by Namita Singh
long since I sensed Neal’s aura and the present sensation makes me smile like nobody’s business. I recall the events I last remember as the aura continues to soothe me. When I remember my maltreated arm, my eyes open up on their own accord. Light blue ceiling greets me and the sounds of heart monitor and the smell of antiseptics assure me that I am in a hospital. Despite the lights being on inside the room, I can make out from the daylight streaming in that it’s morning time. I try to raise my injured arm, to assess the damage. The pain multiplies as I pressure my arm. I gasp and hiss, immediately removing the pressure. I couldn’t even make my arm lift an inch.
The startled movement beside me takes me by surprise. I tilt my head sideways and see Neal, looking startled and dazed at the sudden sounds I have made.
“Whaa?” he drawls, his eyes filled with sleep.
I feel the corner of my lips stretching as a grin takes over me.Not in a million years I can explain the pure assuagement that comes with his sight. It doesn’t even matter that his hair looks dirty and unorganized, that his eyes look dead to the world or even that there is a little drool on the corner of his chapped lips. He hastily wipes the corner of his lips as he notices that I am awake. At first a relieved look passes his face and in the next he starts looking suspiciously at my ever extending smile.
“About time. I’ll get the doc.” Neal says, getting up from the chair next to my bed.
My smile vanishes and I open my mouth to tell him to not go away, that I am just fine while basking in his aura, but the little bugger is faster and my throat is too slow due to the dryness. Soon, his aura escapes my senses and I become aware of the throbbing headache bursting in my head. Does Neal’s aura distract me from my pains too? God, this is annoying.
I turn my head sideways, glumly taking in the room I am in. It’s a large room, with five other beds, though none are occupied save for one. Now that Neal’s aura is not empowering my senses, I sense another weak human aura on my far left, also hearing the steady beep sounds coming from the machine. The beds are enclosed by curtains for privacy. My bed is nearest to the door. After scouting the room, my eyes turn back towards the door, just in time for Neal to come barging in, a nurse in his tow. A small, yet very silly smile comes on my face as Neal’s aura pacifies me; literally making me high.
“How are you feeling?” the nurse, an elderly woman, asks, throwing flashlight in my eyes.
I squint, “Thirsty.” I manage to rasp out, though I can still feel my lips stretched into a smile. It’s getting a little weird how pleased I am with Neal around me again. But I shrug the thought off for the moment.
Neal is instantly by my side, offering me the packaged water from the side table. The nurse presses a button on the side of the hospital bed that automatically inclines my upper body. I hiss silently as I absently try to raise my right, bandaged arm. Neal gives me an annoyed look as if I cannot be any stupider. I use my left hand then, chugging down gulps after gulps of water, satiating my dry throat. Nurse checks the monitor machines beside me, checks the bandage on my arm, again asks me how I am feeling, to which I complain of a slight headache. She gives me a couple of pills, assures me and Neal that my status is healthy and is out of the door, informing that the doctor will be here soon to address me.
“So,” Neal says, frowning and cautiously watching me. He sits beside me on the bed, facing me. Instinctively, I move a little farther so to not accidently touch him. A small smile may be a constant on my lips for now, but it’s hitting me hard to realize just how accustomed I have become to his aura. Sensing his undiluted aura through touch is definitely not something I should encourage. My slight movement doesn’t go unnoticed by Neal, but seeing as he doesn’t say anything and doesn’t even give me a peeved look, he probably assumes that I am giving him space. “How are you really feeling?” he asks.
I shrug, “Just a headache…my arm pains when I try to move it. Else, it’s okay. It can be worse.” I cannot help but notice a slight slur to my words. “Am I…?” my question trails off.
But Neal understands, as he sighs and rolls his eyes, “You wouldn’t be sitting with only a headache if not for the amount of drugs pumped into your system.”
Jeez. And here I have been thinking how exceptionally happy I am to see Neal. I suppose it’s only the drugs working their miracles. Neal is probably right. My arm wouldn’t be without pain if not for painkillers swimming in my blood stream. But then, I don’t expect my thoughts to be this coherent. I may be dubious about my smile being because of Neal, but a major part of my somewhat sober brain is still keeping Neal on the pedestal.
“You aren’t feeling dizzy or anything?” Neal asks again.
I frown, concentrating. Except for the headache, which is turning into a dull ache thanks to the pills, I feel absolutely fine. Guess, my system is not as drugged up as Neal is assuming, since the pills seem to be making the requisite affect and not something exceptionally overpowering. I shake my head at Neal, “Nope. I feel fine.”
Neal nods, looking dubious.
I roll my eyes, “I feel absolutely fine. What’s the fuss about, nanny?”
Neal scowls, “Sue me for keeping the benefit of doubt. That seems to happen to me when I see a person unconscious for two days straight.” He says in sarcasm.
I blink at him in shock, “Two days?”
“Two and a half, technically. Actually, make that three.”
“You’re shitting me.”
Neal rolls his eyes, not responding to my jibe.
“What day is it?” I ask, horrified.
“Friday.”
Friday. We had reached the land of flames on Tuesday evening. So it has been two and half days, technically.
“Are we back at Krasnoyarsk?” I ask, stupidly. Instantly I remember that it is almost a ten day trip back to Krasnoyarsk.
“No.” Neal sighs, “We are at Dudinka. It took quite an effort to get you even here. You’re not exactly a lightweight.”
My frown deepens, “How did you get me here?”
“Your father carried you. The people of the first village that we encountered on our return were hell rude. Not that I could understand what they were saying, but for the first time I saw your father even remotely angry. So, I don’t suppose they were exchanging sweet words.”
“Are you talking of the Nganasans?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’s what Aakir was calling them. He told me they use some spiritual power to heal people. They refused to help when we brought you to them. Your father was pissed as hell.”
“Those aren’t exactly a friendly bunch.” I agree, “It was a miracle they gave us the direction to the land of flames. I think they did that because either they believed we wouldn’t survive it, or they were smugly assured that we are antagonizing the Witch. They are a weird bunch.”
“Yeah… they weren’t keen at helping us at all. Which was a surprise for me. Aakir told me that they are also therians and somehow I expect therians to help other therians….but, whatever. So, we moved on. The next few villages-”
“Wait a second.” I interrupt, “Didn’t Nganasans say anything about you? They must have sensed-”
“No, they didn’t.” Neal says, fumbling with his pocket. He takes out something from his pocket and raises it up so I can see. It's one of the vials that David had given us. “Your father and Aakir made me drink this immediately on our escape. It suppresses my aura.”
“I know.” I mumble, somehow the idea of Neal without his aura upsetting me. Good thing that I was unconscious.
“Aakir was saying that those Nganasans thought I am a spirit too. That actually contributed to their antagonism towards us.” Neal admits sheepishly. “But the next villages on our way were more hospitable. Although none had enough sophisticated treatment for your arm. On top of it you weren’t getting up. It were quite a two tough days.”
I sigh, leaning back and resting my head against the pillow. “I am glad we are out of there.” I mutter, watching the blue ceiling above, “Jermaine’s
sight was a shock to me.”
A silence commences, making me frown. I turn my gaze towards Neal. He is watching me apprehensively, looking almost, almost scared. Though ‘Neal’ and ‘scared’ don’t really mix as per theory.
“What?” I ask at his stare.
Neal hesitates, then sighs loudly, “You shouldn’t feel too glad. The cat’s not quite out of the box yet.”
“Er,” I say, “Okay.” A pause, “Is the Ninth Occultist parading the Realm now?” I ask, slight bitterness in my tone. But I cannot help it. Here I am, on a hospital bed with an incapable arm and my partner’s aura that I have sensed after almost two weeks. Sue me for seeking some peace, probably without any Witch around.
Neal takes a long while to respond. His face is indiscernible as he watches me, his stance full of apprehension as he mutters the next words which hit me square in the face, “The Ninth Occultist is dead.”
“…What?”
Neal licks his lips, looking nervous, “She’s dead.” He says plainly.
I blink once, twice, thrice. I straighten my back as I take in the information. Absentmindedly, Neal stretches his hand and starts puffing the pillow behind me for comfort. But I do not lean back.
I minutely shake my head, trying to get rid of the jumbled thoughts, “Witches cannot die.” I say, meaningfully looking at him.
Neal subtly rolls his eyes, annoyed that I am picking at such a thing. “Then she has ceased to