.
She heard voices. Claire didn't recognize them, so she simply passed them off as the result of a fever dream. She felt a cool hand brush against her forehead. In her feverish state, she believed that it was her mother who brushed a few damp strands of hair away from her brow. Yet even then, Claire couldn't bring herself to shed any tears-she simply let out a deep sigh, releasing all her pent up emotions in a passing breath. It only brought momentarily relief, and when the hand pulled away from her forehead, searing pain flashed white in Claire's mind.
"She's burning up," a feminine voice said. "I'm surprised that she was able to survive under such conditions."
"She's the only one that's still alive?" another voice said, this one masculine. Claire sensed someone shifting closer towards the bedside.
"Yes. What will you do?"
A pause that drifted between them, before another voice broke the silence. "Let's go. I don't like waiting, especially in a miasma-filled village."
"We can't just leave her here," the second person said, very patiently. "She's about your age, Cassius."
At this point, a strong pair of arms wrapped around her. For a moment, Claire thought of being in her mother's arms, her voice singing a soothing lullaby, a song about hope and traveling to distant lands in order to collect myrrh for the crystal. She instinctively cuddled closer, seeking warmth. Then she suddenly thought of her father, who had strong and sturdy arms like the ones that held her. In her feverish state, she wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever, to be held like she once was when she was a child. In the safety of her childhood memories, she could forget about the tragedies that had taken place.
"Looks like her breathing is getting steadier again," the male who was holding her murmured. "Good."
"We can tend to her fever back on the ship, Raziel," the female said. "Though the crystal's aura seems to be doing well."
"Right. Let's head back."
The male holding her stooped down so that his lips brushed against her ear, his breath tickling. "You'll be safe with us. I promise."
Claire then let herself drift into the comfort of slumber and dreams, hoping Samuel would appear again.
Claire woke to the sound of lulling waves. She shifted slightly in the blankets surrounding her. Tiredly opening her eyes, she then took in her surroundings. It wasn't her room, she knew. Remembering what happened earlier, she wondered who her rescuers were. She remembered their conversation, that she was the only one who managed to survive the miasma that seeped through the village. Claire straightened in her bunk, though with effort. Her pounding headache strengthened, causing her to wince. Her lungs and throat still burned, though there was something else that added to her maladies-queasiness, from the rocking and rolling motion of the ship she was in.
A pair of eyes stared back at her in the darkness. Claire yelped before cuddling the blanket closer to herself, as though that would ward off the stranger in the dark. When she was able to get over her initial shock, she made out the features of the person more clearly. A Selkie. Her heart caught in her throat, when she saw that the Selkie boy was eyeing her carefully. He seemed like a wary wolf, trying to gauge whether or not she presented a threat.
"Hello," Claire said, remembering her manners from the Clavatian customs that have been instilled into her. "Thank you for rescuing me."
"Raziel and Luna were the ones who rescued you," the Selkie boy, whom Claire deduced was Cassius, said. "Not me."
She eventually relaxed some more, before settling herself down onto the bed again. It seemed that the Selkie boy had no personal space whatsoever, as he then wriggled onto the bunk with her. He stretched languidly, seemingly uncaring that Claire occupied the bunk with him. Claire didn't have the heart to chastise him, and simply let it go.
"This is my bunk, you know," Cassius said. "Though I'm letting you borrow it for a little while. 'Cause you've got miasma fever and all."
Claire closed her eyes. Cassius's arm occasionally brushed against her as he shifted on the bunk, trying to make himself more comfortable. She then shifted so that her back was turned to him, wrapping the blanket around herself in an attempt to get warmer. Claire then drifted off to sleep again, comforted that there was another presence beside her.
Claire woke again, finding herself rejuvenated from resting. Her lungs were now clear from miasma, though a small cough remained. She swung her feet from the bunk, steadying herself on the floor. The rocking motion of the ship seemed calmer now, and Claire's recovery made her ignore the slight queasiness that overcame her. She brushed her fingers through her hair, trying to smooth out any tangles, then re-did the ribbon in her hair, tying it into a neat little bow. Taking a deep breath, she strode toward the doorway-though someone else appeared with eerie timing.
It wasn't Cassius, but a Selkie with ocean blue eyes and sun-kissed blond hair. His skin gleamed a rich honey color that spoke of several hours spent in the sunshine, adding further to his golden complexion. An amused smile tugged on his lips as he gently put a hand on Claire's shoulder and guided her back to the bunk. "Sick patients must stay in their quarters. Just lay down and relax, now."
Claire allowed the Selkie to escort her back to the bunk, sagging down onto the mattress. Everything seemed so surreal with the gentle rolling motions of the ship and the otherworldly features of the Selkie staring at her. His ocean blue eyes gleamed with merriment as though he found something inherently amusing about the world in general, a buoying optimism bred from good humor and a relaxed outlook at life. It took Claire a few moments before she could address him properly. "Raziel, I appreciate what you have done for me. I'm sorry that I can't properly thank you…everything has been happening so quickly. We were waiting for the caravan to come back, and my father forged a sword for my thirteenth birthday, and then…"
She then stopped, flushing from her tirade. Bowing her head and folding her hands together in her lap, she then said in a softer voice, "Excuse me. I usually don't prattle so."
This only elicited a lopsided grin on the Selkie's lips and Claire suddenly saw Samuel there. Her shoulders trembled as though she might cry, though Claire straightened herself and stared at the Selkie. She would not grieve, not here, not now. Breaking down in front of this stranger would do nothing to assuage the heartache she felt. His eyes were kind and gentle, which only made the sharp edges of tears prick the corners of her eyes-so Claire simply stared past him, focusing on her breathing until she banished her sadness inside herself.
Even as Claire gazed at him dry-eyed, Raziel then moved forward and did something surprising-his arms wrapped around her in a warm embrace. Raziel didn't say anything-he didn't need to. His gesture communicated everything, telling her that everything would be fine, and that she had a shoulder to cry on. Claire simply closed her eyes and breathed in his scent-of the oceanside, wild and liberated, of sand and salt and warmth. He embodied all these things, and a memory came to Claire. You're not meant to stay in this village forever, Claire. Your destiny lies with the ocean.
She stayed like this for a long time, leaning against Raziel's chest, as she isolated herself from her grief.
Author's Note: All right, so I managed to complete the second chapter. I thank the lovely SasukeBlade for helping to preen through this chapter for mistakes. I hope that this was an enjoyable read, and I shall continue working on the third chapter.