chapter 24

Delirium

“Father, is that you?” Sarah said. “You’ve been away for so long.”

Sarah was older than he remembered, her long brown hair braided down her back. William reached out to take her hand, to reassure her.

He stumbled and fell. Pain surged up his arm.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, the agony building in his wrist, driving away the vision of his daughter. With his unhurt hand, he wiped the sweat from his eyes.

Everywhere he looked was the same sea of green. He was unable to make his way back to the road after being betrayed by his guides and had wandered with a vague plan in mind of contacting a tribe who might assist him.

But something was wrong. He was always too hot, even after he stripped off most of his clothes. The bug bites had ceased to concern him; the mounting heat and acute dizziness were too distracting. He dreamed he had a snake in his hand, not remembering if he was bitten, or even where the creature came from.

He decided to rest, to lay down on the bed of soft ferns in his English garden. When his head stopped hurting, he would continue searching until he had found Sarah, and they would be together. He would not leave her again.

“William, this is not a time to rest, nor a time to give up. You must continue your search. Our daughter is depending on you—her very life is at stake. Even now she is in danger.”

He sat up. “Miriam, is that you?”

“Yes, William. I am always here—you know that. Now have faith, husband. Be steadfast, as always.”

He found relief in the visions that were becoming ever more frequent. But now he was growing convinced that they were not visions at all, but real—more real than the green nightmare surrounding him.