Seeds of Rebellion
Page 77
“Didn’t you hear what Ferrin said about the delicious cucumbers?” Jason teased.
“I kept my legs moving today with the thought of a hearty roast at the end of the road,” Aram sulked.
“I cannot believe you’re going on like this in front of the cucumbers,” Corinne chided, taking a deliberate bite of the vegetable and sharing a glance with Jason.
“Corinne, was that a joke?” Ferrin said in mock astonishment. “Welcome to the conversation!”
She flushed shyly.
“If we can expect another journey tomorrow, we should secure horses,” Ferrin went on. “And if the sun will be shining, perhaps a goat for Aram.”
“Keep it up,” Aram dared him through clenched teeth.
“Is a goat too large and unruly?” Ferrin asked. “Maybe we could saddle a raccoon.”
“Odd how these taunts tend to fade after sundown,” Aram growled, taking a large bite of bread.
“But a new day always dawns,” Ferrin replied. “And we can all use some entertainment.”
Aram glowered. “Then perhaps tonight I should pull you apart and let the others puzzle you back together.”
“That’s the spirit!” Ferrin applauded. “Taunt back! I get the sense you’ve seldom had to deal with ridicule.”
Aram appeared to be resisting a pleased little smile.
“Halak offered us accommodations for the night,” Galloran said. “I suggest we claim some well-earned rest.”
“Should I check on Tark?” Jason asked.
“He’s in good hands,” Galloran said. “And almost certainly unconscious. We’ll pay him a visit in the morning.”
Everyone stood. Jason stretched. Nedwin staggered, steadied himself, lowered his brow, rubbed his chest, then tipped forward onto the table. He landed without making any effort to stop his fall, his body crushing woven baskets, his face upsetting a wooden bowl of diced fruit slathered with cream.
“What happened?” Galloran asked.
“Nedwin fainted,” Rachel said.
Ferrin and Drake were already rolling him off the table and onto the floor.
“Blast!” Galloran exclaimed. “Check his mouth.”
Drake was already wiping cream from Nedwin’s slack face and pulling his jaws apart. “Advanced lungrot,” Drake reported, eyes squinting in disgust. “Worse than Tark.”
“I should have known,” Galloran muttered. “Somebody fetch Halak. We’ll need to get Nedwin immediate treatment. Is he breathing?”
“Barely,” Drake said.
“Watch him,” Galloran said as Corinne and Aram hurried from the room. “He can’t feel pain or many types of discomfort. He probably knew something was wrong, but failed to appreciate the severity. Or maybe he was just being stubborn.”
“How could he not feel it?” Drake said. “The disease has almost taken him.”
“He was a prisoner at Felrook for years,” Jason said. “They experimented on him with pain enhancers. It left him permanently numbed.”
A pair of seedmen rushed into the room. One quickly checked Nedwin’s mouth and grimaced in revulsion. They picked him up, one supporting him under the shoulders, one by the legs.
“We’ll rush him to the sicktent prepared for your comrade,” one of the seedmen assured them.
As they exited the room with Nedwin, Corinne entered. “Aram is still looking for Halak. The guards we found seemed helpful.”
“You did well,” Galloran said. “Let’s hope the treatment isn’t too late.”
After breakfasting on hot cereal the following morning, Jason accompanied Galloran to visit Tark and Nedwin. An unsociable man in leather armor directed them toward the gate. Unrushed, Jason got a better look at the people. They were mostly tall and serious, wearing light armor, if any. There was a tendency toward dark hair and light eyes. Some wore the unrolled portion of their hair in braids, while others let it hang free.
A few people nodded at Jason. Most went about their business: unloading provisions from a wagon, adjusting the mechanisms of a huge catapult, standing watch on the wall or on the crenellated balconies projecting from the mountainside. No one approached Jason or Galloran to make conversation.
“Why didn’t we ever hear Nedwin coughing?” Jason wondered.
“I doubt he ever felt the urge,” Galloran said. “Felrook left his senses damaged. He must have noticed a shortness of breath, but Nedwin is the sort to silently push through such inconveniences.”
Not far from the gate, they found a small, domed tent of stitched animal hides. A flap on the tent lifted as a skinny middle-aged woman emerged, along with a billow of fumes.
“Is Tark inside?” Jason asked.
She blinked repeatedly, wringing tears from her red-rimmed eyes. “Nedwin as well. Both should recover.” She spoke with a heavy accent, slurring her words. “Nedwin’s fate remained questionable until after the moon set. Tark should be able to quit the treatment by tonight, Nedwin by the next day. The wounds to Tark’s head were superficial. For both men, the lungrot is in full reversal.”
“May we go inside?” Galloran asked.
“If you like.” She smiled, showing small teeth. “You might consider holding your breath.”
“Are they contagious?” Jason asked.
Galloran shook his head. “The treatment is unpleasant.”
Jason raised the flap and followed Galloran into the tent, ducking through the entrance. The low ceiling forced them to remain crouched. Tark and Nedwin lay on mats spread across wooden pallets that took up most of the floor space. Jason and Galloran squatted between them. Pungent vapors swirled up from clay vessels. Tark leaned up on one elbow and smiled, both of his eyes horribly bloodshot. “Kind of you to remember me,” he said before launching into a fit of coughing. He hawked up phlegm and spat into a pail.
“Good to hear you coughing again,” Galloran said.
“I feel loads better,” Tark agreed. “My eyes sting, though. And my mouth feels packed with cotton.” He fingered his chapped lips.
Nedwin remained on his side, his breath quick and shallow, his eyes closed.
“You should be back on your feet by tomorrow night,” Galloran said.
“So they tell me.”
“We ride to Longvale today. I have preparations to make. A guide will bring you and Nedwin to us once you’re both whole. Obey whatever instructions your caregiver offers.”
“I kept my legs moving today with the thought of a hearty roast at the end of the road,” Aram sulked.
“I cannot believe you’re going on like this in front of the cucumbers,” Corinne chided, taking a deliberate bite of the vegetable and sharing a glance with Jason.
“Corinne, was that a joke?” Ferrin said in mock astonishment. “Welcome to the conversation!”
She flushed shyly.
“If we can expect another journey tomorrow, we should secure horses,” Ferrin went on. “And if the sun will be shining, perhaps a goat for Aram.”
“Keep it up,” Aram dared him through clenched teeth.
“Is a goat too large and unruly?” Ferrin asked. “Maybe we could saddle a raccoon.”
“Odd how these taunts tend to fade after sundown,” Aram growled, taking a large bite of bread.
“But a new day always dawns,” Ferrin replied. “And we can all use some entertainment.”
Aram glowered. “Then perhaps tonight I should pull you apart and let the others puzzle you back together.”
“That’s the spirit!” Ferrin applauded. “Taunt back! I get the sense you’ve seldom had to deal with ridicule.”
Aram appeared to be resisting a pleased little smile.
“Halak offered us accommodations for the night,” Galloran said. “I suggest we claim some well-earned rest.”
“Should I check on Tark?” Jason asked.
“He’s in good hands,” Galloran said. “And almost certainly unconscious. We’ll pay him a visit in the morning.”
Everyone stood. Jason stretched. Nedwin staggered, steadied himself, lowered his brow, rubbed his chest, then tipped forward onto the table. He landed without making any effort to stop his fall, his body crushing woven baskets, his face upsetting a wooden bowl of diced fruit slathered with cream.
“What happened?” Galloran asked.
“Nedwin fainted,” Rachel said.
Ferrin and Drake were already rolling him off the table and onto the floor.
“Blast!” Galloran exclaimed. “Check his mouth.”
Drake was already wiping cream from Nedwin’s slack face and pulling his jaws apart. “Advanced lungrot,” Drake reported, eyes squinting in disgust. “Worse than Tark.”
“I should have known,” Galloran muttered. “Somebody fetch Halak. We’ll need to get Nedwin immediate treatment. Is he breathing?”
“Barely,” Drake said.
“Watch him,” Galloran said as Corinne and Aram hurried from the room. “He can’t feel pain or many types of discomfort. He probably knew something was wrong, but failed to appreciate the severity. Or maybe he was just being stubborn.”
“How could he not feel it?” Drake said. “The disease has almost taken him.”
“He was a prisoner at Felrook for years,” Jason said. “They experimented on him with pain enhancers. It left him permanently numbed.”
A pair of seedmen rushed into the room. One quickly checked Nedwin’s mouth and grimaced in revulsion. They picked him up, one supporting him under the shoulders, one by the legs.
“We’ll rush him to the sicktent prepared for your comrade,” one of the seedmen assured them.
As they exited the room with Nedwin, Corinne entered. “Aram is still looking for Halak. The guards we found seemed helpful.”
“You did well,” Galloran said. “Let’s hope the treatment isn’t too late.”
After breakfasting on hot cereal the following morning, Jason accompanied Galloran to visit Tark and Nedwin. An unsociable man in leather armor directed them toward the gate. Unrushed, Jason got a better look at the people. They were mostly tall and serious, wearing light armor, if any. There was a tendency toward dark hair and light eyes. Some wore the unrolled portion of their hair in braids, while others let it hang free.
A few people nodded at Jason. Most went about their business: unloading provisions from a wagon, adjusting the mechanisms of a huge catapult, standing watch on the wall or on the crenellated balconies projecting from the mountainside. No one approached Jason or Galloran to make conversation.
“Why didn’t we ever hear Nedwin coughing?” Jason wondered.
“I doubt he ever felt the urge,” Galloran said. “Felrook left his senses damaged. He must have noticed a shortness of breath, but Nedwin is the sort to silently push through such inconveniences.”
Not far from the gate, they found a small, domed tent of stitched animal hides. A flap on the tent lifted as a skinny middle-aged woman emerged, along with a billow of fumes.
“Is Tark inside?” Jason asked.
She blinked repeatedly, wringing tears from her red-rimmed eyes. “Nedwin as well. Both should recover.” She spoke with a heavy accent, slurring her words. “Nedwin’s fate remained questionable until after the moon set. Tark should be able to quit the treatment by tonight, Nedwin by the next day. The wounds to Tark’s head were superficial. For both men, the lungrot is in full reversal.”
“May we go inside?” Galloran asked.
“If you like.” She smiled, showing small teeth. “You might consider holding your breath.”
“Are they contagious?” Jason asked.
Galloran shook his head. “The treatment is unpleasant.”
Jason raised the flap and followed Galloran into the tent, ducking through the entrance. The low ceiling forced them to remain crouched. Tark and Nedwin lay on mats spread across wooden pallets that took up most of the floor space. Jason and Galloran squatted between them. Pungent vapors swirled up from clay vessels. Tark leaned up on one elbow and smiled, both of his eyes horribly bloodshot. “Kind of you to remember me,” he said before launching into a fit of coughing. He hawked up phlegm and spat into a pail.
“Good to hear you coughing again,” Galloran said.
“I feel loads better,” Tark agreed. “My eyes sting, though. And my mouth feels packed with cotton.” He fingered his chapped lips.
Nedwin remained on his side, his breath quick and shallow, his eyes closed.
“You should be back on your feet by tomorrow night,” Galloran said.
“So they tell me.”
“We ride to Longvale today. I have preparations to make. A guide will bring you and Nedwin to us once you’re both whole. Obey whatever instructions your caregiver offers.”
