Tarsha Kaynin was hot and feverish by the time she arrived back in Emberen, only barely able to land her airship, coming in too fast and hard, and skewing the vessel sideways as she set it down. Her knife wound was badly infected, and her efforts to cure the infection had failed miserably. Her arm and shoulder had been swollen and painful for the last two days, the wound festering and leaking fluids, her head pounding with her sickness. She managed a quick hello for the field manager as she stumbled past, leaving the two-man for him to put away, wanting only to reach Drisker’s cottage and go to bed. She had no idea if he would be there, but at this point it didn’t matter. She would have a decent, warm bed to sleep in, food and drink to consume, and a guarantee of safety for at least one night. There were some medicines waiting, some of which would help her, and if she weren’t better by morning, she would go to the village healer.
She trudged into Emberen and up the roadway toward her destination, paying almost no attention to anyone around her, head down and body hunched in an effort to lessen her agony. It seemed apparent that the grime-encrusted knife blade had done its job. It all seemed a very long time ago, and she didn’t care to think on it. Even Tavo seemed far in the past, and just then she found she didn’t care if he was still coming to Emberen or not. Simply recovering from her wound would take all the strength she had left.
She had just come in sight of the cottage when she saw the cloaked figure sitting on the porch and felt a surge of relief and joy. Drisker had returned from Paranor, and now everything would be all right!
Except it wasn’t Drisker. She knew it almost at once, and as she drew nearer, it became clear the occupant of the chair was Clizia Porse. Tarsha felt a sinking in her stomach, but there was no help for it now. She was too close to turn aside, even had she wished to, and given her present condition it made no sense to go anywhere else.
She watched the old woman rise and pull back the hood of her cloak, revealing her sharp old features—a pinched and wrinkled image still all too familiar from their last encounter.
“Tarsha, isn’t it?” she said. “Do I have it right?”
Tarsha nodded, irritated. “Where is Drisker?”
Clizia Porse pursed her lips. “I’m not sure. I left him at Paranor, assuming he was on his way out. I came here to find him. I thought he might be waiting, but he isn’t.” She paused. “I thought I might find you, too.”
Tarsha shook her head. “I went back home to see my family.” She dropped her backpack, suddenly unable to hold it any longer. “I need to sleep.”
“Your bed is waiting; your room is ready. I have not disturbed either. Would you eat first?”
“No, I just need to sleep.”
She took two steps and dropped to one knee, the strength gone out of her. Instantly, Clizia Porse was beside her, arms about her waist, helping to hold her up as she guided her inside. “You’ve been hurt, girl. I can smell the infection. We have to get you treated at once.”
Tarsha shook her head stubbornly. “The village healer…”
“Knows not a tenth of what I do. I can help you far more than anyone else. Now, come inside.”
The old woman was far stronger than expected, and Tarsha let herself be led to the bedroom and put into the bed. Without asking permission, Clizia began to remove her clothing so she could get a look at the wound. When she had Tarsha stripped to the waist and the infected wound was revealed, she made a disparaging sound. “You’ve let this go far too long. It needs cleaning, medication, and binding anew. A knife wound, it appears. Wait here.”
Tarsha closed her eyes, and it seemed only seconds later that she felt hands on her shoulders. Clizia was holding a cup of steaming liquid in front of her face. “Drink this. All the way down. It will help with the pain. It will also help you to sleep when I am finished.”
The girl drank the bitter, pungent brew without objection, no longer wanting anything but to be cared for. The Druid took the empty cup, set it aside, and began to clean out the wound. The pain was excruciating, but Tarsha said nothing, determined to keep her feelings to herself. She remembered how Clizia Porse had made her feel during their meeting at Paranor—exposed, uncomfortable, at risk. Even Drisker had been wary of her, warning Tarsha to reveal nothing, to keep her own counsel.
She would do so here.
When the wound was washed clean of infection and blood, the old woman applied a poultice and then wrapped it with a bandage that felt snug without applying too much pressure. It should be left open to drain at present, she advised. Tomorrow, she would stitch it up and reapply the bandage. By now, Tarsha was almost asleep. She stayed awake only by telling herself she must know everything that was happening while Clizia Porse was in her bedroom. So she fought sleep just long enough for the old woman to complete the treatment and rise from beside her.
“You rest now,” the other said. “We will talk in the morning. I will keep watch and wake you if there is need. Sleep.”
And Tarsha did.
She dreamed of nothing at all.
* * *
—
When she woke it was light out again, the midday sun high overhead, the birdsong bright and clear, and the forest air filled with the smell of leaves and grasses. She felt markedly improved from the previous night, but she tested herself anyway by moving her arms and legs. To her surprise, there was almost no pain at all, and what remained of her injury seemed to be all but healed. She sat up slowly, looked around, swung her legs out of the bed, and stood. A little bit of dizziness, but otherwise she was fine, save that she was very hungry.
She shed her nightclothes and put on forest garb, taking her time, listening for Clizia Porse and hearing nothing. Once dressed again, she slipped from her bedroom and walked out into the main part of the house.
The old woman sat at the small kitchen table sipping liquid from a cup. Without comment, she rose, poured a second cup, and handed it to Tarsha. “Drink it,” she ordered.
Tarsha drank, frowning. “This is ale.”
“Ale with herbal medicines to help you heal. You’re clearly better, but not yet completely back to yourself.”
“I feel well enough. The medicine you gave me and a good night’s sleep did wonders.”
The other’s long face took on a look of amusement. “You’ve been asleep for almost two days.”
The girl stared at her. Two days? No wonder she was so hungry. And no wonder she felt so rested. But two days? Without once waking? How could that be?
The Druid seemed to read her mind. “The medication I gave you was very strong. The infection needed healing without interruption. That meant you had to sleep for more than a single day. Can you feel how it helped you?”