by Rhett DeVane
Grant pulled a packet from his robe. “I found these growing near the base.” He poured several wine-colored berries into his palm.
“You went there? By yourself?” Elsbeth pinched her lips together.
Grant squared his shoulders. “Had to do something to help. Couldn’t just sit in my burrow.”
Before Elsbeth could work up a scolding reply, Taka-Herb reached for the berries. She studied them, rolling them in her cupped hand with a flick of one finger. “Where did you locate them, exactly?”
“West bank, near the point where the lowlanders used to dump their ruined automobiles.”
“Never seen this variety in our part of the woods,” the medicine woman stated. “Did you take note of any creatures eating them?”
“The rats.” Grant thought for a second. “And a rabbit.”
“So they’re not poisonous. Rats will eat most anything, but they’re not stupid.” Taka-Herb dropped the berries into the simmering elixir and gave it a stir.
Elsbeth’s heart thumped. “Wait! You’re going to give those to Sim? They could . . . They might . . .”
Taka-Herb faced Elsbeth. “Kill him. Yes.” She tipped her head toward the cot where Sim lay. Sim’s chest barely rose and fell. His skin, gray and mottled. He already looked dead. Elsbeth blinked back tears.
“He hasn’t eaten or taken fluids for over two days,” Taka-Herb said, “and we don’t know how much longer he went without nourishment before we got him home. None of my herbs conquer the fever for more than a few minutes.”
Elsbeth and Grant stood side by side, silent.
Taka-Herb breathed in, then released the air in a long sigh. “I don’t—we don’t—have any options left.”
Brick slid a plate of acorn flour pancakes in front of Elsbeth. Normally, she would tuck into the hot cakes covered with honey and walnuts. She pushed the plate aside. Her stomach felt as unsettled as her spirit.
“We all think you need to eat,” Brick said. The others sitting at the tablerock nodded.
“If not,” Mari added, “Taka-Herb will have one more to doctor.”
The two youngers watched Elsbeth with intense eyes.
Elsbeth moved her head up and down once. Had to set a good example for the youngers, at least. She picked up the fork. The first bite nearly choked her, as if her throat had forgotten how to swallow. She took a quick swig of now-cold rose hip tea and coughed. Tried again. The blend of warm honey and pancakes worked magic. Elsbeth polished off the short stack and used the last forkful to sop the excess honey.
“You can’t change anything except your attitude,” Elsbeth said in a low voice.
Gabby glanced up from his plate. “Hmm?”
Elsbeth waved one hand. “I was talking to myself. Just something Taproot once said.”
“I do that a lot. Sing to myself, too.” He wiped his mouth, pushed back from the table, grabbed up his doo-brood, and strummed a few chords.
“Pretty,” Mari said.
“I’m writing a song in honor of Sim. Wanna hear?”
Slate stifled a burp. “What, like you don’t expect him to . . . make it?”
Gabby’s mouth twitched. “No. I mean, yes, I do expect Sim to live. Music takes my mind off dark thoughts. When I create, I focus on the good.”
“Got an idea.” Brick grabbed a pad of paper and pencil. “Let’s tell some funny stuff about Sim. I’ll write about them. Or Gabby can use them to compose his ballad.”
“What kind of stories?” Jondu asked.
“Like when he got into scrapes and came out okay,” Brick said.
“There are so many.” Mari chuckled. “Hard to know where to start.”
Elsbeth touched the dump-dive heart locket. “All the times he passed out, overcome by dump gases. The time the bees stung him so many times, he nearly quit breathing.” She hesitated. “When he tried to fly using a stupid contraption of tulip poplar leaves and twine.”
“What about the time he shot the falls in a raft of twigs?” Brick said.
Slate laughed. “Remember when he tried to harvest porcupine quills to make some sort of spear weapon? That critter didn’t take kindly to Sim.”
Grant smiled, nodding. “Or when the snake shared his burrow for months, but he didn’t know it because of all of those rock hoodoos?”
The stories flowed around the clan. Zeke and Faith listened, their eyes wide. Elsbeth had to admit that the remembrances chased the distress. Her stomach unclenched and the weight of dread suffocating her breathing eased.
Taka-Herb rushed into the Common Hall. Talk ceased.
“Sim’s awake!” Taka-Herb held a hand to her chest and breathed. “He’s asking for you, Elsbeth.”
Elsbeth pushed back from the table and followed Taka-Herb to the burrow. When they entered, she saw Sim propped up on pillows, his eyes open for the first time in several days.
“Hiya, Lizard.” Sim’s voice cracked.
“Oh, thank the Light! You’re okay!” Elsbeth rushed across the room and leaned down to give him a hug.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” He coughed. Took a sip of water. “How come you got your scales all ruffled up?”
Elsbeth plopped down on the sitting stone next to the cot. Sim’s grin brought life to his pale features.
Sim wobbled when he stood. Interesting, how a few days spent horizontal had turned his strong leg muscles into pond goo. No wonder Stitch and the lowlanders hated the tick fever illness. Besides the fact that it killed them.
“I came close to entering the Light,” Sim stated.
“Yes, you did.” Taka-Herb held out the cup with the cure, mixed with honeyed tea.
Sim sniffed the brew and scowled. “Do I still have to take this nasty stuff?”
“A couple of days more, to make sure. We’ll all add the berries into our diets going forward.” She jabbed a finger toward the mug. “Drink.”
Sim held his nose and slugged down the liquid. Gaaahhkk! He danced a jig.
Taka-Herb laughed and took the cup from Sim. “Saved your life, this swampy drink.”
“Bet you can’t make it again.”
“Bet I can. I carefully recorded each ingredient and how much I added. Important when making a new tonic. Afraid I’m not as good as Taproot. He threw in a pinch of this and a handful of that, and his cures turned out perfect every time.” She handed Sim a second cup. “I must measure and write down my recipes.”
Sim fired the stink-eye at the mug. “More?”
“It’s lemongrass tea, to take the moldy taste from your mouth.”
He took a sip. A fresh scent like summer sunshine eased aside the odor fouling his nose.
“Better?”
Mmmmmm. Sim took his time with this mug. When Taka-Herb turned her back to stoke the hearth fire, he shoved the tick fever cure recipe into his robe pocket.
Chapter Twenty-two
The next day, Sim slipped from the clanground using the secret exit in the boys’ necessary room tunnel. It took him three times longer than normal to reach the army base. He stopped to rest after every four switchbacks. Even downhill proved a challenge.
“I will get better,” he muttered. “No stupid tick fever’s going to slow me down.”
As if the ghost of the illness still hid deep within his cells, one of Sim’s leg muscles cramped. He hobbled to a rock, sat down, and massaged his calf until the muscle relaxed.
Two grueling hours later, he stood at the edge of the base cemetery. Kenneth Pensworthy flew past, dipped one wing, then landed high on a dead tree limb. Always a comfort to have a watchful sentinel, especially now when Sim’s body did not respond swiftly.
The grave markers stood, dark reminders of death. The place possessed an odd hush, as if a cloak of silence draped across the disturbed dirt. At least the lowlander soldiers had markers where they rested. Unlike Jen, whose remains lay scattered atop a steep pass, at the whim of tons of ice and snow.
Sim shook off the blue thoughts and cupped his hands around his mouth. The sig
nal cry echoed through the valley. He waited. Called again.
For the next hour, Sim emitted the summons. A figure slipped from the pines. The spiked, yellow hair showed white in the moon glow.
“Stitch!” Sim tried to run, but his legs would not cooperate. He slowed to a lopping walk. “Yo! Stitch!”
The soldier whipped around to face Sim’s call, flashed the beam of a small flashlight his way, then clicked it off. They met between the rows of crosses.
Stitch crouched. “Hey, little dude.” The medic held out his hand and Sim shook one of Sim’s fingers. “Good to see you, buddy.”
“Likewise.” Sim shucked his pack and used it for a seat. For the next few minutes, the two friends swapped stories.
“Things aren’t going so well here.” Stitch tipped his head toward one corner of the cemetery where freshly turned dirt mounded in dark humps. “Losing soldiers left and right to tick fever. Our ranks are so depleted, we’d roll over if we came under attack.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Sim stood and dug in his pack. He handed over a slip of folded paper.
“What—?”
“It’s a copy of the recipe for a cure our healer made for me.”
“Wait, you?”
Sim nodded. “I got it. Was bad sick for days. The bite still itches. But I didn’t die. This stuff did the trick.”
Stitch unfolded the paper, flicked on his light.
“I wrote the letters really big so you could see them.”
“What are these? Firebrand? Feverspike?” Stitch’s eyebrows furrowed. “Never heard of them.”
“Plants and stuff that grow near here.” Sim handed over a vial. “This is a bit of the elixir Taka-Herb made.”
Stitch held the tiny container between a finger and thumb. “If I can get this sample to a lab, maybe they can isolate the chemicals.” He palmed the vial and slipped it into his uniform pocket. “Scientists have to be good for something.”
“Soon as the sun comes up, I can point out the plants.”
“If this works for us like it did for you, you’ll be saving a lot of lives, little dude.”
Rock hoodoos lined the stream near the clangrounds, reminding Elsbeth of a glossy picture in one of Brick’s magazines. The lowlanders called it land art. Cliff sides draped with ripples of colorful canvas, or strange sculptures plopped down to blend with nature. Not meant to be permanent, instead to live in the moment, reflecting the surroundings.
“Who put these here?” She turned toward Grant. His spirit-son skittered between the rock piles. Faith hid behind one tower and lunged out at Zeke. Both youngers giggled and started the hide-and-seek game anew.
“I found them yesterday as Zeke and I gathered brook lettuce,” Grant said. “I need to show you something else, too.” He crooked one finger toward Zeke and Faith and they followed him toward the tunnel entrance. Elsbeth took one last perplexed look at the hoodoo garden and fell in behind Faith.
Grant stopped when he reached the threshold of Sim’s burrow. “Get ready for a shock.”
The first thing Elsbeth took note of was the fresh lemony scent. The air lacked the stale heaviness she associated with Sim’s private quarters. Above, the bottle skylights sprayed light into the space. No dust or soot there. The second thing she noticed—the clean-swept dirt floor.
“So, that’s where the rocks came from.” She pivoted to take in the entire room. No clutter. No top-heavy piles of sticks. No whittled wood filings. “Has he moved out, again?” The thought of Sim in a rock cave alone crimped Elsbeth’s spirit.
Grant stepped to the hearth and pointed to the single object atop the mantle. “Don’t think he’s gone.”
Sim’s favorite chunk of obsidian rested in the center of the shelf. She lifted the stone and a piece of paper fell to the floor. She picked it up and read aloud, “Will be back.”
Grant took the note, turned it over twice as if it held a deeper, hidden meaning.
Elsbeth blew out a breath. “Why does everyone in this clan keep leaving? Where has he gone this time?”
Faith tugged on Elsbeth’s sleeve. “I know something.”
Elsbeth crouched down to face Jen’s spirit-daughter.
“Taka-Herb said the recipe for her cure was missing.”
Grant clapped his hands together. “I know where he—”
“The base. Sim’s gone to the base.” Elsbeth closed her eyes. Maybe when she opened them, Sim’s burrow would be crammed with stones and sticks, and he would be standing there calling her Lizard the Lousy and wondering why she was ruffled.
She opened her eyes. Oh, well.
“I’ll get my pack. Go after him.” Grant started toward the tunnel.
“No!” Elsbeth’s voice echoed. Faith and Zeke looked at her, their mouths open. Grant halted and turned around. His brows tilted up.
The truth settled around Elsbeth’s heart. “It’s okay. I think Sim needs to be a hero.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Elsbeth chose a sun-warmed boulder with the best view of Mad Man’s Pass. Nearby, Grant and Mari helped Taka-Herb harvest the last of the huckleberries. The days grew shorter, a bit each day. Small signs indicated the approach of fall. Leaves blushed, then turned brown and released their grip. The clan and the mountain animals moved with intent. Get ready for winter!
Zeke and Faith’s blended laughter trilled like music, and she imagined the two youngers darting between the trees, popping out to scare the fur from unsuspecting squirrels. Good thing they could play. The young one-spirits would soon grow as serious as their elders.
The Emerald Mountains rippled in the distance—dark to paler in color where they greeted the horizon. No matter if she reached three hundred and fifty like Taproot, Elsbeth would never tire of this view. As they had the first time she and Sim had seen them, the ancient hills cradled her, soothing away the sadness of the past few months.
When your troubles pile up, count your joys. Taproot’s words rang in her memory. She squinted into the sun. Where was the old magician? Something warm brushed her shoulder. She jumped and looked around. Nothing there but a beetle trailing across the stone.
Oh, he was still on this side of the Light. Out there, somewhere. She turned back to take in the vista.
And Jen floated above. At peace. Elsbeth sensed her essence too.
Maybe she should use the seer’s stone, look deep into its shiny surface for hints about Joudu, Taproot, even the spirit of Jen.
No, she decided. Sometimes it might be better to allow her heart to feel the way.
At the clangrounds, preparations were underway for the Fall Festival. As happy an occasion as the Spring Festival, it heralded the abundance of the harvest, and gratitude for the food and shelter the earth provided. Everyone anticipated the night of feasting and laughter. The telling of the old tales. The gift-giving.
Except for Sim.
He lived in his burrow, grabbed meals, then left with no explanation. Elsbeth and the others asked no questions. Mari, always the peacemaker, urged patience. But Elsbeth’s patience wore as thin as her summer robe.
A shadow blocked the sun. Elsbeth gasped and dove between two rocks. She peeked out from her hiding spot, then stepped out and stood with her arms crossed over her chest.
Kenneth Pensworthy stared at her with round yellow eyes. “You must be more watchful, First Mother. I could’ve been a hungry red-tailed hawk.”
“But you’re not.” Elsbeth scrambled back into her position on the boulder. “Guess you’re right. The beauty of all of this,” she swept one hand toward the hills, “distracted me.”
“Ah,” Kenneth chattered. “Easy, on such a fine, cloudless day.”
“Have you seen Jondu?”
The large owl pivoted his head, scanning the valley, then turned to face Elsbeth. “No.”
Elsbeth’s shoulders slumped.
“But there are a lot of hills out there, First Mother, and so little Jondu.”
Sim heard the echo of stomping steps before he saw
their owner. One thing about the hollowed-out burrow: no rock piles to snuffle sound. Elsbeth stormed through the doorway and crossed over to where he stood, next to the hearth.
“Lizard, what—”
“Do you plan on taking part in the Fall Festival, or what?”
“I don’t think I—”
Elsbeth’s loud huff stopped his words. “This has gone on too long, Simon.”
His lowlander name hung in the air, a phantom from New Haven City with its dark, rat-infested alleys.
“That’s right. You heard me. I called you Simon. Because you’re not Sim. Not our Sim.”
He backed up and lowered himself onto a sitting stone. Elsbeth didn’t often show fire, but when she did, it was best to hunker down and let her burn herself down to an ember.
“You moved back. Sure. But not really.” Elsbeth took in the burrow with the sweep of one arm. “Not that I mind actually being able to breathe in here, and I’m glad you cleaned up a bit, but . . . Really, Simon? It’s like you’ve ripped the heart from this burrow, from this clan, from yourself!”
He waited. Was she finished?
Elsbeth sucked in a breath. Sim braced for another barrage. Then her shoulders curled forward and she sank to sit cross-legged in front of him. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she smashed her face into her cupped hands and wailed. Horrible, gut-ripping, girl sobs.
Sim could deal with Lizard the Lousy, even Lizard the Loud, but not this version. He got down on his hands and knees and inched toward her, in case the lunatic Elsbeth still lurked.
Elsbeth lifted her head. Her cheeks glistened.
“It’s like—” Sim stretched to find the words. “—like it makes me feel better to be here, but . . .” He paused. The fire snapped and sizzled. “It hurts too. I did things that caused Jen to die and Grant to lose his leg. And everywhere I turn, something reminds me.”
“I made mistakes too.” Elsbeth offered a sad smile. “Sim.” She swiped a damp hank of hair from her eyes. “I will—we will—make more mistakes. I miss Jen, too. Crazy miss her. But she’s living in the Light now.”
