A shuddering breath ripped through me, deeper than the panicked gasps before. I pushed against the leaden weight in my limbs, against the nausea churning my gut, against the horrific image of the axe finding its mark that threatened to eclipse everything. Move.
My legs, trembling violently, obeyed. Not gracefully, not with strength, but they lifted. I staggered the few steps towards Zale, Marco's steadying hand a constant pressure on my elbow, ready to catch me if I fell.
"Easy," Marco murmured, his voice low and urgent. "Focus on him."
Zale's face was grey beneath the grime and sweat, his breathing shallow and rapid. The dark stain on his side pulsed with every ragged inhale. He managed a weak, pained grimace that might have been an attempt at a smile. "Took... your time," he rasped.
"Hush," I managed, not being able to form words. I dropped to my knees beside him, My hands shook as I fumbled with the clasp of my worn leather pouch, fingers slick with cold sweat. The salve. Where is it?
Panic flared again – had I lost it in the struggle? – but my fingers closed around the small, cool tin jar tucked deep inside. The last of it. The precious, painstakingly gathered and distilled extract of the many herbs I knew by heart. Hope, in a tiny pot.
"Hold still," I ordered Zale, my voice gaining a fraction more strength. Marco shifted, bracing Zale's shoulders, keeping him upright as I carefully peeled back the blood-soaked layers of tunic and leather armor. The wound was ugly – a deep gash just below his ribs, still oozing dark blood. Not spurting, thank the silent stars, but steadily leaking life.
My hands trembled violently as I scooped out the thick, greenish paste. Taking another steadying breath, I focused on the wound, not my hands, not the coppery smell, not the memory of another body cooling nearby. Stop the bleeding. Heal the flesh. I packed the salve deep into the gash, pressing firmly. Zale hissed, his body tensing, but he held still. The salve, reacting instantly, seemed to glow faintly for a second before the oozing blood slowed, then stopped almost entirely. A visible sigh of relief shuddered through him. I quickly bound the wound with clean strips torn from a spare shirt in Marco's pack, securing the makeshift bandage tightly.
"Good?" Marco asked, his eyes scanning the dark tree line beyond the rocks.
"Stable," I breathed, wiping my sticky hands on my trousers, leaving dark smears. "For now. The salve... it was the last."
Marco met my gaze silently and raked a hand through his hair. He squeezed my shoulder briefly. "Watch him. I'll check the perimeter. Seems quiet, but..." He didn't finish, just unslung his bow again, his movements silent and predatory as he melted into the deeper shadows near the rock face, his eyes scanning the darkness where the other hunters had fled.
The immediate danger to Zale receding, a new urgency gripped me. Roan. He'd been quiet. Too quiet since the braided man fell.
I pushed myself up, my legs protesting but holding, and moved the few paces to where Roan leaned heavily against a large boulder. His face was etched with pain and exhaustion deeper than physical wounds. His axe lay beside him, at some point Marco had fetched it.
"Iris," he said, his voice a low rumble, thick with shame. He wouldn't meet my eyes, staring instead at the bloodstained ground near his boots. "I... I am sorry. More than I can say." He swallowed hard, the sound rough. "You shouldn't have had to... for me, I…" His voice broke. "Forgive me. For forcing that on you."
The raw guilt in his voice was a physical weight. "Roan, no," I said firmly, kneeling beside him. You didn't force me. I chose." Saying it aloud, claiming the act, sent another tremor through me, but I pushed it down. "Let me see your wound, I need to bandage it again.."
He flinched, pulling away. "It's fine."
"It's not fine," I interrupted, my tone brooking no argument. "That dart looked suspicious already. Let me look." Gently but insistently, I reached for the crude bandage wrapped around his collarbone. The fabric was soaked through with dark, almost blackish blood, stiff and crusted.
As I carefully began to unwind the stiffened bandage, a foul smell hit me – not just blood, but something sickly sweet, cloying, like rotting fruit. My breath caught. The last layer stuck to the wound. I peeled it back slowly, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Beneath the bandage, the sight was horrifying. The gash itself was deep, but the flesh around it... it wasn't just inflamed. It was a sickly, putrid green. The discoloration spread outwards from the wound in angry, mottled tendrils under his skin. Thin, yellowish pus oozed sluggishly from the edges. The skin felt unnaturally hot to the touch, even through the cool night air.
The world seemed to tilt again, but this time, it wasn't shock from killing. It was cold, dawning terror.
"Gods below," I whispered, the words barely audible.
Roan finally looked down, his eyes widening in dawning horror as he saw the infected, poisoned flesh. The color drained completely from his face, leaving him ashen.
"It's... poisoned," I stated, the words tasting like ash. That dart had been laden with freaking poison. The reason for Roan's rapid decline, his unnatural weakness... it wasn't just blood loss or pain. The venom was eating him from the inside.
Roan didn't speak. He didn't need to. The question, the raw fear, screamed from his eyes.
How long?
I forced myself to swallow the lump in my throat and look again at the wound. The mottled discoloration had spread like a sickening stain. It had surged past his shoulder, the livid green tendrils now snaking halfway down his chest.
"At this rate," I murmured, the words scraping out, "the poison will reach his heart in an hour. Maybe less."
Marco had reappeared soundlessly behind me, his face carved from granite, but it was Zale who broke the silence.
"What do you need?"
My head snapped towards him. He was still pale as death, swaying slightly on his feet, the fresh bandage at his side already blooming crimson at the edges. Yet his eyes were unnervingly clear, locked onto mine with fierce focus.
Hesitation was a luxury we couldn't afford. I slammed my mind into gear, thinking like Lorraine had drilled into me.
"The poison's complex. Too intricate for a simple purge," I said, my eyes already scouring the ground for the fallen dart. "We need to isolate it. Stop the spread." My fingers found it, half-buried in damp moss. I snatched it up, ignoring the sharp bite of a splinter digging into my palm.
I raised it cautiously to my nose and inhaled.
Rotten.
Cloyingly sweet.
Too sweet.
Lorraine's voice echoed in my head, Sweet rot signals decay agents. Transparent venom usually hides infection—but if the flesh darkens or yellows… it means it's paired with a binder. You'll need a root to counteract the base. Koiroot. Pale bark, spongey texture, curls at the ends. Grows near runoff streams.
My hands trembled only slightly as I carefully pried open the dart's metal casing, exposing the inner residue. A faint, almost oily shimmer. Transparent. Yet Roan's body screamed its visible, violent reaction.
My thoughts raced, connecting fragments of knowledge. "Koiroot—that's the base counter. It draws out the core toxin. But this infection… the color shift, the rapid rot… that screams a secondary agent. A binder accelerating it. We'll need yarrow and casbane too. Yarrow for inflammation – white flowers, fans out like tiny umbrellas. Casbane to stabilize his heart, stop it from seizing – look for leaves with red speckles, grows in rocky patches under deep shade."
I turned fully to Zale, pouring every ounce of urgency into my gaze and my voice. "Can you walk?"
He gave a single, strained nod. "Not fast. But I'll manage."
"We have to climb. These herbs won't grow down here. The runoff stream we need for the koiroot is high up, near the north ridge. The shaded ledges for yarrow and casbane are scattered along the cliffs above it." I met his eyes, "You know these routes, Zale. You know the shortcuts, the stable paths. We split at the fork near the upper cascade – you take the eastern ledge circuit for the yarrow and casbane, I head straight for the stream and the koiroot. We meet back at the fork. Time is everything."
He didn't argue. The grim understanding was there. His knowledge of the terrain was our only chance at speed.
"I'll stay with him," Marco said, already sinking to his knees beside Roan, his large hand resting on his friend's uninjured shoulder. "Go."
I crouched quickly, tightening the bindings around Roan's upper arm once more, a futile attempt to slow the venom's relentless crawl. "Stay awake," I ordered, my voice low, fierce, inches from his ear. "You don't sleep until we're back. You hear me?"
Roan blinked up at me, sweat carving paths through the grime on his temples. His breath hitched, but he managed a weak nod. "Just… bring the stuff… ."
"I will." I stood, shoving down the ache in my legs, the lingering nausea, the sticky feel of Roan's blood drying on my hands. "Let's go, Zale."
We turned towards the looming shadow of the mountains. Overhead, the moon struggled vainly against the thick blanket of clouds, offering only the faintest, coldest light. But the path ahead burned bright and desperate in my mind.
I didn't care if the climb tore open my lungs or my legs gave out.
I was going to save him. Even if I had to claw every root from the earth myself. Him making it out alive was the only outcome I would accept. Especially after the unimaginable horror I'd committed, all to spare his life.