Eleanor (63 page)

“She is just a child. You know what
oppimun
does to an adult, what do you think it is going to do to her?” Yatt asked, looking at his accomplice.

“He said they all had to be unconscious before he got here, so dart her already,” the short man said irritably. He seemed to be moving to check on Amelia, but as he crouched down, Eleanor realised he was reaching for the bird in Amelia’s arms. Yatt turned to look at Eleanor, seemingly unconcerned that she was tensed, ready to fight and holding a lethal weapon in her hand. His thin, muscular body flexed slightly, and Eleanor could see lines of dots that decorated his face under his eyes and over his cheek bones.

“I am sorry, little girl,” he whispered, raising a long, thin pipe to his lips. He was too far away for Eleanor to reach with her sword, and she knew if she moved there would be a dart in her before she got two feet. Should she throw her weapon? It went against all of Conlan’s teaching, but then he had not exactly prepared her for this situation. She was going to have to wing it.

“Hey, Yatt! Osser is still alive!” The short man sounded overjoyed. Yatt dropped his pipe from his lips, but he did not take his eyes off Eleanor.

“Really? The speed he dropped? Why did the bird brain fall out of the sky in the first place?” he asked. His short friend was carefully lifting and examining the bird.
 

“I have no idea. I cannot see any damage on him. It was a great distraction though, they never saw us creeping up; we were able to get really close.”

It was a short exchange, but it gave Eleanor a little time to think, her mind desperately trying to formulate a plan. This man, Yatt, had refrained from darting her because he was worried about the effect it would have on her. Maybe she could play to his compassion. Drawing her body in further and making herself look even smaller and weaker, she stared at him with wide, innocent, frightened eyes.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, making her voice a terrified, childlike squeak. The sword was shaking in her hand, which had not been planned, but Eleanor hoped it might help her case. Concern and sympathy filled Yatt’s black eyes, followed quickly by guilt.

“I have not killed anything with these darts in a long time,” he replied.

“Is it going to hurt?” Eleanor asked. If she knew the drug’s effects, perhaps she could help the others to recover quicker, any and all information she could get at this point was a good idea. The guilty look on Yatt’s face deepened.
 

“
Oppimun
’s effects vary depending on the victim’s size and age, how many darts have pierced the flesh, where they hit and how long the darts have been in the skin. The results are unpleasant, but not fatal,” he said.

“I am frightened,” Eleanor whispered, staring beseechingly up at the man. Yatt hesitated, glancing down at his blowpipe.

“Hurry up and dart her, he will be here any minute and he is not someone we should mess with!” the short man snapped in Yatt’s direction. The bird, Osser, was fully conscious and the short man was watching it preen its disorganised feathers.

“Shut up, Millice!” Yatt shot back, not looking at him. Yatt stared at Eleanor for a long moment and then put his hand in the inside pocket of his leather jerkin, taking something out. “This will help with the effects, I suggest taking half yourself and giving the other half to that man,” he instructed, nodding at Conlan’s still body. “He took two darts, and judging by the spread on his neck the second one was under his skin for a while. He will be very ill and I have no idea how the
oppimun
will affect you.” He took a couple of careful steps forward, watching Eleanor warily, placed a small glass bottle on the ground and then stepped back. Eleanor shuffled forward, watching the blowpipe, and picked it up. The bottle was a little too big to fit in the palm of her hand, and inside was a dark green translucent liquid.

“Yatt, he is coming, I can see him, dart the girl!” Millice said, fear running through his voice. Eleanor wondered if she could keep Yatt talking long enough to catch a glimpse of their mystery accomplice.

“Put it somewhere safe, how about that man’s jacket pocket?” Yatt suggested, nodding at Conlan again. Eleanor nodded and turned. Conlan was lying on the pocket nearest to her, so she leaned across his back to put the bottle in the pocket on the other side, realising her mistake as she pushed it deep inside. She felt the sharp stab of the dart hitting the back of her neck. Her responses already slowing, it took her an age to take her hand from Conlan’s pocket. She pulled out the dart, staring at it in shock. A slow, steady burning was moving out from the impact and her mind was beginning to whirl. She felt, rather than saw, Yatt behind her. Her body felt weak, beyond her control and she slumped forward, dropping face down across Conlan’s back. A gentle hand rested on her head, a comforting gesture.
 

“I am sorry, child,” Yatt whispered. There was the sound of thundering hooves and the hand was gone. Her mind twisted and writhed, strange thoughts moving through it. The dragon appeared a few times, but now he was breathing fire and burning her neck. She struggled for consciousness and fought the drug. She needed to know who the man was; they needed to know more about this new enemy. Her breath panting in her lungs, she tried to lift her head, to look up at the man as she heard him dismount, but it was too hard.

“I take it there were no problems?” came a new deeper voice, the refined Dwarfish sounding odd after listening to Yatt and Millice.

“No, all unconscious as requested,” Yatt replied. Through barely open eyes, Eleanor saw a pair of boots step into her vision at Conlan’s side.

“Hello, Conlan, Daratus sends his regards.”

That name, Daratus, it meant something; she should remember that, it was important. Lots of things were important. One of the boots pulled back, delivering a sharp, viscous kick to Conlan’s ribs. His body jerked, causing the sword to drop from Eleanor’s numb fingers, but there was no indication that the injury had been felt.
He’s going to feel it when he wakes up.
Angry that she could not make her body move to protect him, darkness washed over her and the burning chased her down into fiery depths.

She was being burnt alive, her flesh melting and dripping from her bones, blood boiling. Flames were licking every inch of her skin, crisping it and pulling it tight so it spilt; thick fluids leaked out, heating, scalding and causing more pain. She screamed her torment and flailed her limbs, desperate to put the fire out. Murmuring voices filled her ears.
Why don’t they help?
She screamed again, tried to speak, tried to beg for help. “Please...” was all she could manage. The murmuring became louder, more coherent.
 

“We need to suck the poison out.” It was Dwarfish, refined Dwarfish – a stranger’s voice.
 

“I have to put the poison in my mouth?” Will’s voice echoed, strained and fearful.
 

“She is too small for this... it could kill her. I will do the same for Conlan, he has taken too much. I will take what I can from him.” It was the stranger’s voice again, but it was not a stranger, there was something familiar about it. Eleanor felt her body lifted. She was face down, an arm supporting her across the chest and her head dropping forward. Firm hands yanked on her jacket, ripping at her shirt and brushing her hair out of the way, the chill breeze soothing her burning flesh. There was something soft and firm on the back of her neck, where the deepest agony was located – suction, a strange sensation. The pain pushed her too far and her consciousness slipped for a moment. When reality returned, the suction had disappeared and there were spitting noises, then she felt the touch on her neck again. The fire continued to burn through her. She whimpered. Surely she should be dead by now? There could be nothing left for the fire to burn. The odd sensation on her neck disappeared again.

“I do not think this is working, all I can taste is her blood,” Will said.

“You are right,” the voice agreed. “It has had too long in their bodies.”

Something flashed through Eleanor’s mind – a bottle with green liquid in it. Something that was important...
Too important.
She heard an agonised groan and realised it had not come from her, it had come from somewhere else. A weak, sobbing cry filled her head, stabbing down to her heart, and she knew. Conlan was in pain. She had to help him. The bottle flashed in her head again. The liquid was green, like Conlan’s jacket, in the pocket, a bottle to help him. She forced herself to focus and tried to move, which was impossible with any degree of control. She tried to open her eyes, but all she saw was blurry darkness. She tried to speak.

“Will.” No response. She concentrated, drawing air into her lungs. “WILL!” The arms holding her jumped and tightened around her.

“I’m here, Eleanor, I’m trying to help but I don’t know what to do.”
 

Eleanor heard his anguish and felt his body tense as Conlan cried out again.

“In Conlan’s jacket... pocket... bottle… cure…” she gasped. Will froze for a second, then he laid Eleanor gently on the ground. Her body writhing in the fire that burned it, she tried to concentrate, tried to stay conscious; her eyes open now, still seeing nothing.

“What are you doing?” the stranger asked curiously.

“Getting something,” Will said. Eleanor felt hands on her body again, pulling her up, Will cradling her like a baby. “This green stuff?” he asked. She forced her head to nod.

“Give it... to him...” she rasped, her voice disappearing into a gasping cry as another pillar of fire engulfed her tormented body.

“I’ll save him some, I promise. Open your mouth,” Will ordered. Eleanor stubbornly shook her head. Conlan was far bigger than she was, he would need more.
 

“Eleanor, please, Conlan’s not the only one suffering. If this is the antidote, you need it too,” Will said, trying to force her mouth open with one hand while holding her up and holding the bottle. Eleanor shook her head again, sucking her lips into her mouth, keeping them tightly closed.

Will muttered under his breath but Eleanor felt her body placed back on the ground. She heard a gagging cough and hoped that some of the liquid had gone down Conlan’s throat.

“What is that?” the stranger asked.

“A cure,” came Will’s distracted reply.

“Where did that come from?” The stranger sounded surprised.

“I have no idea,” Will said. Eleanor felt her body lifted from the ground and Will brushing away the damp hair that was clinging to her face. “OK, he’s had some, the rest is yours,” he said, his irritation unable to hide his affection. Eleanor smiled, closed her eyes and opened her mouth. A splashed of liquid ran down her throat and she understood why Conlan had gagged – it tasted foul, like drinking stagnant water. She forced herself to swallow it before she started coughing. As the bitter, acidic liquid hit her stomach she felt it spasm, but slowly the fire dropped from a volcanic roar to a slow, steady heat, which after the previous pain was almost bearable. Relieved, she let the cool darkness claim her again.

It was the violent urge to throw up that dragged Eleanor up through darkness and into the bright daylight. Too bright, she closed her eyes tight again and moaned as the sunshine stabbed at her. It was hot; the heat beating down, but she felt cold.

“Eleanor? Are you OK?”

Freddie.
She carefully tried to open her eyes again. Everything was still blurry. A camp had been made in the sparse shade of one of the gnarled trees that dotted the landscape. Their blankets had been rigged up to offer shelter from the sun. Freddie’s face gazed down full of loving concern, and her already sickened stomach did another flip.
I need to talk to him…
Turning her head, she could see Will and Amelia sat a few feet away, looking at her. Their faces were rather more blurry and greyer than Freddie’s. Conlan lay asleep at Amelia’s side, while a strange man sat on his other side. Something akin to panic squeezed Eleanor’s already delicate stomach, but she had no clue why, as there did not seem to be any obvious threats.
What happened? Who’s that? Amelia caught a bird… I have to remember something, it’s important… lots of things are important. We got hit by darts… then what? There was a dragon, fire, green? A word… Douglas? There was a bird… and… and…
Eleanor stopped. Her mind had failed her. She was meant to remember something, something important, but it was gone, totally messed up. There was a memory, but it was so unclear it was useless, like corrupted data on a computer. All she was left with was the vague impression that something was wrong.
 

“Is she awake?” Will asked.

“Yes, I think so,” Freddie confirmed. Eleanor struggled and he helped her to sit. Her stomach lurched and she felt another strong desire to vomit. Not wanting to throw up all over Freddie, Eleanor pushed herself onto all fours and then stood. Freddie tried to stop her.

“Eleanor, what are you doing?” he asked alarmed, standing with her and supporting her swaying body. She pulled his hands off her, took a dozen tottering steps out of their shelter, fell back onto all fours and threw up the world. Or at least that was what it felt like. The spasms squeezing her stomach made her retch until there was nothing left to throw up, and then dry heaves ripped at her insides. She felt a comforting hand rubbing her back and noticed with vague interest, through watering eyes, that her vomit was green. Eventually the spasms subsided. Even resting on all fours she was swaying, bright flashes sparked through her vision and a headache began cranking itself up to tear her brain apart. A piece of wet cloth was handed to her. Grateful, Eleanor wiped her face, knowing gloop was dribbling off her chin. When she had cleaned her face, she sat up gingerly and wiped the splashes of green vomit off her hands. The smell was so bad that she had to fight the reflex to throw up again. She dropped the cloth, and a mug of water was put in front of her.
 

“Take small sips,” Will advised, his hand still gently rubbing her back. She turned to look at him and gasped. He did not look any better than she felt. There were deep purple bags under his glazed eyes and his skin was mostly grey but with a distinctly yellow tinge to it.