Chapter 12. The Foe

The storm had blown through. During the night the news of Atticus’ illness had spread. Now everyone knew, and all were waiting for the invisible foe. Last time with Old Shelia, they had been fortunate. The old female had been the sole death. Could they hope to be that lucky again? They could hope, but only time would tell.

In the kitchen, Granny was crushing the ingredients of a numbing tea together. It was for Atticus. Papa and Malik were currently with him. Auntie and Sister, had gone to tell their kin that contagion had cropped up again. It was important to get the word out early. During a plague, the living depended upon the skill of the Carrion Eaters to slow the spread of disease. It took droves of their kind to fight the spread of infection.

Nisreen was still on her rugs, wrapped in her blanket. She had not slept well at all during the night, between the things Atticus had said about Vince, and the comfort she had received from Malik, her emotions were in a tumble. Her brain couldn’t process. Why was Vince in a cage, if he was in a cage? Why would he be forced to mate, if he was even a live? She very much wanted him to be alive, but not in a cage, not with a mate. Then, their was Malik. Even the thought of him made her ache. What she most wanted was the strength of his arms around her again. She wanted the scent of him in her nostrils and the shelter of his closeness.

On the brazier, the water began to boil. Granny lifted the lid of the kettle. Steam rose. From her place on the floor, Nisreen saw the weariness in Granny’s face. The old female’s role in this world was taxing. She was tired. Though Nisreen didn’t want to take the tea out to Atticus, she knew Granny needed to rest. She said, “I can take it.”

Granny set the lid back down and said, “Thank you child.”

Nisreen rolled off the rug and went to the basin to wash her face. A strange sensation tingled through her. It was part dread and part joy. Confused she pushed it away.

At the counter, Granny poured the boiling water from the kettle into the tea pot. The air became pungent with the aroma of lemon balm, wood betony, St. John's wort, chamomile, prickly ash and milky oats. The tea was ready. Nisreen slipped on her boots, and cape. She took the teapot wrapped in cozy from Granny and told her, “Go lay down a bit.” Unable to say his name, Nisreen said, “I can sit with him.”

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Granny’s eyes met hers. In that moment Nisreen knew her soul was being read. After a short silence, Granny said, “You don’t need to do that. No one in the family expects you to look after your tormentor.”

No one expected it, but being what she was, Nisreen knew her role in this current tragedy, she must pull her own weight, and support her family. “You need rest and I want to help you.”

“All right then.” Granny reached out and touched her face. “Don’t mind his ramblings. Atticus has passed into the mists of confusion.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Nisreen went outside. A sharp morning wind met her. The air smelled of snow. The sky was over cast. Out in the field behind the shed, was the Waiting Tent. It was made of thick brown canvas. Their was a hole in the roof. A curl of smoke drifted out of it. The ground was muddy and her boots squelched through the puddles. When she opened the flap to the tent, the stench of contagion was so strong, she took a step back. Deep reluctance to enter tore through her. This was a thing she could not do.

Malik said, “Ah, the tea, thank you.” He got up from the bench and came to where she stood. As badly as didn’t want to be any where near Atticus, she just as badly wanted to be with Malik. She ducked her head and entered the tent. On the cot was Atticus. He looked even worse than he had last night. She went to him. His eyes opened. She wasn’t sure he recognized her, or even saw her, his eyes were so glazed. From the stool beside the bed, she picked up a tin cup and poured the hot liquid into it. Steam rose into the air. To Papa she said, “Go on and stretch your legs. I will give him his tea.”

“Thank you.” With a look at Malik, Papa said, “I won’t be gone long.” He then stepped outside.

Nisreen, sat down on the bench holding the cup. It was still too hot to drink. Malik sat down beside her, just close enough for their shoulders to touch. When the tea was cool enough to drink, she went to the cot and asked, “Can you hear me?”

Atticus nodded. His eyes held hers. Last night he still had some of his bravado, this morning it was all gone. Gently, she pressed the cup to his lips. He opened his mouth like a baby bird, and she poured the liquid in. He drank all of it and then collapsed. His body radiated the heat of his fever. Nisreen returned to the bench and sat down beside Malik. She was too shy to lean into him.

The tent flap opened and Papa came inside. He looked at the two of them on the bench. Nisreen was grateful, she had been too shy to sit shoulder to shoulder with Malik. While Mama would encourage such contact, Papa would not. He grunted to Malik, “Go get some rest, you’ve been up all night.”

“So have you Sir. I can sit a spell longer.”

Papa’s eyes darted from Malik to Nisreen. “Very will then.” To Nisreen he said, “Come get me if you need me.”

“Yes, Papa.” She watched him walk out of the tent. As soon as the flap closed, she reached for Malik’s hand. His warm fingers slid through hers.