Crispin_ At the Edge of the World - Avi [12]
Once, while I looked on, and the old woman worked on Bear, she suddenly squeezed where the arrow had entered Bear’s arm. A spurt of dark blood and yellow pus erupted, and with it a splinter of wood. I gagged with disgust. But Aude snatched up the splinter and, muttering incomprehensibly, flung it in the fire, then went back and salved Bear’s wound anew.
I felt gratitude that she took from him something that was ill. In truth, I was finding it increasingly difficult to deny that no matter what or who these people were, they were not acting wickedly.
Dare I show them gratitude?
10
BEAR SLEPT ON.
As time passed, Aude and Troth seemed to do very little. The girl plucked leaves from the herbs and ground them into powder in a stone pestle. Once she went into the woods and foraged food. Once, she returned with toadstools, which I knew were unfit for humans. She ate them nonetheless. I was shocked.
The hag sat mostly by the fire as if looking into it, communing with it. Sometime I heard her croon as she rocked back and forth. Now and again she attended Bear. Then she and Troth—with a little help from me—fed him their brew and salved his wound.
By dusk, the rain had slackened. Daylight faded. Everything felt strange, ill-measured, and misplaced. A corpse-gray mist wormed among the knobby roots of trees. Now and again a bird called, its sharp trill weaving through the dim gray light like a lost thread of silver. A fox appeared at the bower entryway, its fur a wet and mottled rusty hue. It stood without apparent fear, sharp nose sniffing quizzically, ears erect, one foot up. Aude took no notice. Troth did. She went to the beast, knelt, and rubbed its ears, after which the fox trotted off. A few times birds flew into the bower, hopped about and pecked.
It was all so fantastical I was convinced these were bewitched people—if they were truly people.
And yet, and yet, they seemed kind.
Once, when Troth went to fetch more wood, and Aude was tending to Bear and therefore close to me, I said, “Is Troth your daughter?”
She considered momentarily before shaking her head.
“Then … how did she come to you?”
“Her mother died when giving birth. The father, seeing that face, pronounced her Devil’s work and would not keep her. No one would. But Aude took Troth and let her live.”
I said, “How was she able to touch that fox?”
“Creatures do not fear her. Humans do.” She leaned toward me so that I felt skewered by her one good eye. “But then men fear most what they understand least. Ignorance,” she hissed, “makes fear.”
“What do you mean?” I said, wondering if she thought me ignorant.
She turned away, leaving me to brood upon her words.
Not till next day did Bear truly wake. That’s to say, he opened his eyes and pushed himself up a bit with his good arm. Much weight had been lost. His face was gaunt, his small eyes dark rimmed.
I went to his side.
“How long have we been here?” he asked, as if rising from a long, deep sleep.
“Two days.”
He shook his great head, looked about, scratched his red beard, and rubbed his bald pate. “I’ve little memory of coming,” he said.
Trying to move his wounded arm, he winced and lay back down, eyes closed.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
“A bear is always hungry,” he whispered with a welcome hint of smile, though his eyes remained shut.
“He wants to eat,” I called to Aude.
She and Troth came to his side bringing a mazer of broth.
Bear opened his eyes and gazed up at the old woman. “Good morrow,” he said.
Aude stared at him.
“May the blessing of Jesus be with you for your kindness,” Bear murmured.
Making no reply, but working silently, Aude and Troth fed him. When done, they withdrew.
“How far have we come from Great Wexly?” he asked when I returned to his side.
“We had already walked some time when the arrow