impersonal all at once. He closed his eyes, pretending for a moment Katsu cared enough to pet and touch and just hold, though Katsu never had. When he opened his eyes, Katsu was still focused, intent, as if reading something deep within Ashe's body.
And then the stomach cramps started.
***
The noise was deafening. Ashe retched again while Katsu bellowed, pounding on the wagon walls for attention. The sound hammered through his skull, reverberating through the bone. Moran take him, he wished he would die. Soon.
The floor shook, and he opened his eyes just long enough to see Byron and two guards.
"What did you do?" Byron roared, catching Katsu and slamming him back against a nearby crate. "What have you done to my men?"
"Plague," Katsu wheezed, and gave a smile filled with malice. "A gift from my people."
Ashe didn't know what came next. Another spasm took him, sending him convulsing on the floor, vomiting blood. His ears rang.
Hands grabbed him, hauled him upright, unlocked the collar around his neck, and dragged him toward the door. He caught a flash of Katsu lunging for him, snatching at one of the guards. The guard tossed Katsu off like swatting a fly. Katsu crashed into Byron and grabbed hold again.
The look of hate on Katsu's face wasn't one Ashe would soon forget.
Byron yanked free, and then they were outside, in the air, in the bright sun that sent ice picks of pain into Ashe's eyes. He cried out and closed them, didn't even try to keep his feet as they dragged him out of the wagon and across the road.
Two bodies lay there already, twisted in death. The guards tossed him on top. He took a breath and was violently ill again, choking on bile until black spots swam in front of his eyes.
The caravan moved on.
Ashe rolled to one side, flat on his back, staring up at clouds as they scuttled across the sky. He breathed and told himself the symptoms would pass soon. They had to pass soon. It wasn't Katsu's plan to kill him, after all.
Another spasm took him, and when that ended and he tried to crawl down the road, toward help that would surely be coming, another took him. When he had nothing left to vomit up, he vomited again. He couldn't push himself away; his arms shook when he tried to move them. A chill moved from his bones outward, despite the warm day. Ashe breathed shallowly.
Not far away, he heard crows start to squabble, and prayed they stayed interested in the dead bodies. Prayed even harder that he wouldn't become food soon enough.
***
"Nate!" Eddie spurred her horse forward, past the outrider taking point ahead of her. "There's more bodies!" A pile of them, this time, with one off to the side. Looked like it had tried to crawl away.
She saw it better as she drew closer: two bodies, burly men with fighter's muscles, and a single lean figure, too willowy to be human, not graceful enough to be alive. "It's Ashe!" She leaped from her horse before it had stopped moving and crashed down to one knee beside the still form.
He'd been vomiting, that much was obvious. He lay on his side, skin pale and waxy, eyes closed. He was breathing, but shallowly. "Ashe," she murmured, touching his shoulder. He gave no response.
Others hit the ground nearby, a shield forming around them. Nate and Ridgely, brought along for his rudimentary healing skills, dropped beside her. "What's wrong with him?" Nate growled.
The healer was looking for obvious injuries, running hands down Ashe's limbs. "Sick," he said at last, frowning. Eddie couldn't stop a glance toward the bodies, so like the last one they'd passed. Twisted up in spasm. "But I don't know with what." The healer looked over Eddie's head at Nate. "We can't expect to move him."
Nate stood. "Make a camp!" he bellowed. "Get a fire going, blankets. Someone start some broth -- we'll need to get fluids down him."
They all knew the basics of disease, what needed to be done. They all knew how dangerous it could be, and a tension bled through the small group: whatever he
And then the stomach cramps started.
***
The noise was deafening. Ashe retched again while Katsu bellowed, pounding on the wagon walls for attention. The sound hammered through his skull, reverberating through the bone. Moran take him, he wished he would die. Soon.
The floor shook, and he opened his eyes just long enough to see Byron and two guards.
"What did you do?" Byron roared, catching Katsu and slamming him back against a nearby crate. "What have you done to my men?"
"Plague," Katsu wheezed, and gave a smile filled with malice. "A gift from my people."
Ashe didn't know what came next. Another spasm took him, sending him convulsing on the floor, vomiting blood. His ears rang.
Hands grabbed him, hauled him upright, unlocked the collar around his neck, and dragged him toward the door. He caught a flash of Katsu lunging for him, snatching at one of the guards. The guard tossed Katsu off like swatting a fly. Katsu crashed into Byron and grabbed hold again.
The look of hate on Katsu's face wasn't one Ashe would soon forget.
Byron yanked free, and then they were outside, in the air, in the bright sun that sent ice picks of pain into Ashe's eyes. He cried out and closed them, didn't even try to keep his feet as they dragged him out of the wagon and across the road.
Two bodies lay there already, twisted in death. The guards tossed him on top. He took a breath and was violently ill again, choking on bile until black spots swam in front of his eyes.
The caravan moved on.
Ashe rolled to one side, flat on his back, staring up at clouds as they scuttled across the sky. He breathed and told himself the symptoms would pass soon. They had to pass soon. It wasn't Katsu's plan to kill him, after all.
Another spasm took him, and when that ended and he tried to crawl down the road, toward help that would surely be coming, another took him. When he had nothing left to vomit up, he vomited again. He couldn't push himself away; his arms shook when he tried to move them. A chill moved from his bones outward, despite the warm day. Ashe breathed shallowly.
Not far away, he heard crows start to squabble, and prayed they stayed interested in the dead bodies. Prayed even harder that he wouldn't become food soon enough.
***
"Nate!" Eddie spurred her horse forward, past the outrider taking point ahead of her. "There's more bodies!" A pile of them, this time, with one off to the side. Looked like it had tried to crawl away.
She saw it better as she drew closer: two bodies, burly men with fighter's muscles, and a single lean figure, too willowy to be human, not graceful enough to be alive. "It's Ashe!" She leaped from her horse before it had stopped moving and crashed down to one knee beside the still form.
He'd been vomiting, that much was obvious. He lay on his side, skin pale and waxy, eyes closed. He was breathing, but shallowly. "Ashe," she murmured, touching his shoulder. He gave no response.
Others hit the ground nearby, a shield forming around them. Nate and Ridgely, brought along for his rudimentary healing skills, dropped beside her. "What's wrong with him?" Nate growled.
The healer was looking for obvious injuries, running hands down Ashe's limbs. "Sick," he said at last, frowning. Eddie couldn't stop a glance toward the bodies, so like the last one they'd passed. Twisted up in spasm. "But I don't know with what." The healer looked over Eddie's head at Nate. "We can't expect to move him."
Nate stood. "Make a camp!" he bellowed. "Get a fire going, blankets. Someone start some broth -- we'll need to get fluids down him."
They all knew the basics of disease, what needed to be done. They all knew how dangerous it could be, and a tension bled through the small group: whatever he
Similar Books
True Love and Other Disasters
Rachel Gibson
Horrible Harry Moves up to the Third Grade
Suzy Kline
Dark Age
Felix O. Hartmann
A Preacher's Passion
Lutishia Lovely
Devourer
Liu Cixin
Honeybee
Naomi Shihab Nye
Deadly Obsession
Mary Duncan
The Year of the Jackpot
Robert Heinlein
