The Almanac

by E L Stricker

  These tracks were covered in ridges, strange, regular shapes with sharp corners.

  He squatted down again and examined them. There were straight lines and chunky shapes almost like the letters in the book. He held his breath as if the unknown person could be hiding in the bushes, but after a few seconds, nothing had happened, and he breathed again.

  Rover gangs, like the one that had attacked so long ago, just like the Patrollers guarded against.

  But the Patrollers were Enforcers now. They couldn’t be guarding all the territory around the village, not if they had to guard a jail full of thier own people.

  The footprints was fresh. Whoever they were, they had stopped at this spring recently. If they kept going down the path, it would only be a matter of time before they found the village.

  Illya glanced around, shaking off a crawling sensation that was rising up his spine. He set off at a run, hoping to make up a little time and distance between himself and this place before the light was gone.

  He had not eaten all day and soon felt the all too familiar weakness that came from too much walking and not enough food. Nevertheless, he did not slow.

  A branch cracked up ahead, and he heard an odd shuffling sound. Without thinking, he dove into a stand of bushes to hide, snagging his pants on a thorn. The sound of more breaking twigs approached. He wasn't close enough to run into a patrol yet, or was he? Not at this time of the evening, it was impossible.

  Illya froze, his breath halting in his throat at the sight of a man coming around the bend in the road, a stone's throw away from him. He peered through the night, his eyes wide and round as the full moon.

  Something about the slope of the man's shoulders was familiar and tickled his memory.

  Benja.

  It was Benja! He looked again, not believing what he saw. His cousin was thinner than he had been. He was holding his bow in one hand and had a bundle of something wrapped in cloth slung over his shoulder. He had not seen Illya yet. Illya hesitated. The last time he had seen Benja was the day he'd had him arrested. He didn't know how his cousin would react to seeing him.

  Benja was walking with a shuffle as if he was exhausted. Illya looked closer and saw something that made his breath freeze in his throat. Benja was dragging his leg, which had been tied up in red-stained cloth. Behind him was a trail of blood.

  Illya stumbled out of the bushes, tearing his pants further. He didn't care. He pushed his way onto the path just in time to catch Benja as he staggered and sagged to the ground. He was sweating and pale, gray around the eyes. His gaze seemed unfocused as if he was looking across a long distance.

  “Ouch,” he said, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

  “Benja!”

  Illya lowered him to the ground. He shook his cousin's shoulders, his heart pounding.

  “Wake up! What happened? Benja!”

  Benja groaned. His eyes opened for a moment then fluttered closed.

  “We can't stay here in the open,” Illya said, his voice wavering. He pulled Benja up to his feet. With his arm around Benja's waist to hold him up and some coaxing, he got them both through the screen of bushes beside the road to the base of a big tree.

  Gingerly, he sat Benja down beside it and scraped together some wood and tinder. He struck his piece of flint over and over into it, his hand shaking as shuddering waves of panic crashed over him. Even if the Terrors were nothing but coyotes, a pack of them could have killed Benja in his weakened state. He thought of the bones in the cave he had found. They would certainly come for the blood that was trailed down the road.

  What if the fire didn't light? What if there were too many of them to fight off?

  Finally, a spark caught, and Illya nursed it to life. He moved Benja closer to the heat, swallowing worry when the movement did not wake his cousin.

  Carefully, he unwrapped the saturated cloth from Benja's leg. His ankle had been torn open. Punctures that looked to have come from a powerful set of teeth made a semicircle on it. A ragged chunk of muscle had been torn out of Benja's lower calf.

  The wound was deep. Under continuously welling blood, Illya saw a gleam of white. It had to be a ligament or bone. He didn't hesitate for another moment. His apprenticeship with Samuel had not been useless, after all. He knew how to stop bleeding.

  He tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt and wrapped up the wound again. Firmly, he pushed down on it. His head spun as the blood welled up under the fabric and soaked through with awful warmth. The wound was much worse than the cut he had held on Charlie's forehead.

  He pushed harder, trying not to panic but failing as he felt the faint pulse of Benja's life seeping out from under his fingers.

  His muscles shook with fatigue. The world narrowed in around him until there was nothing in it but him and his cousin and his hands, white-knuckled against the wound. Finally, the blood stopped soaking through the bandage.

  He knew that it would start again the moment he let up. Benja could not afford to lose any more blood. He had to find a way to keep pressure on the wound without holding it. After some thought, he packed the fabric into the wound and tied another strip of his shirt cloth around it. He twisted a stick in the knot to tighten it, securing it by doubling the ends back and knotting them behind the ankle bone. It held. He collapsed back against the tree then, shaking, his heart pounding so that he felt it through his whole body.

  He sent a thought of gratitude to Samuel for his patient training but wished more than anything that Samuel were there. Illya had only the most basic idea of what to do for Benja. It might not be enough. The thought was terrifying, and he shook it away.

  What Benja needed was action, not wishes. Illya pulled himself up, bracing against the tree. He got water from the stream and built the fire higher. Benja was shivering violently, still horribly pale, with beads of sweat running down the sides of his face.

  Shock, Illya thought. Remembering something else Samuel had taught him, he elevated his cousin's legs on a rock. Gently, he slapped Benja's face until he groaned then coaxed some water into his mouth. Benja swallowed and did not pass out again. Illya let himself feel a tiny bit encouraged.

  He checked the bandage again and loosened it a little, until he could feel the feeble thrumming of Benja's heart at the spot on top of his foot where it should always be. He took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. What could have made a wound like this? How had Benja come to be so far out on the path at nightfall? What would have happened to him if he had fallen there, alone, his blood welling up and spilling into the earth unchecked?

  Illya shuddered and closed his eyes.

  What would Samuel do? Clean the wound as a start. Even if Benja survived so much blood loss, the 'fection was a more dangerous enemy than the injury itself. The Healer would use yarrow leaf in boiled water, some of the brew, or garlic broth. If he could clean it out well enough, he would sew the edges of the wound together. Samuel had tiny bone needles and thin strips of suet. He had rows and rows of jars with herbs and salves, almost entirely replaced in the months since the raid. Illya had none of those things.

  This wound, shaped like a scoop, couldn't be sewn together at all. It would have to heal by what Samuel had called “the second way,” filling in slowly from the edges, rather than by knitting together in an even seam. To heal the second way took a very long time, and Benja did not have time.

  Benja groaned and opened his eyes. There was a little more color in his cheeks.

  “Hey,” he said. He grimaced: an awful expression that appeared to take more energy than he had. His head slumped to the side.

  “Okay Benj?” Illya asked, his voice catching. His eyes were burning, and his face felt hot. He rubbed his eyes and tears came away on his hand. Benja squinted up at him then closed his eyes.

  “Knock it off,” he said. “I'm the one who's hurt.”

  “I'm sorry,” Illya whispered.

  “You don't get to feel sorry for yourself.” Benja opened his eyes again, glaring with unexpe
cted ferocity, though his gaze seemed unfocused. “You were a stupid jerk, but you're still my cousin and my friend, and that is all there is.” He closed his eyes as if it had taken an enormous effort to talk.

  Illya stared at the bandages. The blood had not soaked through yet. Benja opened his eyes again.

  “Ran into a badger,” he said. “Got ahold of me a couple of miles ago and wouldn't let go. Took some of me with him. I'd stopped for a drink, picked the wrong spot. Stupid not to know a badger den.” He laughed a little, without mirth.

  “I wrapped it up. Tried to get as far away as I could. Kept getting harder to stay up. I couldn't even see where I was going,” he said.

  “You probably left a trail of blood the whole way,” Illya said.

  “Naw,” Benja said. “Only halfway, once it soaked through.” Illya glared at him, and Benja answered with a weak chuckle.

  “What are you doing out here at all?” Illya asked. Benja tried to sit up, grunting with the effort.

  “I came to find you,” he said. Illya dropped his eyes to the ground, studying a footprint he had left in the dust, his throat thick and tight.

  “Knew you couldn't be dead, like everyone said,” Benja said.

  “They . . . must have let you out of prison,” Illya said, his voice breaking.

  Benja squinted up at him and stared for a few uncomfortable moments, frowning. Illya wished the earth would swallow him up. He couldn't meet Benja's eyes.

  “I got out,” Benja said finally. Illya managed a nod.

  “That's not all,” Benja said. “Conna locked up your ma and sister too. They are still in there. I . . .” He hesitated. “I was the only one with a window. I had help from the outside, but the Enforcers heard me climbing out.” Illya groaned and, without thinking, struck the tree with his injured hand. He pulled it into his chest and sucked in air through gritted teeth, welcoming the pain, though it made stars dance across his vision. For a moment, the throbbing in his hand chased away the horrible images of his mother and sister in jail.

  Benja looked from Illya's hand to his face, frowning.

  “I don’t even know who broke me out. There was a scratching; then the window opened. I was halfway through climbing out and the guards came. I had to run for it. I hoped I could find you.” Benja's face was white. It stretched as he grimaced so that he looked like one of the skeletons that lived under the skin of men.

  Benja had been his friend all along. He had tried to stop it all; every mistake that Illya had made. Even stealing the book had only been to save Illya from himself. Illya looked away, not knowing what to say. He felt tears welling up in his eyes again.

  “There’s … something else,” Benja said, wincing as he shifted his leg. “After you left, Impiri asked the guard to bring Conna. They talked for a while. I couldn’t hear what they said, but he let her out. After that, rumors were that they were leading the village together and that … Sabelle was promised to him.”

  Illya saw spots dancing in front of his eyes. There was a roaring in his ears that overtook all other sounds. Hot rage coiled up inside him.

  “She wanted that?” he managed to say.

  Benja frowned. “I don’t think anyone could force that girl to do something she didn’t want to,” he said.

  “Great,” Illya muttered. He stared at the ground, wishing suddenly that he had stayed in his cave after all. He had thought that things couldn’t possibly get worse, but he had been wrong. Finally, he rubbed his hand across his eyes and sighed.

  “I still have to go back,” he said.

  Benja shook his head. “You can't. They only stopped looking for you because they think you're dead. They'd shoot an arrow right through you as soon as they saw you,” he said.

  “I'm not afraid.”

  “You should be. Conna can get them all stirred up about anything with the way he talks, and he isn't messing around. Those Enforcers of his would kill you.” Illya stared into the fire. A branch exploded and sent sparks up into the night air.

  “He won't keep them locked up forever,” Benja said.

  “He could do anything he wants to them,” Illya said. Benja frowned but did not disagree. New beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead from the effort of talking. Illya covered him up with the remainder of his shirt.

  “Just rest. You're safe now, at least,” he said.

  In truth, Benja was a long way from being out of danger. Illya built up the fire then coated a branch in sap to burn for light before setting off in search of medicinal plants. Benja was asleep before Illya finished making the torch.

  Illya crashed through the underbrush in the darkness, disregarding how thorns and branches caught at him, tearing his skin. He held the flaming branch high above his head, casting a circle of shifting light ahead. He knew he couldn't go far from Benja. Bleeding, and weak, he would be easy prey for the Terrors and anything else that was out there.

  Trying to focus on the immediate need, instead of the overwhelming flood of worries, he scanned the ground for the fuzzy little fronds of yarrow.

  There were none anywhere. Why was it that you saw hundreds of them when you were foraging for something tastier? He thought wistfully of the rows of dried plants hanging from Samuel's walls and ceiling.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ILLYA BUILT A little shelter around his cousin. Benja laid in it, too weak to move, for four days. Illya did everything that he could think of to treat the wound. Not having any clay pots, or even a piece of rawhide to hang over the fire and boil water in, he layered the broadest leaves he could find, crossing them back and forth into a bowl to hold water. He placed it over the fire on a stack of rocks. After a little while, the outer leaves burned away, but the inner ones stayed intact long enough for bubbles to rise to the surface of the water.

  He tore fresh bandages from his shirt and cleaned them with part of the water. With the rest of it, he brewed an infusion of yarrow and a little wild garlic and used it to wash the wound.

  It had taken a long time to find yarrow, but once he had, it was plentiful, and there were enough of the fuzzy leaves to pack into the wound in the place of the filthy fabric of his shirt. He feared the 'fection, but, having done everything about it that was in his power, he tried to put it out of his mind.

  Now the immediate concern was all the blood that Benja had lost. He could not sit up without lying back again, dizzy and wan. Knowing that Benja needed meat to recover, Illya ranged away from him as far as he dared in the search for it. Game was sparse now that he was closer to the village, and though he had set traps, he had not caught anything.

  On the fifth morning, after boiling water and cleaning Benja's wound, he went out along the trap line again.

  His fears weighed down, pressing on his mind. Time was dwindling by while his family was stuck in prison at Conna's mercy and the village faced the approach of winter unprepared. Meanwhile, the Rovers who had left the footprints by the spring could be anywhere. They could have attacked the village already. Most of the people there didn't even believe that the Rovers existed anymore. Already divided by their internal problems, they would be an easy target.

  Through it all, Benja was growing weaker and weaker as the days passed. Illya was desperate to find meat. Still, trap after trap came up empty. When he reached the end of the line, there was a sprung trap, with paw prints nearby.

  Usually, he would have reset the trap, encouraged that there had been something in the area, even if it had escaped. But as he looked down at the little line of prints, he sunk to his knees in despair. The enormity of what he was facing threatened to crush him.

  He couldn't stay out there, waiting to catch food where there was none. He was doing his best to battle the forces arrayed against Benja alone, but it wasn’t enough. Benja needed Samuel. He knew in his deepest heart that, despite all of his best efforts, he was losing the battle. Benja was going to fade until he slipped away.

  Illya knelt beside the sprung trap and the little prints in the dust for a long tim
e and cried.

  Eventually, it eased, as if he had indeed washed the despair from his heart with the tears. He blinked them away and found himself on the other side of the flood.

  The trap and its one missed opportunity didn't matter, not really. He knew what he had to do. There would be no way to sneak into the village unseen, not with a gravely wounded man. To get to Samuel, he would have to pass right through the center square. There was no way to go through at night, not with the gates shut. He would have to carry Benja through the village in broad daylight, in full sight of anyone who happened to be there, and hope that they would let him get to Samuel before shooting him down.

  They would kill him eventually, and it didn't matter. At least he wouldn’t be around to see Sabelle marry Conna. All that mattered was getting Benja to safety and getting his family out of prison. After that, maybe he would be able to warn them about the Rovers. They would all have a better chance then.

  He went back to the little lean-to, gauging the position of the sun in the sky.

  “Benj, we are going to Samuel,” he said. Benja did not respond.

  He was pale to grayness. A sheen of sweat coated his skin, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused. He moaned when Illya tried to move him. Though he was shivering, his face was hot with fever. Illya swore. He pulled the bandaging off the wound and found that it was far too hot. It was red and smelled sickening.

  No red streaks were running towards Benja's heart, though; that, at least, was good.

  There was a little of the yarrow infusion left from that morning, and Illya used all of it to clean the wound as well as he could. All the while, he talked.

  “It's going to be okay, Benj. You are going to be fine. Everything will be alright,” he said. Benja groaned intermittently, muttering incoherent words, as if he was already on the other side, talking to someone there. Maybe his sister, Rachel, or Illya's father.