Chapter 7

In over thirty-three years of life, Kira Nerys had been sure many times that she was going to die.

Thus far, she’d been glad to have been wrong each time, but as she crouched in the half-meter of snow, sweat pouring from her brow even as she shivered uncontrollably, checking to see if anyone was coming up behind them, she was starting to wish she would die, just so her present hell would end.

First they had spent two days trudging through a swamp. She had done what she could to keep Torrna’s arm from getting worse, but it was an uphill battle, and she was no medic. Plus, they had no food— Kira had many skills, but foraging had never been one of her best. They’d scavenged a few animals here and there, but most weren’t anything larger than a paluku.

Resistance had been less than expected, but as Moloki had explained, the castle itself was not very well guarded. Support from the Bajora notwithstanding, in order to fight, in essence, a three-front war—on the ground against both Periki and Endtree, on the sea against their combined navies—the prince had limited resources to keep an eye on things at home. Kira and her newly acquired sword had been able to take care of the few guards they had seen with little difficulty.

Then they’d gotten to the mountains.

From humidity and high temperatures to snow and frigidity. From her old wound feeling just fine to her arm stiffening up from the cold. And now, quite possibly, coming down with pneumonia.

If Julian were here, he’d give me a shot of something, and I’d be fine. Of course, I’d have to listen to a lecture about not taking better care of myself.

She shook her head. That part of her life was over now. She was here, and she had a duty to perform. The Prophets sent her here for a reason.

Right. To die on a mountain with a blowhard general who got himself captured, and was only able to escape imprisonment thanks to a spy. Makes perfect sense.

Sighing, Kira satisfied herself that they still weren’t being pursued, despite the five corpses they had left behind in the castle and the obvious trail they had made through the swamp. She got up, hugged herself with her arms (wincing in pain from the wound), and, shivering all the way, went back to the small inlet where she’d left Torrna.

“Dammit!” she yelled when she saw that Torrna had fallen asleep. He’d been fading in and out for quite some time. Kira’s medical knowledge was limited, but even she knew that going into shock would be deadly.

She slapped his face a few times. “Torrna. Torrna! Dammit, Antosso, wake up!”

He blinked a few times. “Ash—Ashla?” he said in as weak a voice as she’d ever heard him use.

“Yes, it’s me,” she said, plastering an encouraging smile to her face, hoping her teeth weren’t chattering too obviously. “We’re still not being followed. And we’ve only got a few more kilometers to go. Think you’re up to it?”

He nodded. “I think so. I just— arrrrrgh!”

Torrna had started to rise, then collapsed back to the snow-covered ground. “Sorry,” he said through clenched teeth. “Keep forgetting that the arm doesn’t really work.”

“Let me take a look at it,” Kira said, moving as if to pull back his cloak—stolen off one of the guards they’d killed on the way out.

With his good arm, Torrna grabbed Kira’s wrist. “No!” He took a breath. “I’m sorry, Ashla, but you fussing over it isn’t going to change the fact that it feels like someone’s driven a flaming hot poker through my shoulder.”

“Once we get back home—”

“It’ll be too late, then. Ashla —I need you to cut the damned thing off.”

Kira laughed derisively. “Antosso, I’m not a surgeon. And I don’t have anything to staunch the bleeding or cauterize the wound with. If I cut your arm off now, you’ll bleed to death.” Not to mention that I’m shivering so much that I’ll probably cut off your head by mistake …

“And if you don’t, I’ll die from the infection. You yourself said that was a risk.”

“A risk means the possibility of success. If I just hack your arm off right now with no alcohol, no bandages, no cauterizing agent—”

“All right! You’ve made your point.” Smiling grimly, Torrna added,

“I suppose this means I’ll just have to make it back to Perikia, then.”

Kira just nodded, and helped him to his feet.

They trudged their way through the snow-covered region, climbing over outcroppings, under crevices, and through chest-high snowdrifts.

She didn’t know how long it was before she drained the water supply. Or, for that matter, when the blisters started breaking out all over her skin. She didn’t have the wherewithal to check her tricorder to see how bad the radiation was. Every fiber of her being was focused on the overwhelming task of putting one foot in front of the other.

How long ago was it that she had been trudging through the hot, arid wasteland of that theta-radiation-racked planet in the Delta Quadrant? Days? Months? Years? Now she was engaged in the same mindless task, staying focused solely on moving forward, ever forward, in the hopes of reaching her goal. Then it was to reach a gateway. Now it was to make it back to Perikia.

Of course, the gateway took her to Perikia. Is there some kind of symbolism here?

Or maybe it’s just nonsense. Maybe all of this is. Maybe I’m just here because it’s where the gateway sent me. There’s no purpose, no road the Prophets have put me on, I’m just here because some portal built by a bunch of aliens hundreds of thousands of years ago happened to show up when I needed it to get off a planet.

She closed her eyes and then opened them. Focus, she thought. Just put one foot in front of the other and try not to think about the fact that your internal temperature is skyrocketing while your external one is plummetting. At this rate, I’ll explode by nightfall….

Kira trudged her way through the snow, willing the feeling to stay in her feet even though they were starting to numb again—the last time they did, they had stopped in the crevice.

“Yet your gods cast you out.”

“Not my gods. Only a few men and women who claim to represent them.”

Kira had no idea why the conversation she and Taran’atar had had in the Euphrates was coming back to her, but she tried to banish it from her head. “Shut up!” she cried.

“What?” Torrna asked from behind her.

“Nothing,” Kira said, embarrassed. Great, now I’m yelling at the voices in my head.

“We will make it, Ashla. We must. There is no other way—if we do not, Perikia will be lost. It’s our land—the Lerrit do not belong there, and I’ll do everything I can to keep them out! But we can’t do it if we don’t get Moloki’s information back to the prefect.”

Kira looked back at Torrna, and saw the look of determination on his face even through the snow and facial hair, through the bruises, and through the pain he felt.

And she felt ashamed for doubting.

“We’ll make it,” she repeated.

One foot in front of the other, she thought. You can do it. We can do it. We’ll make it back.

Half an hour later, she collapsed face-first into the snow.