Maethius woke from his uncomfortable doze and reflexively massaged hands and fingers chafed raw and aching from the strain of carrying their patient. He would have liked a touch of his brother’s strength for that rushed trip to the doctor; Rhaiven had not even seemed to break a sweat. There were definite benefits to hauling rocks all day. Beside him Ana slept restlessly in the late morning light.

Math had insisted on sending Rai home with Thea to stay with her father. Though he hadn’t wanted to leave, Rai had seen the wisdom in splitting their attention. Math had spent the night trying to sleep as best he could in a cracked wooden chair pulled from a still smoking building next door. The doctor had stopped by a couple times during the night, apparently not getting much sleep himself. He had changed the bandages and the herb poultice each time he stopped by, wrinkling his nose in apparent concern each time he changed the pungent concoction. The concern now was infection, Math knew. That and the rot could bring down even the strongest-willed person if the wound went sour. A sheen of perspiration was already starting to bead up on her forehead.

Down the row of beds, a few children got too restless to stay near whatever injured family member they were attached to and began a game of Catch the Kobald under the neighboring beds and cots. The doctor appeared almost immediately, shoeing them out past the rope boundary and making them find other means of playing the burrowing fairy-tale horrors. As they passed by Math’s post they switched nursery games, splitting into farmers and Sidhe and chasing each other out into the square.

Nobody but the children ever talked about the Sidhe in the open. The old folks said they were traitors to humanity. Tall, beautiful, and strong, the pale creatures supposedly had hidden themselves away in forests and caves a thousand years ago. Nobody alive had seen one, but they and the Kobali were the default bogey-men for any bad happenings. While the Kobali were blamed every time a sheep ran off or a grain silo sprung a leak, the Sidhe were apparently responsible for anything a superstitious villager might attribute to an evil spirit.

Gossip and rumor had linked Math’s own father to the Sidhe. Math had only vague memories of the man from some time shortly before his younger brother was born. He had apparently kept to himself, which always raises the suspicion of those who like to pry into the business of others. Math had overheard many variations: his father had been murdered by the Sidhe, his father had murdered a Sidhe, his father had joined the Sidhe, his father had been enchanted by a Sidhe princess; each tale was as unlikely as the last.

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Math just assumed his father had not wanted the responsibility of children. He wouldn’t be the first father to shirk that particular responsibility. Had his mother not been such a strong and self-sufficient woman, he probably would have harbored more bitterness for the man. As it was, though, his mother had gotten along just fine with her two boys. He had long since outgrown the boyish fantasies of his larger-than-life father striding back into town, having been held captive by the Kobali and having avoided being eaten only by his wits and superhuman strength, scooping his sons up with joy and living happily ever after. Now he just didn’t care. He was a stranger like any other man he’d never met.

The doctor made it to Ana’s bedside in the wake of the battling kids and set to work changing the dressing. Ana awoke almost immediately as he tended to the painful wound.

As usual, the doctor’s nostrils flared in distaste at what he saw under the sharp smell of the compress. Math’s eyes narrowed, concerned, as the doctor paused for longer than usual to examine the wound. The slight smell of rot reached him before the doctor spoke, confirming his fears.

“The rot has set in,” the doctor said as he turned and looked at Math.

“How bad?”

The doctor turned back to his patient. “We can save her. But we can’t save the leg.”

Maethius swore. He looked down at his mother as he felt her slip a hand into his. Even she couldn’t keep the fear out of her eyes at the thought of an amputation.

“There’s nothing we can do?” Math asked.

“I’m sorry. If it spreads too high up the leg, it’ll kill her. It spreads fast. I’ll let you two talk about it while I gather what I need.”

The doctor walked quickly away, rattling off a list of items and sending his apprentice off at a run.

“It has to be done,” Ana said. “It’ll be ok. I’ll make do with one. Better than the alternative.”

“I’m sorry Ma,” Math said.

“I know.” She squeezed his hand.

They sat in silence then, unable to think of anything relevant to say until the doctor returned. He looked at Math as he approached, eyebrow raised in the unspoken question. Math just nodded, and the doctor set up a portable table and started laying out his collection of vicious-looking implements. His assistant approached with a small teacup while he worked.

“Have her drink this,” he instructed as he handed the cup to Math.

Math cradled her head and tipped the milky liquid up to her lips, catching a faint, sweet, slightly spicy aroma. She sipped it carefully, trying not to spill it onto herself. Despite the grimace as she sucked at the bitter draught, she finished the cup and laid her head back.

“Do you want to stay for this?” the doctor asked.

“I’ll stay. Just tell me what to do.”

Ana was already fading into sleep, eyes rolled back in her head and mouth hanging open. The doctor began giving Math instructions as he pulled out a jagged, wicked-looking saw. Math took a breath, gritted his teeth and set himself for the task ahead.