Yuli raised her eyebrows. “The one they’ve been searching for?”
Raffa held his breath as Yuli looked him over.
“Hmph,” she said. “You’re with Kuma, and you’re a healer. Tell me what you need. If I have it, it’s yours.”
Then she nodded, and Raffa could breathe again.
Missum Yuli helped him make four poultices—two for healing, one to stop bleeding, and one to ease pain. He thanked her and delivered them to Uncle Elson. With the morning nearly gone, he saw Kuma coming out of the henhouse and called to her.
“Will you come with me?” he said.
He wanted a look at the grain storage sheds. The crows had attacked neither people nor animals, yet he was certain that they were not ordinary birds. Why would they have landed at the sheds and done nothing?
As they walked across the common area, Kuma drew a long, shaky breath. “It could have been worse,” she said. “They got more than half the chickens—that’s a lot, but no one will go hungry.”
They drew near the storage sheds. Raffa saw that each shed was built with a gap under the eaves to allow air to circulate. The first shed was filled with field corn for animal feed. He thought back to the attack. The crows hadn’t landed at this shed, so he and Kuma walked on to the next one.
The second shed held wheat. Inside, the space was partitioned into several bins by walls higher than Raffa’s head. The bins were open at the top, and each had a half door in one of its walls. When the bins were full after fall harvest, the settlers could climb a ladder to get to the grain through the opening at the top.
Now the bins were partially depleted, the grain about knee-high. Raffa opened one of the half doors and looked inside. He saw two small cloth sacks atop the grain, each about the size of his palm. They were open at one end, and he could tell by their limpness that they were empty.
“Odd upon strange,” he muttered.
He tried to make a picture in his head. The crows had landed under the eaves and entered the shed through the gap. They must have dropped these little sacks into the grain bins and then flown off.
He ducked through the door, picked up the two sacks, and handed them to Kuma, while he checked two of the other bins. The same sacks in each. A sense of dread was growing in his stomach.
Kuma looked inside one of the sacks. “Empty,” she said.
She tried the second one—and cried out. “No! Oh, no!”
“What? What is it?”
She inverted the sack over her open palm. A weevil fell into her hand.
Raffa stared at it as comprehension knifed through him.
The sacks had been full of weevils: The bins were now infested with thousands of the voracious, destructive insects. Many of them had no doubt already laid eggs, not only in the wheat but in the cracks and crevices of the bins themselves.
The wheat would be all but ruined. And the sheds would be unusable until after next winter, when the freezing weather would kill off the weevils and their eggs.
Kuma’s lips were pale, and she was trembling. “I was wrong,” she whispered. “Now people will go hungry.”
They hurried back to the big barn and found Elson. Immediately a group was organized to begin sieving the grain in an attempt to salvage what they could.
Raffa berated himself silently. We should have gotten here sooner. We waited too long in the Suddens—if I’d made up my mind quicker, I’d be home by now, and Mam and Da—
His thoughts were interrupted by mutters and grumbles, and he looked up to see some of the steaders casting unfriendly glances at him.
What had he done to anger them?
One of the men strode forward and pointed at Raffa. “You there—who are you, and what are you doing here?”
Elson stepped toward the group, whose hostility seemed to crackle through the air.
“He’s a friend,” Elson said, looking from face to face.
“Yah?” the man said, challenge in his voice. “Known him long?”
Elson didn’t answer directly. “If you have something to say, Bantan, say it.”
Bantan raised his chin. “He’s the one told us all to cover our eyes. We done it, and nothing happened. But that’s when the stoats got in. Like he was helping them.”
Rumbles of agreement from other steaders.
“He’s a pother,” Bantan went on. “Those weren’t normal beasts. A pother could have . . . done something to them, to make them act so.”
Raffa stared at Bantan, so stunned he couldn’t speak.
Kuma managed to stammer, “No, you—you— That’s not—”
“Steady on,” Elson said. “He worked side by side with us, fighting the foxes the whole time. Some of you surely saw him. And yes, he’s a pother. He made poultices for the wounded sheep.”
Bantan jutted out his chin. “Could be covering his tracks, I say. Because it’s beyond odd for a stranger to show up just when all this happens.”
His words triggered a buzz among the other steaders.
“That’s right.”
“Who is he, anyway?”
“—chickens dead, because of him.”
They think I’m part of it!
Raffa’s mind could hardly grasp what was happening. The irony would have been laughable had it not been so grim: Here he was doing everything he could to combat the Chancellor’s dread project, and instead he was suspected of abetting it.
Worst of all, Bantan was right—although not in the way he thought. Raffa had been part of the Chancellor’s plot earlier, when he knew almost nothing about it. He winced to recall how eager and excited he had been about being invited to participate.
Now, because of that error, he was determined to work twice as hard to right things and prove his worth, not only to Bantan and the others but to himself.
Elson walked over to Raffa and put an arm around his shoulders. “Come, Raffa. It’s time for sunpeak meal.” He glared at each person in the group, Bantan last. “This young man is a guest in my home. He is a friend of our Kuma. Doubt him and you doubt me.”
Elson’s words seemed to dissipate the tension. As he walked Raffa toward the house, some of the steaders returned to their work.
But Raffa could still feel Bantan’s stare stabbing into his back.
CHAPTER TEN
BEWILDERMENT, anger, helplessness—all roiled through Raffa. He felt almost dizzy and stumbled on a stone; Elson caught his arm and righted him as they walked from the barns back toward the house.
“Kuma, did you ever tell Raffa how the settlement got started?” Elson asked.
Raffa looked at him in confusion. Elson’s tone was totally relaxed, as if they were conversing during a leisurely stroll.
“No, I never did,” Kuma answered, looking equally surprised.
“Raffa, most of us are descended from Afters,” Elson said. “Our ancestors traveled to Obsidia together after the Great Quake. They found no work in Gilden, so they decided to farm instead. None of them had farmed before. The first years were lean indeed.”
He shook his head as if he had lived through those times himself. “But we learned. We’re still learning. I wish we could say we’ve prospered since then. That wouldn’t be true—it’s a struggle yet. Most years, though, we have enough food to eat, and enough cheer to sing and tell tales in the evenings.”
They had reached the house by now, where Haddie heard the last of what Elson said and chimed in, smiling, “A body doesn’t need more than that.”
Elson had succeeded in distracting Raffa. “My ancestors were Afters, too,” he said. “Not my mam’s family, but the Santanas, on my da’s side.”
“Santana!” Haddie exclaimed. “Kuma, you never said!”
Kuma tilted her head. “Said what?”
“But surely you know—the Santanas are famous among the Afters!” Haddie beamed at Raffa. “There would be no califer plants in Obsidia if it weren’t for them. Why, who knows how much suffering has been banished because of califerium!”
“
Their abilities as well,” Elson added. “Your ancestors and the other apothecaries who came from afar were more skilled than Obsidia’s native healers. No telling how many lives were saved because of the knowledge they brought and shared.”
A small flush of pride warmed Raffa inside and rose to his cheeks. Elson and Haddie had helped remind him who he was. That was where he had to put his time and mind and muscle—no matter what anyone else thought of him.
They sat down for a quick meal of cold flat corn cakes and hot tea. Elson looked solemn.
“Last night, after everything you told us, I wondered if there were a reasonable explanation,” he said. “I seek one no longer.” He bowed his head toward both Raffa and Kuma in apology.
A wave of regret and sorrow washed over Raffa. The attack proved that he and Kuma had been telling the truth—but at such a dire cost to the settlement. He would far rather have answered a thousand doubtful questions from Elson.
The Chancellor was using the animals against people. Not enemies of Obsidia but her own people.
“We’re the farthest settlement,” Kuma said. “It’s a good distance from here to Gilden.” Her words came slowly, each one burdened with thought.
“Yes?” Haddie prompted her gently.
Kuma looked at Raffa. “I think it—it was a kind of experiment,” she said. “They’re testing the animals. Out here, so people in Gilden won’t know about it.”
“And that’s why the guards left!” Raffa exclaimed. “So no one would tie them to the attack.”
Elson shook his head. “I am trying to think of what to say . . . to everyone, that they will believe.”
“Whether or not they believe,” Haddie said, “the question they will ask is, What’s next? And, What do we do now?”
Raffa put his hands to his head as if to tear his hair out, overcome with hopelessness. He had been sure upon certain about the crows—and he’d been wrong. It was beyond impossible to predict what other terrors might be inflicted using the animals.
Then he heard the faint sound of a dog barking. Everyone tensed and turned their heads toward the sound.
“It’s only the one,” Haddie said immediately.
“Still,” Elson said, and he rose from his seat. They all followed him outside, where he grabbed an ax. Kuma took up a shovel, Raffa a pitchfork, and Haddie a hoe.
The barks were coming from across the fields behind the house. No one else seemed to have heard them. As they approached the hedgerow, Raffa could see the dog, a white coat, brown spots, a brush of a tail.
The dog had discovered something in the hedge. Elson made a quick gesture with his hand. The dog stopped barking and backed away a few steps but remained alert, ears pricked.
Haddie prodded the undergrowth aside with the hoe.
“A fox,” she announced. “It’s wounded.”
With Kuma at his side, Raffa knelt down for a closer look. The fox was a male. Its torso was soaked with blood, and one of its hind legs was badly lacerated. The injured creature raised its head for a moment. Its eyes were wild with pain.
And they were purple.
“Best to end its suffering,” Elson said.
“No!” Kuma jumped to her feet. “Uncle, it’s not his fault! We have to help him!” Without waiting for a response, she turned to Raffa. “You can, can’t you? Treat him and heal him?”
Raffa was already going over botanical combinations in his head. He realized—with surprise and a little pride—that it had become a natural reflex for him on seeing injury or illness.
“I can try,” he said.
Haddie took Kuma’s hands in hers. “Child, listen to me. You know that there are those who already have doubts about your friend. If they should find out that we’ve rescued this creature and that he’s treating it . . . I fear what they might do in anger.”
Raffa’s eyes widened. He was shaken to his core: How could healing ever be seen as anything but an act for good?
Kuma glanced at him quickly. “Then we’ll keep it a secret,” she said. She turned and began running back toward the house, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll get a board and some sacking.”
Elson and Haddie exchanged looks of resignation. Haddie sighed. “Would you expect any different from a girl who keeps company with a bear?”
Kuma spoke quietly to the fox and managed to tie its muzzle with a rag. She then slipped the sacking under it. Elson and Raffa helped slide the sacking onto the board and carried the fox across the fields.
There was a shed at the side of the dooryard, used for storing tools and firewood. Haddie cleared off a shelf in the shed, after stating plainly that Kuma would not be permitted to bring the fox into the house. They put the board on the shelf.
Kuma cleaned the fox’s fur and found the source of the bleeding: a single ragged puncture in its midsection, probably from a pitchfork. Raffa sorted through his meager store of botanicals. Missum Yuli had shared her ingredients, but she had nothing like the variety a practiced apothecary would have.
Raffa made a combination based on spineflower root, which was used to treat puncture wounds. He still had the dried scarlet-vine powder. It hadn’t worked for Echo, but Raffa wondered if that was because of the primitive conditions at the mountain shelter, where he hadn’t been able to prepare infusions properly. Kuma’s house was no laboratory, but at least he could improvise some equipment from kitchen utensils.
After steeping and straining the powder, he pounded it into the spineflower combination. Sure enough, he saw a few sparks and glimmers. Nothing as spectacular as when he used the fresh vine, but still promising. He decided to use spineflower again in a different combination for an infusion, and added the vine powder to that as well.
As he continued to pound, he saw the glimmers inside his head as well as with his eyes. It was all but impossible to describe, but each glint in the mortar matched a point of light in his mind. Raffa recognized the sensation: It was his instinctive ability for apothecary. His intuition was telling him that he was on the right path.
So I haven’t lost it after all, he thought with a sigh of relief.
Then he paused, his mind lit by new awareness. Apothecary was like anything else: It took regular practice to remain adept. In the Suddens, his skills had grown stiff and rusty with underuse. When he made that infusion for Echo, he’d felt nothing but blankness. And sure enough, the infusion had been ineffective.
In that moment, Raffa truly grasped for the first time his father’s cautions against depending on instinct. It was only through experience and study and learning that he would be able to reliably interpret those mysterious moments of intuition. I need to learn to use it like a tool, he thought, not a—a crutch for leaning on.
Feeling both grateful and humbled, Raffa took the infusion to the woodshed to dose the fox. He couldn’t even get close: With a surge of fear-driven strength, the animal writhed and lunged at him. Raffa jerked away, almost spilling the infusion.
“Let me help,” Kuma said.
Perhaps it was her soothing voice. Or maybe the fox sensed somehow that she had been his savior from the start. Whatever the reason, he lay quiet for Kuma, allowing her to remove the muzzle-rag. She held him still while Raffa administered the infusion. Then he applied the poultice to both the puncture wound and the lacerated leg.
Kuma bound the wounds with strips of linen. She squeezed some water from a rag into the fox’s mouth. Raffa helped her lift the board into a box, which they covered with more sacking.
By the time they finished, the fox was asleep.
Raffa peered beneath the eaves at the back of the house. It didn’t take him long to locate Echo, hanging in a corner fast asleep. The bat was so small and inconspicuous, no one else except perhaps Kuma could have spotted him.
On Elson’s advice, Raffa stayed away from the settlement that afternoon. He walked the meadows and hedgerows gathering botanica. As always, the search for useful plants occupied and soothed his unsettled mind. To his delight, he found panax plants,
whose roots were a powerful stimulant. He was also able to replenish his supply of several other botanicals, including phosphorescent fungi, and he filled a bag with nettle tops, thinking that Elson or Haddie might like to cook them.
In midafternoon, he headed back. As the house came into view, he saw Kuma waving both arms at him. He broke into a trot. When he drew within earshot, she called out to him.
“The fox,” she said. “I think he’s waking up.”
They crossed the yard. Kuma opened the door to the shed. The sacking atop the box was moving. As they watched, the fox tried to find his way out from under, but he succeeded only in pulling the sacking into the box.
“You mustn’t get yourself tangled,” Kuma said. She eased the sacking off.
Raffa stood back a step, not wanting the fox to get agitated on seeing him.
The fox stared up at Kuma, his eyes purest purple.
“Red . . . spring!” the fox said.
He looked, as foxes so often did, like he was smiling.
“Red spring! Red spring!” the fox repeated.
Raffa’s mouth gaped in shock. It had been many months since an infusion of the scarlet vine had caused an animal to talk—first Echo, then the baby raccoons, Twig and her brother, Bando. He realized that he had never expected it to happen again.
Kuma, too, had been stunned motionless. Now she recovered and said, “What do you think he means?”
Red spring? Raffa shook his head. He had heard of spring fever and spring chickens, but never of a red spring. . . .
Then an idea occurred to him. He hurried to the corner of the house where Echo was sleeping under the eaves.
“Echo? Would you come with me, please?” He tapped gently on the edge of the eave.
Echo stirred, stretched his wings partway open, and closed them again. Then he fluttered to the perch necklace.
Raffa brought the bat to the shed.
“Red . . . spring!” the fox said.
“Fox talk,” Echo said.
“Yes, Echo, he’s talking. Do you know what he’s saying?”
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