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For over an hour they rode. Annabeth’s eyes began to droop shut, heavy with weariness; she fought to keep them open, but they closed firmly for the last time. Ransom smiled sympathetically. Riding his horse as close to hers as possible, he pulled her foot from the stirrup. She didn’t move. He swung his right leg over his saddle and placed it in her stirrup. In a moment he was sitting behind her, taking the reins from her moist hands and putting one arm around her, gently leaning her back against him.
Her head turned sideways against his shoulder. They rode together until the stars came out. Ransom pulled the horses to a stop. Gathering her into his arms, he slipped down from the horse’s back. The landing jarred her, and Annabeth stirred with a whimper under her breath.
“Hush,” he whispered in her ear, and she relaxed against him. Ransom smiled. Maybe he could earn her trust at last.
It was the middle of the night when a distressed voice woke him.
“No, don’t. I don’t want to. Let me go!”
He sat up and looked at her as the moon peeked through the clouds. Annabeth’s face was bathed in sweat as she tossed her head one way, then another.
Taking his canteen, he went to her.
“Annabeth, shh. You are safe.”
She flung her hand loosely at him, as if to drive him away, then it rested on her dagger, her weak hand trying to close around it.
Ransom’s heart ached for her with a sudden pang. Even in her sleep she was ready to try to defend herself against him. When he placed his hand on Annabeth’s to prevent the attack, he was bitterly surprised to find it hot with fever. He touched her forehead. She wasn’t sweating from nightmares; Annabeth had a raging fever.
Ransom was furious with himself. I should have watched her more carefully. Going to his saddlebags, he pulled out a cloth and poured water over it. He returned to Annabeth and placed it on her forehead, then took her sword belt and dagger from her side. He wasn’t about to take any risks.
For over an hour he tried to cool her temperature, but it only increased, and with the heat, the delirium and outbursts became more frequent. As he was fighting her fever, he tried to piece together what she was saying. She called for her father and for someone named Alf. Her feverish hands tried to keep him away, but they were so weak that they only spoke of her need of him.
He emptied both of their canteens, trying to bring down her fever, but to no avail. She was ill and he was out of immediate resources to help her. Somewhere nearby, a river went laughing over stones, seeming to mock him and his worries. Taking the canteens, he followed the sound.
It didn’t take him long to find it. As he filled the canteens, he noticed that the river was wide and deep and the water bitingly cold as it drank from a mountain stream. He looked at the small canteens in his hands; he looked at the stream. He could only take so much to her, and it might eventually cool her off, but why not bring her to the river?
Ransom ran back to camp, took off his boots, and lifted the feverish Annabeth into his arms.
Walking back to the stream, he waded in carefully, holding his breath as it bit him in the dark. The rocks were slippery in the shallows where the water moved slowly. Deeper in was a firm, sandy bottom. He lowered her into the water.
Suddenly, her fingernails raked across his shirt as her body rebelled with a fearful cry. Even in her delirium, she was trying to escape something. Ransom gritted his teeth as her fingers dug into him.
“No, no, I can’t swim; help me!” It was a cry of fear as she writhed in his arms.
He held her tightly and whispered in her ear. “I have you, Annabeth. I have you; it’s all right.”
Her breath came in panicked gasps that caused her to hiccup.
Slower this time, he let her down into the water, only to have her panicked hands scrape him again.
“Annabeth!” he muttered between tightly clenched teeth.
A thought struck him, and he let her feet slip into the water, holding her tightly until her feet touched bottom. Slowly she relaxed, and her panicked breathing evened. He carefully pulled her out into deeper water, gauging how deep she could go and still touch the bottom. Finally, she was shoulder deep.
Unexpectedly, she spoke: “Alf.”
She seemed to be waiting for a response.
“Yes?”
“You won’t let me go, will you, Alf?”
Who is Alf? But Ransom leaned close to her ear and whispered. “Of course not. I have you, Annabeth.”
She relaxed, her head resting against his arm.
Ransom waited until his body began to spasm with cold. Gathering her into his arms, he walked back to the camp and built up the fire to warm and dry himself.
Her talking became even more frantic and disjointed. Ransom watched her with concern, as he learned much from her delirium and tried to piece it all together.
I’ll not serve you. Don’t leave me, mother; don’t leave me. I won’t fail you, father. I must go on. Let me be. No, no. I won’t help you; let me go. God protect him. Song Lark, sing me something.
Suddenly, she screamed. Her feverish hands fought off the cloak, searching for something.
He killed him! Oh, God, he killed him! Help me; hide me. Oh, Lord, help me.
Annabeth was in a state of panic. Ransom caught her wild hands in his and gently pressed them to her side.
“You are safe, Annabeth,” he repeated over and over again. However, from that moment on, the fever began to worsen. Just as he was getting ready to take her back to the river, she was covered in goose bumps and she was shivering as if in convulsions. The fight changed: he had to keep her warm. He drew her near the fire and covered her in her cloak, then his.
With a shiver and a sigh, she lay completely still.
For several moments Ransom wondered if he dare touch her.
Is she alive or dead? he wondered, leaning forward to touch her hand. She was not dead. Life still worked within her body, struggling though it was. She was weak and tired. Ransom looked at the sky with a sigh of relief. The soft colors of dawn were blushing in the horizon. Turning, he looked back to where they had come from. They would still be after her; Lord Raburn wanted her. It was his duty to earn her trust, come what may.
Saddling the horses, he gathered her in his arms. Placing her on the saddle and mounting behind her, he plunged the horses into the river downstream. They had to hurry; the border was not far. Once they crossed, she would be safe—perhaps against her will, but she would be safe. He would have kept his promise and it would all be over for him.
Near noon, she stirred. He held her close, hoping she wouldn’t panic in fear.
Annabeth’s eyes fluttered open. It was obvious by the pain in her eyes that she was too tired and too ill to conceal that she felt unwell.
“Where am I?” she murmured between parched lips.
He stroked a hand over her hair, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You are safe with me.”
A smile darted briefly through her eyes and slowly they closed again, weariness taking her against her will. He could feel her fighting it, her body almost rigid in its sleep, fighting for awareness, fighting to be ready.
Ransom shook his head and urged the horse into a canter. Every hour he changed horses. It was a hassle, but it saved the horses from being completely worn out. Only when darkness had settled over the land did Ransom stop and build a fire for the night.
Weary, Annabeth opened her eyes and sighed.
“Sleep well?”
“Well enough.” She tried to sit up, but only landed on her back with a moan.
“Don’t move. You are weak enough as it is. You need to save your strength.”
For a long time, there was silence as he cooked over the open fire.
“Is it natural for the stars to spin wildly?” she asked, her voice tired.
“No.”
“They won’t stop.”
“You need something to eat.” He ladled the stew from the pot into a bowl and came to her side, offering her a spoonful.
“I can feed myself.”
“Really? Well, you may give it a try,” he said, placing the spoon in her hand.
Annabeth’s hand shook as she tried to bring it to her mouth, and some of the broth dribbled down her cheek. She laughed at her lame effort, only to give a small cry as sharp pain shot through her body.
“It’s only a flesh wound,” she sighed.
“Flesh wounds can be deadly if not treated properly. You lost plenty of blood.”
“Still,” she said, trying to fight her way onto her elbow. Annabeth laid back in defeat.
Ransom was silent as he helped her eat, then he looked at her wound. The bleeding had stopped the night before, but the long ride had caused it to start again. He looked at her, dissatisfied.
“What is the matter?”
“You need rest, and you need it now.”
“Where are we?”
“About three days from the border.”
“Are we near the mountains?”
Ransom nodded.
“There is an abandoned shepherd’s cottage up in the mountains. It’s not too hard to find, but they have never looked for me there.”
“Why?”
She smiled. “There is a mountain stream that comes out in a cave. It’s pretty dark, but you go upstream until you reach the opening of the cave. It is barely walking room high.”
“Another one of your disappearing tricks.”
Annabeth smiled and closed her eyes. “Where is my sword?”
“It’s safe,” he answered.
“You aren’t going to give it to me?”
“No. You have the luxury of being a damsel in distress.”
Annabeth let out a sighing laugh, with a sniff of disgust.
“Get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir.”