He shook his head. "It might. This world is so similar to what it once was and yet so different." He hesitated. "I have a request to make of you, little sister. And I fear it is rather selfish."
"What do you need?" She placed the stripped leaves down and started working on the roots.
"The Neyeb herbs. I would like to use a portion of them to see if I can—to see if while I am ill I can make certain connections within the dreams."
"Of course. Whatever you need." She started on the next bunch of leaves.
"Thank you." He picked up the small kettle that had sat on the coals and then poured it into one of the canteens. "When we are free of this, I will get you more."
If they didn't make it through this, it really wouldn't matter whether there was more. Building up her boundaries and mastering her Neyeb skills was appealing and beneficial in many ways, but it was not more important than survival while the herbs steeped.
"Should I give some to QueQoa as well if it will help with the nightmares?"
"It is more likely to make them worse in the short term. And he already knows what his mean. He doesn't need to suffer more just to understand it is the loss of his first family which he mourns. Now come with me. It's time to tend the rels. Let's make sure you know how to do this."
A good enough plan to warrant pausing on the death sorrel at least.
The outer edge of the perimeter was changing. Naatos and WroOth had made significant progress on the barrier. A long leaf-fiber rope stretched between multiple trees, bits of wood hanging from points like wind chimes. The barrier itself was not solid. At intervals, a human could turn to the side and slip through with care. But the spikes themselves were embedded in the ground at alternating angles, sixteen to a section. Even so, Amelia suspected it would be difficult for them to finish enclosing the camp before nightfall.
It took four rels spread out carefully to encompass the camp and create the scent barrier, forming the necessary protection. It carried no odor for her. But the faint blue sheen as it fell to the soil and caught on the leaves lasted long enough to mark the placement. WroOth, true to his word, had painted a broad yellow band around them as well. The little shimmering bits of blue stood out especially well against that for the few seconds it remained visible.
When they returned, AaQar drank the steaming liquid from the canteen. He drained it in a single draught. He sank wearily onto the log. "It's time, I think."
She knelt beside him. "Do you want me to get your brothers?"
"No. It isn't as if I am dying." He managed a faint smile. With a sigh, he set the canteen aside. "Try not to worry too much. This all looks far worse than it really is."
Given that his face was bloodstained, his eyes bloodshot, and his stance unsteady, she doubted that she could really worry too much. She steadied him as he stood. "Is there anything else I can do?"
"Don't die." He gave her a bland smile as he stepped into the trench.
She tried not to shudder, thinking how much it reminded her of a shallow grave. As he hooked his arm through the leather straps, she picked up one of the thin blankets and brought it to him. "I hope that your dreams are better than you think."
"As do I." He did not sound so troubled though as she would have guessed. If anything, he seemed almost pleased. An easy anticipation flowed from him, as if he expected to find something good in his sleep. Perhaps simply an answer to the trauma. No. He hadn't told her something. It thudded on the edges of her mind like a ragged heartbeat, but she lacked the energy to press against it. Fatigue dulled her mindreading, such as it was.
She returned to the death sorrel and plucked and cleaned it. The plant had numerous leaves condensed in each thick stem base. And each leaf had dozens of little pearls.
Naatos and WroOth returned when the sun had grown heavy and orange, sliding back toward the horizon. WroOth's features pinched when he saw AaQar in the trench. He cast a baleful look at Naatos. Naatos's expression remained neutral, though a pulse of emotion reached Amelia nonetheless. Through her own exhausted mind, she could not distinguish whether it was concern or weariness or both.
The three of them ate in near silence. Naatos sat beside her as at their noon meal, close but not touching. WroOth attempted a few anecdotes, but twice he trailed off in the middle of speaking. All the other times, QueQoa's and AaQar's sleep murmurs interrupted. The troubled emotions that swirled about them remained ever present.
She tried to read from one of the Neyeb books, eating with one hand to avoid getting any grease on the old pages.
Naatos nudged her with his shoulder, a light brush. "What are you reading about?"
"Dreamweaving." She read back over the same paragraph. The print was relatively small.
"You are planning on that soon?" he frowned. "You realize that mindreading is a skillset that uses muscles. Your head is only going to hurt more if you keep pushing yourself."
She raised an eyebrow. "What can I do to fix that?"
"You drink water. Rest. Meditate. Relax. Eat foods that promote mental health. Drink the tea. And don't push yourself. Getting through the walls any one of us put up will take tremendous energy."
"It didn't seem to be a problem with the huanna."
"Huanna reduces inhibitions, veskaro. It weakens the barriers."
"The place you would need to go is not one you could access without tremendous strain, and after all that has happened, I do not think you will have even the base strength to overcome it."
"It is a kind thought though," WroOth interjected. He gave his brother a terse look. "There are other things you should focus on. Like keeping yourself healthy."
"They list dreamweaving as being one of the healing arts," Amelia countered. "Even with simple alterations, it says that it can make an enormous difference in the recovery rate because it reduces the stress and strain as well as overall fight or flight drive."
"If you knew what you were doing and if you had sufficient strength," Naatos said. He put his hand on her knee. "I am not questioning your intention or your heart in this. Even the learning is fine. But your head will be splitting after even one session. Your goal for these next days would simply be to survive."
"What can be done for Neyeb headaches?" She glanced at the placement of his hand but did not pull away.
"Water, willow bark, meadowcress, and butterfly yarrow. And letting your mind rest." He wiped his hands on one of the dock leaves and then took the book from her. "This is where you should be reading. Master this and then consider dreamweaving."
Of course that simply made her want to master dreamweaving out of spite. But the headaches were troublesome. The passage he had turned to had an elegant header on the top left-hand side of the page. The Reconstitution of Mental Strength and Alleviation of Weakness.
"So headaches are weakness?" She shrugged, almost amused. It certainly felt like one. It was interesting to consider it similar to aching thigh and butt muscles after leg day. "Makes sense." She rubbed her hand over her forehead again. "Why wasn't this in the index? All of the shieldwork, trauma response, and space making that was listed were intermediate."
"It's an old Neyeb practice. The basics are not listed. In your training, you would have been taught the locations and they would have been tied to specific practices. It is a reminder to never forget your foundation."
"Unfortunate if you have never been taught to have a foundation, that changes things. How did you know where it was then?"
He offered only a faint shrug. "I've read them. I have a good memory."
"Why were you reading these?" She noted that this section started on page 81. Maybe she didn't have the mnemonic devices the Neyeb used to secure a knowledge foundation, but she could make her own. The eight was like the infinity symbol and also represented completeness, which connected to making oneself whole which connected to reconstitution and alleviating weakness. And the one was a beginning. It was sometimes best to start fresh when one was exhausted. Eight. One.
It was probably bes
t to note it later on her own.
"Curiosity."
"The best reason for reading," WroOth added.
She smiled a little more. Then she resumed reading. She had to read the sections over and over again to absorb it, but the gist of it was quite similar to dealing with trauma. Apparently mindreading was all about creating space in the mind and channeling energy to make connections. Simple in principle but more complicated in practice. Yet sometimes it felt as if all of the strands were taking root on their own. As if some instinctual part of her understood it and sought it out. Especially since she had come to Ecekom.
Maybe it was simply the strain of all that had occurred since they had arrived. Maybe it was because of who she was with. She couldn't put her finger on what it was, but parts of her were coming to life that she had never knew existed. The cold bead in her mind pulsed in response.
She shuddered.
Naatos removed his hand from her knee.
She paused, her eyes darting to that point. His fingers had left soft grooves in the fabric. The absence of his warmth plucked at her mind. Did she—did she miss that?
She dropped her gaze back to the page, not wanting to dwell on it further.
* * *
The evening meal passed, and then there were more tasks. Small things. Routines were already forming. The strangest part was that Naatos insisted WroOth sleep, and WroOth made no argument. He, like AaQar, had intensely bloodshot eyes, and the blood staining his face refused to leave. He hooked his arm into one strap and drifted off immediately.
Naatos needed no other proof that his youngest brother was also nearing the limits of his strength.
The burning along his spine and neck had intensified as well, and his lungs no longer drew the full measure of air he preferred. Coughing brought some relief, but he avoided it as much as he could, channeling his healing energy into the adaptation as much as possible.
Even so, his body struggled. Sleep clawed at his mind, but he thrust that aside.
He needed to keep his priorities in order.
The camp had become a dismal place, silent except for the crackling of the fire and the occasional groans and coughs from his brothers. That heaviness extended to Amelia. She was uncharacteristically quiet, poring over the text, her gaze often retracing passages as she committed them to memory.
Her method of learning struck him as remarkably haphazard as she plucked out bits of knowledge, made notes, went over other sections, reviewed, and then went in search of more. Whether it worked remained to be seen.
The thought of her attempting dreamweaving, let alone dreamwalking, would have been amusing if not for what it suggested. If it weren't for the fact that telling her to stay away from it and not attempt it until they were in a more secure location would only make her more curious, he would have told her just to stop.
It was unlikely she could though.
She'd gotten into AaQar's mind so easily because AaQar was near death. And she'd entered his because of their union. Most likely he had subconsciously lowered that barrier for her. That didn't mean she could access the more secure locations. Or that she could get through to all of them. Though, as he had told her, she was more than welcome to try.
Picking up the death sorrel, he started working on the serum. The scent it released when he crushed a handful of the pearls in the mortar and pestle made him flinch inwardly. She was so caught up in the text that she didn't even recoil, her brow furrowed and her head bowed. So much the better.
Apothecarial work was not one of his favorites. If he was working with the forbidden arts or any manner of sorcery, that was different. The interplay of ingredients, energy, and will fascinated him. This, however, was more likely to give them the boost they needed than anything else.
It could help, but none of them had dealt with ilzinium this potent or an atmosphere so toxic to them. Even the air he breathed made his lungs and throat ache.
The dolmath scent rose on the wind. He lifted his gaze from the mortar and pestle, his shoulders tightening. Darkness had fallen. Night had come. They were close.
That scent Amelia had caught.
She set the book down, noting the page before she shut it. Then she stood and wrapped her arms around herself.
"You're all right?" He studied her, uncertain what was to be done in a situation like this. She had handled the dolmaths well enough earlier. But nerves tightened her features and corded through her muscles. Already her breaths grew shallower.
She nodded without looking at him though. "I am." Her strong jaw clenched tight, a vein standing out along her neck.
The dolmaths poured out from among the trees. They raced into the camp, the first ones reaching him and immediately plucking at his ankles and rubbing around his shins. One tried to climb him like a tree. The others piled over QueQoa, AaQar, and WroOth. QueQoa's wound attracted the most attention. Several circled and massaged it, all of them trying to both harvest the heat and stimulate healing.
Amelia clenched her arms tighter around herself, ducking her head down as they surrounded her. Her breaths came faster now. But she held her ground.
He smiled slightly, surprised that part of what he felt was pride in her. She kept her elmis pressed tight to her torso. She wasn't smiling, but she stayed.
The dolmaths moved beyond them. Most moved on, leaving a couple hundred at the camp. They scurried around, curled up, asked for scratches.
He returned to working on the serum, his attention divided between that and Amelia. She remained almost stock still the entire time, occasionally pushing them out from under her skirt if one tried to climb her leg or easing them off her shoulder. They didn't climb her as much as they did his brothers. Likely because she did not generate as much heat. But this was a small mercy to be grateful for. He had to continuously pause to set down or remove dolmaths from his work station. The blue fur wouldn't reduce the effectiveness of the serum, but it would make an already unpleasant medication even more unappealing.
An hour passed. Then another.
She moved back toward the boulder, her steps cautious.
"Do you need help?" He doubted she would accept it. She was stubborn at the best of times.
"I'm good." She reached the boulder and stepped up onto the small stack she'd formed to serve as stairs. Then, with the same precise care, she hoisted herself up. When she wasn't holding onto her sanity and calm with a death grip, she had an easy grace about her. This version of her went beyond that by a great factor. Then, with the same deliberation, she sat crosslegged on the top of the boulder, her shoulders perfectly squared and her gaze fastened on the side of the boulder. Her breaths remained shallow and fast, her cheeks flushed.
He set the mortar and pestle down on the log turned table. Without a word, he picked up one of the blankets and her Neyeb book. Then, he crossed over and offered them up.
She glanced at him, her dark eyes wide as if seeing him for the first time. That spark of surprise that dilated her pupils relaxed. Taking the book and blanket, she smiled a little. "Thank you."
"If you can rest, you should," he said. He almost reached for her hand but stopped himself. She'd let him sit next to her. She'd accepted the flowers and even the kiss. But there was no need to press further for now. It wasn't as if she would find it comforting, and touching her only aroused his own need and increased his pain, complicating his healing. No. Better to wait.
"I don't think I can," she said softly. She wrapped the blanket around her slim shoulders, her gaze flitting over his face to his chest. "But I can keep watch if you need to sleep."
He almost laughed. It was a kind offer—meant sincerely—but it was unthinkable. Danger might still lurk in the night of this region, and if it did, it would wipe through their camp before she could even sound an alarm. "I don't need sleep right now."
"If you need me to do anything to help with the camp…" She let her voice trail off as if she debated whether he might take that in some other way.
"I know where you
are." He paused as a dolmath with a dark-blue band moved up along the side of the boulder. It halted when it reached the top and then crept closer. Was that the one she had snatched from the creegha? His brow furrowed slightly.
She noticed it as well, her entire body stiffening.
He put his hand out to stroke its head, intending to make it content to stay at a distance. To give her more time.
She watched the dolmath. Her long dark hair slipped over her shoulder as she turned her head to see it better.
The dolmath purred. If not for the pressure he had put on the back of its head, it probably would have run right up against her. It strained a little even now.
She smiled a little more. Then she lifted her own hand. "It's all right." Leaning over, she brushed her fingers over the dolmath's head and body, grazing his hand. His skin prickled, heat flashing through him and intensifying in his blood. He resisted the urge to curse the fact that even inadvertent touches could promote such a strong response. But—had it been inadvertent?
He pulled back as she too withdrew, but she was not looking at him. That creep of rosiness in her cheeks had grown a little.
Silent, he returned once more to the mortar and pestle, pushed away two of the dolmaths investigating the contents, and resumed his work.
29
Beyond the Thorn Trees
The night passed slowly. WroOth and Naatos took it in turns to sleep and guard. Both tried to convince Amelia to rest, but… her eyes and mind refused to cooperate. Even if the dolmaths didn't still have her on edge, QueQoa's tormented sounds interspersed with AaQar's intermittent murmurs would have kept her from entering any restful point.
Instead, she pored over the pages of the Neyeb books, gathering all the information she could on strengthening and renewing her mind and dreamweaving. When she became too tired for that, she stretched out on the boulder and rested her chin on her hands.
The dark-banded dolmath slipped closer. It rested its head on her calf, then later curled up at her stomach. A few others crept up and slipped around, but they no longer seemed so desperate this night as they had on others.
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