Twenty-eight
Ashyn was on her feet and running to Ronan. He shoved his sword bladefirst into the sand, and was fumbling to get out of his tunic. Holes dotted the thin fabric. As she helped him out of it, she saw the acid had passed through, a line of it across his chest, holes searing to the skin.
She fetched water, and splashed it on his wounds. As she did, she heard a little voice in her head telling her to be more careful, not to waste it; this was all they had. But she didn't care. She'd use the whole waterskin if she needed to. Finally, it was Ronan who stopped her, fingers clasping her arm as he said, "That's enough," through teeth gritted against the pain.
She looked at the wounds, raw and ugly, a line of spots across his chest where the skin had burned away.
"I need to bind them," she said. "Keep them dry and clean. I have an extra tunic--"
"Later," he said. "You need to tend to your own wounds."
She shook her head. "They're only minor burns."
"Then we have to get out of here, in case that wasn't the only one."
He looked at the worm, and she was sure he shuddered. Then they heard a faint gurgling sound. They looked over together.
"Gregor," Ashyn whispered. "He's still alive; I need to tend to--"
Ronan caught her by the wrists. "Take the child. Start walking. Stay off the sand."
"But I need--"
"You can't," he said, lowering his voice. "You know you can't."
She looked at Gregor's mutilated hands. Listened to his gurgles as he tried to scream through his ruined throat. She thought of Beatrix. Of her face beneath her hands.
"Take the child. Now, Ashyn."
He pushed her toward Wenda, and she was about to refuse when she saw the girl staring at Gregor, her thin chest heaving.
She's watching a man die horribly. And I'm letting her.
Ashyn scooped Wenda up and held the girl's face against her shoulder as she hurried away. Tova followed. She could still hear Gregor's agonized gurgling. And then, she couldn't.
Ashyn looked back to see Ronan standing above Gregor's still body. He stepped aside and plunged his blade into the sand to clean it.
He killed Gregor.
No, he ended Gregor's suffering. Would you have him leave the man to die a slow, t
ortured "natural" death?
Ronan looked over. He saw her watching. He hesitated. Then he motioned that he'd gather their belongings when a shape reared up behind him.
"Ronan!" she shouted.
He turned sharply. Too sharply, slipping in the sand, one foot shooting out. She dropped Wenda and raced toward him. Ronan was on one knee, frozen in place. The worm was poised in front of him, swaying back and forth, as if it somehow couldn't see him.
She heard her sister's voice, telling her tale to the children.
"Death worms have no eyes. They spend so long in the dark that they have little need of them. Instead, they sense the vibrations of the earth and the currents in the air. So, if you ever meet a death worm--"
"Don't move!" Ashyn shouted. "It can't see you if you don't move."
She raised her dagger as the distance between them closed. She'd stab it behind the head so it couldn't whip around and spray her. Use a downward stroke, driving its head down, so it wouldn't spray Ronan.
Yes, see? I can do this. I just need to think it through--