Read Online The Stair Of Time (Book 2) by William Woodward - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William Woodward
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Mandie’s condition had deteriorated to the point that, in order to get her to eat, he now had to mash up her food. At least she swallows it, he thought. I suppose I should be grateful for that much. He just wished she’d come back to him, and stop speaking in riddles, mumbling about someone named Andaris and someplace called Rogar.
If she die d, he’d have nothing left. The vegetables were rotting in the fields, the sheep were two weeks past shearing time, and for once he didn’t care. Indeed, beyond the seventeen-year-old girl lying before him, he didn’t care much about anything anymore. He fed her, combed her hair, washed her face, and changed her clothes, all while scarcely sleeping or eating himself. He was ever by her side, knowing that he couldn’t bear it if she died, especially if it was because of something he didn’t do.
“Come back to me,” he whisper ed, tears streaming down cheeks that had recently gone from flushed with health to sunken and gray. “Please, Mandie. If you can hear me…come back.”
Bedside Manner
Andaris sat by Mandie’s bedside on a chair he’d pilfered from the most prominent piece of furniture in the room—a large roll-top desk standing against the far wall, richly polished wood contrasting the canary yellow paneling in a way that managed to be overbearing and cheerful at the same time. The desk seemed to be hunching its shoulders at him, as though disgruntled about the abduction of its chair, overseeing its domain with a looming quality that pestered his periphery. Andaris leaned forward with a lined brow and troubled eyes, sitting in the classic sickbed pose, Mandie’s left hand clasped in his own.
It was amazing , even now, how beautiful she was. Sunlight drenched the room, pouring through the bars of the window, casting shadow lattice against the bed and floor. Beyond shone a sapphire sky—pristine, deep blue perfection above the ruin of the Eight Walls, cloudless countenance accentuating the devastation below.
Mandie’s auburn hair shimmered in this heavenly light, reminiscent of happier times, of warm afternoons spent frolicking across the countryside, of rolling green hills flowing like waves, cresting ever higher towards a distant shore, the vast upheaval of rock and earth known as the Onarri Mountains.
It was as though the sun had risen only for her, imbuing her still form with divine grace. Her ivory skin glowed ever so faintly, a golden kiss lingering from summer’s heat, a smattering of freckles fending off full womanhood with impish charm. He saw her smiling face in his mind’s eye, green eyes full of mirth and mischief staring up at him with unbridled love.
She looked so p eaceful, lying here in her linen nightdress, so serene, that it hurt his heart. Every so often she would grip his hand more tightly, as though aware of him. On a number of occasions, like now, he gently shook one of her shoulders to try and wake her. He was usually disappointed by her continued slumber and complete lack of response, but today….
“It’s not time to wake up yet,” she mumbled, her voice sharp with reproach.
Twin roses bloomed high on Andaris’ cheeks. His heart fluttered in his breast, a nervous sparrow ready to take flight. “Mandie, honey, can you hear me?” he asked, his voice small and faltering.
“Leave me alone, Erick! Let me sleep. I’m so tired. If you don’t…I’ll tell father about the eggs you broke!”
Andaris sighed, letting out his held breath. Erick again. She’d spoken of him, to him, before, as well as to her mother and father, and someone named Sarilla. Andaris didn’t think these people were made up. More likely, they were a part of the family she’d been unable to remember, from the life that had been all but lost to her. Whatever was causing this unnatural sleep was apparently giving her access to a part of
Mandie’s condition had deteriorated to the point that, in order to get her to eat, he now had to mash up her food. At least she swallows it, he thought. I suppose I should be grateful for that much. He just wished she’d come back to him, and stop speaking in riddles, mumbling about someone named Andaris and someplace called Rogar.
If she die d, he’d have nothing left. The vegetables were rotting in the fields, the sheep were two weeks past shearing time, and for once he didn’t care. Indeed, beyond the seventeen-year-old girl lying before him, he didn’t care much about anything anymore. He fed her, combed her hair, washed her face, and changed her clothes, all while scarcely sleeping or eating himself. He was ever by her side, knowing that he couldn’t bear it if she died, especially if it was because of something he didn’t do.
“Come back to me,” he whisper ed, tears streaming down cheeks that had recently gone from flushed with health to sunken and gray. “Please, Mandie. If you can hear me…come back.”
Bedside Manner
Andaris sat by Mandie’s bedside on a chair he’d pilfered from the most prominent piece of furniture in the room—a large roll-top desk standing against the far wall, richly polished wood contrasting the canary yellow paneling in a way that managed to be overbearing and cheerful at the same time. The desk seemed to be hunching its shoulders at him, as though disgruntled about the abduction of its chair, overseeing its domain with a looming quality that pestered his periphery. Andaris leaned forward with a lined brow and troubled eyes, sitting in the classic sickbed pose, Mandie’s left hand clasped in his own.
It was amazing , even now, how beautiful she was. Sunlight drenched the room, pouring through the bars of the window, casting shadow lattice against the bed and floor. Beyond shone a sapphire sky—pristine, deep blue perfection above the ruin of the Eight Walls, cloudless countenance accentuating the devastation below.
Mandie’s auburn hair shimmered in this heavenly light, reminiscent of happier times, of warm afternoons spent frolicking across the countryside, of rolling green hills flowing like waves, cresting ever higher towards a distant shore, the vast upheaval of rock and earth known as the Onarri Mountains.
It was as though the sun had risen only for her, imbuing her still form with divine grace. Her ivory skin glowed ever so faintly, a golden kiss lingering from summer’s heat, a smattering of freckles fending off full womanhood with impish charm. He saw her smiling face in his mind’s eye, green eyes full of mirth and mischief staring up at him with unbridled love.
She looked so p eaceful, lying here in her linen nightdress, so serene, that it hurt his heart. Every so often she would grip his hand more tightly, as though aware of him. On a number of occasions, like now, he gently shook one of her shoulders to try and wake her. He was usually disappointed by her continued slumber and complete lack of response, but today….
“It’s not time to wake up yet,” she mumbled, her voice sharp with reproach.
Twin roses bloomed high on Andaris’ cheeks. His heart fluttered in his breast, a nervous sparrow ready to take flight. “Mandie, honey, can you hear me?” he asked, his voice small and faltering.
“Leave me alone, Erick! Let me sleep. I’m so tired. If you don’t…I’ll tell father about the eggs you broke!”
Andaris sighed, letting out his held breath. Erick again. She’d spoken of him, to him, before, as well as to her mother and father, and someone named Sarilla. Andaris didn’t think these people were made up. More likely, they were a part of the family she’d been unable to remember, from the life that had been all but lost to her. Whatever was causing this unnatural sleep was apparently giving her access to a part of
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