Steps Through the Night

Chapter 15 - Steps Through the Night

Morning crept quietly into the clinic. Light angled through the high windows, hitting the floor near the bed. It wasn’t bright, not yet. Just a sliver, pale and fragile.

The air smelled faintly of herbs. Nothing else. Just the smell of old wood and dried leaves.

Martha shifted in the chair beside Zio, careful not to make a sound. He was still. Not asleep, not awake.

A young nurse entered. Her steps barely made noise. She adjusted the blanket over Zio’s chest, smoothing it without hesitation. Martha hardly noticed, her gaze locked on the boy.

The nurse checked his wrist with two fingers. A pulse. Weak, steady. She scribbled something on a small sheet of paper and left.

Martha exhaled, a slow shudder. Her hand hovered over her lap, clenched around nothing. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been holding her breath.

Time moved unevenly. Sunlight shifted across the floor. Shadows crawled like insects. Martha followed each movement with her eyes, tracking the light more than Zio.

Her stomach twisted. Hunger was there, faint, but she ignored it.

The door opened again. An older nurse appeared, tray in hand. She uncapped a bottle of liquid, sniffed it, then replaced the lid. Fingers brushed Zio’s forehead, quick, precise.

“Eat something,” she said to Martha, voice low but firm. “You’ve been sitting there since night.”

Martha nodded. Words caught in her throat.

Behind the curtain, a cough. Faded. Martha didn’t turn.

The nurse glanced at Zio’s hand, limp, soft. She left without another word.

Afternoon light entered, warmer now. Dust floated in beams, tiny specks of gold. Martha moved the chair slightly. She needed to see. To be closer.

The Elf came next, carrying a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. She didn’t step fully inside. Her movements were careful, almost shy.

“Time for the wash,” she said. Voice soft.

Martha barely moved. She watched as the Elf lifted the old cloth from Zio’s forehead, replaced it with a new one, damp and warm. She wiped his lips, his wrists, following the same pattern every day. Martha memorized each motion.

“Nothing yet?” the Elf asked, eyes sharp.

“Not yet,” Martha whispered.

The cloth wrung, light ripples across the water. The Elf noted the time in a log, then left. Martha was alone again.

She held the empty bowl. It was warm. Too warm. Her hands remembered it. She set it down carefully.

Light faded. Shadows stretched. Martha stood, moved to the window, peeked outside. Life carried on. Children ran in the courtyard. A wagon creaked past. Smoke spiraled from chimneys. The world spun as if nothing mattered here. She wanted to shout at it. To demand attention for this suspended life.

Back at the bed, Zio was still. Eyelashes unmoved. His hands slightly apart from the mattress. A gap. Tiny, almost invisible. But it wasn’t nothing. Martha noticed it.

She reached for his cheek. Paused. Pulled back. Fear and hope collided.

The tilt of his head had shifted, maybe a millimeter. She blinked, convinced she imagined it.

Time crawled. Lamps flickered to life. Shadows softened. Another nurse entered. Quiet. She cleaned behind his ears, his wrists. Another mark on the log.

Martha’s shoulders slumped. Her fingers rested on the edge of the bed.

And then the blanket near Zio’s collarbone moved. Barely. Slowly.

Her heart hitched. She didn’t breathe. One second stretched into ten. Another second. Still nothing. She thought it was gravity.

Then a shift. Between breaths. Subtle. Almost imperceptible. But Martha felt it in her chest. Zio was responding.

Footsteps approached. Heavier this time. The door opened. A Healer entered. Robes brushing the floor. He stood across from Martha, hand above Zio’s chest.

“If this continues, take him to the city,” he said. Flat. Professional. His gaze scanned, assessing, noting. “Medical magic there will tell you more. Here… we find nothing.”

Martha nodded. She said nothing. Waiting.

He left. Silence returned.

Martha looked at the chain around Zio’s neck. A pendant. Metal, dull. She touched it, then withdrew.

She closed her eyes. Held her breath. Willed. Needed.

A subtle change in the corridor air. No step. No sound. Pressure shifted. Slight. Almost mocking.

Martha’s eyes snapped open.

The breathing gap in Zio’s chest was complete. Full. Something moved beneath.

Outside, faint footstep. Paper rustle. Silence.

Zio’s hand twitched. His index finger curled inward.

Martha froze. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

His head tilted. Eyes closed, lips parted. A deep inhale. His chest rose higher than it had all day. Exhale. A spark. Awareness.

Night settled outside.

A dwarf with a braided beard moved carefully across the courtyard. Beside him, a tall man with a staff. Steps quiet but deliberate.

They paused beneath a tree. Hand signal. Forward again.

Inside, Martha remained at the bed’s edge, unaware. Zio seemed still, yet the tiniest shift in breathing betrayed the stirrings of life.

The dwarf and the man continued. Purpose in each step. Whatever plan awaited, it had begun. The night moved with them, silent and precise.

Martha nearly dropped the chair. Her knuckles whitened. She held her breath again. Eyes on Zio. Any movement now felt like a miracle.

Minutes passed. Slow. Heavy.

The pendant caught the lamp light, a flicker. Not magic. Just metal.

Zio’s lips quivered. His eyes stayed closed. Fingers flexed, then rested.

Martha let out a sound she hadn’t known was lodged in her throat. Relief? Fear? She didn’t care. She was alive, in the waiting, in the watching.

Outside, night draped the courtyard in shadow.

The low rattle of the cart faded as it ground to a stop by the gate. The dwarf swung down from the driver’s seat, joints cracking from hours of gripping the reins and bracing against the uneven road. His boots hit the cobblestones with a heavy thud, still caked in the dry mud of the long journey.

Beside him, the man stepped down, his staff striking the cobblestones with a quiet precision. Every movement deliberate, his gaze locked on the clinic windows.

Inside, Martha remained at Zio’s side, oblivious. The boy lay motionless, yet the slightest rise of his chest hinted at life stirring within.

They pressed on. Whatever purpose had brought them here moved with them into the night, silent and already in motion.