“Daddy! Stop it!”
An immense pressure threatened to blow my brains all over the cave. My hands pressed against the side of my head as if I could keep my skull from exploding that way. I was rocking side to side, and there was a tearing, burning sensation in my side.
“Auntie Sif! Help!”
“I’m coming, Siggy,” shouted Sif. “Yowrnsaxa! I may need you again.”
I peeled my eyes open, and the firelight ravaged my eyes, but not before I saw Sig looking down at me, terror on his face, tears in his eyes.
Sif ran up and knelt at my side, grasping my shoulders to stop me from rocking. “Hank! Stop this! You will rip out your stitches.”
I got control of myself and lay still though I didn’t take my hands away from my face. She moved one of her hands to my forehead, and her palm chilled me like a lump of ice.
“He’s burning up!” Sif said. “Yowrnsaxa, I need the third jar from the fourth pocket of my bag.”
“Coming, dear,” said Yowrnsaxa in a sleep clogged voice.
“With speed, if you please!” shouted Sif. “Sig, go dip your shirt in the pool and bring it to me. Run, boy!” Sig pounded off, pulling his shirt over his head.
Every sound they made drove a railroad spike through my temples. Each time Sif moved, the sound of her clothing rubbing against her skin made me want to vomit. Every time I cracked open my eyes, the dim light from the burnt-down fire seemed stunningly bright—like a million-candlepower spotlight shined in my eyes.
“Hank,” Sif said in a quiet voice. “You must tell me how you feel.”
“I…” The sound of my own voice drilled into the center of my head and left burning acid in its wake. “Headache,” I gasped. “Hot.”
“You’ve got a high fever. I can feel that for myself. Are you nauseated?”
“Sounds.” I gritted my teeth against a scream of frustration and pain.
Yowrnsaxa arrived and handed Sif a glass pot. Sif pulled the stopper, and my stomach rebelled, heaving against my ribs like a bucking bronco. “Bring one of the hoses in the same pocket, dear.”
“Be right back,” said Yowrnsaxa.
“This won’t be pleasant, Hank. I’m going to put you to sleep again.”
“No more,” I moaned.
“Yes. I must put a tube down your throat, so you keep this brew down. If I don’t, I fear the fever will cause damage to your brain. There’s no choice.”
“No more dreams,” I whined.
“Can’t avoid that, I’m afraid.” Sif touched her finger to the center of my forehead. “Svepn,” she said. The icy sensation stole over me again, and I slept.