Page 37 of The Sea-Ogre's Eager Bride

I touch his cheek, noting that he’s burning up. “Are you waking up? Ranan?”

No response. His lips part and they look cracked and dry. I don’t know how much water he drinks, but I’m guessingthat someone that spends most of his day submerged probably needs a fair amount to keep his throat wet. He needs a drink. I look around, helpless. There’s nothing here but those stupid oversized round nuts. I kick one away, and to my surprise, it sloshes.

Oh.

When I take a closer look at the nut, I recognize the outer shell. It’s some sort of exotic fruit that Lady Dywan would have on her table occasionally. I’ve never tasted it, but I have had a taste of the milk that comes inside. It’s something for Ranan to drink at least.

I claw at the nut’s hard-but-spongy exterior, trying to open it. Doesn’t work. Frustrated, I stab the knife right into the heart of the damned thing, and a clear liquid spurts out. I yelp, grabbing the oversized nut before all the liquid can pour out, and hold it carefully over Ranan’s parched mouth. It dribbles against his lips, and I stroke his throat to encourage him to swallow. When it runs down the sides of his face, I set the nut aside, tilted carefully so the precious liquid remains intact, and stroke his face to comfort him. “Ranan?”

Still no response. All I can do is hope that things aren’t as dire as they look.

I press my fingers to his skin, but he still feels hot and feverish all over. I soak the fabric one more time, then drape the wet length over his body to cool him. He sighs at that, and I feel as if I’ve done something right, at least.

There’s a splash in the distance, and I think guiltily of Akara. Is the turtle anxiously awaiting news about Ranan? Or does she know I have under control? I move to the water’s edge and wade back out to her, reaching for the enormous face. She could take my entire body in her mouth and snap me in half, and yet I’m not afraid of her any longer.

We both want the same thing—for Ranan to survive.

I stroke the hard beak, sending her warm thoughts. “He’s going to be fine,” I reassure her. I’m not sure if that’s true or not. I don’t know how to take care of him out here with no supplies, but I’m going to do my best. Ranan’s going to need food to keep up his strength, though, and I’m no fisherwoman. We can eat the fruit, of course, but I think Akara will need something to do to keep herself busy. I know I would. “Can you patrol the waters for us, Akara? Make sure no predators are coming this way?”

The turtle makes another bellowing sound, and then she pushes off away from the land-spit, leaving me alone with the unconscious Ranan. For a moment, I panic as she leaves. She’s my way back to the grotto, to safety. But as I watch her go, I relax a bit more. Akara is loyal. She’s devoted to Ranan. There’s no way she’d leave him here. She’ll make certain we’re safe here and once Ranan’s awake and able to walk, we’ll get him on her back and to the grotto where I can take proper care of him.

I sit down next to him, stroking his too-warm brow, and wait.

The stars glitterhigh in the sky and the night is absolutely clear. The weather is beautiful and the sea around us calm. If it weren’t for the fact that Ranan is grievously wounded, I might appreciate the quiet, perfect night.

As it is, it just emphasizes how much is wrong.

Ranan continues to sleep, but his dreams are fitful and unpleasant. He sweats. He tosses. He turns. He breathes rapidly sometimes, as if he’s running up a hill, yet he remains asleep. I keep his leg wet, because seawater has to be more sterile than the sand that crusts everything, but I worry it’s not enough. If we were in a city, I’d insist the local healer come by. They’d sell us some stinky potion for him to drink, sew up his leg, say a fewprayers to Kalos, the Lord of Disease, and ask him to stay his hand.

And while I can do the prayers here, I don’t know if they’ll do any good if his leg doesn’t get sewn up. Right now it’s just an open wound, and I know that isn’t good at all.

I prop his head in my lap throughout the night, stroking the delicate fin that rises from his head. Even it feels overly warm, and it worries me. At least back at the grotto I could give him my willow bark. I could bathe him with fresh water and feed him soup. I could sew up his leg.

Being out here in the middle of nowhere will be death for him if he doesn’t awaken.

Daylight comes, and Akara returns with a bellow. She slaps at the water with her fins to demand that I come greet her. I wade back out to her, my face raw from the sunlight and my mouth parched. My stomach rumbles, but I’ve been saving the white flesh from the nuts for Ranan in case he should wake up. But now that Akara has returned, I have a new idea.

“I’m glad you’re back, because we need to talk,” I tell the turtle as I wade out to her side. Akara immediately comes to me and pushes her nose against my hands, not unlike the barn cats used to back at the farm in Parness. I stroke her nose and images of Ranan drift through my mind, pushed to me by the turtle. She’s asking how he is. I send my thoughts back to her, filling my head with the unconscious Ranan and then mental images of Ranan back at the grotto, Ranan awake and smiling. “We need to go back. I can’t tend to him here. Can you take us?”

She makes a sound I don’t quite grasp and turns her head in a different direction, as if pointing at something. I hope we’re thinking along the same lines. There’s no way to tell.

I’m going to have to gamble that she understands me. I think she does, because when I move back to Ranan’s side, she remains calm, leisurely turning her large body in the shallowwaters. That’s a good sign. I bend over Ranan, ignoring the throb of my bare feet and the pain of my overly pink sunburned skin. I can bear all that if Ranan lives.

Touching his cheek, I stroke it to try and wake him. “Ranan? Can you rouse? I need to get you on Akara’s back and it’s going to be a lot easier if you’re awake.”

There’s no response. I stroke his cheek again, and he moans, the sound heart-wrenching.

I need to get him back to the grotto and soon. Leaning in, I kiss his cheek and stroke his face. “I’m going to fix this. I promise.”

I have to.

It takes a long time for me to tug him back to the water’s edge. The sandy strip turns into rocks, and I don’t want to knock him against them. Plus, he’s twice as heavy as me. Using the fabric as a travois, I manage to drag him a little at a time, and the fabric rips and tears in my grip. By the time I get him into the shallows, it’s practically shredded. I manage to pull him through the water over to Akara’s side, and then have to figure out how to get him up the turtle’s sloping back. I send a lot of mental images to Akara and use the strips of fabric to make a harness over his shoulders, and brace myself on the join of Akara’s head and neck, straining to haul him upward.

The hamarii turtle flicks her head, sending me tumbling backward, but it also shoves Ranan’s limp form high enough that I can haul him up.

I want to weep with joy as Akara pushes off from the spit, heading out into the deeper waters once more. But there’s no relief for me just yet. I gather the ripped remnants of fabric and start to piece it back together with knots, because Ranan needs to keep his head covered from the relentless sun.

I can rest when we return to the grotto, I tell myself.

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