Mar ch 8| The Last of His Strength

I lie facedown on the floor, drooling again. I have no idea how long I’ve been unconscious, but my surroundings have changed. This cage is barely tall enough to allow me to sit up. It’s as long as I am and half as wide.

Asher’s scent is permeating. He’s in the cage above mine. Its square holes dig into his back as he lies so very still. His knees bend because he is too long for the space allotted. Blood drips through the bars and pools on the floor around me. No wonder Asher’s scent is everywhere.

Best I can tell, the knife has been removed, but they did nothing more to aid his recovery. I smell no antiseptic on him, no bandages, though my right arm is wrapped and reeks of their serums. It’s ridiculous. Asher’s wound is obviously much more serious.

I call his name but know he won’t answer. According to Mrs. Plunker’s biology lessons, several important things are in a human’s chest. Heart, of course. Lungs.

Asher’s breaths wheeze. His heart thuds.

Nabal appears. Growling, I pull my feet under me. The cage will not allow me to stand, so this is the most readied stance I can take.

“I strove to garner your cooperation, coaxing and threatening, beating and starving you. At times, it seemed you wanted to die, but I knew you would fight.” The laugh grows in his voice. He holds a mini lightning staff, like one of Mother’s knitting needles but with fork-like prongs on the end. Blue lightning crawls between them. “Looks like we finally found your motivation.” He pokes the staff through the bars and nudges Asher’s arm.

Asher’s body jerks, and my growl grows louder.

“Snarling at me gets you nowhere, Mar. First, we’ll see if he survives. If he does, I have such interesting plans. After all, my army needs a hierarchy. If I can turn a dog into what you are now, how much simpler it would be for a boy to make that same transformation. He’ll outrank you, naturally, and have a better grasp of complex language and situations. I just have to find a way to erase who he thinks he is.” The mini staff pokes Asher again.

“Don’t touch him!”

“So you can speak.” Nabal sneers. “Now understand that you do not give orders to me, nor does Asher. He is mine. If not for me, he would not exist.”

“You’ll let him die?”

Nabal pauses. His finger strokes the thin line that serves as his mustache. “When I found him in town—he was searching for you, ironically—and I lured him here, I fully intended to kill him. I hoped to get something useful out of him in his final moments, but I didn’t expect it to have such connection to you. All of this was his idea, you know.”

My eyes narrow. I don’t know what he means, but I don’t like it. It’s slander.

“I’ll return in a few hours to check up on you, but I have one last gift before I go.” As he pulls a capped needle and syringe from his coat pocket, I press against the back wall of my cage. He slides it through the bars. It drops to the floor and rolls toward me.

“This will ease some of his pain and force him awake, but it might use up the last of his strength.”

“You mean it’ll kill him?”

“It gives you a choice, Mar. The chances are slim he will ever awaken without it.”

* * *

Forever trudges on like molasses dripping over a table’s edge as I fret over what to do. I’ve checked the locks: bio-locks, impossible to pick. They require not only the correctly shaped key, but also whatever blood fills that key. It’s as precise as my nose. Tiny particles allow gears to turn or not.

It’s also too thick for me to break. I’d have better luck gnawing through the cage bars, and from watching others try, I know this to be a futile and damaging idea.

I stare at the syringe on the floor. I can awaken Asher, but that might kill him. Still, he’s dying while I do nothing. I want him to tell me what to do, but there’s a paradox in that wish.

Asher sinks further into unconsciousness. Instead of the pounding of a charging bull, his heartbeat sounds like the leisurely steps of cows in the pasture, grass the most boring prey in the world. His raspy gasps are inconsistent, and his scent has acquired an earthy tang.

I tell myself a hero would pull Asher up out of that, would give him a chance to figure out how to save us. Asher is smart. He’ll know what to do.

I am a hero.

That bold thought steadies me as my fingers curl around the syringe, but as I pull off the cap and expose the needle, I tremble. For as long as I live, I will take issue with needles. Beyond that, I have only Nabal’s word as to what this is and what it will do to Asher. This liquid danger smells like nothing I’ve ever encountered.

Holding the syringe with both hands, I plunge it upward into Asher’s back.

Nothing happens.

Supreme disappointment drapes over me as the spent syringe drops back to the floor. Tears fill my eyes again, but after a few moments, Asher’s breaths change.

Like dawn, his awakening is slow but undeniable. The hand resting on his stomach slides up to find the wound on his chest, and he releases a sound that is not quite a yelp.

“Asher? Asher, don’t die!” I lace my fingers through the top of my cage and touch his arm.

He turns his head and slides narrow eyes toward me. The angle grants him a poor view, so he rolls onto his side, which hurts. He cinches his eyes shut again. His position is awkward and twisted, part facedown, part sideways. His heart races.

“Asher?”

As his gray-green eyes open, they hold my reflection again, but they look past me. “Is all that my blood?”

I nod.

“And I’m not dead yet?”

I shake my head.

“And you’re really Mar?”

I nod again and tell him everything. My words are a river after a spring gulley-washer. I speak of this place, of my change, of my escape, of the Plunkers and their kindness. Asher listens, distracted by the task of ripping his sleeve into bandages, an endeavor his teeth aid him in. Before the wadded cloth covers it, I catch sight of his bared wound: to the right of his sternum, a horizontal line as long as my pinky finger. It still seeps.

Near the end of my tale, a wry smile glides onto Asher’s face.

“To think I didn’t believe Esperanza when she said she’d seen you. Qué maravilla, Mar.”

“You get in trouble when you use Esperanza’s words.”

He grunts. “I’m in a lot more trouble than that.”

“Now admit I’m always right.” Esperanza approaches from the door side of the cage, out of Asher’s line of sight.

He mustn’t have heard her coming because he flinches. “Don’t tell me you came here alone, Esperanza.”

She’s dressed as a warden, her silky, black hair tucked up under a cap. No one’s with her, though whiffs of Uncle swirl and tease my nose. Even here, Esperanza smells of adventure and fun. Golden eyes large and bright, she’s pretty for a human, even dressed in ugly clothes that don’t fit her right.

“I was alone when I followed you the first time,” she confesses. “Then I took Fengari because they couldn’t doubt me if I had your hum-horse. He’s fast, but he also glows in the dark, so I was quite the spectacle riding up to the sheriff’s house.”

“Uncle’s here?”

“Yes, but they won’t admit they have you. He has more deputies on the way, but time always being crucial, I snatched your grandfather’s keys and snuck in.” She already has the lock off Asher’s cage and searches through the bundle for mine. “Can you carry him, Mar?”

“Yes.”

She pops the lock off my cage and swings open the door. I’m confused by her story, surprised Fengari let her ride him. A hum-horse is trained to take commands only from his master. Maybe Fengari realized it was an emergency, though Fengari hasn’t ever displayed the level of intelligence that implies.

Asher tries to help as we pull him out of the cage, but every movement hurts him. We strive to be as gentle and swift as possible, but Asher is heavier than I thought he’d be. I nearly drop him and apologize profusely as Esperanza slides him sideways onto my shoulders. We run with Esperanza leading the way.

We are deep underground, near the arena. The first time I ran out of here, the lofty ladders weren’t so taxing. I try to be fast and careful, avoiding unnecessary jostling. Asher is as pale as mashed potatoes, and I haven’t heard anything out of him in a while. His heart still races, though.

Continued in chapter 9

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