Page 73 of Sky in the Deep
“Let me.” Fiske reached for my arm but my father was already stepping forward to stand between us. Fiske dropped his hand, lifting his chin toward my shoulder. “She’s torn it open.”
My father looked me over, his heavy hand landing on my arm, and I flinched. “What happened?”
“I took an arrow in my shoulder. It’s healing.” I brushed him off.
Fiske eyed me. “It’s not healing. Let me look.”
My father looked at Fiske warily. “Are you a healer?”
“My mother is. We’ve been treating it.”
My father’s eyes narrowed on me, not leaving my face. The corners of his mouth twitched, turning down as the thoughts flickered in his mind. That bit of trust between us was rattling in the wind. He gave a nod, and I untied the armor vest below my arm. Fiske lifted it over my head, pulling the shoulder of my tunic open. The old bruising was encircled by new bruising and the back opening of the wound was still closed up. But the front was swollen, seeping fresh blood.
“Sit down.” Fiske went for his bag and when he came back, my father was standing over me.
“How did it happen?” he asked.
Fiske straightened.
“I tried to escape when they were taking me to Fela. One of them shot me.”
Fiske opened the jar of salve that Inge had given to us. As soon as the smell hit my nose, I could see her, standing over the fire in their home, stirring the big iron pot.
“It needs to drain.” He leaned in closer.
I nodded through a sigh, knowing what that meant. “Do it.” I took the knife from my belt and handed it to him.
My father tensed beside me, taking another step closer.
Fiske held the blade in the flames for a moment, turning it over so that it reflected the light. When it was starting to glow at the edges, he lifted it up and let it cool in the night air. He held the handle of the knife in his teeth as he gently pulled at the opening of the wound with his thumbs. I pinched my eyes closed, the warmth of infection dripping down my arm. The pain spread out from my shoulder to the rest of my body, making my head pound.
“Hold this.” He positioned my hand over the cloth beneath my shoulder.
He fit the tip of the blade at the opening of the wound and sliced it down quickly. I bit down hard, pushing out a long, loud breath. The blood spilled out, running over my skin and absorbing into the cloth as he squeezed my arm to get as much of the poisoned blood out as possible. I groaned, finding my father’s leg where he stood beside me and pushing my face into it, breathing.
When Fiske was finished, he packed the salve back into the broken skin and bound it up tightly in a fresh bandage. He put the knife back into the fire and my blood boiled off the blade as the throbbing wracked my body.
As soon as he moved away from me, my father relaxed, going back to the fire and pulling a strip of dried meat from his bag. He handed me a piece and I took it, but I was too nauseous to eat. I sat still, trying to let the pulsating pain subside.
They ate in the heavy quiet as night fell, all looking into the fire between us. Every unspoken thought grew wild in it. Whatever my father was hiding, Mýra knew. I could tell by the way they didn’t look at each other.
When he walked into the trees to gather more wood, I stood. Mýra read my movements and followed me into the trees, leaving Fiske at the fire. I caught up to him, bending low to pick up the thick branch he’d just cut in two with his axe. I hugged it against my chest, waiting for him to load up Mýra’s arms.
“What is it?” He could feel the hesitation coming off me like steam in the cold.
I tried to feel the weight of my body down in my feet to steady myself. To feel stronger somehow. Like if I was planted there the words I said couldn’t blow me away. “I need to tell you something.”
He turned, leaning into the tree beside him and hooking his thumbs into his armor vest. Behind him, Mýra shifted the wood to her hip, waiting.
I swallowed against the burn in my throat. “Iri’s alive.”
The words rang in my ears like a guttural roar. They echoed in the forest and wound around us like a snake. My father’s face hardened. He stopped breathing and I didn’t look away from his eyes. I held his gaze, trying to give him something to hold onto as a storm erupted in his mind.
“He’s alive. I did see him that day in Aurvanger.” The words became smaller as each one left my mouth. “He was fighting with the Riki.”
My father stood up off the tree, dropping his hands at his sides.
“He wasn’t dead. When we left him in the trench, he wasn’t dead. The Riki took him to Fela. Their healer took him in.”
