TRIGGER WARNING: major character injury (continued from Chapter 7 Blind Spot)
Chapter 8
Nice and Slow
Vision in my uninjured eye too blurry to see anything and energy too sapped to move, I can only listen as Phoenix stomps over. His steps come heavy and firm, confident.
“Astra, go stand next to Brook. Wyatt might have questions, so answer any that they ask you. It’ll be very important. Guard and Soldiers, say a little prayer if you’re feeling particularly inclined. Now, stay very, very still. This will only take a moment. There’s a child present, so I’m gonna make this nice and quick. Be thankful.”
Wyatt’s here? The others are here? Did they find Alex?
I try to move, but the little movements I manage send pain screaming across nerves, searing every individual line raw until some part of me wishes I could peel them free from my body despite how I know that’s not how it works but the pain.
“The Phoenix,” a Soldier says.
“Yeah,” Phoenix drawls, “so I’m here. Wonderful, glad we could all have that revelation. Shocker, I’m sure. I could be almost anyone. Now, you hurt a child, and you hurt a stepparent in front of their stepchild. That’s the biggest no-no you can make underneath hurting an innocent. Don’t hurt a child, and do not hurt their parent, especially not in front of the child. You were already dead. You’re associated with the cream puff. But now you’re doubly so. Who’s ready to meet Lucius?”
Through vision blurring in and out of focus too quickly for me to make sense of much, I do manage to see the brightness of Phoenix’s flames and the bright yellows. His fire billows out around him in pulsing waves.
A Guard draws his dagger, dropping into a fighting stance and readying himself for a fight against the black cat, the Phoenix.
With a dark snicker, Phoenix lunges for the Guard, laughing deep in his chest, the sound predatory and unsettling in a way that makes my fur prickle. His flames crackle and blaze as he takes one leaping bound, two, and then lunges, forepaws outstretched with claws unsheathed. Jaws parted to reveal his long upper canines, the black cat wraps his forelegs around the Guard, bringing them tumbling to the ground. Phoenix’s flames spread from his body to the Guard’s, and the black cat smirks as the Guard begins to squirm, but he just holds the Guard a little tighter.
“Don’t hurt kids. You should’ve known this would happen if you hurt kids. Hurt innocents, and bad things will happen. You should’ve known this was preventable.”
Phoenix sticks his muzzle right up in the face of the Guard as he speaks, face wrinkling into a snarl. His voice pitches into a growl that rumbles in his throat.
Astra pads up to me, dropping into a crouch by my head. She watches Phoenix through big eyes, ears back and the tip of her tail twitching back and forth with uncertainty.
“Will Phoenix be ok?”
I pant for a few moments, getting enough breath to reply. “Yes.”
He will be. Phoenix will be ok.
“We got a lot of them, so he’ll be ok because of that, right?”
I close my eye. “Yes.”
Talking drains far more exhaustion than it should, leaving me sleepy, but I can’t drift off into Dreamland. Not when there’s Guard and Soldiers around. Not when Astra needs me. Not when Phoenix is fighting. Not when Grey and Wyatt and Ky and Myles are supposed to be here. Not when there’s still things I need to do.
I need to find Freedom and Jabez and explain what happened. I need to make sure that they are ok, same with Camden and Katelin. I need to figure out where Seneca and Icarus are and see if they had anything to do with this and if they did… I don’t want to go down that road and rabbit hole.
Phoenix’s flames eat at the Guard, burning his flesh and causing deep cracks to form in the Guard’s armor. The Guard continues to scream, and Phoenix continues to hold him tight, pinning him to the ground with his legs. Every time the Guard shudders and spasms and contorts and writhes, the black cat locks his forelegs, tensing his muscles and pressing down on the Guard’s legs with his own hind legs. Phoenix’s tail flicks, and the black cat watches as the Guard slowly burns.
The Guard’s movements grow slower as the flames and smoke takes its toll, and Phoenix relaxes his grip as the Guard falls into unconsciousness. When the Guard’s eyes flutter shut, Phoenix sinks his teeth through the Guard’s jugular vein and rips it wide open, quickly sending the Guard to meet Lucius.
“That’s what happens when you hurt children and make them witness harm to those who care for them. Who’s next?”
xxxx
When Wyatt gets here, they rush over to me, their eyes widening and face falling.
“Oh, shit! Brook!”
They sprint over, dropping to their knees when they reach me.
I take a breath, vision in my uninjured eye going blurry. A bolt of fear lances through me; if I lose vision in this eye, I won’t be able to see at all. The thought scares me.
What would the adjustment be like? Will I still be able to take care of Astra? Will I still be able to be a good stepmother to her if I cannot see anything? Will I be able to do everything I need to? Will I still be able to help rebuild the Sea and take down the King?
No, one step at a time, Brook. We can’t get ahead of ourselves.
“I’m here, Brook,” Wyatt says as they do a quick but thorough once-over of my body.
I take a labored breath, groaning at the pain.
“As-Astra,” I wheeze, grimacing when I realize how much effort it took to say her name.
I realize that she’s not here and that I’m missing a chunk of time; I remember Phoenix killing the Guard with his flames and teeth, but nothing after until Wyatt came over. If the Guard and Soldiers got to Astra…
“She’s ok,” Wyatt replies, putting an end to my quickly spiraling worry. “Grey’s with her. Grey and Camden are taking her to my tent so she can get checked out.”
“Astra’s ok?”
Wyatt nods. “Astra’s ok,” they confirm.
The tension in my body leaves all at once. My muscles relax, and for once my exhale isn’t accompanied by a searing lance of pain through my ribs. The throbbing of my eye dulls at Wyatt’s words.
Astra’s ok.
I did it. I kept her safe. She’s safe. She’s with Grey. He’s back, and so are the others. Astra is with Grey and Camden. They can stay with Astra. I can rest, just for a little while. Freedom will understand. I just need to close my eyes, just for a little bit. I just need a bit of rest, for once, while the King might be taking a break.
“Astra’s ok,” I echo.
Just a little rest.
“Brook!” Wyatt calls. “No, no, Brook, you need to stay with me. Stay awake!”
They tap my cheek, and I wrinkle my nose, drawing back an ear. I paw at the ground with a foreleg.
“Rest,” I say.
“You can rest when you’re in my tent. I cannot move you on my own. I need you to walk just a little further. I’ll make sure you’re stable, but I need you to walk. We’ll help, but I have no way to move you on my own. I’m sorry.”
I stare at Wyatt blankly as I work through their words, sorting through them in my mind until they begin to make sense.
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“Rest,” I whisper. “Tired.”
I feel more blood drip from my eye. Wyatt has to understand. They have to understand how exhausted I am, how tired, how sleepy, how drained, how much I just need to close my eyes for a little bit.
“Rest while I do what I can here, but don’t fall asleep. I need you to walk back to my tent. We’ll help you every step of the way.”
“I’m tired,” I find myself admitting as Wyatt turns my head so they can look at my eye.
“Ouch,” they say at the injury. “You have every right to be tired, Brook. Physically, mentally, emotionally.”
I flinch when I feel their fingers at my cheekbone.
“Sorry,” they say. “I’m going to have to touch your eye. I’ll be as gentle as I can, though, but it’s going to hurt.”
There’s a note of worry —high and thready— in their voice that concerns me. They don’t voice the worry so I don’t say anything, but what has them so scared?
“Ok,” I murmur, giving cautious permission for Wyatt to do what they need.
Wyatt doesn’t reply; they’re already tilting my head a little more and crouching low to the ground, fingers touching and pressing and moving
Myles comes running, gait uneven as he uses his staff to support himself. He carries a bag over a shoulder, and he’s barely set it down before Wyatt has a hand digging through it and pulling out bandages that they use to scrape off the dirt
They say something to Myles that I don’t catch.
My nostrils flare and I flinch as Wyatt touches my eyelid, exhaling sharply at the pain. If I had more energy and wasn’t as disoriented, I would’ve tried to get up— every instinct within me says to do so, but the rest of me is too tired, too confused from the blood loss and sheer exhaustion from the injuries, the exertion, everything.
Myles places a hand on my cheek as he rounds to my flank.
“I’m gonna be here, Brook. Wyatt wants me to help out. Stay with us, alright. Talk to me. Tell me a funny story about Astra, ok?”
“Do that,” I murmur. “Please.”
“Yes,” Wyatt says, “tell me a funny story about Astra. She seems very kind.”
I smile. “She is very kind. Can I tell you about all the flowers she’s seen since we left the Field?
Myles hums. “Please do. We just need you to stay awake. None of us can carry you. We need you to walk. Wyatt’s just worried about you being stable.”
“I can’t stand,” I say.
“I figured,” Wyatt says. “Just let us take care of everything. I’m sorry for the pain that we may cause; we’re trying to help.”
“I know,” I groan when Myles presses down on my flank.
Wyatt shuffles through the bag still sitting beside them, then holds something to my mouth.
“Eat this. It’ll help with the pain.”
I take it, wrinkling my muzzle at the sour taste. I don’t ask what it is; I’m still far too dizzy, mind still far too clouded to bother trying to muster up the energy. Any energy I do have I save for when Wyatt will likely ask me to stand and move.
“Now tell me about those flowers Astra’s found,” Myles says. “I bet she found some very pretty ones.”
I chuckle despite the pain. “She did. She found all the ones she thought were the best. Ones for every color of the rainbow, multicolored ones, spiky ones, fuzzy ones, every type of flower.”
xxxx
I don’t know how long has passed by when Phoenix returns, covered in sizzling blood. Wyatt has finished bandaging the worst of the wounds, and Phoenix takes one look at me and grimaces.
Myles and Wyatt help push me to lay down in a more upright position as Wyatt says something about blood flow and making sure I’m not going to faint and lose consciousness and taking standing one step at a time now that Phoenix eliminated the threat of the Guard and Soldiers.
“You look like shit,” Phoenix mutters.
I snort. “Thanks.”
“Glad you didn’t abandon Astra, or I would’ve had to finish the job.”
I take a moment to study Phoenix. His tone and posture don’t line up with his words; he’s too stiff, too restless for the dismissive, dark meaning of the words.
“I won’t abandon Astra,” I say, “no matter what. I will not leave her. She is my stepdaughter. We may not share flesh and blood, but we are family.”
Phoenix holds my gaze, intense in his stare as he looks me in the eye, searching for something. I hold his gaze in turn with my eye from where I lay upright, legs tucked beneath me. Phoenix narrows his eyes, squinting, then nods.
“She gets a childhood,” he says, voice final.
I exhale through my nose, pricking my ears. I twist my head to get a better look at Phoenix.
“She gets a childhood,” Phoenix repeats when I don’t reply, a level of pleading I’ve never heard before.
“Yes,” I say. Confusion swirls within me; I thought that much was clear, that I wanted Astra to get a good childhood, one she deserved that was as normal as possible, whatever normal was supposed to be.
Phoenix nods again, slightly stiff. “Good,” he murmurs. “Good.”
xxxx
As difficult as getting me to laying down in a more upright position on my stomach was, standing is harder tenfold.
Myles and Wyatt support me, but the effort they can put into lifting me is very, very little combined to what I can put in and the effort needed for me to stand. They help in getting my legs into the right place and unfolding them so they sit right, but I need to push myself up fully.
It’s for Astra, I remind myself. So we can see Astra once Wyatt has helped us and we have rested and healed enough. It’s for us, too. We survived, and Wyatt can help us. Myles, too.
Myles and Wyatt stand on either side of me as I take several breaths. Forelegs shaking, I brace myself and gather my hind legs beneath me. The movement causes the ground to tilt precariously, and I sway, leaning into Wyatt, who grunts as I shift more and more of my weight into them.
“Brook, Brook!” they cry out.
Stumbling, I manage to right myself before I take myself and Wyatt to the ground. I swish my tail in irritation. I just want to stand. I just want to rest. I just want to do what I know that I can in a normal situation. Is that really too much to ask? But I know that this situation is far from normal, whatever normal may be.
“I’ll guide you,” Wyatt says. “Let’s go. We’ll take it nice and slow. Nice and easy. Just follow my lead, ok?”
The soft, level, even tone of their voice is calming, and it puts me at ease.
With a hand on the side of my jaw, gentle fingers pressing with just enough pressure to be grounding, Wyatt guides me forward, taking steps as slow as I do as I try to figure out how to make my legs work as whatever they’d given me for the pain kicks in. It takes just a bit of the edge off, leaving me feeling fuzzy on top of the dizziness from the blood loss and the exhaustion. I drag my hooves forward one at a time, raking them through the dirt and kicking up little pebbles.
“Careful,” Myles says when I clip a larger rock with a hind hoof and take a chip out of the tip of the surface.
I hum as I focus on not losing my balance yet again.
Ragdonians watch as Wyatt and Myles help me through the Sea. I can feel the bandages they’d wrapped around the worst of my injuries soaking up fresh blood as it seeps through with a hot, sticky warmth.
I feel the Ragdonians’ eyes on me, looking, staring, as I slowly make my way past, unable to lift my head higher than my withers. This time, it’s not because Wyatt’s holding the lead rope too low; it’s because I don’t have the energy. It’s not by choice, still, but it’s not another taking the choice from me. There’s no one to blame.
My eye aches, pain dulled by the concoction Wyatt had given me, as does the gash along my flank, but I limp along, ignoring the subtle agonies. The wound on my fetlock slowly drips blood.
Myles comments on it but doesn’t stop me, likely realizing that if he made me halt and take a break I wouldn’t be able to start again. He offers me a sympathetic look but doesn’t say anything further.
Sweat foams on my fur after only a little further, and my vision blurs to the point that I can barely see anything but I force myself onward, knowing that there is no other choice. There’s no other option other than forward. I have to keep going. I must. And so I take one more step, and then another, and then another, and then another yet.
Soon, I lose myself to just one more step, and each step rolls into the next and I don’t know how many I’ve taken, because they just keep coming. I cannot see where I’m going, and I cannot see where I’ve been. I just am, and the pain has managed to become a background buzzing, looming in the entirety of the back of my mind but not the crushing, all-encompassing presence, the one that’s so heavy it’s inescapable, claws blocking every exit.
I’m so lost in my own head that it’s unexpected when Wyatt slows and guides me to turn with a gentle hand on my neck. They don’t say anything when I bump into them, only offering a soft, steady this way, Brook.
xxxx
“Can I rest now?” I ask as I duck into the tent.
To my surprise, it’s big enough for me to fit comfortably. I can fit on one side, with plenty of space for others. Camden had pushed several beds to one side, cramming them together, to make space for me, and he arranged blankets on the ground to provide a softer surface to lay on than the hard-packed dirt of the Sea. I blindly follow Wyatt as they guide me to the blankets with a gentle hand on my jaw.
“Rest,” they say, and it’s the permission I’ve been waiting for. “I’ll be with you the entire time and continue treating you.”
I lay down, controlling my descent as much as I am able to, and my eyes close as soon as I’m down. Drifting off to Dreamland, I feel Astra curl up in the bend of a foreleg, pressing in close, and I savor in the connection, ignoring the twinge of guilt that I’m keeping her from her parents.
We can figure out the relationships later. Astra gets to decide.
For now, I need rest, and I allow myself to get swept away into Dreamland, pulled down deep into its hold.
xxxx
Days pass by, and I barely leave the nest of blankets Wyatt made. They switch them out every so often, after they get stained with blood from the times they cleaned my eye and the wounds across my body. They make sure I get enough to eat, despite my lack of hunger. They make sure I get enough to drink, despite my lack of thirst. They make sure my pain remains under control, even if I don’t remember much from the exhaustion that hit as soon as I lay down. The exhaustion clings to me like the blood Myles wipes from my body.
“They’re gonna scar, aren’t they,” I ask sometime later, long after I’ve lost track of time.
“The bigger ones, yes,” he replies. “I’m not sure on the smaller ones. Wyatt’s very skilled, but their abilities have limits. My honest answer is that I do not know.”
I lay upright on my stomach, legs tucked beneath me and head twisted to lay near my shoulder in a position that reminds me far too much of when I’d panicked in the moments after the Guard shot the arrow through my eye and I’d driven my temple into my shoulder in my fear. I lift my head.
“I figured,” I murmur.
I blink, and I wrinkle my muzzle as I shiver when half of my field of vision is dark and static and my brain knows there should be input from my surroundings like there is from my other eye but it’s not getting that from my right eye. My brain doesn’t know what to do with that, and neither do I.
I’ll adjust. I know I will. I’ll figure out how to do the things I want with sight in one of my eyes, rather than both.
But a part of me still bucks and pulls back and resists.
How did this happen?
I was defending Astra. We were going on a walk, and then we got attacked, and then I lost vision in my eye. What happened? What went wrong? I don’t understand. I want to go back in time and duck, twist further, stand a step to the side. Surely there’s something I could’ve done?
No, I tell myself. We cannot dwell on what could have been. This is our reality, and we will adjust. We can live our life. We have to hold our head high; we will be ok.