The Isbjørn

Addendum

Time had begun to dissolve into itself, as shapeless as the fat, heavy flakes of snow that drew on into the end of summer.

The snow came each night where the darkness drew longer, offering the lights of Sao Soles. Each morning put Iaran'talamh under a sheet of white, erasing the troubles of yesterday which were abundant. Sri did her best to direct Daire toward a new and positive day each morning as she bidded  her time with the naval notes. Slowly, but surely getting a little further.

Rising each morning, he rose with her love, giving him the resolve to push forward. The coolness in the air rejuvenated his spirit, elevated his hopes and gave new reasons to step forward with confidence. Time went on to fall and there was beauty in it. Fall came with a type of clarity, offering the kind of thinking that allowed him to move on. A week passed without so much a thought on John and it hurt him to realize that he was letting the man's memory drift from his mind.

"It's better you forget," Sri told him one night.

She saw the way the memory of John made him sad. John - humorous and stubborn, like Daire ever needed that. He had to stop thinking of him now. The wish for him to be there filled him with such rage and bitterness that he felt weak. Everyday in his memory was spent in grief for him, but first Daire would have to accept he was really gone. There was still a part of him that would never believe he would appear around some corner to laughing at Daire for falling for his elaborate joke.

The Council was meeting in the war room late one evening, ridden with anxiety, expecting warships for Unionem Netat within the next twelve hours.

"We have an Art'thach roaming the perimeter to the west," Oengus assured them. His hard eyes working over the map in search for holes in their defenses. "What has Sri said of the oncoming attack?"

Daire had remained back from the table, she had been irritable lately. They used to take mornings working out the codes together, but lately she was MIA. "That they're inevitable." Whenever he asked if something was wrong, she would turn the subject against him. He blamed the worsening weather and the general seclusion for her behavior.

"We can't risk another misfire." Leaning a little apart from the others was a tall Isbjørn with a fair and noble face, dark-haired and dark-eyed, who was quite stern of eye and proud in standing. Henri had been their chosen voice of the Isbjørns and was ever cautious. "We lost thirty soldiers with the last ship that landed on our shores."

A sudden knock drew all eyes toward the door. Oengus called the visitor inside.
The opening door revealed a face that was rarely seen out of the clinic.

Lin was a medical apprentice, never leaving the side of Cormac, one of the best doctors in Iaran'talamh.

"What is it, Lin?"

Her eyes fell on Daire, there was a light panic to them that immediatly drew him out of the chair.

He glanced apologetically around the table and took off. The severity of her gaze had him thinking the worst. It was Sri, something was wrong with Sri. His heart was beating nearly out of his chest by the time he reached the clinic in town. It was little more than a grand house on a hill just over the bridge, indeed that is what it had been before the war on Mankind had taken place in Iaran'talamh. Once the Isbjørns had pushed the enemy back, they had seized this mansion for their own use as a clinic, drawing in medical staff and supplies they required. Since the many bedrooms had become wards.

Daire reaches the wooden double-doors turning the long dulled chrome handles. Without pause he pushed with all his body weight, and a single door swung in with a long groan. A draft of air hit his face, warm and with a scent of honiz, a plant with natural antibacterial properties.
He pulled his eyes from the wooden floor to catch a glimpse of the hallway that stretched beyond. Signs had been secured along multiple walls, guiding visitors to the different wards. He passed a different one every few steps: emergency, recovery, maternity, surgery he bypassed them all, heading directly for Cormac and demanding to see her.

"Sri? No, Sri is fine," he replied with hesitation.

Daire took a step back, more confused than ever.

"It's a man- two men actually they asked for you by name."

Cormac pointed Daire around a corner. Cutting around the doorway and saw what was without a doubt Sri's body angled over another human sized frame. Daire's heart jumped into his throat when the scent reached his nostrils: an iron smell with a tint of sweet-meaty-ness blood, human blood and that chemical mix of polish and citrus.

"Sri-"

She looked over her shoulder at Daire for just a moment before looking back front. "He's not well," she said softly.

Cormac came a second behind him.

Daire approached, slower than he thought possible, stopping the moment he saw John's face.

The muscles under his sweat doused skin twitched as he wavered into consciousness. His eyes creased so tightly that his lids looked welded together with his skin.

A man just vaguely familiar to Daire stood on the other side of him and set a hand on his chest, feeling for any concerning changes in his vitals.

John cracked his parched lips and Daire's name fell out of John's dry mouth. All eyes turned on him and Daire felt pressured to draw in closer. He smelled something else then, a horrible rotten smell: infection of the flesh.

"John... I'm here."

He remained stiff, unmoving. Small gasps would fall out of his mouth that weren't quite words.

Sri brushed the hair back from his face. "They almost blew his ship out of the water."

Daire's stomach tightened, nobody in the council had been made aware of any ship approaching. Had that ship been destroyed John would have been lost to him.

"My leg..."

"Rest." The stranger tensed as he felt John's heart beat rising.

"I can't feel..." He tappered off, too weak to finish. But he felt everything else, the pain scoring through his flesh, the burn in the muscle. The sensation was eerily familiar to waking to the loss of his calf. Pain, burning, and nothing all at once.

Sri could say nothing on the state of his leg. Daire turned his eyes to John's lower body where a blanket had been haphazardly thrown over his body. Slowly, the Isbjørn pulled back the blanket and froze the limb was gone, everything from the knee down was missing. He glanced around as if there was any hope of finding it in the clinic but the very thought had been rediculous.

The stranger pulled the sheet from Daire's grasp and layed it back over what remained of John's lower half.

Daire locked eyes with him, certain they had met before if only briefly.

Sri waited as his heart beat began to slow but Daire was not so patient. "What happened, John?"

He muttered something unintelligible.

Over the weeks they known each other, he had disappeared twice before, coming back with his fair share of scrapes and bruises, but never so close to death.

"Who did this to you?"

He was fading back into unconsciousness.

"John stay awake!"

Sri pushed him back and he redirected his rage to the stranger.

"How did this happen! Who are you?"

He met the questions with a dignified calm. The pain in his own eyes was reflective of exactly what Daire felt. "My name is Lucian Patella." He brushed back the untamed hair falling into his eyes. The journey to Iaran'talamh had been long and arduous. There was quite a story leading to the very moment that had drawn them there and he had the sense Daire would want to hear every piece of it before he ultimately decided if he would get to live. He cast heavy eyes on John's tight face, his own expression twitching slightly. "I guess it all started in Easthaven when I received transmission of his arrest."