“Mantra, you have returned at last,” his eldest sister Sita greeted him from the second landing. Her voice was cool, her expression disapproving. At least she hadn’t suffered from their quarantine, Mantra thought. Sita’s eyes were heavily made up in a rich lavender shade to match the silky cloth that draped her slender form. She looked as though she were ready to go out on a social visit. Mantra bet she hadn’t lifted one finger to help Malika in the whole time he’d been gone. But then Sita had always considered herself first.
As had I, Mantra thought, feeling the familiar wave of guilt.
He regarded his sister calmly. “Where is Kairi?”
“Here.” His next elder sister came flying out of the room she shared with Sita, book in hand. She was about to throw her arms around him when he stepped back, a look of warning on his face.
“Stay away. I have the Farg.”
“Oh, no.” Kairi’s expression turned to horror as she observed him more closely. “You look terrible. Let me help you.”
“Keep your distance,” Malika said. “You girls must remain in your room. I will attend him as I do Zunis. Go now, quickly. I’ll bring you both a sulfur balm as soon as I’m free.”
Sita wrinkled her nose. “Not that awful stuff again.”
“It’s been an effective preventive agent, hasn’t it?” their mother countered. “Now be off with you.”
Kairi cast Mantra a regretful glance and followed her haughty sister back into their room. Mantra made haste for his own bed. It was as he had left it ten months ago, his possessions untouched, his bed made up as though he had just gone out for an afternoon. A sob of grief tore at his throat. If only he had seen his father one last time.
He made no protest as Malika turned back the coverlet and motioned for him to get into bed.
“Show me how bad it is,” she demanded, leaning over him, her eyes soft with concern.
His modesty had long since gone. Mantra stripped, averting his eyes from the expression of horror on his mother’s face when she saw the extent of his blisters.
“I’ll check on Zunis, and then I will get you some poultices. The poison must be drawn from your body.” She listened for a moment to his wheezing. “I will also brew a tea of lalith leaves for the congestion.”
Malika bent down, and a tear escaped from the corner of her eye. “Rest, my son. I am glad you have returned.” She squeezed his hand, and a brief expression of hopelessness flickered across her face before she turned away.
It was much later when Mantra was awakened by cries from downstairs. Throwing his cloak over his shoulders, he hobbled out of his room. “What is it? What’s the matter?” he called.
Sita and Kairi emerged into the hallway, their frightened faces pale against the vivid blue hues of their nightclothes. “It is Zunis,” Sita whispered. “When the fever spikes, she gets delirious.”
“How long has she been like this?”
“Three days. The fever shows no sign of breaking.”
Mantra frowned. That was a bad omen. “Is Mother tending to her?”
“Aye,” Kairi replied in a low tone. “She won’t allow us to help.”
“I must go to her.”
Despite their protests, he went down the stairs, stopping every few steps to catch his breath. The mucus in his chest seemed looser, so he coughed some of it up. A burning pain stabbed his lungs and Mantra winced, holding on to the rail and waiting for the discomfort to pass. Finally, the pain subsided into a dull ache and he was able to continue his descent.
“Mantra, please go to bed,” his sister Kairi pleaded from above.
“Don’t waste your words,” Sita said to her. “Mantra never listens. He didn’t listen when Father asked him to help out in the food station. Father might still be here now had Mantra been around to share the burden.”
Feeling the blood rush to his face, Mantra whirled to face her. “Shut up, Sita.”
“Go back where you came from,” Sita hissed. “You’re just more work for Mother. You’re sick. You should never have come here.”
Mantra took one glance at the shocked look on Kairi’s face and suppressed his retort. Turning on his heel, he shuffled to the library which had been converted into a sickroom. He found his mother huddled over the writhing form of his youngest sister.
Mantra drew in a sharp breath when he saw the livid color of Zunis’s face. Her eyes were glassy and wild as she thrashed about, muttering incoherently. Her reddish-brown hair, the same color as their mother’s, lay tangled about her face. She looked like a different person from the last time he had seen her, a sweet young maiden about to breach her sixteenth year.
Malika straightened, and he saw she had been applying a wet cloth to Zunis’s forehead. Instead of remonstrating with him for coming downstairs, his mother seemed glad of the company. She drew a weary hand across her brow.
“I know not what else to do,” Malika said. “Either the fever must break, or it will take her. This goes on too long.”
Mantra stared at her helplessly. He didn’t know the ingredients of the posset-drink that had helped him, so he couldn’t offer any advice. “The room is cold, Mother. Would a fire not help?” He drew his cloak tighter around his body.
“I think not. Zunis must be kept cool.”
“But see how her limbs tremble.”
“It is the distemper. Did you not find it so?”
“I suppose.” He shrugged. “In truth, I was not aware of much when I passed through this stage.”
Malika sighed. “I pray it will end soon. I grieve to see her suffering so.”
Mantra stared at his sister, wishing he could will her to get well. She looked so frail as she lay there. He remembered her laughter, her happy innocence, and he thought how everyone’s innocence had been destroyed by this onslaught of pestilence.
Returning to the hall. Mantra trudged up the stairs, knowing he would be more useful if he could recover his own strength. Kairi awaited him in front of his bedroom door.
“How is she?” Kairi whispered. He noticed she carried a book. Kairi was always reading, and he’d found he could talk to her about the things that interested him far more easily than with anyone else in the family. He supposed it was because Kairi drank up new ideas the way some people drank water.
“Alas, Zunis is not doing well. I fear for her survival.” They commiserated a moment in silence. “Mother is worn out and needs a rest herself.”
“I know. She nursed Father, and now poor Zunis. I wish she would let me help.”
“Can you talk?” Mantra asked, suddenly eager for a sympathetic ear. “I promise to keep my distance.”
At Kairi’s nod of assent, he placed a chair for her in his doorway, and sat on his bed. Regarding his sister, he decided he liked the way she had braided her hair. It hung down her back nearly to her waist, while wispy bangs shaded her brow. Her face was a petite version of his mother’s.
“I can’t talk to Mother about these things,” he began. “She doesn’t understand. I heard a lot of talk when I was away... talk about the Coalition, and about the legend. It is said the time is right.”
Kairi leaned forward. “How so?”
“The blazing star appeared in the sky as it was foretold, a full moon cycle before the onslaught of the pestilence. You saw it, do you remember? Its dull, languid color and heavy, solemn motion were supposed to predict a horrible judgment. So it has come to pass. The plague is slow but severe, terrible and frightful. And it’s not happening just here on Tendraa. It is all over the galaxy, on planets not only similar to ours but different as well. Don’t you see?” His eyes burned with zeal. “Death and confusion will reign throughout the heavens. And then the Great Healer will appear.”