Page 5 of Hope Forged
He was a flurry of activity, bringing things, leaving, returning, then the smell of wood smoke tickled her nose. Cool air on her thigh made her sigh, then she screamed when fresh fire tore through her leg. The sensation morphed into a cold like snow. She mewled, clenched her fingers into fists, and forced herself to stay still. The urge to squirm tested her strength, draining her will. In and out of consciousness, she weaved, snippets of reality registering.
Padya’s face in her line of vision kept her grounded. He told her a story she couldn’t recall and asked her to list the scientific elements or recite a poem she’d been studying. Her brain was almost clear, the pain a dull ache, when he wrapped her wound with wasay leaves.
“She will live,” Oz announced. “With a scar.”
“Yes,” Padya muttered, draping a blanket over her. He glared at the section of the ship that had once held the medical bay.Now a wall of rock fused the ship to the planet. There was no way theHailecould fly again. Which meant a rescue was their only way of getting off Vora.
Padya left, his steady gait fading. Rain fell, hitting the exterior of the ship and echoing through it. She dozed, only waking up when the pain dragged her to consciousness. Padya was there, drenched in blood, a bowl of soup in hand. The delicate aroma of meat made her stomach gurgle. How odd. Padya didn’t believe he needed to kill to eat. Mudya did.
He set it beside Ziamee and helped her to sit.
She cradled the bowl, relishing the heat soaking into her palms. “Where’s Mudya?” A sip drew a groan from her, the hot liquid exploding warmth from her belly outward. She shivered, surprised she was chilled to the bone.
“She has yet to return,” he said, casting a glance at the horizon.
Ziamee stilled. “She can’t stay out there… Not after dark.”
“I know, little one.” Sadness darkened her father’s face. “Finish your meal. I’ll wait for her.” He grabbed a toweling cloth and left.
With her belly full and her eyelids drooping, she studied what she could see of her thigh. The wasay leaves were soft, their texture mesmerizing, especially when she dragged her finger in a certain direction.
Oz had said she’d live. But with Mudya missing, a sob snuck out, and she swallowed to hold back another. She had to be more careful. Her heart constricted. If Padya didn’t find Mudya, then Ziamee’s death would leave him alone. She couldn’t do that to him.
Clenching her jaw, she lay back and waited.
When he strolled in, clean, his dirty garments bundled in one hand, he offered her a smile despite the shadows under his eyes. “I cannot see her. Perhaps she’ll find a high place to spend the night.” He cast a glance at the setting sun. “I’m sorry, little one.I should’ve been more vigilant.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her to her pallet.
Sitting cross-legged beside her, he dictated to Oz his findings and thoughts for the day, making sure to detail everything from type, color, texture, and in some instances, like with the wasay, behavior. They’d been stranded on another world not their planned destination, and yet, her parents’ passion for knowledge didn’t waiver. His warm voice lulled her to sleep.
It was only on day four that she got a good look at her wound; the mangled muscles and tissue proved how severe the attack had been. Tears formed streaks where the creature had scraped its teeth. The skin around it was raw but not inflamed. Oz said that was a good thing.
Mudya had yet to return. Ziamee cried herself to sleep, biting her forearm to smother the sobs. Trapped in bed, she hadn’t been able to help Padya. After he’d gone to search again, she’d managed to limp to a nearby bush with blue flowers called taisra. When she crushed the petals, they formed an oil that eased the itchiness and pain.
That night, Padya let her sit around the fire. The stars in the dark sky were brighter than normal. His footsteps approached from the lake, and when he reached her, he placed a squirming bundle on her lap.
She dug her fingers into its thick white fur. “What—”
“I killed its mother.” He bowed his head in prayer, like he did when something had died at his hand.
She blinked at a wide face, its pink eyes reminiscent of the mythological Vlok–a dragon-like creature Padya had told her about. But this was no lizard species. Its snout was velvety and its mouth filled with tiny incisors. Here in her arms was a creature without its mother, like her.
“You should name it,” Padya said, turning strips of fish so the fire wouldn’t burn them.
“Seba,” she said, rubbing it behind the ears.
Padya chuckled despite his exhaustion. “I meant the species.”
“Oh.” She smiled and brought the cub up for a cuddle. It mewled and buried itself in the curve of her neck. “Seba and I will decide.”
The following morning, she managed to limp to the lake’s shore, then lingered on the edge of the sinking sands. She couldn’t cross it in her current condition, nor would she without her mother’s guidance. She eyed the webbed trees, shadows playing in the depths of the forest. In her mind, she imagined Mudya emerging, unharmed, her bright smile beautiful in the soft sunlight.
“The Sandpits of Baisadha, what do you think?” Padya came to stand beside Ziamee.
“It’s as good a name as any,” she said. “How far did you make it?” She gestured to the stone scattered on one side.
He grimaced. “Halfway. I swear the path shifts.” He crouched, peering across the sand’s surface. “I’ve stared at it for so long that I can almost see it ripple.”
Seba popped his head out of her tunic.
