The Time Tower (the first visit)

The Fall: Chapter 6

Neeman's mouth elongated into a devilish grin, and his eyes darkened into a molten black mask, like the mirror that the guardian had worn out on the marsh.

"Very good," it hissed, still in Neeman's voice, and pushed her down until her back made contact with the stairs. She scrambled up them backward on her hands and feet, crab-like, not sure how far she would be able to climb this time, as the monster wearing Neeman's face stalked her.

She almost cried out in relief when - a dozen steps later - a door burst open. She hurried to put it between herself and the monster before she was caught up in the memory.

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A cough broke the still night air, jerking Pima awake. She'd fallen asleep with her cheek pressed against the low kitchen table, legs bent under her at an awkward angle. She stumbled sleepily to her feet and hurried to the next room.

Her mother was lying amidst a heap of thrown off blankets. Her purple coverlet lay crumpled on the floor at the foot of the bed. She was sweating and mumbling in her sleep, caught in a fever dream.

Pima grabbed a blanket off the edge of the bed and threw it over her mother's form before turning her attention to the leg poking out of the sheets.

The bottom half of her mother's right leg was swollen and red. A square of linen - folded twice and stuffed with feverfew - was taped around the worst section. Pima would have to change it again tonight. She fought down the bile that rose in her throat as she pictured the skin underneath it.

Pima had found her two days ago lying crumpled on the ground at the edge of the treeline outside their house. She seemed unharmed except for the bright red wound on her leg. It didn't look like an animal bite. Try as she might, Pima had not been able to get her to open her eyes.

Pima had found no fang marks, no stringers, no attached parasite. The redness had spread at a fast clip until it consumed her lower leg, and the wound itself - whatever it was - had swollen into an ugly pink, purple, and brown pitted mass.

The fever had set in late last night, and nothing Pima had tried had eased it.

Pima was ashamed at the way she'd screamed her head off when she found her mother, and, except for short trips to the latrine and the kitchen, she hadn't left her side since Akish carried her to bed. Akish was gone to collect supplies from neighbors - she'd finally bent to his suggestion - and Pima shouldn't have left her alone.

She reached for her mother's hand now and laid her head down beside her pillow.

"Hey."

Pima jerked upright and whirled toward the kitchen. Neeman stood in the doorway, a sack slung over his shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" She didn't mean to sound so harsh, but his expression only sunk deeper into pity.

"He's with me. He helped me carry the supplies." Akish shouldered past Neeman, dropped two packs on the ground beside his sleeping pallet, and sat on the other side of the bed.

Pima bowed her head and asked in a gentler tone, "Did you find anything?"

"A few things. Can't be sure when we don't know what got her. I'll try anything, though." His tone was light, but he couldn't hide the pain in his eyes. Pima didn't doubt that his pain was an almost physical thing. He was much better at that sort of thing than she was. She had often wondered when she was younger if there was something wrong with her, the fact that she couldn't connect with people that way that her brother did. But she didn't have time to worry about such things now. A numbness like she'd never felt before had crept into her mind, and it left her feeling ambivalent to her surroundings.