Brimstone

PROLOGUE: THE WISP FROM THE WRECKAGE

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.”

Nurse Ka paused, as if suppressing this realization or perhaps holding back a question. She looked down at the small, wordless child she had pulled from the rubble earlier that day. Her arms and legs were covered in bandages that Ka had lovingly applied as the right side of the willowy little body was completely burnt – rough and black as coal. What continued to captivate her were the strange opalescent eyes that held her gaze like giant pearls beneath a crystal surf. Somehow her eyes had been spared from the flames, along with her left cheek. It was the mystical glow of these eyes that had drawn her to the child hidden in debris in the first place. They had peered outward from the wreckage like moons from a distant planet spilling silver light on her oddly beautiful little face and deep into Ka’s soul.

The older woman furrowed her wrinkled brow, scolding herself silently. Only one survivor this week, and she wasn’t in good shape. Ka needed to do better.

“It wasn’t always like this...” she trailed off, choking down currents of emotion that threatened to burst her open.

She took a decisive breath and let whatever it was she was trying to say dissipate into the cold, damp air.

She was becoming sentimental and that felt dangerous.

Ka busied herself with her heavy iron-plated cart, adjusting layers of ratty, insulated bedding inside.

When she felt satisfied with her work, she perked her ears in concentration, then padded quickly and quietly along the narrow tunnel that led away from her makeshift infirmary towards the cave’s craggy mouth.

As she peaked around the edge of the opening, golden-peach light flooded her vision as the sun slipped through the branches towards the horizon like raw egg through fingers.

“Good,” she whispered under her breath.

It was time.

Night fell quick and cool– a thick lapis lazuli shroud of respite. The ionized air filled Ka with purpose. This had always been her favourite time and tonight, it was her shield. The vile and unforgiving dragons never came out after dark - not unless something was horribly wrong.

Ka navigated the winding mountainous paths in the twilight like a dancer in a court spectacle - a vision she could faintly recall behind her eyelids from the times when things were different. A time when life had felt as if it would open to her like a sunflower in the first blush of autumn.

For such a frail looking woman who had lived through nearly ninety winters, the ease with which she pulled along the bulky cart appeared a triumph against gravity. In reality, however, she had walked this route more times than she could count, dragging the dead and injured behind her. Today’s cargo was light in comparison. In fact, she would have worried about a great wind carrying her off the craggy path, had she not gripped the cold, comforting metal. It weighed her down and made her feel like an extension of the mountainside.

The child slept - or seemed to.

The moon rose and fell, as did the steep rocky path.

The cart rattled ever onward.

Nurse Ka found herself walking through dreamlike memories as she continued her climb through the night. Memories of a kinder planet always seemed to haunt her in these moments when time slowed down and she could breathe again: Feasts at the palace, garments of silk, laughter and games under a sun that did not betray them...

She wished, in spite of herself, that she could forget. Maybe every step, every uphill battle, would be easier if only she could imagine it had always been this way.

It was nearly daybreak by the time the land leveled and Ka heard the playful music of rushing water crescendoing toward her.

She’d made it to another day, she noted absent-mindedly.

Approaching a small waterfall in the side of the rock wall, Ka muttered the incantation and plunged through without becoming damp. She pulled the cart behind her, and vanished into the swell.

The old Gardner was unusually tense and impatient this morning. He briefly noticed the child’s unusual eyes before quickly looking away.

“I’ve told ya I can’t take one that don’t walk, Ka! I gotta take care of me own boy... an’ I’d be surprised if this’n makes it through another night. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t even reuse the bandages if I wanted to, their all spoiled - it’d be a total loss… I don’t want cha to go hungry lass, but there’s only so much food to go around. What would I do with this poor wretch?”

The gruff voice continued to drone on with reasons, probably good ones, but by now Ka was in another place.

She didn’t know what she had expected, or why she had felt so compelled to bring the child at all. It was true, the child hadn’t moved or uttered a sound all day. She would probably die - and no-one in their right mind would barter for her, let alone take her without the promise of more.

Ka had always considered herself tough, hard even. In the past sixty-eight cycles around the sun - since everything changed - she had seen and dealt with countless unspeakable atrocities. She had become a person of action. She didn’t blubber, complain, or cry anymore. Why would she? It wouldn’t have helped. She had developed a nearly impenetrable skin... nearly.

She glanced at the child and faltered.

There was something about her silent, calm demeanor that made Ka uneasy, thawed something deep inside of her - something that she would have preferred to have kept numb and buried.

The child couldn’t have been older than eight or nine, at most. Ka hadn’t seen many so shattered who had lived to tell the tale... certainly not one so young. She wanted to look away, but something held her gaze.

An inexplicable warmth and wisdom exuded from those captivating eyes. They flashed, wine dark, and she felt herself becoming lost within them, unsure of what she was seeing.

The child looked back at Ka with an expression she couldn’t quite place... one that she hadn’t seen in years. It was as if this little wisp of a person, more burn than flesh, were concerned for Ka; as if a child at death’s door cared for the wellbeing of some old lady with no-one left in the world.

It reminded her of something in herself, the reason she had started helping people, perhaps.

It reminded her of how home used to feel.

But all this was preposterous. This land only dealt in death - or a life of pain and self-preservation.

It was a cruel world, Ka reminded herself.

Still, what would be the point of leaving her to die?

Ka nodded to the man and promised to trade him medicine for grain the next time she came by, then turned and shuffled back through to her own cramped quarters .

“Now,” whispered Ka tersely, “I’ve got to remove your bandages so I can cover your wounds with a poultice. It’s going to smart for a while but, in the long run, it should help you heal.”

The wisp gave the slightest indication of a nod, or the slightest flicker of a grin, through her pale, burning eyes.

“What did those monsters do to you?” Ka muttered to herself, not expecting an answer, as she vigorously mixed cool blue clay with a variety of tinctures.

She began unbinding the bandages gingerly, until a small hand grabbed her arm with such force that she cursed aloud.

Desperate eyes gazed up at her, needing to communicate, begging her to come closer.

The motion must have caused incredible pain, but the child was so intent, that Ka gently tilted her head down to listen.

“...not monsters,” she lilted in the sweet, muted voice of someone not used to speaking aloud.

“Please, it isn’t their fault, it wasn’t...”

Ka didn’t understand. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. But she nodded as if she did. The passion and importance behind the wisp’s little voice was unmistakable, and now was a time for healing, not debate.

The girl calmed and closed her eyes. The shadow of a dimple etched its way into the unblemished golden skin of her left cheek. With her message delivered, she could rest easy.

Ka may not have known why or how, but in that moment, as she covered the blackened skin and prepared broth and tinctures, she knew with all of her heart that she was going to keep this child alive another day.

Little did she know that five years later, she would still be doing the same.