Page 64 of Trapped: Between Sky And Wind

“You must be Josephine,” she says with a friendly smile as she approaches. Her face is as round as Darrow’s and her eyes remind me of the big spherical eyes of a deer. “I’m Thea and my daughter here”—she gestures to the little one who is peering curiously out of their teepee—“is called Yoomee.”

“Hi,” I say awkwardly, waving at the girl. She’s maybe four or five. “I’m looking for my friend.”

Thea nods. “Darrow told me to take you to Henry as soon as you wake up.”

For a moment, I’m trying to figure out who Henry is. Part of me feels guilty about lying, but I couldn’t take any chances. If they find out we’re wanted, they might call the police or send us away. I have no idea if their camp is legal and permitted by the state.

Hobbling as best as possible, I follow Thea on a well-trodden path through the long grass. Every muscle in my body hurts and my light-colored T-shirt sticks uncomfortably to my skin. It seems like a million mosquitoes are buzzing around in the air and I thrash about a few times because the tormentors happily pounce on my bare arms. We pass a number of teepees, at least twenty all in all, before Thea stops at a painted tent at the edge of the forest.

“Here we are. Go on in!”

I nod politely to her. A pungent odor emanates from inside, and as I step through the opening, the smoke from wild herbs settles in my lungs.

“Sage. And birch to disinfect,” Darrow explains without greeting me. He sits next to Bren, who is lying on the floor on animal skin.

Another Navapaki whose age I can’t possibly guess is sitting cross-legged next to me, mixing a paste. He doesn’t look at me. Maybe he also believes in the deer woman story.

I look at Brendan’s face with concern. Luckily, he’s not as pale as yesterday. I carefully squat down next to him and put my hand under his neck.

“His fever has gone down,” I say, amazed.

“He was pretty restless, but now he’s sleeping. We have been able to give him water and a decoction of white willow bark several times. It has fever-reducing properties.”

I smile gratefully at Darrow. “How long was I out?”

“Two hours. You collapsed and I carried you to my tent and gave you something to help you rest.”

I wipe my brow, confused. “What?”

“You wanted to see Henry right away, but you were too weak to even walk. I’m sorry I couldn’t accommodate you.”

“I don’t remember any of that.” I don’t like the fact that he gave me something that seemingly knocked me out, but I won’t complain.

“I had to promise to wake you if he worsened.”

There’s a fuzzy memory in my mind, but I can’t recall the details. Sleepily, I look around. Artfully painted bowls stand on a wooden tray, most of which contain crushed plants with a few clay jugs to complete the picture.

“Nashashuk is preparing the paste for healing the wounds.”

“Hello,” I say out of propriety even though Nashashuk pays me no mind.

“He’s as good as deaf and he rarely speaks—unless he’s telling stories,” Darrow explains, pointing to the tray. “The infusion of willow bark has an antipyretic, pain-relieving, and disinfecting effect. Nowadays, it is made synthetically and called aspirin.”

So, the fever went down, but that means nothing because the inflammation has to be fought.

“Nashashuk mixes different parts of plants together. Witch hazel, chamomile, and silverweed,” he lists. “A concoction of burnet, arnica, masterwort, and angelica is also simmering outside. Henry has to take that every hour. To do this, you make hot moist compresses with hay flowers, which works like a drawing salve.”

I eye him skeptically. Last night, I let his knowledge of herbs comfort me, perhaps I was too exhausted not to believe it. This morning, however, my concern is gaining the upper hand again. I noticed earlier that the red line has moved a bit further. “How many wounds have you treated successfully with this?”

Darrow looks at Nashashuk, whose wizened hands, deft as a young man’s, pound a few blossoms in a stone mortar. “Many. But it takes longer than your medicinal poisons.”

“Has anyone ever died anyway?”

Darrow sighs. “Don’t people die in your hospitals despite panaceas?”

I nod uneasily and brush a few sweaty hairs off Bren’s forehead. “May I stay with him?”

“Certainly. This tent was unoccupied anyway. Old Kowi left us last winter.”

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