by Colt, K. J.
‘Oi, I bet I know who that is.’
A few voices cooed over the man who declared to know me.
‘Who is she, Erno?’
‘Yeah, Erno, tell us.’
‘That’s Garrad’s daughter.’
‘Oh yeah, I heard about that. Apparently she’s got that weeping pox disease.’
The voices were mean and frightening, but still, I needed their help, for Mama’s sake. ‘P-please,’ I said. ‘My…Capacia, she needs a doctor. Please.’ I turned my head and body, listening, waiting for someone to respond.
‘I ain’t helpin’ the wife of no murderer.’
‘Please,’ I added. ‘Varago. I need Varago.’
Loud footsteps came up from my right, blocking the setting western sun. The person towered over me, and I could hear their heavy breaths. I shivered.
‘He’s that way,’ came a deep, rough voice. Fear held my tongue in place even though I wanted to reply.
The man snorted. ‘Oh, right. You can’t see where I’m pointin’. Here, hold on to this.’ He moved in front of me.
I stepped back, slowly, clutching at my body, afraid of what he might do to me or that I might infect him.
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I won’t hurt you.’ I didn’t believe him.
‘Don’t touch me,’ I said, terrified he’d catch the Death Plague.
The stranger pressed something leathery and scaled against my arms, and I flinched.
‘Take it,’ he said irritably. ‘It won’t bite.’
I didn’t know what to say, and afraid I might upset him, I kept silent.
‘It’s my sheath.’ He continued, ‘Keep my sword in it. I’m going to lead you to the doctor.’
I thought about Mother lying in bed and remembered the desperation in her voice. She needed me. I swallowed hard and reached out to the man. He pushed the scaly texture against the palm of my right hand. I passed it through my fingertips and, deciding it wouldn’t hurt me, grasped it.
‘You’re mad, you are,’ someone said. ‘She’s got the pox. You’ll catch it.’
‘Shut up, you fool. Do you see any sores on her? No.’ The strange man shook the sheath. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Adenine.’ What if this man wanted to hurt me like Uncle Garrad? Maybe Mother had tricked me into leaving her so I wouldn’t be her burden anymore.
‘All right, Adenine. We’re going to Varago. You’re an odd one, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
He snorted. ‘You’re not supposed to say yes to that.’
I hobbled forward, and as I did I stepped on something sharp and cried out.
The stranger cursed. ‘Don’t touch your foot. It’s bleeding. God, it’s bleeding badly. Can you walk?’
I nodded, but when I limped forward, I bit my lip from the pain.
‘Here.’
Then his hands were on me, his arms snaking about my body, and a piercing scream burst out of my mouth. ‘Don’t touch me. Let me go.’
He still clutched me, so I hit him and wriggled like a worm shrivelling under the summer sun. If he got my sickness, he’d die, and then his family would die, and they didn’t deserve that. I thrashed myself out of his arms, fell, and hit the pavers with a thump.
‘Find your own way, then,’ he said with a huff.
I lay on my side, shaking, listening to the condemning voice of the villagers.
‘Someone help her!’
‘You do it, then.’
‘Don’t want my bollocks swelling into pumpkins.’
They were so unkind, and I felt around at the blood on my foot, pressing where the pain was, trying to see how bad it was. Animals passed, their hooves sliding on the wonky stone paving. Herders clucked their tongues and whacked sticks against the hides of cattle, goats, and sheep.
Traders yelled for last customers, coin bags rattled, and the moaning of wooden hinges—stall furniture being removed—signalled the fall of night.
Goose pimples erupted in reaction to the descending night air. I pushed with the heels of my palms and sat up to crouch, then slowly, I stood. The pain in my foot turned to itching.
Thinking about Mama all helpless in bed made me press onwards, and after knocking my wound several times I collapsed to the ground like a beaten dog crying out, ‘Varago! Varago! Varago, Varago…’ until my lungs burned and my throat felt raw.
Tears gathered as puddles in the corners of my mouth. The salty taste made my stomach grumble. I was so hungry.
‘Little girl, what sort of business is this, screaming my name like some wailing bird?’
‘Are you Varago?’
‘Yes, of course. Interesting. I thought I knew every child in this town… unless... no, it can’t be.’
‘My mama, she’s sick. She can’t get out of bed.’
‘Young lady. That’s not an illness. A lazy woman is a slight on any man—’
‘She’s sick! Her name is Capacia, she sent me to see you.’
The man was silent.
‘She cannot walk. Please help my mama.’
He whispered something under his breath that sounded like, ‘It can’t be.’
I reached out to feel his clothes, but his wrinkled fingers grabbed me.
‘Don’t touch me! I’m diseased!’
‘Adenine?’ he whispered.
He knows me! But I had never met him. I wiped my face with my sleeve in case I was dirty.
He kneeled beside me and his old knees cracked.
‘I know your illness, and I promise you I am protected against it. We can touch. I’m as healthy as a horse.’
He gently cupped my chin and twisted my head from side to side. He touched the blindfold that covered my horrible eyes. I was ashamed of them, and when he went to pull off the sash, I shoved him away.
‘All right, all right, I’ll leave it be.’
‘Mama,’ I whispered helplessly.
‘Hush now, call her Capacia.’ He stood and again his knees creaked. ‘I have to get my bag. Wait here.’
I hugged myself, listening to his uneven footsteps moving away. The voices of the night were muffled by the insulating and protecting walls of people’s homes. There came laughter, the squealing of children, and the beautiful chorus of the crickets welcoming the night.
Varago returned. ‘Can you walk, Adenine?’
‘Uh huh, I think so.’
‘Would you like to hold my hand?’
I smiled. ‘Yes, please.’
His hand was warm as it wrapped around mine, and even though he’d assured me he couldn’t catch my affliction, I imagined the invisible pustules, like tiny demons, all teeth and claws, burrowing through to his veins and swimming in his blood. They’d eat his brains, breed behind his eyes, and whisper lies into his ears.
We crossed the courtyard, and I tried to remember my steps and take note of the noises and smells, anything to orient myself in case I came here again.
‘How are you, Adenine?’ Varago asked.
I didn’t know what to say. It had been some time since someone other than Mother had asked me that question. All I could come up with was the ache in my belly. ‘Hungry.’
Varago continued guiding me home. Knowing I had done what Mother had asked, and that I was going back to my bedroom, was a reassuring softness in my mind. It distracted me from my injured foot and hunger. Varago would help Mother. She would make me food, and then I could go back to my bedroom, back to the place that was safe and warm.
‘We’re here,’ Varago said, and I heard the bell of Mystoria ring as he opened the door. ‘Capacia?’ he yelled.
‘She’s in the bed.’
Varago helped me up the stairs and into the cold living room. He fumbled about, knocking things over, and I heard the striking of flint on steel.
The dull flicking of a flame and the smell of burning oil told me Varago had lit a lamp. He guided me into Mother’s room and my legs hit the edge of her bed. His bag thumped on the ground, and his knees creaked again as he kneeled besi
de the bed.
‘It’s colder than a demon’s heart in here,’ he said. ‘I’ll light a fire.’
Soon the smell of smoke came strong, and I held on to Mother’s feet through the blanket, rubbing them gently, trying to warm her up.
Varago returned, rustled through his bag, and then came to me. ‘Sit on the bed now.’
I ran my fingers on the blanket, making sure I didn’t sit on Mother.
‘This will hurt a bit,’ he said, and then took my foot and wiped it with something that soaked into the cut and stung. Then he yanked something out of my foot and I cried out. ‘I still need to sew it.’ He bandaged my foot and refocused on Mother. ‘Capacia. Wake up.’
The bed jiggled as he rocked her. She didn’t answer.
‘Mama?’ I said, shoving her hip. ‘Wake up, Mama, the nice doctor is here.’
Varago rustled around in his bag.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ I asked.
‘Where does your mother keep fresh bed linens?’
‘I-I don’t know.’
I was useless. Dim-witted. No wonder my parents had hidden me away from everyone.
Varago stripped back the bedsheets and linen. He groaned as he struggled, probably trying to roll Mother over. ‘Here, child. Go around to the other side of the bed.’
I felt my way around, trying to ignore the intense itching of my foot. ‘Tuck in the sheet,’ he said. When the edge of linen brushed my fingers, I pushed it under the mattress.
‘That should help the smell,’ he said. ‘Time for your stitches. Come back to me.’
As I moved to him, I noticed the pain had lessened, and even when I bumped my foot, it didn’t hurt as much.
Varago placed a small cup of something into my hands. ‘Drink this.’
I sipped and spluttered. It tasted awful.
‘It’s for the pain. Now, sit on the floor.’
I gulped down the liquid and grabbing the bedpost, lowered myself to the floor. ‘Can you fix her?’
Varago removed the bandage from my foot. He wiped it with a damp cloth and exclaimed, ‘Amazing.’
‘What?’ I asked.
He rustled through his assortment of metal tools, making them clink. ‘Flabbergasting.’
His fingers held the ball of my foot and toes firmly and he prodded the place where I’d cut myself. ‘There’s a scar, still fresh, but the skin has come together.’
He rewrapped the arch of my foot in a bandage, and I could smell the cleansing soap. ‘Why don’t you try walking on it?’
I got to my feet and took a few steps. No pain.
‘That’s a good girl. Now fetch me some water for your Mama. Can you manage that?’
‘I think so.’
‘Take as much time as you need. Off you go.’
I hobbled into the kitchen. My parents had kept a large barrel of water that they filled every three or four days from the town well. If Mother felt generous, she drew fresh water from nearby mountain streams. That water was the freshest and less likely to cause stomach upsets. I dipped a deep bowl into the barrel and stole a sip myself, enjoying the smooth almost sweet liquid. I re-dipped the bowl and checked the water depth with my finger—full to the brim. The full bowl required extra slow steps when returning back to Mother’s room; a little sloshed to the floor, but the water’s height still lapped at the rim.
‘Here.’ Varago took the water from me. ‘Do you know where the bread is kept?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fetch me some bread, then, please.’
The kitchen bench wasn’t so hard to find, it was recognising the tools sitting on top. Some were round, others sharp. One in particular was so confusing that I didn’t know what it was. Eventually, I found a stale bread roll, and my stomach rumbled.
A new skill awoke in my head, a kind of sense of where my body was in relation to the house, achieved by memorising where different objects were and where walls began and ended. My confidence increased, and I moved less cautiously as I went back to Varago.
‘Well done, Adenine. Your mother is quite dried and hungry.’
‘Dried?’ I asked.
‘People need water. When your body has no water inside, the skin dries, and the body does not like it.’
‘A-Adenine,’ Mother whispered.
‘Mama!’
‘Sh. Not so loud,’ Varago scolded.
I lowered my voice. ‘Mama, are you awake? Are you well?’
‘Varago,’ she said.
‘Yes. I am here, sweet Capacia. Look what has happened to you, so much misfortune.’
Guilt pulled at me. ‘Mama, please be well.’ I sniffled and stumbled towards the bed, where I traced my hands from her feet and up her leg until I found her hand. I grasped her cold fingers, but they didn’t hold me back. Was she angry with me?
‘I found Adenine wandering the streets,’ Varago said. ‘She is… older.’
‘Yes. So obedient and brave. Capable, whereas I am useless now,’ she croaked.
I didn’t like to hear Mother talk about herself this way.
‘Here, eat this,’ Varago instructed, and I knew he was feeding Mother the bread. ‘And drink. You’re very sick, Capacia.’
‘I know. Adenine hasn’t eaten either. Not for several days.’
‘Adenine is young and healthy. You, however, are a lame-duck. Eat now.’
‘Give her a little piece, please, for me, she has done so well.’
‘No, Mama. You have it all.’ But a small crust was placed in my hands, and despite my protesting, I shoved it into my mouth. I felt bad for taking her food, but my greediness was greater than my compassion. The bread stuck in my throat, and I had to swallow several times to move it along.
I chewed slowly, making sure only to eat when Mother did. Her teeth chomped down on her own portion, then slurped down the water I had fetched for her. Mama always said that a healthy appetite begets a healthy mind.
That night, Varago cooked our meals, making lamb stew with a varied assortment of vegetables and herbs like rosemary and thyme. We ate together in silence, but I didn’t mind; his company and Mother’s brought me uncontainable joy. I wasn’t alone.
‘Adenine,’ Varago said. ‘I am very busy, so Jemely, my niece, will come to visit. She’ll bring you supplies and assist you with managing the house. But you will have to take care of your mother.’
‘Is Jemely immune to my sickness too?’
Varago was silent for a moment. ‘Yes, she is.’
‘But Mama said everyone but her and Papa would catch it.’
Varago took another long pause before answering. ‘Jemely and I are special. We treat sick people all the time and are well. You needn’t fear for our lives.’
I believed him. He was a doctor, after all. ‘What if I hurt her?’ I asked.
‘Who? Jemely?’
‘No, Mama. I can’t see. I might burn her like I burned my eyes.’
Varago was silent again. ‘Listen to me carefully. It doesn’t matter one copper whether you’re strong or weak, only that you help your mother. You’re a big girl now. Listen to your instincts. Your smell, hearing, and touch will become your sight. Many people live their lives in darkness, Adenine. Your mother depends on you.’
‘How long will she be sick?’
He slurped down the rest of his soup, dropped his spoon in the empty bowl, and got up to rinse out his dish.
‘Time will tell, until that day of recovery, you will be her legs and arms. When she is stronger, you can work together.’
Finally, I would deserve her love. She might even forgive me for Papa and Garrad’s deaths. This was my chance to prove myself. To be worthy.
‘She’ll regain her strength with food, drink, and bed rest. Jemely will help you with the tasks you can’t do.’’
He threw water on the fire, making it sizzle and hiss. Smoke filled the air as the fire went out, and I coughed.
‘Time for bed,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you to your room.’
Out of nowhe
re, the memory of my uncle attacking me came to mind. Varago was an adult like my uncle. He might want to beat me, or drown me as Uncle Garrad had wanted. My stomach lurched, and I took a step back. ‘I-I want to stay with Mama.’
‘But of course…’ He trailed off, seemingly confused about something. ‘Jemely will arrive at daybreak. Will you manage from here?’
I nodded.
‘Good girl.’ He patted me on the head. ‘Get some sleep and drink lots of water.’
His boots scuffed the floor as he went to the stairwell and descended into Mystoria.
The back door closed. My hands were grimy, and I went in search of the washbasin, but couldn’t find it. I stumbled about and eventually gave up.
‘Mama,’ I said.
‘Mmm,’ she said faintly. I oriented myself by listening to her voice.
On the other side of the bed, I crawled under the covers and pressed up against her. The pungent smell of her prolonged bed stay reached my nostrils. Her waste had soaked through to the underlays. Jemely would need to change the filling.
I wasn’t bothered by it. All that mattered was her calm, deep breathing that swelled her lungs and rushed over her lips. I held her hand, and it was much warmer than before. She’d have the stew for breakfast, and Jemely would help me make her honeyed tea.
Everything had changed. The coming days would be as difficult as the years I’d already spent in isolation.
Maybe even harder.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE NEXT MORNING, I JERKED awake at the sound of knocking on the bedroom door. ‘W-who’s there?’ I sat up.
‘Forgive me, didn’t mean to wake ya.’ The voice was feminine, maybe a girl in her late teens. ‘I’m Jemely, Varago’s niece. He said I’d be by today. I’ve got a meat pie and other basics for you and your m—Capacia.’
I roused Mother with a shake of her shoulder. ‘Mmmm…’ she said.
‘Wake up.’
‘What is it?’ I felt her moving beside me. ‘Oh, Jemely. How nice to see you. Come in. This is…’
Mother seemed to have forgotten my name. The pause continued, and I thought, I’m Adenine, your daughter.
‘This is Garrad’s child. Adenine.’
Why wouldn’t she own up to me? The rejection made me want to curl up in my attic bed and shut out the world. I didn’t dare correct her in company.
