Mask of Fire Page 4

  “On the train, I sat next to a doctor who was dealing with men that couldn’t make it to the Gala for they were too ill.”

  Fire’s lips pursed and reached for her gown, then tossed it back on a chair. She went to the bathroom attached to the station and came out in a short robe. The sheer fabric shone where it stretched against her full breasts, and Barton had to hold his breath to calm down his cock which suddenly strained at the sight of her. Sadly she’d used her shawl to tie up and hide her dark tresses into a bun on the back of her head.

  “You’re field trained?” she asked with the commanding voice harsher than when she told him her desires.

  “Yes,” Barton responded.

  “I’ll need a nurse and you need to help me locate the man from the train.”

  ****

  “Well, let’s see… he was wearing a black mask,” Barton replied with malice.

  “You did not get his name?” The cleric asked.

  “No, he was fighting with an intern about the ease of dealing with a fever.” Barton sighed. “Men talk, but not about who they are.”

  “He did not mention sores?” The cleric queried.

  “Sores?” Abby asked over her shoulder as she tucked loose strands of her hair under her shawl. “Are they leaking?”

  “I did notice some oozing I suppose.”

  “Did you touch it?” Abby sighed.

  “I’m one of many searching for medical personnel amongst the guests,” the cleric acquiesced. “I would like to send one to find a male counterpart for you.”

  “That would be good, I’ve never treated a male.”

  “You understand the anatomy,” Barton stated lowly.

  “I also understand Merrocki fever, but I have yet to see a case,” Abby snapped. “Besides—”

  “It would be inappropriate, I know.” Barton stood with his hands on his hips. His biceps hardened and his torso muscles flexed. “Are we going?”

  “Yes.”

  The cleric let the others know she’d located a physician so the search for others should be halted for the moment. No reason to disturb others on this night. Abby wished she’d found the male doctor Barton spoke of instead of her. She wanted to learn more of him. Discover her feelings. Dissect them and discover if they were real or imagined.

  “The first instinct you have as a woman is of the utmost importance.” The Prefect stood at the front of her classroom with her white hair pulled back into a tight bun. “Second guessing will only harm you and possibly cost you the man you are to be with.”

  The Prefect swallowed hard and Abby could see the regret on her face.

  “I know the conventional wisdom at this time is to hold off. Establish your skills. Become an expert in your field. There is always time for love later, but your skills can be established anywhere. Love…” The Prefect took off her dark rimmed glasses and folded them before placing them gently on her desk. “Love may only come but once in your life.”

  Abby’s hand went up with fear.

  “Yes, Ms. Stone,” she called.

  “If you pass on them once when younger, don’t you always have the possibility to find them later?” Abby shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “We are told that there is only one man for us. That means another will not feel the calling to him. He should still be around the next year.”

  “Prefect tales. Told by old women to ease the fear of the first year. That is why women are allowed to choose a mate, even in their first year. It is only males who cannot be chosen year one. The chance of picking him again, finding him even, is so slim.” The Prefect’s eyes burned into Abigail. “Once you have love in your grasp, never let it go.”

  Technically Barton could not be cleansed or leave her until she allowed him to. He was hers for all intents and purposes until the end of the Gala if she wished. He could be used however she wished. Whether a nursemaid or body for pleasure he was hers and until she could understand the draw she had from the moment she caught a whiff of his skin, she wasn’t letting go.

  The pair of lovers were led down to the belly of the castle. What had once been a dungeon used for torture now had floodlights, and cells had been converted to multiple use rooms. Medical equipment that must have been from that era was in one former cell. Abby was sure the clerics never had to deal with anything worse than a twisted ankle or strained groin.

  A frantic cleric greeted them with her cloak no longer covering her face. She was in normal medical scrubs with her hair shorn bald. If it weren’t for her bosoms and soft features she would be indistinguishable from the male who ran behind her.

  “Thank God,” she gushed. “We aren’t trained for internal medicine.”

  “It’s not my specialty either, but I see it more than I like. What are the symptoms?”

  The clerics ran down each symptom, and what caught Abby off guard was that there wasn’t a variation for any patient. Each had identical reactions to what was attacking their body. Even when the flu tore through the hospital the fever and nausea manifested differently in each patient. Never had an illness been so textbook.

  “Can I get scrubs?” She asked, tired of being in a short robe and bare feet. “And some for my nurse.”

  “We have nursing staff,” the male cleric stated plainly.

  “He was in my chamber,” Abby replied stiffly. “He is my current lover and I do not wish to dismiss him yet. He has rudimentary medical skills so he can be of use instead of standing against a wall holding it up.”

  Barton looked at her with a raised eyebrow, but acquiesced to her order. His lips had curled up for a moment, but he took a pair of scrubs without comment. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes through his mask she swore the two of them were locked as electricity shot up her spine. First he covered his chest, and when his arms were raised, she saw the perfect V at the base of his hips. When the white of the scrubs fell down to his hips she thought her ogling was over, until he dropped his loincloth and she viewed his maleness with a firmness she wanted to hold and help find release. He quickly pulled up his pants and tucked himself away.

  How was it that men could maintain such a physical prowess after hours of love making? Then again, it wasn’t love until he was with the right woman. Maybe she was just another orifice he deposited in.

  “We good?” he asked as he stalked across the room to her.

  “Um… I need to… change.”

  “So do it?” he challenged and let his finger trace the edge of her robe until he met the crest of her breast.

  “There are clerics in the room.”

  Barton leaned down. His warm breath tickled Abby’s neck as he whispered, “I’m your lover, that’s what you said. I assume that means only you can make demands, but tell me something, did I just do exactly what you wanted?” A shiver tickled Abby’s breasts as her nipples perked. “You’re keeping me around for a reason, Fire.”

  “Fire?” she asked, and Barton pulled back and traced the edges of her mask. “Oh, right.”

  “Would you like me to assist you in changing?” Barton asked as he straightened up and stood at attention.

  “I’m more than capable.” Her lips twitched to keep the stern look she was trying to maintain. “And you need to rebind your hair.”

  “Yes, Fire.” Barton turned and found a binder and pulled his hair against the back of his neck.

  Abby changed and Barton walked behind her with a blank tablet to take notes. When he wasn’t gazing at her, he always seemed to be looking around as if he were waiting for something. His body remained tense as he stood next to the door as if he were ready to bolt at any moment.

  “When did the fever start?” she asked as she spoke to the first woman.

  “Why is he here?” she asked as she covered her face. “I am unmasked.”

  “I realize that, but in this moment he is to be treated as any other cleric.”

  “But he has not taken the vows. I could choose him at some point. He would have a memory of me in this condition.”

&nbs
p; “First you’d have to survive,” Abby snarled as a jealous streak took over her normally calm bedside manner.

  Barton coughed, and she turned to him, then back to the flabbergasted patient.

  “What I meant was, you are ill and it is more important at this moment for you to put propriety aside.”

  “Is that why your mask is still in place?” she snipped.

  Abby reached up and removed her mask. The weight of it alone was irritating, not to mention the heat in the lower level due to poor ventilation had it sticking against her skin. She placed it on a cart next to the woman and then wiped her face off.

  “Please move to the other side of her,” Abby ordered Barton. “I need to roll her on to her side.”

  Barton obliged, but he kept his face focused on Abby. The mystery of what was behind his black mask with the empty eyes drove her insane. She had to focus on her patient, but all she could see were his lips.

  With a shake to clear her head she refocused and fell back into her training. There could be bombs exploding around her and she was to have one singular focus—the human before her. Along the woman’s spinal column were a series of jagged circular marks approximately six centimeters in diameter with a black webbing reaching from the center to the edges. The strangest part was they appeared to be the exact distance apart from the base of her spine to the top of her neck.

  “They are necrotizing,” Abby mumbled to herself.

  “What? Am I supposed to be noting something?” Barton asked.

  “Oh, yes, necrotizing black fissures almost in the shape of webs. Strange.”

  Abby traced along either side of the woman’s spine in hopes of finding a curve or defect.

  “Strange?” Barton asked, and Abby looked into the blackness where his hidden eyes were.

  “Yes, strange. Have you ever had a rash?”

  “The pox when I was younger, maybe a poisonous plant reaction.”

  “Random right? One on your arm, three on your back? Whatever the case it tore across your skin like a glass shattering. These appear to be a straight line with an almost obsessive need to be the same distance apart. From her neck to the base of her spine. I need a way to measure,” Abby called over her shoulder and a cleric rushed a tool to her.

  First she measured the radius and even with the jagged edges they seemed to be the same. Then she measured the distance between the sores and found a similar result. She was careful to place the item gently for she feared cracking the top and releasing the fluid she could see built up under the outer layer.

  “Each patient, male and female have the same presentation?”

  “The males are around their hips.”

  “Otherwise the sores match?”

  “Yes.”

  Abby looked at Barton who arched his eyebrow. There might be two landmasses and light years of misunderstandings between men and women, but they were both supposed to get sick roughly the same way.

  “Which came first?” Abby asked when the woman was laying back down. “Your fever or sores?”

  “Fever I believe. I cannot feel them, then again I can’t feel much.”

  “What do you mean?” Abby asked with concern.

  “My body is numb. I’ve been told I soiled myself since I’ve been here, but I did not feel it.”

  “Retake her temperature. Have you run blood panels?”

  “No,” the cleric confessed. “We were unsure what to run and we have a limited lab.”

  “Run everything you can in your lab and I’ll need to contact the hospitals in your province.” She looked at Barton. “Where do you reside?”

  “The province of Yuric.”

  “Is it a large city? How many hospitals are there?”

  “Six or seven.”

  “You said you met the physician walking to the transport. So how many are close to your home?”

  “Two are within a few kilometers.”

  “Give the information to the clerics so I can see what they’ve discovered. It seems to of started in the North because I haven’t heard of anything like this recently.”

  “Will do.”

  “And Barton.” Abby wrapped her hand around his wrist to stop him.

  “Yes.”

  “You asked about injuries when the cleric came to our room. Why is that?”

  “Because those weren’t fireworks.”

  ****

  Fire’s face paled as she looked at Barton with confusion.

  “Do you not know about what is going on in the North?” Surely there had to be some coverage in the South. They both received feeds from the Central Cities.

  “I’ve heard of nothing. What has occurred? I thought all the species we’ve encountered from other planets had been friendly.”

  “Invasion? I hadn’t thought of that because although this Gala may be fun and games to you, but many men don’t see it the way the females do. You tout tradition, but you’re the first woman who’s actually shown me respect. Demands, but not orders. Most women aren’t like you. And most men might as well be clergy for all the sack they contain.”

  “Men do not wish to lie with women?” Fire blanched. “They would rather burn down the planet than have sex once a year in order to find the love of their life.”

  “Love of their life,” Barton scoffed. “That’s rich. How about lay of the moment. Fire, maybe the women of the South are not tired of this mockery, but the men are getting violent in the North in hopes of ending it.”

  Barton saw her reaction and stepped back remembering his training.

  “When I was younger there were a few men that seemed like the tales of old. Fighting, protecting their females. But we don’t have females to protect. Our sisters are in another part of the world. We can’t even see our mothers because entering the Central Cities is forbidden.”

  “You don’t need to protect us, we protect ourselves.”

  “We’ve fallen into a peaceful society that is seen as weak by the other planets we try to ally with. The only reason we’re not attacked as a planet is because our tech is advanced compared to the closest livable planet. We’re weakening as a society by demeaning half of it. While women become stronger, men seem to lose what made us attractive in the first place. Our strength, our grit our… self worth. We no longer strive for more because the drive is gone. There is only one way to impress a mate and that is to fuck them into oblivion, and even that isn’t enough for some.”

  “Wh…wha… what are you?” Fire gasped as she held her gut.

  “I have to read the literature so I know who I’m fighting. Fellow citizens that just want be treated as human everyday of the year.” Barton pointed out the door and growled. “You can’t tell me that the Gala is little more than a meat market. When the Rules were first established it was never imagined that women would take decades to pick a mate, if they ever did. I knew the minute I saw your eyes you were who I wanted forever, but my choice means nothing. It never has and never will.”

  Barton stormed out of the former cell and went in search of a cleric to pass on Fire’s request; after all, he was just her handmaiden with a cock.

  Returning his focus to the vid-screens he saw his planet in uproar. Fires burned with no chance of being squelched. Buildings were now open holes with the furniture and pictures adorning the walls as if the resident had merely stepped out to dinner. If they survived the Gala maybe the fighting would calm down and his father would meet with the rebels. The point had to be made by now. He switched the vid-screen from news to security and scanned the perimeter. On a beach he searched for movement.

  A sharp scream had him running back. His anger replaced with fear.

  “Barton,” she shrieked. “Come quickly.”

  When he returned to the cell the woman was convulsing on the gurney, and he reached to help hold her down. The patient’s eyes rolled back in her head and suddenly her body stilled. Collapsing to the bed a long gasp escaped her lips and Fire instantly grabbed two facial masks from a dispenser. Placing one o
ver her mouth she handed the other to him.

  “Don’t breathe in, not until your face is covered.”

  Latching the mask around his ears, he tried to breathe through the thick cloth covering his mouth and nose.

  “She’s gone.” Fire’s voice was clinical as she pulled a sheet over her face. “We need a surgical suite to perform an autopsy. Did you contact the other hospitals yet?”

  “I didn’t get that far.”

  “At least they drew blood when she was still alive.”

  Fire exited the room and Barton followed her. With that strong clip to her step he was glad he had a few inches on her so he could keep up. When they found a cleric she put in her orders and they waited for an answer from the hospitals in the North.

  “Why aren’t they calling us back?” she groaned as she rested her head on her hand. “I can’t just sit here all night. Have they prepped the surgical suite?”

  “About that,” an apologetic cleric began. “We cannot allow you to desecrate the body in that way.”

  “Desecrate? You’ve had six more people come down here in the last thirty minutes. This is going to end up being a morgue before long. Autopsy is an acceptable practice.”

  “Not on Harvester’s Island.”

  “Who’s here except once a year? Seriously, this isn’t its own city state.”

  “It is, legally. We have various police forces that monitor the waters surrounding it, rotating of course between male and female officers.”

  “Are you seriously blocking me from doing my job?”

  “Your only job on the island is to find a mate,” A gravely voice said from under the hood of his robe. “We were wrong to bring in outside help. A young cleric made a rash decision. Your assistance is no longer necessary.”

  “Why not?” Fire stood and eyed the cleric. “What has changed?”

  “Let’s just leave,” Barton said as he placed his hand on her shoulder, only to have it shrugged off.

  Something about this cleric wasn’t right. They needed all the help they could get today, and instead of being flustered by an unstable situation, the cleric seemed calm and in control. Maybe he was the leader or had achieved the calm those who take the oath do, but most of the clerics were anxious and ready to pass off work.