Unnaturals (23 page)

"Happy birthday, daughter," he said.

Seventeen. She'd forgotten. She'd lost track of the days.

She took his present. It was a fresh copy of the Book of the Gods. She put it in her pocket and put her arms around him, and he patted her back awkwardly.

Then he left again, and she stirred the fire and sat by her mother's side. She read to Mom from that book for many days.

It didn't help Mom wake up.

Old Codes came sometimes, and so did Belinda and Mati. Young men didn't come any more. The chief brought wood and water himself. A month passed. Then the snows came, and they were nothing like the waterfall.

Then, one day, Mom woke up. Mel was dozing by Mom's side, she didn't really sleep in her bed any more. Suddenly a hand gripped hers, and eyes stared at her widely.

"I'll be going soon, Mel, my dear. You and I were on the boat together. I am glad. But, for the next stage of the journey, I'll be traveling alone."

"No," Mel shouted, "Don't you dare, Mom!"

Mom smiled at her. "Find your Dad for me one last time." She closed her eyes.

Meliora found him. She ran out in the snow, her thin shoes slipping, letting the chill get to her soles, her thin clothes keeping no warmth.

It was always hot in the cottage. She kept the fire roaring, always. Even the wind that sometimes sneaked in through the cracks in the wall or by the edges of the windows' heavy shutters could not fight with the heat.

The cold gripped her, but she felt none of it. She felt none of the people's sharp looks and shaken heads, either. At least no one tried to punch her this time. She ran straight to the temple, where she knew her father would be giving his weekly ceremony, yet another story of loin-cloth-wearing gods.

Did gods wear loin cloths even in winter? She wanted to laugh. She hated herself for it, but she so much wanted to laugh. Even at the temple's walls. She hadn't seen them since Elizabeth had been at them. There weren't pictures, and there wasn't any bareness, either. There were ghosts of many colors, pale, scratched, scraped, crossed out, dug out, until the walls looked like they'd been through the wonderful experiences and caught gaping wounds or smallpox.

The chief took a look at her face and ran to her from the gods-wall. They both ran home, and a trail of onlookers followed them, murmuring.

Too late.

Mom was still there. She was still breathing, but it was faint, so very faint. Then, she started thrashing, and her clothes became drenched with sweat. Old Codes started shaking her head.

Mom woke up when it was already dark. Her eyes were fever-bright, as bright as those damn stars out there in the sky, as bright as the stars had been on Mel's first night out here, in what the chief called the real world.

Mel remembered BarbButterScotch123's happy eyes, the way she'd peacefully lain on the bed in the Academy, she remembered Barb's smile as she'd squeezed the medstat's metal hand.

Mom was thrashing, whimpering, and she was squeezing the chief's hand, but she didn't seem to recognize him at all.

"Do something," Mel whispered. "This is your village, Dad, do something please!"

He couldn't. Mel couldn't, either. He'd been smart once upon a time, he'd selected her genes himself so that she could be even smarter—much good had it done them both.

Mom reached out and took Mel's hand, her other one still in Julian's.

"I am proud of you, Mel." Mom whispered. "You've done so much in your life—and you've even given life to your old mom. You gave me back your dad, and you showed me the real sun. I couldn't have asked for more. No one could have. I love you. Both of you. I am proud of both of you. Goodbye, my loves."

She smiled before she closed her eyes. She squeezed their hands. Her mate and child both had aspects—yet, she seemed happy to have them both there with her.

The smile froze on her face.

Mel stood up and walked to the window as the chief bowed his head and old Codes started wailing. It was a rule in the Village of Life, that someone must wail at death. It was an expression of sadness and mourning, to send the departed properly on their way. Mel had wondered why most of the time the wailer was someone who could not have loved the departed much.

Now she knew. Love didn't wail. Love got stuck at your throat. It gripped your heart like an iron wrench and squeezed so hard that you got numb enough not to feel your own tears. The only thing love let you whisper at the stars and snow and wind and glaring moon, so softly so that your father wouldn't hear you, was "Damn you, Doctor Jerome, and to the devils with you."

Fight

Meliora moved in with old Codes that same night. It wasn't proper for a grown daughter to live alone with her father.

The next morning, it was old Codes who didn't get up. She tried to. She slid from her bed instead of leaping from it like a young goat as usual. She cursed her old creaking bones all the time—and when Mati, as usual, ran to her with the walking stick, old Codes used it to poke Mati in the ribs.

"I don't need this, you foolish girl!" Her voice was slurred. "What do you think I will do—break? What do you think I am, eh? A dirty glass canning jar fresh from the earth? I'll walk without this!" She threw it towards the fireplace. It clanked over the tea kettle, and the water hissed into the flames.

Old Codes grunted and fell into her bed. Belinda ran to her with a pan in one hand and dough in the other.

"Mistress Codes! Mistress Codes, what is the matter!?"

Old Codes muttered something incomprehensible. Mati started crying, and even Belinda stood with her mouth open and hands trembling, sticky dough dripping forgotten to the floor.

Meliora didn't cry. Neither did she tremble. That night, she'd cried and trembled enough for a lifetime.

She ran to old Codes and checked her temperature and pulse. She started undressing the old woman and ordered Belinda and Mati to make the fire roar, boil water, and bring dry clothes. Old Codes was sweating. Just like Mom. It was just like with Mom—all of it.

Disease could jump from person to person, Stella had said.

"Mel..." Belinda was gasping for breath. She'd come back with more clothes than old Codes could wear in a week. She'd brought old Codes' clothes, Mati's, her own, and even Meliora's. Even Mom's. Mel had taken those with her to old Codes' house.

"Mel, what are you doing!"

Mel was silently thrusting all of Mom's clothes into the fireplace. Mati had already made the fire stronger. The flames were already leaping high. They didn't leap any higher as they swallowed Mom's gray homespun village dress and gulped her white, exquisite Lucastan blouse. They were flames. Flames didn't care.

Mel turned back to Belinda, her eyes dry. "A sick person's clothes can make disease spread. Didn't she teach you that much, at least?"

"She taught me almost nothing! You know she taught me almost nothing! Oh gods, I am not ready, Mel!"

Mati, by the fireplace, was crying again.

"Neither am I," Meliora whispered. "Neither am I. But we'll have to do with what we have, and what we are."

***

They did what they could. Once Belinda had drunk the anti-stress tea Meliora had Mati prepare for her, and once she had washed the dried dough from her hands, she remembered at least the basics. How to check old Codes' pulse, how to undress her, what tea to tell Mati to make for the old woman. Mati, crying softly, was feeding the fire and cooking the delayed breakfast. Mati knew nothing about fevers, pulses, or teas.

Why, old Codes, damn you! Why did you teach Mati, who lives with you, nothing, and Belle, who not only lives with you but is your apprentice, almost nothing? Damn you, old hag
!

But damnations were of no use.

The knock on the door came only minutes after old Codes had fallen. It was Andreas, face still bloated and hands turning into fists the moment he glimpsed Meliora.

"Where's Mistress Codes!" he half-bellowed from the door. "Alice needs her!" He scowled at Belinda when she stuck her head out from behind the inner door. Mel saw Belinda finger her shoulder and step back.

"Stay with Mistress Codes, Belle," Mel said quietly. She then turned to Andreas and pushed his chest with a palm. It was an unexpected motion, and it caught him unprepared. He stepped back over the threshold.

Just this time. Next time he will know better.

But there was time until next time.

"Lead the way, Andreas," Meliora said firmly before he could raise a hand. "Mistress Codes is unavailable. I am all the chance for life your Alice has."

"Mati!" Mel heard as she grabbed a coat and boots. "Mati, go find Nicolas, quickly! Tell him..."

Meliora didn't hear the rest, she was already walking. She could have laughed at Belle if she had the time. Couldn't the girl do
something
without Nicolas around her?

Alice was sweating just like old Codes, and Elizabeth was wriggling her hands beside her.

"You, Andreas," Meliora snapped. "What are you gaping at? Go boil water!" Andreas, sweating even though Mel didn't think it was fever in his case, ran to the kitchen.

"Baby..." Alice murmured. "Don't hurt my baby, city girl."

"You're all right if you can think and talk so coherently, Alice. There, help me with your skirt. Lizzy, what are you looking at? Help me."

Elizabeth frowned, then reached towards Alice.

"You don't have that much fever, either, Alice." Mel was talking very softly. "Tea can indeed fix you up."
Or hurt you.
She had learned that much about herbs from old Codes' reluctant, half-muttered words during those long days and nights at Mom's bedside.

"Baby..."

"I won't hurt it. I've taken care of babies, you know. Many babies."

Alice didn't look as if she believed her. But Meliora had cared for babies. And she remembered, suddenly, a medstat injecting one of the regular shots all babies got. "Just in case," Jerome had said. Against disease. Alice's baby wouldn't get shots, and suddenly Meliora hated the Village of Life more than ever before.

The very village is sick, and not just from fever—I must heal the gods-damn village.

She also remembered the snake head she'd brought and old Codes telling her that the venom could save a new mother and her baby, if mixed with the ground Fairy Eyes herb.

The venom and herb were long gone, all gone to save Arisa, though they hadn't saved her baby. Usually people got the venom from monsters or little snakes—but those all slept during the snows, and the herb must only be picked at full moon, and didn't grow in winter.

Tomorrow evening was full moon. Stella kept her door unlocked and had dry herbs and stored venom.

Andreas brought a bucket of hot water. His right hand was red and covered in blisters, so he must have burned himself. "Aren't you done already, city bitch? What are you still holding her hand for?"

"I see you need treatment, too, but you will have to wait," Meliora said calmly. "Alice has priority. You don't want her to die, do you?"

Andreas cringed. He was big and strong and had seen more blood than Meliora perhaps would ever see, but he was afraid of disease.

Then Mel knew what she must do. She'd seen it in the feeds about conspiracy and enemies. She mustn't hurry Alice's healing. She must do it slowly enough to keep Andreas afraid for Alice's life—and keep him afraid of the healer. Even an oaf such as Andreas must know that healers could do more than heal.

Perhaps Mel should even make someone sick deliberately. This way...

But I can't! Oh, gods, I can't lie in order to hurt! I can't hurt at all! I can't bear to watch them suffer like Mom
!

There was a knock on the outer door, strong and demanding. Andreas disappeared in the direction of the noise, the bedroom door slamming behind him. Mel heard Nicolas' voice. "Let me in, Andreas!"

"You mad or what? No way I am letting you in with my wife!"

"If you've hurt her, I promise you I..."

"Hurt her? You bastard, are you saying
I
made her sick? It was that, that city abom...oh, but you're talking about
her.
I haven't
hurt
her."

Why, thank you, Nicolas, you reminded him that he can
.

But he'd come to Mel. Not to Belle, to her.

No one, ever, had come to her.

She opened the door and stepped out. Nicolas looked as if he'd hit her.

"Meliora, you don't come to this house without your father or me any more, is that clear? What do you think you're doing?"

"Healing! Someone must! Andreas, you nasty brute, I should postpone treating your hand for the day after tomorrow, when I have come back with the moonlight herbs for your wife and child!"

The word
child
made Andreas stop and think a little. Good. That much, at least, was good. Andreas even peered through the bedroom door to see if a child had popped out while he wasn't looking.

"Treat him now," Nicolas grumbled. "Look at what he has done, that hand might be useless by the next time he hunts."

"Why, you—
you
can't tell me who to treat and when!"

"Yes, I can. Your father is out, and I am his deputy."

"And I am the priestess until Mistress Codes is up again."

"No one appointed you. Just leave him, I'll patch him up myself. Come on."

He gripped her elbow and pushed her through the outer door. She didn't hit him. It wouldn't have worked. It would have only confirmed to Andreas that she was weak. She ignored Andreas' scowl, jerked her elbow away from Nicolas' grip, and walked out of the door by herself.

Nicolas walked out with her, and she turned to face him. Funny, the way she'd learned to look at people's faces and know what was written there. It was like reading the feeds. You could learn much.

Nicolas' face told her nothing. Just like his feed.

"All I want from you," she whispered, "is to know why you hate me so much."

He said nothing. She stormed away.

She had no time for him. She must run to Stella's cottage. She could save
someone
on time.