Even with Kal’s help, such as it was, Aida was weak and exhausted by the time the sun even reached its zenith. Sweaty and caked with grime, she wasn’t certain how much longer she could keep it up. She’d never had so much physical exertion before. Thinking of all the activity she’d been a party to the last few days, her face grew cold and then flush. A strange, twisting sensation deep in her belly that made her feel twice as ill as she did from the heat.
When even the rutted tracks disappeared, leaving them to traverse the crumbling hills and parched growth, Aida was near collapse. Whole body shivering as if in the depths of winter, her teeth chattered. Every inch of her slick with perspiration, she didn’t understand what was wrong. Still she plodded along, feeling more faint with every step. Somehow remaining upright as the sun began its descent, hiding its face behind the craggy peaks that she didn’t have the energy to find any wonder in.
The train came into view once more, all of them milling about with fires and clanging pots. Dusk had settled over the valley, and they appeared to be stopping. She would have cried had she even a single drop of moisture left to her when Er’it dismounted and hauled her stumbling after him to a structure of stretched canvas and stiff poles. Tossed inside, Aida could only groan as the rough woven rug tugged at her skin and set her many cuts to bleeding again.
Feeling the warm trickle of blood at the corner of her eye, she rolled to her back to look up at the darkening roof of the little house. Offering herself up to the Abyss, hoping against hope it would take her, Aida let the warm stain serve as her anguished tears as darkness sucked her down hard and fast.
Chapter 9 Er’it
“She’s unconscious, Majesty,” Maruk said as he finished fussing over the woman.
“Is she really?” Er’it snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at the pair with as much derision as he could muster. It was far more than necessary as Maruk flinched away, turning towards his busy hands preparing some salve or another.
Er’it had spent an endless hour of watching the healer tut over every scrape, every broken blister, watching as the male picked the arid grass and bits of twigs from her bedraggled curls. Even Er’it could admit she was in quite the state, but why letting the healer have his hands on her was enraging Er’it was not something he understood. That it angered him that Maruk was the one to peel away the ruined gown, to wash away the filth from her welted flesh, was enough to infuriate him further.
All of it while the Omega whimpered in an exhausted faint. Limbs slack and skin over warm to the touch, her list of maladies grew. Heat exhaustion, overexertion, lack of food, dehydration. All of it listed off in the healer’s dry tones as if Er’it hadn’t been the one inflicting it upon her in the first place.
Nose wrinkling at the sharp bite of cinnamon and clove layered over the rank scent of the healing plants, Er’it stalked towards the open flap to breathe in air tainted by the smell of dying things. Staring at the barren hills and scrubby grasses that struggled in vain to remain alive, he wondered if this place would ever recover. Coming through the rough Solosas mountains, they hadn’t seen the true state of Aeslomor. Sucked dry by its previous ruler, the emperor Otaso styled himself to be, the mountains hung in balance.
The other mages had all voiced their concerns as soon as he’d deposited the Omega in his tent and went in search of dinner. Droning on with their worries as Er’it became more impatient. Eager to tear the ruined gown from his prize and slide back inside of her warm, wet tightness, he had told them all to quit their whining and let him be.
Now in an effort to cool his temper and keep his desire in check for the moment, he looked around the barren little valley with a furious scowl. The land was claimed in his name, and now people would expect him to fix this mess. Coming from Denath, a land of dark sands and ever-changing horizons, he understood the real fear these Aeslomorans had about their home. A life in a desert was harsh and unforgiving, not for the weak of spirit or will. The Hat’or only knew how much they had endured under Otaso’s rule all these years, and now to have their very land threatened, watching it wither away every cycle… Er’it grunted and kicked at a frayed clump of grass, frown hardening when it tore free.
Crouching down, he picked it up, turning the matted clump over in his hands. The earth was stiff and crumbling, turning to powder under his touch. No roots to delve deep into the ground, sheared off at the base from any sustenance. It would take generations for the land to heal itself, dozens of cycles just for the farmers to do more than scrape by without losing half their crops and animals. A little less time if a mage were to feed power back into the mountains. Easier still to sacrifice a few thousand and let their blood-soaked corpses drain into the parched dirt, though far more gruesome and not what the Aeslomorans had asked for.
“Majesty,” Endi said as she approached with head bowed and eyes downcast.
“I can’t do anything about it tonight, woman. You and the others will just have to wait until I find someone to remain here and do
