Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3) (57 page)

He followed Seshone onto the ship and down a ladder into the hold. It was even worse than he’d expected. Hundreds of people packed the dim space, lying on pallets and in hammocks. A pervasive smell of vomit spoke of seasickness at best, rampant disease at worst. Urine, feces, and the sickly scent of decay added to the choking miasma. Only two other Keepers had accompanied Seshone, and although their haggard weariness suggested they’d labored without ceasing to tend their patients, their efforts hadn’t been enough to meet the needs of so many, most of whom were too weak to maintain their own hygiene.

Vigorre breathed as little as possible and listened as Seshone described how Keepers from every House of Mercy in Vidae had borne their worst cases to the ship. Cynically, Vigorre suspected they’d been eager to get rid of as many as possible. He tried to soften the verdict he gave Seshone as much as he could, but he saw only a few the wizards would be able to help. There were several consumptives, a handful with other communicable diseases, and more than a dozen with tumors. But the rest were all crippled or blind or otherwise damaged beyond repair, or suffering from conditions he recognized as being outside the wizards’ ability to heal.

Worst of all were the rows and rows of unconscious children. Seshone’s mouth twisted into a grim line as he surveyed them. “I doubt even demons or wizards can help these, but I couldn’t leave them behind. They suffer from sugared urine. It is common in Vidae. All we can do is make them as comfortable as we can manage while we wait for them to return to the Mother.”

Vigorre swallowed hard, suppressing nausea. “They’ll try, but for most you’re probably right. Once it progresses to loss of consciousness, their power is useless. They’ve been experimenting with another treatment with some success, but I doubt it will be able to help those who are so far gone.”

Seshone sighed. “I feared as much. Still, a faint hope was better than none. Will you help me arrange transport to the wizards for the ones you feel they will be able to help?”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll bring a wizard here. That way they won’t have to wait for the Matriarch’s permission. If she grants it. She’s quite possessive of the wizards. She might refuse to allow them to minister to Marvannans, even ones as pitiful as these.” Vigorre lowered his voice, although there was no one close enough to overhear. “If we act quickly, the deed will be done before she has a chance to forbid it.”

Seshone clapped him on the back and gestured to the ladder. “Go, my friend.”

Vigorre hurried ashore and through the city streets. The line at the Mother’s Hall wasn’t excessive, he saw with relief. The door guard admitted him with a nod, just as always.

If Elkan was still angry at him, he gave no sign. He greeted Vigorre with a pleased smile. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back. I’m very glad you decided to continue to work with us.”

Vigorre shrugged, uncomfortable at the welcome. “I’d have been here on time, but I noticed a strange ship coming into the dock.” He explained the situation to Elkan as succinctly as he could.

Elkan’s face settled into a grave expression as he listened. When Vigorre concluded with a plea for a wizard to visit the ship, he glanced at Kevessa, who was hard at work, and Borlen, who was grabbing a quick drink of water while he waited for Elkan to continue his instruction. “I suppose Borlen and Shadow can handle a few simple cases on their own. Anything too complex for Kevessa and Nina can wait until I get back. Give me a moment to make the arrangements.”

A few minutes later they were on their way to the dock. As they rounded the corner, Vigorre heard a voice hailing them. “Hey! Wait for us!”

Josiah raced up, Sar trotting at his side. “What’s going on? Can I come?”

Elkan pointed to the Marvannan ship. “More patients.” He caught his breath and turned to Vigorre. “You said there were diabetic children among them?”

“Many. But…” He grimaced and shook his head.

Elkan deflated, his hopeful expression turning bleak. “Maybe you’d better go back to the Hall, Josiah. Borlen really isn’t ready to work without supervision yet.”

Josiah hesitated. “Nalini finished a big batch of insulin this morning.” He indicated a leather pouch slung across his body. “I think she worked straight through Restday. I’ve got most of it with me so we can try it on our regulars. Maybe…”

Elkan gave a rueful shake of his head. “We shouldn’t waste it.”

Vigorre nodded reluctantly. “Seshone said most of them have been unconscious for days. A few died during the voyage.”

Elkan sighed. “The Mother’s power won’t be able to help them. I doubt the insulin will, either.”

Josiah’s jaw took on a stubborn set. “But it’s not the same as using the Mother’s power. That only works if not all the islands have died yet, so we can speed up the ones that are left. But even if they’re all dead, the insulin ought to work just fine.”

Elkan raised his eyebrows. “All right. I’ll let you try it on one of them. But don’t get your hopes up.”

That seemed to satisfy Josiah. He fell in with them as Vigorre led them to the docks.

Seshone’s eyes widened when he saw Tobi, and he kept a careful distance between himself and the mountain cat, but he exchanged polite introductions with the wizards and ushered them to the ladder that led down to the hold.

Tobi leaped down, but Sar balked. Josiah grimaced. “Sar’s staying up here for now. If we really have to we can bring him down, but it won’t be easy.” He scrambled down the ladder after Elkan. Vigorre followed them.

Elkan put a hand on Tobi’s back and together they walked up and down the rows, doing a quick survey. Vigorre could tell by his grim expression that their evaluation matched his.

When Elkan reached the diabetic children, he stopped by a pallet that held a young girl, only three or four years old. Her face and body were as gaunt as if she were starving. Elkan’s fingers dug into Tobi’s fur as he gazed down at her. Convulsively he raised his hand, and golden light spilled over the girl in a brilliant wave. But after only a few moments he clenched his fist and the light died, leaving Vigorre blinking dazzled eyes until his vision gradually returned.

Elkan’s voice was rough. “Josiah, let’s see if Nalini’s potion can do anything.”

Josiah dropped to his knees, shrugged the strap of the leather pouch over his head, and fumbled within. He pulled out an odd-looking metal contraption. “A smith Gevan works with put this together for us. He wants me to test it and give him suggestions for improvement.” He pulled a disk on a stem out of a tube and handed them both to Vigorre. “Hold this, will you?”

Vigorre accepted it, careful to avoid the long, sharp piece protruding from the other end like a slender nail. “This is the fang-needle you were talking about.”

“Yeah.” Josiah removed a wax stopper from a bottle and carefully poured some of its contents into the tube. He swore as the clear liquid overflowed the top and splashed on Vigorre’s hands. “Blast it, we don’t have enough to waste.” He took the tube, returned a little of the liquid to the bottle, and handed it back to Vigorre. “Put the plunger in the end.”

Vigorre attempted to do so as Josiah stoppered the bottle and put it away. It was a tight fit—if the metal disk was at even a slight angle it wouldn’t go in. But finally he got it aligned correctly and used the crossbar at the end of the stem to push it down into the tube. He echoed Josiah’s curse as a thin stream of liquid squirted out the end of the needle.

“Hey, it works,” Josiah said, taking it back from Vigorre. He pushed on the plunger, sending a bit more liquid out the needle. “That’s just what I was picturing. Hopefully with practice it won’t be so messy.” He looked at the girl and bit his lip. “Will you watch what happens, Master? I’m going to try to give her a little at a time so we don’t overdose her like we did with Thanna.”

Elkan murmured his assent. Tobi positioned herself at his side and golden light poured from his hand to envelope the girl.

Josiah pushed her sleeve up, revealing a painfully thin upper arm. He took a deep breath, grasped the tube, and touched the tip of the needle to the girls skin. He applied a little pressure, then a little more, until the sharp sliver of metal slid into her flesh as smoothly as a seamstress’s pin into cloth. The girl didn’t even twitch. Of course, she was so deeply unconscious she probably wouldn’t have moved if they’d stabbed her with a knife instead of a needle.

Vigorre held his breath as Josiah pushed down the plunger a bit with his other hand. Nothing seemed to happen. He followed Josiah’s glance to Elkan’s face.

The wizard’s eyes were closed. His brow furrowed. “I see what you mean about how it pools under the skin. I wonder if the same effect can be used for other substances? Perhaps Nalini’s poppy—” He broke off and his face stilled. Only his harsh breathing broke the hush.

After a long moment, Josiah spoke very quietly, “Master? Is it—”

Elkan gave a quick jerk of his head. “I can sense her blood changing, moving toward normal.” He kept his voice flat, only a tiny trace of hope leaking into his tone. “If the damage already done isn’t too great…”

Vigorre glanced at Seshone. The portly Keeper’s eyes were closed; his lips moved in silent prayer.

Vigorre wanted to join him, but he was torn. Surely the Mother would approve this experiment. It owed nothing to the demon’s power, only to the natural elements of her world, manipulated with skill but no malign forces.

What he didn’t understand was why the demons would want their slaves to create such a treatment. If successful, it would liberate people from dependence on their power. How would that serve their purpose? It could be like all their healing, designed to win trust and allegiance. Or it could be more proof that Elkan and Josiah and the other wizards didn’t know they were enslaved. The demons must not consider stopping their efforts worth revealing their true nature.

Agonized hope lit Elkan’s eyes. His voice was strained. “Give her a little more, Josiah.”

Josiah complied, easing the plunger down another fraction of an inch.

The girl’s face screwed up, and she emitted a thin, miserable cry. Her limbs started to flail. Josiah hastily pulled out the needle. Seshone hurried forward, dropped to his knees beside the girl, and gathered her into his arms. She wrapped her skinny arms around his neck, buried her face in his shoulder, and sobbed.

Elkan stared at her, breath coming fast, an expression of mingled shock, joy, and grief on his face. Josiah bounced to his feet in delighted excitement. “It worked! The insulin healed her!”

Elkan gulped. “When the Mother’s power couldn’t.” He drew a deep breath and gave his apprentice a shaky grin. “What are you waiting for? Get started on the others.”

“Yes, sir!” Josiah grabbed Vigorre’s arm and dragged him to the next pallet, where a teenage boy lay. He pressed the bottle of insulin into Vigorre’s hands. “I’m not sure how much is left in the needle. Can you be ready to help me refill it when I run out?”

“All right.” Vigorre crouched beside him. “Will it help if I hold his arm?”

“I think so. Let’s try it.” Josiah moved aside to give him room.

With experimentation, they worked out a smooth routine over the next few patients. Vigorre pushed up their sleeves and supported their arms, while Josiah manipulated the fang-needle. Every three patients they stopped and refilled the needle’s tube. Elkan and Tobi came behind, monitoring the recovering patients and making sure none of them had been overdosed. Several time he called them back to give an additional dose to a patient who hadn’t received quite enough.

Josiah chattered as they worked, oblivious to Vigorre’s silence. “It looks like the bigger a patient is, the more they need. I wonder if it’s age or size that makes the difference?” He waved the fang-needle in Vigorre’s face. “Look. If the smith adds something to brace my fingers against here, and a better place for my thumb at the end of the plunger, I bet I could use it with one hand. Then I could hold their arm with the other, so it would only take one person. Not that I don’t appreciate your help!” He flashed Vigorre a grin.

Vigorre nodded, and Josiah rambled on. “I’m getting better at estimating the dose. Elkan hasn’t had to call us back for a whole row. Of course, better to have to give them more than to give them too much at first. Although I’ve got some taffy in my pouch if we need it. Gevan bought all the candymaker had. She promised she’d have another batch ready for us by tomorrow.”

With amazing rapidity the deathly hush that had filled the hold of the ship was replaced by clamorous life. Babies and toddlers wailed. Older children blinked, dazed, as Seshone encouraged them to hold and comfort the little ones. Their voices rose, demanding to know where they were and what was going on. Elkan, Seshone, and the other two Marvannan Keepers strove to answer their questions and reassure them, but many of them continued to exclaim in confusion and fear, or cry for parents or siblings or pets or favorite toys.

Only a few of the oldest grasped the magnitude of what had happened to them. A young man who looked a few years older than Vigorre squeezed his hand. “They told me I was going to die.” He looked around with a shaky smile. “I don’t see anyone who looks like the Mother.”

Vigorre surveyed the crowded, noisy, stinking hold. Seshone and his two companions had their arms full of distraught children, crooning sympathy and solace. Josiah was holding court for anyone who would listen, explaining how diabetes worked and how the insulin replaced what their bodies lacked. Elkan and Tobi had moved to the far side of the hold, to where the patients with consumption lay. They knelt by one, golden light pouring from Elkan’s hand to swathe her in healing power.

Vigorre gulped. “No,” he said, his voice rough. He stared at the crouching mountain cat, no longer certain of anything. “Only her servants.”

thirty-Five

J
osiah yawned, stretched, and plopped onto the bench, eagerly eyeing the many pots and dishes being deposited on the table by palace servants. Apparently news of the Matriarch’s displeasure with the wizards hadn’t yet reached her cooks. Good thing. He intended to stuff himself. He deserved it after the incredible morning he’d had.