David Dalglish - Clash of Faiths

“Do you want me to splint the leg?”

Jerico thought of the black tissue around his swollen kneecap, the blue veins streaking outward in all directions.

“No,” he said. “Don’t touch it. Ashhur help me, I don’t want to think of the pain.”

Jerico slept, and when he awoke again, night had fallen. Several new blankets lay over him, and despite their cover, he felt cold all over. Kalgan’s chair was empty beside him.

“Kalgan?” he asked anyway. His jaw trembled, but at least his head felt somewhat clear from whatever concoction of herbs the old man had given him. No one responded, and that was fine. He’d need silence for what would follow.

“Please be with me, Ashhur,” he whispered as he shoved blanket after blanket aside. Shivers assaulted him, and he knew without a doubt he was with fever. No matter. He’d manage. Swallowing down his fear, he pulled away the last blanket, revealing his leg. This time he refused to look away from the swelling, bruises, and puss. His leg shook along with the rest of his body, and the movement awoke spikes of pain that nearly made him pass out. Gritting his teeth, he gently touched his knee with his fingertips.

Closing his eyes, he began his prayers to his deity. The broken bones would have to wait, for the curse of Karak was embedded in his flesh. If it’d been delivered to his chest or throat, he’d have been killed within an hour, if not instantly. At his leg, safely away from his lungs and heart, he’d survived, but it was only a matter of time. It was that curse he needed to banish. He tried to focus on it as he had done with Beth, but he felt drained, empty. Every shake of his fingers added to the pain, and his concentration repeatedly faltered. He wanted to lie down and sleep away the hours, but he knew it would only get more difficult with time.

“Please,” Jerico whispered, panic starting to creep into his heart. “I don’t know if I’m the last. I don’t know what happened at the Citadel. But you can’t have abandoned us. I just… I can’t believe that. Send me to my death if so, but otherwise, heal this damned leg of mine. I can’t do it on my own. I can’t.”

Kren’s words echoed in his head, strangely powerful.

My faith is stronger!

Perhaps so, but it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t let such a young whelp like him win. He wouldn’t let him claim his leg, let alone his life, even if he had to demand the healing from Ashhur. Once more Jerico prayed, unable to hear his own words through the blood pounding in his ears. He prayed until he felt no pain, heard no sound, felt no chill.

Sleep took him.

*

F our days later, Jerico limped through the streets of Stonahm. Since healing Beth, he’d been treated the hero, and his belly was full of mulberry pie and sweet autumn cider. He wasn’t completely sure it lacked any spirits, but he hoped Ashhur would be lenient.

“Good to see you about!” a man cried, and Jerico waved back politely, not having a clue as to his name. Slowly he headed toward the northern reaches of the town. The grass was much taller, and it felt uncomfortable brushing against his knee. He ignored it.

North of the town was a pond fed fresh water from a small stream, which often dried up completely until heavy rains came in the spring. The stream kept the water fairly clean, and the people of Stonahm cut the grass low about, swimming and bathing in its waters. Jerico found a log by the side and sat down, beyond relieved to take the weight off his leg. Waiting there for him was Beth, dressed in a pretty yellow dress.

“Thought you might not show,” she said, smiling at him.

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re old. Old people don’t heal as fast as young people. That’s what Kalgan says.”

Jerico laughed.

“That so? Kalgan may be right, but you’re wrong about me. I’m hardly old. See any grey hairs on my head?”

She rolled her eyes, obviously not impressed with his defense. Jerico laughed again, then quieted. His eyes fell on her left arm, which was hidden by a long sleeve that, while matching in color, was clearly a new addition. Reaching over, he carefully folded the sleeve twice, revealing the stump ending at the elbow.

“You shouldn’t hide it,” he said.

“Ma says…” She blushed and looked away. “Ma says if I don’t, the boys won’t like talking to me, and no one will want to marry me.”

He gently tucked a finger underneath her chin and forced her to look at him.

“Smile, and those boys will see nothing but how beautiful you are.”

Her blush deepened.

“Are you ready for your exercises?” she asked.

Jerico took in a deep breath, then sighed.

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Beside the log was a simple creation Jerico had asked Kalgan to make for him. It was a heavy stone with a hole in its center. Through that hole Kalgan had threaded strong rope, forming a second loop along the top. It was that loop Jerico stuck his foot through, sliding it up to his ankle. Shifting his weight on the log until he was comfortable, he nodded to let Beth know he was ready.

“Any song in particular you’d like?” she asked.

“Sing your favorite. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”

The second day he’d been bedridden, though his skin had mostly healed, and only the bones needed to be knit back together. Beth had recovered from the bite, and come to him to express her thanks. While he lay there, still battling fever, she’d sung softly to him. Several times he’d drifted off to the sound of her voice, and awoken later to hear the same crystalline beauty. Because of her injury, she’d been excused from nearly all her chores, so when he’d begun preparing his recovery, she’d offered to help.

Beth sang a song of a highwayman in love with a forest maiden, and the whole while, Jerico struggled to lift the stone. He pretended the pain was an enemy, but if it truly was an enemy, it was defeating him. Kren’s blow had eradicated much of his muscle, and while he’d tended it best he could, the newly healed flesh still felt withered, unreliable. Sweat dripped down his neck as he lifted again and again, sometimes pulling it an inch or two off the ground, sometimes not even budging it. Whenever he could, he focused on the lyrics instead of his pain. By the time Beth’s song ended, he slumped, leaning back on his arms.

“Enough,” he said. “I need a moment to breathe.”

Beth nodded and said nothing. As he recovered, Jerico glanced at her, and finally decided to ask about something that had been bothering him.

“That boy, Ricky, he came to us in the forest when you were bitten. I thought I heard he was your brother, yet later Kaide said you were his only child left.”

Jerico felt awkward asking, and was relieved when Beth rolled her eyes, clearly having had this conversation before.

“Ricky’s not my real brother, nor is Ma… Beverly my real mother.”

Jerico nodded. He’d met Beverly, a plain but kind woman who was Ricky’s mother. She’d come to thank him for what he’d done, once Kalgan had allowed people to visit.

“What happened to your mother?”

Beth brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Do you want another song?” she asked.

Jerico nodded.

“Faster tempo, if you would.”

This time she sang a ditty that’d be right at home in a tavern, and he forced the stone from the ground every single repetition. His knee burned, and the muscles of his lower leg quivered, but he did not relent.

When the fifth song was done, they called it quits. With Beth’s help, Jerico limped down to the pond and splashed water across his face and neck, then dipped his leg below the cold surface. After another few minutes, he tried to stand on his own. He wobbled. Beth went to steady him, but he pushed her away.