The Glass Arrow(73)

“No. Not now,” I whisper. The Trackers are near and my family is close and I’m finally, finally free, and now the one person I owe everything to is hurt. It’s the stupidest thing, but I’m so mad at him right now I could scream.

Daphne brings me water from Kiran’s canteen, and I dribble some in Kiran’s mouth.

“Swallow,” I order. He doesn’t listen. The water leaks down his chin.

“Hey!” I give his shoulder a little shake. “Quit it, Kiran. This isn’t funny.” I don’t know why I say this; I know he isn’t playing. I’m just sick that he hasn’t woken yet.

“I should have been sold.” Daphne’s sunk against the far wall. She’s filthy. Her arms are wrapped around her knees and she’s rocking like a child. “I’d be living in a nice house right now, with food and blankets and a warm bed, if not for that buyer.”

“Shut up, Daphne.”

“My father will take me back. I was the favorite of all his girl children. You have to bring me back to the city.”

“Shut up!”

“I shouldn’t be here.” Her voice cracks. “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here.”

I’m on my feet in a flash, and before she knows what’s hit her, I’ve tossed the rest of the water in her face. She sputters, her wide green eyes looking up at me like I’m crazy.

“Go then! Get out of here!” I say. “I hope they catch you.”

I fall back to my knees and begin digging through my supplies. Meal supplement pills. Bloodroot to make a sleeping draught. Purslane for a headache. The needle and thread I stole from the Pips—that’s helpful. I need horseradish to make an antiseptic. And I need it now.

Daphne’s risen and is pacing, and I can see the struggle darkening her perfect, freckleless face. She wants to leave, but she’s too scared to chance it on her own.

I tear out of the cave, keeping to the streambed. While filling the canteen, I scan the water’s edge for small white flowers. We’ve passed a hundred of the plants since entering the mountains, but when I need one, it’s nowhere to be found.

A crackling of twigs behind me startles me, and I jump. It’s just Daphne. She’s following me like a little kid.

“White flowers,” I tell her. “Small, about this size.” I make a tight circle with my thumb and first finger.

We comb the water’s edge together. She pulls up all sorts of plants and weeds, but none of them are right. Finally, I spot the right one. I tear three green stalks from the ground, shake off the bugs, and run back to the cave. Outside, I grab two rocks: one flat, the size of my hand, and another oval shaped, then set to work, grinding the stalk of the plant into the rock until it creates a soft milky residue. When it’s done, I pour water over Kiran’s wounds, trying to clear out the bad blood. He shivers, and I cringe—the sun is beginning to fall, and soon it will be cold.

“Look!” Daphne points down at his face from over my shoulder. “He’s trying to say something.”

His lips are moving, just a bit. I tilt my ear over his mouth, but there’s no sound.

“Fever dreams,” I say. Just like my ma had near the end.

With the horseradish ready, I take a deep breath. I need to remove the infected skin, otherwise it’s going to spread. I saw my ma do this once when Bian cut his knee, but that was ten years ago or more.

If ever I needed Mother Hawk it’s now.

Even though there’s Trackers still out looking, I light a small fire on dry leaves. The blade is sharpened, cleaned. Time is going too fast. I wish it would slow down. I wish I didn’t have to do this.

Daphne argues weakly before crawling away.

I set my teeth, and carve into Kiran’s skin, removing the graying crevice of flesh. With a blanket from his bag, I wipe away the blood. He wakes up briefly, mouth open in a silent scream, and then falls unconscious. Beads of sweat mixed with tears drip into my work, and I wipe those away too. Thankfully, the infection is not everywhere, and I am rid of it quickly.

I thread the needle with focused hands and sew the wound shut, leaving big spaces between each tiny X to ensure I have enough thread to go the entire length. Fresh blood blossoms over his pale skin. I slop the horseradish poultice over the entire area. Some honey would be a good sealant, but I don’t have any. Another quick trip to the stream, and I’ve cleaned the wrapping and wrung it out.

I hesitate before turning back to our camp. My stomach twists. My skin crawls. The blood runs cold, numbing my fingers. I stuff the extra length of my shirtsleeve into my mouth and scream, and then fall to my knees and puke. My muscles bunch and quiver, wrenching too hard around the bones. I think of the Watcher and how we killed him. Kiran and Brax and me. And if Kiran dies, no one else will ever remember what his blackened eyes looked like the moment he realized he was done for. No one will hear that gurgle as his face plunged into the water. Hideous secrets I will be forced to bear alone with my silent wolf friend.

The only way I can move past the shakes is to remember that Watchers are no longer men. And Kiran’s not dead yet.

I rinse my mouth out and return.

Then I wait.

*

KIRAN BARELY MOVES AS the sun dips below the horizon. With nothing more I can do to help him, I search the surrounding area and find Brax already on the prowl. It seems we’ve escaped the Trackers for now, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be back.