Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One #2)(75)

She knelt, ran her hands over the baby. Both lungs held fluid, and the fever spiked high. The eyes, glazed with fever, stared at nothing. Like a doll’s.

“He needs to drink this tea, and this potion.”

“He’s not weaned. He—”

“But you’ll help me,” she said calmly, taking a dropper from her kit. “He’s little, and he won’t have to take much, but as much of the tea as you can manage. That first, Minh.”

While Minh gave the tea to the baby, drop by drop, Fallon took a small pot from the kitchen, used the jug of water to fill it, added herbs, crushed crystals, drops of another potion.

“Now the potion I gave you. Four drops to start.”

Minh struggled as the baby began to fret and fight.

“It has a bitter taste, but he has to swallow four drops.”

Minh gathered up his son, and though his eyes watered, held the baby’s arms down with one of his own, forced the drops down.

“Good, good. Heat the pot,” Fallon murmured. “Water boil and steam rise.” As the water bubbled, she picked up a cloth. “Is this clean?”

“Yes.”

“He’s not going to like it, but I’m going to cover his head with the cloth. You’re going to hold his head over the steam. If he cries, that’s okay. He’ll be pulling the healing steam into his lungs. He’ll cough. It might be bad. But you hold him.”

“Will it hurt him?”

“The cough hurts.” She took another cloth. “But he’ll cough up the fluid, the sickness.”

He coughed, he wailed, and tears slid down the soldier’s face as Fallon caught the sickness in the cloth.

“Lay him down now.”

“His breathing’s better. Is it better?”

“Uh-huh.” Once again, she laid hands on the baby. “Less fluid. But …” She drew more out, into herself. Turned her head, coughed it out into the cloth. “He still has a fever, but not so high. Keep giving him the tea, and keep the poultice on his chest. I’m going to help some of the others, but I’ll be back. We have to do all of this again.”

“Again,” Minh echoed, shut his eyes.

“It won’t be as bad, it won’t be, but we have to do it again. And maybe a third time. It’s harder for the very young and the very old. He’ll rest, and when he does, take the sick cloth to the pot I’ll have boiling outside. It needs to be sanitized.”

“I will. I will. Blessings on you, Fallon. Tell Orelana, tell his mother he’s better.”

“I will. More tea, Minh.”

Like Mallick, she went from hut to hut, treating the oldest and youngest first. Those well enough continued to brew tea, mix potions.

When she went into Mick’s hut, she saw Thomas shivering on his cot. He tried to lift himself when she came in, fell back with the violence of his coughing.

“You have to help,” Mick said. “He had the tea. I got him the tea.”

“Good. I brought more. Enough for both of you. Drink yours.” Then she moved to Thomas, put an arm under him to help him sit up. “Drink.”

When he’d managed a few sips, she set it aside, laid her hands on him. Like the baby, like several others, he held fluid in both lungs. “Two cups, Mick, two pots of water, four cloths.”

“Okay.”

While he gathered the items, she made the poultice. “You’ll keep this on your chest. I’ll leave medicine to renew it. Twice every day until your lungs are clear.”

She poured potion into the cups, handed one to Mick. “Drink.” And helped Thomas drink. “All. Every drop.”

She doctored the water, set it to boil. “A cloth over your head, your head over the pot in the steam. Breathe in the steam. Use the second cloth to catch what you cough up.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“It ain’t pretty.”

She continued on, patient after patient, then started over again. Just before dusk, she found Mallick sitting by the fire drinking a tankard of ale.

“I thought we would lose Old Ned,” he told her. “But he’s tough, and not ready to die.”

“The baby—Minh and Orelana’s baby—he’s nursing.”

“We’ll leave them more tea and potion, and the mix for the steam. But I think the worst of it is behind. We’ll visit tomorrow to be sure.”

“We have to go to the faerie bower.”

He nodded, drank more ale. “After I finish my ale. I sent a runner. It isn’t as serious there, nor has it spread so wide. The shifter pack remains healthy. No sign of this there, but we’ll leave them some preventatives.”

He watched the fire a moment. “You did well today. You gave comfort and ease, very likely saved lives. And you did so with care and a cool head. Not once did I have to tell you what to do or how to do it.”

“You already had. And my mother taught me.”

“Not all you did or knew came from my teachings or your mother’s. Cull out what they need until tomorrow, then we’ll visit the bower to help, stop by the shifters’ den. Then, by the gods, I want another ale, my supper, and my bed.”

“It’s contagious. You need to take a preventative potion. I’ll take one if you say I have to, but I don’t get sick.”