Slavery Ch. 08

"Alana, I don't know what's wrong!" T'arik's eyes held frustration, and concern. Quick as lightening, Alana had been scooped into his arms then, before she could look down at her leg, she was on her back. T'arik's hands held her down so that she couldn't move. The pain made her want to curl up in a ball, and to claw at her flesh. The fire was spreading. Alana watched as T'arik reached across her to pull his sword free of his armour.

"What are you doing?" Alana was starting to panic. She had images in her mind of T'arik cutting her leg off, leaving her with a bloody stump. His face morphed into that of Jaron, except he had on a surgical mask as if they were on earth. The sky started to swirl into pinks and purples. Alana felt her body stiffening, convulsing. Moans escaped her throat, uncontrollable moans. Alana felt a terrible tearing. It felt as if her leg were being flayed. She knew that she was screaming. The earth beneath her felt like it was liquid. Alana's hands clawed at the earth, but she couldn't seem to find purchase. Above her, Jaron was laughing, stroking her face as he mocked her. Alana screwed her eyes tightly shut. Her stomach heaved then, without warning, something frothy spewed from her mouth. She looked. She couldn't help it. It was black, frothy and disgusting. The black froth seemed to be multiplying, spreading across Alana's vision like a plague until she felt closed in and faint. Then she was gone into a world of strange creatures and vicious surgeons.

A man's face loomed over Alana, the green sky framing his concerned face.

"She seems lucid." He nodded to himself, and for a moment Alana didn't know who he was talking to. "Her leg will take a little longer to heal, but now the poison has drained she should be out of danger." Alana felt terror constrict her chest. He was a doctor. T'arik's face came into view above her.

"Alana?" He was scared, she could hear it, and for some reason it made her giggle. Once she started, she couldn't stop.

"It's the medication." The doctor was speaking again. He continued, but Alana was too fascinated with the way his mouth moved to listen. T'arik lifted her. She looked at where she had been, shocked at the black foam that was there. It had been real. Looking down at her leg, she swore. It was purple, swollen. As soon as she saw it she felt the throbbing start. It felt hot, and a little like a sausage; the skin felt tight, as if any moment it might split open. The sight was making her feel dizzy. Giggles were still bubbling from her mouth, but Alana felt as though that could turn to vomit. One last look at the floor was all it took to actually make her vomit all over her bare chest.

The creature on the floor had clearly been hacked in to. There was a long tendril covered in suckers that was separate from the main body. It was a pearlescent white thing that looked as though it had never seen the sun. The main body of the creature was lumpy, and looked as though it were suffering from warts. Alana couldn't make out the eyes, but there were long, thin spines that were centred at what she assumed was the top of its head. That had been attached to her.

Once in the tent, Alana was propped up on pillows on the bed. Her leg was wrapped in cold cloths. The medication must have been wearing off as the pain was becoming worse.

"What was that?" Alana asked T'arik with horror evident in her voice.

"A rare type of fish, apparently," T'arik told her, " not something that I have seen before. They are poisonous to us also, but should only create a small itch." T'arik lay on the bed next to Alana, watching her closely. Finally, he spoke again, "are you in much pain?"

"Yes," Alana snapped then, sighing deeply, she apologised. What she wanted more than anything was Kalen. He would wrap her in his arms, whisper to her until she fell asleep. Wistfully, Alana shut her eyes.

"Sleeping is a good idea. I will wake you when it is time for more medicine." When Alana didn't respond, she felt the bed move, then heard the tent flap rustle. Alana really hoped that T'arik would be gone for a while.

Alana awoke to T'arik shaking her. He had a smile on his face, and pills in his hand. Consciousness brought pain. Alana snatched the pills, throwing them into her mouth without ceremony. T'arik was quick to pass her water to wash them down with. Without a word he lifted Alana then, after kicking cushions into place, placed her down outside in front of a camp fire.

"What will you make me?" There was a playfulness in T'arik's voice. Despite the pain, Alana laughed.

"What do you mean? I can't cook." Alana was amused, certainly.

"Seriously?" T'arik sounded a little shocked at her statement. His grin had been replaced by a frown. "Kalen has never taught you how to make food?" Alana shook her head. "Fine. I will cook tonight. Tomorrow, you will learn."

As T'arik threw ingredients into pots and pans, setting them up on a complicated contraption over the fire, Alana looked up at the stars. Somewhere out there was Earth. Alana wondered if she would ever see it again. There was no family left for her, not really, but she longed to go back.

"I hope you're watching, limpy." Laughing, Alana did as she was told. As T'arik cooked, he often looked up at Alana to smile. He touched her regularly: stroking hair from her cheek, squeezing her shoulder, briefly resting a hand on hers. Alana loved how tactile he was, and she felt entirely comfortable with him. Under the comfort, though, was a sense of guilt. Earlier she had longed for Kalen, and now she was betraying him by being at ease with this man.

After dinner, which Alana thought was delicious, came a sense of awkwardness.

"I can sleep on cushions on the floor, T'arik. Honestly, it wouldn't be the first time." He would have none of it though.

"Bed." It was a command, and Alana knew that he would brook no argument. Slipping under the sheet, Alana stiffened when T'arik joined her. His arms snaked around her bare waist, pulling her close so that her back was flush with his chest. After that, he stilled. Eventually, Alana relaxed into his embrace, accepting that nothing else was going to happen.