Emmy

Emmy barely slept, knowing what was to follow the next night. The cogs of her mind kept turning the situation round and round, giving her not even a minute of peace. They would escape. They would go to Kubodinnu to meet Bomsoi.

Then what?

Emmy turned in her bed as her thoughts whirled. Rel said Bomsoi wanted her to do something, that she had some sort of special purpose. A full-blood Uloni. But what was it? And would she even be able to do it? Cycle upon cycle of self-doubt crept upon her like a plague. She wasn’t special. She wasn’t…anything. How could she help?

No.

The word was so clear Emmy bolted upright, clutching her sacking blanket to her chest.

‘Who’s there?’ she asked.

Her quavering words disappeared into the dimness of her alcove. Her eyes darted to and fro and she shivered from something more than cold. The word was so clear, she was sure someone was there…

But there was no-one. Not even Rel.

Emmy’s shiver turned into a shudder. She was hearing things now. Never a good sign. Slowly she lowered herself onto the cot once more and pulled the scratchy blanket to her chin. It was nothing. Just excitement and fear playing tricks on her.

It didn’t make sleep come any easier, and by the time her eyelids were heavy and closing, the sun was steadily rising. Emmy pulled herself upright and dug her knuckles into her eyes, trying to push away the weariness. Washing and dressing, she pulled back the curtain of her alcove with a heavy arm, then went about her morning work.

It was difficult not to speak to Zecha and Charo. The temptation to drift over to them and conspire was great, even in her tired state. But Yarim and Asri watched her enough in their distrust. She didn’t need to give them further reason to follow her every move. So instead Emmy tended to her patients and tried to behave as she always did.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, the day would take a turn that would mask anything strange she did.

Rel was called away early in the morning for a meeting with Commander Pama and the others in charge of the camp. Rel had answered the summons with a furrowed brow, for while she was in charge of the healers, she was not usually privy to meetings and decisions. When she returned, her furrowed brow had become a dark shadow over her eyes. Within minutes, she had summoned the healers together and ushered them into a curtained alcove. She even called for those sleeping, such as Medicine-Yarim, resting after the night shift.

As she spoke, her tone grew weary.

‘Masvam ships have been seen nearby,’ she said. ‘They’re sailing for Athomur, the city you arrived through. The Masvams are attacking along the northern coast. They’re trying to gain ground, so they can storm Kubodinnu.’

Medicine-Yarim’s bleary fatigue cleared.

‘What does that mean for us?’ she asked, though her tone suggested she knew what was to come.

‘It means that some of the battalions here will be marching out,’ Rel replied. ‘And where the battalions go, the healers follow. Some of us will remain to continue tending the sick and injured here but some of us will leave—including myself.’

Rel caught Emmy’s eye as she spoke the last word. Blinking, Emmy’s heart sank.

‘Oh…’ she whispered.

Blackness shadowed Rel’s face.

‘We’re to travel with the troops as the healer’s contingent,’ she continued. ‘I will make my decision on who will stay and who will go today. Those who will come with me, we leave tomorrow at dawn.’

Emmy, Yarim, and Asri fell silent, the reality of the next morning weighing upon them. No-one spoke, as if to utter any words would be to condemn them to join the fighting. Emmy pressed her claws into the palms of her hands. She should have known by now, nothing ever worked out the way she wanted it to. She gave Rel a fearful glance, not daring to ask the question that was on her lips. What would happen to their plan now?

Do not fret.

Emmy started at the words, once more so clear—yet no-one had opened their mouth. Medicine-Yarim, mistaking her jump for fear, smirked and prodded Emmy’s back.

‘Maybe you should take Medicine-Emmy,’ she said. ‘The experience might toughen her up.’

‘And the experience might clip your arrogance,’ Rel snapped back.

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Medicine-Yarim blanched and retracted her hand immediately.

‘I did not mean offense, Medicine-Rel,’ she said.

‘But you did,’ Rel continued, ‘and that is part of your problem. I will make my decisions based on what I feel is best, not what you think should happen. Now, all of you,’ she said, gesturing beyond the curtain to the rows of patients, ‘get back to work.’

Slowly, the healers shuffled out, their legs leaden and their hearts even more-so. As she went to follow the others, Emmy was pulled back by Rel. Waiting until Yarim and Asri were far enough away, the older healer gave a grim smile.

‘Don’t worry, Emmy,’ she said. ‘We can continue with our plans. In fact, this might be of benefit. I am going to choose you as one of my companions, but the reasoning is this: you will need to get armor, and that can only be good for us. We will still leave this evening. We will simply be more prepared, and our disappearance will be more believable. With the Masvam threat increasing, we will be assumed to be dead.’

Emmy dropped her voice to a whisper.

‘And what if we do come across Masvams, Rel?’ she asked. ‘The closest to a soldier among us is Charo, and she’s only had a little training. Zecha’s good with a bow but he doesn’t have one, and he’s still healing. And I can’t fight,’ she continued, her tone becoming strained with self-depreciation. ‘What happened back in Bellim proved that. Not to mention our training with the ohza.’

Rel grinned in a way that made Emmy’s neck scales rise. Didn’t she realize how dangerous this was?

‘Then,’ Rel said, ‘it’s even more important that you get armor.’ She pulled the curtain all the way back, allowing light to spill in from the main room.

‘Go and get fitted for armor, Medicine-Emmy,’ she said sternly, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. Only Emmy could see the slight upturn at the edge of her lips. ‘Perhaps Medicine-Yarim is right. A little battle will do you good.’

In different places across the room, Zecha and Charo popped up like shrooms. Zecha’s eyes narrowed, whereas Charo’s widened. Emmy shrugged.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ she mouthed, although their continued confusion suggested they didn’t understand.

As she walked towards the door, Medicine-Yarim paused before she drew her curtain and shot Emmy a vicious glare. Though rage flared inside, Emmy chose not to respond. Instead, she stepped out into the dim morning light.

She wrapped her arms around her waist, though it was not cold, and glanced up. Gargons fluttered overhead, carrying messages from one unit to another. On the ground, soldiers carried stacks of supplies, led huge vaemar steeds, or loaded carts. Messengers scurried to and fro in the growing dawn, flitting like shadows. One young messenger was fond of vaulting the barrels being rolled around. Whatever was in them was heavy, for each was pushed by two soldiers. When one broke open the messenger skidded on its contents, which put an end to his jumping. The tongue-lashing he received was severe.

The barrels were full of sand, though why they were rolling them around, Emmy couldn’t fathom. Though when one of the females plucked a gleaming weave from of the barrel wreck, she understood. They were cleaning chain mail. That explains why the barrels are coming from the armory.

The armory was where Emmy was going. It was a wooden structure, full to bursting, the crowd barely kept in check by mounted guards. Soldier-slaves were herded forward like animals to receive their battle garments. Emmy joined the crush, examining the piles the soldiers left with. Mail. Shields. Scrappy leather armor. None of it looked particularly protective.

Jostled with increasing frequency, Emmy’s temper flared. Between the shoving and the stink of barely-washed bodies, the desire to cleave an inconsiderate head from someone’s shoulders was high, if unlikely. As she was shoved forward and wedged between two burly Metakalans, she gritted her teeth. For once, she wished she had learned to fight.

Great clangs and crashes sounded from the smithy nearby. The heat was tremendous, even from a distance. The temperature made the stench even more unbearable. As she was jerked to the side again, Emmy wished that Rel was with her. The other soldiers would have given her a comfortable berth if she was flanked by the respected Medicine-Rel.

As the days had passed, Emmy reflected more on Rel and the kindness she had shown. The last thing she expected was to find a friend in the Althemerian camp, but that was exactly what Rel was becoming. Not only a friend, but she was also kin of a kind—the only other folk of Uloni blood she had ever found. That and their plan for escape made the ordeal in the armory more bearable. At least they were actually escaping, not walking into the jaws of battle.

The line crept forward. The armorers’ craggy faces became clear. They were battle-worn females and bore thick scars on their faces and arms—or arm in the case of the brutal-looking one whose left appendage had been cut off above the elbow. They all sweated, the air thick with the stench and their swearing.

When she reached the front, Emmy came face-to-face with the one-armed armorer. Her dark eyes looked her up and down, her lips curling. Then she turned, rummaging in racks of blue leather tunics with her one hand. When she turned again, she threw one into Emmy’s hands.

‘Put it on,’ the armorer grunted.

Emmy struggled to pull it over her head. The smell of stale leather and old blood invaded her nostrils. The one-armed female jerked the hem down and Emmy’s head popped through the neck hole. The armorer spun her around to get a better look.

‘It’ll do,’ she grunted. ‘It ain’t like you’ll survive too long for it to matter none.’

‘I’m a healer,’ Emmy blurted out. ‘I won’t be fighting.’

‘Won’t you?’ the armorer said. She turned and rummaged in a rack, returning with a tattered red sash. She thrust it into Emmy’s claws. ‘That goes over the left shoulder,’ she said. ‘Marks you as a healer. And don’t think that means you’ll be safe,’ she said with a grunt. ‘The Masvams love killing healers.’

With that the armorer began to laugh. The sound grated in Emmy’s ears as she stumbled out of the armory.

She didn’t look back as she crossed the compound. The leather armor was as heavy as a bag of boulders and the one-armed female’s laughter echoed after her.

Nothing seemed real. Blood rushed to Emmy’s head faster and faster until it was all that she could hear. Please let me wake up and be rid of this terrible nightmare. Let me go back to Krodge. Let me go back to what I know. She knew it couldn’t happen. Bellim was nothing more than distant memory, Krodge a character in a story she had half-forgotten.

When she lumbered back to the safety of the healer’s building, she disappeared behind her curtain and fell onto her cot. Dread pooled in her feet, but the sight of Rel through a crack in the material shield bolstered her nerve.

They would escape. They would be safe. They had to.

Emmy swallowed against the lump in her throat and squeezed her claws ever-tighter around her armor.

She had to hope. She had no choice.