The Stolen Child (59 page)

Her legs ached, and she wanted to sit, but there didn't seem to be an easy way to do so in the cramped space.  Not with the large protrusions that hung from her back.  They were strangely light, at least.  She was thankful for that.

Milima settled Rachael onto the edge of the long table and began prodding at the girl's shoulder, just as Ilona had done.

“It doesn't hurt
much
.”  Rachael said, looking a little surprised.

“That'll be the aneasthetic.  Good,” Milima said, quietly.  “
Now...”  
 

She turned her eyes to the iron gauntlet that encased
Rachael's left hand.  Milima lifted the girl's hand and gently turned it one way, then the other, peering between the hard plating to the raw flesh beneath.
 

“Do you know what it is?” Rachael said, her voice nearly a whisper.

Milima shook her head.

“How could I?”
t
he woman said, softly.

As Milima stared at the gauntlet,
Arsha found herself plucking at the edge of one wing, marvelling at the sensation as her fingers ran along the metal.  It was like touching your own arm, that feeling of two points of sensation meeting.  It seemed impossible.

She could fly.  The thought echoed through her mind, seeming to reverberate over and over.  She could still feel the sensation of the wind rushing through the thin metal leaves, the ripples in the air currents, the
buoyant
feeling of the thermals catching her body.  The incredible lightness of it all.  She had moved so fast.  Her eyes closed, and she saw herself reaching out again, as Rachael plu
ng
ed through the cold air, the ground rushing up towards them both.  She felt the sickening twisting in her stomach once more, the tension that had
seized
every part of her body as she willed herself to move just a little faster.  She had barely even known what she was doing.  Or perhaps it was like she had always known.  She couldn't say.

“You OK?”

Her eyes snapped open and she saw Rachael looking at her.  As Rachael studied her face for a moment, Arsha
imagined
she saw something behind the girl's eyes.  A look of understanding.  Perhaps Rachael had guessed at what she was thinking about.  Perhaps she didn't need to.

“Yeah.  I'm OK.”

She looked up at Milima.  The woman was watching them both, with a doubtful expression.

“We're both OK.  Really,”
s
he said, trying to sound reassuring.

“
No, y
ou're not OK,” Milima said, with a shake of her head.  “You will be, eventually.  But not yet.”

Before either of them could think of anything to say, Milima
turned away,
and began to fill an iron kettle.  Once the stove was lit and the pot heating she returned, drying her hands on a towel as the girls both watched her uncertainly.

“Alright, let's set that shoulder.  
Arsha, love, you'll need to hold her up.”  

Milima nodded towards where Rachael was sitting.  
Feeling a little unsure of what she was doing, Arsha moved to stand behind
her
at the end of the long table.  Gently, Milima laid the girl's arm across her lap.  Rachael looked just a little bit nervous as Milima reached into a medicine bag and produced a small knot of rope.

“Bite,”
s
he said, holding it up to Rachael's mouth.

“This is going to hurt, isn't it,” Rachael said.

Milima nodded, her eyes sympathetic.

“OK,” Rachael said, and set her teeth around the bite guard.  Arsha put her hands against Rachael's back, supporting her as Milima began to slowly move Rachael's arm away from her body, forcing the shoulder to rotate.  She could see Rachael's jaw tighten, as her eyes squeezed shut.  She heard the knot of rope creaking as it was clamped ever tighter between Rachael's teeth, and she felt the girl's body trembling against her hands.  Then there was a loud popping sound, and relief seemed to flood through
her sister's
body.  Gently, Milima removed the bite guard.

“Better?”

Rachael nodded.  Tears had welled up in the corners of her eyes.

“We'll get you cleaned up and then off to bed.”

“I couldn't even try to sleep,” Rachael said.

“I know.  We'll see to that.”

After wrapping a fresh sling around Rachael's arm, Milima stepped through into the kitchen, where a pot was bubbling gently on the stove.  She poured a little of the liquid into a mug, adding honey and milk.

“Nightroot,”
s
he said, as she returned.  “Drink as much as you can.”

“What's it do?” Rachael said.

“Helps you sleep.  That's all,” Milima smiled as she held the cup up to Rachael's lips.  “
Trust me, sleep is what you both need right now.”
 

-

Rishi
stumbled through the doorway into his room, and nearly fell
into the chair by his desk
.  There was blood on his fingertips, grease under his nails, and the smell of gun-smoke in his clothes.  His muscles burned, his head ached, and through it all he could still feel the ghost of Ilona's kiss on his lips.  He pressed his hands to his temples and tried to block out the pain.

It took him a moment to register the knock at the door.  He didn't even have the strength to answer.  
I
t opened anyway, and Abasi stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

“
Thank the Fates, you're OK,” he said, running a hand across the thick grey stubble that crowned his head.
 

“OK.  Is that what you call this?” Rishi said, staring up at the wall.

Abasi shook his head, gently.

“Alive
's a start.
”

“Doesn't feel like it.”

“
I don't suppose it does.”
 

After a moment, Rishi leaned forward just enough to prise open the bottom-most drawer of the desk, and fish out a half empty bottle of whisky.  Trembling fingers fumbled at the cork, as the bottle nearly slipped from his hands.  Then Abasi wrapped one hand around the neck of the bottle.

“Let me get that,”
h
is friend said, easily prying the cork loose.  Abasi took a long swig before passing the bottle back.  Rishi almost smiled as he pressed the mouth of the bottle to his lips and felt the
amber liquid
burn its way down his throat.

“What happened in there Rishi?  I got the bones of it from Micah, but...”  Abasi paused for a moment.  “You actually shot the old man?”

Rishi said nothing, but Abasi must have read something in his face as he took the bottle back.

“Fates, you really did.  Bastard had it coming at that.  Pity he lived,” Abasi added in a growl, before taking another swig.

“I imagine I'll get in enough trouble just for that,” Rishi muttered.

“It sounds like Manindra has more trouble to worry about.  I saw the
Jyoti
high-tail it out of here with at least three Guild ships in pursuit.  Thank the Fates for that, or we'd never have slipped away in the chaos.”

Abasi held the bottle out for him, but Rishi just shook his head.  He felt his shoulders begin to shake as he slumped forward over the desk, unable to hold himself up anymore.  His head in his hands, he felt ragged breaths tearing at his chest.

“
Fates,
Abasi, I've really made a mess of this.  
I think she
hates me.”

“
You mean Arsha?” Abasi sighed, gently.  
“Of course she hates you.  She's your daughter and she's fifteen.  
There isn't a
fifteen year old girl
alive who doesn't
hate her father, as madly as she loves him.”

Rishi choked back a bitter laugh.

“No.  This is different.  All these years, she's never really known who I am.  Now she's finally learning, and it's going to break her.  It's going to break me.”

“You're wrong, Rishi.  Arsha knows, better than anyone, who you really are.  I think she knows you better than you know yourself.  You look at yourself and you see who you've been.  But when she looks at you, she sees the man you are.  I'm not saying it's going to be easy for her to forgive your past.  That...
That might
take some time.  But she'll never stop loving you.  Never.”

Rishi said nothing.  In silence, he stared at the wall.
Calmly, Abasi sifted through the detritus of his desk to find a couple of empty glasses, into which he poured a generous measure each.  Easing himself onto the edge of the desk, Abasi set one glass down in front of Rishi, and picked up the other, the swirling liquid throwing patterns of light across the walls.
 

“Don't you have a ship to tend to?” Rishi muttered.

“She'll wait,” Abasi said, and sipped his drink.

-

Arsha
felt as if she
was floating on a soft cloud.  
She was lying on the table, stripped to her underclothes
, whilst Milima gently washed away the blood, muck and rust
from her back
.  She had
been given a dose of nightroot, milder than the one Milima mixed for Rachael.  Arsha tried to recall her studies about the drug, but all she saw was the illustrated page, the words sliding into one another.  She recalled that it caused light-headedness.  
S
he wondered
when that would begin.

The cuts on her face had been closed with ointment, and her arms had been bandaged.  They hurt, but the pain seemed distant now.
  She felt hypnotised by the sound of the cloth being submerged and squeezed out, the soft rippling noise of water falling on water, gentle and clear.  The
contents of
the bowl had turned translucent red.  Milima rinsed out the cloth once last time, before lifting the bowl and pouring it
out
into the sink.  There was a soft clatter as she began to mix up another concoction.

Arsha closed her eyes and gently flexed her wings out.  Feathers of beaten metal, each fading to rust at the edges, shimmered as they moved under the ghostlamps, and the gentle chiming of metal on metal filled the room.  It was such an impossibly strange feeling.  Like an extra pair of arms.  She couldn't even say where she ended and the wings began.  Perhaps there was no difference.
 

She looked up and saw Milima watching her.
 

“
They scare you.  Don't they?” Arsha said.
 

It was only for an instant that Milima looked away.  Just an instant, but Arsha already knew what it meant.
 

“
It's OK, if they scare you.  I saw the way everyone was looking at me, when they thought I wouldn't notice.  Everyone's a little scared.  Even Daddy was scared."  
 

She paused for a moment, not really sure if she was talking to Milima anymore, or just to herself.  

"I think...  I think he was the most scared of all.
”

Slowly, Milima set aside the small bowl she had been holding.   She knelt down in front of the table, her face level with Arsha's.
 

“They don't scare me.  Not exactly.  But it's not easy, Love, seeing how much you've been changed,” Milima said as she reached out a hand, fingers almost brushing the beaten metal.  Almost, but
not quite.  “Not just this.  You.  I can see it in your eyes, Love.  I know that look.”
 

“
What look?” Arsha said.
 

Milima's hand cupped Arsha's cheek, as the woman's strong face seemed to crumple.  Tears welled up in the corner of Milima's eyes as her
hands settl
ed
on Arsha's shoulders.

“
Maybe they do scare me, a little.  But they're beautiful, just like you.”
 

As Milima stroked her hair back, Arsha couldn't help noticing the faded line of a scar that ran down the woman's arm.  It was one of a few that she knew Milima carried.
 

“You got that a long time ago, didn't you?”

Milima paused for a moment and glanced down at her arm.  Then she smiled.

“If by 'a long time', you mean 'before you were born', then yes, but it's not as if I like to admit it.”

Arsha looked down at the bandages around her arms.

“Does it still hurt?”
s
he said.

“No.  Not any more,” Milima replied.

-

Rachael drifted in and out of sleep.  She was never awake for more than a few hours before Milima arrived with something to eat and drink, followed by another dose of nightroot.  Sleep would help her heal she was told each time she protested.

She couldn't really say how much time had passed.  A few days,
perhaps.  She was lying in her narrow bed, staring at the ceiling, barely even sure how long she had been awake.  
The view through the porthole was pitch black.  She supposed it must have been early in the morning.

Her shoulder ached, but the pain was duller now.  She could feel a restless tingling running through her body.  She couldn't remember the last time she had gone so long without moving.  
S
he sat up slowly, muscles stiffly protesting.  She was in her underclothes, skin prickling against the cool air.  Her left arm had been bound up in a cloth.  A strange feeling of frustration flared inside of her as she looked at it.  Fumbling with her other hand, she got the wrappings loose, revealing the hard iron, rust still flaking off of the edges.
 
Then she got to her feet and pulled a dressing gown from the closet.  With her shoulder stiff and aching, and her other hand fumbling within the confines of the thick gauntlet, simply trying to pull the gown on became almost impossible.  She twisted and contorted herself, pain flaring in her shoulder, until she finally had the gown over her shoulders.  Even then it took three tries to tie the cord about her waist.  Her shoulder burned with fresh pain after her exertion.  With a resigned sigh, she picked up the sling that had been hung across the back of a chair and slipped it around her arm
.  
Only then did she notice that the sleeve of the dressing had split around the iron gauntlet, torn by some sharp edge or other as she'd pulled it on.  She muttered a curse under her breath.