by A.R. Wise
Chapter Sixteen
“The damn wind,” said Beynor between coughs as he tried to wave away the smoke. “It keeps blowing this way. Maybe we should head back towards the camp.” They’d been trying to make their way to Saffi, but the wind kept pushing the poisonous cloud towards them, forcing them further south.
Joyce’s foot splashed in the marsh, and she knew they were far off track now. Saffi had been headed up a hill to the east of the camp the last time the Prophet had seen her, and she knew that was far from the marshy area that the marauders had avoided when choosing a place to camp.
“I think you’re right,” said Joyce.
Beynor had been trying to brave the smoke, and was paying the price for it. The wind seemed intent on pushing the entire cloud their way, and its effects were causing the young thegn to double over and retch. Joyce took his arm and pulled him back, guiding him further into the marshland, away from the noxious fumes.
“We can head that way,” said Joyce as she pointed west. “Hopefully the wind dies down a little and we can…” A far off, desperate plea for help stilled her. “Did you hear that?”
Beynor was coughing and shook his head. He wiped his lips and said, “No.”
“Listen,” said Joyce. “There’s someone calling for help. It sounds like…” She listened and again heard a faint cry. “It is him.”
“Who?” asked Beynor.
“Our little thief,” said Joyce with new purpose. “Come with me. This way.” She guided Beynor further into the wetlands. Their feet sloshed through the shallow water, and the sound of Tarik’s pleas grew louder as they went.
Joyce shook Beynor’s arm and said jubilantly, “That wind was no accident. We were guided this way. The world’s full of wonder, my friend. If you’re willing to let it guide you, you’ll be shocked where you end up.”
Beynor called out to their friend, “Tarik!”
The thief heard them, and yelled back, “Here. I’m here.”
They trudged through the deepening mud, and finally found their wounded friend. He was covered with blood, and barely able to stand on his own. His arm had suffered a deep cut, and he was grasping it close to his body in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Joyce commanded Beynor to retrieve some of the white flowers around them, explaining the petals could stop an infection, and then she commanded Tarik to remove his shirt as she found a suitable branch nearby to help tie a tourniquet.
Beynor returned with a handful of the flowers and gave them to the Prophet. She rolled and mashed them in her hands before spitting on them and doing it again. She created the best poultice she could with what was available, and then mashed it up into Tarik’s wound, causing him to curse and shudder in pain.
“It’s going to hurt, but that’ll help,” said Joyce.
Tarik weakly said, “I’m dying.”
“No you’re not,” she said. “It’s a bad cut, but you’ll live. Remember what I told you about the three of us staying together? There are certain forces at work in this world that you’d do well to stop ignoring, Tarik.” She used the branch to continue tightening the tourniquet.
The thief nodded, winced, and then said, “Sure, whatever you say.”
Joyce stopped tying the tourniquet. “You owe us your life. He saved you in the wagon, and I’m saving you now. How much more has to happen before you open your eyes to what’s going on here?”
“I’ll believe whatever you want,” said Tarik. “Just help me out of this damn swamp.”
Beynor knelt down to help the thief up, but Joyce stopped him. “Wait, I need to know he’s going to be loyal.”
Tarik gazed up at her in consternation. “You’re serious?”
“Very,” she said. “I’m not asking you to be our slave, just our friend. Stay with us. You’ve lived outside the walls. You know how to survive in the smuggler’s towns and out here in the plains. We need your help, and you obviously need ours.”
“If saying that I’ll help you means you’ll get me out of here, then so be it,” said Tarik. “I’ll do whatever you say, Prophet.”
“Good,” said Joyce. “Then we’ll get along fine. Now let’s head back out there and see if we can help the girl, Saffi. She plays a part in this too, somehow.”
“As long as the wind cooperates,” said Beynor.
“We’ll go where the wind takes us,” said Joyce, smiling and patting Beynor on the back. He looked confused, as if he didn’t understand why he was being commended.
