CAEL’S WOUND WASN’T healing. It wasn’t getting any worse, and his fever was low, but it was constant. He was losing weight. Zel and Martine had to search further in the Forest to find feverfew and comfrey.
“You have to come out to the island,” Safred said at breakfast. “I’m sure I could heal you at the altar.”
Cael looked at the lake with loathing. “I’m all right. I’ll last until we get out of the Forest.”
“You look tired,” Zel ventured.
“I’m sleeping fine. Slept like the dead last night. Every night since we’ve been here.” He sounded faintly surprised.
Safred looked thoughtful. “So have I,” she said. “What about you two?”
Martine didn’t look at Zel. “I had trouble getting to sleep last night,” she said truthfully, “but then I slept soundly.”
“Me, too,” Zel said.
“Maybe there’s something in the air,” Safred said.
Something from the gods, Martine thought. Or the fire, safeguarding us. She was warmed by the thought that even in his rage he hadn’t lifted that protection. Bramble began to move, twisting from side to side as though in pain. Martine bent over her and smoothed her hair. She tried to give Bramble water, but her mouth stayed firmly closed.
“It doesn’t matter if you’re sleeping,” Safred said sternly to Cael. “You have to be healed. Come to the altar.”
He looked resigned. “All right.”
“Safred,” Martine said, “I don’t think the gods want you to.”
From the center of the black altar, mist was rising. There had been fog on the water when they woke at dawn, but it had disappeared when the sun hit it. Now, at noon, in full warm sun, mist was pouring off the altar and spreading outward, across the lake, toward them, as it had the first night, when they had taken Bramble to the altar.
“Dung and pissmire!” Zel said.
“I don’t think now is a good time to go out there, niece,” Cael said. But the mist didn’t react to this retreat.
“Sit down around Bramble and hold hands!” Martine ordered. Zel grabbed her hand and Safred’s and they formed a circle, Cael between Safred and Martine, Bramble in the middle, lying silently, frowning a little. Cael’s hand was too hot, Martine thought. Then the mist rolled over them and they could see nothing.