David Dalglish - The Old Ways

Deep down, she could feel Karak’s anger growing. Thrice a failure…how long until he revoked his gift from her completely? She didn’t want to know-to ever know-but glaring at the dimly glowing blade, she feared for the first time that she might actually fail. Looking to the sky, she hoped for comfort in the shining red star. It was there, but another star was beside it, one she had never seen before. The sight of it filled her with fear, and she swore not to look on it again, nor think on what it might mean.

Jerico woke before Sandra did, both of them covered with a fine, cold layer of dew. He shivered, then carefully pulled his arms free of her. She stirred, repositioned her head atop her hands, and continued to sleep. Jerico rubbed his eyes, glancing once at the rising sun. The clouds were thick, yet the sun burned a deep red. A bad omen, Jerico knew. Had another of his brethren died in the night? Or perhaps Karak moved again, further sealing his victory.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Jerico’s task was to worry about himself, and those with him. Glancing at Sandra, he felt hesitation building in his chest. Better to pray first, he thought, or prepare breakfast. He knew that would be stalling, though, and let out a sigh. He was hardly perfect, and the last thing he wanted was to see what he feared most: an angry red scar, the skin about it darkening purple. He’d cured disease, venom, and wounds of battle…but could he defeat Karak’s own curse?

“Just normal skin,” he prayed while she still slept. “Normal skin. Not too much to ask, right?”

Knowing time was short, and Sandra would wake soon, he carefully knelt beside her and grabbed the bottom of her shirt between his fingers. He didn’t want her to see his reaction if it was bad. He needed to be strong. At least, that’s what he thought she needed.

Realizing he was stalling again, he swallowed, then slowly revealed the skin of her stomach.

The sight hit his gut like a club. It was worse than he’d expected. The wound wasn’t even scarred. It looked like it was still trying to heal, swollen flesh leaking pus. The skin around it was a dark purple, with red veins snaking through the bruises.

“No,” he whispered.

“Jerico?”

Sandra was awake, and lying very still. Her jaw trembled, but there were no tears in her eyes.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked.

Jerico licked his lips, and begged for strength.

“Yes,” he said. “It is.”

She laid her head back on the grass and closed her eyes. Her hand clutched his, and it held him tight.

“I thought so,” she said softly. “It hurts so much, Jerico. So much.”

“Lie still,” he told her. “Let me do what I can.”

He prayed over the wound, and watched the healing light about his hands plunge into the skin. He did this again and again, refusing to let anything of Karak’s defeat him. Not now, not when a life was at stake. The purple faded, and the wound closed back to an angry scar. Each time drained him, laid an extra layer of exhaustion across his mind. He’d endured worse, especially after the wolf-men attacked Durham, but he knew there was little more he could do for her. Standing, he let her examine the wound.

“The pain’s mostly gone,” she said.

“Mostly? It should be gone completely. Dark magic must have been in that dagger, Sandra. It is the only way to explain why I can’t heal it.”

“You’re keeping it under control though, right? Maybe it just needs time…”

Jerico bit his tongue and nodded. It was getting harder every day to heal it, but he didn’t want to tell her that. He could see the way she looked at him. She was grasping at hope, and if there was anything Jerico was supposed to represent, that was it. Arguing with her about it seemed beyond childish.

“Come on,” he said, offering his hand. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

After they’d eaten and prepared for travel, Jerico pondered their destination. He’d originally meant to go after Lord Arthur, and do what he could to break the siege. But now?

“We need to find a stronger healer,” Jerico said as he scattered their fire with his foot. “A priest, maybe even a wizard. Whatever has infected that wound, be it a curse or spell, might be familiar to someone with a better background in the arcane.”

Sandra put her hands on her stomach and nodded. He’d wrapped it tight with clean bandages, but it still looked like it bothered her. He felt so helpless. How was it he could heal broken bones, but a single stab wound defeated him so?

“I thought you were heading toward the Castle of Caves,” she said.

“That was before.”

“I told you, I’ll be fine. I just need some time. I promised to be no burden, and I won’t have you changing your plans now.”

Jerico shook his head.

“I won’t…”

“Won’t what?” she asked, stepping face to face with him. “Watch me die? Is that what you think will happen?”

He looked away, and that was answer enough.

“We could go back the way we came,” he offered. “Bellok might know a way…”

She was crying, but she let none of it affect her voice as she shook her head.

“I’d be dead already if not for you,” she said. “I’m not going back. You may doubt, but I trust you. I’ve seen what you can do. Whatever this is, you’re stronger. We’re going on, to where you’re needed most. All right?”

“Yes milady.”

She smiled, stood on her toes so she could kiss his lips. Jerico smiled back, but there was little joy in it. He’d seen the grimace that flashed across her face when she stepped away. He saw how blood was already starting to seep through the bandages around her waist.

“Let her live,” Jerico whispered as she led the way west. “Otherwise you’re going to have one pissed off paladin to deal with when I walk through your gates.”

Jerico followed Sandra, wondering what his teachers at the Citadel would have said upon hearing him issuing threats to his own deity. He had a feeling they would have been amused.

They walked for several hours, often stopping to rest. When they ate at midday, Sandra only nibbled on the hard bread. The lack of appetite worried Jerico, but he said nothing. They continued on, their pace growing slower with each mile. Jerico prayed over Sandra’s wound, and when it showed only marginal improvement, he said nothing, only accepted her thanks with a smile.

The day wore on, and they passed field after field. When they saw a distant farmstead, Jerico led them there. He saw many children working the fields, and the first to see him bowed low, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

“Are you a paladin?” the boy asked. He looked like he was nine at most.

“I am,” he said, smiling. “Is your pa about?”

The boy nodded.

“I’ll get him.”

He ran off. Jerico took Sandra by the hand and led her toward the farmhouse.

“We’re fine on food,” she said, but she sounded distant.

“That’s not why we’re here.”

They reached the home, but stopped when they heard a man call a greeting from the fields. Jerico turned, then bowed low to a man who looked to be on the verge of his fiftieth birthday. His skin was tanned from many hours spent in the sun, and his back was stuck in a stoop, but he moved easily enough, and when he shook Jerico’s hand, his grip was strong.

“Welcome,” said the man. His demeanor was friendly, but Jerico sensed the apprehension hidden behind it. After all, here he was, a simple farmer greeting an armed stranger wearing platemail.

“Forgive us for intruding,” Jerico said. He kept his tone warm and hoped the farmer would realize he meant no harm.

“No intrusion,” said the farmer. “My name’s Cobb Williams. What can I do for you? If it is food you want, I have a bit to sell, though I’m not in the way of much else.”