Glory Season

There was no tenor of vindictiveness in the manner she was lifted and carried away from the bright, ozone-drenched chamber within a hollow mountain-fang. Rocked on a stretcher, moaning at each jostling shock to her stretched-thin system, she knew in abstract that her bearers meant her well. They were being gentle. That ought to signify something.

She only wished they would go away and let her die.

Death did not come. Instead, she was handled, prodded, drugged, cut, and sewn. In time, it was the simplest of sensations that brought back a partial will to live.

Flapjacks.

A redolence of fresh pancakes filled her nostrils. Injury and anomie weren't enough to hold back the flood that faint aroma unleashed within her mouth. Maia opened her eyes.

The room was white. An ivory-colored ceiling met finely carved white moldings, which joined to walls the color of pale snow. Through a muzzy languor left over from chemical soporifics, Maia had difficulty fixing clearly on the plain, smooth surfaces. Without conscious choice, her mind begin toying with one blank expanse — imagining a laying thereon of grainy, abstract, rhythmic patterns. Maia groaned and closed her eyes.

She could not shut her nose. Alluring smells pursued her. So did growls from her stomach. And the sound of speech.

"Well now, ready to join the livin' at last?"

Maia turned her head to the left, and cracked an eyelid. A petite, dark-haired figure swam into focus, wearing a wry grin. "Now didn't I say to stop gettin' conked, varling? At least this time you weren't drowned."

After several tries, Maia found her voice. "Should’ve . . . known . . . you'd make it."

Naroin nodded. "Mm. That's me. Born survivor. You, too, lass. Though you love provin' it the hard way."

An involuntary sigh escaped Maia. The bosun-policewoman's presence wrested feelings that hurt, despite her body's drugged immobility. "I guess you . . . got through to your boss."

Naroin shook her head. "When we got picked up, I decided to take some initiative. Called in favors, swung deals. Too bad we couldn't arrive sooner, though."

Maia's thoughts refused to center clearly. "Yeah. Too bad."

Naroin poured a glass of water and helped Maia lift her head to drink. "In case you're wonderin', the docs say you'll be all right. Had to cut an' mend a bit. You've got an agone leech tapped into your skull, so don't thrash or bump it, now that you're awake."

"… leech . . . ?" With leaden inertia, Maia's arm obeyed her wish to rise and bend. Fingers traced a boxy object above her forehead, smaller than her thumb. "I wouldn't touch it if I was—" Naroin started to advise, as Maia gave the box a spastic tap. For an instant, all that seemed muddy and washed out snapped into clarity and color. Along with vividness came a slamming force of pain. Maia's hand recoiled, hurling back to the coverlet.

"Did I warn ya? Hmp. Never seen a first-timer who didn't try that, once. Guess I must've, about your age."

The dulling murkiness returned, this time welcome, spreading from Maia's scalp across her body like a liquid balm. She had seen injured women with leeches before, though most hid them in their hair. I must be hurt much worse than I feel, she realized, no longer' resenting the numbness. That fleeting break in function had briefly revealed another blocked sensation, more fearsome than physical pain. For an instant, she had been overwhelmed by waves of all-consuming grief.

"Makes ya feel like a zombie, eh?" Naroin commented. "They'll crank it down as you improve. Should already be gettin' back some of your senses."

Maia inhaled deeply. "I … can smell …"

Naroin grinned. "Ah, breakfast. Got an appetite?"

It felt odd. Her insistent stomach seemed unaware of the blunt nausea pervading the rest of her body. "Yes. I—"

"That's a good sign. They serve quite a table on the Gentilleschi. Hang on, I'll see to it."

The policewoman stood up and started to go, her movements too quick and blurry for Maia to follow clearly. Maia tracked them in a series of receding glimpses as her eyes flickered shut for longer and longer intervals. She fought to hold the lids apart as Naroin stopped, turned back, and spoke once more, her voice fading in and out.

"Oh . . . almost forgot. There's a note from . . . young boyfriend an' sister over . . . table by your bed. Thought … ike t'know they made it all right."

The words carried meaning. Maia felt sure of it as they crested over her, soaked in through her ears and pores, and found resonance within. Somewhere, a crushing burden of worry lapsed into gladness. That much emotion was too exhausting, however. Sleep swarmed in to claim her, so that Naroin's final words barely registered.

"Not a lot of others did, I'm afraid."

Maia's eyes stayed closed and the world remained dark for a long, quiet, unmeasured time.