Jeanne G'Fellers - Sister Lost, Sister Found (10 page)

Cheeks damp with tears, Terry finished her chores and turned back to the house. She felt useless. Rankil’s body reacted differently than an Autlach’s, making her healing wisdom trivial. She felt positive Rankil wouldn’t survive the day unless she had some expert help, but where? How? The nearest physician was a day’s ride away and if Rankil somehow managed to survive the trip, treatment would be denied her.

The rusted bell behind the shed clanged, rousing Terry from her grief. “I ask for an answer and it comes!” She dropped the bucket and shuffled toward the smoker shed, now hopeful for her grandchild’s welfare.

“Wait!” she begged to the forest shadows. “If you can understand me, we need help. The Taelach you’ve been teaching, she’s hurt. She’s dying. Please, you have to help.”

Kaelan stiffened and pulled deeper into the shadows. The girl had been injured? What could she do about it? Recca’s laws prevented such contact. It was dangerous, a breech of her clan vows. A trap could mean her death.

“I’m begging you.” Terry’s arms stretched to where Kaelan hid. “Two wrongs don’t make a right. Ignore her and she dies. Please, don’t let this happen. She’s a child.”

“Our laws don’t allow it,” called Kaelan in Taelach drawn Autlach. “There is nothing I can do. Misplaced sisters are often better off dead.”

“But she’s not misplaced. You know of her. You thought enough of her to teach her your ways. She’s studied hard and suffers now because of what she is. Should her own kind to turn their backs as well? You can’t do this. You have to help.”

Kaelan prodded Terry’s mind for deception before she dared a step closer. “I make no promises, but I’ll do what I can.” Then against her better judgment and everything Recca expected, she followed Terry to the house. In the doorway, she froze, hand reaching for her boot knife. Archell had awakened, Rankil’s head cradled in his lap. “A trap!” Kaelan stepped back. “You brought me here under the notion that only you and the girl were here. We have been nothing but kind to you. How dare you—”

“No, no.” Terry worried her hands into her apron. “Archell won’t hurt you. He’s close to Rankil. They’ve suffered together.”

“Rankil? That her name?” Kaelan nodded to Archell who drew back from his ailing cousin, permitting her full access.

“Rankil is the strangest name,” he said in a singsong manner that drew Kaelan’s attention. “It’s not her fault. She’s not to blame.”

“Mother knows she isn’t to blame for any of this.” Kaelan touched Rankil’s burning forehead and pulled back the blankets. “She’s lucky to be named at all. Most sisters raised without a clan don’t get names.” She fell to her knees beside Archell and patted his shoulder. She needn’t prod his mind. His thoughts were clear enough. He cared deeply for his cousin and would do anything to assist.

“I think I can help.” Kaelan told him. “Would you draw some water from the creek?”

“Yes, Archell will. Archell will.” He jumped to his feet and hurried out the door.

“What can I do?” Terry hovered nearby, leaning on her cane. Hope had momentarily replaced the exhaustion that lingered in her slow movements.

“Build a high fire so we can heat the water. I need enough free water to clean her wounds.”

“Free water?” Terry pulled an armful of wood from the fireside box.

“Free water is boiled free of dirt, Blind Grandmother. It contains nothing to anger the child’s body. I must have it to clean out the infection.” Kaelan attentions were once again on Rankil and the coarse stitches in her face. The damage looked extensive, leaving her quite unsure where to begin. There were multiple scars on the youth’s body but none issued with the hatred of the latest. They had been meant to kill. “Who did this?”

“Her uncle.” Terry couldn’t hide her contempt. “Archell made sure he’d never repeat it.”

“That explains the fresh burial mound I crossed this morning,” replied Kaelan. “So the boy killed for her.”

“That and a lifetime of pent-up pain. Tisph was Archell’s father. He beat the boy for his songs as much as he chased Rankil for being Taelach.”

Kaelan’s full mouth pinched with surprise then disgust. “Chased? You don’t mean—”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” spat the old woman. “And he finally managed it.” Terry coaxed the fire until it crackled high for Archell’s return. “Rankil likes your songs, doesn’t she my boy?”

“Rankil dankle is Archell’s friend to the end.” He filled the pot and swung it over the fire. “Rankil listens to Archell’s songs. Never thought to call them wrong.”

“Why would one call a poet’s creations wrong?” Kaelan placed her knife in the bottom of the heating pot. “I need a needle and some of the thread you sewed her up with the first time. Some of the stitches have burst from the swelling. Archell, I need you to bring the water over here. You can help by wiping her down with a cool cloth.”

Eager to assist, Archell settled on his knees beside Kaelan. “Does Archell need to keep dirty water from Rankil’s wounds? Keep them clean so they’ll heal up soon?”

“Yes, you do,” answered Kaelan, astounded by his knowledge. “Did you hear me speak of the water when you were outside?”

He shook his head in that exaggerated way most mistook as a sign of idiocy. “Archell just knows. He learns things from the wind that blows.” He sang a soothing verse while he cooled Rankil’s fevered body. Gentle and kind, delicate beyond the capability of such large hands, he ragged her. Satisfied that Rankil was in good hands, Kaelan stepped back to warm by the fireside. Despite the warmth of the morning, she shivered. Be it fear or distress she wasn’t sure.

“Amazing young man,” she commented to Terry. “You say his family flogged him for his voice?”

“I’m afraid so. They say he’s simpleminded. I say they’re the ones without sense.” Terry backed to the fire and held her hand over the pot. “It’ll boil soon.”

“So it will.” Kaelan sat at the kitchen table to wait. “That boy is anything but dumb. He’s what my people call a winnolla, a person so brilliant in one area it invades all his being. Besides menial tasks, he can do nothing but create and compose. It’s the only way his mind will work. Has he put any of his songs in writing?”

“He can’t read or write.” Terry settled into the rocker that had proven such a prison three days ago, now wishing nothing more than to be rocking her snow-headed great-great-granddaughter in it. “He seems to keep the whole in his mind, hundreds upon hundreds of verses, one for every situation. Rankil told me of the one we’re hearing now. She said he sings it when he’s hurting. I don’t know what he’ll do if she dies. He can’t stay here forever. They’ll come looking for Tisph sooner or later. We did all we could to make it look like he’d been robbed, blood smeared his saddle, sent his nassie down the mountain.” Terry turned toward the fire. “Pot’s beginning to boil. I’ll get the needle and thread you asked for.”

Kaelan pulled the pot from the fire and fished her knife from the bottom. She wrapped the blade in a clean towel then ladled a fair amount of the water into shallow bowls to cool, setting the needle and a length of thread in the bottom of one before she returned to her chair. “You say Rankil has been studying hard?” She had noticed the absence of valued learning materials.

“Every evening. I’ve had to pry a scroll from her sleeping hands many times. She shares with me as much as she can. Lately she’s been reading from the bundle of numbered scrolls you left a few visits back. It’s a fascinating story.”

“No story. Those are Autlach translations of history scrolls from my clan. My daughter helped make them.”

“Daughter?” said Terry. “How old?”

“About Rankil’s age. She was with me the first time I saw Rankil. Myrla has been a wealth of ideas. It’s hard to judge progress when the only contact with your student is on a slate board. We’re hoping Rankil becomes fluent enough in Autlach reading to begin teaching her Taelach in earnest this winter.”

Terry leaned close. “Please tell me you’re going to take her with you,” she whispered in an almost begging tone. “She’ll be killed, maybe worse, if she remains here. That or she and Archell will be forced to live like animals in the high ranges.”

“We’ll take her. The Serpent Clan can always use a strong member in its ranks.” Then Kaelan smiled at the back of Archell’s head. “And we have been known to take in a misunderstood Aut winnolla from time to time.” She reached forward to touch test the knife handle. “Everything is ready. Blind Grandmother, I’ll need your help as well as Archell’s.”

“Just tell us what to do.” Under Kaelan’s patient guidance, Terry took a place at Rankil’s head, cradling it in her lap. Archell sat at her feet, his hands at her ankles should she awaken mid-stitch.

“Don’t stop singing to her, Archell,” said Kaelan. “Your songs remind her of your presence even when she can’t respond.” In the midst of his hum, she pushed a pain-relieving phase into Rankil’s mind, prodding her for some sort of response. It could be difficult for the young to interpret a mental presence so she searched for any signal relief had been accepted.

Rankil stirred, brushing at her face.

Shhh, young one.
Kaelan’s words were slow, as she’d never phased in the Autlach language.
You’re among friends. My name is Kaelan, and I’m here to help you. I’m relieving the pain while I tend your wounds.
She guided Rankil’s hand back to her side, holding it there when Rankil squirmed.
No, don’t fight. Your grandmother is here and so is Archell.
Kaelan stroked the unscathed side of her face.

Archie? Granny? Rankil settled when Terry and Archell added their reassurance.

See? They’re close. Now let me help. You shouldn’t feel any pain. If you do, tell me, and I’ll take it away. Understand?

Yes.
Rankil sank into unconsciousness as Kaelan opened and cleansed her wounds.

The infection proved deeper than Kaelan had anticipated. Jewel’s knowledge and Taelach medicines were in order. She did what she could and was restitching the facial laceration when Rankil raised her first objection. Hurts.

Kaelan pushed another wave to mask the pain. Better?

Some.

I’m almost through. You’ve been brave.
Kaelan dabbed at the drainage seeping from the loose stitches.
I’m going to put you into a deep sleep until I return.

When?
One word replies were common with youngster’s phases.

Soon, and I’ll bring back someone for you to meet.
Kaelan began to push the phase.

Wait!

What’s wrong?

Rankil forced her eyes open. Though the focus unsteady her swollen smile proved quick and her voice strained through her bruised throat. “So, I’m not alone after all.” Put at peace by what she’d seen, she relaxed.
Ready.

Goodnight, Rankil. I’ll be here when you wake
. Kaelan pushed the heaviest phase she dare, Rankil responding in deep even breaths. “You’re not alone, Rankil.” She peered up at Terry and Archell’s pained faces. “I believe the Mother Maker has seen that you never were.”

“Stay in the bed. We’ll be back before light.” Jewel kissed Myrla’s cheek and tucked the blanket tight about her legs.

“I’ll stay put, Jewel. I promise.” Myrla hoped the guarantee would make her raisers’ decision to leave her behind a little easier. “I’m old enough to be alone a while. Besides, the misplaced sister needs you more than I do right now. Go help her.”

“From youngest mouth comes the profoundest wisdom.” Kaelan winked at Myrla then pulled the divider curtain. “Come, Jewel, an hour’s ride can take three in the dark.”

“I’m ready.” Jewel clasped Kaelan’s assisting arm and rose. “Sleep tight, Myrla.”

“Night.” Myrla snuggled into her fur and pretended to fall fast asleep, knowing Jewel wouldn’t leave until she was. Not fooled by her daughter’s sudden slumber but confident of her safety, Jewel followed Kaelan through the clan’s narrow escape tunnels and into the forest below the night watch’s keen eyes.

“An Aut saddle?” Kaelan boosted Jewel up and pulled behind her.

“A loan from Archell so I wouldn’t have to sneak a fresh mount from the corrals.” She gave the nassie a small kick and guided it down the mountainside. “Thank you for agreeing to help. Rankil doesn’t have a prayer without some tyroog root for those cuts. They’re highly infected.”

“So you said.” Jewel pulled her skirts to a more comfortable arrangement. “I brought powders and salve from my birther’s stores. An extensive infection needs treatment inside and out.” She brushed Kaelan’s swinging braid from her face and grumbled under her breath.

“Is the girl aware of what happened to her?”

“If you’re asking if she still has her faculties after such a brutal attack, the answer is yes. She’s able to speak a little when I phase away the pain.” Kaelan thought of the suppressed anger she had sensed in Rankil. “But you must understand, Jewel, she’s not much of a child. Her life has been a difficult one. She’s bitter and mistrustful, and so in need of parenting that—”

“Well, I would be to if I was . . . was . . . I’m glad the bastard who did it is dead.”

“Don’t be.” Kaelan ducked to avoid a low branch crossing their path. Despite the move, a twig scratched her cheek. She frowned, but said nothing. Such discomfort seemed trivial when another suffered so. “His death does more harm than good. The man’s family will come looking sooner or later. And to make things worse, Archell is a runaway. He stole this nassie and two others when he fled home.”