by AC Cobble
Amelie shrugged. “I was in so much pain I don’t recall. If they are medicinal, it might help. If we don’t know what we’re doing though, it could make it worse.”
Ben lit a lantern Creegan kept by the door and went to investigate the shed. It was still early in the evening, but already darkness was falling on the northern forest. He took his longsword as well. After the demon attack, he kept it constantly by his side.
Against the back wall of the shed, long strands of herbs and flowers hung from the ceiling rafters to dry. Rough shelves were stacked with jars and boxes. None of them were labeled. Ben looked at the hanging herbs first. He quickly identified a few that could be used for cooking and noted several he wasn’t familiar with. He wasn’t aware that any of them had infection-fighting properties.
He brushed past the hanging strands of flora and started with the jars on the top shelves. Most contained dried flower buds or leaves. Some were the same as the hanging strands, but some were different. He didn’t recognize most of them. Like Amelie said, they might make it worse by applying the wrong medicine, so he passed on anything he didn’t know.
Thirty jars into it, and approaching the bottom shelf, Ben found something different. He picked up a dirty glass jar and nearly dropped it. The thing was as heavy as his longsword. Frowning, Ben unplugged the top and shined the light of the lantern inside. A yellow glow reflected back at him. He shifted the jar and heard the unmistakable clink of metal.
Stepping back from the shelf, Ben upended the jar on the floor. Spread out around his feet was a huge pile of gold coins. He knelt and sorted through them with a finger, counting almost fifty of the thick discs. Pensively, Ben scooped the coins up and dumped them back into the jar. He placed it on the shelf and was surprised to find the next two jars were full of silver coins. A fourth one held copper.
In all, he estimated it added up to over one hundred gold coins in value. Multiples more than he had saved in his lifetime. More than he’d ever seen in one place, actually. It was enough to purchase half a dozen farms in Farview or a stretch or two of prime timberland. Apparently, being a crazy hermit in the northern woods paid better than he would have guessed.
He left the jars full of coins otherwise undisturbed and searched the rest of the shelf. At the bottom, he found a sealed container. It was heavy but didn’t have the metallic clink of coins. Nervously, he broke the seal and peeked inside. A smooth, sweet smell filled the shed. Honey.
The smell sparked a memory. Years before, Ben recalled one of the workers in Farview’s timber mill getting a brutal gash from a saw. The blade cut the man nearly to the bone. Sawdust and other particles clogged the wound. Everyone had clustered around the man, trying to staunch the bleeding and waiting to see if he died.
Instead, Farview’s baker and part-time doctor, Edward Crust, arrived and managed to save the man. After the initial life-saving aid, Crust cleaned the wound then poured fresh honey over it. Ben and the mill workers had listened doubtfully while Crust explained that the honey would reduce the chances of infection. Ben didn’t know if it would help an existing infection, but it was the only thing he recognized that might. He brought the jar of honey back to the cottage.
Amelie’s brows knitted when he mentioned it to her. Finally, she admitted, “We may as well try it. I don’t think honey can hurt the man so the worst case is we make a sticky mess, and I don’t have any other ideas.”
Ben nodded. Together, they unwrapped the bandages and cleaned the wound. Ben grimaced when he touched the cold, clammy flesh. He poured a good dollop of honey onto Creegan’s shoulder and spread it around to make sure a thick coating covered each of the punctures from the bite. Afterward, he and Amelie sat down and ate dinner, hoping they would see a positive change by morning.
For the next three days, things continued like that. Ben hiked out in the morning to work on cutting down the stubborn tree. Amelie remained in the cottage with Creegan, trying to feed him bits of food, reapplying the honey to his injury, and performing light healing on him. The near constant attention arrested his decline, but the woodsman was not improving.
Amelie was getting anxious and frustrated. She was well enough that she could move about the grounds near the cottage but not healthy enough for serious travel. They thought she would be fit in a few more days, but they didn’t know what to do with Creegan. They could load him onto a stretcher and move him to a nearby town, but they weren’t sure if he was stable enough to survive the short journey. And once there, without Amelie’s healing, he may not be in any better shape. They wouldn’t be able to stay in a town for long. The man and woman hunter had proven the Sanctuary had agents in the area. Even worse, Towaal implied Eldred could be on the move soon. Facing her was certain to be fatal.
In a dark moment, Ben realized that if the woodsman died, it would make things easier for them. They wouldn’t have to expend energy caring for the man. He had a huge cache of supplies they could loot, including the jars of gold and silver. If he were gone, there would be no witness that they had stayed in the cottage.
It was a fleeting thought brought on by frustration at their situation. Ben knew that despite what seemed expedient, they would do whatever they could for the woodsman. They couldn’t do otherwise.
On the fourth day, Ben finally brought down the tree. He was lost in thought, steadily chipping away at the stubborn trunk, axe blade flashing over and over. A cold wind whipped through the forest and an alarming creak sounded from the majestic tree. Ben scrambled back to avoid the trunk if it kicked out. He ran to the lines they’d tied to the top of the tree and cinched them tight, hauling with his entire body weight to try and pull the tree down.
Ideally, several people would be on the lines, providing enough weight to counterbalance that of the tree. Ben didn’t have that now. It was just him. Leaning against the taut rope, he hoped the tree would fall in the clear.
The wind blasted through the bare woods again. Ben smelled the damp scent of snow. He looked up through the waving branches of the tree and saw dark clouds forming in the distance. There would be a storm that night, and it would bring heavy snow when it came. He hoped the tree was down before then. He didn’t want to hike back out while it was snowing.
He didn’t have to wait long.
The hard, steady wind kept pushing at the tree. Within minutes, another sharp crack echoed above the sound of the gale. Slowly, the beautiful tree swayed then tilted. Ben pulled hard on the rope, trying to compensate for the vagaries of the wind. Stupidly, he would realize heartbeats later, he wrapped the rope around his wrists and dug his heels into the snow.
In slow motion, the tree began to topple. He was yanked off his feet. It felt like his arm was nearly torn out of the socket. He landed face first in the snow. Briefly, he was stunned. Then he looked up. He saw the thick trunk of the tree slowly coming down on top of him.
He whipped the rope off his arm and leapt to his feet. Running, he jumped over a rock and streaked across the open space. He had three paces of clearance when the sharp branches of the tree crashed down behind him.
With a boom, the full length of the tree slammed into the ground. Snow was shaken off nearby branches. A flight of birds flew up in the distance, startled by the unexpected noise. The ground shook with the impact and Ben was thrown into the snow again.
He lay there, panting, and then glanced back at the tree. Even on the ground, surrounded by broken limbs, it looked majestic, like a king laid out for a funeral procession. Ben stood and walked back. He placed a hand on the fallen tree. It had taken over a week to chop it down. A part of him regretted it. To fell something so impressive, so timeless, he hoped it was worth it.
4
Snowbound
By the time he reached the cottage, Ben was stumbling through a blizzard. The wind had picked up and was howling like a banshee. He gripped his cloak, pulling it tight around his body, trying to shield himself from the cutting gusts of cold air. Thick flakes of snow swirled in front of him, obscuring anythi
ng more than ten paces away. The sturdy door of the cottage was barred. They’d been locking it after the demon attack.
Ben pounded on the door.
Nothing.
Grimacing in frustration, he pounded on it again, this time using the butt of his hunting knife.
The door opened. Amelie jumped back with a yelp, stumbled over her feet, and fell into a sitting position on the floor.
“What’s wrong!” she exclaimed.
“What?” he asked, staggering into the warm room then leaning against the door to force it shut.
“You have your knife out. Are there more demons?” she demanded.
Embarrassed, he tucked the blade away. “I was just knocking with it,” he said sheepishly, a blush crawling across his face.
Muttering under her breath, Amelie clambered to her feet, trying to avoid putting weight on her bad arm.
Ben winced. He turned and barred the door.
The wind smashed against the outside of the cottage, but Creegan had built the place for long winter storms, and it was sturdy. The heat radiating from the fire was a welcome change to the screaming wind and cold outside. Ben stripped off his outer layers and informed Amelie he’d finally felled the tree.
“Good for you,” grumbled Amelie, evidently still upset about getting surprised by the knife. “What will you do with it now?”
Ben shrugged. “Nothing. Creegan said he had a buyer. Apparently, the man comes by a couple of times a year.”
“What does he do with it?” inquired Amelie. “I haven’t seen it, but I’m picturing a rather large tree since it took you over a week to chop down. Did you cut it into pieces?”
Ben shook his head. “I’m hoping Creegan wakes up and tells us what to do with it. It’s just lying there. I’m not sure how the buyer will take it. On the positive side, no one else is going to be dragging it away.”
They ate a hearty dinner and settled in to listen to the raging storm outside. Despite the violence of it, Ben found listening to the storm quite peaceful. A flickering fire, a secluded snow-covered cottage, and an evening spent with Amelie. There were worse things he could be doing. He fell asleep to the wind wailing around the cottage and the creak of tree trunks as they were battered by the force.
The storm continued unabated throughout the night and the next morning. Several times, Ben woke to hear blistering winds howling around the walls of the cottage or a snap as a branch broke off a tree. Each time, his heart raced, worrying it was a demon, but when he realized it was just the storm, he fell comfortably back to sleep.
He ventured out early in the morning to collect eggs from the chicken coop and came back covered head-to-toe in powdery snow. The stuff was dry and sticky, clinging to his leathers like glue. The snow came to mid-thigh and drifted as high as his head against the buildings. The wind blew it into blinding, frozen clouds. There was no going out that day.
He cooked breakfast, cycled through the Ohms, and tried to kill time. They were waiting, waiting for Amelie to heal, Creegan to heal, or Creegan to get worse. There was nothing Ben could do but wait.
Until that afternoon when the door shook with the pounding of a heavy fist.
Ben and Amelie exchanged startled glances. Since they’d met Creegan, they hadn’t encountered another human in these woods. The woodsman claimed no one else lived outside of the small towns along the road. The big man lay still despite the heavy knocking. His breathing had slowed and the cold of the infection had spread through most of his torso and neck. Ben figured in a day or two, the woodsman’s situation would be settled.
The door pounded again and then shook as someone tried to open it.
“A demon wouldn’t knock,” remarked Amelie.
Ben nodded. He drew his longsword and moved to open the door. Amelie pulled her rapier and stood to the side. If anyone rushed in and attacked Ben, she would have a clear opening.
A fist hammered on the door a third time and Ben yanked it open. A frigid blast of air and ice burst into the small room. Ben stumbled back, blinking to clear his eyes of snow.
“Who are you?” wondered a deep, sonorous voice.
A tall man covered entirely in snow stepped into the room. Muttering under his breath, he forced the door shut, sliding the latch down into place. They didn’t stop him. While Ben was unsure of whether he wanted the stranger inside, he was certain he wanted the door shut.
Ben and Amelie stayed focused on the man, alert for any sign of threat. For a brief moment, Ben flashed back to stories he’d heard of snow yetis, terrible creatures that stalked winter landscapes, feeding on warm flesh. In the stories, they didn’t talk, though. Certainly they didn’t ask questions.
The snow-covered figure turned and immediately glanced down at the injured and sleeping Creegan.
“This is my friend,” rumbled the voice. “This is his cottage. What happened here and who are you?”
Ben replied tersely. “We’re guesting with him. He and I went on a hunt. While we were out, we encountered a small swarm of demons. One of them bit him.”
“How long ago?” queried the man.
“Six days,” responded Ben.
The man strode forward and knelt by Creegan, his back turned to Ben and Amelie. Ben felt slightly silly, holding his longsword to the man’s back, but he wasn’t going to put it down either. The man could be tricking them.
The stranger stripped off his gloves and pulled down the blankets they’d wrapped around the injured woodsman. Ben watched the back of the newcomer’s head. It titled as he looked at the injuries on Creegan’s arm. The stranger appeared to quickly dismiss those. Gingerly, he unwrapped the bandage around Creegan’s shoulder. A low whistle escaped his lips when the bite mark was revealed.
Despite Ben’s best efforts at stitching and covered with a thick layer of honey, the ugly punctures were still obvious. The flesh around them was sickeningly translucent, like watered-down milk.
The man stood, pushed back the snow-covered hood of his cloak, and pulled down a scarf from the lower half of his face. Short-cropped white hair topped his head, and his clean-shaven face was etched with the deep lines of age. His skin had the same texture as Ben’s boot. His eyes sparkled blue. Despite his apparent age, he moved with crisp vitality. Without seeing him move, Ben would have pegged the man at three-quarters a century old, but his mannerism spoke of a man a third that age.
“You said six days?” queried the stranger.
Ben nodded, still holding his longsword steadily pointed at the man.
The man ignored it. Frowning, the stranger stripped off his cloak and revealed he was dressed in light leather armor. He had a small travel pack on his back and a thin sword strapped to his side. He pulled a dagger and knelt back beside Creegan.
Probing at the bite marks with his dagger, he winced when clear pus seeped from the wound. Sickeningly, the tip of the dagger seemed to sink into the flesh, like it had the consistency of day-old custard. The stranger looked at Amelie.
“Sanctuary trained?” he asked.
She blinked and nearly dropped her sword.
“W-Why do you think…” she stammered.
“Don’t worry, girl. I mean you no harm,” scoffed the man. “I owe you a debt. You saved my friend’s life. Demons are filthy creatures, their bite is virulent, and infection is almost inevitable. Two days to survive is typical, though I’ve seen strong, healthy men like Creegan make it three. It’s only with your help that he’s made it longer.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. She laid her rapier down on the table. “We tried honey, hoping it would fight the infection. I’m not sure it did much good. There are other herbs in the shed, but we weren’t familiar with them and didn’t want to make things worse. We’ve given him as much water as he can drink and food when he can swallow it. He hasn’t been able to swallow in days, though.”
The man snorted. “You didn’t save his life with honey, girl.”
Amelie blushed. They had been on the run and hiding for so long she obvio
usly didn’t know how to respond to the man’s insinuation that she used magic on the woodsman.
The stranger didn’t press it. He stood and pulled his cloak back on.
“Show me these herbs,” he requested. “You’ve kept him alive, but he is fading. Another day or two and he’ll pass. I may be able to help.”
Ben slid his longsword back into the sheath and tugged on his cloak as well. He shared a last look with Amelie then led the man outside into the storm. Having the armed man behind him made Ben nervous. If the man wanted to attack, there was no way Ben would hear it coming over the fury of the wind. So far though, the man had only shown kind intentions.
Inside the shed, the man brushed by Ben and peered at the supply of herbs and flowers. He bent by the jars on the shelves. He paused with his gaze on the lower shelves where Ben had found the stockpile of coins.
Without turning, he asked Ben, “You opened all of these?”
Ben replied, “We did. It’s where we found the honey.”
Brusquely, the man collected three jars off the shelves then pulled down a string of dried flower buds from the ceiling rafter. “Let’s go cook up a poultice.”
Back inside, the man worked quickly and efficiently. He began boiling water then crumbled up the flower buds into a small bowl. He added a bit of the water and leaves from the jars. Finally, when the rest of the water was at a roiling boil, he poured some over the mixture and mashed it into a paste.
“Anything we can do to help you?” inquired Amelie.
The man nodded. “You can wash his shoulder. It needs to be completely cleaned of the honey before I apply this.”
Amelie blushed. “We thought the honey may help.”
“It may have,” offered the man. “Honey is a natural antibiotic and it also works to speed wound healing. It’s thick enough that it can prevent infection when applied early. No chance for that this time. The infection came directly with the bite. The honey wasn’t a bad idea, but just like it prevents infection, it will prevent this medicine from entering the wound unless we clean it.”