Gallel's Heir

Chapter 19.1: Clutching Talons

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Ophia lay on the floor near her father. She had cared for Da for over two months and no word from Dylin. Not that she expected anything so soon, but he was getting worse instead of better, despite her efforts to clear his waterways. She was so tired, like she had healed everyone in Kampten. Fin’s parents were well now, everyone else was healed, but Da was fading. She just wasn’t good enough.

Remember this as a healer: No one may die before his time, Ophy, Dylin’s words echoed in her head. Just do your best and the Ancestors will heal whom they will.

She’d stayed in del Fursten’s barn with the wounded until only her father remained sick, then she moved him to his bed at home. If only Dylin had stayed for a few more days, she could have healed him, he wouldn’t be coughing up blood. Ophia healed him and healed him, and his tissues refused to lay right. Still he coughed up blood and she didn’t know why.

Tutang was an idiot. She hated him for taking Dylin away.

Sunlight had long faded, and only a dim bluish-gray moonlight filtered through the dusty lace curtains of the windows. Her quilted bed lay in the attic, but she remained at his side, slept in a blanket on the floor.

Villagers came by every few days, offered her meals or a shoulder, but they weren’t healers and could do nothing for Da. Fin came by a few times, awkwardly, and obviously didn’t know what to say. She would have liked his tender touch, continue that kiss he’d wanted to give her, but he just stared at Da and stumbled over his words.

Da coughed deeply so that Ophia worried his insides would churn out. She crawled over to him and wiped his mouth with a cloth, and even in the moonlight saw stains of blood. If only she could feel what was wrong, but she was so tired. He smiled up at her and grasped her wrist. She couldn’t keep her tears from splattering onto his grainy, red cheeks. Slimy puss oozed from the bandages on his head and arm that she’d changed that morning.

“Ophy,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’ve done good here.” He coughed deeply again; she again wiped blood from his mouth. “You can be proud. I’ll make sure you find happiness when I’m gone… better place…” She kissed his bandaged forehead as he drifted off.

She lay down on the floor and fell asleep before Da’s hacking disturbed her again.

Fin stood before her, bandaged and blistered, and held out both hands to her; her mother and father, as well as the other Kampten wounded, all bandaged, crouched around them like sitting rabbits. Before she knew it, she was in Fin’s arms — she could feel his warmth — and he was kissing her. Or that’s what she understood he was doing. Nothing of his lips touched her, nothing of his passion. She willed herself to feel it, but he felt fake, his lips were like corners of polished wood.

They were outside, Ophia and Fin, and he stood before her, arms outstretched. He turned into Da, and his left hand fell off a bit above the wrist. He said in a Turbian accent, “I say! Now that’s a remarkable twist of fate, isn’t it though?” He looked at the stump of his arm, then glanced at the blackened hand on the stones of the pavement at their feet.

Suddenly the hand came alive. “Feed me!” it screamed.

“How can it talk without a mouth?” said Ophia.

The hand crawled around the stones and begged Ophia for food. It crawled up her leg, up to her shoulder, and licked her face of tears. It then wrapped its fingers about her throat and squeezed and shook her hard. She couldn’t breathe. Panic overwhelmed her. She tried to cry out. A deep scream shuddered through her throat, and the hand fell and shattered.

Ophia awoke to Da’s hacking cough. She groaned; the blood would be at his lips again. His flesh clung to his bones, and his wari was a jumble inside. If only he could be well, and she could get a good night’s sleep. If she could rest, she’d be strong enough to heal him properly.