The Will of the Wind, Part 2

The moment Jax woke up, her ears were awash with a loud buzzing—the buzz of voices, all around her. For a moment, she lay, frozen, immobile, until the reality of her situation converged on her, and she sat up, gasping her discomfort into the noise. All eyes, young, old, and middle-aged, met hers, and the hubbub calmed as they rushed toward her, their eyes on her forearms, wide like the moon in her Deathscape. Probably the tattoos that marked you, twined your arms and stained your skin, after death. She was the first to have them while also being alive. Vestige were the markings of a good life, an excellent death. But she wasn't dead. 

A voice captured her attention. 

"Jax? Jax!" 

Arms came 'round her, lifting her up, gently. Her sword, knives, and circlet, signifying her role as Silver tier in the Guardian lineage, flashed brightly at her from a hospital side table as she steadied herself in Sage's arms. 

"I'm here," she whispered, reaching up, up, up to tuck a lock of blinding blond hair behind his ear. 'Sage, I'm right here." 

His arms tightened resolutely around her, and he laid his face into her neck. "You cannot begin to comprehend the pain you bring me," he said. "I may not be able to look at you again." 

"Shh," she murmured, standing on tiptoe to reach his ear. "You're lying and you know it." 

He sighed. "I can't get past you, can I?"

"The Magistra called me 'frightfully reckless'. It's my duty to live up to my name." 

Sage snorted. "You are the most difficult woman I have ever met." 

"A pity. The only other girl you're in contact with is your mother." 

Sage, in mock-outrage, pulled his head from her neck. Jax immediately felt the loss of his warmth from her skin, but she ignored it—there was no other point in it. She had to let those feelings go. 

"I'll have you know—"

"Children," The Magistra had arrived. Fan-bloody-tastic. "You are wasting our precious time. Jax is to be positioned back out into the field, efffective immediately." 

The entire room, so full of laughter and light, died down to a horrified hush. Mara, Jax's younger sister, gasped softly. 

"Magistra," said Sage, his arms not falling from their place around Jax's waist. "With all due respect, Jax hasn't yet been awake five minutes, and you've already postioned her? I can't—I can't let this happen."

Yohanna raised her perfect brows. "I cannot help but think that my word trumps yours, my boy. Your charge and responsibility she may be, yours to command, she is not." 

Sage's hands tightened against the soft skin of her waist, where the fabric of her shirt had riden up. "I—"

"Effective immediately, sir. In simpler terms, now."

Jax sighed, resigned to her fate, and pushed Sage away from her, wiping her hands against the black tunic she wore to clear it of dust. Her cloak, so helpful in the Arctic cold of Lutum, though not standing a chance in her Deathscape, was nowhere to be seen.

"I'll go," she said. "I've got to, Sage. It's my duty, as I said." 

Sage's emotions clashed against the skin of his face, but settled quickly, as if they had never marred his features. "Take her," he said. "But if you hurt her—"

"I make no promises," said the Magistra. "She is a portion of my sister's royal guard. A Silver tier Guardian. I might not even be able to guarantee you her happiness." She sneered, perfect white teeth glinting in the lights from the hospital room. "I'll send you a postcard, should things turn ugly." And she was gone, whipping 'round the door and out of sight, thick, black braid swaying in the slipstream of her movement.

Sage was shaking so slightly only Jax, knowing and loving him for what felt like forever, could see. His voice, however, was stone cold. "I cannot do anything for you, it seems. I apologize, Sister." His blue eyes settled on her, full of anguish. 

Jax, ever the joker, could really only feel like thinking of one thing. Well, this escalated quickly.