The Ghosts of Cartel - 3

The Ghosts of Cartel - 2  (ASR) A story of hardship, friendship, faeries, magic, princes and murderers. #1619224 by Tegan L. Elliott

         It was nighttime and the women were in conference in a small corner of the house, if the house could have been said to possess corners. All its edges were rounded, even on the furniture. When Meg asked about it years before, Aisha replied, “Sharp edges are perilous things.” Meg suspected she would never get a more satisfactory answer than that.
         Several hours had passed since Will's arrival, during which time the most exciting thing to happen was Morph chasing down and mauling a tiny mouse, which she feasted on, then laid its disembodied head at Aisha's feet.
         Will still seemed to be sleeping. Actually, he seemed to be dead. His chest took so long to rise and fall that it was like he didn't move at all. The glow on his chest flickered like lamplight and even under the blankets, a hint of it could be seen through the darkness.
         “What are we going to do with him?” Meg whispered, biting her thumbnail.
         “What do you mean do with him?” Aisha asked, pulling the girl's hand away from her mouth. “We're going to heal him and send him on his way.”
         Meg looked outraged. “We can't do that! Look at him! He's so... interesting.” Her hazel eyes sucked up every detail of him that they could spy. “I want to keep him.”
         Aisha chuckled under her breath. “Meg, this isn't one of your injured rabbits. You can't 'keep' another human being. Especially not that one. We let him stay until he is better; even after that, if he wants, though I suspect he won't.” The old woman turned to face Meg and crossed her arms over her chest. “While we're on the subject of leaving and things, it's time for you to get out of my house.”
         Meg rested her head against the wall and looked up at the thatched roof. Aisha's house and workshop wasn't much, but it felt like more of a home to her than anywhere else.
         “Must I go?” she lamented.
         “You know the rules, child,” Aisha said, placing a weathered hand on the side of Meg's face. “Until tomorrow.”
         The old woman walked to the bed in the center of her house and Morph followed, weaving in and out between her legs.
         “Wait a minute,” Meg asked, going to stand across the bed from her tutor. “Are you going to sleep with him?”
         “Only in the proximal sense, Meg,” said Aisha a mischievous tone in her voice.
         The young girl gasped and her hand flew to her chest. “You can't do that!”
         Aisha fluffed a pillow, sending little white puffs of feathers into the air. “He is in my bed! What would you have me do, sleep on the floor?”
         “Yes!” Meg shouted as she tossed both her hands into the air.
         “Come now, Meg, I am an old woman. Sleeping on the floor would kill me.”
         Meg scoffed. “Nonsense. I know exactly how tough you are, you old ox. One night on the floor would not kill you, and this is just wrong!” she said, waving her arm over Will's body and the bed.
         “Really, Meg, you're being ridiculous,” the old woman chided, unlacing her sandals and getting under the covers.
         Meg let out another gasp. “I can't believe you're doing this!” she hissed.
         The old woman glared and brought the covers up to her chest. “My house. My bed.”
         “Aisha, this is scandalous.”
         “Only in your head, I assure you.”
         “You can't--”
         Both women fell silent as Will pounded his fist on the bed and labored into a sitting position. He didn't say a word, but his expression spoke volumes.
         Meg swallowed hard and hurried to say, “I'm sorry, you seemed to be sleeping so heavily.” She wrung her hands together and looked to Aisha for help.
         The old woman sparked to the notion and said, “We didn't think we could wake you.”
         “If I had been a corpse, you could have woken me,” Will grunted. It was amazing how, even though his hair was wild and he looked no better than a half-starved street urchin, his voice and bearing was so imperial. He struggled to his feet.
         “Where are you going?” Aisha asked.
         “The floor,” Will grumbled. He took two steps and collapsed back down, curling up on his side.
         The women stared at him and then at each other.
         “Well, get him a blanket,” groused the apothecary, settling back down into her circular bed.
         Meg grinned in triumph and stripped an extra blanket off the end of the bed then set it on top of the boy's body. Her hands lingered over his bare, rounded shoulders and she stared at him for a few moments.
         “Now leave,” Aisha commanded.
         Meg backed away and went to the door, fastening her cloak around her shoulders. “Sleep tight,” Meg called. “I will be back early tomorrow.”
         “Not too early, I hope,” Aisha mumbled.
         “I can't wait to see you either.”

#

         In the morning, Meg awoke with a start. She'd been dreaming she slept in a big, warm bed underneath a blanket soft as silk, yet as  impenetrable as steel. In her dream she felt safe and comfortable, but in the morning she remembered she was sleeping on the ground, in a cave, and she was cold.
         She rolled onto her side and tucked her knees to her chin, trying to build up some warmth in her limbs. She exhaled and her breath appeared as a puff of smoke in front of her. The sun peeked through the door of vines she crafted to conceal the entrance to her secret stone cave, and a beam of light shone directly on her face. The light seemed to follow her no matter which way she turned, so she gave up the struggle and got to her feet. The cave was not tall enough for her to stand straight up, but it was the perfect width when she lay down. She wrapped her cold cloak about her shoulders, bundled up her blanket, and tossed it to the back of the cave with her lantern and meager supply of flint and steel. She stepped into the day light and was relieved to find it much warmer out there than in her hideaway. She basked in the glow and beauty of the sunrise, admiring the sparkling light on the stream a handful of paces away, then she remembered William.
         All aches and pains were forgotten. Meg walked with with a lightness in her step which came from having a purpose. Birds whistled as she walked by, singing their wake-up songs to the villagers who were committed to ignoring them. Squirrels skittered along the ground, searching for acorns to store in their secret nooks for the upcoming winter months. Meg nearly tripped over herself when she saw a plain white squirrel with pink eyes looking at her from the road. The animal was still for a second, regarding Meg, then it scampered away and disappeared up a tree.
         Meg took it as a sign of good luck that such a curiosity of nature had visited her, and as she walked down Market street observing the groggy crafters, hunters, and traders preparing their wares, she smiled at the prospect of such a welcoming day. Even Aisha's house, which was a particular oddity with its large circular room and three smaller rooms jutting off it like tumors, seemed to welcome Meg with open arms. Come in! It said, I'm warm, and your have friends inside.
         Meg burst through the congenial door of Aisha's house and bounded into the main room. “Oh, it's such a beautiful, crisp morning, Aisha!” she sang. “The sun is high, the clouds are white and fluffy, the birds are singing and--” Meg felt panic stampede into her chest as she turned and saw the scene before her. “Did he die!”
          The boy lay stone-still on the floor, his skin as white as the clouds outside, with the exception of the burns in his flesh. Leather-bound books and old scrolls were sprawled out all around him. Thousands of tiny white feathers dusted everything and Aisha sat in the middle of it all, looking harrowed.
         “Of course not,” she grumbled. “He just looks that way. Now, come in, shut the door, and quit being so damn chipper! It's hardly even dawn. There ought to be laws against that sort of thing.”
         Meg exhaled a breath and willed her heart to stop racing. “Oh, yes,” she said, shutting the creaky door behind her and hanging her cloak on the peg. “No one should be allowed to be happy before mid-morning. We could all be like you, then, Aisha. Imagine what a world that would be, full of grumpy old women and their cats.”
         “At least she doesn't talk as much as you,” Will grunted, not even bothering to lift his eyelids
         “William, you're awake!” Meg beamed.
         “And I have only you to thank for that,” he said through gritted teeth, still unmoving.
         “My pleasure,” she said with a beautiful smile.
         He groaned.
         “Meg,” Aisha said, stepping away from Will and lowering her voice to a whisper. “I am going to be needing more ingredients from Dirk today.” Meg's countenance fell to despair, her good mood vanishing like a shooting star into oblivion. Aisha took no notice. “I'm almost out of numbing solution,” she said. “The attacks worsened during the night and they show little sign of improving this morning.”
         Meg's eyes flicked to Will and she noticed that every breath seemed to be carefully measured. His face was a mask of concentration.
         “How bad is it?” she asked, her voice low.
         Aisha paused and pulled Meg toward the kitchen. She lifted her heels off the floor and whispered. “Very bad. Every few hours he has another attack. He was eating right through his lip, but I told him to bite the pillow if he felt the need to keep from screaming.”
         Then, the feathers made sense.          
         Aisha continued. “I think the worst of it is behind us, but whatever it is has made him very weak. He can't even eat anything.”
         “He gets sick?” Meg asked, peeking around the door to catch a glimpse of the boy on the floor.
         Aisha pulled her back into the kitchen by her slender shoulders and said, “No, he can't even chew the dried meat that I have.”
         “So make a broth,” Meg said, tapping her foot on the ground and crossing her arms over her chest.
         Aisha reached out and uncrossed Meg's arms, pinning them to her sides. “Don't you think I'd thought of that, you petulant child? I have no food in this house besides the meat and my herbs. That is also something I need you to get for me in town.”
         “Aisha,” the tone in Meg's voice made her tutor's expression soften.
         “Yes, child?” she asked, releasing the girl's arms.
         Meg brought her hands up to hug her elbows. “Could you do those things? I'd really rather not go to town today. Please?”
         Meg could see the skepticism in the healers eyes so she took hold of the woman's wrinkled hands and squeezed. “Please, Aisha?”
         The old woman sighed and squeezed Meg's hands back before releasing them. “Fine,” she sighed. “But do not do anything inappropriate. It's not right to take advantage of sick people.”
         Meg exhaled a huge sigh and was chipper again. “I wouldn't dream of it.”
         “And I'll be back very shortly,” said the old woman, aiming her index finger at Meg as if doling out a warning.
         Meg hurried to gather Aisha's things for her. The healer's cloak, walking stick, and basket were all in Meg's arms in a matter of seconds. “Uh-huh,” she said, wrapping her tutor in the  dark green cloak.
         “And go through those books. Look for anything that might help us understand the wound on his chest.”
         “Yes, Aisha,” Meg trilled, handing her the old, carved walking stick.
         “And don't kill him. Or let him die.”
         “I'll do my best to keep him breathing, I promise.” Meg grinned and flung the door open. “Anything else?”
         Aisha took her basket from Meg and frowned. “Don't be so damn cheerful.”
         Meg nodded. “My life is horrible. Goodbye!”
         Aisha shook her head as she walked out the door. She sneaked around the side of the house peeked in at Meg, who was smiling and waving at her through the window.
         Aisha rolled her eyes and then walked away.
         The minutes passed like seconds as Meg tidied up the space. She thought about sorting through the books and dusty scrolls, but all of them looked so dull that she gathered the feathers into a pile instead. She sat in front of the floaty white cloud and fluffed it, sending random wisps of feathers into the air. They drifted around and settled in her hair and on her dress. One landed on an unsuspecting Morph, who arched back and hissed at the offending feather. 
         Meg giggled and Morph shot her an eye-full of disdain which only cats have complete mastery over, then began to groom herself while keeping a wary eye on the sneaky white pile of fluff. Meg sighed and determined that she should at least skim through a book; a small one, maybe. No sooner had she picked up a pocket-sized, gray anthology, than Will made a strange noise.  She jerked her head his direction and saw that Morph had jumped on his stomach, then realized the curious noise had been the breath being knocked out of him.
         “Hey!” Meg shouted, shooing the tabby cat away. “Be gentle with him!”
         “She's fine,” Will said, almost laughing.
         “No she's not, wretched animal,” Meg said. She knelt on the floor beside him. “How are you?”
         “Starving,” he admitted with a sigh. “I haven't eaten in... how long have I been here?”
         “Two days,” Meg replied.
         “Almost a week and a half.” He raised a hand and gingerly touched the mark on his chest. It was still blistered and red, but the glow was much more faded than before.
         Meg watched his long, thin fingers slide down his torso to his stomach, then fall to his waist.
         “What happened to you?” she asked, her voice soft and thoughtful.
         He was quiet for some time, then grunted, “Food.”
         Meg snickered. “Whatever food did this to you, remind me never to eat it.”
         The boy frowned and said, “No. May I have some?”
         Meg furrowed her brow. “Aisha is on her way back with things you should be able to eat.”
         “Give me the meat,” he ordered, opening his eyes to stare her down. “I don't care if I choke on it, I have to eat something before my insides start eating themselves.”
         Meg considered for a moment then stood and walked to the kitchen. “I'll let you try,” she shouted from inside. She picked up a strip of dried meat and came back to his bedside. “But I won't let you choke. Aisha would kill me if you died.”
         Meg snapped the strip in half then placed it in his outstretched hand. She noticed a slight tremble in his wrist as he brought it to his mouth and started chewing—or something like it. The strip of meat was definitely getting the better of him. Meg snatched it back.
         “Give it to me!” Will ordered, out of breath. “Let me try.”
         The girl shook her head.
         “I am in pain,” Will insisted, lifting his head off the pillow. His neck muscles shook from the weight.
         Meg looked down at the food in her hand and bit her bottom lip as she thought. She studied him; tangled, dirty hair, blood encrusted lip, pale skin, and wild, desperate eyes, then looked back at the meat. She brought it to her lips and began eating.
         Will's mouth sagged open and he collapsed his head back to the pillow. “That's cruel,” he breathed.
         Meg offered him a look of sincere apology and leaned forward until their faces were inches apart. She lifted the boy's head up and paused before transferring the chewed meat from her mouth, to his.
         Will tasted like blood and sweat. He flinched, but Meg put both her hands on either side of his face and forced him to swallow. Once he did, she pulled away, blushing.
         The boy appeared bewildered and a little disgusted. He stared at Meg with horror, but she could not bring herself to look at him.
         “You wanted food,” she muttered.
         Will nodded once, slowly. He swallowed hard, fought the urge to vomit, and asked Meg for another piece. 
          The process repeated until all the meat was gone. By the end, they had it down to a near art form. Meg took small bites and chewed just enough to soften the meat without turning it into mush. Both of them closed their eyes as they drew nearer to each other and the transfer only took a second.
         The food brought color to Will's face  and gave him energy, making him seem more like a sick man and less like a corpse. Meg sat back and smiled at her work.          
         “I suppose I should thank you,” Will said, finding it hard to look her in the eye.
         Meg's smile faltered and she looked away. “You don't have to. I know it was pretty miserable.”
         “Disgusting,” he agreed with a shudder. “I hope I never have to do that again.”
         “You're not the first to say that,” she sighed.
         “What?”
         “I said, I agree. But I'm glad to see you've gained some strength. Look at you; almost sitting up.”
         He smiled, a very pleasant sight, then looked at her and said, “One more bite of pre-chewed meat and I would have been dancing.”
         “Oh, I'd like to see that,” Meg said with a smile. “Can you really dance?”
         He shrugged. “Of course.”
         “Of course,” she laughed. “Like we're all courtiers and nobles.”
         “Ah...” he said, looking out the window. “I forgot where I was.”
         Meg crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you mean by that?”
         The boy looked surprised then had the grace to look embarrassed. “Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you.”
         “No, tell me, what did you mean?” she insisted. “Where do you come from anyway? You don't look like you're so much better off than us. In fact, you seem like a very underprivileged person, William.” 
           “I didn't mean anything by it,” Will assured her. “I'm just far from home and things are different here.”
         Before Meg could reply, Aisha swept into the house. Her hands grasped a basket overflowing with various food items and her hair was wild about her face. Before she closed the door, a gust of cold wind blew through the room and Will pulled the blanket up to his chest.
         “Look at you, boy! Sitting up,” said Aisha with a smile. “I half expected to find a corpse when I returned. Meg is so good at killing things.”
          
         “It was just the one squirrel,” Meg grumbled, walking away from both of them. She went to the window and leaned against the wall, peering out into the street at the open marketplace.
         Will looked from Meg to Aisha, then at the floor. “Well, she helped me eat, so I feel better.”
         Aisha stumbled into the kitchen and out of sight. Some clanking noises echoed out into the main room and she said, “How did she do that?”
         Will looked over at Meg but she refused to draw her eyes away from the window. “She tenderized the meat.”
         Aisha let out a short burst of laughter. “With what? Her teeth?”
         “Well, yes,” he replied.
         The woman's head peeked out from the kitchen doorway. She looked at Meg, then at Will, then up at the ceiling as she pondered his words. Suddenly, she grinned and nodded in understanding. “Oh, I see. Revolting, yet effective. Wish I had thought of that.”
         Will's eyes glazed over for a moment, then he cringed.
         The apothecary ducked back into the kitchen. “Are you still hungry, William, or did mother bird regurgitate enough into your mouth to fill your stomach?”
         Meg glanced at Will from the corner of her eye and saw how nauseated he looked. She felt her cheeks burn with heat and took it upon herself to leave the embarrassment-flooded room.
         She snuck into the study, the only other room in Aisha's house besides the wash room, the kitchen, or the main room. It was small but cozy and like everything else, circular. There were shelves built into the walls but once they'd been filled up, Aisha started using the curved windowsills as extra shelving for her expansive collection of books.
         The room always seemed dusty, even if it wasn't. It faced the east so when the sun shone in through the three windows, every particle and fiber in the air was illuminated. Between the space in the windows were two overstuffed chairs with high backs and arms. Meg went to her favorite  and reclined in it sideways, tossing her feet over the edge of one armrest and letting her head be supported by the other.
         She closed her eyes and listened to the familiar sound of Aisha slamming things around in her kitchen and to the less familiar sound of Morph's thunderous purring as she lay curled up with Will on the floor.
         The thought of Will made her remember the book she had in her pocket, so she took it out and flipped through it.
         It's crinkled pages presented different types and uses of magic, and it touched on the damaging effects of using it incorrectly, but gave her nothing that would help Will. She was about to give up on the book when a feeling told her to flip to the middle.
         An old black and white drawing caught her eye. It was of a man in floor-length robes, surrounded by flames, towering over a woman who knelt on the ground. That woman's head was arched back in a silent scream, and a circle of ornate fire was burning on her chest.