Badgerblood: Awakening Page 7

  Kor gave a shout and arched his back. “A little warning would have been nice,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Sorry, lad,” Eliker said cheerfully. “I thought the anticipation would hurt worse.”

  Kor snorted and blinked back tears. “Not blithering likely.”

  Allinor’s stomach wrenched in sympathy. Healer’s bite, aptly named, was an alcohol-vinegar disinfectant that burned like fire on open wounds. Kor clutched the pendant at his neck and crossed his arms over the chair. He pressed his head against them as his fingers dug into his flesh, leaving crescent-shaped dents in his skin.

  “Almost done,” Eliker said. Tossing the dirty rag aside, he picked up the second bottle. A greasy, yellowish-green paste slid out into his hand and he rubbed it over Kor’s back. A putrid scent filled the air, like Kor’s horrible rotten-fish smell, but milder. Allinor wrinkled her nose.

  “Sun-dipped dragroot,” Serah said, noticing her reaction. “Good for healing.”

  Allinor had seen the plant around Perabon. “Smells awful.”

  “Smells better than it would without dandyweed mixed in,” Eliker said. “Marvelous plant, that. Most villagers here just eat it, dandyweed. I mix it with dragroot. Makes an effective healing paste. Counters the odor, too.”

  “He mixes it with everything, including his wash water,” Serah confided in a loud whisper. She and Allinor shared a laugh.

  Kor straightened as Eliker smeared the last of the paste over his back. Much of his tension had already melted away. The girls bound him with the sheet strips and Eliker washed the blood from his hands with a clean rag.

  When the miller was finished, he folded his arms and leaned back against the table, eyeing Kor. “Should be good to go in a few days as long as you take it easy now.”

  “Don’t have a few days,” Kor said, helping to wind the strips around his torso. “Got a borlan to bring in and Peter will be waiting.”

  “Let him wait.” Eliker pushed off the table and walked to the hearth behind Kor.

  A stack of roughly carved mugs sat on the floor beside the fire. Eliker snatched one up and dipped it in the boiling water pot, then turned his back on the others. Allinor tilted her head and leaned to one side, trying to see what he was doing. From his shirt, he snuck a flat, pint-sized copper flask and drizzled a milky liquid into the mug.

  Still at the table, Kor knotted the last of the strips at his chest. Then he folded the blood-crusted leather bandage that had been lying in his lap. Once it was belt-width again, he secured it around his waist and stood.

  Eliker hastily stuffed the flask back in his shirt and reached into a pouch on his belt. He sprinkled a healthy pinch of herbs into the mug of steaming water and held it out to Kor. “Bitki? The tillys haven’t steeped long, but they’ll still work to ease your injuries.”

  Kor frowned at the herb pouch on Eliker’s belt and tucked his pendant into the bandage strips at his front. “Those tillys were for you.”

  Eliker rolled his eyes. “I didn’t use them all.”

  Ignoring the mug of bitki, Kor made for the door, but the miller reached it before him and laid a hand on the bolt. Allinor watched as she and Serah wound the sheet strips into wads.

  “I have to go, Eliker,” Kor said, “but Len could use a place to stay.”

  Uncertain what to say, Allinor hesitated in her work. She was tired, and she had wanted to spend a night on her own. But the miller’s cottage seemed crowded enough as it was and there only appeared to be one mattress.

  Eliker’s gaze flicked to her. “Len, eh?”

  Her face went red as she realized she had neglected to give them a name. They hadn’t asked for one.

  “She’s welcome as long as she likes,” Eliker said, but he didn’t drop his hand from the bolt.

  The two men glared at each other, then Kor shook his head and lowered his voice. Allinor strained to listen.

  “I can’t risk it, Eliker. Not with that price on my head.”

  “Serah and I will be fine,” the miller said, matching Kor’s whisper. “There are fewer soldiers here this week. Word is, most have relocated to the crop village. Some poor blighter’s convinced his friends to steal from the king’s crops for themselves. Can’t say I blame them with taxes the way they are,” he grumbled. “Anyway, you’ll be safe here.”

  “But there are still soldiers,” Kor said. “And Tib knows I’m in the village.” He shook his head. “I won’t put you and Serah in that kind of danger.”

  “Thought you’d say that.” Eliker sighed in defeat. “Alright, leave if you must. But at least drink the bitki before you go.” He lifted the mug. “It’s bad manners to refuse a friend’s hospitality.”

  Kor pried Eliker’s hand from the bolt. “I’ve stayed long enough, my friend. Besides,” he said, scowling at the mug, “tillys are hard to come by.”

  Eliker smiled, a little too innocently Allinor thought. “Come now, Kor, they grow everywhere in the forest. You said so yourself.” He pressed the cup into Kor’s hands.

  “Everywhere along the deepest parts of the river,” Kor said stiffly, pushing it away and drawing back the bolt.

  “You can barely stand,” Eliker protested.

  “I’m well enough off.”

  “Stop.” Allinor threw her wad of strips on the table and marched up between them. She slapped her hand on the door and glared at Kor. “Do as he says.”

  Kor met her gaze, his expression firm, resolute. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Oh, but it does,” she shot back. “You saved my life. I’m trying to return the favor.” This hermit had suffered enough today because of her impulsive actions. Now he was headed back to that cursed forest, badly injured and barely rested. “Do as he says,” she said slowly and deliberately.

  Eliker held the mug out around Allinor. “Remember,” he said in a sing-song voice. “Bad manners.”

  Kor set his jaw, like a tot refusing his vegetables.

  Ridiculous, Allinor thought, taking the mug and shoving it into his hands. “Drink,” she said, holding Kor’s gaze.

  Beneath her hard stare, Kor’s stubbornness seemed to melt away and a serene, empty look took its place. Without further ado, he accepted the cup, blew, and drank deeply.

  Allinor blinked, startled. She had expected more resistance. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Serah, who was tucking wads of strips and the bottles into the satchel, give her a strange look. Eliker had moved around to Allinor’s side and was staring at her, too. Allinor glanced at him. He drew back warily then looked at Kor, who was sipping complacently at the mug. For a moment, Eliker hesitated, then he shrugged and took Kor’s arm. As they turned from Allinor and walked toward the table, determination seemed to trickle back into the forester’s placid figure. When they approached a chair, he grew rigid and refused to be seated.

  “I’ll just drink this and be on my way,” Kor said, sounding confused. He sipped, wrinkled his nose, and peered into the mug. Leafy clumps floated on the surface. “What is this?” he said, narrowing his eyes at Eliker.

  “Bitki,” the miller said.

  Kor sipped again, hands and shoulders drooping.

  Eliker took the cup and set it on the table. “You look tired.”

  “Tired,” Kor said, repeating the word.

  Serah gave her father a sharp look as she gathered the satchel and remaining untorn sheets. Then she disappeared through the sheet-door.

  Apparently ignoring the look, Eliker took Kor’s arm. Allinor took the other and they walked Kor toward the mattress.

  “Bitki,” Kor said, blinking and squinting at Eliker as though trying to focus. “You—put something—in the bitki.” The words were thick and heavy. Concern gnawed at Allinor, but she kept calm.

  Eliker raised an eyebrow. “Of course—tillys. It’s tilly bitki. Can’t have bitki without herbs.”

  A light flickered in Kor’s dull eyes. He grasped at the lump in his bandages, his pendant, and shoved Eliker and Allinor away as he turned for
the door. “I have—to go.” He swayed, bumping into the table and knocking over a chair before Eliker caught his elbow.

  “There’s time for a little nap, Kor,” he said smoothly.

  “Littulnap,” Kor said, slurring the words as his legs began to fold.

  The miller grabbed the back of Kor’s belt to keep him upright. Allinor drew Kor’s arm over her shoulders and they turned back to the bed. Kor took a step and stiffened. He jerked his arm from Eliker and pointed an accusing finger. “Youchrickedme.”

  Eliker pulled the finger over his shoulders and adjusted his grip on Kor’s belt. “You’d do the same for me, I’m sure,” he said in a friendly tone.

  They closed the gap to the mattress and Allinor slipped out from under Kor’s arm.

  Kor made one last protest as Eliker lowered him to the bedding. “Iss-toorisky.”

  “Nonsense,” Eliker said. “Just lie down, that’s right,” he said in a soothing singsong and drew his hand over Kor’s drooping eyes, encouraging them to close.

  “What’s going on?” Serah’s voice carried sharply across the room.

  Allinor and Eliker glanced up. Serah stood in front of the sheet-door, hands on her hips, glaring at her father.

  “He changed his mind. Nothing to worry about,” Eliker said.

  No sooner had he said it than Kor muttered a string of unintelligible words. Serah’s gaze swept the room and found the empty mug at the table. She strode toward it and scraped her finger around the inside, licking the dregs and scrunching up her face. “Lumbmilk… Papa.” Her voice rose in warning. “You promised.”

  The miller avoided her gaze as he rose. “The lad needs rest. Thinks he’s got more stamina than a forest stag.”

  Allinor pulled the covers over Kor and stood, looking from Eliker to Serah in concern. “What’s lumbmilk?”

  Kor spouted another string of unintelligible words that ended in a soft snore.

  Eliker grinned. “Just a little persuasive drink. It’s harmless really. Not too different from what you pulled, I imagine.” He paused. “You’re a charmer.”

  Allinor eyed him. It was a strange way of saying it—like a fact. She couldn’t tell if he was joking so she didn’t reply. She hadn’t been very charming that evening, getting Kor into trouble.

  “Lumbmilk,” Serah explained, giving Eliker another look, “blocks pain. Larger doses numb the will and cause intoxication rather quickly. Papa uses it in small quantities for his joints when the tilly bitki isn’t enough. Kor rarely takes it. In all the years we’ve known him, he’s only had it three times. He actually asked for it the second time, he was in so much pain. The third time, he refused, but we snuck it in his broth. After that, it was easy to persuade him to sleep. When he realized what had happened, he was furious. Made us promise never to use it on him again without his permission…Papa.”

  “He’ll forgive me in the morning,” Eliker said. Then, to Allinor, he repeated more firmly, “You are a charmer.”

  She smiled uncertainly and glanced at Kor’s sleeping form. “You wouldn’t say that if you were him.”

  10

  Peter plopped his cloak bundle down in the purple ferns and a slab of raw borlan meat slid out from the stack. This was his third trip back with the meat, and his last for the night. A wall of brambles and nettles rose before him. Thorns as wide as his little finger, and longer, glinted in the starlight. This barrier separated his hut in the clearing from the rest of the forest. Now it barred his way back to the hut.

  But he and Kor had cleared a tunnel through the wall, then rigged a triangular-framed structure to control passage through it. The structure had a long board-roof that could be raised and lowered like a seesaw to permit or restrict entry to the tunnel. When the forest end was lowered and latched in place, the clearing end was automatically raised, and vice versa. Brambles and nettles covered the board-roof so that the entire framework was hidden in the thorny wall. At the center of the tunnel was a latched door. This served as the axis point for the roof, and an extra precaution to prevent animals from getting into the clearing. The tunnel had to be regularly cleared to prevent the wall from overrunning the space.

  Once, years back, Peter had tried working his way through the wall itself, but the thorns had torn his flesh and the flaming nettle left him burning and itching for hours after. He and Kor had made special borlan-hide clothes just to clear the tunnel in the first place. Even then they ended up with deep cuts and burning rashes.

  Hunching under Kor’s cloak, Peter rubbed warmth back into his arms. Since he hadn’t met up with the lad yet, he had continued wearing his cloak and used his own to haul the meat back. He dropped to his knees and found a long wooden pole lying in front of the brambles. Setting it beside him, he felt for the two copper catches on the end of the board. They were half an arm span apart and latched onto two hooks attached to a root in the ground. Peter pushed back on the catches with his thumbs, slipped his gloved fingers under the bramble-covered board, and lifted. It seesawed up with a heavy creak. The forest end was heavier, layered with extra planks of wood to weigh it down. This would prevent it from swinging up if the catches broke or came undone when Peter and Kor weren’t there.

  Using the pole, Peter propped up the board and dusted off his hands. He reached for his cloak bundle and Spart backed away with the loose slab of meat. The woodsman made no attempt to take it back. The badger had earned the treat. On their trips to and from the borlan corpse that evening, Spart had fought off three venomous silverfangs. Peter lugged his load into the tunnel, Spart following. Thorns and flaming nettles rose on either side. Behind them was the forest; ahead and beyond lay the door to the clearing.

  Peter set his bundle by the door before walking back to lower the board-roof. He kicked out the pole and backed away from the shrinking opening as he lowered the board. The latches settled into place with a click. There was a cord attached to each latch that passed through its own hole in the board. The cords were knotted at one end to keep them from slipping out of the hole. With this setup, Peter and Kor could pull on the knotted ends to unlatch and raise the board from inside the tunnel.

  It was pitch dark in the space now, and he crawled back to the door to avoid walking into the thorny, nettley walls. Spart was waiting for him. The door had the same latch and cord mechanisms as the board. However, the door’s two latches were situated on the right side of the door, above and below where a handle should have been. Peter pushed down on them with his thumbs to open the door. Beyond, the tunnel opened into the clearing with its board-roof slanting up toward the exit. He grabbed his bundle of meat and followed Spart out, closing the door behind him.

  Thousands of stars winked down at him, bathing the clearing in a diamond-like twinkle. Peter cocked his head back to take it in. Several streaked shyly away through the heavens. The sky was beautiful at night. Beautiful and safe. The only truly safe thing about the Timberland at night.

  And Kor was out under it.

  Sighing, Peter made his way around to the back of the hut. His young protege had not been at the site of the dead borlan when Peter had reached it, nor had he left a message beyond the strings on Spart’s legs. All that evening, Peter had patiently gathered borlan meat, hoping that Kor would show. He hadn’t.

  The woodsman dropped his cloak bundle on the ground and knelt before a mound in the earth. As Spart settled a short distance away to eat his borlan meat, Peter worked at the mound, dragging aside layers of moss, straw, and furs. The task kept him warm in the crisp air. In the distance, an undulating growl sounded, followed by a hissing shriek. Peter glanced at the trees. Somewhere in the forest, a borlan was fighting a silverfang. Silverfangs often preyed on young borlan cubs. They were one of the few predators in the Timberland that could rival the beasts. Their teeth could puncture borlan hide, and their venom could slow a full-grown borlan; venom usually had no effect on the creatures.

  Again, Peter’s thoughts turned to Kor, somewhere out there, delaying his return. Stars protect
him. Goodness knows I’ve done all I can.

  Ever since Kor was a lad, Peter had been looking after him. The woodsman had come across him one day while hunting. Kor had been half-conscious and washed up along the forest river farther north. Spart had been there, too, fending off the boy’s attacker, a sleek, long-tailed guayvan with retractable venomous fangs. The web-footed creatures lived in certain parts along the bank of the forest border river. Their scaly jade bodies flecked with emerald feathers looked like skinny, fern-covered logs in the reeds.

  Peter had taken Kor in and nursed him back to health. Spart had followed and remained with them ever since. Unfortunately, the guayvan venom had caused Kor to forget his past life—even his true name was a mystery—and the memory flower had done little to help. That had been years ago now.

  Still, Peter had his suspicions. He thought he knew who Kor was, yet he couldn’t be certain. A pendant was no proof. Shifting would be better evidence. And if Kor shifted, Peter would reconsider what to do. But until then… The lad’s reckless enough as it is. He’d probably be fool enough to make himself known and that would be the death of him. Course, he’s wanted for murder anyway.

  He swept aside the last layer of straw revealing a trapdoor, and threw it open with the door-knocker handle. Lantern glow greeted him from the narrow, earthen stairwell below. He grabbed his cloak bundle and headed down, closing the trapdoor after him to keep Spart out. Once too often, the badger had snuck in and spoiled the food.

  The cellar housed meat and vegetables. Most of the meat had been dried and prepared with a special mixture of spicer venom and other herbs to keep it from going bad. However, the preservative did not work as well on the vegetables. The consistently cool temperature underground and varying layers of moss and straw served them better.

  The beam-enforced storage room at the base of the steps was lined with straw. Three fur-draped entryways in each of its walls led to other rooms. Peter unloaded the meat from his borlan-hide cloak and rubbed the slabs down with spicer preservative. Later, he would dry them and spicer them down again. In one corner sat two more stacks of fresh meat from his trips that evening. Meat he had brought in by himself. There was still more to retrieve, but it would have to wait. He had risked enough bringing back the last two bundles in the dark. Alone. Without Kor.