III.

“What did it get? One of your staults?” Jezura lifted a glowing ember from the fire circle with long-handled tongs. In her rush she dropped it twice before getting it to the keeping pot.

“No. It must’ve been a goat. Hem thinks it’s probably two, judging from its size.”

“You’re lucky you found it before nightfall. Who knows how far it could have spread by morning? Just imagine if it had gotten to the barn.”

Rushe-kih shuddered and fell silent as she remembered the mound of creeping ivy at the foot of the willow.

“Mama, are you going to fight off the vamfloria with Da?” Ahr-tyr asked eagerly from the corner where she knelt, wrapping baby Manut tightly in a bunting.

“No, but I must take the medicine bag in case Da gets hurt. Help me gather the medicines from the room!” Jezura said briskly. Rushe-kih bit her tongue. Her own bag was always stocked, hanging on the door in case she had to run to help a neighbor at the last minute. Jezura was less organized.

“Do you know the rimer’s song about vamfloria?” Ahr-tyr asked Rushe-kih, disregarding her mother’s request.

“I’ve heard it before,” Rushe-kih responded, scanning the room for stray herb bottles.

“I know it by heart. Mama sings it with me.” She began singing:

Bindili-hiyi, bindili-hiyo

Bindili-hiyi, bindili-yo

“Did I ask you to preach to Rushe-kih?” Jezura burst into the room, her hands full of vials. “Honestly, child! I thought I asked you to help me gather these up. Da might need them!”

“I was looking for them while I sang!” Ahy-tyr said huffily. She turned about the room half-heartedly, looking at Rushe-kih to defend her while she continued the song in a small voice.

“Jezura, I’m sure I have everything we’ll need in my bag. You needn’t go to the trouble...”

The harried woman sighed, “True. I’m such a disaster. It’s just…”

“I know you haven’t completely recovered from your illness last fall. I don’t judge you, dear friend,” Rushe-kih said as gently as her heart could allow her. It seemed as if Jezura moved in slow motion as she twisted her shawl over her shoulders and hugged the children good-bye. Ahr-tyr’s song continued as Rushe-kih and Jemeh-fir finally pounded down the path toward the road.

“What are you thinking?” Jezura panted alongside Rushe-kih’s long strides.

“The rimer’s song Ahr-tyr was singing. It’s been a long time since I thought of it.”

“Oh?” Jezura raised her eyebrows in surprise. She’d always assumed Rushe-kih and Hem were religious. “I guess when you have children you’re always teaching them. You want them to grow into good people.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Rushe-kih hid the offense she felt from Jezura’s slight. Her neighbor couldn’t know how she’d longed for a child. In silence Rushe-kih quickened her pace. Jezura fell slightly behind.

“That dratted fever. I can’t keep up with you. Go on ahead, or you’ll hate me for keeping you back. I’ll be right behind you!” Jezura breathed heavily. Rushe-kih looked back in gratitude before trotting ahead.

She reached the field as the sun was sending its last brilliant streams of light through the distant v-shaped Praythian canyon. Oriah was thrusting a torch into the ground, filling the writhing bed of vamfloria with yellow flickering light. An anguished grunt from deep under the leaves stabbed Rushe-kih's heart with fear. The sprawling bed was deeper now and completely covered Hem’s hunched form.

“Hem?” she gulped, looking at Oriah.

“He’s in there. He’s already been stabbed a few times, but he says he’s okay. He thinks he’s getting very close to the source.”

“A goat?” Rushe-kih’s voice quivered.

“Perhaps. It’s bound pretty tightly. Hem hasn’t cleared enough to tell.”

“I was so afraid it would be Solee. She’s so close to laying. But she was in the barn when I saddled Win-fir.”

Oriah wrapped another pole with greased rags. He would be ready to hand them into Hem as soon as the source was located. The animal would have to be completely burned to kill the plant.

“Jezura fell behind?” Oriah grunted as he worked.

“Yes, she’s coming. I was too anxious,” Rushe-kih explained.

“She never recovered from her fever,” Oriah worked carefully, peering into the bed to listen. “And you know she’s pregnant again.”

“Pregnant? Again? What news at such a time!” Rushe-kih smiled genuinely, but inside her heart was swallowed by envy. She had never put the hope behind her of having a child, although her years of childbearing were almost passed. She couldn’t hear the joyous news from other women without feeling a squeeze in her heart.

“The torch! Oriah! I think I’ve got it!” Hem’s muffled shout came from near the tree.

“Be careful. I don’t want to send Jezura back a wounded husband to nurse while she’s sick,” Rushe-kih warned.

“Don’t worry, I’ll drag Hem out in a few minutes, and we’ll watch the weed writhe before Jezura is in sight.”

Oriah’s smile brought encouragement to Rushe-kih’s heart, and she watched hopefully as he boldly entered the weed. He walked quickly to avoid being caught by the groping vine. The plant had easily doubled in size since Rushe-kih had left, and within a few steps Oriah was out of sight, covered in leaves. She heard him cry out in pain as the plant shifted around him.

Vamfloria thrived on blood, especially human blood. One human could keep it alive for days. Rushe-kih dropped to the earth beneath a torch and watched as more of the thirsty red blossoms opened. She wouldn’t be able to stay so close for long. They’d sense her and send out shoots her direction.

“Oriah! Hem!” she shrieked after several moments had passed. A trace of smoke ribboned its way out of the thicket where Oriah had gone. The torch had gone out. Something must have gone wrong.

“I’ve got him!” she heard Oriah respond, a grimace in his voice, “He’s losing blood!”

Rushe-kih shrieked, “Hem!” Without thinking she grabbed a torch and plunged closer to the vine.

“He’s all right, Rushe-kih! He’s alert, just weak. Don’t worry.”

But Rushe-kih had already stepped into the bed.

“I’ll bring him out again,” Oriah assured her. “It’s just going to take a little longer. We didn’t expect this.”

“I’m coming in!” Rushe-kih cried, and a thorn pierced her ankle. She couldn’t stifle her scream.

“Rushe-kih!” a thin voice. “Rushe-kih, listen to me! Turn around. I’m all right. You hear? I’ll be all right. Get out. Go back to the dug-out. This’ll be stronger vamfloria than we thought. You’ve got to get out before…”

Rushe-kih paused as Hem’s voice trailed away. Already a leaf had touched the stab wound and a marvelous warm tingle was spreading up her leg.

“Do you hear me?” Hem cried, “I’ve got the source. Rushe-kih, go back to the dug-out and get a poultice going. It’s not a goat. It’s a…” his voice faltered.

“Hem!” Rushe-kih cried, as a second thorn stabbed her. “It’s not a stault! I counted!”

“No! It’s not a stault.” She heard him struggling with his knife, hacking at vines, breaking the source loose.

“Do you need another torch? I saw Oriah’s go out.” Rushe-kih called in the silence. Her leg was beginning to feel weak, and her mind was clouding.

“No, Rushe-kih,” ordered Oriah, “Listen. You’ve got to get us a goat.”

“A goat? What do you mean? You can’t give it more! You’ve got to burn it, whatever it’s got!”

“Rushe-kih, we can’t burn this,” he struggled. “It’s a…” he could not say any more. Rushe-kih imagined him collapsing below the vines, thorns draining his blood from him, weakening him so he could not finish. A wave of panic pushed her closer.

“Hem!” she screamed.

“It’s a..”

It dawned on her. He wasn’t fainting, he was crying.

“Tell me!” Rushe-kih screamed.

Oriah’s voice took over, “It’s human. It’s the body of a child.”

Rushe-kih caught her breath. If they did not burn the source the plant would continue to feed. The only way to kill the plant was to poison it by burning its source. But Hem was right, they could not burn a child.

She looked into the thick ivy and then back behind her, where the sharpened axe lay within her grasp at the edge of the bed. Another thorn pierced her ankle. She was now a source too. In that moment she knew what she would have to do. She did not question it, and only delayed long enough to pluck several of the leaves nearest her, taking care not to puncture the sacs. When her pouch was filled, she tossed it away, seizing the axe and aiming the blade at her leg just above the ankle where the three thorns were sucking. Then she raised it high above her head and gulping, brought it down decisively, chopping her foot off with one clean blow. The foot jerked and fell limp before the first wave of nausea struck. Rushe-kih doubled over. The ground spun, a blur of ivy and dirt. She tried to yell out, but bile choked the words in her throat. Two arms caught her from behind and yanked her out.

“Jez--,” she swooned, looking up from the ground, “Burn it. Hurry. Burn my foot. It’s the only way to save them.”

Jezura picked up the torch from where it had fallen. Carefully she lowered it into the mass of leaves and popping flowers. A sizzle sounded as the foot caught fire. A small blaze erupted.

Rushe-kih pulled herself further from the weed and collapsed. Looking behind her she saw the wide stream of blood flowing from her leg to the bed. The thick smell of it had alerted the weed, and a few shoots were growing toward her. But the poison had already entered its system, and the shoots crawled slower and slower. Rushe-kih watched as black lines spidered through the vine and they shrunk back.

Her leg throbbed.

“Jez—quickly, some cloths,” she tried to point, but was too weak. Jezura flew across the field. Looking into the darkness, Rushe-kih spotted the gentle eyes of Win-fir watching from the bushes. Oriah must have left him there, and he’d watched everything.

“Where are they—Oriah and Hem?” Jezura asked timidly, afraid, as she returned with a dampened sheet. She folded it and gently wrapped it around the stump of Rushe-kih’s leg. It quickly turned red.

“My bag is hanging on the back door. I have a bottle of cane pepper, it will stop the bleeding.” Rushe-kih said weakly. “Oriah and Hem will be coming out of the weed and bringing another worse off than me.”

Jezura looked questioningly, but Rushe-kih motioned her away. Her foot was now just a red, hot coal, but Rushe-kih knew it was enough to damage the weed. It might take time, but it would kill it in the end. She heard Hem and Oriah’s voices and guessed that with the weed weakened, they were able to cut away the vine and free the child.

The child. Who was it? Oriah and Jezura were the only other family this far from the village, and both of their children were accounted for. The lake children never came this way unless they had been invited. Rushe-kih strained to remember if a company of rimers or rock magi had been rumored to be coming through. Sometimes they would have a young boy with them. But she had not heard of anyone coming.

Jezura returned with the bag and set it on the ground. She sat close beside her friend, and rummaged through the contents until she found the familiar red powder.

“I think they’ve almost got it free. They’ll be coming out any minute I’m sure,” Rushe-kih spoke reassuringly. “They’re both all right.”

“Oh Rushe-kih, what have you done?” Jezura asked. “Your foot for the life of a stault? Pshah!”

“Not a stault. A child…” Rushe-kih shuddered, and her eyes met Jezura’s.

“Who?” Jezura asked.

Rushe-kih did not answer. She watched as Jezura opened the soaked sheet and tossed it away, where the weakened plant would not smell it. It landed where Win-fir nested in the brush, and he jumped. Jemeh-fir flinched.

“It’s just Win-fir. Oriah left him there. Poor boy, he saw it all.” Rushe-kih screwed her eyes shut, anticipating the sting of the pepper. Jezura rummaged in the bag for the roll of cloth Rushe-kih had prepared for wounds. She poured out a thick layer of the powder and arranged it on the ground near Rushe-kih’s leg. Then gently, she picked up the leg and eased it down on the cloth.

Rushe-kih’s body was gripped instantly with pain, and she cried out, but she did not move her leg. Tears stung her cheeks as Jezura continued wrapping the bandage tightly around the leg. The weed was receding steadily now, hissing its way into the flames. A rustle announced that the men were closer now.

“Rushe-kih! Do you have your medicine bag?” Hem asked. “We’ve got her. It’s a little girl. And she’s breathing. She’s still alive.”

Jezura made to stand up, but Rushe-kih pulled her closer. “Don’t…don’t say anything about this yet,” she whispered, “They think I threw in a goat. But I was afraid—there wouldn’t be time.” Painfully Rushe-kih made to rise.

The blaze from the last torch lit Hem and Oriah as they emerged from the weed. Several thorns still clutched them, but as they walked the weakened plant pulled away and the thorns dropped out. Mutilated, Hem dropped to the dirt mound beyond the tangled vines. Behind him, pushing forward, Oriah walked straight and strong, carrying a small bundle still covered with portions of vine.

“Let me see her,” said Rushe-kih, her voice husky with suppressed emotion. She cleared away the plant from the child’s face. The skin was delicate, almost bluish from the loss of so much blood. Her lips had turned black, and dark purple crescents sunk beneath her eyes. From her dark mop of hair a dozen vines hung like dead snakes.

Jezura gasped in shock and fell back. “It could’ve been Ahr-tyr. She’s almost the same size..” She turned and retched.

Calmly, and almost without a trace of pain, Rushe-kih took the child into her arms.

“We must gather any leaves still alive. I’ve a pouch filled, but we will need more—enough for a strong poultice, and for tea. Enough to last two weeks at least.”

Her voice was serene in the night. Hem had never heard such unreserved love in it before.