The End of Grieving Read online

the only man she knew who could provide appropriate medical attention.

  She wove through several side corridors and empty passages before coming to the ladder she wanted.

  A covering marked the top of the ladder, she eased it open.

  And slammed it shut directly after. The shade of a vigilant night warrior stood next to the cover, guarding her escape.

  She only had one chance to silence him before he called out to the others, taking away her advantage and her chances of survival.

  She pulled out another needle, easing the cover open again.

  The warrior's leg was less than three feet from the opening.

  She calmed her nerves and flicked the needle, hitting the warrior at the base of the knee. He fell to the ground with a small protest.

  Marylin pushed the cover off and looked again. She'd reemerged in a second well much like her own.

  On close inspection, the present area was devoid of habitation except for herself and the unconscious night warrior. She pulled herself out of the well and ran to an adjacent building, holding her breath before knocking.

  The door opened and Marylin pushed her way past a man with a green uniform, “I need to speak with the old one.”

  He quickly wiped the look of surprise from his face and nodded his consent, leaving the room promptly.

  The man in the green uniform returned and escorted Marylin into the next room where an old man sat at a small table, a look of concern showing on his face as he assessed her condition.

  She told him with some urgency about the man.

  He called for an attendant and asked for him to accompany two guards down into the passages.

  Marylin ran back to the well, not waiting for the men to keep up.

  Marylin's return to the man was filled with grief and fear as she assessed the possibility of the night warrior's return. Behind her, the old one's attendants worked hard to keep pace.

  Upon arrival at the man's side, Marylin gasped with relief. He was still where she'd left him, but his countenance had become severely pale.

  The guards arrived shortly and carried the man to the house.

  At the old ones request, the man was set onto a clean bed, adjacent to his own. Marylin entered the room, “Is he going to be okay?”

  The old one shook his head, “I fear for him, his wounds are greater than any I've yet seen.”

  Marylin moved to the side of the man's bed, he wasn't moving.

  A physician moved into the room and began assessing the man's wounds.

  He'd lost too much blood to recover.

  The old moved to comfort Marylin. Marylin accepted the old man's embrace.

  The physician had moved to leave the room when he stopped. He turned around, “I have been working on a very experimental kind of medicine that might have the potential to save your friend.”

  Marylin's eyes searched the physician's face, looking for some kind of hope.

  “But we cannot heal him without your help.” The physician looked to Marylin.

  Marylin caught the physician’s gaze. “What can I do?”

  The physician sighed, “You must be willing to give of your own life blood to save this man.”

  “I am willing to do whatever it takes to make him whole again.”

  The physician gestured for two nurses to enter the room. Both carried white tubes and pouches.

  “I need you to lie down next to the man and pull up the sleeve of your left arm like so.” He pulled his sleeve up to his shoulder. Marylin moved swiftly onto the bed and pulled up her sleeve.

  The two aids moved into position on both sides of Marlin and the man.

  The old one spoke, “Though I say this is an experimental procedure I have seen great success in my many attempts.”

  “Have you ever failed?” Marylin asked.

  The physician looked saddened, “Many have perished for reasons beyond our understanding.”

  Marylin's face showed the pain of her understanding and the physician sighed before addressing his aids, “Begin the procedure.”

  The aid next to Marylin placed a hollow needle into the crook of her arm. She winced, unprepared.

  She looked anxiously to the physician who nodded. A white pouch hung next to the bed, slowly collecting her blood.

  The physician moved to the man's bedside and pulled the man's shirt up off the wound.

  “I need alcohol and stitching.” He said, pointing to the unoccupied aid.

  The physician unstopped the bottle and poured a small amount onto a piece of cloth, then proceeded to carefully clean the wound in the man's lower back.

  Marylin closed her eyes as the sound of needlework filled her thoughts.

  The physician took the needle from Marylin's arm while the aid held the pouch above his head.

  “I need everyone except my assistants to leave, we are to begin working on the more serious injuries and I cannot do it without silence.”

  Marylin looked back regretfully before leaving the room. She felt empty inside, not just because of the blood but because her most loyal friend was probably going to die. The old one placed a hand on her shoulder as they left, inviting her to dine with him while they waited. She shook her head before retiring to the room prepared for her. The old one watched her leave, sadness moving him to tears.

  The next morning Marylin awoke and asked one of the old one's maids for an update on the man's status. She shook her head, filling Marylin's head with worries.

  The man was lying in the same bed as last night, but the color had returned to his cheeks and now he looked to be sleeping instead of fighting at the edge of death. The bed had been made since last night and the blood was gone from the sheets. Marylin knelt by the man's side and felt the weight of his life as she looked as his worn body. The man had endured countless tortures in the arena after the Inquirer had disgraced his family. But inwardly she knew it was much worse than that. Marylin knew his wife was dead, she'd read the mortality reports every day since he'd been taken, his children as well.

  She took the man's hand. Marylin knew it would be a blessing for him to pass from this world, she knew it would be alright if he died. But she would miss him. The man could not live if he did not wake up and without him, she knew she would die soon after. She needed the man to wake up. Marylin felt the grief overwhelm her and began to cry, putting her forehead against the man's chest.

  Marylin had forgotten. Marylin had forgotten. Marylin had always loved the man. But she had watched him as he married the other woman, had felt sadness when she bore the children Marylin had so desperately wanted. She let herself go, letting out the choking sobs she had kept inside. She missed the man and she wanted him back.

  Marylin felt the man's hand tighten around her own. She looked up. His eyes were on her own, looking into her heart. He was alive! Marylin restrained herself, trying hard not to hug him. He was in too much pain, his wounds too great.

  The door creaked behind her, she turned to where the physician was standing in the doorway. He looked tired and relieved, his face showing the wear of the bitter night, before moving in to take the man's pulse and look into the man's eyes.

  The man had wanted to give up and give into the darkness, to leave the pain and the sadness. His life was too wretched to live anymore and he wanted to move on. But he had felt the warmth of Marylin's tears in his hand as they streamed down his arm, the weight of her head against his chest. And then, a sudden fear of death had struck him hard, focusing everything he loved before him in one swift moment, his wife needed him, his children needed him. His family needed him to take care of them. He needed to push out. He needed to escape the darkness. The man did not let go of his fear. The man had pushed back through the darkness, letting the sadness overwhelm him. He could not let himself die.

  And that is when he reawakened within himself to find Marylin holding his hand.

  The physician called for soup and accepted it from the maid. He asked Marylin to sit with the man and
make sure he consumed everything in the bowl. She agreed and sat down on a chair next to the bed. The man did not have the strength to lift his head and so she placed a pillow behind him.

  Marylin opened the man's mouth, putting a spoonful of soup between the man's lips. He tried to swallow but choked and coughed the soup onto his bandages. The man looked at Marylin and grunted, looking between her and the soup. She tried again, putting the spoon between the man's lips. He opened his mouth, accepting the soup.

  The man tried to swallow again, making a choking noise. His body reacted, going rigid as he tried to swallow. Marylin watched with concern.

  “More.” he said, and Marylin complied, spoon feeding the man until the bowl was empty.

  Somewhere on the horizon a Sting Bird took flight, carrying a message for the most high. The slave trade was suffering in the city eastward and the inquirer wished to know why the most high no longer sent tributes to his city, leaving his arena all but empty.

  The bird flew through a mountain pass covered in snow and black rock with a road leading through to the city of the Inquirer.

  The Sting Bird flapped its wings and let out a cry. It had spotted the most high's palace, sitting on the top of a large hill in the center of a city, surrounding it like a cancerous tumor growing in the rocks of the mountain.

  A servant came and removed the message tube, trying hard to untangle the mess around the bird’s leg before it removed one of his fingers.

  "Tzake!