THEN THEY WERE GONE. I opened my eyes. IZZ and FFanOOn sprawled on the ground near me, their faces blue.
But EEnth and a bloody ShuMM were already at the giant again, zEEning her between bites. I yelled, and her hands, in an instant, circled the throat of each, squeezed, then tossed them aside.
“Uueeetaatii (honk) obobee aiiiee.” I am a friend. I hoped she knew Kyrrian, because I’d just used up most of my Abdegi. In Kyrrian, so she’d know I spoke it, I repeated, “I am a friend.”
Carefully forming each word, she said, also in Kyrrian, “Thank you. You saved me.”
“Not yet.” She was bleeding from many wounds. Luckily, none were gushing, but ogre bites were even more poisonous than their scratches, and she’d endured both. Untreated, she’d certainly die. I bled, too, though I wasn’t as badly cut, and ogre bites and scratches—unless they were severe—didn’t kill ogres. I reached for my satchel.
Luckily, I hadn’t used any purpline on AAng.
Whom I’d killed.
I couldn’t think about that now.
I found my carpetbag and shook out its contents.
The giant backed away. I felt her gigantic fear.
ZEEn! The air around her fear was also bigger than in a human. I honeyed my voice. “I mean no harm. I helped you before, didn’t I?”
She nodded, her face relaxing, the air expanding.
I kept zEEning. As I usually did with patients, I explained what I was doing. Meanwhile, I worried. I didn’t have nearly enough bandages.
Why hadn’t I prepared for a wounded giant, when I’d just left Aeediou behind in Jenn?
“A drop of purpline is all you need,” I repeated again and again, telling her and reminding myself. And keeping at bay thoughts of my dead band and my Master Peter, who was almost certainly dead, too.
A drop in each wound was almost all I had, with a drop or two left over. My bandages were enough to bind only one of her legs. While I worked, I worried that another band might attack, which would doubtless finish us off.
But none did, perhaps prevented by respect for the boundary of our—now my—land or by the certainty that some of them would die.
When I’d done what I could for her, I used the last of the purpline on my shoulder, where the wound was deepest. I stopped zEEning and said in my ordinary rasp, “I’m finished. Please rest.” If the purpline did its work, her wounds would be healed enough by morning for us to attempt to leave. “Don’t move.” If she remained still, the need for binding the cuts would be less.
I walked our perimeter, looking for a sign of Master Peter among the bones.
Human ulna, femur, many finger phalanges, two skulls. I saw nothing distinctly Master Peter. Every skull has high cheekbones. None have noses or lips. Or eyes that softened when they looked at me.
I asked the giant if she’d seen a human when the band had brought her here. She said she hadn’t.
Even if my band hadn’t eaten him, he couldn’t have gone far. He was dead.
However, if the giant and I lived, as soon as I delivered her to safety, I would, against all reason, search for him. He’d do the same for me, I was sure of it.
Night fell, and I was grateful to the dark for concealing the bodies. I sat near the giant, whose name was Udaak, and let myself feel my grief, despair, and fury. I sobbed noisily. Udaak put a gentle, huge hand on my back, but I moved away from the comfort and continued weeping until I was empty and exhausted.
Then the thoughts started. I’d never killed any being who could speak. Even though they were ogres, I loathed myself for not having saved them and for not preventing Master Peter’s death.
How could they have done it? They knew I cared about him and didn’t want anyone killed.
EEnth and SSahlOO! Why didn’t you wait for your beautiful mare?
Because they were ogres. Like me.
We survived the night. By morning, my wounds were trifling, and I deemed Udaak well enough—barely well enough—to travel. I was more than eager to leave both the Fens and this grisly scene, but we waited several hours, while ogre bands, dimly seen through the perpetual fog, passed by on their way to hunt.
I gathered my meat sticks and had the forethought to stuff Master Peter’s jug into my carpetbag, too. I should have taken someone’s bearskin against the chill, but I couldn’t bring myself to.
The weather cleared beyond the Fens. Even limping, Udaak’s long legs forced me to trot to keep up. By early afternoon, we reached the fork and turned toward the giants’ farms, beyond which lay the dragons’ Spires. Automatically, my hands made fists, and I needed a meat stick to calm myself.
As we went, Udaak thanked me repeatedly for saving her and for being unlike other ogres.
Giants’ farms are vast by human and ogre standards, but the beet harvest was in progress, so we didn’t have to walk to a farmhouse. In about an hour, we came to a fence, which Udaak was tall enough to see over. With honks, whistles, and words, she called to someone.
I heard thudding footsteps. The chest, shoulders, and head of a male giant appeared at the fence. His enormous smile vanished at the sight of me.
Udaak explained me in Abdegi and, at the end, with a tap on my head. I’m sure she didn’t mean to force my feet half an inch into the road.
The farmer’s face softened. In Kyrrian, he thanked me for saving Udaak.
I described Master Peter and asked him if he’d seen such a person. He hadn’t.
Udaak, who had learned something by observing me, invited me for a meal.
Denying my stomach and infuriating my ogre half, I said no. I had to search for Master Peter.
I devoted three days of my dwindling store to looking, hope against hope, for him. Anyone who could have watched would have seen a hideous, distracted creature—sometimes sobbing, sometimes shouting at herself—dashing through the elves’ Forest, running near the roads that went by both the giants’ and the humans’ farms, listening, sniffing.
But I was always aware that, if he lived, he could be where I wasn’t. When I was here—say, near the road—he could be there, in the elves’ Forest or a farmer’s kitchen.
Master Peter had been unique in the way he’d understood me, appreciated me. It couldn’t happen again. Two humans couldn’t fall in love with such a one as I was.
As a memento, I had only his jug, which I filled from a stream in the Forest.
I missed the band at night, when I longed for their snores, their restless sleep, the stink of all of us.
On the third night, while lying awake in a woody dell on a giant’s land, the healer in me woke up. I was my own patient now, and this search for my dead love would destroy me. I didn’t let my patients die if I could help it.
Forgive me, Master Peter! I gave up seeking him and considered where to go next. After an hour of indecision, I chose my destination.
I wouldn’t endanger anyone else in this quest. I’d go alone. If I succeeded, I’d be welcome anywhere, at least for a while, even as an ogre. I could live at home again and wouldn’t have to eternally miss Mother and Wormy.
When I rejoined humanity, I might save someone whose gratitude would progress to love. Then, if I could set aside the memory of Master Peter, I might return the feeling, because saving someone’s life was almost as good as drinking a love potion.
Yes! I would go to the dragons’ Spires. I’d try not to, but if I died seeking purpline, my end would sadden only two people, neither of them myself.