Chapter 13. The Envoy

Nisreen stared down at their interlaced fingers. Malik’s hand waslarge with thick blunt fingers. Her hand was pale yellow, while his hand had an orange tint. He leaned over and kissed her head. A strange combination of surprise and joy swirled through her, that seemed inappropriate. After all they were sitting at Atticus’ death bed. Life was incongruent. What one should think or feel in a circumstance was often at odds with what one did think or feel. What she wanted was to look up at Malik and kiss him on the mouth, but surely that was bad form considering where they were. She kept her eyes on their hands. His hand gripped hers just a little tighter, then he released the pressure and his fingers relaxed in hers.

Time passed. Sitting for so long was making Nisreen stiff all over. Her fingers had grown numb laced between Malik’s. He was dozing and his hand was now limp. Slowly, she pulled her hand free.

On the cot, Atticus moaned low. His body twitched beneath the blankets. With urgency, he began to whisper, “Papa, please, I don’t want to hunt. Don’t make hunt.” For a few moments he was silent, then he continued, “Yes, I do like fresh blood, but I’ve never made a heart stop beating before. Why do I get to take life?”

Though Atticus fell silent, Nisreen could guess that his papa had told him, “You were born a hunter. Be one. It is your fate.”

Did being born something mean you had to be that something? As she looked at his corrupted body, pity and revulsion swirled within her. Atticus had been her enemy, she thought she would find satisfaction in his suffering. The problem was she didn’t. He had parents who would lose their son and couldn’t even come to say good bye. The entire forest and all the tribes were now waiting to see what member of their kin would be taken, and who would be spared. This was a worry her family didn’t have. For all the horrors connected with the life they lead and the role they played in their community, they were immune to Contagion.

After a while, Uncle Possim came out to the tent and joined them. His dark brown cloak was pulled tightly around him with a bit of twine. In his hand was his medicine bag. He noted Malik’s sleeping form, nodded at Nisreen and then turned to Atticus. For a moment he studied him. He listened to his heart and counted out the beats. So much depended on that small persistent beat. When Uncle Possim raised his head, he took up his bag and opened it. He pulled out at jar of green goo and opened it. It smelled of mint and other cooling herbs. In silence he appliedthe ointment to Atticus’ raging feverish skin. Though Atticus began to breathe a bit easier as the ointment was applied, he didn’t regain consciousness. Nisreen was certain he never would. When Uncle Possim finished, he bowed his head and softly hissed, it almost sounded like a whistle, but only almost. It was a prayer. When he lifted his head, Nisreen saw tears in his eyes. Uncle Possim possessed great compassion. His heart was large and forgiving.

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The air in the tent changed. It had been cold, but now their air was sharp and the temperature had dropped. Invisible Death had come to keep vigil. Nisreen felt its nearness as it hovered waiting…waiting for the moment the soul was released and the heart stopped. Uncle Possim turned again to Nisreen. His steady eyes met hers. He didn’t say anything out loud because they shared a connective bond. It was one that he alone shared with her. They could read one another’s thoughts. Uncle Possim’s mind touched her. His words were like a soft whisper of wind in her brain. He said, “Good, tell Mama that Atticus’ Envoy has arrived and he will soon begin his journey.” In times like these Uncle Possim always referred to Death as Envoy. It seemed a term of respect for the one who ushered the living beyond their mortality. He added, “The time that remains will be hard. Harder still, if Atticus is in the presence of the one he tormented. Also, you don’t need watch him die. It would serve no purpose, so don’t come back.

Grateful to be relieved of the vigil, she nodded. The only down side was that leaving the tent, meant leaving Malik. She knew their time together was limited.

Aloud Uncle Possim urged, “Go on now child.”

Before she left she went to him and wrapped her arms around him. He clutched her with his good arm. His strength flowed into her. It was not physical strength but spiritual strength, the strongest kind she had ever encountered. She kissed the top of his bald head. In her opinion he was the bravest of their kind.

*

Moon light couldn’t penetrate the boarded window. Tomorrow, after the ritual was done and Nisreen’s clan left, she would ask Papa to remove the board. Always, the moon had been her companion as she traveled across the sky. Tonight beyond the window, the moon was full. She could feel the pull of it and she so longed to see its silver light. Though she was weary, her mind refused to meet sleep. On their pile of rugs, Sister was snuggled up beside her. The poor dear had spent the day spreading the news of contagion among the Carrion Eaters. It had left her and Auntie exhausted. It must have been awful to repeat the same devastating message over and over. Nisreen leaned closer to her. There was comfort in her sleeping presence. In the front room, Malik lay sleeping. She could hear his soft snore. It was a sound that made her feel safe.

The back door creaked open. Granny, followed by Auntie came inside. This meant Uncle Possim was now alone with the body. Atticus soul had left.

Unexpected sorrow filled Nisreen. Atticus parents had lost their child. His siblings had lost a brother. The family thread was broken. To be sure, Atticus had indeed passed, Nisreen asked, “Granny, is he gone?”

“Yes.” Without another word, Granny took Auntie’s hand and the two females went to their rooms.

Again, Nisreen tried to sleep, but it would not come. From Granny’s room came the his of her snore. Something icy passed over Nisreen. A voice she had grown to hate whispered in her mind, “I do apologize deeply for the distress I caused you. What I found as fun, was torment. I wasted my life. If I get to come back I will do better. I will not trouble you again.” The cold dissipated.