Pellinor: The Singing Part 15

When he woke up, it had stopped raining. Hem lay sleepily in bed for a little while, letting the peace wash over him, until he remembered his anxiety about Saliman and leaped out of bed. It was still dark, but he knew it was early morning, and he could hear movements downstairs.

Hekibel was setting out bread and cheese on the table, and frying some beans on the stove. She bade him good morning, and returned to the kitchen. There was no sign of Karim and Marich. Hem suspected that they were harnessing the horses, getting ready to leave.

They are afraid, said Irc.

So am I, Hem said. But I'm not running.

They do not love Saliman as you do.

Don't they? thought Hem savagely, looking at Hekibel's ashen face through the open door. No, they don't, he said to Irc. J. would never abandon Saliman.

Irc flapped off to investigate their surroundings now that it wasn't raining, and Hem made a quick breakfast, trying not to think about what would happen if Saliman had caught the White Sickness. Then, his heart hammering with apprehension, he made a parcel of bread and cheese to take to Saliman. When he opened the back door, he saw that the yard was flooded. The water wasn't very deep, but it already lapped at the first step that led up to the back door. He took his boots off and left them by the door and then, grimacing, waded through ankle-deep water, its coldness shocking him properly awake, and knocked on Saliman's door. There was no answer. He pushed the door open and went inside.

Saliman was asleep on the narrow bed in the far corner. He lay so still that Hem thought for a heart-stopping moment that he was already dead, but then he muttered and turned over. Even from this distance, Hem could see that he was ill. He had clearly had a restless night: the blanket lay on the floor and his clothes were twisted around him; his skin was slick with sweat, and his hair was soaked, his braids tangled.

Hem sagged against the doorframe, trying to catch his breath. At that moment he could not have said what he felt: it was as if he had been dealt a mortal wound, but was yet to feel the pain. Saliman was deathly sick. And he had no idea how to help him.

Chapter XI.

THE WHITE SICKNESS.

HEM splashed back through the yard to the tavern. He heard Marich and Karim talking in the stables, but didn't turn to look at them. The water had risen even in the short time he had been outside, and it had now spread over the first step. He looked up at the sky: it was still overcast with heavy clouds. There was more rain on the way, surely.

In the kitchen, Hekibel was perched on a chair, her head in her hands. She looked up when Hem reentered and met his eyes. Hem didn't say anything, but she read the news in his face. She bit her lip and turned away.

Hem sat down opposite Hekibel. "I suppose you'll be leaving," he said, his voice harsh.

"Yes," said Hekibel. Her voice was so soft he barely heard what she said.

"It's flooding outside anyway. The river's broken its banks, I think."

"Then you will have to leave here, as well," Hekibel said, turning back to face Hem. "Are you going to stay with Saliman?"

Hem met her eyes, and she saw the anger inside him. Hekibel blushed and dropped her gaze to the table.

"I suppose I didn't need to ask," she said. "But the White Sickness, Hem ... it's a terrible, terrible thing ... and there's no cure."

"I am a healer," said Hem. "And I'm not leaving him, no matter what. He's my friend."

"If it's flooding here, you'll have to move him."

"There's a wheelbarrow in the stables. I can put him in there and push him somewhere. There's higher ground behind the taverna"there will surely be some byre or hut where we can shelter. If it doesn't start raining again, we'll probably be all right."

Hekibel stared at him, and Hem saw the fear and shame and pain in her face, and his rage spluttered out, leaving behind a bleak despair. It was no use being angry. What could the players do if they stayed, except become as ill as Saliman? And they had to part ways, in any case.

"You should go," he said, with an effort. "Saliman would say it was right."

"But what about you?"

"I'll be fine. There's a path that leads uphill, which I saw earlier, we'll follow that. Anyway, I think the water is rising, so we had better move quickly, or we'll get stuck."

Hekibel nodded, and Hem ran upstairs for his pack, stuffing his dried clothes inside it, and quickly gleaned some food from the tavern kitchen. Then he went to the stables, where Marich and Karim had already put aside food supplies from those in the caravan. Fenek was on the back step of the caravan, growling uneasily at the rising water. The horses were harnessed, and stood in the water up to their fetlocks, looking miserable. Hem picked up the supplies and thanked them gruffly.

Karim cleared his throat. "The water's rising all the time," he said.

"I know," said Hem. He didn't want to hear any excuses. "Thank you for the food. I'm just going to take that wheelbarrow, so I can carry Saliman to higher ground."

"Hem, it's not that we don't want to stay," said Marich. "But it won't help him if we all get the sickness. I saw him; he has it. It's deadly, Hem. He won't get better. n.o.body does."

Hem met Marich's eyes, and then looked away. He liked Marich, and could even see his point of view. That didn't mean that the players' decision didn't hurt. "Farewell, then."

"May the Light s.h.i.+ne on your path," said Marich.

Hem nodded. He didn't feel generous enough to make the courteous return, and sloshed over to where a large wooden wheelbarrow was propped against the wall. It was heavy, and he felt a pang of anxiety as he took it down and pushed it out into the yard, shrugging off Marich's offer of help. How was he to get Saliman into it by himself, let alone push it any distance?

He returned to the stables to pick up the supplies, and put them in the wheelbarrow with their tent, and then went to the tavern to get his pack. Just before he left, he stripped some blankets from a bed and took them too. Then he went to the ostler's room and opened the door.

Saliman was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. He looked up when Hem entered. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked fevered, but otherwise he didn't seem too ill. "Hem," he said. "I am sick. Go away."

"I'm not going away," said Hem. "I've decided. I don't care if I get sick."

Saliman smiled wearily. "The problem is that I do care," he said. "Please, for once in your life, listen to me. Go with Hekibel and Marich. They'll look after you."

"The tavern is flooding," said Hem, picking up Saliman's pack. "You'll have to move in any case. I got a wheelbarrow for our thingsa"I thought you could get into it as well."

"I'm serious, Hem. Leave me. I am already very sick, and I can feel the illness creeping through me. It is vile."

Hem turned at the door, and his eyes burned with a despairing pa.s.sion. "Saliman, I know what I am deciding. I am not leaving. I can't. So don't tell me again, because I won't listen."

There was a long silence.

"We have to move, and find some shelter, and then I will heal you, and then we will be all right." Hem went out the door and threw Saliman's pack on the wheelbarrow and returned. "Can you walk to the wheelbarrow? It might be better to stay barefoot. I'll put your socks and boots in there so you can warm your feet afterward."

"I can walk," said Saliman. "I can even walk out of this ill-starred village. I won't forgive you, Hem, for risking your life like this."

"I'm not risking my life. You said that Bards can heal the White Sickness. So I will heal you, and then we can just go on looking for Maerad. It was probably time we left the players anyway, given that Karim seems to be a friend of the Hulls."

Saliman stood up and swayed, putting out his hand and steadying himself against the wall.

"Do you want some help?" asked Hem, starting forward.

"All right, Hem. I have not the strength to oppose you. But if you're going to do this, let's be sensible. I don't want you to touch me, and you must come near me as little as possible."

"Do you want some help?"

Saliman shot Hem a look of black anger. He drew on his cloak over the clothes he had slept in and stepped shakily out of the door. He waited by the wheelbarrow at a safe distance while Hem checked it over, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything, and then ran inside to take some firewood from the pile in the kitchen. He spread the tent over their belongings to keep them dry. Saliman could sit inside the barrow comfortably enough, though Hem nervously wondered if he would be able to push it with Saliman's weight as well. As they stood there, Hekibel emerged from the back door of the tavern, holding her boots in her hands. She started when she saw them and hesitantly stood with the water around her ankles, brus.h.i.+ng her hair out of her eyes.

Saliman raised his hand in farewell, and Hekibel waved back, unable to speak. Then she burst into tears and hurried to the stables, where Karim was already guiding the caravan and its grumpy horses into the yard.

Hem stood by while the golden caravan pulled out of the yard, out of his life. The water was almost up to its axle, and neither the horses nor Fenek looked very happy. Usha, he saw, was still lame, if not as seriously as she had been the previous day. Then he mindtouched Irc, who was nearby, and told him they were leaving the tavern.

Is Saliman sick? asked Irc. We should stay to look after him .. . and I haven't finished looking here yet.

We can't stay, said Hem impatiently. There's water everywhere. And you shouldn't be robbing empty houses, anyway. If you want to join us, we're going up that hill behind the tavern.

I'll catch up with you, said Irc. I'm busy now.

Hem sighed and turned to Saliman. "Can you walk, do you think?" he said. "There's higher ground behind the tavern, some rising hills. I think we should go there. We might find an empty house or barn, if we're lucky."

"I can walk," said Saliman. "Though I fear I can't take a turn on the barrow, alas."

"I'll put a glimveil over us. It is probably better if we remain unseen." Hem made the spell swiftly, and then hefted the shafts of the barrow. It was well made, and the wheel ran true. Perhaps he would be able to manage. Slowly he pushed the barrow out of the yard, and then he turned off the road where a sodden track meandered uphill, out of the spreading water. The river had risen through all of Hiert and even now was flooding into the houses.

Almost as soon as they left the West Road, the barrow became bogged. Hem puffed and tugged until the wheel came out of the mud with a sucking noise, and then leaned, exhausted, against it. This was a way of getting nowhere very fast.

"We should put our boots on," he said to Saliman. "No use being colder than we already are."

The two Bards leaned against the barrow, struggling with their socks and boots. Hem's feet were numb with cold, and he had cut the bottom of his foot on a sharp stone. Absently, he whispered a charm against infection as he pulled his sock over it.

"There's a spell that helps against bogging," said Saliman. His voice was hoa.r.s.e, and he was s.h.i.+vering. "A simple thing we used to use as children at my grandmother's house. I think I can just about manage it."

He whispered some words in the Speech, his fingers touching the barrow as lightly as possible, and after that Hem didn't have any trouble. Even so, it was hard work pus.h.i.+ng the barrow uphill, and he began to sweat. At last they reached the top, and he stopped to rest his aching arms.

From here, he could see how much the Imlan had flooded. It was more like a lake than a river, pus.h.i.+ng its gray fingers into every low-lying area. The aspens and willows that lined the Imlan marked the river's normal course. Now they thrust up forlornly out of the floods. The West Road near Hiert was entirely under water, which was lapping the sides of the buildings a foot over the doorways. The point where they had turned off the West Road had already disappeared.

"The tavern will be flooded by now. It's rising fast," said Saliman. "I think we left just in time. It will probably be waist-deep in Hiert within the hour."

"But it's not raining!" said Hem. "Why is it rising now?"

"It's the rain from upriver, coming our way," Saliman answered. "If it rains anymore, the floods will become serious."

"They're not serious now?" Hem surveyed the sky. It was an iron-gray expanse of clouds, with not a patch of blue. "It's a safe wager that there's more rain coming," he said.

"I fear so," said Saliman.

Hem glanced across at him and set his jaw. He was trying not to look too much at Saliman; it hurt him. He had made no complaint on their toil up the hillside, but Hem could see at once that it had exhausted him. His skin was covered in a thin film of sweat, and Hem could see that his legs were shaking.

"So we'd better find some shelter, on high ground," Hem said, looking despairingly around him. This was grazing ground, close-cropped turf dotted with clumps of bare-branched ash or small oak trees. Farther along, knots of sheep or goats cl.u.s.tered around the trees, huddled against the piercing wind that blew over the top of the ridge. He had hoped to see a farmhouse, even a shepherd's hut, but nothing was in sight. They would probably have to set up the tent. It might not be too bad, he thought, in the shelter of the trees.

"Do you think you could reach the top of the next hill?" he asked.

"I'll try," said Saliman. "I won't lie to you, Hem; this is hard going for me. It's as if someone has poured molten lead into my joints. And my legs feel as if they're made of stone."

"If it gets too hard, you should get into the wheelbarrow."

Saliman was silent for a time. "I remember when I was a child, I saw an old woman pus.h.i.+ng a pig in a wheelbarrow," he said. "The pig was sitting up and looking around as if it were a fine lady in a sedan. It was one of the funniest things I had ever seen. I didn't stop laughing for hours."

"You don't look like a pig," said Hem, trying to smile.

"Nay, not like a pig. But I confess, the thought of being pushed in a wheelbarrow stings my pride."

"There's no one to see," said Hem.

"It's not a question of anyone seeing." Saliman sighed. "Well, let's get moving. That lake at the bottom of the hill is not going to get any smaller while we stay here talking."

Going downhill was easier, even though they were now walking into the wind. When they reached the swirling water at the bottom, Hem examined it uneasily. The water was brown with mud and he couldn't see the bottom, and he had no way of telling how deep it was. If it was too deep, he would have trouble with the barrow, and both of them would end up wet through. He found a long stick and prodded the water in front of him, but the current tore it out of his hands. He found a branch, stripped off the twigs to turn it into a pole, and stubbornly tried again.

It wasn't deep, probably just over their knees, but the current was very strong. And he could see the water level rising in front of his eyes.

"A fastening charm would probably do the trick," said Saliman from behind him. "But we'll have to feel our way. I'm sorry, Hem, I can't help with the charm."

"I'll have to touch you to make it work," said Hem.

"Don't worry about me; I'll hold onto the barrow," Saliman said. "I don't want you touching me, Hem."

Hem didn't insist. He would argue later; he couldn't heal Saliman if he were not able to touch him. He made a strong fastening charm, took a deep breath, and pushed the barrow into the water where it seemed most shallow, praying that it wouldn't rise over the sides. Slowly and painfully they made their way across. Hem just hoped they wouldn't fall into a sudden hole; he didn't know how he would get the barrow out if they did. The water swirled around his knees and even with the charm he could feel its power. It took all of Saliman's strength to walk against the current, and once he stumbled and almost fell over. But they made it across without mishap.

Now they were both wet to their thighs, and the wind was freezing. They stopped briefly and changed their clothes; it would do neither of them good to get even colder. Hem smelled the wind anxiously; there was rain in it, and it was coming their way. He turned and saw heavy clouds low in the south, sweeping over the green hills.

They pushed slowly up the next hill. By now Hem's arms felt as if they were on fire, but he gritted his teeth and pushed on. He didn't think he could go much farther. Saliman was trudging beside him, always two spans away, saying nothing. His silence told Hem more than anything else how much their trek was costing him, and he scanned their surroundings desperately, hoping for a sign of something, anythinga"a byre or a hut, even the open shelters farmers made for their livestocka"that would keep the coming weather off their heads. If he didn't see something soon, he would have to put the tent up, but he was hoping for something warmer and bigger, where he could light a fire.

At last they reached the top of the hill and stood with the wind at their back, looking over a strange, watery landscape: the floods spread as far as they could see. For a brief moment he wondered if the caravan had escaped the floods. And then, just over the ridge, in the lees of a rocky outcrop that protected it from the wind, Hem found what he was looking for: a stone hut roofed with turf so that he almost missed it. His arms burning with the effort, he pushed the barrow to the low door, and cautiously bent down to inspect the interior. There was nothing inside except a smell of damp, and the roof wasn't leaking, so the hard earth floor was dry. He beckoned to Saliman, who staggered inside and collapsed against the far wall, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. With a feeling of inexpressible relief, Hem began to unpack the barrow, carrying their belongings inside. As he did so, Irc spiraled down from the sky and landed on the roof of the hut, c.o.c.king his head to watch.

It's not as nice as the last place.

It's a lot better than nothing, Hem said crossly. And nothing was what we almost had. He was in no mood for Irc's criticisms.

Irc, sensing Hem's state of extremity, kept quiet. It didn't take long to empty the barrow, and Hem leaned it up against the wall outside and entered the hut himself. It was dark inside, so he made a magelight and lit a small fire by the door. The hut would fill with smoke, but he would rather battle smoke than the cold. The rain finally reached them as he laid the tinder, and Irc flapped inside, shaking out his feathers.

They were out of the wind here, and once the fire took hold the hut warmed up quickly. Hem cut up some turnips and beans he had salvaged from the tavern, throwing them into their cooking pota"he planned to make a stew for dinner. And then, finally, he turned to look at Saliman.

Saliman was visibly more ill than he had been that morning. He was shaking with violent tremors, even though the hut was now comfortably warm, and his face was drawn with exhaustion. He was watching Hem alertly and when Hem turned to look at him, he cleared his throat, as if he had been waiting to speak.

"Hem, listen," he said, and struggled to sit up straighter. His voice was hoa.r.s.e, and it was clearly an effort to talk, and now he used the Speech, not the Annaren they had spoken for the past few weeks. "I believe that you are mistaken in taking care of me like this and risking your life, although I love you for it, and I have not the will to oppose you, although I should. And I am afraid that tonight I may lose my mind, although I am hoping that will not happen yet. This sickness gnaws my flesh, my mind, my very bones, and although I fight it with all my will, all my magery, still I cannot stop it. I fear that you cannot escape the contagion if we sleep in this small s.p.a.ce."

"I know how bad it is," Hem said, his voice breaking. "But Saliman, I know I haven't done the wrong thing. Even if I fail, even if I get sick myself, I will not regret it."

Saliman smiled with such sadness that Hem almost wept.

"It is said that when the Great Silence ruled over Annar, deeds were done that were never marked by song or story, but that this made them no less deeds of valor. That is why, Hem, in the middle of the Song of the Dark there is a long moment of silence, to remember those whose actions we cannot know, but who deserve our respect and remembrance nonetheless."