The Soul of Time by Jennifer Macaire

Author:Jennifer Macaire
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781786154590
Publisher: Accent Press
Published: 2019-05-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Alexander woke up and tried to sit, but he was far too weak. His hands flew to his throat and he touched the bandage we had put there. His face became even paler than before, but he didn’t faint. Instead he took a deep breath, experimenting, and then he whispered, ‘Thank Zeus’, before smiling at us.

I smiled back, and then flung myself on him, holding him so tightly he could hardly breath.

‘Ashley,’ he whispered.

‘How do you feel?’ I asked, not letting go.

‘Shaky. Dirty. Hungry. Weak. My neck hurts like Hades. What happened?’

‘We’ll tell you later. I’ve heated some water. Do you want me to wash you?’

He grinned. ‘You women are always giving baths to the heroes in the stories, aren’t you?’ He was referring to my preference for The Odyssey, a story we used to read aloud to each other.

‘Either that or weaving with our looms,’ I said with a dazzling smile. ‘Oh, Alex, I was so worried about you.’

‘I’ll be fine after you wash me and shave me.’ He fingered his uneven beard. ‘I can’t see myself, but I imagine I must look fairly barbarian.’ His voice was still a broken whisper.

Plexis helped me, and soon Alexander was clean, shaved, and propped up against a tree. He swallowed his fish soup carefully, grimacing when his throat muscles moved. The stitches held, although a thin ribbon of blood trickled down his chest. I waited until he had finished the soup. Then I examined the wound. It was still clean, not inflamed. I washed it carefully with boiled water and marigold, then bandaged it again with a clean cloth. Alexander wanted to see the stitches so we held up Plexis’s mirror. His eyes grew very wide and he turned white.

‘By Arachne’s web, that is a terrifying sight,’ he whispered nervously. ‘Who would have thought of sewing skin together?’

‘You would have preferred us to cauterize it perhaps?’ It was Plexis, a teasing note in his voice. He looked almost as as ill as Alexander though, and his hands shook.

Phaleria strolled over, twisting some cabbage leaves into a bowl. She caught sight of the stitches and the leaves she was holding slipped from her fingers. Her face drained of all colour, and she hastily made signs to ward off evil as she backed away. ‘It was true, I didn’t imagine it,’ she gasped. ‘He was dead; the druid did cut his throat. I saw it, I saw it, but I thought … by Lug, I thought I had just imagined …’ Her voice climbed skyward and several women looked at her curiously, but they didn’t speak Greek.

I quickly covered his neck with clean linen and got to my feet. ‘Don’t be afraid, it’s only stitches,’ I said, trying to make my voice sound reassuring. However, Phaleria looked at me now with the same expression everyone wore when they found out I was supposed to be Persephone the Terrible, Queen of the Underworld, the Queen of Ice and Darkness. And the look she gave Alexander was so full of awe it was positively overflowing.

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