In the middle of the hut was a metal dish that held a fire. There was a hole in the roof, allowing the smoke to escape and a funnel woven from yet more reeds hung over the fire to keep the smoke from going anywhere else. The three conscious travellers sat near the room where Judd was lying and were quiet for a long time. Judd made strained, huffing sounds and Aalis used what little clean water they had left to soak a cloth and laid it across his forehead.
She sat on the floor in the larger space they didn’t dare venture out from and drew her legs up to her chest.
“How is he?” Verne asked softly.
“I think the poison has reached his heart and head.”
“The tourniquet couldn’t stop it?”
“It only slows the poison’s advance.” Aalis felt wretched.
“What about what you made the farmers when they were sick from drinking contaminated water?”
“This is not a fever. I think it is a type of hallucinogenic.”
“A what?”
Aalis cleared her throat. “Something that makes you see things that are not there. Some people call them dreams or visions…”
“Some artists obtain powders or potions from the black market for ‘inspiration’.” Caste added tightly, curled up into as small a space as possible with his pack beside him like a shield.
“Is that why that girl swallowed Judd’s blood and the poison along with it?” Verne asked in a hushed, nauseated voice.
“The woman, I am guessing she is the shaman of the village, called it ‘the proving’.” Aalis shrugged. “It is possible it is a rite of passage for the young girl who drank it.”
“She didn’t seem too positive about Judd surviving it either.” Verne observed. “Have you noticed there isn’t a single man here? Granted we haven’t seen a lot of the residents but still…not one?”
“Oh no,” Caste’s tremulous gasp caught their attention and they turned to him, “oh no, oh no, oh no…”
“What, what, what?” Aalis demanded as he dug through his bag and emerged with a leather bound volume with a thick spine.
“Female only tribe, living in a swamp…” Caste’s eyes darted along the pages then stopped, closed and he groaned. “Take a shortcut, they said. It’ll be quicker and easier, they said…”
“Caste…” Aalis said with warning in her tone.
“We’re in the village of the swamp coven,” he hissed, holding out his book with writing on one side and an illustration of women cackling around a cauldron, surrounded by a border of tangled roots, “witches who maintain a female hierarchy and commune with Maul.”
“How can that be?” Verne whispered. “Don’t they need a male to…”
“There are accounts of unknown young women seducing men in villages and towns only to disappear once they’ve…” Caste’s face reddened and he coughed.
“So there are no men here at all?”
“From the little we know of the tribe, no, none.” Caste’s eyes widened. “You don’t think…they wouldn’t try to seduce us?”
Aalis tried to swallow an almost irrepressible smile. “I think you will escape this encounter unscathed.” She chuckled.
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“That’s what you say!” Caste blurted. “My intellect alone is a highly attractive quality!”
“Pity it operates independently of your mouth…” Verne said dryly.
Before Caste could react to Verne’s remark, Aalis caught his attention.
“Caste, how could these women commune with Maul? Maul is a place, not a person.”
“Sometimes the men who were seduced would imprison the woman, hoping to keep her from returning to the swamp. She would undergo a sort of delirium, ranting about the high priestess and how she would never let her go.”
“What happened to these women?”
“The accounts all say that they were able to escape, probably helped by others from the coven.”
Aalis pondered this then shook her head. “It still does not mean these women commune with Maul. The high priestess could simply be a human woman, like the one I thought might be the shaman of the village. Maybe she is the high priestess.”
Caste blinked at Aalis. “You’re not endearing her to me.”
“Well…perhaps…”
Their conversation fell silent as a small parade of women broke through the bead curtain, each carrying a plate of food which they lay down on the floor of the hut. There were small, round pieces of an unidentifiable meat, some odd looking berries and several pieces of fish, all arranged on a bed of leaves.
“Is this for us?” Aalis asked, seeing the girl they had chased to arrive at the village.
She nodded and mimed eating the food.
Aalis swallowed and reached out for one of the round pieces of meat.
“What are you doing?” Caste hissed.
“I am being a polite guest.” Aalis returned softly.
“You can’t trust a witch’s cooking!”
“You eat mine now, do you not?” Aalis returned lightly and picked up the meat and put it in her mouth. It was very chewy and rather salty but she persisted in eating it and swallowed down the lump with determination. “Good.” She nodded at the girl who beamed and followed the other women out of the hut. Aalis turned to the other two and coughed. “Stick to the fish. I think I just ate a snail.”
Verne picked at the flesh of the fish and sucked his fingers. “Not bad.” He nodded. “You’re gonna go hungry, Caste.”
“I’ll wait, if it’s all the same to you.” Caste muttered.
“Why?”
“He wants to see if we have any adverse reactions to the food.” Aalis winked and ate some of the fish. Caste’s hunger did not let him wait for long and eventually they devoured most of the food, the snails discreetly wrapped in a pouch and hidden in Aalis’ pack to be thrown away at a later time.
“I have to ask,” Verne looked at Caste, “if that book contains so much information on this coven, why hasn’t Astaril sent an army of knights to deal with them?”
“Uh,” Caste pointed to where Judd tossed and turned in restless delirium, “that’s why! This place in all but inaccessible and unreachable.”
“Why did you not say as much when you objecting to the shortcut?” Aalis asked.
“I had no idea it was this swamp,” Caste explained, “and we were supposed to be cutting off a narrow corner, not plunging into the heart of mangrove Maul.”
They were all quiet for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.
“We should probably take it in turns to keep watch,” Verne suggested, “that way someone can sit with Judd in case he gets worse.”
“I’ll take first watch.” Both Verne and Aalis stared at Caste. “What? I’m not going to be able to fall asleep in this place unless I am so tired I can’t keep my eyes open and my fear will keep them wide for hours.”
“When you feel like you’re going to fall asleep, I’ll take over.” Verne offered.
“And I will take over from you.” Aalis nodded.
It wasn’t easy to go to sleep especially when the tribal women began to chant and sing in mournful tones. It was any wonder Caste was able to fall asleep at all but when Verne gently shook Aalis awake, she saw Caste curled up against the wall of the hut, snoring softly. Aalis yawned and sat up, taking Verne’s position next to Judd. Verne’s strained expression was understandable when Aalis saw that Judd had not improved at all. In fact, he seemed to be getting worse. He was bone white with deep shadows beneath his eyes and when she drew back the collar of his shirt, his veins bore traces of the dark green of the poison.
Judd mumbled and whimpered in his delirium. Aalis watched him suffer, hopeless and wretched.
“Judd, you have to beat this,” she whispered, “do not give in to the nightmares.”
He gritted his teeth, his curly dark hair damp with sweat and plastered across his face. He clawed at the air as though trying to climb or escape from something.
Aalis worried her bottom lip, drawing back the fabric of his trousers, seeing the angry wound on his leg. She swallowed and glanced into the main portion of the hut. Caste was still fast asleep and Verne was curled up on his side. The fire in the metal bowl was low and though the hut was warm, it was dark.
She swallowed again and stretched out shaking fingers to hover over Judd’s leg. She licked her lips and lowered them to rest lightly on the wound. She planned to start slowly, to ease into the absorbing process but it was as though the poison sensed a new body to infect and Aalis jolted upright, her eyes darkening to monster blood green.