Una couldn’t help herself. She whooped loudly. “We did it! Julien, we did it!”
Julien wanted to jump up and down, but he knew better after the ordeal of extracting Una from the mud, so he kept his enthusiasm limited to a big exhale of relief.
With the help of Una’s gardening tools, they dug up the silva plant and carefully placed it in the sack from Ovid.
Now that they had found the flower and the excitement had ebbed, Una shivered with the cold. Her clothes were wet through with mud.
“I know it’s late, but why don’t we go back to the city?” Julien asked. “There’s no reason to stay here, and you won’t be any less comfortable heading back to the city than you would be staying here all night. Besides, the hike might even warm us up a bit.”
Una nodded, her teeth chattering, and they set off, carefully retracing their steps through the wilderness. It took them most of the night, for the journey was long and rather treacherous in the dark. When they reached the stream, Una tried to wash off the mud, but the water was too cold, so she just cleaned her hands and dreamed about the hot bath and the hot chocolate and the hot soup that she would have at home.
At the ledge, they stopped, knowing that descending it in the dark would be too dangerous. There they slept for a short while, backs against each other in an attempt to stay warm.
When the sun began to peek above the horizon, Julien stirred. He heard Baba coughing. It was time to heat some water for his morning tea. He was so tired, though. Maybe just a minute more rest? His body ached and surely another minute wouldn’t make a difference.
But then the cough came again.
Julien opened his eyes and recognized where he was. He also realized where Baba should be: at the Official Residence with Ovid.
And yet there was his cough.
Julien’s movement woke Una. She yawned and stretched.
Julien was already on his feet. “Baba?” he called out. “Is that you?”
“Julien!” a weak voice came in reply.
Julien launched himself over the ledge and began descending in a half-controlled slide.
Una rushed over to see Julien go careening downward. She grabbed her pack and the sack from Ovid and followed after him.
When she reached the bottom, Julien was leaning over a man—a man she knew must be Baba.
He looked just as Una expected—kind and intelligent, but also pale and sickly. The scent of his love for Julien whirled around them. But the scent was overlaid by something unhealthy.
“You must be Julien’s father,” she said. “I’m so glad that he was able to free you.”
“With many thanks to you.” The skin around Baba’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “We are so very grateful.”
Una could smell Julien’s worry for his father, just as she could smell Baba’s love for his son. Julien tilted his head, as if listening intently.
“Baba, why aren’t you with Ovid?”
He told them about meeting a woman who had soup.
Una’s eyes lit up. “Vita!”
“I don’t know her name, but she gave me what she called ‘the soup of life.’ After I drank it, I felt better than I had in years. So I came to join you. It was only when I got outside of the city that I began feeling tired.”
“Can you walk?” Julien asked his father.
“Yes, if you’ll help me.”
They set their sight on the city in the distance and walked slowly, Julien on one side of Baba, and Una on the other.
One look at Baba’s face told Una that all this talking had used up too much of his energy, so Una began to talk—to babble, really—to give Baba a chance to rest and to draw attention away from their worries. “Julien told me that you are a botanical collector. I used to have a wonderful scent collection. I had rose and frankincense, cassia and clove, bergamot and sandalwood. Calendula, peppermint, anise, and hibiscus . . .”
Baba listened, interrupting her only with bouts of coughing. The rotting scent from his lungs grew worse with each cough. Una looked at Julien, uncertain if he could tell what was wrong.
“What happened to it?” Baba asked.
Maybe it was from the lack of sleep, but Una began to giggle. “It was eaten by a wild sow and her five piglets.”
Baba raised his eyebrows.
“The only thing left was oil of hartshorn.”
At that, Baba let out a burst of laughter. “And no wonder. Did you have spikenard, too?”
“Oh yes. I forgot that one.”
Baba pursed his lips, thinking. “Almond?”
“Yes, I had almond and pistachio, as well.”
“Balm of Gilead?”
Una furrowed her brows. “I don’t know that one.”
“That’s rockrose,” Julien said. “We never did get to that, but perhaps we can find it another time.”
His words triggered the memory of the previous night’s adventure. “Julien! I forgot! Did you tell your father what we found?” Una exclaimed.
“Angel’s wings?” Baba said, his face lit with hope.
Julien’s eyes brightened and a wide smile filled his whole face. “We found angel’s wings, but they weren’t the right scent. So instead, we found something better.”
Baba grabbed Julien’s arm. “The silva? Did you find the silva?”
Una nodded. “That’s why we’re covered in mud!” Una related the experience—seeing the foxfire, getting stuck in the bog, getting unstuck, and then building a bridge to the silva flower.
Even with this happy news, they soon slowed to the point where Baba was barely shuffling forward. His breathing was labored, and the scent of illness grew ever stronger. Una tried to catch Julien’s eye, but his focus was entirely on his father. So she stopped, causing the other two to stop with her.
“Sir? I think you must rest.”
She finally caught Julien’s eye; his glance sent waves of gratitude her way.
Baba nodded. “I am sorry I am so slow.”
“I am not worried about our speed, but your health.”
He patted her arm. “Yes, I will rest, then.”
They guided Baba toward a large stone near their path and helped him sit. His breath came out in wheezes, and he began to cough.
And cough.
And cough some more.
