The Fate of the Fallen (The Song of the Tears Book 1) (53 page)

She was getting a headache, and her idle speculations were
no help, so she put them aside for another time and went on to Monkshart’s
other revelation, that her talent was strong but had been deliberately stunted.
It would be very difficult to learn at her age and she couldn’t help resenting
that.

Two days later they entered the vast, steamy rainforest
that ran north and south for fifty leagues, and east-west nearly as far. It was
easy walking for the most part, for the gigantic vine-clad trees cut off most
of the light and in consequence the leaf-covered ground supported only
scattered tree ferns and gigantic, unpleasant-looking fungi. They were
constantly slapping mosquitoes, and picking ticks and leeches off each other.

However, in these empty lands, which had been further
depopulated by the war, they often walked for days without seeing a soul, and
Maelys’s spirits rose the further they went. No people meant no watchers for
the God-Emperor and, since opening up, Thommel had become pleasant company. He
was also a quick and skilled hunter with a short bow, and they’d had fresh meat
nearly every day, which was just as well, for Maelys was still ravenous. She
was eating more than Thommel, though she often felt ill afterwards and
sometimes was weak from hunger a few hours later.

Five or six days into the rainforest, she woke in the middle
of the night with her stomach churning as though she’d eaten bad food. Not
wanting to disturb Thommel, she got up quietly, slipped out of the circle of
the firelight and stumbled a polite distance into the forest before throwing up
violently. Maelys raked leaves over the mess with one foot, went back and
washed her face, then slipped into her thin bedroll.

She slept at once, but woke not long after, alternately hot
and cold, with her belly churning painfully as if two cats were fighting in it.
She didn’t feel sick this time, but her stomach was in too much turmoil to lie
down, so she got up and began to walk back and forth, leaning backwards with
her hands folded over her belly because that was the least uncomfortable
position.

Her stomach felt hot and swollen. Having helped to look
after the clan’s animals since an early age, she knew that cattle could suffer
from bloat if they ate certain herbs in the wrong season, and if their bellies
weren’t punctured to let the gas out they would die. Could that be the matter
with her? It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

‘Maelys?’ Thommel was lying on his side, supported on one
elbow, looking up at her.

‘Just a pain in the stomach,’ she said, walking the other
way. She never wanted to trouble others. ‘I’m sure I’ll be all right in a
–’ Her stomach heaved so violently that she couldn’t control it and a
stream of vomit burst out of her mouth. She fell to hands and knees, retching
and retching until there was nothing left to bring up, by which time she could
only lie on her side, knees drawn up, gasping.

Thommel crouched beside her, holding her hand. She wanted
him to go away; she couldn’t bear for anyone to see her in such a state, but
was too weak to say so. Maelys just lay there, her stomach churning ever more
violently. Despite throwing up everything she’d eaten and drunk, it felt even
hotter and more swollen than before.

Eventually she started to feel a little better. Thommel
washed her face and hands with a wet cloth and held her up. ‘Must have been
something I ate,’ she whispered.

‘But you’ve eaten the same things as I have.’ He sat back.
‘You’re not pregnant, are you?
To Nish?
’

She wanted to laugh, but couldn’t manage it. ‘No,’ she said
faintly. Her throat felt raw.

‘Are you sure? It can take time to show –’

‘I’m a virgin, Thommel.’ Just saying that would have
embarrassed her, had it been Nish, but she felt so much more comfortable with
Thommel.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘And I don’t see how it can be food
poisoning, since we’ve eaten the same things ever since we left, though maybe
I’ve got a stronger stomach. Tell me exactly how you’re feeling.’

Maelys described her symptoms. He shook his head.

‘I don’t understand it. Stand up. I want to look at you.’.

He had to help her up, and hold her up once she was on her
feet, for her knees were wobbling. He looked her over, pulled up her shirt and
felt her stomach, then knelt and put his ear to it.

It tickled and now Maelys did feel uncomfortable. She tried
to pull away. ‘I’m sure I’ll be all right in the morning.’

‘Stay there.’ He put one arm around her back and pulled her
towards him until her belly compressed against the side of his head. Her
stomach began to churn even more violently. ‘You’ve got a bug!’ He stood up.

‘Well, obviously,’ she muttered. ‘A stomach bug, but I’ll
soon be over it. I hardly ever get sick.’

‘Not this one. Lie down. I’ve got to get it out.’

 
THIRTY-EIGHT

She lay down, then lurched up again. ‘You’re not going
to cut me open or puncture me like a bloated cow, are you?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he said in the infuriatingly soothing way
in which healers speak to sick people. ‘Wait here. I just need to find the
right herb. It’s a common one, fortunately.’ He thrust a branch into the fire
until it was well ablaze and, holding it up, walked into the forest.

Maelys lay down, more worried than before. What did he mean
by ‘Get it out?’ Her stomach was still swelling so she got up, though she could
find no position that wasn’t acutely uncomfortable.

Thommel was gone for hours and by then she was finding it
increasingly difficult to breathe, for her distended belly was squashing her
lungs and she could not draw in enough air. What was happening to her? She
began to think that she was going to die.

She heard his pounding feet long before he got there.
Shortly he burst into the firelight, carrying a blazing strip of bark. The
branch must have burned away hours ago. ‘Sorry,’ he gasped. ‘I was looking for
slugwort. Usually you see it everywhere, but I must have walked two leagues
before I found any.’ He threw the bark into the fire and listened to her
stomach again.

‘Slugwort?’ She felt even sicker. ‘I haven’t a slug inside
me?’

‘Of course not,’ he said, though he looked more anxious than
before. ‘Just hang on. I won’t be long.’ He drew a clump of blue-green herb
from his pocket. The tiny, shiny leaves reflected the light in crescents. ‘It’s
tough and I’ve got to chop it up or it will pass through without doing any
good.’

Maelys knew a lot about herb lore but she didn’t recognise
this one. She sat down, leaned back to ease the pressure on her lungs and
watched while he chopped the slugwort finely on a metal plate, going over and
over it, then stirred it into a mug of cold tea.

‘I’ll swirl it around to keep the slugwort suspended, then I
want you to drink the lot in a single gulp; all right?’

‘Why in a single gulp?’ said Maelys, anxious again. ‘Just
drink it. The sooner you do, the sooner I can get on with it.’ He was swirling
the contents as he spoke.

‘Get on with what?’

‘If you’re not going to cooperate, I’ll have to hold your
nose as if you’re a little kid.’

Maelys managed a smile, for she’d often done that while
helping Aunt Haga dose the small children of the clan for the winter. She
nodded and held out her hand obediently. He gave the mug a final swirl and she
poured it down in one swallow.

She’d expected it to taste revolting but the herb had no
more flavour than grass. It was like drinking a cup of tea leaves, and some
stuck to her teeth and the roof of her mouth. She licked them off, swallowed,
then felt an agonising pain in her stomach, which began to churn as if a lizard
were leaping around inside it.

Maelys reached out blindly, caught Thommel’s hand and
squeezed it so tightly that he had to clench his jaw. ‘What is it? What’s the
matter with me? Am I going to die?’

Thommel’s hesitation was tiny, but it was there. ‘Why would
you think that?’

‘Don’t tell me any lies! If there’s something badly wrong
with me I’ve got to know.’

‘You’ve got a bug inside you, and it’s growing fast. Wild
meat sometimes has the eggs in it, and if it’s not cooked through they can
survive.’

She felt sick, disgusted, and very, very cold. ‘What kind of
a bug?’

‘It’s called a slurchie. It’s not common here; I’ve only
seen it once before. I should have warned you to be careful, and not eat any
meat that was still pink inside.’

‘That’s the way I like it,’ she said quietly.

‘Me too, but –’

‘And when you saw a slurchie before, what happened?’.

Thommel paused. ‘The man who had it died. How does your
stomach feel now?’

‘It’s still churning, though not as much. But it doesn’t
hurt any more.’

‘Good. That means the herb’s working. It numbs the organs to
pain. I’d better get to work before …’ He got up and began to rifle through his
pack, pulling things out and tossing them on the ground.

Maelys didn’t ask what he was doing, for she didn’t think he
would tell her. She’d never heard the name slurchie before but it sounded
nasty. Thommel had a length of thin cord and was weaving and knotting something
on the end, like an open basket about the size of a large lemon. He finished
his work, examined it carefully then rolled it into a ball between his palms
and came across bearing another mug of water.

He handed her the ball, which had an arm’s length of cord
trailing from it, but held onto the free end. ‘Swallow this with as much water
as you can drink.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Quickly. There’s not much time left.’

Maelys didn’t see how it could work, or even how she could
get the ball down, but she took it into her mouth with half a mug of water and
swallowed. The water went down but the string caught in the back of her throat.
She gagged and began to heave it up, but Thommel held her mouth open and poured
the rest of the mug down her throat, and she felt the string go down further.

He ran for more water. She swallowed it and the ball of cord
went the rest of the way. He held onto the end. It felt horrible, the cord
running up the back of her throat, and she was constantly suppressing the urge
to heave.

‘Just keep taking tiny sips if it troubles you,’ he said.
‘How’s your stomach now?’

‘Hardly churning at all.’

‘Oh!’ She’d thought that would be good news but he looked
grave. ‘Well, I’m sure it’ll be all right.’

He didn’t sound confident and Maelys, who could only imagine
what was going to happen if it wasn’t all right, felt sick.

‘Lie down, Maelys. Pull your shirt up.’

She lay on her back and drew her shirt up above her stomach.
He got down beside her, put his ear to her belly and kept moving it around,
listening. He frowned, pushed her left breast up out of the way and listened to
the top of her stomach, then did the same to the right. She didn’t protest; for
the moment he was a healer and she was just a body to him.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Sit up and turn over. I need you on
hands and knees, bum up as high as it will go, head down until your forehead
touches the ground.’ She complied, feeling most undignified. ‘Now, straighten
the curve of your back. Your belly’s a bit compressed and we don’t want that.’

She did so. Her lower back immediately began to ache, but
she ignored it.

‘Ready?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, feeling very afraid. With his free
hand he stroked her hair and she felt better. She had confidence in Thommel. If
it could be done, he would do it. And if not, well, people often got sick and
died for no discernible reason. That was fate.

‘Now I’m going to draw out the cord, really slowly. Stay
calm and don’t move, no matter what happens – or no matter how much it
hurts. Can you do that?’

She nodded, almost imperceptibly. He stroked her hair again
and she felt a calm descend on her, a kind of peace.

Thommel began to pull on the cord, ever so gently, taking up
the slack. Maelys felt vaguely nauseous. The cord grew taut. He drew on it even
more carefully, frowned, eased off the tension and pulled it taut again.

‘I’m not sure,’ he replied to her unasked question. He eased
off, pulled taut, eased off, pulled taut. ‘Ahhh! I think – yes. I’m sure
I’ve got it.’ He pulled harder, drawing a finger-joint length of cord from her
mouth. Something flipped back and forth in her lower belly and she felt a
twinge of pain. This time it was like a spiny eel thrashing on a line.

Her lower back was throbbing now and it was growing ever
harder to hold it straight against the curve of her backbone. The backs of her
legs were aching too, and the muscles in her neck. She began to feel shaky. How
long was this going to take?

‘You’re doing well, really well. It won’t be long now.’

Unfortunately Maelys knew he was lying; that it had barely
started. It was the kind of soothing nonsense healers said all the time, yet it
did make her feel better. She wasn’t in it alone. Thommel was looking after
her.

He eased out a finger’s length of cord. The slurchie flipped
again, as if it were trying to tie itself in a knot. It was in her upper
stomach now, which had not been numbed by the slugwort, for she felt such an
agonising pain there that she let out a stifled gasp.

Thommel eased off at once, wrapped the cord around his
finger several times, then took her face in his hands and kissed the top of her
head. It was just a healer’s kiss, nothing in it, but she felt better at once.

‘Have you done this before, Thommel?’

‘No. Are you afraid that I don’t know what I’m doing?’

‘I have every confidence in you.’

‘I wish I did,’ he said under his breath. ‘Ready to try
again?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

This time it was even worse, but she managed to endure it.
It’s good pain, she told herself. It proves that whatever he’s doing is
working.