EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (34 page)

Not clean enough.
I used my fingernails to scrape at my skin. When I saw it become red and swell a little, I felt satisfied. I took a cloth and wiped down the barricade door and the key, then crept back to my parents’ room and returned the key to the table beside Uncle Garrad. No harm done.

I took the stack of firewood to the hearth and thought,
smallest, small, medium, big
. A simple recipe to make the fire. Deep in the ash, I found glowing embers. I sprinkled dry leaves and twigs on them and blew a little. The embers grew redder, and then a leaf caught alight. It glowed and curled. Quickly, I added sticks. I
waited for them to catch and then added branches. Lastly came two large logs.

I tiptoed back to my uncle’s side. The sores had spread to his face. I gently pulled the cover over his exposed feet and lifted the blanket that covered his chest. The red spots were spreading across his torso. I touched his arm. Beads of cold sweat lined the skin, yet his forehead felt hot with infection.

‘Uncle,’ I said, shaking his shoulder, being careful not to touch the sores.

He groaned and his eyes fluttered for a moment.

‘Water. Fetch me water.’

I brought a goblet of water. He cringed with every swallow then lay back down. His beard stuck to different parts of his upper body, and I gathered it up and tied it out of the way.

‘I’m going to get worse. But it won’t last long,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you what to do.’

I fought the tears that wanted to leak from my eyes and nodded.

Over the course of the day, the skin on the sores broke, wept, and yellowed. Bouts of fever brought pain and shaking. During his alert moments, he educated me on how to tend to his different symptoms.

Three days into his illness, it seemed the worst had passed. Scabs formed over the sores, and his forehead cooled. I disposed of any waste in containers and stowed them in the storeroom, but the smell of the bed became putrid. I knew how Mother treasured her bed, which she had told me on many occasions contained special goose feathers from Bivinia.

On day four Uncle Garrad’s fever subsided, and he managed to haul himself up into a sitting position and take some leftover leek soup. ‘Thank you,’ he said after slurping up the last of the broth. Holes had replaced previously smooth skin, and a red blotchy rash spread across the upper body. ‘I must look horrible. Like a monster.’

I patted an unmarked spot on his hand. ‘The scars will heal.’He looked at me with hopeful grey eyes. ‘Yes, they will. But this isn’t over. More will come. But not today, and not for a while.’ He reached out and squeezed my hand. He shifted back under the covers, and his eyes closed. ‘The worst is over,’ he whispered, and the relief on his face gave me hope as he fell back asleep.

The window in my parents’ room had always been boarded. In fact the only windows without boards were the ones in the attic and kitchen. That meant I couldn’t easily ventilate the stale bedroom air. I wondered if Mother had a pouch of dried flowers in her dresser. After searching, I found some that smelled of rose and lavender. I also retrieved some lavender oils from the pantry and sprinkled it everywhere. The fresh fragrance seemed to bring the house alive.

Hours later, footsteps drew my attention from my reading, and I looked up to see my Uncle Garrad standing tall in the living room.

He walked over, lifted the ends of my hair, and sniffed them.

‘You smell as bad as I do. Our baths are long overdue, don’t you think?’

‘Yes. You need to bathe. Uncle, I tended to you too much. You must wash my disease from your skin.’

He frowned and looked away. ‘Were you scared?’

‘Yes.’ I burst into tears.

He held out his arms, and I went to him and crawled up on his lap. He hugged me tightly while gently stroking my head. I’d never seen him that bad before. Whenever he got the sores in the past, Mother and Father had been home, and they kept him away from me. They worried it would upset me to see him sick, and they’d been right. It was dreadful.

After a while, there were no tears left, and he set me back on the ground and stood. ‘Let’s take a bath. You first.’

We had extra stores of water in the backyard, and since the day had turned to night, I could help him. A tall fence surrounded our yard. Outside, the cold air made my chest ache. In the distance, two women laughed and a dog barked. I took a moment to listen to the other sounds of the town. How I longed to explore the streets. I shook my head and concentrated on moving the large barrels into the house and across the floor of Mystoria.

Uncle helped me with the last barrel. ‘Thank you, you’ve been a great help,’ he said, locking the door. For a moment, he stared at the key in his hand before examining me. ‘Bet your parents don’t realise how trustworthy you are. You didn’t even think to go anywhere did you?’

Truth was that I
had
thought about it. I’d thought about it
a lot
. But I wanted my uncle to think the best of me, so I lied by nodding.

‘It would be better…’ But the last few words caught in his throat, and he coughed and spluttered. His face turned a dark pink, and his eyes watered.

‘Don’t talk,’ I said.

He tipped his head in agreement. Uncle Garrad shuffled to our large tub that stood on one side of the living room and tipped in some water. The water was icy, so we turned the fire in the hearth to a blaze and hung several pots of water over the searing flames. When the water boiled, Uncle Garrad tipped it into the bath. Steam filled the air, and I added salts and sage to the mix.

My muscles ached. A yawn escaped my lips, and before I knew it, my uncle had undone the lace at the back of my dress. I placed a hand around his shoulders to steady myself, while he loosened my long plaits and removed my clothing.

He scooped me up into his large arms, and I was careful to avoid his sores—not for fear of touching them, but so I wouldn’t hurt him. The warmth of the water moved past my skin and heated my bones.

Uncle Garrad stepped away and stoked the fire. When he returned, he brought soap and lathered his hands. He swished them in the water. Suddenly, he stared into my eyes, and something caught in his throat as he tried to speak. He swallowed and then froze, darting his eyes to the bath as if he were guilty of something.

‘Uncle? Are you well?’

He shook his head. ‘Yes, I’m well, Adenine.’

I grabbed the soap he’d left on the side of the tub and rubbed it against my skin. I recited the bathing routine Mother had taught me long ago: face, hands, under arms, between legs, and feet.

Uncle Garrad returned with a flask and gulped the contents. ‘Adenine, do you love me?’

‘Yes, Uncle Garrad.’

He kept his eyes on me and drank some more. I recognised the flask; it was Father’s. I knew it contained ale, and I became afraid that Uncle Garrad would get drunk. But he set the container on the table and began to undress. I hadn’t quite finished washing, so I began to hurry.

‘Do you mind if I get in?’ he asked.

‘But you’re all dirty,’ I said. I didn’t want to take a bath with someone who smelled and looked as bad as he did.

‘There’s enough water for us both.’

I nodded. Uncle Garrad had been through enough. Once in the tub, he sat right beside me, and I shifted uncomfortably.

‘My fingers are pruning,’ I said and held up my hands for him to see. As I stood to climb out, he brought a hand down on my shoulder, forcing me to sit again.

‘I love you too, Adenine. I don’t ever want to hurt you. You need to trust me.’

My heart thudded in my chest. Something was wrong. But I
did
trust him, and my uncertainty overruled my fear. ‘I do trust you,’ I said.

He pulled me onto his lap and hugged me. I welcomed the affection, but he had never seemed so eager to be that close to me before. Even Father didn’t hug me that way. Was I doing something wrong?

‘This is just a way to show love,’ he assured me.

I began to relax and let his body wrap me up. I felt safe with him; I’d always felt safe with him. His breath was hot on my neck, and I could smell the staleness of the ale.

Then his hands began to move. He massaged my shoulders and buried his face into my hair. I turned around to face him, but without warning, I was on my back.

He pushed my legs apart. His eyes were watering and his eyes full of fear. He leaned in and kissed me on the lips.

‘No,’ I said, trying to push him away, but he didn’t stop.

He took the soap and placed it somewhere beneath the water. Scared I might drown, I fought him.

‘Keep still!’ he bellowed.

I began to think of good things, happy things that would make me feel better. I thought of the books I’d read about Senya, and our neighbouring countries. I thought about the snow bears of Ruxdor, the elegant Bivinians and their water city.

An arm wrapped around me and pulled me to the side of the tub. Mother! She was back! Father grabbed my uncle, and then Mother’s hair draped over my face, preventing me from seeing. But as the strands fell away, I saw my father holding my uncle’s head down in the tub water.

‘No!’ I screamed. ‘Papa, don’t!’

Father pulled my uncle’s head up, and I thought he was going to stop. Instead, he grabbed a skinning knife from a nearby knapsack and thrust it into my uncle’s leg. Uncle Garrad cried out and grabbed his thigh. There was red! The blood mixed with the water, creating a tub of pink.

Mother lifted me from the bath, and in doing so, knocked over a bucket of boiling water that had been balanced on the tub’s edge.

A little splashed on my face, and I cried out. ‘Mama!’

She cursed, wrapped me in a blanket, and took me into her bedroom. She held me there and rocked me back and forward, humming a song.

My father shouted from the next room, ‘How could you?’ His voice boomed through the house, and I heard a bang and a crash.

My uncle groaned. ‘Why… stab me for…’

Father and Uncle Garrad’s voices grew fainter, and I heard a door slam. Mother hummed in my ear, and I strained to hear the conversation.

‘… the eyes…’ Uncle Garrad said, followed by, ‘No, Ardonian!’

Mother covered my ears with her hands, and I heard nothing more.

After a while, Mother let go of me and whispered, ‘Stay here.’

I shook from head to foot and couldn’t decide whether from cold or fear. My parents’ bedroom felt untouched by the roaring fire of the living room, and it was dark too. She’d left me alone, and I didn’t want to be alone.

My parents were arguing, and as their shouting became came louder, I rocked back and forth, hugging myself.

‘… they’ll know about her… she’ll be taken away...’ Mother was crying as she spoke.

‘Blinding… save her… Capacia,’ Father said.

‘…innocent!’ she screamed.

I blocked my ears with my fingers. After a few minutes, I moved my hands. Silence. I crept to the door and placed my ear against it. Nothing.

Unable to stay in the shadowy room any longer, I opened the door and scanned the living room. I put a hand to my mouth and whimpered at the sight of a long smear of blood on our Purbeck stone floor. The blood formed a trail from the tub to the closed storeroom door.

I hesitated. Father might be angry at me. Maybe he’d attack me as he had Uncle Garrad. No, he loved me. He wouldn’t hurt me.

Each step made my stomach twist and my legs wobble. When I reached the storeroom, I gathered my courage and pushed on the oak door.

Chapter IV

M
Y
UNCLE
LAY
AMONGST
THE
buckets of waste. I gaped at the wound in his chest, and Father rushed to cover the body with a silk-threaded rug.

‘No,’ I said, beginning to cry.

Mother came over and pressed my face to her chest. She picked me up and rushed me from the room.

‘No, I want to see him,’ I said.

‘Hush, Adenine.’ Mother stroked my hair and took me up to my attic bedroom, where she cradled me in her arms while I cried. ‘He’s been sick, hasn’t he?’ she asked after a while.

I nodded. My face felt raw and swollen. My eyes stung, and there was a weird pressure in my head.

‘The whole time?’ she asked.

‘Four days,’ I replied, and a sob escaped my mouth.

Mother moved in front of me, levelling her eyes with mine. ‘And you took care of him all by yourself?’

My eyes stung again. ‘Yes.’ I said taking steadying breaths.

She stroked my hair and pulled me against her again. ‘You’re so brave. I’m so proud of you.’

‘What did I do wrong? Why did he attack me?’

‘Sometimes people do bad things when they’re desperate.’

I’d always been a good girl. He always told me I was. I looked after him, I took care of him. ‘I hate him,’ I said.

Mother turned her head. ‘I’ll be right back,’ she said and kissed my forehead. ‘This time, stay here. Understand?’

‘I will.’ I didn’t want to know what was happening anyway.