“I’m glad that we met,” she said.
“As am I.”
“I won’t forget you,” she said.
“Nor I, you,” he said, then mussed Noll’s hair. “Nor you. Take care of your mother.”
“I will, goodsir.”
With that, he walked back to Orsin and Gerak. “Let’s go.”
Before they started off, Orsin used his staff to draw an arcing line in the dirt before their feet.
“What’s that?” Gerak said. “A horizon?”
“Of sorts,” Orsin said, and they stepped over the line.
“Dawn or dusk?” Gerak asked.
“We’ll soon see,” Orsin answered, and they set off.
When they had gone about a spear’s cast, Vasen turned to look back at the pilgrims. They were gearing up to go, but Byrne stood apart from them. He raised his hand in a farewell. Vasen answered in kind and turned away.
They moved as rapidly as they could, but Elle’s litter necessarily slowed them.
“We’re not moving fast enough,” Gerak said, wiping sweat from his brow. “But we’re not leaving her, Vasen.”
Vasen said, “Of course we’re not.”
“How far is the abbey?” Gerak asked.
“Two days’ hard walk,” Vasen said. “Three at this pace.”
Gerak looked down at his wife, pale on the litter. “She’s with child. Did I already tell you that? We’d had trouble conceiving. She was so happy when she learned. . ”
“I’ll take the litter for a while,” Orsin said.
“By yourself?” Vasen asked.
“Aye,” Orsin said. Gerak walked beside the litter, his fingertips brushing Elle’s arm.
Vasen understood what had happened and knew that Orsin did, too.
Gerak was taking the first steps in saying goodbye to his wife and their child.
The Sembian plains looked the same in all directions-whipgrass with the occasional woods or forest-so Vasen dared not deviate from the course he knew. Using the landmarks he’d been following for years, he retraced the route he’d used to bring the pilgrims to Fairelm. The three men alternated carrying Elle hourly, although Orsin took extra shifts. The deva’s endurance was otherworldly. Gerak and Vasen ended their turns sweating and gasping. Orsin ended his with a shrug and a smile.
While pulling Elle late in the day, Vasen noticed movement under the blanket that covered her.
“Watch out!” he said, and set her down, drew his blade, and threw back the blanket.
“Oh, gods,” Gerak said.
Her legs had swollen to twice their normal size. A mesh of pulsing black veins lined them. Her abdomen swelled and roiled, as if something were moving within her. Gerak fell to his knees beside her and took her hand in his, held it to his brow. He did not sob and Vasen found this quite ominous.
“Is there anything you can do for her?” Gerak asked over his shoulder. There was no hope in his tone.
“I don’t think so.” Vasen kneeled beside Gerak and spoke in a low tone. “I’m sorry.”
Sobs finally overcame Gerak’s resistance. “Is she in pain, do you think?”
“I think not, no.”
Gerak nodded, re-covered her with the blanket, and stood. “We keep going.”
“Yes,” Vasen said, his own eyes welling. “We keep going. We don’t quit.”
Over the next several hours, Elle’s body continued to change. Her skin darkened, then coarsened. Scales and spines formed here and there on her flesh. Her body stretched, thickened. Her hair fell out in clumps. Vasen did not care to contemplate what might have been happening with the child she carried. He prayed it had died.
Throughout, the three men walked along in silence, none of them daring to say what needed said.
Night fell and the plains turned to pitch, but the three kept moving. The clouds masked the stars, and Vasen could determine the rough location of Selune only because her light put a yellow smear in the sky. Gerak stumbled often in the dark, cursing, his breath a rasp.
After a time, fatigue made Vasen’s mind fuzzy and he could barely stand. Gerak’s breathing came in heaves. Even Orsin leaned on his staff, and his cheer was forced.
“We have to rest,” Vasen said, and no one argued.
Orsin lowered Elle’s litter to the ground and dragged his staff in a circle around the campsite. Gerak gathered kindling, dug a fire pit to hide the flames, struck flint to steel, and soon had a small blaze. It would not be visible in the gloom beyond a dagger toss. He pulled Elle’s litter near to it. She looked monstrous in the firelight, the shadows playing over her deformities, her bloated body.
They ate the dried meat and bread from Vasen’s pack. Gerak tried to feed Elle but she would eat nothing. He dribbled water into her deformed mouth, laid his bedroll on the ground beside her, and tried to sleep. His expression throughout seemed empty.
Vasen sat before the fire and stared across the flames at Gerak and Elle for a long while. Orsin sat across from him, so still Vasen thought he might have been asleep. But he was not, and after a while he removed a small flute from the satchel he carried and began to play, a quiet, uncomplicated melody that reminded Vasen of clouds.
“I didn’t know you played music,” Vasen said.
“I don’t do it often,” Orsin said. “Only when I’m sad.”
Vasen’s eyes grew heavy. He leaned back and floated on the notes of Orsin’s tune.
“I’m glad you accompanied me back,” he said to the deva.
“We’ve journeyed together often, Vasen Cale. In another age, we walked side by side into the volcanic den of Herastaphan the Dragon Sage, although we bore other names, then.”
Vasen did not know if he believed Orsin, but he found the thought comforting.
“Spirits are not reborn, Orsin,” Vasen said. “Spirits pass on to the immortal realms.”
“What do you know of reincarnation, Vasen Cale?”
“Reincarnation?” Vasen chuckled. “I’ll say I have little familiarity with it.”
“Maybe not so little as you think. We have battled together before, you and I. Often.”
Vasen slurred his words as sleep came. “I think we will again. Soon.”
Screams jerked Vasen from sleep. He lurched to his feet, heart racing, blade in hand. Adrenaline cleared his mind. Orsin was already on his feet, staff in hand. Gerak, too, was standing, staring down at Elle, his face stricken.
She was screaming.
The sound reminded Vasen of a trapped animal, equal parts terror and pain. Strangely, her body did not move at all. She simply opened her mouth and wailed, the rest of her as still as stone. Her eyes were open, but vacant and bloodshot.
Gerak did not so much as glance at Orsin and Vasen. He kneeled beside his wife and placed two fingers over her lips.
“Hush, Sweets. Everything is fine. Hush, now. Hush.”
Vasen did not know if Elle was responding to Gerak, but her screams lost volume, turned to a pathetic, hoarse wail, then stopped altogether. Her mouth and eyes remained open.
“Shh,” Gerak said. “Shh.”
During the night, Elle’s teeth had lengthened and turned black. A dark ichor crusted at the corner of her eyes. Her chest rose and fell with the rapidity of a rabid animal.
Gerak put his head on Elle’s breast and sobbed like a child. Vasen clenched his fists with frustration, helpless to do anything. Orsin looked on, his hands wrapped not on his staff but his flute.
The fire had burned down to embers. Vasen figured they had been asleep a few hours. He hoped Elle’s screams did not attract any predators.
After a time, Gerak recovered himself enough to lean in close and whisper into Elle’s ear. She gave no sign she had heard. Gerak stood, wiped the tears and snot from his face, and looked at Vasen.
“We’re a day from the Oracle? Gerak asked.
Vasen nodded.
Gerak sagged for a moment, but picked himself up straight. “I need to cut my hair.”
Vasen did not understand. His expression must have shown as much.
“It’s too long,” Gerak said.
Vasen still did not understand. “Gerak. . ”
Gerak withdrew a small skinning knife from a pouch at his belt and stood over his wife. He stared down at her, his eyes vacant. The knife hung loose in his hand.