We Solemn Few

Chapter Eighteen : Festering Heat

Veyha thrashed in the midst of sleep, a heat like magma weaving through her veins taking a hold on her so violently that even in the midst of unconsciousness her chest heaved with an unwell heaviness and her entire being trembled in pain. It did not take her long to wake; the pain tore her from sleep as assuredly as a bucket of ice water might have. But she would have preferred the ice water ten, no, a hundred times over. She always thought she preferred warmth to cold, but as she gasped between throat-burning breaths she wordlessly begged to never feel to heat again. A prayer she had made more and more often as of late, and as of last night one which she thought would never be answered.

She tried to move but her body did not obey her, and dread truly curled through her for the first time; she had always been a foolishly hopeful girl, and now it would tear her apart. For the first time she truly believed she was going to die here, sweat to death or blazed to death by whatever had wormed its way into her. She would not be surprised if the sun had replaced her heart with how sharp her chest blazed. Each breath brought as much pain as relief, and even her own hands upon her skin made her skin feel as if it were melting. She cried tearlessly, sobbing cries that were so hoarse they very well may tear the air. She felt so weak, so helplessly. She was going to die here and...

"Z-zenrin..." she croaked, curling up into a tight, fire-numbed ball upon the bed. The pain was growing distant now, for some odd reason, and the room's colors seemed duller. "Zenrin, please... please help me..." She blinked once, then twice, slower, and by the third the darkness claimed her, and she faded into it fearing she would never wake. Zenrin, I-... The pain allowed not even a solace in a final thought, and then even her mind was thrown into the blazing forge of her own body. She was not even the slightest bit aware of pounding knocks at the door.

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Scorn you, you oblivion born- Ixus heaved a deep breath as wide eyes regarded the frankly shattered, limp body of Veyha, words escaping his lips soundlessly. Five days! He had said five scornful days! And now? Scorn him and every oblivion channeled telling! Cursing would change nothing of course, only action, and in a flash he was seeing to Veyha. He was no doctor, of course, but this... his hand burned when he touched her skin! No doctor could do anything about that, not any more than him. He shouted a curse so loud the room should have shook. "He couldn't have possibly meant to..." his teeth grinded against one another, heavy with rage, "I said to not get the children involved, and he-!"

A squeak at the doorway betrayed the appearance of one of the inn's maids, and his eyes - his sure they were glowing with a flame of rage that burned as much as Veyha's skin did, now - sent a shudder down her spine, though she did not move. Not yet. He shouted at her to bring him towels and ice water both, and fast! She ran as quickly as he's ever seen a woman scurry in skirts, but then she may very well think he might murder her otherwise. He would not, not a woman, but... But nothing, nothing at all. He could curse him as much as he wanted, but he was just involved. Mythos, could the woman take any longer with the ice?

Even though he shook with hatred-heated rage, he knew she likely sped about as fast as she could manage, and she did come with ice and towels despite a tremble to her lips as she asked if there was anything more she could do. When he dismissed her, he was not sure if she was more relieved to merely be freed of service toward him or whether she was simply glad his eyes were no longer upon her. He grimaced at the thought; he didn't even like scaring women, but he did what he must for children. And Veyha, no less! He had half-raised her since her father walked out on her and her mother both - a good thing, that; her father had been a risk to more than just his own family - and he was not going to watch her die because some scornful fool decided it! He would pay for that.

Despite the burning he felt carrying her - Mythos, he was surprised flames were not ripping through her skin! - he set her in the wash basin in the bathroom, stripped her down, and filled the bath with all the ice water the serving girl had provided. The crackling-sizzle sound the water made against her skin terrified him nearly as much as the thought of her dying here, and the mist that rose off the water said the cold would not last. Cursing for perhaps the five hundredth time yet he grasped at the Arcanum and rooted it in loops around his fingers, curling it tight into his fist, and even through the rage he knew every movement perfectly. Twines of arcana twisted within and through one another, creating an odd weave of twists and turns that turned to a chill blue upon completion, and thus cold poured forth from his hands. At first it felt as natural as breathing, but a minute more and his breathing grew slower and tiredness already tugged at his fingers and arms. Three minutes and he had to let the Arcanum unravel with a heft of a sigh, the ice not much colder than it had been.