Chapter 22 - Patient

"What if she's an Empire spy?"

Kalin crossed his arms. "Are you suggesting that based on the color of her skin, Rask?"

"Well no, I mean, she could just as easily be a spy from anywhere," Rask said hurriedly.

"She was found drifting along the riverbank. Her attire marks her as a tribal person. Such wounds," Kalin mused, leaning back in his chair. "And that gash on her back. Blessed Flames. By all rights, she shouldn't even have a heartbeat right now." Rask shuffled to his right. The large man picked up the empty quiver the woman had strapped to her back. A pungent smell came from within. The commander poked around with a stick. It had a dark yellowish paste at one end when he took it out. "Some manner of toxin?" Kalin asked.

"I would assume so. Should I send it back to the garrison to investigate?"

Kalin nodded. Rask gave a short bow before exiting the command tent. Kalin tugged at the sides of his cloak. It was well into the day. Despite clear skies from the night before, the morning had been a grey one with a chill to the air. He looked over the maps of his surroundings for what was the tenth time while idly chewing on a wooden spoon.

It tasted like wood. Obviously.

The last remnants of the plain stew he'd had for breakfast had already been licked clean long ago. He frowned as he looked down at the empty bowl. Something primal within him desired to lick the edges as his stomach growled. He dismissed the thoughts. He was noble born. Licking a bowl was far beneath him.

The day was passing with little event. Kalin had been waiting in his seat for something. Anything. Scouts reported nothing on the Astral Union's movements. They had retreated back to their city when their business was complete. Nothing but a field of smoldering black lay where the Papillion Forest once stood. Sending a search party for survivors wasn't possible with thick noxious fumes still swirling about the desecrated site.

As expected, the Empire of Tarmia had sent out a prowling legion of their own. They'd been camped on the opposite end of the Cinder River about a dozen miles from where Kalin had set his own camp. They had yet to make any moves since arriving at their position. He doubted they would move. The Xenarian garrison was too close. Unless they were planning a full scale invasion, the only way for them to enter the remains of the forest would be to sneak in during the dead of night —something Kalin would never allow.

But he'd also vowed to never let any outsiders near the forest. Yet it had burned down before him.

He pressed two fingers against his temples. There was likely little reason to go to the forest's remains anyway. Any magical Artifacts had probably been taken by the Union. And anyone still alive would soon suffocate in the grey haze.

Having little else with which to occupy himself, Kalin rose from his seat and headed outside. The urge to shiver pulled at his nerves. He endured, standing tall and proud. Flurries descended from the bleak sky above him, their solemn silence resonating with his own.

It would have been reasonable for Kalin to simply return to the garrison, leaving Rask in charge of the fielded army. But Kazir was the one leading the Empire's legion. Kalin had no intention of leaving the field whilst such a devious enemy commander was deployed.

Two guards hounded him as he walked through the camp. His eyes flickered from side to side, ensuring everything was in order. His soldiers ran through drills to keep themselves warm. Few sat huddled by fires. There was little worry on their faces. They all trusted their leader wholeheartedly. Even in the event of an emergency, the garrison was about a day's jog away. Kalin found himself walking towards the medic tents where his skilled physics rested. There were no patients from the night before. The worst anyone had suffered was a scratch. He stopped before a small tent that had been erected for the sole survivor from the forest, motioning his guards to stay on standby. "No patients save for one," he muttered to himself as he stepped inside.

"I said make sure the water is hot!" a middle aged woman said. "Not warm but hot! Why are you back so soon?" She turned around and gasped. She quickly grabbed a fist full of her lengthy skirt, giving both a curtsy and a bow at the same. "Your Grace, my apologies. I thought—"

Kalin waved the matter away, causing the physic to close her mouth instantly. "How is the patient?" he asked.

The physic turned to the woman laying down on layers of thick sheets and blankets. "She'll live. But she seems to have lost a lot of blood. I've barely managed to stitch the cut on her back. I've yet to thoroughly wipe down the many cuts upon her arms and legs. I can't guess when she'll wake."

Kalin nodded. He inspected the patient's features. The calluses on her fingertips marked her as an experienced archer. She was tall for the average woman. As tall as Rask and himself. Her dark hair reached down to her waist. It had been braided when the soldiers pulled her out of the river. The braid had been untied since. She had a sharp nose and high cheekbones. Even sleeping in defeat, the woman seemed to embody the word 'pride'. "Let me know if she wakes," he said before leaving. He had questions to ask her. Though, it didn't seem appropriate to interrogate someone after they'd lost their home. Nor did he know whether she even spoke the same language.

***

Flames. Everywhere Sar'tara looked she saw flames. Everything around her burned. There was no sensation within her body. But she could feel it burning. She opened her mouth to cry for help but all that came out of her parched throat was a gasp. The fires closed in on her. They then suddenly disappeared moments before searing tongues singed her face. Everything became black.

The memories hit her in a torrent. She recalled everything from the Guardian Trials to the burning of the forest. Images of the Selharr village and all of her sisters flashed before her. Sar'tara cried out to them. No one answered back. Panic took ahold of her. What had happened to them? Had they survived the culling? They had to have. Stel'Na would surely have led them away from danger. But what of Ny'Danis? What of her Mother? Last she knew, the plains dwellers were attacking the deity's grove. Sar'tara knew her Mother was strong. But would she have been strong enough to protect all the naiads and dryads? Strong enough to protect her infant daughters?

Red dripping down the Forest Deity's fingers. Kiali lying on the floor. A hand squeezed around Sar'tara's heart. Did Ny'Danis even care to protect it all? To protect the only home her daughters had ever known?

Fear curled itself around Sar'tara's veins as she recalled her last moments. Recalled the many armored soldiers. The fires closing in around her. The river carrying her away and her final wish for death. She wasn't dead. She was well aware of that. The flames returned with those agonizing memories. This time, they didn't disappear. They touched her and she cried out as her very skin felt as if it were being ripped from the flesh beneath.

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"Calm down," a voice said. It sounded familiar. Stel'Na? It was a bit deeper. Maybe Stel'Na was just exhausted. For a moment, Sar'tara did relax. The familiar sound put her heart at ease despite how hot she felt. "Yes. Just relax. I'm here."

That voice did not belong to Stel'Na.

She trembled. Vague feeling returned to her limbs. She probed her surroundings with her fingertips for a weapon. All they felt was softness like the pelt of a hare, but not quite. Her hand reached down to her thigh where she kept her leather band and knives. There was nothing. She realized that she was completely bare. No fur cloak over her shoulders. No quiver strapped to her back. No garments around her breasts or waist. Her eyes were also shut. The flames she was seeing was entirely in her head. She tried willing them open, but her eyelids remain stuck together. "Get me a cloth and water," the voice suddenly cried. "Her temperature is rising!"

Sar'tara tried relaxing. Whoever the new woman was, she was taking care of her. Something wet and cool was placed upon her forehead. A temporary relief. She felt a caring hand run through her hair. She thought that it was perhaps a survivor from the Mäkhain or the Kreiva. A fellow sister. Her breath came to a halt when hearing other voices.

"Should we ask her of the Artifacts?" one voice said. "There may yet be hidden ones that weren't found. We also need to know what our enemies may have come into possession of."

"The woman has just lost everything, Rask. She needs time to recover," a second said.

"But—"

"Rask, you have a family of your own. I expect you to understand something as simple as this."

"Apologies, Your Grace."

Sar'tara's heartrate increased. Each beat rang loud against her eardrums. Deep voices. Similar to those of the invading soldiers. Plains dwellers. They had invaded her forest. Burned it down. Slain her sisters. The second man's words confirmed her fears. She had lost everything.

No.

Everything had been taken from her. Stolen from her. They had stolen her life, her home, and even her family. Sensation soon returned to her limbs. She began thrashing about.

"Hold still!" the caretaker said. "Your wounds will reopen! There is nothing to harm you here."

Sar'tara didn't listen. She continued to toss and turn, all while her hands searched for something to defend herself with.

"One of you! Hold her down! If the wound on her back tears, she could bleed out."

Sar'tara heard heavy footsteps running towards her. Ny'Danis, please, she begged in her mind. Even after everything she knew, everything she'd seen, she had little option but to pray to the Forest Deity. Please let me find a weapon before they reach me! All her hopes faded as she felt her arms get pinned against the soft material that she lay on. Her mouth opened and she screamed. Her eyes opened shortly after. She stared into the deep brown eyes of a man. He had a stern expression. She continued to scream, hoping he would pull away from her. Sar'tara's screams stopped when her breath ran out, her limbs, soon after. Her entire body ached terribly. Tears clouded her vision. She began wailing like a child.

"Get away from her! You're scaring the poor girl," a woman shouted. Her garments were strange. The entire length of her body and arms were covered in a strange faded sky blue outfit. The features of her face bore a vague resemblance to Freya. That fleeting resemblance was enough for the bewildered and frightened Sar'tara to extend her arms towards the woman whilst crying. The woman knelt before her and held her hands. "There, there. They won't hurt you. I promise."

Sar'tara tried nodding but her neck was stiff. She tried responding instead but the only sounds that came out of her mouth were incoherent cries.

The strangely dressed woman turned her head to the two men in the small enclosed space. "I meant no offense, grace," she said hurriedly. "I mean none still, but can you leave her to me for the time being? I don't think she's fond of soldiers…"

The two men looked to each other before stepping away. Their figures disappeared after they ducked out of the small enclosed space. Sar'tara held the woman for a very long time. Her surroundings began to fade in color. Things began turning dark. The sun had set, she realized. She finally let go of her caretaker. The woman wiped away her tears before slowly standing up to stretch. Sar'tara felt guilty for having forced her to stay in one position for such a long time. "Wh-where…?" she managed to say in between gasps for air.

"Ah, at least we speak the same language. All in good time, dear. Don't think too hard and focus on recovering. I will be here for you. My name is Meredith. If ever I am not here, simply cry my name and I will come running." Sar'tara blinked in acknowledgement, sniffling. She rolled her caretaker's name over her tongue. The woman exited the odd space. It was similar to a hut, except the floor was made of grass rather than hard dirt. As if the thing had recently been erected over the ground. Or perhaps that was how these particular plains dwellers lived. Was she in one of their vast settlements known as cities?

She pulled the soft blankets closer to her. The night carried a harsh chill. Her clothing lay a few feet away from her, though only her leather skirt and breast cover. She looked down at her body. Strange strips of white had been wrapped around her wounds. Any movements of her torso sent sharp pains running across the length of her back. She reached back and felt where her wound was. It had been stitched shut.

Sar'tara looked around for a drink. A wooden basin had been left by her. A white object of similar texture to her blankets had been left inside. Sar'tara removed the damp object and drank out of the bowl just as Meredith came back inside, her hands occupied with food plates. "Don't drink out of that!" she cried. Startled, Sar'tara dropped the bowl and spilled the contents all over herself. Her caretaker shook her head. "That's filthy. I'll get you clean water."

Sar'tara tucked in her knees and wrapped her arms around them. She was in a strange place with strange people and customs. They probably thought of her as strange as well. At least there was a single kind soul willing to take care of her. But that didn't change the fact that armored soldiers were about. She was still in the possession of the very people that had burnt her home. They wanted something from her. The magical Artifacts held by Ny'Danis by the sounds of it. Sar'tara assumed her Mother to have hidden the Artifacts. Else the plains dwellers would have already come to possess the objects since they said the entire forest had burned down.

Had it though? Surely not all of her home had fallen victim to the flames. There had to be other survivors. Others she could look to and trust in this strange place. These outsiders couldn't be trusted. If she was alive, it's because they needed something from her. Maybe they were lying about the forest burning. Maybe they wanted her to feel alone. Sar'tara pressed her mouth to her knees, curling into a ball. Alone. She was just that though. Not even Ny'Danis had a place in her heart. Though the thought —the need of a caring mother still occupied it.

Meredith placed a bowl of normal seeming stew before her along with an odd light brown rock like object. She left again to fetch water. Sar'tara inspected her food. At least some of it was familiar. She picked up the strange rock. It was soft enough for her to press down on. Strange white dust covered its surface. She tried taking a bite out of it. The texture was coarse. It was hard to chew and made her mouth dry. But the more moisture it absorbed, the softer it became.

Sar'tara looked down at her stew, and then back at the rock. She dipped it in the liquid, expecting it to soften. Her expectations became reality, making the rock easier to bite through. It tasted wonderful as well. The stew was salted and contained greens that she'd never seen before. The meat was also something new. The blissful meal put a slight smile on her face. Dried tears on her cheeks made her feel the stretching of her skin.

Meredith returned with a cylindrical bowl of water. It had a handle at the side for ease of carrying. She smiled, seeing her patient eating with a childlike enthusiasm. "Is it to your liking?"

Sar'tara nodded. She held up the strange food object. "This rock. Where does it come from?"

Meredith laughed. "That's no rock, dear. It is bread. Stale bread. When we return to the garrison, I'll make sure to give you fresh bread. It's warm and soft and entirely lovely. Especially with butter. Much better than what you're having now."

"Oh. Bred…" she mumbled. Strange word for a food object. What is butter? Meredith said return to the garrison. What was a garrison and where were they now? Sar'tara cleared her bowl. Her caretaker took the eating utensils away and she was once again left alone. The warmth of the meal had spread across her body, making her feel drowsy. But she still felt cold inside. She wished she were back at the village. She wished she could have had a drink to light a flame of confidence within herself. Wished she could have huddled against her fellow sisters as they so often would during the cold nights of the evernight season.