Nena by Ann Boelter (red white royal blue txt) 📗

on her sleeping furs, and pushed a few strands of hair from her face. “Nena, can you hear me?” He lifted one eyelid with his fingers, but her glazed eye was unresponsive.

“Get the healer,” he called over his shoulder to Altene, then bent to check her breathing. Her chest rose and fell as normal. When he did not hear the tent flap move, he turned to find Altene still standing where he’d left her a few paces back—still staring horrified at Nena. “Altene!” he shouted.

Her eyes flickered to his face.

“Move! Go get the healer, now!”

Altene gave a quick nod and fled the tent.

Jarl unclasped both shackles from Nena’s wrists and carried her to his own furs. He could feel her body burning even through both layers of their clothing. He found a small rag near the table, soaked it from the waterskin, and returned to her side, wiping her forehead and neck. He felt helpless. He had attended many an injury on the battlefield, but with no wound to address, he was at a loss for what to do. What was taking the damn healer so long? Had Altene even found him? A rattle of the boards at the entrance answered his question. “Enter,” he called out, irritated that they had bothered with the formality when the situation was so urgent.

“Jarl?” the healer asked as he entered with Altene close behind him.

“Here,” Jarl directed him to the furs. Altene waited at the doorway.

“What happened to her?” the healer asked as he set down his bag and rolled up his sleeves.

“I don’t know. She was just standing there.” Jarl pointed to the pole. “Then with no warning, she started to sway and collapsed.”

The healer nodded and felt her forehead. When he lifted her eyelids, Jarl noticed both of her eyes were now bloodshot. The healer parted her lips and checked her gums. He listened to her breathing, first with his ear close to her nostrils, then with it flat against her chest. He checked her skin all over, focusing on the palms of her hands, then her fingernails. Other than her eyes, he found nothing out of the ordinary that Jarl could see. But when he finished, he looked up at him, his expression grave.

“Is it the Curse?” Jarl asked softly, not wanting to know the answer.

The healer only nodded.

“What can you do?”

“I don’t know. First we can bring down the fever. I’ve had luck with ground willow bark for that.” He dug in his bag for a small vial, pulled the cork and stuck his finger inside, rolling it around until was coated in the fine grayish brown powder. Pulling open Nena’s lower lip with his other hand, he rubbed the coated finger along her gums.

“Then what?” Jarl asked.

“Then, when it returns—and it will, we will do it again. And when the chills take her, we will keep her warm.” His shoulders sagged. “Eventually, though, nothing will work. The pain will come next. Thyme will hold it at bay for awhile, but after that only juice of the poppy will make her comfortable.”

“That’s it?” Jarl asked.

The healer looked at Jarl, exhausted and a little exasperated. “Jarl, we have discussed nothing but this for almost a fortnight. You know I do not have a cure.”

“What else have you tried?”

He shook his head. “Everything. You know that, too.”

“What has worked?”

“Jarl....”

“What has worked the best then, dammit? Surely you have learned something with all the hours you’ve wasted. Have you not saved even one?”

“Apologies, Jarl, but you know that I have not.”

“Get out. Leave the vial and get out.”

The man stood as if he were going to say something more, then headed for the door.

“Altene,” Jarl called.

“Yes, my lord,” she whispered.

“Go to the prisoner compound and find any among them with healing knowledge. I know the healer has already questioned a medicine man there, but there may be others, midwives, someone with a special tribal remedy. Find them for me and take them to the healer. This time, let them know the reward for their success will be their freedom. And yours,” he added.

“Yes, my lord,” she said, her deflated tone reflecting her feelings on the dismal project.

Altene and the healer returned together in the gray light of predawn. Jarl had given Nena several more doses of the willow bark during the night, and though she remained unconscious, for the moment her fever was stable. Jarl met them at the table and poured each a cup of wine.

“Has Altene brought you any treatment of merit?” he asked the healer.

“Nothing new. All remedies she has discovered I have already tried, whether I thought they had merit or not. Contrary to what you might believe, Jarl, I have not ignored any treatment, no matter how strange, out of some egotistical need to prove my own expertise.”

“Apologies, my friend, for my earlier words,” Jarl said sincerely. “I know you are doing your best. Keep looking.”

The following days for Nena were a blackened blur of fleeting images, half awake dreams and fragments of awareness. Once she awoke to find her skin on fire and Jarl carrying her through the camp.

“Is she dead?” she heard a voice ask.

“Get out of my way,” Jarl snarled in reply.

The next thing she knew, he held her body submerged in the cool waters of the river, her head resting in the crook of his arm above the surface while her body dangled beneath.

Then darkness.

She lay covered with some bristly fur, near a fire she could not seem to get close enough to. Her body shivered and her teeth chattered uncontrollably. She burrowed deeper, pressing closer to the heat, unsure of why she could not reach it. As she became more aware, she realized it was not a flame, but Jarl’s body that provided the heat. The bristles were not those of fur, but the hair on his chest and legs. She pushed against him, trying to push him away, but he only murmured something soothing in her hair