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fallen ill. A young baby had died, then its mother, weakened by a difficult
birth. Veece was failing fast. At each report Mirar grew more certain the
Siyee were facing a plague. He travelled from first light to dusk, stopping
only to drink and eat, knowing that the situation in the village was worsening
every hour.
He had seen many plagues before. Injuries, wounds and minor diseases were easy
enough for a sorcerer with healing knowledge and magical strength to treat,
but when a disease spread quickly it was not long before there were too few
healers capable of fighting it to treat all victims when they were not
battling the disease themselves.
And here in Si you are the only one, Leiard added.
Mirar sighed. If only I could have prevented Siyee from leaving the village
and spreading the disease.
He d sent this advice ahead, but the news Tyve brought back had been alarming.
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Some families had fled to other villages already. Messengers had been sent to
the Open.
They re already panicking, Leiard said. You ll have as much work dealing with
their fear of disease as the disease itself.
Mirar didn t answer. The rocky slope he was descending had become an enormous,
roughly hewn staircase that took all his attention. He jumped from rock shelf
to rock shelf, each landing jolting his entire body.
The steps became steadily shallower as the trees around him grew larger. Soon
he was walking on smooth leaf-covered ground, surrounded by the trunks of
enormous trees. The air was moist. A stream trickled slowly nearby, dividing
and rejoining and forming pools here and there.
It was a peaceful place and would have made a pleasant camping site apart from
the lingering smell of animal feces. The area must be a thoroughfare for
forest creatures. Remembering the reason for his journey, he quickened his
pace again.
Then he heard a Siyee whistle a call of warning and he halted.
Looking up, he blinked in surprise as he saw that platforms had been built
between many of the tree branches overhead. Faces peered over the edges of
these, gazing down at him, and he sensed fear, hope and curiosity.
He had reached the village.
From the right a Siyee glided down to meet him. It was Tyve.
 Some have hung ropes for you to climb, he told Mirar.  Others are too
suspicious. They ll change their minds once they hear you ve cured some of
us.
Mirar nodded.  How many are ill now?
 I don t know. Ten the last time I counted.
 Take me to the sickest, then fly to all the people and find out how many are
sick or are showing the first signs of it.
 Yes. I will. Follow me.
Tyve walked through the trees for several hundred paces. A rope hung down from
one of the platforms. Mirar tied the end of the rope to the handles of his
bag.
 Who lives up here?
Tyve swallowed and looked up.  Speaker Veece and his wife and her sister.
The old man. Mirar smothered a sigh. Even among landwalkers, Hearteater most
often claims the old and the very young.
He took hold of the rope and began to climb.
It was a long climb. Halfway up he looked down and considered what would
happen if he slipped and fell.
I d definitely be injured. Probably badly. Probably to a point that would kill
mortals.
But he would not die. His body would repair itself, though gradually.
Like it did after they took me out from under the ruined Dreamweaver House in
Jarime. I was a bag of broken bones, not quite dead, not quite alive. Mirar
shuddered. A mind fixed only on keeping alive enough to regenerate, parts of
me decomposing while others healed&
Think of something else, Leiard suggested.
Mirar drew in a deep breath and concentrated on hauling himself upward. When
he reached the top he pulled himself onto the platform and lay on his back,
panting. Once he had caught his breath he rolled over and found two elderly
Siyee women hovering nearby.
They have it, Leiard observed.
He was right. Their faces were pale and shone with sweat, and their lips were
tinged with blue. Despite the name of the disease, it actually attacked the
lungs. As it ate away at them the victim was less and less able to breathe,
causing their blood to weaken. In some places it was known as the White Death.
He stood up. A bower had been built on top of the platform. From his high
position he could see bowers on most platforms and many Siyee watching him. He
looked at the two women.
 I am Dreamweaver Wilar. I will try to help Speaker Veece, if you wish me to.
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They exchanged a quick glance, then nodded.
 Thank you for coming. He is inside, one croaked. She lapsed into a wracking
cough.
Mirar nodded.  I will bring up my bag of cures, then I will go in and see what
I can do for him.
He turned away and began to haul on the rope. It seemed to take hours to bring
up the bag. Untying it, he carried it inside the bower.
On a blanket in the middle of the room lay the Speaker. Though Mirar hadn t
met the man before he doubted he would have recognized him if he had. Pale,
bloodless skin stretched over the man s bones. His lips were a deep blue and
his breath came quickly and painfully.
He s near death, Leiard murmured.
Yes, Mirar agreed. But if I don t save him, will the rest of the tribe trust
me?
Maybe. Maybe not. You best get to work.
Mirar opened his bag and began sorting through its contents. A thump outside
distracted him. He looked up to see Tyve standing in the doorway.
 Twenty are sick, twelve are feeling ill, and the rest say they re well, the
boy reported.
Mirar nodded. I wish Emerahl had remained here. I could do with her help.
 Stay close, he told the boy.  I might need you to&  He frowned and looked at
Veece s wife.  Where do you get your water from?
The woman pointed at a small hole in the floor. Next to it was a bucket and a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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