E Stricker - The Almanac

He pushed harder, trying not to panic but failing as he felt the faint pulse of Benja’s life seeping out from under his fingers.

His muscles shook with fatigue. The world narrowed in around him until there was nothing in it but him and his cousin and his hands, white-knuckled against the wound. Finally, the blood stopped soaking through the bandage.

He knew that it would start again the moment he let up. Benja could not afford to lose any more blood. He had to find a way to keep pressure on the wound without holding it. After some thought, he packed the fabric into the wound and tied another strip of his shirt cloth around it. He twisted a stick in the knot to tighten it, securing it by doubling the ends back and knotting them behind the ankle bone. It held. He collapsed back against the tree then, shaking, his heart pounding so that he felt it through his whole body.

He sent a thought of gratitude to Samuel for his patient training but wished more than anything that Samuel were there. Illya had only the most basic idea of what to do for Benja. It might not be enough. The thought was terrifying, and he shook it away.

What Benja needed was action, not wishes. Illya pulled himself up, bracing against the tree. He got water from the stream and built the fire higher. Benja was shivering violently, still horribly pale, with beads of sweat running down the sides of his face.

Shock, Illya thought. Remembering something else Samuel had taught him, he elevated his cousin’s legs on a rock. Gently, he slapped Benja’s face until he groaned then coaxed some water into his mouth. Benja swallowed and did not pass out again. Illya let himself feel a tiny bit encouraged.

He checked the bandage again and loosened it a little, until he could feel the feeble thrumming of Benja’s heart at the spot on top of his foot where it should always be. He took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. What could have made a wound like this? How had Benja come to be so far out on the path at nightfall? What would have happened to him if he had fallen there, alone, his blood welling up and spilling into the earth unchecked?

Illya shuddered and closed his eyes.

What would Samuel do? Clean the wound as a start. Even if Benja survived so much blood loss, the ’fection was a more dangerous enemy than the injury itself. The Healer would use yarrow leaf in boiled water, some of the brew, or garlic broth. If he could clean it out well enough, he would sew the edges of the wound together. Samuel had tiny bone needles and thin strips of suet. He had rows and rows of jars with herbs and salves, almost entirely replaced in the months since the raid. Illya had none of those things.

This wound, shaped like a scoop, couldn’t be sewn together at all. It would have to heal by what Samuel had called “the second way,” filling in slowly from the edges, rather than by knitting together in an even seam. To heal the second way took a very long time, and Benja did not have time.

Benja groaned and opened his eyes. There was a little more color in his cheeks.

“Hey,” he said. He grimaced: an awful expression that appeared to take more energy than he had. His head slumped to the side.

“Okay Benj?” Illya asked, his voice catching. His eyes were burning, and his face felt hot. He rubbed his eyes and tears came away on his hand. Benja squinted up at him then closed his eyes.

“Knock it off,” he said. “I’m the one who’s hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” Illya whispered.

“You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself.” Benja opened his eyes again, glaring with unexpected ferocity, though his gaze seemed unfocused. “You were a stupid jerk, but you’re still my cousin and my friend, and that is all there is.” He closed his eyes as if it had taken an enormous effort to talk.

Illya stared at the bandages. The blood had not soaked through yet. Benja opened his eyes again.

“Ran into a badger,” he said. “Got ahold of me a couple of miles ago and wouldn’t let go. Took some of me with him. I’d stopped for a drink, picked the wrong spot. Stupid not to know a badger den.” He laughed a little, without mirth.

“I wrapped it up. Tried to get as far away as I could. Kept getting harder to stay up. I couldn’t even see where I was going,” he said.

“You probably left a trail of blood the whole way,” Illya said.

“Naw,” Benja said. “Only halfway, once it soaked through.” Illya glared at him, and Benja answered with a weak chuckle.

“What are you doing out here at all?” Illya asked. Benja tried to sit up, grunting with the effort.

“I came to find you,” he said. Illya dropped his eyes to the ground, studying a footprint he had left in the dust, his throat thick and tight.

“Knew you couldn’t be dead, like everyone said,” Benja said.

“They… must have let you out of prison,” Illya said, his voice breaking.

Benja squinted up at him and stared for a few uncomfortable moments, frowning. Illya wished the earth would swallow him up. He couldn’t meet Benja’s eyes.

“I got out,” Benja said finally. Illya managed a nod.

“That’s not all,” Benja said. “Conna locked up your ma and sister too. They are still in there. I…” He hesitated. “I was the only one with a window. I had help from the outside, but the Enforcers heard me climbing out.” Illya groaned and, without thinking, struck the tree with his injured hand. He pulled it into his chest and sucked in air through gritted teeth, welcoming the pain, though it made stars dance across his vision. For a moment, the throbbing in his hand chased away the horrible images of his mother and sister in jail.

Benja looked from Illya’s hand to his face, frowning.

“I don’t even know who broke me out. There was a scratching; then the window opened. I was halfway through climbing out and the guards came. I had to run for it. I hoped I could find you.” Benja’s face was white. It stretched as he grimaced so that he looked like one of the skeletons that lived under the skin of men.

Benja had been his friend all along. He had tried to stop it all; every mistake that Illya had made. Even stealing the book had only been to save Illya from himself. Illya looked away, not knowing what to say. He felt tears welling up in his eyes again.

“There’s… something else,” Benja said, wincing as he shifted his leg. “After you left, Impiri asked the guard to bring Conna. They talked for a while. I couldn’t hear what they said, but he let her out. After that, rumors were that they were leading the village together and that… Sabelle was promised to him.”

Illya saw spots dancing in front of his eyes. There was a roaring in his ears that overtook all other sounds. Hot rage coiled up inside him.

“She wanted that?” he managed to say.

Benja frowned. “I don’t think anyone could force that girl to do something she didn’t want to,” he said.

“Great,” Illya muttered. He stared at the ground, wishing suddenly that he had stayed in his cave after all. He had thought that things couldn’t possibly get worse, but he had been wrong. Finally, he rubbed his hand across his eyes and sighed.

“I still have to go back,” he said.

Benja shook his head. “You can’t. They only stopped looking for you because they think you’re dead. They’d shoot an arrow right through you as soon as they saw you,” he said.

“I’m not afraid.”

“You should be. Conna can get them all stirred up about anything with the way he talks, and he isn’t messing around. Those Enforcers of his would kill you.” Illya stared into the fire. A branch exploded and sent sparks up into the night air.

“He won’t keep them locked up forever,” Benja said.

“He could do anything he wants to them,” Illya said. Benja frowned but did not disagree. New beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead from the effort of talking. Illya covered him up with the remainder of his shirt.