The Fiery Cross

by Diana Gabaldon

  shuddering of his chill through my thighs, pressed against the wood.

  I took his head between my hands; the skin of his checks was burning hot. "You are not going to die!" I hissed. "You're not! I won't let you!"

  "People keep sayin' that to me," he muttered, eyes closed and sunken with exhaustion. "Am I not allowed my own opinion?"

  "No," I said. "You're not. Here, drink this."

  I held the cup of penicillin broth to his lips, steadying it while he drank. He made faces, squinching his eyes shut, but swallowed it obediently enough. Marsali had brought the teapot, brimful of boiling water. I poured most of it

  over the waiting herbs, and left them to steep, while I poured him a cup of cold water to wash away the taste of the penicillin.

  He swallowed the water, eyes still shut, then lay back on the pillow. "What is that?" he asked. "It tastes of iron."

  "Water," I replied. "Everything tastes of iron; your gums are bleeding." 1 handed the empty water jug to Marsali and asked her to bring more. "Put honey in it," I said. "About one part honey to four parts water."

  "Beef tea is what he needs," she said, pausing to look at him, brow furrowed with concern. "That's what my Mam did swear by, and her Mam before her. When a body's lost a deal o' blood, there's naught like beef tea."

  I thought Marsali must be seriously worried; she seldom mentioned her mother in my hearing, out of a natural sense of tact. For once, though, bloody LaoShaire was right; beef tea would be an excellent thing--if we happened to have any fresh beef, which we didn't.

  "Honey water," I said briefly, shooing her out of the room. I went to fetch reinforcements from the leech department, pausing to check on Brianna's progress through the front window.

  She was out by the paddock, barefoot, skirts kilted up above the knee, shaking bits of horse dung from one foot. No luck so far, then. She saw me at the window and waved, then motioned to the ax that stood nearby, then to the edge of the wood. I nodded and waved back; a rotted log, might be a possibility.

  Jemmy was on the ground nearby, his leading-strings securely tied to the paddock fence. He certainly didn't need them to help him stay upright, but they did keep him from escaping while his mother was busy. He was industriously engaged in pulling down the remains of a dried gourd-vine that had grown up over the fence, crowing with delight as bits of crumbled leaf and the dried remains of frostbitten gourds showered over his flaming hair. His round face bore a took of determined intent, as he set about the task of getting a gourd the size of his head into his mouth.

  A movement caught the corner of my eye; Marsali, bringing up water from the spring, to fill the crusted cauldron. No, she wasn't showing at all yetJamie was right, she was much too thin-but now that I knew, I could see the pallor in her face, and the shadows under her eyes.

  Damn. Another glimpse of movement; Bree's long pale legs, flashing under her kilted skirts in the shadow of the big blue spruce. And was she using the tansy oil? She was still nursing Jemmy, but that was no guarantee, not at his age.. .

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  around at a sound behind me, to find Jamie climbing slowly back I swung

  Into his nest ooking like a great crimson sloth, my amputation saw in nc hand. of quilts, I

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  nd lay back on the pillow, breathing in He eased himself down, grimacing, a

  deep gasps. The folded saw was clasped to his chest, , twhat

  97 er him, hands on my hips

  y"I repeat," I said, standing menacingly Ov e

  c hell . - ." saw an inch or so He opened his eyes and lifted the

  Sassenach, and I wilina I ken what ye're thinking,

  -No" he said positively. !`6ave it."

  p breath, to keep my voice from quivering. I took a dee lutely had to."

  -you know I wouldn't, not unless I abso took of obstinacy. No surprise at "No he said again, alid. gave me a familiar

  kd like, I thought with sour amuse

  0 that be never wondered who lemmy loo

  nicnt. ' '44You don't know what may happen-" -h he inter"I ken what's happening to my leg better than you do, Sassenac

  rupted,then paused to breathe some more. "I dinna care."

  "Maybe you don't, but I do!" sh to live with half a "I'm no going to die," he said firmly, "and I dinna wi

  leg. I've a horror of it-"

  But if it's a choice between your leg "Well, I'm not very keen on it myself

  and your life?" or." "It's n

  "It damn well may be!" e slightest difference, I thought. Two years or "it won't." Age made not th bborn. I rubbed a hand fifty, a Fraser was a Fraser, and no rock was more Stu

  through my hair-

  "Ali, Right," I said, between clenched teeth. "Give me the bloody thing and I'll put it away.

  "Your word."

  c4My what?" I stared at him. -e with interest, "I may be LLYour word," he repeated, giving me back the star

  . I dinna want Ye to take my leg if I'm in no state to fevered and lose MY WIts-

  n stop it."

  "if you're in that sort of state, I'll have no choice!"

  I Ily "but I do. I've made it. Your word, "Perhaps ye don't," he said eve,

  Sassenach." "You bloody, unspeakable, infuriating---" ruddy face. "if ye call me a Scot, His smile was startlingi a white grin in the

  Sassenach, then I know I'm going to live." nd to the winrom outside kept me from answering. I swung rou

  f A shriek The water dow, in time to see Marsah drop two pails of water on the ground.

  he paid no attention glanced hastily in geysered over her skirt and shoes, but s

  the direction she was looking, and gasped-

  It had walked casually through the paddock fence, snapping the rails as . the midst of the pumpkin though they were matchsticks, and stood now in

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  patch by the house, vines jerking in its mouth as it chewed. It stood huge and dark and wooly, ten feet away from Jemmy, who stared up at it with round, round eyes and open mouth, his gourd forgotten in his hands.

  Marsali let out another screech, and Jemmy, catching her terror, began to scream for his mother. I turned, and-feeling as though I were moving in slow motion, though I was surely not-snatched the saw neatly from Jamie's hand, went out the door and headed for the yard, thinking as I did so that buffalo looked so much smaller in zoos.

  As I cleared the stoop-I must have leaped; 1 had no memory of the stepsBrianna came out of the woods. She was running silently, ax in her hand, and her face was set, inward and intent. I had no time to call out before she reached it.

  She had drawn back the ax, still running, swung it in an arc as she took the last step, and brought it down with all her strength, just behind the huge beast's ears. A thin spray of blood flew up and spattered on the pumpkins. it bellowed and lowered its head, as though to charge forward.

  Bree dodged to one side, dived for Jemmy, was on her knees, tugging at the strings that bound him to the fence. From the corner of my eye, I could see Marsali, yelling Gaelic prayers and imprecations as she seized a newly dyed petticoat from the blackberry bushes.

  I had somehow unfolded the saw as I ran; I cut Jemmy's strings with two swipes, then was on my feet and running back across the dooryard. Marsali had thrown the petticoat over the buffalo's head; it stood bewildered, shaking its head and swaying to and fro, blood showing black on the yellow-green of the fresh-dyed indigo.

  It stood as tall as I at the shoulder, and it smelt strange; dusty and warm, gamey but oddly familiar, with a barn-smell, like a cow. It took a step, another, and I dug my fingers into its wool, holding on. I could feel the tremors running through it; they shook me like an earthquake.

  I had never done it, but felt as though I had, a thousand times. Dreamlike and sure, I ran a hand under slobbering lips, felt warm breath blow down my sleeve. The great pulse throbbed in the angle of the jaw; I could see it in my mind, the big meaty heart and its pumping blood, wa
rm in my hand, cold against my cheek where it pressed the sodden petticoat.

  I drew the saw across the throat, cut hard, and felt in hands and forearms the tensile severing of skin and muscle, the grate of bone, the snap of tendon, and the slippery, rubbery, blood-squirting vessels, sliding away.

  The world shook. It shifted and slid, and landed with a thud. When I came to myself, I was sitting in the middle of my dooryard, one hand still twisted in its hair, one leg gone numb beneath the weight of the buffalo's head, my skirts plastered to my thighs, hot and stinking, sodden with its blood.

  Someone said something and I looked up. Jamie was on his hands and knees on the stoop-mouth open, stark naked. Marsali sat on the ground, legs splayed out in front of her, soundlessly opening and closing her mouth.

  Brianna stood over me, Jemmy held against her shoulder. Terror forgotten, he leaned far over, looking down in curiosity at the buffalo.

  "Ooo!" he said.

  "Yes," I said. "Very well put."

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  "You're all right, Mama?" Bree asked, and I realized she had asked several ines before. She put down a hand and rested it gently on my head.

  "I don't know," I said. "I think so."

  sly worked my leg free, leaning on her as I I took her hand and laboriou

  pod up. The same tremors that had gone through the buffalo were going

  2rough her-and me-but they were fading. She took a deep breath, looking it rose nearly as high as her waist. own at the massive body. Lying on its side,

  Ursali came to stand beside us, shaking her head in awe at its size. "Mother of God, how on earth are we going to butcher that?" she said. "Oh," I said, and dragged a trembling hand through my hair. "I suppose

  11 manage."

  GET BY WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM My FRIENDS

  j LEANED My FOREHEAD against the cool glass of my surgery window, blinking at the scene outside. Exhaustion lent the scene in the dooryard an extra tinge of surrealism-not that it needed much extra.

  i The sun had all but set, flaming gold in the last ragged leaves of the chestnut trees. The spruces stood black against the dying glow, as did the gibbet in the Center of the yard, and the grisly remains that swung from it- A bonfire had been lit near the blackberry bushes, and silhouetted figures darted everywhere, Idisappearing in and out of flames and shadow. Some attacked the hanging carcass, armed with knives and hatchets; others plodded laden away, carrying slabs of flesh and buckets of fat. Near the fire, the skirted bell-shapes of women showed, bending and reaching in silent ballet.

  Dark as it was, I could pick Brianna's tall, pale figure out of the horde of demons hacking at the buffalo-keeping order, I thought. Before being forcibly returned to the surgery, Jamie had estimated the buffalo's weight at something between eighteen hundred and two thousand pounds. Brianna had nodded at this, handed Jemmy to Lizzie, then walked slowly around the carcass, squinting in deep thought.

  "Right," she'd said, and as soon as the men began to appear from their homesteads, half-dressed, unshaven, and wild-eyed with excitement, had issued cool directions for the cutting of logs and the building of a pulley-frame capable of hoisting and supporting a ton of meat.

  The men, disgruntled at not being in on the kill, hadn7t been inclined to Pay attention to her at first. Brianna, however was large, vivid, strongly-spokenand stubborn.

  ccWhose stroke is that?" she'd demanded, staring down Geordic Chisholm

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  and his sons as they started toward the carcass, knives in hand. She pointed at the deep gash across the neck, then wiped her hand slowly down her sleeve, drawing attention to the splashed blood there. "Or that?" One long bare foot pointed delicately at the severed throat, and the pool of blood that soaked the dooryard. My stockings lay at the edge of the congealing puddle where I had stripped them off, limp red rags, but recognizably feminine. ace glance toward Watching from the window, I had seen more than one f

  the house, frowning with the realization that Brianna was Himself's daughter-a fact the wise kept well in mind.

  It was Roger who had turned the tide for her, though, with a cool stare that brought the Lindsay brothers to heel behind him, axes in hand.

  "It's her kill," he said, in his husking croak. "Do what she says." He squared his shoulders and gave the other men a look that strongly suggested there ere should be no fiirther controversy.

  -oneSeeing this, Fergus had shrugged and bent to seize the beast

  handed-by its spindly tail.

  "Where will you have us put it, madame?" he asked politely. The men had all laughed, and then with sheepish glances and shrugs of resignation, reluctantly pitched in as well, following her directions.

  Brianna had given Roger a look of surprise, then gratitude, and then-the bit firmly between her teeth-had taken charge of the whole enterprise, with remarkable results. It was barely nightfall, and the butchery was almost do

  ne, the meat distributed to all the households on the Ridge. She knew everyone knew the number of mouths in each cabin, and parceled out the meat and sweetbreads as they were cut. Not even Jamie could have managed it better, I thou ht, feeling a warm swell of ride in her.

  9 P

  I glanced across at the table, where Jamie lay swaddled in blankets. I had wanted to move him upstairs to his bed, but he had insisted on staying downstairs, where he could hear-if not see-what was going on.

  "They're nearly finished with the butchering," I said, coming to lay a hand on his head. Still flushed and blazing. "Brianna's done a wonderful job of it," I added, to distract both of us.

  "Has she?" His eyes were half-open, but fixed in a f

  ever-stare; that dreamsoaked daze where shadows writhe in the wavering hot air over a fire. As I spoke, though, he came slowly back f

  rom wherever he had been, and his eyes aintly. "That's good."

  met mine, heavy-lidded but clear, and he smiled f

  The hide had been pegged out to dry, the enormous liver sliced f

  or quick searing, intestines taken to soak for cleaning, haunches to the shed for smoking, strips of meat taken off for drying into jerky, fat f

  or rendering into suet and soap. Once stripped bare, the bones would be boiled f

  or soup, salvaged for buttons.

  The prized hooves and horns sat bloodily discreet on my counter, brought in by Murdo Lindsay. Tacit trophies, I supposed; the eighteenth-century equivalent of two ears and a tail. I had got the gallbladder, too, though that was simPly by default; no one wanted it, but it was popularly assumed that I must have some medicinal use for almost any natural object. A greenish thing the size of my fist, it sat oozing in a dish, looking rather sinister next to the set of detached and muddy hooves.

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  C Everyone on the Ridge had come at the news-even Ronnie Sinclair, from s cooper's shop at the foot of the slope-and little remained of the buffalo . save a rack of scavenged bones. I caught the faint odor of roasting meat,

  burning hickory wood and coffee, and pushed up the window all the way to in the appetizing smells.

  Laughter and the crackle of fire came in on a gust of cold wind. It was warm the surgery n

  shed cheeks. ow, and the cold air from the window felt good against my "Are you hungry, Jamie?" I asked. I was starving myself; though I hadn't reed it 'til I smelled food. I closed my eyes and inhaled, buoyed up by the arty scent of liver and onions.

  "No," he said, sounding drowsy. "I dinna fancy anything."

  "You should eat a bit of soup, if you can, before you fall asleep." I turned smoothed the hair off his face, frowning a little as I looked at him. The sh had faded a bit, I thought-hard to tell for sure in the uncertain light of

  d di . We had got enough honey-water and herb tea into him so that an can e ration, but the bones of cheek and eyes were no longer sunken with dehyd

  % were still prominent; he hadn't eaten in more than forty-eight hours, and e fever was consuming an immense amount of energy, con
suming his tissues. "D'ye need more hot water, ma'am?" Lizzie appeared in the doorway, look-

  #ng more disheveled than usual, Jernmy clutched in her arms. She had lost her Aerch and her fine, fair hair had escaped from its bun; Jemmy had a good hand-

  4

  t of it in his chubby fist, and was yanking fretfully at it, making her squint , ful

  ;r W1

  th each yank.

  at made it obvious "Mama-mama-mama," he said, in an escalating whine th

  that he'd been saying the same thing for quite some time. "Mama-mamaMAMA!

  "No, I have enough; thank you, Lizzie. Stop that, young man," I said, getI unpeeling his fat little fingers. "We ting hold of Jemmy's hand and forcibly

  don't pull hair." There was a small chuckle from the nest of blankets on the table behind me.

  "Ye'd never ken it to look at ye, Sassenach."

  "Mm?" I turned my head and stared blankly at him for a moment, then followed the direction of his glance with my hand. Sure enough, my own cap had somehow disappeared, and my hair was standing out like a bramblebush. Attracted by the word "hair," Jernmy abandoned Lizzie's fine locks, leaned over and grabbed a fistful of mine.

  "Mama-mama-mama-mama..." "Foo," I said, crossly, reaching to disentangle him. "Let go, you little fiend. And why aren't you in bed, anyway?"

  "MAMA-MAMA-MAMA..." "He wants his mother," Lizzie explained, rather redundantly. "I've put him in his cot a dozen times, but he'll be climbin' out again, the instant my back's turned. I couldna keep him-"

  The outer door opened, letting in a strong draft that made the embers in the brazier glow and smoke I, and I heard the pad of bare feet on the oak boards in the hall.

  I'd heard the expression, "blood to the eyebrows" before, but I hadn't seen

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  The Fiery Cross 793

  it all that often, at least not outside the confines of a battlefield. Brianna's eyebrows were invisible, being red enough to have blended into the mask of gore over her face. Jemmy took a good look at her, and turned down his mouth in an expression of doubtful distress, just this side of outright wails.

  "It's me, baby," she reassured him. She reached a hand toward him, but stopped short of touching him. He didn't cry, but burrowed his face into Lizzie's shoulder, rejecting the notion that this apocalyptic vision had anything at all to do with the mother he'd been fussing for a few minutes earlier.

  Brianna ignored both her son's rejection and the fact that she was leaving footprints composed in equal parts of mud and blood all over the floor. "Look," she said, holding out a closed fist to me. Her hands were caked

  with dried blood, her fingernails crescents of black, She reverently uncurled her fingers to show me her treasure; a handful of tiny, wriggling white worms that made my heart give a quick bump of excitement.

  "Are they the right kind?" she asked anxiously.

  "I think so; let me check." I hastily dumped the wet leaves from the herb tea onto a small plate, to give the worms a temporary refuge. Brianna gently deposited them on the mangled foliage and carried the plate to the counter where my microscope stood, as though the plate bore specks of gold dust, rather than maggots.

  I picked up one of the worms with the edge of a fingemail, and deposited it on a glass slide, where it writhed unhappily in a hatile search for nourishment. I beckoned to Bree to bring me another candle.

  "Nothing but a mouth and a gut," I muttered, tilting the mirror to catch the