by Diana Rivers
The swamp was much larger than I had realized that first time. It was like a vast, natural storehouse, rich in roots and edible spring greens as well as healing herbs. I gathered and gathered, enjoying the bounty, glad to replenish my store of medications and to be able to contribute some food for our table as well, food that was free and unstolen. I found much amairith there, which is good for burns as well as many other things. I even made a large gathering of diraithia, which I knew would be needed for pain, but found no ghero-root, which is thought to be the best for infection and of which my supply had run low.
In spite of the mud sucking underfoot, I soon found myself charmed by the sun and the soft breeze, the beauty of the flowers, and the sound of the reeds whispering around me. All this combined to fill me with pleasure until suddenly I had a fierce attack of longing for home. It came on me so fast and with such force that I abandoned my gatherings and threw myself down on the bank, sobbing loudly. How many days of my childhood had I spent in just this way, gathering healing herbs in the swamp and then later, riding out on Marshlegs with Kara. Oh, Kara! I think I lay that way for a long time. Fortunately for all of us it was only the birds and the butterflies who were witness to my folly. Later, as I sat on the bank eating my little meal and sorting my finds, I trembled to think what could have come of my carelessness.
When I returned later in the day, the others were already gone. Seeing that they had finished my soup, I built up the fire and set an even bigger pot of soup to cooking with roots, greens, herbs, spices and a good flavoring of wild onions, all from that day’s picking.While that was heating, I prepared some herbs for salves, infusions, compresses, and pain easers. The rest of my gatherings I fastened into little bundles and hung up to dry. In that fashion I kept myself busy until dark, feeling deeply comforted by this useful and familiar work.
***
It was not Pell’s hoot that woke me this time, but an attack of pain so sharp I cried out, startling myself awake. Frightened, I sat up to listen. The night was dark and silent, the pain gone as quickly as it had come. I was alone in the shelter and could not imagine what had caused this. Then it came again, worse than the first time, so intense that I doubled up with a groan. As soon as the pain freed me, I leapt to my feet. I was terrified that Pell was in some mortal danger or that some fearful weapon was being aimed at the shelter itself. Again there was the silence of deep night. When the third wave of pain came, I was ready for it. I pressed my hands and face against the cool, living rock of the shelter wall and called on everything I had ever learned of shielding against pain. This time when it passed, I heard an owl hoot three times and then the sound of horses’ hooves. With a gasp I stumbled to the shelter entrance.
Pell, reeking of smoke and fire, rode right up to it, only stopping a foot or so away. The air around her was thick with the stench of burned flesh. “Help me, Tazzi,” she called out in a voice so hoarse and strained I could scarcely recognize it. A body lay across her saddle. It was from there that the waves of pain were coming. I jumped forward to steady the body as Pell dismounted. Then I helped her inside with her burden, lowering it to a mat as gently as possible. Charred clothing came away stuck to my hands and shirt.
“Quickly, quickly,” Pell said as we both rushed out to help Jhemar, who had another body across her horse. This one I also helped to carry in, all the while fighting waves of agony, trying to keep myself braced against it so as not to stumble and fall or to cry out or double up with it.
Jhemar kicked the fire so that it flared up and gave us some light. Pell was trying to light the lamp. Her hands shook so that she could not strike a sparkstone. I took it from her and lit the lamp myself. By the light of it I could see her face all twisted with pain. “Filthy pricks,” she said through her teeth. “May their flesh rot on their bones for this day’s work. How could they do such a thing to another living being?”
I swung the lamp around to look at the two who lay moaning there, then gave a gasp and had to brace myself again. Nothing in my time of being a healer had quite prepared me for this. They seemed almost not human in their burnt rags of clothing; faces incredibly swollen, eyes puffed shut, coughing and gasping for breath, so blackened it was hard to tell what was soot and char and what was flesh. It struck me that this fire was no accident started by a pot of flaming grease or a chimney fire lighting the thatch. This had been done deliberately and by man’s hands. Waves of dizziness swept through my body. I bit my own hand till the countering pain of that steadied me.
“Hold the lamp up so I can see,” I said urgently. As soon as I could move again, I thrust the lamp into Pell’s hands, then rushed to snatch up two cups. Quickly I poured out some of the diraithia from a pot I had set to cooling on the table. Diraithia is the most potent pain easer that I know of, and this batch was especially strong, as I had intended to dilute it.
“Come help me,” I said to Jhemar. “We must get each of them to swallow some of this. As soon as it has done its work, then we can begin ours.” We all three worked together, Pell holding the light and Jhemar propping up their heads while I tried to get some liquid into their mouths. Even so, it was no easy task. At each touch they groaned and cried out. Pell’s hand must have been shaking, for I had to say several times, “Hold the light steady so we can see.” All the while, I myself was fighting to keep the pain from tearing me apart. Later I found I had chewed my lip all bloody in this struggle.
Sometimes it seemed altogether hopeless. Almost as much liquid appeared to dribble out again as we attempted to pour in. One woman tried to push away Jhemar’s hands with her own blackened ones and had to be restrained. The other, plainly more severely burnt, had hardly any life in her at all and no strength to swallow. Finally I thought we had enough forced down them to be effective. With a groan I leaned against the wall gasping for breath. Pell and Jhemar were both bent over, coughing.
For a moment all our frantic activity was suspended. The rasping breath of the burned ones sounded loud and harsh in that sudden stillness. Then, very soon, the diraithia must have started to bring relief, for suddenly I sensed an easing of the pain and I myself could breathe easier. Freed again to think and move, I became for a time the commander, the one who gave the orders, though it was not till much later that I even gave a thought to that shift.
“More light, we must have more light. Light more lamps, or if there are none, light some candles. Build up the fire, build it up well. Start another fire outside for burning their clothing. Yes, another, do as I say! Get some more water on to boil, the biggest pot you have. Bring me some water here. No, set it right here at hand where I can reach it. We must have clean, undyed cloth, as much as possible, torn in strips. Soak them in that solution of perthali and be ready to lay them on. Bring me a knife, Pell, but first pass the blade through the fire to clean it. Good, now help Jhemar hold up this one’s arms so I can cut away and peel off this charred clothing. Pour on some of that infusion to soften the crusted cloth. More! Quickly! Over here!”
Pieces of skin came away with the clothing. The stench of burning flesh was heavy in the air, thick and sickening. I heard Pell beside me retch and said sharply, “Get yourself under control. Take some deep breaths. We have no time for that now. Here, help me slip her onto another mat. That one is too narrow. Gently, gently, you are far too rough. And take every bit of that clothing outside to burn so it does not fester here. If the smell is too much for you, tie a cloth around your face to cover your nose and mouth.”
For most of that night I was the one issuing the commands that we all three struggled to carry out: cutting away burned clothing, mixing medications, laying on new compresses, getting the burned ones to swallow a tea of Amairith leaves to lessen the swelling and ease their throats and lungs from the ravages of the smoke, forcing them to drink as much as possible since burns weep and ooze away much of the precious fluid of life.
There was not a moment to stop and rest. I had no thought for the others or how I worked them, only of making the best use
of them I could, until Pell began to falter and stumble. Jhemar said with rough kindness, “Let her sleep now. The worst is over. I will help you with the rest.” Without a look or a word to either of us, Pell fell flat out on a mat. She was gone from this world between one breath and the next.
For a while there was a sort of exhausted peace in the shelter. Jhemar sat down with a groan against the stone wall, and I sank down next to her. Pell slept like the dead. The burned ones slept also, though fitfully, sometimes moaning and thrashing about. They were still breathing in that thick, raspy way. After a while Jhemar lit a jol pipe, something I had never seen a woman do before. The sweet smell of the jol helped to counter somewhat the stench of burning that permeated the shelter. She smoked with her eyes half closed and after a few puffs, offered some to me. I shook my head. I was still struggling with receding waves of pain and afraid that anything might set it off again.
“Sleep, then,” she said kindly. “I will watch them and wake you if you are needed.”
“I cannot sleep.”
“The pain?”
“How did you know?”
“How could I not know? I know the same way I know other things. I can read it painted in the air around you. It radiates out from your whole body in waves of red. You must learn to shield, girl. A healer cannot afford to take in so much pain.”
“This is something new in my life, Jhemar. It was not this way when I was a healer in my village. I think what control or barrier I had was torn away by the sudden advent of fear in my life. It is as if some gate has been broken, loosing a flood of feelings. I have no knowledge of how to mend it. My skills as a healer are not from long training. Mostly I was self-taught, making my own discoveries of what worked best. Tolgath, the old village Witch, died in my tenth year just as she had begun some serious teaching with me. All I have are child memories or things I have taught myself. This is way beyond my powers. Who can I find to teach me this shielding, for clearly I cannot go on in this way? It will end in either madness or death.”
Jhemar was nodding. “All true, all true. A Witch perhaps can help. Certainly none of us—we are all struggling with much the same thing ourselves.”
“Us! Us! What is this ‘us?’ Who are we, Jhemar? What are we? Not until a few days ago did I even suspect there were others like me, except for Kara. What does it all mean? Is it a curse or a blessing? Do you feel the pain too?”
“So many questions. Does Pell not talk to you of anything at all?”
“Pell moves too fast. She has little time for talking when there are so many things that need doing.”
“Yes, true, as you say, Pell moves fast and talks little.” Jhemar took more puffs from her jol pipe and shut her eyes. I thought that was an end to it and leaned back against the wall. Shutting my eyes also, I tried to work on the pain as best I could. It felt as if someone were helping, drawing it out, soothing my nerves so that at last I could breathe easier.
After a while Jhemar gave a deep sigh. She said, as if we had just been speaking, “As to your last question, yes, I feel the pain of others, but not as sharply, I think, as you do. More than pain, what I pick up is the thoughts of others, too much, far, far more than I wish to hear. I suppose that is my special power, that reading of minds. It did not used to be so bad, but now it is getting worse all the time. Curse or blessing, these powers? That is always the question. I suppose this one seems more like a curse at the moment, because I am so at its mercy. That is why I am mostly silent. There is already enough confusion without adding my own voice to the uproar.
“As to what we are, I must have faith in the Goddess that she wants us here. We are some part of her plan and meant to exist no matter what men may think to the contrary. Beyond that, we are women with powers, derived, it seems, from the passing of the Great Star. What those powers are, we are still learning. Different ones of us have them in varying degrees, and they come on us at different ages. Zenoria, for instance has good mind-touch with animals, the best contact I know of. On the other hand, she has little power for self-defense, whereas I myself am like a fortress. If their thoughts did not beat me down, I could probably stand off a whole troop of guards, so it is good for us to travel together. I worry when she is gone and have to hope that the squirrels and rabbits and her horse will keep her safe.
“As to the rest,” she turned to look me in the eye, “all great gifts are two-edged swords, Tazzi. Curse or blessing—it depends on what we make of it. I can tell you this, though, we are something new. Even the Witches do not like us much. Whether we wish it so or not, they see us as some sort of challenge to their power. Others may call us Witches but the Witches themselves know better. We are something different. For most of your questions, even we ourselves have no answers yet. We are living out the answers. That is what shapes our lives.”
Jhemar gave a deep sigh, shook out her jol pipe, and leaned back once more. “There, that is more words than I have strung together since I first learned to talk.” She fell silent and filled her pipe again. This time when I shut my eyes, sleep came instantly.
Chapter Eight
I woke quivering with pain. Jhemar was shaking me. One of the burned ones was screaming. I knew I had been hearing her in my dreams.
Struggling over to her, fighting off my own pain, I gave her a heavy dose of diraithia, heavier than I thought safe. Even so, it took a while to do its work. I gave some to the other one as well, though not near as much. When I thought they could bear our touch, I had Jhemar help me with new dressings for them both, then sent her out to burn the old ones.
That done, they dozed for a while. I must have dozed as well, for I felt Jhemar shaking my shoulder again. “Please, Tazzi, I must have your help. I have done everything I can and nothing suffices.”
This time I woke in confusion, not sure what was dream and what was real or how much time had passed. The same burned one was crying out again. Staggering through a nightmare of pain and weariness, I could barely drag myself to her. She was reaching out her hands for me. “Please, please, the pain is too much. Let me go. Set me free. Give me something to end this.” The words went round and round in my head. It felt as if I had been hearing them for hours. Time seemed to have curled around and bent in on itself like a coiling snake. By the slant of the light I could see that it was late in the day. I shook my head in bewilderment. How long had this all been happening? Looking around for Pell, I finally found her hunched up in the far corner, her arms around her knees, her eyes hollow and smudged with pain. Clearly, there was no help to be found there.
Jhemar was watching me anxiously. Quickly I asked her, “Has this been going on all day? How did it get to be so late?”
“All day on and off, Tazzi. You have worked with her like one sleepwalking, doing what you could, but I think it only grows worse.”
The burned one was looking up at me beseechingly from her swollen, red-rimmed eyes. “Please, please, for mercy’s sake, for the Goddess, let me go. Why are you holding me here?” Her cries echoed from the stone wall of the shelter and went through me like knives. Jhemar came forward quickly. I had to lean on her or I would have fallen. I looked to Pell for some answer. For all her seeming toughness and hardness, she could not meet my eyes. When I turned to Jhemar, her eyes also shied away from mine. I was alone with the fearful weight of that decision, my own body so wracked with pain I could hardly draw breath, much less think.
When the woman screamed again and then began an awful, wracking cough, it was the other burned one who raised herself slightly and said in a terrible, raw voice, “Look well at her, woman, and answer truthfully. Can you really cure her here, in this place, with what you have to work with? And if not, how long will you deny her release?”
In all that press to heal and save, this was not a question I had dared to ask myself. Now, though my stomach knotted and my teeth clenched, I made myself look. I was looking, not just at what I saw there before me, but at the days to come, days of agony that the diraithia could barely reach, the
inevitable infection that would creep and fester everywhere beyond my control and then...and then what...? She was still reaching for me, still begging with her bandaged hand, but less conscious and coherent. I knew, of course, what the answer was, knew it almost as soon as the question had been asked, and yet it was not easy to say the words. They stuck in my throat, a hard, dry block of pain. At last, in a choked whisper, I answered the second woman, “No, no, not as bad as those burns are. Not here with what I have to work with, nor with what I know or can do. Mother be my witness, I have already tried. If I give her much more for the pain, it means death, not sleep.”
The other answered instantly in her harsh voice, “Then do it and stop delaying. For the love of the Goddess, do as she says and let her go so we may all have some peace at last. How often must she ask you? How long can you listen to her suffering and her screams?”
With shaking hands, I took some powdered olinth-root from my pouch. This I added to the diraithia. By itself olinth is a mild sleep inducer, but mixed with diraithia the two together form a potent, deadly drink, though gentle and very quick. One last time I looked at Pell and Jhemar. I thought I got a slight nod from each of them. With a twig I mixed the brew and saw it darken.