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I wonder if Chiron could tell how on edge I was.
Together Chiron and I would occasionally chatter or in companionable silence. Not the awkward kind either. The type that makes me feel recharged. Ready to take on the world.
Shouts from down the corridor of the infirmary echo through the solid doors leading to our long and open room.
The doors crash open. The wood clatters against the stone walls.
Which I got to commend the gods; they sure know how to build for durability. Had I done that back home, one I’d been murdered by my stepmom and two, the door would have shattered into tiny pieces with force like that.
A small crowd of about three entered the infirmary. At the center is a nymph who enters cradling her face. Appearing like she’s a bloody nose. A plain linen blanket obscures her face. Large green eyes flash around the room.
Pleading.
Looking for help.
Her hair is a soft shade of lilac. Long and curled reminding me of the lilac bushes of my home. Perhaps she’s a flower nymph? Though admittedly, I know nearly nothing about nymphs so that’s a guess.
Chiron rushes over and gestures to her to sit in the bed across from me. Before asking, “How may I be of assistance?”
The nymph is dressed in the uniform of the kitchens. “My nose... It's… Well…” She stammers.
The healer turns to the two satyrs who carried her in on a makeshift gurney. “How long since the plague has started?” Chiron’s serious voice chills down my spine.
The plague.
It’s here in the castle with someone other than Apollo.
“Two weeks,” the older teenager answered. “But these last several hours… It was so quick.
I can’t help but stare at the face of the nymph. It's almost like looking at carved masks with two emerald orbs. Stiffly she turns, brambles of leaves jut outwards.
Pulling her hand from masking her face, my eyes widened. Instead, the skin of a nymph, the gnarled leathery bark of a tree glares out at me. Instead of a nose, a wood branch spreads across her face, a single budding leaf sprouting near the tip.
What in Hades…
Long claws like fingers grasp at Chiron’s chest. “Help me.” The voice is strained. Like the wind was shouting at us. Green leaves sprouting from her fingertips.
Pulling my face, Arista urges me to look away. “You won’t want to see this.” Her warning sent fear straight into my core.
But I can’t sit by. Maybe I could help the healer. I whispered to my friend.
“Suit yourself,” she mutters in an annoyed tone. “Just don’t come crawling back to me because I'll reiterate that I told you so.”
Fine.
“Chiron.” I state, pulling his attention over to me. His wide eyes flit over to me. “Why don’t you give her a healing potion. Perhaps that could reverse the curse.”
… Or whatever she has going on there.
The centaur shakes his head. “No, it’s no use. Healing potions can’t be brewed here.”
“Can’t?” I raise a questioning eyebrow. Thinking back to my memory, I know that he taught that person how to make healing potions in this very room. How could it be that now he isn’t able to? “Is it because of your shackles? Does it affect your ability to brew?”
“No, no. I don’t tend to use them as a stirring rod. If I did, that would certainly affect the potency of the draught.” He shakes his head. “If you’d like to give it a shot, you're more than welcomed to in a bit. But right now, I need to focus on her.”
I stared at her and Chiron in horror. How could this be? It’s taking her so quickly.
“Plant her with the others.” He gestures to the coworkers who brought her in. The two male satyrs look down on her eyes full of worry. “She’s beyond our help now.”
