Chapter 60 Chapter Twenty-Nine Part One - Azadou
Appearing in Orenda’s bedroom with Ayawamat, I lay her on the bed with cautious movements, listening for the faintest sound of pain or distress, but still she remains silent. Now that I have an unobstructed view of her face I see the swollen bruise forming on her right cheek. My mind races, painting vivid and nightmarish pictures of what Orenda endured for the past month to have caused her to be in the state she’s in now. I step back and let Ayawamat tend to her but continue to allow the energy of my essram to radiate around me. I can’t tell if it’s helping Orenda, but I know it’s at least helping the baby. There was a sense of desperation coming from it that has now subsided somewhat. It wasn’t like a thought or an emotion but more of a primal survival instinct.
I watch, feeling helpless as Ayawamat kneels on the floor, assessing Orenda and covering her with blankets with a focused look ingrained on his face. I’m unsure of what to say or do. I feel compelled to stay but I also feel like an unwelcome intruder. With a bit more strength coursing through me than I’ve had in a while, I reach out to read Orenda’s mind, hoping her thoughts will provide me with answers but I’m stupefied to find I can barely hear them. They’re there… but it’s like they’re high above me, just beyond my reach. I take a moment to focus my attention on Ayawamat’s thoughts and can hear them clear as a bell and full of anguish. I tune him out and look back at Orenda, suddenly unnerved.
“If she stays mortal much longer, she’s not going to survive,” he opines fearfully, gaining my undivided attention.
My head whips in his direction, my brows knitting in stunned confusion. “What do you mean ‘mortal’?” I demand, my voice rising in pitch.
With a shaky breath, he faces me. “Our hair isn’t just hair. For each of you Gods, your hair is a reflection of your true form. Well, for me and Orenda, it’s where our essrams reside. From there it flows through us, giving us life, power and everything that comes with it. Without a soul or an essram, we’re just bodies waiting to decay. I don’t know how someone could or even knew to do this, but right now she is mortal,” he explains, his teeth bearing down looking incensed and anxious.
I look down at Orenda with fearful eyes, my imitation heart compressing painfully inside my chest as I grasp why the baby was in distress and why Orenda’s heart is slowing down: mother and child are no longer compatible, which means if something isn’t done soon…they’ll both die.
I realise that even if I attempt to heal her, it won’t fix the greater and more threatening issue. She needs more than I can give, and I can only think of one person who might be able to help her. I close my eyes, draw in a deep breath and swallow down every ounce of resentment and pride inside me as I focus on doing what needs to be done.
“Jartre,” I breathe out.
I feel his energy fill the room almost instantly and must immediately fight to quell my instinctive response to his presence. I open my eyes and see him standing on the other side of the bed, his radiant white hair standing out against the shadows of Orenda’s room. He looks at me with surprise but quickly looks down to see Orenda lying in the bed. His immortal features express the same horror and shock that me and Ayawamat experienced as he takes in the sight of her.
“Orenda…” he whispers, his voice a conflicting mix of pain and relief. He looks up, glancing from me to Ayawamat. “I’m so relieved you found her,” he says with gracious awe. “But I never imagined she’d be found like this,” he chokes, gazing at her with paternal concern.
I resist the urge to look away in shame and force myself to face the consequences of my actions. Orenda is in this mess because of me. After everything she has gone through, the very least I can do is suck up a little discomfort for her sake.
“She needs your help, Jartre,” Ayawamat beseeches. “If you don’t heal her and restore her essram she’ll die,” he warns with a trembling voice.
“I won’t let that happen,” he states firmly then carefully sits on the bed next to Orenda.
“Whatever you’re going to do, you better do it fast. They’re running out of time,” I insist in a rush.
Jartre looks up at me, his brow furrowing in confusion. “They?”
“She’s pregnant!” I exclaim, feeling as if I’m going to explode from the stress, desperately needing him to get a move on. “Heal now, talk later!”
His mouth pops open, his expression stunned before I see understanding flit across his face. He looks back down at Orenda with fastidious focus, reaching out and placing his hand on her forehead. He closes his eyes and instantly his body is enveloped by an intense white light. The static and energy his presence exudes intensifies as I watch his energy spread throughout Orenda, shrouding her in white light.
My chest begins to throb with hopeful excitement as her cheek and scalp begin to heal, but my excitement turns to awe as I watch her scalp blossom with hair. Rainbow strands grow longer, forming thick full waves fanning out against her pillow as colourful sparks of static move through each strand. Her body fills to its previous size and shape like her skin and muscles are being inflated like a balloon, and beneath the white glow surrounding her, I see her skin return to its gorgeous shade of burnt sienna at the same moment I hear her heart increase to a steady, healthy rhythm.
I glance down when I register something touching my arm and see Ayawamat’s hand gripping my arm tightly. I’m momentarily surprised by the action and relieved I have continued to keep my malice under lock and key. Ayawamat’s body is tense with anxiety as he watches Jartre heal Orenda and unlike before, the compassion I feel to see him like this brings me a strange sense of comfort.
I let Ayawamat use my arm to ease his tension as I look back at the scene before us. The white light around Orenda flows back into Jartre like the pull of a tide, and then the light around him fades away. As he opens his eyes he pulls his hand away from Orenda’s forehead and I watch with bated breath as Orenda’s prismatic hair fades to the familiar cedar and mocha brown I remember.
Slowly she opens her eyes, then gradually she starts to look around, her kaleidoscopic irises taking everything in until Ayawamat’s impatience gets the better of him. He drops and slides across the floor on his knees, finding Orenda’s hand and kissing it eagerly.
“Please, please tell me you’re okay,” he begs in desperation.
Her lips spread into a gentle smile as she looks down at her brother affectionately, “I feel better than I have in weeks,” she assures him in a tender voice.
My shoulders drop – having unknowingly been raised with anxiety – as an enormous amount of tension leaves my body making way to overwhelming relief that while I’m sure I don’t deserve, I feel all the same. I pull the energy of my essram back within myself, feeling like it is now safe to do so then pause for a second, relaxing when I detect no protests or distress from the baby.
Orenda looks over at Jartre, gracing him with a warm smile. “Thank you.”
His eyes become glassy with tears as he holds and squeezes her hand. “You scared the hell out of me,” he confesses.
“I know the feeling,” she sympathises.
“I looked everywhere for you, we all did,” Ayawamat informs her, his cheeks stained with tears once again.
She looks at him sadly. “I never doubted it. Thank you for not giving up,” she says with sincere gratitude.
I stand here awkwardly like an unwelcome bystander as they engage in their emotional reunion. I wonder if I should leave when Orenda looks up at me, freezing me in place with her gaze. I try to think of something to say but my mind is suddenly nothing but rolling tumbleweed.
“How did you find me?” she queries in bewilderment, but I get the feeling that wasn’t what she wanted to ask.
“I didn’t do anything,” I admit shamefully. “It was all your brother.”
Ayawamat looks up at me in shock. “Now you’re choosing to be modest?” he rhetorically asks in disbelief. He shakes his head and looks back at Orenda. “We wouldn’t have found you if it hadn’t been for him,” he insists, much to my surprise.
“But how?” Orenda presses looking perplexed.
“I’m ashamed I hadn’t thought of it sooner, but this one,” he says, throwing his thumb back at me. “Came here looking for you and after some back and forth, something he said gave me an idea. We went to see Tituba and she granted Azadou a wish, which took us right to you,” he explains.
Orenda and Jartre look at me in surprise, their intense stares making me uncomfortable. I used to be near-impervious to the thoughts and feelings of others. I walked around in a haze, unbothered and unimpressed by almost everything around me. When I did feel something, it was contempt, disgust or rage, except for when it came to Orenda. Without trying, she was slowly opening a door within me to feelings I didn’t understand, but the moment I accepted her rejection, instead of the door locking shut for good, the entire house got demolished. Now I feel everything and it’s making me feel meagre and pathetic. How does anyone live with this and not go insane?