Wallflower and Juniper (Part 2)
Aug. 4th, 2005 05:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rosipheleeThe next part of the new Nimbus and Aylili story for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
saiena. Part one is here. I'm expecting to have the same amount again. The completed version will probably go straight to my Wyvern's Shelf.
WARNING: MASSIVE SPOILERS. Do NOT read this if you haven't read Dandelion and Thistledown
Also, if you're squeamish (I'm not) don't read this while you're eating.
“Can you fly?” she said to him, expecting a torrent of scorn.
Instead, he turned to look at her, his eyes too bright behind the elflocks of his hair, and said, “No.” Then he slumped to his knees, almost dragging her down with him.
He put out his good arm, catching himself before his face hit the ground, but his wings slumped forward, draping over him limply. Aylili could see how he was shaking.
What was she meant to do now? She could hardly carry him to the inn and he would never make it on his own, not like this. Unless….
She raced back into the gorge, scrabbling through the broken bits of the wagon until she found a long, wide chunk of its base. She dragged it back up to where he knelt and put it down beside him. It was splintered and rough but she had nothing better so she said, “Lie down.”
He crawled gratefully onto the wood and she began to push at the back of the planks. It hurt her hands and she could barely move him. Worse than that, it left a trail two cubits wide.
She knew a spell to make things float, though it was meant for messages and trifling things. Nimbus had summoned the Light, though, and the air was still ahum with its power. She visualised the shapes of the spell in her mind and then released them and grinned to herself as Nimbus, on his plank, rose to hover by her waist. He yelped and rolled dangerously before freezing in place.
She trotted back to the gully and retrieved the belt and a snapped and twisted bar. She used the belt to secure Nimbus to the plank and then wedged the bent bar into a crack in the wood, working it round until it was firmly hooked. Then she tied the end of the remaining bandages to the metal and pulled them tight. The fabric strained and she wound it in a loop across her back and shoulders, whistling to it until the thread became as hard as wood, as tough as the cords that the citizens of Isola hung their laundry from.
Letting the bandages gather loosely behind her, she set off at a run, bounding upwards until she was in the air. She felt the jerk as the bandages went tight but she was already soaring on the wind.
Then Nimbus roared in panic and she dropped to the land. The stretcher had turned over in mid-air, leaving him dangling, his wings brushing against the ground. She ran back and turned him round, cursing. The sled was too narrow. If he held his wings out it might not roll.
She looked at him and abandoned the idea. He was barely conscious. She needed something else to use as wings. Perhaps there were more spars in the canyon but she was reluctant to go back. She didn’t know if the soldiers were dead or merely dazed and each trip was riskier. Dragging him back upside-down, however, would do more harm than good.
A wind rose out of nowhere, sighing past her, and she heard leaves rustle and smelt something evergreen and bitter. Turning into the wind, she saw it dance suggestively in a small bush a few cubits away, lifting the broad leaves in a swaying pattern.
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, frowning. These hints were getting less and less subtle. Whoever, or whatever, it was seemed to mean her no harm, though. It was merely helping her to help herself. So, leaves.
It took her a moment but then she got her pipe out. She couldn’t do something on this scale by merely whistling. Carefully, she began to play, letting her music carry her into the memories of the wood. It had been a growing thing once, caressed by the wind, and trees, unlike birds, had long memories. As she wandered through the might-have-beens of its past the dry wood began to crack and heave. Branches stretched out from the sides, leaves intertwining and overlapping, and thinner spars arched up to enclose Nimbus in a net of sweet-scented leaves. When Aylili let the music fade, the sled had wings, slightly curved branches forming their limbs and overlapping leaves their fabric.
This time it was steady in the air behind her and she headed east, through the foothills towards The Jar and Nightingale.
~*~
The sky was fading into dawn by the time she landed and she could see the devastation more clearly. The Dark had obviously burnt the inn when they marched down from Tarrass and she hoped the inhabitants had survived. Some of the countryfolk had made it to Isola before the siege began but too many had been slaughtered by the Dark.
Then she shook her head, as if the movement would clear her tired mind. Nimbus was moaning faintly in his sleep and she could see the bright blood drenching the bandages. She wanted to drop where she stood, beneath the broken inn sign, but they were too exposed. She had to get him inside. She stumbled into the inn, dragging his stretcher behind her slowly, pulling the ropes hand over hand to steer him through the doorway. There was nowhere to hide in the main room, unless she put him behind the bar. He might have appreciated that but when she studied the ground she found it was laced with broken glass. Whimpering a little, she began to pull herself upstairs, clinging to the rail as the stretcher bumped up the steps beside her. Halfway up, the rail crumbled under her hand and she collapsed sideways. She snapped out her wings as she began to fall, beating them wildly for balance.
A strong wind roared up the stairs behind her, catching her. It carried her up a few steps before settling her against the wall. She clung to the rough clay, gasping, and clutched at her aching shoulders as the wind died down to a breeze which lifted the stretcher into the air. With tears stinging her eyes, she crawled up the last few steps. It was so much easier when the stretcher didn’t catch on every stair. She dragged Nimbus over to the bed and then untangled herself from the straps, her fingers struggling with each knot. She draped one of the leaf-wings over the thin and filthy mattress and then whistled to the branches that held Nimbus in place, persudaing them to snap, one by one. Shifting Nimbus across onto the bed wasn’t too hard, though he wasn’t aware enough to help himself. His skin was hot to her touch.
She clung to the bedpost for support, looking down on him. She had found him. She had rescued him. She had brought him here and she had hidden him. Surely she could rest now?
But blood was creeping from under his bandage and she knew she had to stop that too. After all this it would be too cruel if he bled to death while she slept. Staring at the sodden bandages, she tried to pull her thoughts together and remember.
“When stitching a wound,” Liaven had said, “you must first ensure it is clean. Dirt creates an infection and if you seal the infection inside your patient’s body you have only sentenced them to a slower death. Your patient must be clean, you must be clean and your tools must be clean. Nothing is more important than this.”
There was a well in the innyard. She had passed it before. She didn’t think she could get there and back without collapsing and she moaned and rocked back on her heels. It was all too hard.
A shutter on the wall creaked open slowly and she fumbled for her sword. The wind sighed, as if in exasperation, and the shutter continued to swing back and forth suggestively. She made her way over there, shoving herself from bed to chair to wall, not trusting her legs to support her unaided. It did not open onto a cupboard, as she might have expected, but a square stone shaft. She leant into the space cautiously, pressing her wings out to hold the shutter steady in case it slammed on her.
She could smell water. A light flickered below her and she stared down to see the glimmer of water before it blinked out. Fine. There was water but it was down there and she was up here. She withdrew from the well and then blinked as the ropes she had used on the stretcher suddenly flickered across the floor. One end disappeared into the corner of the room and then reappeared, dragging a bucket behind it. It clanked and clanged across the stone floor and Nimbus stirred, saying, “Featherling? Where are you?”
“Here,” she said weakly, as the other end of the rope floated over to nudge her hand. “Safe. Hush.”
Then she wrapped the end of the rope around her hand and dropped the bucket down the well. She felt it hit the water and then the steady pressure as it began to fill. When it was heavy enough that the rope was scoring her hand she began to pull it up, beating her wings to add leverage to her arms. She managed to get it over to the bed and then looked at her own hands. She was smeared with ash and blood and grease and so she dipped into the bucket to scrub herself clean. Then she poured the water onto the rushes in the corner and heaved another bucket up. She still had bandages left so she pulled a strip off the end to use as a cloth and set the others safely aside. She paused for a moment to try remembering what Liaven had told her. Then she lifted the sodden bandages off carefully.
The wound hadn’t looked so awful in the dark. Now she could she see the torn flesh and the scabby patches of drying blood she wanted to gag. She forced the instinct back and touched Nimbus’ other shoulder lightly.
“Featherling?” he said weakly.
“Lift this side,” she said and he managed to prop himself up. Blood drained out of the wound to drip onto the rushes below. Aylili didn’t care – she could burn them later. She dripped her cupped hands into the bucket and began to rinse the wound carefully, washing away all the muck in a thick red stream. When she was satisfied it was clean she used one end of the cloth to wash the skin around the wound and the other to mop the last water off his skin. She pressed on his unhurt shoulder until he lay back again. Then she studied the cut. Blood was swelling into the base of it, wet and slow. The edges of it were red and when she brushed a finger against them they felt hot. Nimbus hissed with pain and said, “Featherling, if it needs stitches, please keep them neat. I am too beautiful for that great a scar.”
“Not stitching it,” Aylili said.
“Excellent. Nothing too serious, then. They do say the smallest cuts hurt the most. I shall be up-”
“Infected,” Aylili said shortly.
“Oh. I don’t suppose you have anything to drink, dear child?”
If she had she might have been tempted to split it with him. She hadn’t so she merely shook her head and folded half the remaining bandages into a dressing and used the rest to bind it against the wound. At the first press against the wound Nimbus passed out.
Shaking with exhaustion, she went to pour the second bucket of water away. She then went back to the well and began to draw another bucket up. This time she thought she felt hands beside hers on the ropes when she faltered but when she looked there was no one there. When she had the bucket on the floor beside her she crawled back to Nimbus to gather up the dirty bandages. She crawled back with them, sobbing on every breath and dumped them into the bucket. Her sight was greying at the edges and there were still things she ought to do before she slept.
There was a faint crackle and the coals in the grate caught fire. Aylili, too grateful to care, felt the tears spill over onto her cheeks. She groped for her pipe and lost her balance, crashing to the floor.
“Featherling!” Nimbus cried and she scrabbled to push herself up.
“Stay!” she snapped at him and he sank back against the bed, his eyes bright with fever and worry. She pulled herself over to the other cot, her fingers curling into the rushes every time she reached forward. Once she was leaning against it, she reached for her pipe again. Then she saw the air in the doorway was already shimmering and let her hand drop back to the floor. Somebody had already set wards.
She should have tested them, to be sure, but all she could do was stare at the silver glimmer and cry. By her cheek, someone pulled the blanket back. She turned and rested her head on the bed, unable to summon the energy to pull herself onto the cot. A sharp prod in the back made her jump and gave herself the impetus she needed to wrap her hands arounds the bedpost and drag herself onto the bed.
The pillows were stained and stank of damp but she didn’t care as she fell back against them, folding her wings around her.
She didn’t notice when the unseen hand pulled the blanket up to cover her exposed legs. Sleep had already taken her, swift as a blow.
~*~
When she woke the sun was westering and the light through the window was soft and golden. For a moment, snug beneath the warmth of her wings, she didn’t know how old she was. The nursery in the embassy had faced west and for a moment she was a child again. Then she realised that the rasping breaths from the other side of the room belonged to Nimbus and, with a wave of sadness, that everyone that child had known and loved was dead.
She rolled out of bed, shaking her wings out. A stream of ash sifted to the floor and she scowled. She was beginning to remember yesterday’s muddle of exhaustion and enigma. She wasn’t sure she could deal with this even when she felt more awake. She didn’t have any choice, though, so she pattered across the floor to check on Nimbus.
His forehead was hot and he was twitching in his sleep. The bandage on his shoulder was bloody again, though not as bad as it had been that morning. She reached out to change it and then thought again.
Cautiously, she slid over to the window. She could hear a bird singing, a sweet, continuous chirrup. She whistled softly and the song stopped as a small brown bird swooped out of the thicket on the hillside above. It landed beside her and she whistled to it. By the time it had gone she had discovered that there were no men nearby and persuaded it that she too was one of the local birds, to be warned if danger approached.
She would have to speak to the night birds later. She wouldn’t be able to move Nimbus until he was healed and they might have to linger here awhile. She pulled the used bandages from the bucket and hung them up to dry in the rear window. If she was lucky they would look like old rags from a distance.
She wasn’t sure whether she should risk flying back to the city. She wasn’t sure how easy it would be to get back here again. Pondering it, she took the bucket of dirty water downstairs and found what had been the privy. She poured it away and then returned it to the room.
Nimbus opened his eyes as she came back in and muttered something in C’Tiri. She hadn’t spoken the language for years and didn’t understand him. When he tried to sit up she pushed him down firmly.
“No. Fever. Hurt.”
He scowled at her and asked something. She didn’t understand the words but she knew when he was trying to charm her.
“No.”
He sighed heavily and settled back on the pillows, before grinning up at her and saying pleadingly, “Maria.”
“Aylili,” she said, backing away.
“Maria,” he said again, petulantly, and closed his eyes.
Aylili fled back into the hall. She needed another set of bandages. She stormed along the upstairs hall, flinging open each door in turn. Some rooms were open to the sky, their polished floors black and blistered. Others, further back, were merely filthy. At the end of the corridor, she found a locked door. Irritated, she put her hands on the lock and hissed. The door jolted in its frame and then the lock fell out of the wood, crashing to the floor beside her feet. Satisfied, she pulled the door open and peered in.
It was, as she had hoped, a linen cupboard.
You would be in considerable trouble right now if it wasn’t, a female voice said tartly inside her mind.
Aylili jumped and flattened herself against the wall, her sword in her hand. When no threat emerged she reached out with her mind, brushing through the inn. She could feel the knot of fear and fever that was Nimbus and the little sparks of the birds in the trees outside. There was nothing else there. Then, like a bird flying through the fog, the watching presence reappeared. She could almost taste it in the air, juniper and liquorice, like the near-empty spice chests in the palace kitchens. The same scent had lingered around that voice.
Frowning, she began to sort through the cupboard. The topmost layer of sheets were cobwebby but those further down were clean and she gathered up an armful. The leaf was cleaner than the bed but these would be better. They weren’t what she was looking for, though. It wasn’t until she rummaged through the drawers below the shelves that she found the neat, square bandages she needed. She hesitated for a moment before she shrugged and added them to her pile. It wasn’t as if she intended to tell Nimbus that she had bound his wound with the innwife’s moonrags.
She trotted back to the room where she had left Nimbus and hauled up a fresh bucket. She ran back down to the common room and into the old kitchen, still standing, if gutted. She had seen a kettle there and she hung it above the smouldering fire and started the water heating.
Wincing, she pulled the bandages off the wound. It looked worse than the night before, though the bleeding had stopped and it had begun to close. Little nodules of pus studded the exposed flesh and the edges were hard to her touch. The redness had spread further across his chest. She bit her lip in distress. She didn’t know what to do. To stave back uncertainty, she did as she had been taught, though she was sure it would not be enough. She cleaned the edges of the wound carefully, listening for the kettle.
When it began to whistle she went and lifted it off the fire, wrapping rags around her hand against the hot metal. She folded bandages into a pad and held them above the steam until they were hot and damp. Then she pressed the compress down onto the wound, holding it until it went cold, watching Nimbus’ face. He was pale, his skin tinged with green, and there were shadows beneath his eyes. His eyelashes were flickering, swift and uneasy, and he was moaning in his sleep, a little whimper with every breath. She wanted to speak to him, to say, I rescued you. You can’t die now, but the words, like always, clogged in her throat.
The compress was cold beneath her hand and she replaced it with a warm one. Outside the wind was sighing through the trees and it sounded like the sea against the walls of Isola. The birds were singing, as if they didn’t know the whole world was crumbling into disaster, and she wanted to go home, back to the silver city where she belonged.
Then it was time to change the compress again. The water in the kettle was almost cool and it took a while to heat the cloth. Before she pressed it down, she checked the wound. It looked cleaner now but a thin line of blood had coloured it again. She pressed the pad against the wound and closed her eyes.
She ached. Her wings felt so heavy and she almost missed the old days, when she had been as light as thistledown. Her scalp was itching from the ashes and she wanted to go back to sleep. Before she could fall asleep she lifted the compress and rebandaged the wound.
She dumped the filthy bandages in the bucket and went to explore the rest of the inn, wondering what else she could scavenge.
She found carrots and leeks and cabbages growing in the walled garden and bent to pull them out of the dark earth, her toes curling into the soft soil. When she had bothered to be think about it she had assumed that the countryside, with no people to make it live, would be silent. Instead it was full of noise, trees and birds and the wind sighing. It wasn’t as loud as the city, certainly, but it was a long way from silent. She didn’t like it. Country noises were like whispers, hissing secrets along the edge of her nerves.
Stomping a little, she turned back inside, trying to balance all the vegetables in her arms. As she passed through the door she smelt a strong whiff of juniper and dropped her armful. She squeaked as a red cabbage bounced off her toes and then marched to the middle of the room, furious. Enough was enough. It was no longer night and she was no longer too exhausted to care.
She took a moment to work out what to say. This would more than a few words and she wanted to be sure of them in advance. Once she had them straight in her mind, she stood in the centre of the kitchen and reached out to check that the juniper-prescence was still there. It was, so she said carefully, “I know you are there. I am grateful for your help. I would like to know who you are.”
By the time she had got the last word out she was sweating with the effort and had to wipe her brow with the heel of her hand. Then she waited.
Nothing happened. The distant presence remained, steady and watchful, but no voice spoke in her mind and nothing stirred in the air but the dustmotes in the warm streak of sunlight.
Annoyed, Aylili grabbed for the presence and pulled, demanding a response.
Besides being somewhat impolite, the juniper-voice said, that won’t work. You’re strong, child, but you’re not that good. On the other hand, you asked politely the first time and it was remiss of me not to respond. Step back a little.
Aylili, beginning to regret the impulse, pushed back against the wall. The beam of sunlight in the middle of the room grew brighter until it was a stream of gold. Then it changed hue, slurring and deepening until it glowed a deep, pure blue. The swirling dustmotes seemed to expand, soaking up the colour of the light and a vague human shape took shape. As Aylili watched, her hands clasped over her mouth, the light sharpened and narrowed, resolving into details.
The woman standing before her was solid enough to cast a shadow but she still seemed slightly translucent. If Aylili squinted she could see the other wall of the kitchen through her.
“Gracious Light,” the woman said. “You do look like your mother.”
Aylili flattened herself against the wall and stared. The woman smiled and held her hands out soothingly. “I will not harm you. I have been watching over you.”
“Who?” Aylili managed, her voice shriller than she would have liked.
“My name is Lia, though I have been called Bobcat. Or Juniper, if you prefer.”
Aylili shook her head. The name was too like Liaven’s and this woman was too different from the spymistress. Where Liaven was always exhausted, this woman crackled with energy. She wasn’t a bobcat, either. As a child she had had a set of toy mountain cats and she knew a lynx from a bobcat. Neither of them were human though she could see something of the wildcat’s ferocity in this woman. Her hair was a mass of brown curls around a sharp face. She couldn’t have been more than a decade older than Aylili but her blue eyes seemed bitter and sad. She wore a bright blue uniform, with nine gold stars embroidered on the sleeve. Aylili had seen similar outfits before. Nimbus had one, folded away in the bottom of his wardrobe, and she had seen both her parents wear those colours, once in another time. Their stars had been red, though.
“So,” she said briskly. “I expect you’d appreciate some help?”
“Why?” Aylili said. It would have to be Juniper. She could still smell it in the tang of magic in the air.
Juniper looked at her thoughtfully. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, sweetling. You did well last night but you’ve come to the end of your resources, haven’t you? I am only permitted to act under very limited circumstances. However, I can advise as much as you like. Let’s see to this vain bird, aye?”
Aylili glared at her and began, “He’s not…” before she thought about it.
Juniper snorted. “If Nimbus cor Evasta has abandoned his vanity he really is on his deathbed. What are you doing?”
Aylili sought for the most concise word and said, “Hunting.”
“For what?”
“Useful things.”
Juniper folded her arms and arched her eyebrows. “You might not like talking, vashakela, but there are times when you’ll have no choice. Before I’m done with you you’ll be able to speak appropriately when you have need.”
Aylili glared at her, furious, but knew some of her distress must show.
Juniper grinned at her. “That might work on Nimbus. I’m nastier. What useful things have you found?”
“Food,” Aylili said sulkily, gesturing at the tumbled heap of vegetables.
“Are you hungry right now?” Juniper asked.
Aylili shook her head.
“Put it all on the side, then, and we’ll cook later.”
Aylili glared. She had been coping alone and she didn’t see why this woman should appear out of nowhere and tell her what to do.
“I would help,” Juniper said quietly, studying her. “It’s beyond me, though.” She swung her hand down towards the tabletop and it passed through, pale and soft. “I’m not flesh and blood. Not now.”
She was stranded in the countryside. Nimbus thought she was her mother. And now she had a ghost in the kitchen. She was beginning to wish she had never left the roofs.
“Have you been giving him water?” Juniper asked. “You’ve done well with the wound but the thirst could kill him if he has a fever.”
Aylili shook her head and felt her wings sag. She couldn’t do this.
A touch as light as feathers brushed her cheek and she looked up to see Juniper had moved closer. “Everything will be alright,” she said gently. “Let’s look for a bucket. You’ll need one for clean water and one for washing. To be completely safe you should boil all the water you use on his wounds but we’ll deal with that later.”
A few more minutes of scavenging found two more usable buckets and a servicable tankard. Juniper spotted a tray tucked into the rafters. Aylili stepped outside to blow the dust off it and then loaded everything onto it.
“And the whiskey,” Juniper said.
“No,” Aylili said and folded her arms. She hadn’t spent all that time stopping Nimbus from drinking for this apparition to undo all her work.
Juniper was staring at her as if she was the ghost. After a moment she said, “I always thought your father was too stubborn to die. The three of them – they survived the Bridge. They survived Moradin. They survived the Ride. Do you know how few of the Ninth survived that? I didn’t survive that. Then the Dark took them anyway. Do you really think I’d help send Nimbus after them? Alcohol is an antiseptic. It will help keep his wound clean.” She swung away, rushing up the stairs. In the shadow, she would have looked solid, if her feet hadn’t been an inch above the floor.
To be continued....
So, that's what I'm up to. Anyone surprised?
saiena. Part one is here. I'm expecting to have the same amount again. The completed version will probably go straight to my Wyvern's Shelf. Also, if you're squeamish (I'm not) don't read this while you're eating.
“Can you fly?” she said to him, expecting a torrent of scorn.
Instead, he turned to look at her, his eyes too bright behind the elflocks of his hair, and said, “No.” Then he slumped to his knees, almost dragging her down with him.
He put out his good arm, catching himself before his face hit the ground, but his wings slumped forward, draping over him limply. Aylili could see how he was shaking.
What was she meant to do now? She could hardly carry him to the inn and he would never make it on his own, not like this. Unless….
She raced back into the gorge, scrabbling through the broken bits of the wagon until she found a long, wide chunk of its base. She dragged it back up to where he knelt and put it down beside him. It was splintered and rough but she had nothing better so she said, “Lie down.”
He crawled gratefully onto the wood and she began to push at the back of the planks. It hurt her hands and she could barely move him. Worse than that, it left a trail two cubits wide.
She knew a spell to make things float, though it was meant for messages and trifling things. Nimbus had summoned the Light, though, and the air was still ahum with its power. She visualised the shapes of the spell in her mind and then released them and grinned to herself as Nimbus, on his plank, rose to hover by her waist. He yelped and rolled dangerously before freezing in place.
She trotted back to the gully and retrieved the belt and a snapped and twisted bar. She used the belt to secure Nimbus to the plank and then wedged the bent bar into a crack in the wood, working it round until it was firmly hooked. Then she tied the end of the remaining bandages to the metal and pulled them tight. The fabric strained and she wound it in a loop across her back and shoulders, whistling to it until the thread became as hard as wood, as tough as the cords that the citizens of Isola hung their laundry from.
Letting the bandages gather loosely behind her, she set off at a run, bounding upwards until she was in the air. She felt the jerk as the bandages went tight but she was already soaring on the wind.
Then Nimbus roared in panic and she dropped to the land. The stretcher had turned over in mid-air, leaving him dangling, his wings brushing against the ground. She ran back and turned him round, cursing. The sled was too narrow. If he held his wings out it might not roll.
She looked at him and abandoned the idea. He was barely conscious. She needed something else to use as wings. Perhaps there were more spars in the canyon but she was reluctant to go back. She didn’t know if the soldiers were dead or merely dazed and each trip was riskier. Dragging him back upside-down, however, would do more harm than good.
A wind rose out of nowhere, sighing past her, and she heard leaves rustle and smelt something evergreen and bitter. Turning into the wind, she saw it dance suggestively in a small bush a few cubits away, lifting the broad leaves in a swaying pattern.
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, frowning. These hints were getting less and less subtle. Whoever, or whatever, it was seemed to mean her no harm, though. It was merely helping her to help herself. So, leaves.
It took her a moment but then she got her pipe out. She couldn’t do something on this scale by merely whistling. Carefully, she began to play, letting her music carry her into the memories of the wood. It had been a growing thing once, caressed by the wind, and trees, unlike birds, had long memories. As she wandered through the might-have-beens of its past the dry wood began to crack and heave. Branches stretched out from the sides, leaves intertwining and overlapping, and thinner spars arched up to enclose Nimbus in a net of sweet-scented leaves. When Aylili let the music fade, the sled had wings, slightly curved branches forming their limbs and overlapping leaves their fabric.
This time it was steady in the air behind her and she headed east, through the foothills towards The Jar and Nightingale.
The sky was fading into dawn by the time she landed and she could see the devastation more clearly. The Dark had obviously burnt the inn when they marched down from Tarrass and she hoped the inhabitants had survived. Some of the countryfolk had made it to Isola before the siege began but too many had been slaughtered by the Dark.
Then she shook her head, as if the movement would clear her tired mind. Nimbus was moaning faintly in his sleep and she could see the bright blood drenching the bandages. She wanted to drop where she stood, beneath the broken inn sign, but they were too exposed. She had to get him inside. She stumbled into the inn, dragging his stretcher behind her slowly, pulling the ropes hand over hand to steer him through the doorway. There was nowhere to hide in the main room, unless she put him behind the bar. He might have appreciated that but when she studied the ground she found it was laced with broken glass. Whimpering a little, she began to pull herself upstairs, clinging to the rail as the stretcher bumped up the steps beside her. Halfway up, the rail crumbled under her hand and she collapsed sideways. She snapped out her wings as she began to fall, beating them wildly for balance.
A strong wind roared up the stairs behind her, catching her. It carried her up a few steps before settling her against the wall. She clung to the rough clay, gasping, and clutched at her aching shoulders as the wind died down to a breeze which lifted the stretcher into the air. With tears stinging her eyes, she crawled up the last few steps. It was so much easier when the stretcher didn’t catch on every stair. She dragged Nimbus over to the bed and then untangled herself from the straps, her fingers struggling with each knot. She draped one of the leaf-wings over the thin and filthy mattress and then whistled to the branches that held Nimbus in place, persudaing them to snap, one by one. Shifting Nimbus across onto the bed wasn’t too hard, though he wasn’t aware enough to help himself. His skin was hot to her touch.
She clung to the bedpost for support, looking down on him. She had found him. She had rescued him. She had brought him here and she had hidden him. Surely she could rest now?
But blood was creeping from under his bandage and she knew she had to stop that too. After all this it would be too cruel if he bled to death while she slept. Staring at the sodden bandages, she tried to pull her thoughts together and remember.
“When stitching a wound,” Liaven had said, “you must first ensure it is clean. Dirt creates an infection and if you seal the infection inside your patient’s body you have only sentenced them to a slower death. Your patient must be clean, you must be clean and your tools must be clean. Nothing is more important than this.”
There was a well in the innyard. She had passed it before. She didn’t think she could get there and back without collapsing and she moaned and rocked back on her heels. It was all too hard.
A shutter on the wall creaked open slowly and she fumbled for her sword. The wind sighed, as if in exasperation, and the shutter continued to swing back and forth suggestively. She made her way over there, shoving herself from bed to chair to wall, not trusting her legs to support her unaided. It did not open onto a cupboard, as she might have expected, but a square stone shaft. She leant into the space cautiously, pressing her wings out to hold the shutter steady in case it slammed on her.
She could smell water. A light flickered below her and she stared down to see the glimmer of water before it blinked out. Fine. There was water but it was down there and she was up here. She withdrew from the well and then blinked as the ropes she had used on the stretcher suddenly flickered across the floor. One end disappeared into the corner of the room and then reappeared, dragging a bucket behind it. It clanked and clanged across the stone floor and Nimbus stirred, saying, “Featherling? Where are you?”
“Here,” she said weakly, as the other end of the rope floated over to nudge her hand. “Safe. Hush.”
Then she wrapped the end of the rope around her hand and dropped the bucket down the well. She felt it hit the water and then the steady pressure as it began to fill. When it was heavy enough that the rope was scoring her hand she began to pull it up, beating her wings to add leverage to her arms. She managed to get it over to the bed and then looked at her own hands. She was smeared with ash and blood and grease and so she dipped into the bucket to scrub herself clean. Then she poured the water onto the rushes in the corner and heaved another bucket up. She still had bandages left so she pulled a strip off the end to use as a cloth and set the others safely aside. She paused for a moment to try remembering what Liaven had told her. Then she lifted the sodden bandages off carefully.
The wound hadn’t looked so awful in the dark. Now she could she see the torn flesh and the scabby patches of drying blood she wanted to gag. She forced the instinct back and touched Nimbus’ other shoulder lightly.
“Featherling?” he said weakly.
“Lift this side,” she said and he managed to prop himself up. Blood drained out of the wound to drip onto the rushes below. Aylili didn’t care – she could burn them later. She dripped her cupped hands into the bucket and began to rinse the wound carefully, washing away all the muck in a thick red stream. When she was satisfied it was clean she used one end of the cloth to wash the skin around the wound and the other to mop the last water off his skin. She pressed on his unhurt shoulder until he lay back again. Then she studied the cut. Blood was swelling into the base of it, wet and slow. The edges of it were red and when she brushed a finger against them they felt hot. Nimbus hissed with pain and said, “Featherling, if it needs stitches, please keep them neat. I am too beautiful for that great a scar.”
“Not stitching it,” Aylili said.
“Excellent. Nothing too serious, then. They do say the smallest cuts hurt the most. I shall be up-”
“Infected,” Aylili said shortly.
“Oh. I don’t suppose you have anything to drink, dear child?”
If she had she might have been tempted to split it with him. She hadn’t so she merely shook her head and folded half the remaining bandages into a dressing and used the rest to bind it against the wound. At the first press against the wound Nimbus passed out.
Shaking with exhaustion, she went to pour the second bucket of water away. She then went back to the well and began to draw another bucket up. This time she thought she felt hands beside hers on the ropes when she faltered but when she looked there was no one there. When she had the bucket on the floor beside her she crawled back to Nimbus to gather up the dirty bandages. She crawled back with them, sobbing on every breath and dumped them into the bucket. Her sight was greying at the edges and there were still things she ought to do before she slept.
There was a faint crackle and the coals in the grate caught fire. Aylili, too grateful to care, felt the tears spill over onto her cheeks. She groped for her pipe and lost her balance, crashing to the floor.
“Featherling!” Nimbus cried and she scrabbled to push herself up.
“Stay!” she snapped at him and he sank back against the bed, his eyes bright with fever and worry. She pulled herself over to the other cot, her fingers curling into the rushes every time she reached forward. Once she was leaning against it, she reached for her pipe again. Then she saw the air in the doorway was already shimmering and let her hand drop back to the floor. Somebody had already set wards.
She should have tested them, to be sure, but all she could do was stare at the silver glimmer and cry. By her cheek, someone pulled the blanket back. She turned and rested her head on the bed, unable to summon the energy to pull herself onto the cot. A sharp prod in the back made her jump and gave herself the impetus she needed to wrap her hands arounds the bedpost and drag herself onto the bed.
The pillows were stained and stank of damp but she didn’t care as she fell back against them, folding her wings around her.
She didn’t notice when the unseen hand pulled the blanket up to cover her exposed legs. Sleep had already taken her, swift as a blow.
When she woke the sun was westering and the light through the window was soft and golden. For a moment, snug beneath the warmth of her wings, she didn’t know how old she was. The nursery in the embassy had faced west and for a moment she was a child again. Then she realised that the rasping breaths from the other side of the room belonged to Nimbus and, with a wave of sadness, that everyone that child had known and loved was dead.
She rolled out of bed, shaking her wings out. A stream of ash sifted to the floor and she scowled. She was beginning to remember yesterday’s muddle of exhaustion and enigma. She wasn’t sure she could deal with this even when she felt more awake. She didn’t have any choice, though, so she pattered across the floor to check on Nimbus.
His forehead was hot and he was twitching in his sleep. The bandage on his shoulder was bloody again, though not as bad as it had been that morning. She reached out to change it and then thought again.
Cautiously, she slid over to the window. She could hear a bird singing, a sweet, continuous chirrup. She whistled softly and the song stopped as a small brown bird swooped out of the thicket on the hillside above. It landed beside her and she whistled to it. By the time it had gone she had discovered that there were no men nearby and persuaded it that she too was one of the local birds, to be warned if danger approached.
She would have to speak to the night birds later. She wouldn’t be able to move Nimbus until he was healed and they might have to linger here awhile. She pulled the used bandages from the bucket and hung them up to dry in the rear window. If she was lucky they would look like old rags from a distance.
She wasn’t sure whether she should risk flying back to the city. She wasn’t sure how easy it would be to get back here again. Pondering it, she took the bucket of dirty water downstairs and found what had been the privy. She poured it away and then returned it to the room.
Nimbus opened his eyes as she came back in and muttered something in C’Tiri. She hadn’t spoken the language for years and didn’t understand him. When he tried to sit up she pushed him down firmly.
“No. Fever. Hurt.”
He scowled at her and asked something. She didn’t understand the words but she knew when he was trying to charm her.
“No.”
He sighed heavily and settled back on the pillows, before grinning up at her and saying pleadingly, “Maria.”
“Aylili,” she said, backing away.
“Maria,” he said again, petulantly, and closed his eyes.
Aylili fled back into the hall. She needed another set of bandages. She stormed along the upstairs hall, flinging open each door in turn. Some rooms were open to the sky, their polished floors black and blistered. Others, further back, were merely filthy. At the end of the corridor, she found a locked door. Irritated, she put her hands on the lock and hissed. The door jolted in its frame and then the lock fell out of the wood, crashing to the floor beside her feet. Satisfied, she pulled the door open and peered in.
It was, as she had hoped, a linen cupboard.
You would be in considerable trouble right now if it wasn’t, a female voice said tartly inside her mind.
Aylili jumped and flattened herself against the wall, her sword in her hand. When no threat emerged she reached out with her mind, brushing through the inn. She could feel the knot of fear and fever that was Nimbus and the little sparks of the birds in the trees outside. There was nothing else there. Then, like a bird flying through the fog, the watching presence reappeared. She could almost taste it in the air, juniper and liquorice, like the near-empty spice chests in the palace kitchens. The same scent had lingered around that voice.
Frowning, she began to sort through the cupboard. The topmost layer of sheets were cobwebby but those further down were clean and she gathered up an armful. The leaf was cleaner than the bed but these would be better. They weren’t what she was looking for, though. It wasn’t until she rummaged through the drawers below the shelves that she found the neat, square bandages she needed. She hesitated for a moment before she shrugged and added them to her pile. It wasn’t as if she intended to tell Nimbus that she had bound his wound with the innwife’s moonrags.
She trotted back to the room where she had left Nimbus and hauled up a fresh bucket. She ran back down to the common room and into the old kitchen, still standing, if gutted. She had seen a kettle there and she hung it above the smouldering fire and started the water heating.
Wincing, she pulled the bandages off the wound. It looked worse than the night before, though the bleeding had stopped and it had begun to close. Little nodules of pus studded the exposed flesh and the edges were hard to her touch. The redness had spread further across his chest. She bit her lip in distress. She didn’t know what to do. To stave back uncertainty, she did as she had been taught, though she was sure it would not be enough. She cleaned the edges of the wound carefully, listening for the kettle.
When it began to whistle she went and lifted it off the fire, wrapping rags around her hand against the hot metal. She folded bandages into a pad and held them above the steam until they were hot and damp. Then she pressed the compress down onto the wound, holding it until it went cold, watching Nimbus’ face. He was pale, his skin tinged with green, and there were shadows beneath his eyes. His eyelashes were flickering, swift and uneasy, and he was moaning in his sleep, a little whimper with every breath. She wanted to speak to him, to say, I rescued you. You can’t die now, but the words, like always, clogged in her throat.
The compress was cold beneath her hand and she replaced it with a warm one. Outside the wind was sighing through the trees and it sounded like the sea against the walls of Isola. The birds were singing, as if they didn’t know the whole world was crumbling into disaster, and she wanted to go home, back to the silver city where she belonged.
Then it was time to change the compress again. The water in the kettle was almost cool and it took a while to heat the cloth. Before she pressed it down, she checked the wound. It looked cleaner now but a thin line of blood had coloured it again. She pressed the pad against the wound and closed her eyes.
She ached. Her wings felt so heavy and she almost missed the old days, when she had been as light as thistledown. Her scalp was itching from the ashes and she wanted to go back to sleep. Before she could fall asleep she lifted the compress and rebandaged the wound.
She dumped the filthy bandages in the bucket and went to explore the rest of the inn, wondering what else she could scavenge.
She found carrots and leeks and cabbages growing in the walled garden and bent to pull them out of the dark earth, her toes curling into the soft soil. When she had bothered to be think about it she had assumed that the countryside, with no people to make it live, would be silent. Instead it was full of noise, trees and birds and the wind sighing. It wasn’t as loud as the city, certainly, but it was a long way from silent. She didn’t like it. Country noises were like whispers, hissing secrets along the edge of her nerves.
Stomping a little, she turned back inside, trying to balance all the vegetables in her arms. As she passed through the door she smelt a strong whiff of juniper and dropped her armful. She squeaked as a red cabbage bounced off her toes and then marched to the middle of the room, furious. Enough was enough. It was no longer night and she was no longer too exhausted to care.
She took a moment to work out what to say. This would more than a few words and she wanted to be sure of them in advance. Once she had them straight in her mind, she stood in the centre of the kitchen and reached out to check that the juniper-prescence was still there. It was, so she said carefully, “I know you are there. I am grateful for your help. I would like to know who you are.”
By the time she had got the last word out she was sweating with the effort and had to wipe her brow with the heel of her hand. Then she waited.
Nothing happened. The distant presence remained, steady and watchful, but no voice spoke in her mind and nothing stirred in the air but the dustmotes in the warm streak of sunlight.
Annoyed, Aylili grabbed for the presence and pulled, demanding a response.
Besides being somewhat impolite, the juniper-voice said, that won’t work. You’re strong, child, but you’re not that good. On the other hand, you asked politely the first time and it was remiss of me not to respond. Step back a little.
Aylili, beginning to regret the impulse, pushed back against the wall. The beam of sunlight in the middle of the room grew brighter until it was a stream of gold. Then it changed hue, slurring and deepening until it glowed a deep, pure blue. The swirling dustmotes seemed to expand, soaking up the colour of the light and a vague human shape took shape. As Aylili watched, her hands clasped over her mouth, the light sharpened and narrowed, resolving into details.
The woman standing before her was solid enough to cast a shadow but she still seemed slightly translucent. If Aylili squinted she could see the other wall of the kitchen through her.
“Gracious Light,” the woman said. “You do look like your mother.”
Aylili flattened herself against the wall and stared. The woman smiled and held her hands out soothingly. “I will not harm you. I have been watching over you.”
“Who?” Aylili managed, her voice shriller than she would have liked.
“My name is Lia, though I have been called Bobcat. Or Juniper, if you prefer.”
Aylili shook her head. The name was too like Liaven’s and this woman was too different from the spymistress. Where Liaven was always exhausted, this woman crackled with energy. She wasn’t a bobcat, either. As a child she had had a set of toy mountain cats and she knew a lynx from a bobcat. Neither of them were human though she could see something of the wildcat’s ferocity in this woman. Her hair was a mass of brown curls around a sharp face. She couldn’t have been more than a decade older than Aylili but her blue eyes seemed bitter and sad. She wore a bright blue uniform, with nine gold stars embroidered on the sleeve. Aylili had seen similar outfits before. Nimbus had one, folded away in the bottom of his wardrobe, and she had seen both her parents wear those colours, once in another time. Their stars had been red, though.
“So,” she said briskly. “I expect you’d appreciate some help?”
“Why?” Aylili said. It would have to be Juniper. She could still smell it in the tang of magic in the air.
Juniper looked at her thoughtfully. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, sweetling. You did well last night but you’ve come to the end of your resources, haven’t you? I am only permitted to act under very limited circumstances. However, I can advise as much as you like. Let’s see to this vain bird, aye?”
Aylili glared at her and began, “He’s not…” before she thought about it.
Juniper snorted. “If Nimbus cor Evasta has abandoned his vanity he really is on his deathbed. What are you doing?”
Aylili sought for the most concise word and said, “Hunting.”
“For what?”
“Useful things.”
Juniper folded her arms and arched her eyebrows. “You might not like talking, vashakela, but there are times when you’ll have no choice. Before I’m done with you you’ll be able to speak appropriately when you have need.”
Aylili glared at her, furious, but knew some of her distress must show.
Juniper grinned at her. “That might work on Nimbus. I’m nastier. What useful things have you found?”
“Food,” Aylili said sulkily, gesturing at the tumbled heap of vegetables.
“Are you hungry right now?” Juniper asked.
Aylili shook her head.
“Put it all on the side, then, and we’ll cook later.”
Aylili glared. She had been coping alone and she didn’t see why this woman should appear out of nowhere and tell her what to do.
“I would help,” Juniper said quietly, studying her. “It’s beyond me, though.” She swung her hand down towards the tabletop and it passed through, pale and soft. “I’m not flesh and blood. Not now.”
She was stranded in the countryside. Nimbus thought she was her mother. And now she had a ghost in the kitchen. She was beginning to wish she had never left the roofs.
“Have you been giving him water?” Juniper asked. “You’ve done well with the wound but the thirst could kill him if he has a fever.”
Aylili shook her head and felt her wings sag. She couldn’t do this.
A touch as light as feathers brushed her cheek and she looked up to see Juniper had moved closer. “Everything will be alright,” she said gently. “Let’s look for a bucket. You’ll need one for clean water and one for washing. To be completely safe you should boil all the water you use on his wounds but we’ll deal with that later.”
A few more minutes of scavenging found two more usable buckets and a servicable tankard. Juniper spotted a tray tucked into the rafters. Aylili stepped outside to blow the dust off it and then loaded everything onto it.
“And the whiskey,” Juniper said.
“No,” Aylili said and folded her arms. She hadn’t spent all that time stopping Nimbus from drinking for this apparition to undo all her work.
Juniper was staring at her as if she was the ghost. After a moment she said, “I always thought your father was too stubborn to die. The three of them – they survived the Bridge. They survived Moradin. They survived the Ride. Do you know how few of the Ninth survived that? I didn’t survive that. Then the Dark took them anyway. Do you really think I’d help send Nimbus after them? Alcohol is an antiseptic. It will help keep his wound clean.” She swung away, rushing up the stairs. In the shadow, she would have looked solid, if her feet hadn’t been an inch above the floor.
To be continued....
So, that's what I'm up to. Anyone surprised?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-08-05 09:55 am (UTC)Very, very, very intriguing though, my dear! I'm loving this.
Favourite line - "I am too beautiful for that great a scar.” I am so pleased he never changes *beams*
That's about all I've got time to say for the moment, except thank you for posting this! *bounces* And you managed to make it not too gory, which, after some of the things you were talking about I was beginning to worry ;) Though it takes a lot to make me squeamish. Don't think even the maggots would have done that.
Poor Aylili, you're hard on that girl, you really are. Anyway, I'll come back when I've got more time.
Thank you! ^_^ Happy Friday!
no subject
Date: 2005-08-05 10:32 am (UTC)I've got a fairly iron stomach myself so I never know how bad something might be. After I managed to scare Joelle off with Wind's Road, I'm overcompensating with my warnings ;)
Nimbus is always Nimbus. I've got a faint niggling in the back of my mind about him, Devon and Maria in their earlier days but I'm crushing it. I've got enough Saisorhi to be going on with.
Happy Friday ^_^ (though only semi-happy - I'm back to work on Monday :( )
no subject
Date: 2005-08-05 05:20 pm (UTC)Where's the squeamish part? ;) I was fully expecting maggots after that warning.
Well, picked up a few nits but managed to brilliantly delete them. *sighs* I'm sure the keen eyes on Wyvern's will get 'em if you don't.
This was wonderful. Nimbus is priceless and it's great to see the connections between various pieces. Not doing too well on the coherency factor at present, so I'll just say I'm looking forward to the rest of this.
Enjoy your last few days of vacation! =(
no subject
Date: 2005-08-05 06:47 pm (UTC)I'm sure there are nits - I'm stretching my knowledge of flight and medicine to its utter limit.
There is a connecting thread between everything. It's a bit thin in places but it is there.
Hope you get through the rest of the afternoon in one piece. Hurrah for the weekend.
Two whole days of freedom. I am not looking forward to going back at all. Luckily these quiet days have given me a chance to make some important decisions. I can't do anything about them until the autumn but it's only a month away and I can cope with that.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-19 04:21 pm (UTC)Lucky Joelle left me a little comment on elfy or I'd have never known there was more. ^_^
OooOOoo. So now I am intruiged. ^_^ Is Bobcat Lynx's vashalar lady from whichever other story she was in??
(you are going to have to tell me the feminine version of vashalar cause I'm getting fed up with making glaring grammar (?) mistakes whenever I talk about the vashalar lady)
...
Anywho, me very much likes. ^_^ And you'll have to get round to writing some more. Cause Nimbus is just so lovely. ;)
no subject
Date: 2005-08-19 08:50 pm (UTC)Glad you like it. I managed a little bit more on the train today. I also finally figured out how to get them home as I was walking to the pub last night (had to walk the entire width of Cambridge so I had plenty of thinking time)
Poor, old Nimbus. I'm mean to them.
Did you spot the snippet about Aylili's parents? I think it's the entry after this one.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-20 02:34 pm (UTC)WHAT? JUNIPER IS IN WIND'S ROAD???
*runs off to scan and see where*
no subject
Date: 2005-08-20 02:41 pm (UTC)Oh, wait a sec. I knew that before.
*sighs*
Damn faulty memory.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 02:04 pm (UTC)Loved Nimbus's preoccupation with getting a scar. ;) And it was nice to spot Lynx's friend - I like Lia/Juniper/Bobcat. (Bobcat made me grin first time I read it ... there's a company over here that makes big earth-movers called Bobcats. I don't think that's what she's named for, though.)
My coherency is suffering a bit at this hour, so I'll just leave it with another 'I really liked it' and wait for some more ...
no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 05:18 pm (UTC)I still have mixed feelings about Lia. It took my years to get a grip on her and she's a very forceful character. I'm not sure if I'd like her in real life.
I've got more of this waiting to be typed up but I've run out of weekend now.
Thanks for reading.