Son of Avonar Read Online Free PDF Page B

woodbox, scattering twigs and limbs all over the floor and leaving my lone glass lamp in danger of tumbling off a shelf.
    â€œGet out of here!” I said, pointing at the door. “Go and introduce yourself to Darzid.”
    He didn’t go, of course, but I swore I would not attempt to communicate again. I ignored him and went about my morning’s work, stepping over his long legs when I needed to, controlling the temptation to drop an iron kettle on his head.
    When I peeled my flat round of bread from the iron plate in the hearth, I expected him to pounce on it. But he remained seated on the floor, his back against my bed. He dug the heel of his hand into his temple, squeezing his eyes shut as if the bright sunlight that streamed through the door pained them.
    â€œAre you ill?” Dismayed at the thought, I broke my vow of silence. “Curse you forever if you’ve brought fever here.”
    Whether or not he understood my clownish gestures, he shook his head as if to clear it, got to his feet, and stumbled out the door into the sunny morning. Before I could even wish him good riddance, he crumpled to the dirt. I hurried to his side, experiencing a perfectly idiotic wave of guilt, as if by wishing him away so fervently, I was somehow responsible for his collapse. Moments earlier, I had been wishing him dead.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you?” I said, tapping his cheek when I could get no response. He still didn’t move. But when I shook his left shoulder, his eyes flew open, and he cried out with bloodless lips, almost rising up off the ground. “All right, all right. Let’s get you inside.”
    Once I had dragged and wrestled him onto the bed, I pulled aside the makeshift tunic. The mark on his shoulder that I remembered as a mere scratch was now swollen purple, hot, hard, and seeping a foul-smelling black fluid. I’d never seen anything like it. Dredging up what I knew of such matters, I scalded my knife and lanced the wound, trying to get as much of the vile fluid out of it as I could. Aeren almost bit through his lip as I worked. “I’ve got to do this,” I said, grabbing a dry cloth to blot his brow. “You’ve gotten something nasty in it.”
    As I applied a stone-root poultice to Aeren’s shoulder, he drifted off to sleep, leaving me awash in memory. How not? I even found myself whispering, J’den encour . The words meant heal swiftly in the language of the J’Ettanne. Unfortunately, the words had no efficacy coming from me.
    Have you learned nothing, stupid woman? I threw down my towels and left the man to his fevered moaning, busying myself by splitting and stacking wood, filling the woodbox, hauling in extra water, pouring water on the garden, anything to stop thinking. Flour and water, salt and millet went into a bowl for more hearthbread. I threw the rabbit bones and two shriveled carrots in a pot of water on the hearth to make broth. Starving the bastard would not get him out of my bed. I needed him away from the valley. What if Darzid decided to make another sweep?
    Aeren awoke near sunset, somewhat surprised to find himself in my bed and mostly undressed again. He watched silently as I made willowbark tea, mixing it with yarrow and a spoonful of wine to ease his pain and fever.
    â€œDon’t get any ideas,” I said, deliberately and obviously holding the steaming cup above his bare torso and discreetly covered nether parts before putting it to his lips. He made no move to take the cup as he drank. “You’ve done yourself no service, running through the underbrush as you did.” Setting the cup aside, I changed the dressing on his shoulder. Not long after I finished, his fever shot skyward again, and he slipped back into restless sleep. I sat up with him most of that night, applying cold cloths to his face and body, dribbling willowbark tea down his throat, and cursing myself for a fool.
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    The next morning,