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40
AEDON
Aedon sent his awareness out into the forest. Nothing. The trees were a light of life against the black of the rocks surrounding them. And yet—there. A pulse. The faintest glow of life dotted around them. In the huts, he realised. Aedon’s heart beat quicker and his hand tightened on his weapon, ready to meet the threat, before his grip slackened again.
“There are people here, but they are—” Ill? Dying? He did not know. “They need help.” Aedon sheathed his weapon and rushed toward the dwellings.
“Wait.” Brand’s command rang through the cold air. He pointed toward the doors. They had been marked with a giant “X” across the weathered, greying wood. It had already darkened and dried. As Brand leaned closer and touched it carefully, little black flecks flaked off. “Plague.”
Every door had been painted thusly. Aedon drew close, touching the markings. When it came off on his fingers, he thoughtfully rubbed it between his finger and thumb, holding it close to his nose and sniffing. “Ash and mud.”
“It’s the same here, Aedon. What does it mean?” Brand looked on edge as he circled, his back toward the group, casting all his attention outward for some sign of life.
“It means it is catching… and that we might be too late.” His shoulders slumped for a moment, but only a moment. “We need to search the village from top to bottom. There may be survivors here.”
“They’re hiding,” said Erika in a low voice. She pointed at a window. A shutter swayed, but there was no wind to move it.
Brand strode over and threw open the door, his weapon ready. He had to stoop in order to enter the small dwelling, then he backed out, such little room was there inside. “One female. Alive, but weak. And most definitely ill. Aedon, you need to see this.”
Aedon rushed over. Harper followed. It was a dank hovel, with a bare earth floor, and a bed made of furs and rough, woven cloth. The pallet was lumpy. He realised with a start that not one, but three lay within the folds of the blankets.
It was dark, the only light entering through the doorway. Cold ash lay in the small hearth. A woman’s small frame was barely noticeable under the pile of blankets covering her, and her children less so, curled into her sides. Her gaunt face loomed in the shadows as Aedon approached. Her eyelids fluttered weakly. Without touching her, he knew she burned up with fever. He felt it raging through his blood, his entire body wanting to recoil. The children’s almost lifeless faces were pale ghosts in the dark as they stirred a little. Ragnar followed Aedon in. Taking his pack from his shoulders, he rummaged through it for medicinal supplies.
“They don’t need those,” Aedon said softly. “Open your mouths. I have the antidote.”
They offered themselves to him like chicks in a nest waiting to be fed, and he carefully gave each of them just one drop of the precious liquid. “Rest. You’ll feel better tomorrow,” he said before turning away. “Ragnar and Harper, fetch water. Erika, Brand, if it is as I fear, then the rest of the village is also like this, and those unaffected have fled.” He did not voice aloud the thought that filled his stomach with lead. And we do not have enough aleilah to treat them all.
Harper and Ragnar collected water from the village well as everyone else swept the village until every abode had been checked. Harper, Ragnar, and Aedon worked long into the night, whilst Brand and Erika stood guard, watching either end of the village in the fog and eerie silence. Ragnar’s skills were utterly tested as he worked until his eyes reddened with tiredness, Harper helped to make their patients comfortable, and Aedon used every fibre of magic he had until fatigue dragged his limbs down. Still, they could not turn the tide of the fever raging through the victims who were left.
That evening, the five huddled around a fire that was too small to truly warm them. All were stiff and numb with cold.
“There’s only one cure I know,” Aedon said to the others. He pulled the stoppered vial from his breast.
“There’s not enough,” Ragnar said dully.
“I know,” Aedon replied. He rubbed his creased brow with a hand. “It’s spread so quickly. We don’t have enough to cure everyone, and there’s nothing else we can do to help them. Damn. I should have stayed. I should have tried to get more.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Brand said. “That you managed to procure any aleilah at all is a miracle. Anyone who receives it will be grateful.”
“But we don’t have enough,” whispered Aedon. “How do we choose who receives it and who…” He trailed off, but he did not need to finish. They all knew what he did not dare say.
“Women and children first,” Ragnar said. “As always. If there is any left, the men may partake.”
“There is not even enough for that.” Aedon looked into the small vial. Somehow, it seemed tinier and emptier than before, as though it carried the last dregs and nothing more.
“Then the young ones first,” said Ragnar, hanging his head in sadness.
Erika stirred. “We can still make them comfortable.”
“We need to tend to everyone.” Aedon could not deny the reality of the situation—but he would not give up whilst there was still something to be done. “No doubt they are all in a state of severe weakness and will not eat or drink properly. Brand, help me distribute the water. Harper, can you and Ragnar look around, see if there is any food to be had in the houses? Erika, see what bounty the forest holds. Then we can decide who is most in need of the cure.”
Ragnar clapped Aedon on the back. “Don’t be hard on yourself, brother. It’s not your fault.”
Aedon grimaced. That was easier said than done. Every person he met gazed at him with such hope in their eyes—and he saw the moment it guttered out when they realised he had failed them. Every time, it was a punch to his gut. A personal failure. Not one death was acceptable. Not one. And there were already three fresh graves marked with cairns at the edge of the village since they had left. He could not bear to ask who they belonged to.
They had little time to dally. Whilst Aedon and Brand returned to the dwellings, Harper, Ragnar, and Erika set about collecting firewood and anything edible, distributing it amongst those who were ill and setting fires in hearths to warm the cold homes through.
The young woman Aedon had tended first woke before the others. “Thank you,” she said weakly, her face drawn and her pallor grey. “It burns through my blood. I feel it even now, but by whatever grace you have given me, I sense it slipping away.”
