“Among the children and theas.” Marcus’s voice was hushed. “It would destroy them.”
“Destroy the very future of the tribes.” Joden spoke with a cold voice. “With a city-dweller affliction.”
“Joden?” His tone puzzled me. But Joden only gave me a curt nod, and then turned and left.
So the hours flowed, with no real sense of time. Warriors came and warriors died, and jars of fever’s foe and sleepease passed through my hands. I worked, slept when I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, and ate when Marcus put food in front of me. There was an occasional glimpse of Keir, as he worked to keep his army together. Which is why I cannot say when Marcus appeared at the entrance to the stilltent, babe in hand, his face mottled and pale.
“Lara? She won’t eat.”
“Perhaps she’s finally noticed just how bad gurt tastes.” I kept my voice light as I moved to his side.
“I thought she was sleeping. I checked on her regularly, but she slept on. I didn’t think to touch her.”
I placed my hand on the babe’s forehead. The heat of her skin burned my fingertips. She didn’t open her eyes at my touch, just whimpered slightly.
“Goddess. The lake, Marcus. Now.”
Marcus turned and ran into the sunlight.
I grabbed a jar of fever’s foe and followed, gasping for air as I ran behind him. My legs trembled, but I forced them to move. Others raised their heads as we passed, curious.
Marcus never stopped. He splashed right into the lake, up to the waist, submerging himself and the babe in his arms. He was balancing her on one arm, stripping away her blanket and swaddles, letting them sink as I entered the water. I ran to him, the cold water pulling at my legs. The little one kept her eyes closed as the cold water hit her skin, but there was no cry, just a slight whimper. Hands trembling, I got a dab of the dark brown paste on my finger, and placed it in the babe’s mouth.
Those dark eyes opened, and hope blossomed in my chest. She looked so sad, but I held my breath, waiting for her to protest the taste of the medicine.
Instead, she hiccupped once and closed her eyes.
A crowd had gathered on the shore as word spread that the babe was ill. Marcus continued to bathe her, cupping water in his free hand and pouring it over her head. He held her carefully, keeping her eyes and nose above the waterline.
The sound of running feet brought my head up, and Isdra burst through the crowd, splashing into the water. “Meara?” She asked as she came close.
“She’s sick.” Those were the only words I could force out. The babe lay so limp in Marcus’s arms, her entire body flushed, as if burned by the sun. Isdra, breathing hard, held her cold, wet hands to Meara’s cheeks. “She’s on fire.”
“Lotus?” Marcus asked.
I shook my head. “Not for babes. Too dangerous.”
I’d brought the feeding cup, and Isdra filled it with water, trying to get her to drink. But the little lips were limp, and she did not swallow.
“Here, let me try.” Marcus switched Meara into Isdra’s arms. The wet tip of Isdra’s braid, Meara’s favorite toy, brushed against her cheek. Meara opened her eyes to look at Isdra. The woman warrior crooned to her. “You’ll be fine, little one.”
Meara closed her eyes, hiccuped and drew a last breath.
I knew, oh Goddess, I knew. One so small, so tiny. I reached out and grabbed Marcus’s arm as he lifted the feeding cup. He looked up startled, staring into my face as I shook my head, unable to speak the words. Then he knew as well, and the pain tore though him. “Skies, no.” He raised his head, and let out an anguished cry.
Isdra threw her head back as well, wailing to the skies.
An answering lament rose from the shore. The crowd that had gathered raised their voices as one, sending a mournful cry like I had never heard into the air. For all the warriors that had died, I’d seen no outward grief. But for a tiny baby of a Xyian village, these hardened warriors raised their voices in sorrow, tears in their eyes.
But the sight of Marcus’s head thrown back, his neck taut, his pain raw filled my soul with rage. I snatched Meara from Isdra’s arms and flipped her over, cradling her chest in one hand. “No, no, no.” I denied this was happening even as I slapped my hand down on her tiny back. This can’t happen, I won’t let it happen, Goddess, please, Skies, please.
I struck her again, and again, turning as Marcus reached to stop me, calling out to any power that would hear, begging—
Meara took a breath.
I froze as I felt the movement of her chest, holding my own breath as I waited for more, turning again to avoid Isdra, hoping—
Meara took another breath, and then my heart leapt as a cry, a wonderful, angry cry filled the air.
Isdra and Marcus were beside me, and helped me lift Meara up onto my shoulder, crying and coughing and spitting her outrage.
Joyous voices rose from the beach, and we staggered back through the water, supporting each other. Many hands reached out to help us as we drew near, pulling us onto the shore, taking great care not to disturb the crying babe in my arms. As one, we sank to our knees, as those around us knelt as well. I lay my head on Isdra’s shoulder, crying, as Meara’s keening continued and the crowd swirled around us.
Meara was furious, her eyelashes thick and dark with tears. Someone handed us a drying cloth, and Isdra took the babe to get her dry. I reached to cradle her cold foot in the palm of my hand, trying to warm her perfect little toes, never so happy to hear a baby cry. With one arm around Isdra’s shoulders, I closed my eyes, and we rocked her gently. Just a babe, the last of her village, whose name I’d lost. The scent of lavender still lingered on her skin. So close, so very close.
What’s a babe, amidst all the dead about us? Yet all hovered about, enjoying the miracle of a child almost lost to us. I drew a ragged breath, wishing I could voice my joy. But I was so exhausted, all I could do was lean against Isdra, and try to stifle my sobs.
“So this is what comes, of being accursed.” Iften’s voice cut through my sorrow. He was standing there, outside the mourners, his hands on his hips. “This citydweller’s filth threatens children.”
Marcus glared at him. “We are not accursed.”
“Cover yourself, cripple.” Iften’s lip curled in a sneer. “You offend the skies, and the very waters of this lake.”
I caught my breath, expecting an explosion. But Marcus flinched back, and sagged to the ground, flinging one arm up over his head.
“We are not accursed.” Isdra spat. “It is an illness, as the Warprize has said.”
There was a rustle in the crowd about us, and from nowhere a cloak appeared. Marcus grabbed for it, and was soon wrapped in its folds. He said nothing.
“As the Warprize has said.” Iften scoffed, pointing off in the distance to the smoke rising on the horizon. “Such a comfort, her brave words. But one less body to add to her tally, eh? One more she sickened so she could claim to have healed?”
Marcus struggled to his feet, but I grabbed his arm, holding him back. Isdra glared at Iften, clutching the babe to her shoulder.
“For myself, I will offer to the elements to protect what is left of this army. And leave you to your business.” Iften turned, and stalked off.
Marcus collapsed back onto the ground, and I leaned into him. He wrapped his arm around me, sharing his cloak. We sat in silence for long moments, the crowd about us quiet, as if in shock.
Warm hands touched mine and I turned my head to find Ortis kneeling next to me, that huge, lumbering man with the deep voice. His hands were a warm contrast to mine. “Joden is not here. May I do the honor?”
I didn’t know what he meant, but Marcus and Isdra both nodded, so I did too. Ortis sat back on his heels, and spoke. “The fire warms you.”
The crowd responded, their voice in such unison that it raised the hairs on the back of my neck. “We thank the elements.”
“The earth supports you.” Ortis said, his voice a bit louder and stronger.
“The waters sustain you.”
“We thank the elements.” I joined in, stumbling over the phrase.
“The air fills you.”
“We thank the elements.”
Ortis stood. “We thank the elements, for the life of this child and the power of the Warprize.”
A loud cry of triumph and thanks rose as people stood and somehow made their way to Isdra’s side, to touch the baby’s foot or cheek in farewell. There were no open smiles, but many faces filled with a quiet joy and tears. Many nodded to me as well, although I was too numb to appreciate it. When the crowd was down to just a few, Ortis spoke again. “You are exhausted, Warprize. Let us tend to her.”
“She needs to be upright, Ortis, and her lungs kept clear.” I looked up at him, my tears falling down my face.
Meara’s cries were softer now, and her coughing was mere hiccups. Isdra had her on her shoulder, patting her back gently. Someone provided a warm blanket and Marcus draped it over Meara carefully. My tears spilled as they worked, watching as Isdra made sure her tiny feet were well covered against the cold.
We stood, but when I reached for the babe Marcus put his hand on my arm. “No, Warprize.”
“You have been ill.” Ortis used the Xyian word. “Many hands will care for her, Warprize. It will raise our spirts to tend her.”
Isdra looked over at me, the bundle in her arms. “I’ll make sure she is cared for, Lara.”
I nodded, biting my lip, noting the lines of pain on her face. As she turned I managed to croak out her name, unable to voice my true fear. “Isdra?”
She stopped, but did not turn for a moment. Then she turned her head and gave me a grim smile. “I’ve given you my word, Lara.”
Marcus stood, and wrapped an arm around my shoulders as she and the others carried Meara away.
“Strip. You need to be out of those wet clothes.” Marcus urged me into the stilltent.
I was so numb it was all I could do to stand there. “You’re just as wet.”
Marcus chuffed at me. “I’ll send for clothes for both of us.” He stepped outside the tent for a moment, calling to someone. I managed to lift my hands to the collar of my tunic, but stopped there, unable to move. Marcus entered, and without a word lifted the tunic off and over my head. “The living need you, Warprize. More than the dead. You should return to the command tent. I’ve cleaned any trace of that fool.”
“I need to be here, Marcus.” I wanted the familiar surroundings of my medicines and herbs, more comforting by far. I shivered, and he pulled a blanket from my pallet and wrapped it around me. The rough blanket warmed quickly against my skin.
Without a word, Marcus reached under the blanket and pulled down my trous, then sat me down on a stump so that he could remove my boots. He didn’t give me time to be embarrassed, just matter-of-factly removed my wet things from around my feet. “Kavage. Kavage, soup and sleep. Best thing for you now.”
I clutched the blanket tight around me, knowing that his fussing covered his own exhaustion. “You’re tired too, Marcus.”
“I have not been ill.” Marcus pulled off my boot. “And have no plans to be, either. What will Hisself be thinking, if he sees you like this?”
Tears filled my eyes at the thought. He’d blame me for the babe, blame me for all of this and rightly so. “We should send word. Tell him what happened before someone else does.”
“I did, Warprize.” Marcus’s voice was soft. “He will be told.”
There was a noise at the tent entrance. Marcus intercepted whoever it was quickly. “Here now. Herself has rules about privacy, yes? Don’t come barging in without asking, eh?”
He returned with a bundle of clothes and hot kavage. He poured a cup for me, and placed a bowl of soup close at hand. He watched me take my first sip. I frowned at him, standing there in his leathers, soaked to the skin. “Change, Marcus.”
“Here?” He asked, oddly hesitant.
“ ‘Nothing there I’ve not seen before,’ ” I quoted to him.
He rolled his eye, and stripped off his tunic to reveal pale skin beneath. It struck me as odd, since all the other warriors, Keir included, were browned by the sun. Marcus was pure white, except were the healed burns mottled his skin. He was whipcord thin, the muscles taut. There were scars too, more than Keir had on his body. The scars of one who has seen many battles.
Marcus reached for his trous and I dropped my eyes. I stared into my kavage instead and tried not to think about anything. But all I could see were those tiny cold toes in the palm of my hand. It was hard to believe that she’d survived. I closed my eyes, and yawned again, my jaw cracking.
“Soup will have to wait.” Marcus pulled the kavage from my hand, and settled me down onto the pallet. I was so tired, so weary that it felt like the softest bed to my aching body. Marcus pulled up the bedding over me, tucking me in carefully.
I blinked up at him and protested even as my body sagged into the warmth of the bedding. “I should check the fever’s foe. And on Rafe, to see how he fares.”
“Rest, Warprize. I’ve been cooking many a year. I can watch a few pots. I’ll send for word on Rafe.”
I blinked at him, my eyes gritty. “But you’re tired too.”
“I’ll sleep as soon as Isdra returns.”
He moved a stump so that he could see the pots through the flap. I blinked a bit and yawned again. “Marcus?”
He turned almost all the way around so that he could see me.
“What does it mean? When you say ‘Beyond the snows’?”
He looked at me for a long moment, then turned back to look at the pots. I thought he wasn’t going to speak, but then he folded his arms over his chest. “We of the Plains believe that our dead travel with us, ride along beside us, unseen and unknown, but knowing and seeing. Not . . . not their bodies, you understand? Their—” He used a word I didn’t understand.
“Their spirits? Souls?” I asked. I used the Xyian words.
Marcus hesitated, then nodded. “Until the longest night, in the winter. You know this night?”
“Solstice.” I snuggled deeper into the blankets. “The shortest day, the longest night.”
“Just so. On that night, we mourn our dead, who are released to journey to the stars.”
I thought about that for a while. For us, the Solstice marked the Grand Wedding of the God and Goddess, the Lord of the Sun and Lady of the Moon and Stars. A long night of bright laughter and celebration. Our people were so different, in so many ways.
I yawned again, my ears popping with the effort. Marcus shifted on his seat, and the light caught his left side, where the ear had been burned, away. “Marcus?”
He looked at me again, frowning. “Not yet asleep?”
“You’re not offensive, you know.”
For a moment, he was so sad, then he gave me a slight smile. “In your eyes, Lara. Sleep now.”
I nodded, and closed my eyes. “Please, Marcus, please tell me that in the morning, this will be over. That everything will be all right?”
There was a very long pause, and the despair rose in my throat. Then his voice came, quiet and low. “All I know for certain is that the sun will rise, Warprize. I can offer no more, and no less.”
Oddly enough, it was a comfort. I drew a breath and sought the peace of sleep.
I awoke at dawn when Gils showed up, looking tired and needing a fresh supply of fever’s foe. Yawning, I put my hair up and sent Prest for kavage and food for all of us. “When did you last eat?”
Gils blinked at me, and yawned. “I’s not sure, Warprize.” He dropped his satchel at his feet.
I pushed him down on my pallet. “Well, you are going to at least eat now. Tell me how things are going. And how does Rafe?”
He drew a deep breath, and started talking. First, with the good news that Rafe was doing well. Then he reported on the sick and the dying and those that were recovering. I puttered a bit, to keep my hands busy, arran
ging the contents of the tables, just listening to his voice get slower and softer. It didn’t take long. By the time Prest returned, Gils was fast asleep on my pallet, oblivious to the world around him.
Marcus entered with Prest, carrying food. He glanced at Gils and nodded as he set the kavage down. “Good for him, to get some rest.” Prest took his food outside, but Marcus handed me a mug of kavage, and a bowl of soup, and pointed to the stump. I sat, and started to eat, looking at Gils sleeping so soundly. He looked even younger, his tousled red curls falling about his face. My gaze wandered about the tent, coming to rest on the large basket under one of the tables.
Meara’s basket.
The soup in my mouth turned to ashes, and I choked it down as I remembered. How could I have forgotten?
Marcus followed my gaze, and sighed when he saw the basket. He reached under the table and pulled it out. “I should have said. She is fine, Warprize.”
“You were just as exhausted, Marcus.”
He grunted, pulling the blankets from the basket. “Eat something, then we will go and check on her.” His tone was gruff, but I noticed that he smiled gently as he folded and smoothed the small blankets as he removed them from the basket. A few pieces of dried lavender fell to the ground, and I gathered the dried flowers up, and held them to my nose. The scent was sweet, and I put them aside. We could use them to freshen the clean swaddles.
A noise made both Marcus and I look at the entrance. Prest was standing just inside the tent, his face grim.
“Prest?”
“You must come, Warprize.”
“Who’s—”
“The Warlord.”
9
“Keir?”
My heart in my throat, I entered our sleeping area, blinking to adjust to the cool darkness within. Marcus had followed me, and he paused behind me as well, trying to catch his breath.
Keir was seated on the bed, head hanging down, bracing himself with his hands on his knees.
I jerked to a stop, my stomach clenching. Keir looked up, and gave me a weak smile, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and cheeks. I forced myself to slow my breathing, and calmly moved to sit next to him on the bed. My nose picked up the familiar stink and I placed my hand on Keir’s forehead. “How long?”
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