Culling of the Blood

Chapter 5-Embracing Tragedy

 Standing on the banks of a river, Quadir stared into the deep, swift currents trying to maintain his composure. He coughed fitfully, violently. His throat was raw, and he tasted blood as the coughing fit summoned a bout of dry heaves. But there was nothing in his stomach to bring up, except knots, which coiled so tightly inside him that his muscles cramped. Unable to catch his breath, he panted in shallow gasps.    

"You can't go on like this," the Elven girl whispered. She stood a dozen paces behind him, holding onto Merlin's reins. The stallion laid his head in her arms as she stroked his face.

"And yet we have to," he managed to rasp. "They've probably noticed we got away."

"Once we cross into the borders of the Roanwolde Forest, they won't dare follow. Please, take some rest. If only a moment."

He nodded in reply, unable to get enough breath into his lungs to speak.

The rain had stopped, but the air remained damp and cold. Nostrils flared, Quadir braced himself, unsuccessfully, against another fit of coughing. He dropped to a knee, making the action look voluntary as he cupped his hands and splashed cold water over his face.

"You wouldn't happen to have another one of those leaves by chance?" he asked.

Leading Merlin beside her, she reached into her bodice and produced another endelia leaf. "Last one."

"Keep it," he sighed, shaking his head. "Might need it later."

"You won't last without it." She laid her hand on his shoulder, the leaf jutting from between her fingers.

Quadir took it reluctantly, his fingers brushing against hers. He stood in silence, chewing the leaf before swallowing it. "I don't even know your name."

"Adiadithiel Valydrienn," she said, laughing at his reaction. "If it is too difficult for your Human tongue, you may call me Adiadi."

"Does that mean something? In Elven I mean?" he asked, breathing easier.

"All names have meaning. Mine means tragedy." She smiled, rubbing a hand across Merlin's neck. "My father has a macabre sense of humor. I was born just moments before my brother, whom he named Ereithaar, which means comedy."

"Twins?"

"Yes. And you?" She tilted her head to the side, waiting for him to complete the courtesy.

"Quadir Janzsoon. My partner there is Merlin."

She ran her fingers through Merlin's forelock, scratching his face. Quadir felt the sting of jealousy as the stallion closed his eyes, leaning into her caresses.

"If I studied by Baru-Baithi well, your name means foretold. Your last name comes from a place that needs no explanation: the Desert of a Thousand Waters. But something tells me you have never been there."

"You'd be right."

Quadir clasped a hand over the crossbow bolt injury as a pleasant numbness spread across his chest. He had to pee, but thought better of it. Puking in front of a pretty girl was bad enough. He couldn't imagine what she thought of him as she wrapped her slender arms about her torso and shivered.

"Cold?" He reached into his saddle bag for the black Henley that he wore for a pajama top. "Little damp, but it should give you an extra layer."

As she shrugged into the thermal shirt, he put his arms around her shoulders, pulling her hair from beneath the collar. Realizing that he had intruded into her personal space, he quickly took a step back to let her adjust the long hem by herself.