The Shadow of Eons

Chapter 12

The girl Marta was still weeping when they arrived at The Inn of the Raging Bull and sat down at a table. The dark and smoky common room was a welcome respite from the chaos of the market outside. Jonas ordered three ales and three meals, then leaned back and sighed. All of his muscles ached from the constant walking; this was the first chair he had sat in since he had been in the goddess Graciala's care, and he felt he should take the time to enjoy it. He closed his eyes and let himself sink slowly into the hard cloth.

He had no idea how he was going to get Oliver back: with the nonsense he was raving about being a god (even if it was true), he would likely be held until he could get sober, which would be never, for Lucille, who was locked up with him, did not have the antidote.

"I don't know what I'm going to do without her," Marta moaned over her ale, her head in her hands. Her tear-stained face looked as ragged as that of the beggar they had passed at the entrance to the city.

Jonas pulled her head up and pressed the glass to her lips. "Drink," he commanded, and with her assistance poured some of the cool ale down her throat. She gulped it down heavily and then belched, covering her mouth with her hand and smiling wearily. "There," he told her. "Better?"

She nodded her lovely brunette head, which was Jonas's signal to dive into his meal. But before he did that, he scratched at his neck, which had been growing itchier as the hours had passed. Oliver had bandaged the wound where the acaba had bit him, and the poultice evidently needed to be changed. He felt over it once more with his hand, then brought it to his nose: the odor was the foul stench of rotting meat.

"Here, let me have a look at that," Marta said when she saw him fingering the wound. Jonas turned his neck so that it faced her, and she removed the bandage carefully, placing it on the table.

"Don't put it too near my food," Rose said.

"It is festering," Marta announced, placing the bandage back on the wound. "You need to see a chirurgeon. It has turned red, blue, yellow and green."

"Red, blue and yellow I understand, but green?" he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I've never seen green."

"It is also very swollen," the girl said, picking up her glass again and draining it. "Ahh, it's been some time since I had ale that is not cheap swill."

"Where can we find a chirurgeon?" Rose piped up, her childish face concerned. Her fork, which was spearing a piece of steak, was frozen halfway to her mouth

"Finish your meal," Jonas commanded her. "And don't talk while you eat. We will figure out our problems afterwards."

"I can help you with that," came the reedy voice of the man who was tending bar. He was short, bald and had a sallow complexion, with eyebrows that covered almost the whole top half of his face. "I know a man who can take care of that wound, but for a price."

Had Jonas any coin besides what he had paid the barkeep already, he would have jumped at the offer; Oliver, however, was the one with the purse, and he was out of commission. "That is not happening," Jonas snapped at the bartender, though he knew the man didn't deserve it. "Our money is likely being spent at this very moment by thirsty soldiers at a bar very much like this one. Two of our friends were just captured by the city guard for being drunk. Am I correct in assuming they are probably not coming back?"

The bartender nodded, the few lank strands of hair atop his head waving with his movement, as if they were being blown by a gentle breeze. "Yes," he said. "The vizier is being extra strict, what with the Eaters of Life in the city trying to take our children for themselves." He spat on the floor and then rubbed it in with his boot. "Those dastardly snakes."