“I didn’t get a chance to fight much,” Jeb explained. “Stayed near the back, but I did help hold the line when you said. You shoulda seen yourself, that shield glowing as we fought. Even when I took a hit to my hand and lost half my damn fingers, I’d still have gone on fighting. We all thought you died when you stayed back after calling for a retreat.”
“I’m too stubborn for that,” Jerico said, earning a laugh from around the table.
When Jerico brought up purchasing a mount, Cobb would hear none of it.
“Far as I’m concerned, you’re why my boy’s still alive,” he said. “I got an old ass that doesn’t care too much for plowing anymore. He’ll still let you ride him, long as the burden isn’t too much. I don’t think Sandra will upset him none.”
The food was delicious as promised, particularly the bread. Jerico devoured slices until it was gone, though the same could not be said for Sandra. She ate little, nibbling at her food before pushing it away. Her skin had grown even more pale, and he caught her staring at the table as if amid intense concentration.
“Sandra?” Jerico asked, hoping not to alarm his hosts. She looked up at him with a blank expression, then shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said, standing from the table. “I need some air is all. Just need…”
She fell to one knee, remaining upright only because one of Cobb’s sons grabbed her arm and held her. Jerico shot from his chair and hurried to her side.
“What’s the matter?” Debra asked. “Can we help?”
“It’s nothing,” Sandra said, weakly pushing Jerico away. “I’m fine.”
Her forehead was slick with sweat when he touched her, and it burned his hand like fire.
“Fever,” he told the couple. “I hate to ask, but…”
“But nothing,” Cobb said. “Put her in our bed. Barely sleep as it is, and the floor suits me just fine.”
Jerico scooped Sandra into his arms and stood. Debra scattered the rest of the children as Cobb led him into the small bedroom to the side. Laying her atop the blankets, Jerico brushed his hand against her forehead and tried to focus his thoughts for another lengthy bout of prayer.
Cobb crossed his arms and nodded toward Sandra.
“Sir, I don’t mean to pry, but I know you’re not telling me everything. She’s got more than a fever. My old eyes can still see those bandages.”
“She was stabbed,” Jerico said, lifting Sandra’s shirt. “Normally I could handle it, but something’s wrong. It’s fighting me somehow.”
“Those bandages need to be cleaned,” Cobb said, leaning closer to inspect them. “I’ll grab a knife, and then we’ll take a look.”
He stepped out, only for Debra to replace him at Sandra’s side. She laid a cool cloth over Sandra’s forehead, then told her to hush when she protested.
“I’ve got Jeb heating some water over the fire,” she told Jerico. “When it gets to boiling, I have a few herbs that should help bring down her fever.”
“Thank you.”
Cobb returned, knife in hand. Debra scooted over to allow her husband access to the bed. With slow, deliberate movements he sliced off the bandages. They smelled sickly sweet, and were soaked with blood and pus. Jerico winced when he saw the first patch of flesh beneath. More and more bandages fell to the floor. Cobb leaned in, examining every inch, close enough for his nose to nearly touch her skin. When done, he looked at Jerico.
“The wound’s gone bad,” he said. “I’m not sure how she’s even alive.”
Jerico nodded, for he’d thought the same thing. Her entire stomach was purple, and in its center, like a cat’s eye, was a weeping cut. Its edges were yellow, and the veins about it a violent red. Jerico couldn’t begin to imagine the pain it caused her.
“Jeb said you can heal people,” Debra said, guarded optimism in her voice. “Surely she’s not too far gone for you?”
“No,” Jerico said, taking a deep breath. “But each day she gets worse, and my prayers lessen in their effect. Something’s inside her, fighting against every bit of healing.”
“Maybe so,” Cobb said. “But I’ve seen something like this before. Not so terrible, of course. We need to open her up, or she’ll be dead soon.”
The farmer leaned down so he could whisper to Sandra.
“I need you to lie still,” he said. “I’ll have Jerico hold you down if I have to. If you don’t trust yourself, just say so, and we can go ahead and have him do it now.”
Her breathing had grown shallow, and when she spoke, it was too soft for Jerico to hear. Cobb heard, though, and closed his eyes and sighed.
“Hold her down,” he said.
Jerico took Sandra’s hands, lifted them over her head to the pillow, and leaned his weight on her forearms. Debra left, then came back with her oldest, ordering him to help her hold down Sandra’s legs.
“I’m sorry I have nothing for the pain,” Cobb told her.
“Wait,” said Jerico. He released Sandra’s arms and placed his palm against her forehead. He closed his eyes and tried not to tremble. Never the best when it came to the non-physical aspects of being a paladin, he still knew many useful prayers. Normally he focused on healing, but for now…
Numb the pain, he prayed to Ashhur. Numb the hurt. Give her strength.
A dim light shone across her eyes, and then Jerico nodded.
“Go ahead.”
He held her wrists and watched as Cobb’s knife pressed against Sandra’s skin. It pierced, drawing blood. Sandra tensed, and let out a whimper, but did not struggle much. Debra left her son to hold her legs, and instead took out a second cloth and used it to mop away the blood and pus. With grim determination, Cobb reopened the wound in a single smooth cut. Jerico watched, wondering what the famer hoped to accomplish. The foul smell in the room worsened, as if by cutting into Sandra they’d opened a rotten fruit.
Cobb stepped back and let his wife wipe away at the blood so he could see. He stared, and stared, and then grunted.
“There you are, you son of a bitch.”
He reached his fingers into the wound. Sandra let out a cry. Jerico stroked her face, and pressed his cheek against her burning forehead.
“Be strong,” he said, closing his eyes. “You’re strong. You’re stronger than this. You’re Kaide’s sister, and he only wishes he was as strong as you. It’s almost over, I promise. Hold on, Sandra. Hold on.”
He heard a sound, like metal scraping against bone. When he looked up, Cobb held something aloft with his blood soaked hand. It was smaller than a pebble, metallic, and shone a soft red that immediately made Jerico feel ill in his stomach. Cobb looked around, then wrapped it with a bloodied cloth.
“Can you handle the rest?” he asked. “Otherwise, Debra has a way with stitches.”
“She needs more than stitches,” Jerico said, shaking his head. “Leave me be. Ashhur will make her well.”
The three left. Alone with her, Jerico knelt by the bed, put his hands across her stomach, and prayed. Healing light poured into her, and strength out of him. The minutes passed, but he paid no heed. His hands shook, and they were stained with blood, but he ignored that as well. For over an hour he stood vigil, watching as the vicious wound closed, and the purple flesh and red veins faded away. Her fever lessened. Her eyes closed, and sleep came to her.
At last Jerico knew he could not continue. His mind felt raw, his throat dry. He tried to stand and stumbled. Gripping the bed, he rose slower, took a deep breath, and then left the room. Darkness had fallen, and the family gathered in their thick blankets across the main room. Debra leaned back in the chair, softly rocking. Cobb stood by the door, and when he saw Jerico exit, he beckoned him over.
“Outside,” he said.
The cool night air felt good against Jerico’s sweat-soaked skin. He stretched his back, then leaned against the side of the home. Standing was a chore, but it felt good to no longer be on his knees. Cobb chewed on something tough and watched the stars. After turning to spit, he held out a small cloth bundle.