He could do nothing for her feet. His own should be well enough. He swung his arms, beating his hands against his sides. Then he took up his march again. A step, another, his prints in the snow behind him filling in almost as fast as he made them. He glanced back to see that they left a line, the most recent footprints still deep. The next shallower, until some five steps back the print was a slight dimple in the snow. The sixth was gone, filled in.
He shivered and moved faster. He was counting as he walked. A man walked a steady four miles per candlemark over country that wasn’t too rough. He’d had less than a mile to go when the snow started to come down. Maybe only half a mile. So count that the sledge halved his speed. He shouldn’t take more than that one mile’s speed. He’d gone perhaps half of that before he began counting.
His brain felt fuzzy. What was he trying to work out? Oh, yes. If he’d come halfway, how many more paces would it take to reach the garth-house. But he’d lost count. He’d have to start again. One, two, three. Was Aisling all right? He should check. Twenty-six, twenty-seven… His own feet were feeling numb. Not frostbite, please not frostbite. Fifty-two, fifty-three—Oops, he’d lost the wind again. He had to walk straight into it. Not easy. It hurt against his face and eyes.
Eighty-six, eighty-seven—He was sitting down. How had that happened? He didn’t remember falling. Maybe he’d stopped for a rest. Can’t rest here. Must get to the garth. See Aisling is warm. Build a fire with the wood. The wood, where was it? Was he to cut down trees? He remembered loading axes into a wagon. The axes would be following. That was it. Someone was bring axes—and wood. Oh, and he must keep counting. Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three…
He was sitting in the snow again. How foolish. Aisling said sitting on cold ground gave you—What did it give you? He couldn’t remember but he mustn’t sit down, Aisling said. Aisling, his sister. Yes! He had to get Aisling somewhere and keep the wind on his face. It stung. He didn’t want to do that but for some reason he had to. He had to count too. He giggled breathlessly as he tripped and almost fell. Two left feet. Yes. Two, three, four…
Why was he bothering to count? For that matter why was he bothering to walk when it was so hard? If he lay down very soon it would be lovely. He could sleep and be warm. It was warm now, really. He’d could lie down for a while in the warm and rest. Aisling wouldn’t mind. She was a good sister to him. She’d understand. Keelan took another step while he considered where to lie.
Something huge and solid loomed up, and he ran into it. The impact half-jerked him from his stupor. “Ouch!” He ran his mit-tened hand down the heavy planking. It was either the house or one of the barns. He turned to follow the wall and remembered Aisling as the sledge dragged at him. Lords of Light, he’d been dying on his feet. He could dimly recall the decision to lie down and sleep in the lovely warm snow once he’d walked just a bit farther.
Well that the wall had been there to wake him. He groped down its length until he reached a door. He looked above that. The garth-house. Long ago someone had carved a spray of elm over the door to the main house. The carvings over the barn doors were different. He groped for the latch. The door swung open slowly to reveal a room full of still bedding-wrapped bodies. The fire was out. Ash, a soft gray-white on the hearth. No time to check the garth-folk. He must see to the fire. He hauled the sledge inside, slammed the door, and turned back to the hearth.
He tore off his mitten, thrust a hand into the ash. Warmth—it might not yet be dead. He leapt for the sledge, dug hurriedly beneath Aisling, and produced the bundle of kindling. He dived back and stirred the ash with a stick. Coals! One still showing the faintest hint of red. He laid a handful of twigs on it, blew with all his strength, and prayed. Gunnora, Lady, these here are in your hands. Let there still be an ember. He blew again and watched with incredulous joy as the tiny flame crept up.
Gently he fed it another twig and a second as it grew. At last he had a fire, a healthy vigorous infant fast growing in size and strength. He sat back on his heels, hands to the warmth. Of all the blessings given to man, surely fire was the greatest. He reveled in the growing heat. Then he remembered Aisling. He untied her carefully, lifted her, and laid her by the fire, wrapping the blankets about her. Then he took her wrist and felt for a pulse. It was there. She’d trusted him with her life, and he’d not failed her.
But had Aiskeep come too late for these others? He stood, half-reluctant to find out in case he had. Slowly he walked to turn back the blankets on face after face. His fingers groped for the throb of life in slender children’s wrists, in wrists sun tanned, work thickened.
In wrist after wrist he found life. Only in one could he find nothing. He piled more wood on the fire, then went into the freezing air briefly to gather snow, a pot of which he placed by the fire. Then he sought out the larder, assembling the ingredients for a mighty stew. That pot went onto the swingle over the fire.
He dug around and found soup bones, added some of the snow water, and other odds and ends. That would cook faster. Then he sat down to feed the fire and luxuriate in the warmth. It was as if he’d never known the heat of fire before. Now he loved it. He took it to him and held it tight. It was life, a talisman against winter and death. A sun men made to bring back summer in the midst of the snow. From the bundle beside the fire Aisling lifted her head and smiled at him.
“You made it.”
Keelan smiled back. “Guess we did.” His smile widened until he was grinning like a fool, unable to stop as he found tears leaking down his face. He grasped her hand. “We made it in time. They’re alive. I haven’t done more than check, but they are, Aisling. They live, all but one I’m not sure of.” His voice broke, and he sat in silence holding her hand.
Aisling lay gathering her strength. Her mind scanned her body slowly. No damage: the spell-sleep had protected her long enough. The strength of her gift was still a lot lower than she would wish but it might yet be sufficient. She touched Keelan with her mind, evaluating. He was weaker, exhausted still from his walk to reach a haven and save her. She quietly augmented his strength. There was nothing else necessary apart from a possible slight frostbite in several toes, but that was minor.
She’d heal it later if she had the power left. For now she had to know about Jonro’s family. She could feel the life sparks about her. Keelan’s glowed strongly; the others all were much weaker. They would live but they would wake disorientated, starving for food.
They could wait though. She touched them lightly. They’d all live. But there! One dimming to nothingness. She staggered to her feet, leaning on her brother. He guided her across to the limp form, guessing which patient she needed to see first. Aisling laid back the bedding to study the wan face.
Keelan moved the covers lower, and his breath hissed out. Aisling looked. The rasti. Jonro must have gone to chop wood by the stream. The vibration of his ax had roused the rasti, and they’d streamed forth to battle. She’d sensed no injured in their burrow, but then they were cannibals. Any injured would have died quickly. Jonro had escaped. His family had bound his wounds and laid him nearest the fire. Keelan was peeling the bedding lower and lower.
Aisling shuddered. From toes to lower thighs the man’s legs had flesh bitten from them. There were bites up his left arm. Several more were scattered where his clothing must have pulled back to bare his flesh as he fought the horror. Keelan was staring down.
“Can you heal all that?”
“I could but I won’t.” Her flat gaze met his own stunned gape. “Kee, listen. If I make this as if it’s never been, someone will talk. If I healed every wound I still couldn’t make them forget that the injuries had existed, but Jonro won’t die. The wounds are already starting to fester. Rasti are filthy little beasts. It’s that which often kills humans bitten by them. I can heal the infection that is beginning. I’ll burn it from him so it does not return.”