When Things Are Set Right

Daphne

The fever came without warning during the night. At sunup, the village shaman called upon the elvish gods, but they remained silent. Unresponsive to the available remedies, the child's temperature climbed. Her tears ran dry, and in less than a day, Aeryn's inconsolable baby had become listless.

When Rathma returned to the Haranae household that afternoon, she took one look at the child and pronounced she'd be dead by morning without a miracle.

"Prepare yourselves," the shaman said.

It felt like the ground swung out from beneath Aeryn. She bounced her nine-month-old to hide the shaking in her own limbs. She dabbed Daphne's burning head with a cool cloth. Heat seeped into her fingers.

Aeryn's mind raced in search of an answer. She set her jaw. "No. I don't accept that. I can't. There must be something we can do."

Rathma's face softened. "Aeryn...."

Ignoring the shaman, Aeryn turned to her mother, Verelle. "What about the herb you gave to Samuel? You said it'll cure most illnesses. Would it fix whatever's wrong with Daphne?"

"Blue leatherleaf?" Verelle said. "It should. It's a seven-hour hike to the grove." Verelle turned to her husband. "Bartholomew, if you or I hurry-"

Aeryn's aged father nodded. "I'll get ready."

Aeryn watched him hobble out of the room, followed by Rathma. His war wound had been acting up for weeks. He would never make it back in time.

She hugged her child tighter as necessity settled over her. "Poppa can't go. There's no time," she said. "I'm going. I'll run through the night."

Her mother didn't protest.

"Do you know where it is?" Verelle asked. "It only grows in one place. You can't forage for it elsewhere."

"I know where it is. There's a waterfall and a pool." Aeryn scanned the room for her boots. Daphne whimpered and stuck out her bottom lip.

Aeryn's throat thickened painfully. It tore her apart to leave her baby like this. Daphne needed her mother, and wouldn't understand why Aeryn wasn't there to comfort her. But what choice was there? She'd die without the miracle herb, and Aeryn was the only person equipped to retrieve it.

The sooner she left, the sooner she'd get back with the cure.

Aeryn rested her daughter gently on her bed. She stroked the damp chocolate curls atop her head. No longer strong enough to wriggle or cry, Daphne rocked her head toward Aeryn. She took slow shallow breaths.

Aeryn leaned over her, and croaked a few lines of a lullaby about crickets in the meadow. A tear escaped down her cheek, cutting the song short. She planted a kiss on her baby's burning forehead. "It's okay, little feather. I'll be back soon. I'll make you better."

Verelle laid a hand on Aeryn's shoulder. She took the cloth from her, dipped it into a bowl of cool water, and dabbed the baby's skin.

Aeryn hurried across her room, moved her lute out of the way, and snatched her leather boots from the corner. She slung a satchel over her shoulder. Bartholomew limped into Aeryn's room after showing Rathma to the door. He assessed the situation and understood immediately.

"Aeryn, bring your bow. Just in case," he said.

"Okay." Aeryn laced her boots. Urgency pressed upon her, but her mind sharpened into focus.

Get there, get the plant, and get back.

Or Daphne would die.

Before she left, she turned her attention on the still, pallid form of her child. Pain returned to her throat. She gave her one more kiss on the top of her head.

"Please hang on. Your momma loves you. I'll be back, I promise."

Aeryn bolted from the house and straight to the great forest, Ravenwood, which was Merioake's wild backyard. Her golden brown hair flew out behind her as she shot like an arrow through the trees. She leaped over fallen branches and dodged jagged rocks, sensing their presence before she even saw them. She kicked up the smells of foliage and mushrooms, which entered her nose with each sharp intake of breath. The rattle of arrows in her quiver provided a rhythm to her pace. Insects hummed and forest birds argued, ignorant to Aeryn's race below the canopy.

Late afternoon dipped into dusk and Aeryn's legs and lungs begged for a break. She refused them.

She couldn't afford to stop, but was forced to when she misjudged a leap over a downed tree. She barked her shin and landed facedown in the detritus on the other side.

Aeryn grabbed her leg, wincing. She gasped for air and broke into a coughing fit. She needed water.

She gave herself a minute, forcing her body back under control. Then she pulled herself to her feet and pressed through the pain. She set her focus to the grove, the one place in Errebos the herb grew. There was a pool at the grove. She could drink there.

Darkness spread rapidly through the forest. Aeryn's eyes adjusted to the dimness. The night creatures crept out of hiding to blink from the shadows, howl, or fiddle their calls. The forest was unsafe at night, but a different fear snapped at Aeryn's heels as the image of her sick baby lodged in her mind.

Urging her onward.

ᛋ

At long last, the trees opened upon a grove blanketed with blue flowers and thick green foliage. A small waterfall fed a bubbling pool nearby.

Aeryn waded through the knee-high plants, staggering to the water's edge, and collapsed. She scooped handful after handful of fresh water to her mouth. Panting, she ran a cool, wet hand over her face, then turned her attention to the grove itself.

The moonlight reflected off the indigo petals and bathed the clearing in a bluish glow. This was a sacred, protected place. A remnant of magic in the world, her mother speculated.

"Get the whole plant," Verelle said before she left. "Roots, leaves, flowers. All of it."

Aeryn ripped a plant out of the dirt. She uprooted four more handfuls and shoved them into her satchel. After one final drought from the pool, she rose, and hurried back the way she came.

ᛋ

Gray morning light cracked through the gaps in the foliage as she neared the edge of the wood. The trees thinned and her village materialized before her.

Aeryn leaned into the final push. Arms and legs pumping, her muscles screaming for mercy, she flew along the empty lane and didn't slow until she reached her parents house.

Rathma was leaving.

What was she doing here so early in the morning?

The old woman leaned on her gnarled staff, met Aeryn's eyes, and shook her head.

Dread sunk its teeth into Aeryn's heart, ready to rip it from her body. Without a word to the shaman, she took the stairs two at a time and burst into the house. Elion, Samuel, and Tarra congregated in the living area. Their eyes were raw from crying.

No, no, no.

Aeryn crashed through the house and bounded up the stairs to her bedroom. She rushed in, satchel in hand, and froze.

Daphne laid on the bed, eyes shut. Her chest was still. Beside the baby, Verelle leaned her head in her arms, and wept. She hadn't noticed Aeryn come in.

Bartholomew rose. His eyes were damp. He took a few unsteady steps toward Aeryn. "Aeryn, I'm so sorry."

A cry of anguish caught in Aeryn's throat, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe. The satchel hit the floor. She staggered to her lifeless child and dropped to her knees.

She tenderly scooped Daphne into her arms. A wail escaped from a place deep inside Aeryn. Grief wracked her body. Her cries filled the house as she hugged her child to her breast.

She failed.

Daphne was gone.