Army of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 2) (7 page)

Quinn delivered the glass and returned to pour a similar amount for himself. “That is a curious cause and effect. I'm sure Gage bases his opinion on understood medical history. However, I find that due to your circumstances, several anomalous traits have been proven true after study. Your hypersensitivity to seismic movements in the planet's crust, for instance, which also manifests itself as severe motion sickness—which, if you haven't noticed, is worse when you are traveling west, against the rotation of the planet. Something similar may be occurring with the suns. Perhaps a hypersensitivity to temperature changes or UV radiation.”

One eyebrow arched, Axandra intensified her look of annoyance at this long, drawn out, unsolicited speech. “West? Really?”

With a surrendering gesture, he said, “I notice these things. Drink, darling. We'll discuss it when you feel better.”

“What else should we talk about tonight?” she pleaded, curling her legs up beside her on the cushions. Resting against her damaged right arm, the chilled wine glass disguised the ache beneath numbness “Have you heard from Tomas?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I just received a letter from him today, quite a long one. He described his Sunflower lake expedition and promised he is about to send me a curious crate-load of clay statues different from anything we've seen before. It's quite the find and quite the place. I've never been in that area before.”

She was so glad to hear him rattle on. Following the words diligently kept her mind from drifting back to the terrible news of the day. She focused her eyes on his expressive face, admiring the light brown mole just at the edge of his jaw below his ear. His hands gestured abstractly as he vocalized his excitement for the developments.

“He also believes that we should petition to take a team to the Haven—now that it is deserted, we'd like to study whatever the Prophets left behind. Obviously, the previous civilization left the place behind. The Prophets probably removed any artifacts while they lived in residence. I hope they saw fit to store the pieces somewhere safe. I would think they would be that smart.”

“Who has to approve such a petition?” she questioned, though her mind wandered from the topic as she straightened one finger and traced the outer curl of his ear.

A pleased smile touched his lips. “Well, in this case, the petition probably goes to the Council. Normally, there is a regional ministry that approved such requests to utilize open land. What used to be under the Great Storm has no regional jurisdiction, at least not yet.”

“Ah,” she agreed. “I don't know of any reason they wouldn't approve that. That would be fascinating.”

Quinn shifted his weight to the side to face her, leaning one elbow on the back cushion and leaning his head on his hand. “I hope it is. I promise it won't be too soon. I'm not ready to go back to work full-time just yet.”

“Why not?” she teased. She knew the reason.

“I know you'll miss me while I'm gone.”

“You're assuming that I won't be going with you,” she scolded. She watched his amused chuckling through her crystal goblet as she drank.

“My mistake,” he apologized. “I would love for you to join me whenever you can. Nights can get a bit chilly all alone.”

She leaned in to kiss his smiling lips, enjoying the feel of his cheer manifested in the generous arc of flesh. She unfolded herself to ease onto his lap. “I promise that cold nights won't be a problem.”

31
^st
Unimont, 308 (Matersday)

“Ouch!”

Healer Phineas Gage paused his medical ministrations momentarily at the verbal protest. His patient so rarely vocalized pain during procedures, he acknowledged such as a request to stop.

Axandra Saugray, the most prominent patient of Healer Gage, sucked in a noisy breath through her teeth as the tweezers removing used gauze struck a sensitive nerve on the pale underside of her right arm.

“That causes you pain?” Gage questioned. Many of the nerves in that region of her scorched arm had been deemed non-functional, all but destroyed by near incineration of the surrounding muscle tissue.

“Very much so,” Axandra confirmed. Having become accustomed to seeing the open wound, which exposed muscle, tendon, and bone within her now disfigured right forearm, wrist, and hand, she peered down into the red tissue as though seeking out this offending nerve strand.

Though the pock-marked face showed little expression, one bushy caterpillar eyebrow arched upward. “An unexpected improvement. Some feeling may in fact return to your limb.”

Squinching her face distastefully, Axandra disagreed, “I'm not certain what good sensation will do in a mangled hand, especially if it's mainly going to be pain.”

“If the sensation returns to your hand as well, it is possible to use your remaining digits in gross motor tasks. It also means I will rethink the option of amputating your hand,” the Healer pointed out. Just a few weeks ago, he had decided that the lack of improvement warranted removal of the damaged limb in order to prevent a life-threatening infection and chronic pain. Fortunately, this development stalled that opinion.

“I wanted to forget about that,” Axandra cringed.

“As long as we are able to prevent infection and the epidermis continues to accept grafting, we can preserve the limb, even in its non-functional state.”

Smiling ruefully, Axandra said, “I will accept that as a piece of positive news.”

“Now, before we continue, I would be happy to offer you an herbal pain suppressor,” Gage suggested. He had no wish to continue causing pain, as the discomfort served no purpose in this procedure.

“I would appreciate it.” Axandra chewed two minty leaves and swallowed, while Gage used two more directly on the site, breaking the succulents and squeezing aromatic sap from the leaves' veins. The recently active nerve went quiet.

Gage continued removing the used bandages and preformed a weekly examination of the wounds before positioning fresh strips of sterile gauze and protective waterproof wrapping. “You are making good progress, Your Honor. About thirty percent of the original wound has accepted grafting so far. I will schedule another grafting procedure for next Hundsday morning. The fresh batch will be ready by then.”

“Will you be drawing more cells for further grafting?” the patient asked, expecting this procedure to go the same as the previous three. The routine became commonplace at this stage, while the grafting still proved productive.

Packing his satchel carefully with the bundled and sealed soiled tools, Gage confirmed, “Yes. You are very lucky. Once upon a time, grafting meant cutting out larger sections of skin from another part of the body in order to create grafts. We only need a bare scraping of cells to start the growth process.” As a final task, he produced a premeasured vial and needle from his kit bag and proceeded to quickly stab the antibiotic prophylaxis into her upper arm, barely giving her time to tense up. She winced briefly at the sting.

“Oh, I feel incredibly…lucky.” Her words dripped with sarcasm, just as she intended. In recent weeks, many people commented on how
lucky
she was to survive the brutal incident, and to be able to continue her service as Protectress. None of them understood the physical pain she endured minute-by-minute. Nor did they see the nightmares that begged her to remain awake in order to avoid the rampaging lights and her own ghastly screaming.

She thought, at this moment, that the next person to say the word
lucky
was going to receive a stinging slap across the mouth. Imagining such an activity offered her a certain grain of peace, to which she smirked outwardly.

Wishing Healer Gage a good day, the Protectress watched him depart her Residence, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

In the throes of spring, the natural surroundings of the prairie and river teemed with mating birds vying for arboreal territory, ravenous grazers filling their three stomachs with nutritious aquamarine grass, and the buds of trees and shrubs soaking up sun and rain with equal satisfaction. In just days, the monochromatic fields of dry orange ignited with colorful blooms and soft teal shoots. Children frolicked in the open fields and collected wildflowers to take home to their families.

With balmy temperatures outside, Axandra wanted every window in her home open. The wooden sashes were too heavy to raise one-handed, so yesterday Axandra enlisted Ben's help. The Elite lieutenant commander did not balk at being asked to perform such a task, even though he was second-in-command of the Palace Guard. He happily threw up the sash of each bulky window, and each remained open since.

Right now, Axandra wanted to join nature on its own turf. She wanted to go outside and take a long walk. And she wanted to take that walk with her betrothed at her side.

Unfortunately, Quinn promised himself to plowing and sowing for the entire week and left just after breakfast to meet his work group. He returned home at three to bathe, usually due to a complete coating of dust on his clothes and skin, and then he studied journals and letters from colleagues bantering ideas back and forth about archeological escapades. He was not the type of man to allow any empty time in his day. And currently, as the new soon-to-be husband of the Protectress, he felt an even stronger obligation to make himself visible in every manner of service. He was not riding on the Protectress' skirt tails into a lazy lifestyle, as some gossip mongers rumored. He wouldn't be able to stand the level of idleness anyway, or the degradation that accompanied sloth.

Besides, she only had ten minutes before the Council expected her for the morning session. For the moment, she would make do with standing on the balcony and inhaling as much open air as possible.

Leaning her hips against the balustrade, Axandra tilted her torso forward as far as she dared, closed her eyes, and consumed the fragrance of the world. She envisioned herself flying on the wind, arms outstretched with her loose sleeves flapping in the breeze.

The click of the door latch yanked her back to the solid stone beneath her feet. Only one person dared to enter her suite unannounced, because he belonged there.

Seeing Quinn's face, she actually skipped toward him. Throwing her arms around his shoulders, she kissed his lips before she said anything else.

“What are you doing home?” she asked curiously and happily.

“We're ahead of schedule,” Quinn replied, pleased to have part of the day off to pursue other interests. “And there is a storm brewing out west. The Sowing Leader thought it best to hold off until tomorrow. Heavy rains will just wash the seeds away, and it looks like a doozy. How was your appointment?”

“Painful, but productive,” Axandra stated. “It
is
healing. Gage wants to add a new graft next week. I'm not looking forward to the procedure, but at least we're making progress. He also delivered another shot of antibiotics today, so my arm is going to be sore later.”

“Ah, good. See, I told you everything would turn out.” Quinn offered a smug smile in repayment for her earlier complaints.

Containing her desire to deliver a smack to his cheek, Axandra smirked. “You were just as worried as I was.”

“And now I can worry less,” Quinn dictated. “Are you on your way out?”

“In two minutes.”

“Time enough for a decent kiss,” he decided. With one hand gently against her cheek, he brought his lips to hers and lingered for a time she did not want to count. Both smiled when he moved away again.

“You'll have to save that thought until I come back,” Axandra teased, her finger tracing his dimpled chin.

“Oh, I will save it,” he promised. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she echoed, then reluctantly moved by, slipped on her shoes, and left for her meeting.

+++

“Good morning, everyone,” Protectress Saugray greeted the members of the People's Council before their regularly scheduled daily session. Ever since the Stormflies had loosed themselves from their prison in the Great Storm, the Council met on a frequently to discuss the increasing number of incidents of violence and disappearances, and to prepare for the inevitable showdown between the corporeal human race and the energetic Stormfly species.

“Bringing this meeting to order, let's start with the reports from the Healers' Assembly,” Axandra requested.

Carmen Offut had accepted responsibility for obtaining reports from the local Healers, as well as interpreting reports from the central Healers' Assembly in Bexan. She rose to address her fellow members.

“The Healers' Assembly has accumulated and sorted data from two hundred-sixteen villages across the continent. The data includes symptoms of fatigue, listlessness, amnesia, malnutrition, dehydration—among several others. Examinations are showing that the Stormflies are infecting approximately forty-two percent of the one thousand thirty-two exhibiting such symptoms. The other cases fell under the categories of River flu, heat exhaustion, and other. Once diagnosed with the parasites, the patients are isolated. Unfortunately, they are still unable to remove the parasites by either conventional or psychic means. The only time the Healers have access to a free-floating specimen is directly after the death of a host.”

“Have they devised a way to contain the parasites? At last report, they were experimenting with several mediums,” Axandra questioned at a break in the report, consulting her notes briefly. She had attempted to prepare for the meeting by compiling her notes from the last several weeks and re-reading the contents, hoping to hold the facts in her brain long enough to sound reasonably cognizant of the situation. Miri quizzed her this morning on her way down the stairs.

“To date, they understand that glass, metal and wood will contain the life forms, but that all three mediums do not completely block psychic effects. Steel actually amplifies the natural energy of the life forms. They intend to create a container of resin and then of plastic polymer for further experimentation. Captured beings are stored in underground cellars distant from local populations and monitored daily. Unfortunately, there have been cases of containers being stolen by other undetected hosts.”

“Do they know why the Stormflies are waiting? It's been months since they were freed,” Homer questioned, his voice punctuated with the ongoing stress of uncertainty. “They are creating only the smallest of problems so far. I expected something far more catastrophic by now.”

“We assume they are waiting for what they feel is the right time. Perhaps certain conditions need to be in place for the mass infestation to happen. There is so little we know about how they behave and their feeding process. Some suspect they are breeding somewhere to increase their numbers,” Carmen reported. “The Prophets had the most information, and we do not have access to them since they escaped from custody.”

“One thing at a time, please,” Axandra requested, trying not to sound flustered. She attempted to keep her notes written in her own hand, as the act of writing them aided in preserving the memories. Prior to her abduction and injury, she would have left the note-taking to the Council Scribe. “Back to the Healer's report. Is there anything else of value? Have they furthered their research into the physiology of the Stormflies?”

Carmen shifted papers in her tanned hands. “In a brief note on the subject, the Healers reported that their only advancement is the knowledge that the parasites appear to feed not only on the nutrients in our blood, but also on the bioelectrical energy and hormonal endorphins produced during extreme emotional episodes. In conclusion, the parasites do not only cause the hosts to act irrationally due to interference with brain function, but the creatures intentionally inflict pain, fear, and even ecstasy upon their victims to receive the desired chemical substances. They will continue to study this effect, as they hypothesize the endorphins are not vital to the creatures survival, but behave in a way that is similar to a narcotic.”

“Thank you, Carmen,” the Protectress said sincerely.

“Well, now that is interesting. Drug addicts,” Homer remarked hoarsely, leaning back with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He said nothing further on that subject, but called for the floor. “If I may state the Security Report now?”

“Go ahead,” Lelle conceded with poorly veiled annoyance. Homer frequently frayed her nerves.

“Safety Watches in several communities—Bexan, Duchene, and Range End to name a few—report unconfirmed sightings of unidentified strangers appearing before and after disappearances. One description states '
I felt someone watching me, but when I looked, I only saw a glimpse and then no one. It was as though they just disappeared
.' Other witnesses express similar statements. We are investigating the prospect that the Prophets are in these areas aiding the Stormflies.”

“Prophets? I thought they all perished,” Franny remarked with displeasure.

“Such statements were incorrect,” Homer stated matter-of-factly. “The Prophets are the only individuals we know of with the ability to
disappear
. But, until we can confirm any sightings, we can't confirm their presence. We must proceed, however, as though the Prophets are alive and well and assisting our worst enemy.”

At this point, Antonette Lelle took control of guiding the meeting, asking for the weekly update on restoring water-logged houses on various coasts and returning residents to their homes. After this, Mark Osander addressed the Council with a progress report on installing communits throughout all villages and towns.