“I know you don’t, Yaz. Rest, I’ll be back in a minute.”
Deet returns from his reconnaissance, and Preta meets him out of earshot of their brother.
“Dee, Yaz isn’t well. He’s got a fever, and the leg’s infected.”
Deet gestures toward Agna. “Help the witch gather wood and start a fire. I’ll build a shelter, and then we’ll see to Yaz. And Preta, lots of firewood, we may be here for a while.”
Preta spends the next thirty minutes gathering sticks and logs.
Deet places the finishing touches on a lean-to shelter, and Preta builds the fire large enough so it doesn’t need any more tending.
Deet crouches down next to the flames, warming his hands for a minute, then he sighs. “Let’s see to your brother.”
Yaz lies on his side, asleep and mumbling.
Deet inspects the wound and shakes his head in disappointment. “There goes our day head start.”
“What do you mean?” Agna says, leaning in for a closer look.
“He isn’t moving for at least a day or two, and that’s if he gets better.”
“But Bielston, we have to get there and get off the island.”
“And we will,” Deet says. “When my brother is better. Till then, get comfortable, we’re not leaving. You can prepare the oats and leave the rest to me.”
“Humph,” Agna says, turning away and pouting.
“How do we make him better?” Preta says to Deet.
“For starters, get your copper cup and boil some water. Dip two clean pieces of cloth into the boiling water and remove them. Then place the cloth on the wound and clean it.” He turns to Agna. “Instead of pouting over there, you can help us. Along with the oats, prepare some vitis tea for Yaz—I have some in the front pocket of my pack in the medical kit.”
By the fire, Preta prepares the sterile cloth.
Deet crouches down next to Preta and places a small knife into the coals. “How’s it going?”
“I think it’s almost ready. Will he get better?”
“Don’t worry about it, we’ll make him better. Once we clean the wound and get some minerals and healing herbs in him from the vitis, along with rest, he’ll be back to the same old pain in the ass Yaz we love.”
Using a cloth to grab the handle, Deet retracts the glowing dark-orange knife from the coals. “Are you ready, Preta?”
“Yes,” Preta says, standing up.
“Wait here.” Deet brings Yaz closer to the fire and props him against a fallen tree. “Preta, pat the wound clean with a cloth and leave it on his leg flat for a few minutes.”
Preta follows Deet’s instructions, and they stare at Yaz’s leg while counting to two hundred.
“All right, remove the cloth.” Deet bends over and places the flat of his blade onto the gaping hole created by the praetor’s bolt.
Yaz moans and cringes, jerking his leg away as the camp’s air transitions from burning pine to singed flesh.
“Steady now, Brother, steady. The pain will be over soon, stay still for me.”
Deet pokes the surrounding skin and white-and-yellow pus oozes out, dripping down Yaz’s leg. Deet backs away and says nothing.
A few minutes later, he bends over to inspect the wound. “Preta, use the same cloth, and pat the wound to remove the pus, and place a clean cloth over top.”
Preta follows Deet’s instructions and hovers over top of Yaz, unsure what to do next.
Deet folds his arms and nods. “After thirty minutes, remove the cloth and let the wound dry for a few minutes, then place a dry cloth over top. This is our routine before each meal till he’s better.”
Agna, carrying a bowl of porridge, sits down next to Yaz. She raises a spoonful of oats to Yaz’s mouth.
Yaz’s lips open, and he gums the porridge.
Agna presses a cup of vitis to his lips though Yaz doesn’t open his mouth. “Drink.”
Yaz cringes and reluctantly sips the tea.
Preta removes the damp cloth from Yaz’s wound and replaces it with a dry one. She lays his bearskin over top of him. “Rest, Brother.”
Preta and Agna scoot closer to the fire.
Deet sits next to Preta and hands her the bowl of oats.
“Hey, hey how about m-me?” the bandit says, wiggling and bound to the tree.
Deet snaps his head toward the man. “Shut up, scum, or we’ll feed you your tongue.”
Preta stops eating. “Shouldn’t we give him food? Why else keep him alive?”
Deet sneers at the fire and then spits into the flames. “We can’t waste our food on that scum.”
“He’s scum, I know, but still, we’re not torturers. And if he gets weaker, he will just slow us down.”
“Do you even know what he would’ve done to you?” Deet glares at her, not looking like her brother, a coldness in his heart and face has stolen him from her.
“But he didn’t, and now we’re here, and he’s with us.”
Deet flicks his hand in an uncaring manner. “Fine, do what you want, though feed him only enough to keep him upright and no more. And since it’s your brilliant idea, you take care of him every day.”
“Fine, I will.” Preta snatches a water pouch and takes the last of the slimy oats to the bandit.
“Oh, y-you sweet g-girl, so kind of you.” The bandit sticks his head out like a turkey ready to be fed by hand.
“Not a word.” Preta kneels next to the bandit and lurches back, gagging from the stench emanating from his body and fur. He smells of a mix between dung, dirt, smoke, sweat, and something foul she can’t quite place, maybe rotten eggs. Preta sucks in a deep breath and holds it as long as she can. While shoving the spoon in his mouth, she lets out an exaggerated exhale then sucks in short quick breaths. A nauseous sensation overtakes Preta with every whiff of the scum’s essence.
The bandit slurps the water. It dribbles down his pitted chin and over his greasy, thin goatee. He grins at Preta, exposing a half-empty mouth of blackened and yellow plaque-encrusted teeth.
Preta cringes and stands up, taking in a deep breath. She sways, light-headed from the lack of oxygen, and she gags, almost losing her dinner.
“Sweet g-girl, k-kind girl.” The bandit winks and sticks out his milky tongue. “M-maybe I can f-feed you s-someday, I’d b-bet you’d like it.”
Preta, woozy, stumbles back to the fire, trying to keep her composure and not show any sign of weakness to Deet.
The bandit laughs. “Hey, girl, c-can you hold it for me when I have to go?”
Preta plops down next to the fire, and angry, scuffs the dirt with her heel. “Filthy scum.”
Deet grins at her. “You feel better now that you did your good deed?”
“Shut up.”
MORE LIKE ME
Dusk settles in, and the temperature drops further.
Deet watches Yaz sleep. “Preta, help me get Yaz up.”
Preta, stiff and sore, presses off the ground and struggles to get to her feet. She limps to Deet and helps him move Yaz into the shelter. “Dee, are you going to stand watch, or do you think we’ll be safe tonight?”
“Anyone this deep in the Yelton is either crazy or lost. I think we’ll take our chances with no watch tonight and get a good night’s sleep.”
“Where’s Agna?” Preta says, scanning the trees.
Deet rubs the wound on his arm. “I don’t know where she went. She walked off into the trees over an hour ago. That old woman better not make me go looking for her tonight, I’m way too tired for anymore of her adventures or lies.”
“How’s your arm?” Preta says.
Deet stretches and swings his arm in a circle. “Sore, though better. A day of rest and it should be good to go.” Deet tosses a log on the fire. “That should keep till morning.” He opens a cloth and removes the pistol he took off the dead woman that tried to kill Preta.
Preta extends her hand toward her brother and wiggles her fingers. “Can I see?”
Deet opens the cylinder and dumps
the bullets into his hand. “Always respect it and never be complacent.” Deet passes Preta the revolver and points to the parts. “This is the cylinder; it holds the bullets. The hammer cocks back manually or when you squeeze the trigger. When you squeeze the trigger, the hammer will strike the cap on the shell firing a bullet. If you need a controlled shot, cock the hammer back first.”
Preta cocks the hammer and dry fires then she bobs it up and down in her hand. “It’s heavy.”
“It will kick too, so if you ever have to fire it, take a calm breath, keep your arm strong and steady, and squeeze slowly, pulling all the way through the trigger.”
In awe, Preta stares at the pistol. “I will, Dee.” On the grip, ever so small, an engraving of a flower, maybe a lily.
“Hopefully you’ll never have to fire one of these.” Deet holds out his hand, and she gives the pistol back to him. He opens the frayed map with seeros names on it.
“What are you looking at now?” Preta says.
Deet nods at the parchment. “It’s a map, a map with names. A map I believe leads to others like you.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Off the woman who killed the boy the night the light hit you. I found it on her body, along with this—” Deet holds out the silver canister.
“What the heck’s that thing?”
“I have no idea, though I probably should’ve left it back at the cottage.” Deet places the canister back into his pack.
Preta extends her hand again. “Can I see it?”
“No, it could be dangerous, but you can look at this if you want.” Deet hands her the map.
Preta runs her finger over a black circle. “These are symbols like the one I have on my back.”
“Yes, they are, Preta.”
“These names, Davin Olertee in Ardinia, Pard Wenerly in Bastin, Glynn Refess in Brenton, I wonder who they are.”
Deet nods and points at the names. “I believe these three are like you. Glynn was the boy the blonde woman killed in the Nocklin.”
Agna emerges from the woods and heads straight for the shelter. Without a word, she lies down.
Deet snatches the map away from Preta and stuffs it in his bag, not wanting to share anymore information with the old woman. “And where have you been? Howling at the moon? Doing witch things to the trees?”
“Just doing old lady things,” Agna says with a snap of her eyes, “never you mind.”
“Well, I mind,” Deet says, looking away and backing down. He crawls into the shelter, and Preta slides in next to him. “Preta, if you hear anything, wake me up right away.”
“I will,” and she snuggles into her blanket. Her brother’s warmth calms Preta, and within minutes she’s asleep.
The next morning, a foggy, cool mist hovers over the camp. Preta opens her stiff eyelids to wet pine popping and cracking on the fire. She sits up and gazes at the thick white-and-yellow smoke rising from the smoldering pile of embers. Her breath visible with every exhale, she shivers.
Agna tosses a log on the fire and places copper cups on the coals.
The bandit snores and snorts.
Preta sweeps up a stick and throws it at him, hitting him in the ribs.
He jerks forward. “W-what was that?” The bandit falls back, his head drops, and he continues snoring.
Preta throws another stick, hitting him in the shoulder.
“Come on, w-what the hell is it with the falling branches?” Then the bandit eyes Preta. “Oh, I s-see, g-good morning to you too, my sweet, gonna t-take care of me today?”
Preta picks up another stick and whips it at him, striking him in the leg.
The bandit flinches. “Fine, fine, no n-need for hostility.”
Preta pats the ground next to her.
Deet is nowhere in sight.
Yaz opens his groggy eyes. “Hey, Sis.”
Preta moves to his side and places her palm on his forehead. “Better,” she says, and then she smiles.
“I’m always better, Sis, just ask anyone.”
Preta giggles. “Of course you are.”
Deet emerges from the trees with a rabbit dangling from his belt. He guts and skins it, then jams a stick through the carcass and places it over the fire. “Preta, did you change Yaz’s bandage and clean his wound yet?”
“On it right now, Dee.”
Agna adjusts the cups in the fire using a two-pronged stick. “Since Yaz is feeling better, are we heading out soon?”
Deet twirls the rabbit over the coals. “Not today.”
“Why not?” Agna says in a whiny tone. “He’s better.”
“Not better enough, so we’re staying here one more day.”
“But we’re losing time.”
Deet shrugs, not caring what Agna wants or thinks. “We already lost time, so no use rushing it now. And we’re not leaving till my brother’s fully better or we’re out of water.”
Yaz sits up. “I’m better, we can move if we have to.”
“Another day, and no more discussion on the matter, from either of you. I need you strong, Yaz. If we have to fight, I need you right.”
Agna opens her arms, pleading with Deet to listen to her. “But—”
Deet gives Agna a dirty look, and she stops talking and turns away in a pout. He continues twirling the rabbit until its skin turns a charred blackish red.
Agna pours boiling water into a bowl of oats. She hands the bowl to Yaz along with a cup of tea.
Yaz eats heartily, his appetite and clarity returning; the vitis is taking hold. After finishing his share, he hands the bowl to Preta.
Deet removes the rabbit from the fire and cuts it into four equal pieces and passes them out.
After eating, Preta leans back and stares at the fire’s coals. Her body is half-warm and half-cold depending on which side it faces. Thick smoke with the aroma of fresh pine along with wet vegetation fills the camp, and she can taste the forest in the back of her throat.
The bandit shakes the rope against the tree. “Hey, n-nothing for me this morning?”
Deet eyes Preta, smirks, and flicks his head toward the bandit.
Preta glances at the dirt and kicks it. “Fine.” She strolls toward the scum, preparing her mind for the stench.
“Thank you, g-girl, s-so kind.”
A few feet from the man, Preta sucks in a deep inhale and moves forward until she’s close enough to kneel next to him. She scrapes the slimy oats together and shoves a big spoonful into his mouth.
While chewing, the bandit grins at her. He opens and closes his mouth, the white wet porridge sticking to his black teeth.
She can’t hold her breath any longer and takes in his air. The stench makes her heave with a small lurch.
“More p-please.” He opens his mouth wide, “Aw—aw—”
Preta scrapes the last of the oats together and jams it into his mouth. She stands and quickly turns away from him.
“Hey, no water?” the bandit says, mumbling with a mouthful.
Preta curls her lips and sucks in a deep inhale of semi-fresh air. She coughs and shoves the water pouch to his lips.
The bandit gums his oats and his head sways side to side.
Preta shakes the leather canteen in front of him. “Swallow it.”
He gulps with an exaggerated undulation. “Mmm—wonderful. J-just like you, my dear.”
Preta shoves the water container to within an inch of the bandit’s mouth. “Shut up and drink.”
The bandit doesn’t drink. He just ogles Preta with mouth open and head swaying side to side.
Again, Preta thrusts the water in front of him.
The man gums the air by smacking his lips together as if parched from thirst.
“Fine, you don’t want it? You won’t get it.” Preta lowers the pouch, and the bandit snaps forward and licks Preta’s hand.
She recoils her arm. “Ew—gross, creep.”
The bandit gazes up at Preta with drunken eyes, nostrils flaring, perversion, and head swaying.
While making weird slurping noises, he flutters his yellow tongue at her.
“Yuck, you nasty piece of crap.” Preta swings the water pouch by its long leather string and it smacks the scum’s head and ear.
“Oh rough, good, I love it!” the bandit says.
Preta, on edge and pissed, rings her fist at her side and shuffles away without running. Next to Deet, she pours water on her hand and flings the droplets into the fire and they sizzle.
Deet grins at her. “So how’s your new friend this morning?”
She kicks the dirt with her heel. “Shut up.”
The rest of the morning, Preta rests and recounts the past few days’ events. The wedding feels like a distant memory. She relives Lomasie standing over Lurrus with arms wide after stabbing her in the back and then his killing of Grandpa with a red lightning bolt. And Nala. Anger surges inside of her, and Preta pokes the coals. A glimmer of aqua-blue light ripples over her pupils.
Yaz crawls next to Preta and bumps her shoulder with his own. “Hey, we’ll get through this, don’t worry.”
“I want them dead,” Preta says under her breath.
“And they will be someday.” Yaz gently rubs Preta’s back. “Though first let’s get through this forest alive.”
Preta stabs a log with her stick and fireflies explode upward, and the wood cracks. “Yeah, mess.”
Yaz points at Agna. “Hey, magic woman, how come you didn’t stop those scum suckers from killing Lurrus and Grandpa? You were there and didn’t do anything. What the hell’s your problem?”
“The girl used up her light on the dove, so I couldn’t do anything to save anyone.”
Confused, Yaz’s eyes narrow. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your sister, she used up her light for her cycle when she discharged the bird’s energy and shot the dove from the sky.”
“And?”
“And, I can only do magic with the help from Preta or another seeros. So she and I can only do a spell once a cycle. Once the girl connected to the bird and discharged her energy, killing it, we couldn’t do anything to stop Lomasie and his men for another twenty-four hours.”
Yaz leans back and snorts. “Well, why didn’t you tell us earlier?”
“I did,” and Agna sneers, stands up, and sulks away.
Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1) Page 20
