A Feast of Souls: Araneae Nation, Book 2 (21 page)

“That’s ridiculous.” I grasped the handle and shoved open the door. “Isolde, we came to…”

Vaughn bumped into my back and jostled me inside the room. Brynmor followed.

Propped upright on dingy pillows was Isolde. Once possessing generous curves, Isolde languished now. Her sheets clung to her skeletal frame. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes glassy. Her white hair spiked wild about her head. A healthier female sat by her side, scowl fixed in place. She reached beneath the bed.

“Shall I throw the chamber pot, maven?” She clutched the foul thing in her hands.

“My son,” Isolde panted. “Save the pot…in case Cleit…returns.”

When her frail arms opened, Vaughn went into them, stroking hair from her face and kissing her cheek while he murmured soft words in her ear. Her voice caught when she said, “My Rhys.”

Vaughn flinched, releasing Isolde with as much tenderness as he could muster.

Tears for him welled in my eyes, blurring my vision, when I noticed a faint aural glow to the right of her bed. Using my link with Brynmor, I strained to see clearer, to sort the aura from hers.

A low growl from Brynmor should have prepared me. It didn’t.

Hovering at Isolde’s bedside, Kowatsi held vigil over his dying soul mate.

Vaughn rubbed his face with his hands. “What is it?” His voice was muffled.

Features smudged, his expression was a smattering of light as Brynmor’s had once been. He shook his head. Put a finger to his lips. Of course he asked for silence, one more secret kept from Vaughn, one more layer of guilt slathering my heart, one more reason to give him back his ring.

“I was reading her aura.” Not a complete lie. I was doing it now as we spoke.

“And?” He peered at me over his fingertips.

I lowered my voice. “I would prefer to speak with you privately.”

“You’re…Masik’s…apprentice.” Isolde waved me closer. “Did he…send you?”

I clasped hands with her. “Masikookyang sent me to aid your clan and learn what I can from the victims of the plague. I will do everything in my power to help you and your clansmen survive this.”

The female at her side rose. “Isolde wishes to journey into the spiritlands.”

“She’s ill,” Vaughn spat. “She thinks I’m— She’s delirious. We can’t take her at her word.”

Her hand rose to her throat. “You would disobey your maven?”

“I would save my mother.” Vaughn studied her. “You’re Nerys, Cleit’s niece.”

“I am.” Her chin lifted. “He worried for me. I’m the last well female left in the city.”

“Yet he brought you here.” Vaughn’s tone was scornful. “How thoughtful of him.”

“Where would you have him take me? Isolde ordered the gates locked until the plague passed. It was a knife through the chest for defying my maven’s orders or seeking refuge here, among the dead and dying.” Nerys’s chin trembled. “The males in the city don’t know how bad it is here. They think all females brought to the towers are in the sick wards. I’m not proud, but I’ve lied and said as much to them myself. If they knew what was happening here while they’re locked inside the city walls…”

“They’d panic,” he finished for her.

“And if they had the plague, they’d spread it.” I think Isolde was right to lock the gate. “Now I see why the guards were being difficult. Their loyalties were torn between their maven and her heir.”

“Doubt is playing in our favor, then.” He told Nerys, “Many seem to believe this is the same scourge that swept through Cathis years ago, that rumors of the yellow death have become sensational.”

Brynmor butted the back of my knees with enough force I stumbled.

Vaughn caught me, and our gazes locked. I read his fear that his mother would die, his fear that Nerys was right and Isolde wanted to die. If he learned of the spirits standing guard over her, I knew his tenuous hold on his temper would shatter. He was agonized enough as it was and would lash out.

I made an easy target.

“Let’s step out into the hall.” I withdrew from him before he read my unease. “We must talk.”

“Stay with her.” Vaughn cast Isolde a final glance. “We won’t be but a moment.”

At her nod, we exited the room and left the taint of imminent death behind us.

Once in the hall, Vaughn spun and punched the stone wall. Blood ran down his fingers.

I flinched, knowing if I tried to soothe him, he would cast me aside.

“Can you save her?” He braced his forehead on the wall, refusing to look at me.

“There’s a taint in her aura.” I balled my fists to keep from reaching for him. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I can’t promise it can be healed until I know what it is.” Desire to touch him won. “I will gather my supplies, and I will spirit walk with Isolde. If the two gods will it, she will be healed.”

“I don’t care much for the wills of the gods.” He shrugged my hand from his back. “Save her.”

“I will try.” First, I would need Lleu to recover my bags from Sakwa.

“Succeed.” His voice was as hard and cold as Erania in the heart of winter.

I bowed my head, showing him the deference that was his due. “I must find Lleu and—”

“No.” His grip bruised as he grasped my arm and spun me into Isolde’s bedroom. “You will stay here and meditate.” He pointed at a bench. “Sit and focus. I will return with your supplies. Be ready.”

Anger tightened my throat. This was fear talking, not Vaughn. “I will do as you wish.” I jumped when he slammed the door between us.

Nerys began pacing. “I hope for your sake the two gods grant you their favor.”

“So do I.” I took the seat he’d indicated. “So do I.”

Slipping into meditation came easier than expected. Part of it was a subtle increase in Brynmor’s energy. Even if he hadn’t been born and raised in this city, his body must lie within these grounds. It gave him strength, and I used our connection to read Isolde’s aura while devising a plan of treatment.

Odd that Kowatsi’s presence bolstered Isolde’s aura on one side. On the other, red energy pulsed in time with her heart. Not the deeper crimson of passion but the brighter red of freshly spilled blood.

Swipes from a wet tongue over my hand made me blink the room back into focus.

Brynmor sat at my feet.

Vaughn stood in the doorway, Old Father’s weathered supply roll tucked under his arm.

I kept my gaze pinned to the floor to avoid the pulse of his anger, resentment, and took what was mine. “I’ll have to ask that you wait outside with Nerys. It’s easier for me to focus with fewer auras in play.” Turning my back on him, I returned to Isolde’s bedside. Her glassy eyes stared at the corner where Kowatsi hovered, and I feared how close to death she must be if she sensed his presence there.

He was waiting for her, another mark against me if Vaughn discovered him.

“I won’t leave her.” Vaughn positioned himself at the door. “You know my aura. You must after all this time, what we’ve been through. Work around me. Nerys, I’m asking you to wait in the hall.”

I saw no point in telling him his was the one aura I was blind to, that his presence distracted me.

With a twist of her lips, Nerys stalked from the room. “I’ll be right outside.”

The door rattled on its hinges.

“Let’s begin.” I palmed my crystal. Let its familiar resonance calm me. “I’ll ask you to remain where you are. No matter what you see or hear, do not breach this circle. It must keep me grounded.”

With no anchor, and I dared not trust Vaughn in his current mood, the circle would suffice.

Kneeling, I set about sorting my tins and letting the practiced tasks calm the nerves in my hands. Once my preparations had been made, I addressed my patient. “Isolde, I must have your permission.”

She didn’t so much as blink acknowledgment.

“Mother.” Vaughn waited. “Mother, answer her.” When Isolde failed to respond, he crossed the room and stood at her shoulder. “This is your only chance at survival. Will you allow Mana to spirit walk with you?” Whatever he heard pained him. “Yes, Rhys needs you, please, give your consent.”

“Yes.” She strangled on the word.

“There, you have what you required.” Vaughn turned from her and resumed his position.

Back to my tins, my herbs, I let his hurt wash over and through and beyond me. Negative energy had no place here or in healing.
Inhale. Exhale. Focus.
I located my center, then I set about my tasks.

Lifting Old Father’s most battered tin, I unscrewed the cap and inhaled, nose tingling. A whiff of floral mingled with an underlying herbal essence. I dipped a finger into the dayflower oil and rubbed it between my fingers. It was thin but not watery. The consistency was perfect. Taking a small spoon from the roll, I filled it with dayflower oil and rose. Isolde’s lips were slack. I fed her the oil, making sure she swallowed. The hitch in her breath tightened my chest, but I ignored my panicked concern.

I checked her vitals. She was slipping deep into a coma. The dream state would come easily now.

Once assured she was prepared, I resisted one last glance at Vaughn and sank back to my knees. The hard floor bit into my skin, but it grounded me in the room and in my body. It was a good pain.

Using my crystal, I drew a generous circle around me. I lit the mounds of herbs I had measured, and a sense of utter solitude encased me. Here in my bubble, all was well and quiet, as it should be.

Careful to use a clean spoon, I poured myself a dose of dayflower oil and let the sweet taste slide down the back of my throat. Between swallows, my muscles loosened and the room turned hazy with wisps of clouds that rolled in and stuffed the room until all I saw was white and all I felt was warmth.

Moments passed while I gained my bearings and began the trek upward, into the spiritlands.

The journey there was never the same twice, another reason anchors were critical to our return.

When at last I reached the familiar gates barring access to the Above, I turned a slow circle, half-expecting Brynmor to lope to me and ask for an ear rub or stride to me and execute a final bow. This was, after all, his purpose in contacting me. I had restored Vaughn to his clan home and now I would try my best to revive Isolde. The thought occurred to me that my palm no longer itched and that the wound had healed. Did that mean Brynmor and my link was permanent? The thought didn’t concern me as it once had. As a canis, I found him much less intimidating, and, well, I enjoyed his company.

As I walked, the mists cleared to reveal Isolde. In this place, she was as I remembered. Instead of the sickly female lying on her deathbed, she was vital. Her white hair hung in a braid down her back. Her cheeks were round, if creased with age and weather-beaten. Her only concession to her illness was a bright yellow mark, pulsing on her chest. She spotted me and cut a shrill whistle.

“So this is where walkers tread.” She glanced around. “Nice place. Too quiet for my taste. White is a bit bland too.” She rubbed her chest, her fingers came away yellow. “Gods’ web, what is that?”

“You’re ill.” It wasn’t uncommon for a soul to forget the body’s ailments.

“You’re pulling my leg.” Her brow creased as she wiped at her shirt, making more of a mess. “I never get sick, can’t afford to.” Her head lifted. “I thought I remembered… Why are we both here?”

“You’re ill,” I said again, gently. “I came to Cathis to heal you.”

Her eyes narrowed as she appraised me. “Masik sent you?”

“I came with his blessing of my own free will, as a favor to your son.” I clarified, “Vaughn.”

“Vaughn’s here?” Pleasure sparkled in her eyes. “He hasn’t been home in… Doesn’t matter, I’ll take him any way I can get him.” She snapped her fingers. “Go on. Get with it. I have a clan to lead.”

Ah, yes, the impertinence of mavens. I should have known her stubborn soul would refuse to let go of the life, the family she might leave behind. I admired her for that. “I must question you first.”

Hands on her hips, she leaned closer. “We can talk later. Heal me now. My clanswomen are—”

“Dying, I know.” I returned rudeness with rudeness. “We spoke with Cleit and with Nerys.”

“Then what’s left to know?” She paled. “I’ve been stuck in that room for days. If not for Nerys, then I’d have been poked and prodded within a hair of my life.” Lines bracketed her mouth. She was remembering. Good. “I couldn’t even fling the contents of my own chamber pot at that physician. Had to get Nerys to do it for me.” She grimaced. “It’s a show of weakness, and that I won’t tolerate.”

Amused now, I said, “Nerys was under the impression you wished to journey to the spiritlands.”

She scoffed. “Fever made me crazed.” She pointed at her foot. “Named my little toe Little Alis, I did. Gods know I had Nerys serve Little Alis tea
in a thimble
.” Isolde scowled. “The girl must be daft to take anything I said after that as truth. My clan needs me now more than ever. I will not fail them.”

“Then you’ll answer my questions.” I waited as her scowl darkened.

“Ask, but make it quick.” Her foot set to tapping. “Time is wasting.”

I arranged the most pressing questions in order of importance. “When did you become ill?”