Crown of Oblivion by Julie Eshbaugh

Author:Julie Eshbaugh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-10-13T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Three

Behind me, Orsino gives off nothing—no shock, no pain, no confusion. He’s out cold. But the crowd ripples with sensations—surprise, and then fear—as several people bend down around Darius and try to help, try to simply learn what is wrong, but get nowhere. His body contorts, his eyes press into slits, his voice modulates from a scream to a moan to a scream again.

Cradling my elbow to support my shoulder, I bend down to try to talk to him, but he doesn’t respond.

A doctor comes in. The crowd makes room so he can give me an injection in my shoulder, which is quite welcomed, and fit my arm into a sling, which is unwelcomed.

The doctor gives Darius a long look, the kind you would give a horse that’s gone lame. “A racer too?” he grunts at me. I nod. “What do you know about memory sickness?”

“That it’s terrible,” I say flatly.

“That’s more than most people know. Most people have never even heard of it. Only former racers, and I don’t think too many people who survive the race like to talk about it later. Anyway, when a large dose of Oblivion begins to wear off—a dose the size they give you racers—the forgotten memories usually come back in waves of pain. But I guess you know that now.” He struggles to his feet. “I’ll send someone in with a stretcher. Not much to be done for him but wait it out, I’m afraid.” He glances up at me. “Good luck to you, if you continue.”

He leaves. The click, click, click of his heels fades away, until the room goes silent.

I’m kneeling beside Darius, holding his face still between my hands, not knowing what else to do, when someone taps me on my good shoulder. I turn to see a man and woman dressed in white smocks, with concern in their eyes and rubber gloves on their hands. They set a stretcher on the floor beside Darius. I lift my head. The room is empty. The crowd is gone.

How long have I been leaning over Darius? How long has the only readable emotion been coming from Michaela, seated behind me on the edge of the stage? Orsino is nowhere to be seen. If he woke up and walked out or was carried away, I have no idea.

I stand by as they load Darius onto the stretcher, and I have to bite my lip to keep from telling them to go easy. But his whole body is like a clenched fist, and I doubt he feels a thing. They carry him a short distance down the hall to the infirmary. I guess it makes sense that it’s close to the gym.

“He can’t go on. At least not yet,” Michaela says when we’re alone. “If you’re going to continue in the race, you should go now, without him.”

I feel a bit of pity for Darius, which only makes me angry at myself. After all, I’m the one who just got the tar kicked out of her.

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