I Who Should Not Be
Chapter 17
When Onika opened her eyes, the sun was already high in the sky. She was lying on her side, curled in a tight ball. She sat up slowly, bringing her wounded arm up to her face. She couldn't remember much about what happened after her brother had cut her arm off, but she vaguely remembered the black shape that came out of the woods…
It had come toward her from out of the woods. It stank of blood and of fire, the smell of death rolling off it with each shambling footstep. The thing had glared at her, a dead Kenbosi in one of it's hands. It walked past her and to her hand, reaching out and wrapping it's black slimy hand around the severed limb and made as if to lift it. When it turned toward her again, her lower arm was still on the ground and the creature held a smoky afterimage of it. As it passed, it stopped and breathed in her face.
It happened so fast. She saw flashing lights, fragmented images and heard disjointed sounds. One thing was a constant. She saw and heard all of the people that were with her. Even the dragons were in the horrible vision that the dark spirit had granted her. Murtagh, Eragon, Arya, Thorn, Saphira, Mishee, herself… What had it meant? Before she could try to ask it, the spirit was gone.
She heard Eragon talking and got up to her knees, keeping her maimed arm tucked close to her chest. The Rider looked up and said something to Arya, who sat close to him with a bundle of silk. When Onika looked closer, she saw that it was a vaguely familiar shape. Her stomach lurched.
It was her arm.
She crept closer to the pair and opened her mouth, her voice a croak.
"Where is… Where is Murtagh? Is he gone?"
Arya looked at her and shook her head. Eragon held out his hand toward Onika's arm.
"He's getting some water for us. Let me see your arm, I want to make sure Murtagh healed it right."
Onika shook her head and went around to Arya's side, sitting and putting her bundled arm in her lap. The dead limb felt oddly heavy to her, like it was made of stone. She gingerly lifted the edge of the silk scarf and looked at the cold flesh. On one end, the silk was stained and sticky with her blood, so she had to tug at the fabric for a moment before the cloth let go of the arm.
Arya watched as Onika lifted her arm out of it's shroud of silk, her stomach twisting in disgust even as a pang of sadness turned her heart to lead. The Wolfborn turned the limb this way and that, looking at it like it was a strange animal that had wandered into her back yard. The skin was icy cold and ashy blue in the light, the color mottling down by the wound. Onika knew that by the end of a day or two, the arm would be mottled purple and grey and not long after that, it would begin sloughing off the skin to reveal red raw meat beneath.
Onika looked up when she heard Murtagh coming. The dark haired Rider barked something to the Wolfborn, but she barely looked up at him. He tried again and Onika put the arm back and tightly tied the scarf around it before lifting her head to look at the man. She made a low groaning sound and Murtagh rolled his eyes before answering. The Wolfborn lowered her head and held the silk bundle tighter in her remaining hand.
"I'll burry it for you Onika. You eat something and then we'll go on. They can help you more once we get to Farthen Dur."
Onika nodded and handed the appendage off, not looking up from her feet. Arya rose and walked a ways away, singing softly. Murtagh watched Onika in silence for a long moment before sitting down by her and taking the wounded arm in his hands. He saw that his fast healing had stopped the bleeding, but he had missed a few things that he could see now. The wound was still bright red and it was hot to the touch.
"Does it hurt?"
She nodded, but still refused to speak. When he pushed on a small bubble that was forming in the skin, Onika hissed in pain and tried to squirm away. Murtagh used his other hand to hold her elbow still and spoke a word under his breath, which caused the bubble of skin to split open and thick bloody yellow pus oozed out. He swore under his breath and tried to think of how to burn out the infection, but came up with nothing. Before he could ask Eragon, she pulled her arm away and turned his head so he had to look at her face.
He looked into her eyes and felt a cold shock go through him. The whites of her eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles under them. Gone was the gleam that spoke of her love of life, replaced by a sadness that he wasn't sure would go away. He wished that he could make that sadness go away, even for just a moment… but he didn't know how…
"Murtagh."
To his surprise, Onika smiled slightly. Her hand touched his cheek and she stayed still like that for a moment before standing.
"Let's go. I will follow…you."
"But your…" he couldn't bring himself to say the word 'arm'. He didn't want to upset her more.
"I will fix it…later. I can fix it. Don't worry."
"I always worry."
He watched as Arya climbed onto Saphira with Eragon and waited for Onika to get on Mishee's back before seating himself in Thorn's saddle.
"Be calm…Murtagh. I will protect…you all. I promise."