Ratho carries my pack and his own as we move in line toward Droslump. My head still tingles due to my labored breathing during my quick descent. Even with my full effort, I only returned just in time for patrol. I’m sure my feet are blistered and bleeding. When I climbed, I didn’t take enough care not to bang my toes against the rock. Now I will pay for it.
Mirko hums beside me, and Thae smiles at me from the other side of Ratho. I manage a nod to her.
Being last in line, the four of us were ignored when we joined rank; yet the shunning felt colder than normal. My hatred for Droslump is enough to counter it. I’m sure he’s the one who chose my punishment.
Ratho said Devino was taken to infirmary after falling unconscious during the second group of drills. At least maybe now the foolish Madronians will feed him.
Spinko and Fren, two patrollers who never seem to draw notice to themselves, take their portion and instructions, then jog off to the northern post. I step forward with Ratho. The apprentice darts the last map to us. Ratho takes it, but the young man won’t meet our eyes. Looks like the next to the last position in the south.
“To cleanse the sin from the patrollers, Four-Winged Condor,” says Droslump with tight lips. He places a wafer on Ratho’s tongue.
The govern turns to me. Heat streams from his hand as his fingers extend the wafer. I hold my head steady and open my mouth wide. His bony fingers lay the bread behind my front teeth, and at the last moment, Droslump’s pointed index fingernail strikes, piercing deeply into my tongue.
“Huh!” I jump back. Mirko beats his wings furiously, and my tongue throbs along with his rhythm. I spit out the wafer into my palm. It’s soaked in my blood! When I look up, I see the apprentice hurrying away from us.
“Swallow the gift of the Four-Winged Condor, patroller!” Droslump hisses while tipping wine into Ratho’s gaping mouth. The govern steps to me with his hand upraised. I lift the bloody bit back to my mouth. It disintegrates with a swallow of my blood.
Before I can finger my tongue to staunch the wound, Droslump holds the cup to my lips. He strikes the clay rim upward. Creator Spirit! My teeth ring, and I sputter flecks of wine and blood onto Droslump’s embroidered condors. He smacks me across the temple and blackens everything.
“Tiadone.” I open my eyes. Ratho’s lips are close to my ear, and I’m suddenly alert. “Tiadone, come. We must leave quickly for patrol.”
“Yeth,” I mumble, my tongue a swollen mound. I try to sit up, and realize Mirko is squatting on my chest. “Go on,” I say and roll him off. He chortles in concern.
With a worried Thae on his shoulder, Ratho pulls me to my feet. I take a step and soon get my legs steady beneath me. Ratho hands me his water sack, and I take a swig. I dribble the bloody stream out into the sand. The next time it runs pink.
“Droslump is gone, but I’m sure he’ll be back soon to be certain we’ve left.” Ratho brushes my twists from my eyes. He grimaces at what must be a bruise on my face. His fingertips sweep my cheek, and he makes the blessing gesture on my forehead.
I hold back my sobs. “Patrol,” my throbbing tongue fumbles.
“But first, you need to change,” Ratho says. I look down at my clothing. When I was knocked unconscious, I wet my trousers. Could the humiliation grow worse? “Come. It’s all right. Earlier, I saw our clean clothes were already delivered.” He leads me by the hand to the Sleeping Cavern. Our rapion swoop close above.
Ratho pauses. “Let me see your tongue.” I stick it out past my fevered teeth, and he shivers. “Fleabots, that’s bad. He must have had a poison under his nail!”
“That explains the thwelling.” I feel over the lump and gouge. My head lightens.
Ratho clasps my shoulders. “Can you go change while I fill your water sacks?”
“Yeth.” I wipe my damp, cold forehead.
“Let me see you walk through the opening then.”
I lunge toward the entrance. “I’m fine,” I mumble. Mirko lands beside me and rubs against my calf.
“Go on then.” Ratho runs to the spring.
I make my way down the hallway but lean against the stone when my sight warps. The condors glare at me from their niches. “I’d like to melt every last piece in the fire pit,” I slur.
Mirko hisses, and his feathered head fills my dangling palm.
“I wouldn’t really do it.” I sniff back my tears. “I’ll play, Mirko. Nothing I did mattered today anyway. Nothing at all.” I hang my mouth open for the cool air to fight the heat boiling from my tongue. My boots shlump forward in the sand.
Ratho helps me stumble out to patrol. The Baltang boys we replace hurl insults for our tardiness. Even the red seeping through the skin of my boots does not soften them.
“It’s good to be rid of you! May your rapion fly low and heavy with avian worms!” Ratho curses them as they finally disappear over the knoll.
I smile. “And may you wake in the morning with bots in your nose!” I murmur, noticing my tongue feels less swollen.
“Harsh!” laughs Ratho. “Oh, your father hates the goat bots.” I flop beside the fire, and Ratho flips the hourglass.
Thae assumes position on the taller cairn, and Mirko tugs at my boots. “Yes, I’ll check.” I pull the goatskin off one foot at a time. We all intake a big breath. My clean socks and the numbing sheathes from the ardis plant we found mid-route are blood-soaked.
I peel everything off my feet before the wounds seal further with the fibers. Tears float over my eyes. My feet are bloodied and blistered like never before. Especially the ends of my toes; one nail is already blackened.
Ratho whistles, then quickly retrieves the pot from the cottonwood and fills it with water. “We have to clean you up first.”
I grimace and prop my feet on a small boulder and lie back. The twilight stars swirl. Exhaustion overtakes me.
“I’ll gather aloe, and what else?”
“There’s probably no ardis out here, but yucca strips for bandages will help,” I say with what little energy I have. Mirko blows gently on my wounds to lessen the sting. As I pass out, I hear my stomach grumbling for food.