Mercedes Lackey - Owlsight

“We’re going to have a chance to test that tradition,” Darian said, jumping to his feet as Kuari alerted him. “Here comes Hywel with the boy.”

Boy? Closer to a toddler, rather. When Hywel ran up to them, panting with exertion, the little one he carried in his arms could not have been more than five or six years old at the most. Keisha waved Darian away and took the fur-wrapped burden from Hywel herself.

“Don’t come near us,” she warned, before Darian could move to help her. “There’s no point in two of us being exposed.” She laid the boy down on one of the bedrolls. “How long has he been sick?” she asked Hywel.

“A day, no more.” He stroked his brother’s damp forehead with surprising tenderness. “You see, already he is lost in fever, and that is not good. It is those whom the fever takes hard and early - who - die - ” The last three words came out sounding strangled, as Hywel choked back what could have been a sob. He rubbed his eyes fiercely, as Darian stood well off, feeling distinctly awkward and useless.

“Hywel, you stay with me; all I need is an extra pair of hands, and if Jendey wakes up, he’ll be easier with you here.” She looked up from the boy, and shrugged. “You and Kel might as well go back and tell them what I’ve done. I’m sorry to have to leave you that unpleasant chore, but you can always tell them that I did it before you had any idea what I was planning.”

“Oh, and try to lie to Firesong and Starfall? Digging a well with my teeth would be easier, and a lot less painful.” He smiled crookedly. “No, we’re in this together, and I’d better get back and get it over with.”

He wanted to ask if she was going to be all right and knew it was a stupid question. “Remember all ihat luck you just got,” he said instead, feeling horribly helpless.

“I will,” she said, as she put the child down on one of the bedrolls, but it was clear that her mind was on the boy and nothing else, and he was just distracting her.

He started to leave, then turned back. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Keisha,” he managed, and stopped himself before he said anything ill-omened.

At that, she looked up and smiled with surprising warmth. “Thank you,” she replied softly. “Now go, because I don’t want anything to happen to you either. Don’t let the Herald-Captain eat you alive!”

Knowing then the best way to help her would be to obey her, he left, but slowly, looking back over his shoulder until he couldn’t even see the light from the tiny campfire anymore.

Oh, this is a very sick little boy, she thought, taking the child into her arms. He was so fevered that heat radiated from him. Keisha’s first act was to unwrap the child from his bundle of furs, strip him of his sweat-sodden clothing, and wash him down with cool water to bring his fever down a little. Fever was a good thing in principle, but this boy’s fever was so high that he was in danger of going into convulsions unless she cooled him.

She sponged him a second time with something that killed body-insects, wrapped him briefly in the furs so that the fumes would work on whatever bugs he carried, then unwrapped him and sponged him a third time with plain water. If fleas did carry the sickness, she’d just protected herself.

That done, she dressed him in one of her old shirts and bundled him into the bedroll. “Take those furs and things out of here and put them out somewhere to air for about five days,” she ordered Hywel. “Either that, or, bury or burn them.”

She heard a choked-off sound, as if he were about to object, then silenced himself. A moment later, he and the filthy furs were gone.

Only a day! I’ve never seen a fever progress so quickly. She waited impatiently for Hywel to return as she checked reflexes in Jendey’s arms and legs. Whatever this illness was, at least the paralysis and wasting hadn’t set in yet - or at least it hadn’t set in so much that there was a noticeable difference from healthy reflexes.

Deep down inside, she was afraid, horribly, desperately afraid - but she buried that fear in work. As long as she could keep working, she could keep the fear at bay.

Hywel returned as she checked Jendey’s breathing. “When this fever kills - how does it do so?” she asked, frowning as she listened to the lung- and heart-sounds through a hollow tube she placed on his chest.

“It smothers,” he said simply. “You fight for breath, but there is no strength in the chest, and it smothers.”

Paralysis of the chest muscles? That would make sense. So what do these things all have in common ?

Could the fever be attacking the network of nerves that told muscles when to move and how? That network came from the spine, even the newest Trainee knew that. There were fibers that were said to carry orders from the brain to the spine, and out to the muscles, as well as carrying sensation back to the brain, just as blood flowed from the heart out to the body and back. Accidents and wounds had proved that if you cut them, paralysis and loss of feeling was the result - so could this fever be killing or damaging them to get the same effect?

She seized a silverpoint and a notebook from her medicine-bag and wrote down her speculations. If what she tried failed, and if she succumbed to this fever - at least the next Healer would have a little more to go on.

“What are you writing?” Hywel asked, with awe in his voice.

“Spells,” she said briefly, which seemed to impress him further. “Tell me all you know about how the Summer Fever started.”

He didn’t seem taken aback that she asked the question, and she made notes as he talked. “It was the Midsummer Gathering,” he said obediently. “It was held that year in Ghost Cat territory. I was still at the women’s fire then, so it was, oh, many cold seasons ago.”

Oh many indeed, I’m sure, she thought, guessing his age at fourteen. Three, maybe four at the most. Around the time the first lot came down here.

“Blood Bear was there, and that was when I saw the Bear Warriors, who were as much bear as man,” he continued. “Our fighters brought back tales that they had monsters at their fires also, some as slaves, and some among the warriors, and that there was boasting around the men’s fire that they had brought only half their numbers, for the rest were out raiding. We shunned the Forbidden Circles, for the Ghost Cat had sent warning dreams to our shaman, but the Blood Bear shaman scoffed at our dreams, swore that such places brought power and strong spirits, and he and more warriors went a-hunting Forbidden Places.”

“So they brought back the Fever?” she asked, as she put down the silverpoint and selected carefully from among her medicines.

“Not at once, no,” he told her. “They brought out strange animals like small, hairy people who chattered like magpies and howled like dogs. These, I did not see, but my father told me of them. They tried to make slaves out of the beasts, but the creatures were weak, acted sickly and odd, and soon died. A few days later, the fever began.” He shrugged. “That is all that I know.”

So this came from contact with sick animals from the Change-Circle! That makes a little more sense. She finished mixing her draught of medicines with juice and honey, and carefully raised the feverish boy, putting it to his lips. He was very thirsty, in spite of being mostly out of his head. He sucked at the cup eagerly and perhaps because of the sweet taste, drank it down to the last drop.

He’s getting dehydrated; I have to get more liquid into him. She filled the empty cup with cool water and repeated the process until he turned his head, refusing further drinks. She smoothed back the damp, black hair from the flushed forehead; this child was so different from the littles of Errold’s Grove, yet so very much the same, with a mother who would mourn his loss deeply, and a brother who loved him enough to do anything to save him.