Prelude to the novel - Part 2 Convalescence
Driven by her persistent
anger and her annoyance with Tirus’s insistence that she visit him, Lene approached
the tent where Janus was convalescing.
She pulled the flap aside with one a quick hard swoop.
She had every
intention of stepping in and then stepping right back out just to satiate Tirus
and keep her conscience clear in case he didn’t survive. But when the light flooded in and lit his body
as he lie sleeping on the linen-covered floor mattress, she felt her concrete resolve
crack ever so slightly.
His leg was
elevated. His mauled foot and his hammered hands were wrapped in gauze.
None of this
would have happened had he not pushed her so far as to render him unconscious
with that rock, leaving him prey to the wolves.
She wouldn’t have been stripped, cut, humiliated, and nearly raped by
Mechanics. She would’ve been sleeping
beside him now had he not made everything intolerable.
“He cannot fend
off the shadows without your energy,” Tirus told her. “His soul is breaking apart. You are the only
shield he has now.”
“I don’t care,
Janus” she shouted at him. “I will not
listen to this ridiculous nonsense. I’m not your armor.” Her voice trailed off.
“There is only the flesh, the blood, and the bone.”
“Why
are you so angry with your husband?” A woman’s voice interrupted her discourse.
It startled her so that she let out a rather comical yelp. She had not seen the woman sitting on the floor alongside the tent wall.
It startled her so that she let out a rather comical yelp. She had not seen the woman sitting on the floor alongside the tent wall.
“I’m
sorry I scared you,” the woman said, coming to her feet.
“I
didn’t see you.” Lene let go of the tent flap letting it close behind her. With the absence of the direct
sun, the room was infused in a cottony golden-colored hue. And it was warm even with the absence of a fire and despite the impending winter temperature
outside.
She
smoothed the front of her tunic, pushed the loose hairs around her face back
behind her ears and quickly adjusted her posture to appear more composed. “He’s
not my husband,” she added.
The
woman smiled, nodded, and chuckled as if to say how ridiculous her statement
was. “Well, he’s belongs to no one else, that is certain.” She gestured with
her arm for Lene to come in.
“Who
are you?” Lene asked, giving the olive skinned black-haired
beauty a discerning eye.
“My
name is Isleen. My husband, Steal, and
Janus killed the Churlbeast that terrorized our people for over a year.
“Ah,
the bear.” The huge skin that he hung above their bed was another reminder of
desertion, guilt, and infidelity. The latter of which she didn’t particularly
like owning.
“He is very ill
now, and we owe him a debt.
“Just how ill is
he?”
Isleen walked up
to Lene. “I have sat with him for all
these days now. At times I have been
afraid for myself watching him battling something I cannot see. He is gravely tormented.”
Lene lowered her head and took a deep breath.
“He’s a juicehead,” she muttered. “Don’t look any further than that.” She started
to pace back and forth. “I have to go.”
She stopped in front of Isleen. “I have to go now,” she said again, and
then with several determined steps, ducked her head and pushed her way out the
door.
