Page 62 of Master
Mei stood pressed tight against Bartholomeus' chest. The large male had curled his body over the tiny woman in an attempt to protect her.
“What’s wrong with their eyes?” Clara asked, noticing the thick milky substance coating over the sclera and iris.
“A sign of the infection,” I grunted. My father had golden eyes like mine, but in my memories, all I recalled was the milky stare as he engaged in endless battle.
“Why isn’t the rain curing them?" Clara demanded, fingertips gingerly touching Mei's face as I attempted to cover all of us with the umbrella. Realizing the futility of keeping us dry, I abandoned the bright pink bubble. Besides, the rain had slowed to a manageable drizzle.
I sighed, dreading the next part. "The rain doesn’t cure those already infected.”
“What’s the cure?” Clara lifted Mei’s chin in her hand, trying desperately to find some semblance of recognition in the milky gaze.
“There isn’t one.”
"What?" Clara jerked to face me. "You said the rain...."
“The rain removes the drug from the air, but once mumje takes hold, there is no way to reverse the infection.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“So what?” She gestured at the village angrily. “These poor people just stand around drooling for the rest of their lives?”
“No.” I curved my hands over her shoulders. "We can lead those affected to care for themselves, but not cure them.”
"No," Clara whined. "Mei was going to adopt one of the children arriving on the Bardaga. She was so excited."
It took a minute to realize most of the moisture on her cheeks came from her tears.
"I'm sorry, my darlin'."
“We have to do something for them,” Clara wailed, burying her face against my chest. I wrapped an arm around her waist, holding tight, while my other hand reached for Bartholomeus' shoulder.
“Bartholomeus... Mei,” I said as soon as my hand made contact.
The two straightened stiffly. Being under the influence of mumje didn't shield one from the agonizing soreness of holding the same position for hours on end. However, they could not express discomfort unless allowed. The two faced me, a faint tiltto their heads as though some part deep down wanted to signal attention.
“Both of you go to Mei’s home and care for yourselves. Clean up, eat, and rest.”
“Are you their master now?” Clara asked softly as we watched Mei and Bartholomeus disappear down a side street.
“Don’t call me that.” My retort came out harsher than intended. I sighed, pulling Clara close. "No man should be master of another. Being responsible for so many…." My voice trailed off, stomach clenching in disgust.
"I agree with you, Tarook. I do." Bright violet eyes regarded me through the drizzle. “But if we don’t accept responsibility for these people, someone awful might.” Her arms slipped around my waist, squeezing tightly. "In my opinion, there's no one better to do this than you."
Clara had a point. Luckily, whoever perpetrated this attack hadn't returned. No telling who it was or what plans they held for these innocents. My mind flashed to the image of my father and another man locked in a bloody battle, each too tired to land a blow but fighting for the sport of someone unknown who made himself their master.
“Come with me?” I asked.
“Always.” She pressed her lips to my cheek, the warmth of her mouth a welcome respite from the chilling rain.
Hand in hand, we moved through the crowd. I stopped beside each villager, gently touching an arm or shoulder while giving the same command—go home, eat, and rest. Each time, my stomach churned in disgust. I called some of the villagersby name... some names I did not know and prayed the journey home for them would not be too distant.
We found Lula near the bandstand, and at Clara's suggestion, I sent her to Mei's. There was no sign of Buck in the immediate throng.
The rain quelled by the time we made it through the town square, and shards of afternoon sunlight squinted through the cloud cover.
The last people we found were a mother and child huddled under a bench at the edge of the village square. It appeared they'd tried to escape, taking refuge under the only available option. Even in her infected state, she held her child close. I knelt, placing my hand gently on her frail shoulder.
