Figurehead

twenty-three

I wake with sweat on my forehead, my nose and hairline, gasps of breath shuddering and rapid, chest heaving. At least I didn't scream this time. I pull myself upright, catching my breath and pushing my hair out of my face with a heavy sigh, closing my eyes to steady myself.

I saw blood, I saw bone and tissues, I saw snapped necks, broken bones, broken bodies. People I knew, dead and lying in pools of blood at my feet.

My Lord, keep them safe. Keep my kin safe, keep my friends safe. Bring them all closer to You, Lord. Bring me closer to You. Heal me, heal them. Let them wake to know Your mercy. Have mercy, Lord, for we are weak. We are weak, Lord, we need You.

Your will be done, Lord, Your will alone be done.

In the name of Your holy Son, amen.

I release a breath and do what I can to untangle my hair as I run my hands through it. What time is it? The fire is dwindling. I twist my body so I face the bed and, closer, the chest of drawers, and rifle through the drawer nearest to the ground to find kindling.

I straighten, ignoring the complaint of the bruises on my body from having twisted my torso, and take a handful from where I set some on the ground. I have thrown knives before, and my aim was not too bad. So let's see..

I toss the snapped twigs, dry and crunching beneath my fingers, in the direction of the firepit. Some find their way to the fire, others land quietly around the outside. At least it is a little warmer now.

I push the images of my dreams out of my mind, for now, and grab the staff at my side to pull myself up to my feet. I'm getting used to it. Kind of.

"Hey, Dein," I sigh heavily, dropping gracelessly into the seat at his bedside. I could get used to seeing him every single day- if only he were awake. I run my hands through my hair again, pulling and tying it back.

His chest rises and falls gently with each breath. I touch his cheek. His skin is warm. Good. Still, I adjust the sheet over him, sighing heavily with a quiet ache. "I'm waiting for you to wake up," I murmur. "Who isn't?" I pause. "The Sirdiu, I suppose. Some of them. Oh, so many are dead. So many still sleep, like you."

I touch his cheek again before standing. I can't spend all my days of healing in his rooms, waiting for him to wake. I stifle a yawn as I step into the front room. Tui is asleep, curled up on her pallet beneath a sheet in the corner of the room. Fiut sleeps, sprawled out on his pallet, near the fire.

Someone must be in the room at all times. Someone trusted.

I stifle a sigh and return to his bedside, pushing the chair aside to sit on the ground, leaning back against the wooden frame of his bed. "I haven't seen Lus or Sher," I tell him. My voice is a bare murmur. "I hope you didn't see what happened to Nirs." My throat begins to close. "I hope you'll wake. I hope you'll be at her parting ceremony and that there won't be one for you or Lus or Sher."

Sovereign Lord, You are our King
There is no other; anything
Comes from Your hand, Your hand alone
Your love is true still when we roam

Amen, amen, so let all come to pass
According to Your words alone,
Your will
There is no other
You have no rival
O Lord, You alone, You are our King

The lyrics slip through my lips unintentionally, settling comfortably into the silences in the air. I reach blindly up onto the bed and take his hand, lacing my fingers through his. His hand is warm, real and solid- but not as it should be. It's limp. Lifeless. A passive warmth.

I close my eyes.

Remember us, Sovereign Lord, in Your mercy. Remember these who sleep, these who we can only watch to see if You will wake them or let them continue to sleep until they meet You. Lord, Lord, be with us. Be with the sleeping. Be with their friends, their kin, be with the people of this empire who need You more than ever.