Pursued - Entire book

Chapter 36

By late morning, Kerrida was wheezing as he finished digging a smaller version of the pit they'd dug in Koova forest. He refused Klair's offers to help.

Water from the morning's rain already pooled at its bottom leaving about a finger length of water. The sun peeked through the thinning clouds, warming the air. This hole had some slight modifications of the original. First of all, there were no logs to cover it. Also, bags of Start, harvested from the cargo of the wagon, framed the exterior.

Klair reluctantly laid himself into the hole. Just let me die.

At least it was only wet, not cold.

The smell of Kurin permeated the air. Kerrida, kneeling next to the hole, rested a pile of freshly cut wood and dry kindling at Klair's feet. He'd removed the exterior barks to expose soft wooden flesh beneath. The exposed and clear underbellies glistened under the sun. The steeped branches were piled into the shape of a teepee. He'd pegged a burning torch in the ground by the wood. The top of the teepee touched the base of Klair's foot.

If things worked well they'd herd any infection throughout his body to his feet until it would finally move to the waiting wood.

"I think we're ready," Kerrida said.

"It won't work," Klair murmured, turning his head away.

Kerrida tapped him on the chest.

Klair opened his eyes to look back with irritation.

"You don't need to die," The old man said.

Klair frowned.

"I cannot do this without your help, wizard. You were willing to fight to the death to save a forest and city. Why not preserve the life of the man who saved them?"

Kerrida grunted as he lifted two bags of Start to place one on each of Klair's sides. "With all your efforts back at Koova, this final victory is also yours." With aged hands, he dipped his fingers into a bucket of cold water. The old woodsman dug into the top of the closest bag of Start, clutching handfuls of soft clay. Pressing the dirt together, his wet fingers formed a thin patty.

He rested it on Klair's head.

Klair jerked, almost panicked and then forced himself to lay still.

Kerrida paused briefly before repeating the process of patties until Klair's entire face and shoulders were covered. "Now concentrate. Do whatever you do. Herd any possible infection from the top of your head down to your feet. Raise your finger when I can add mud further down." The old man rested a strip of cloth over Klair's mouth and nose to give him the ability to breathe, and then weighed most of it down with mud.

The mud wet pressed against Klair's flesh, making him squirm. He started to tremble.

Kerrida rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. His friend's bedside manner almost as soothing as his mother's.

Several long silent moments passed as he mustered his courage. Klair lifted a finger.

Arms and chest received an equally heavy concentration. he started at the fingers and moved up to arm to the shoulder. Kerrida continued down the chest. Gradually, he added finger-length-by-finger length, until the front half of Klair body lay covered with the soft mud. Klair groaned in pain. It was as if the infection sensed the attack and fought it. His leg throbbed. He thought he had contained the infestation only to his foot, but the infection fought for the ownership elsewhere up his leg.

No wonder he'd started having problems at the chamber pot.

Tears of pain pooled around his eyes and made the clay soggy requiring Kerrida to reapply more mud. Muddy water streaked down the sides of Klair's face. It dripped into his ears, pooling amongst the strands of his hair.

Klair clenched his jaw, eyes clenched in floundering concentration.

Waist and hips, inch by inch, Kerrida slowly covered the Seedling in a cocoon of damp earth. Hepaused once in his application of clay to study Klair's stomach. He drew in a sharp breath for what he obviously discovered there. He felt a brief grip of the aged hand on his mud covered arm as Kerrida sighed with deep satisfaction, before moving to direct the infection past Klair's hips.

"Halfway done, Klair."

Kerrida paused, touched the heel of the Klair's foot.

He can't resist looking at it, Klair thought. The infection repulses him. It must be working because the sting within his leg seemed to be lessening. Every night since the pit, he had stared at the webbing of black tendrils, displaying a lethal beauty.

"You have more than one worm, my friend," the elder man murmured.

Klair's heart raced as panic thrummed within him. He clenched his teeth fighting at the pinnacle of tenuous control.

His friend returned to packing clay around his belly.

The only other time Kerrida paused in his application of clay briefly to study Klair's belly. Klair heard the old man's sharp intake of breath for what he obviously discovered there. What did he see, since the infection had not risen that high? He felt a brief grip of the aged hand on his mud covered arm. Kerrida sighed with deep satisfaction, before moving to direct the infection past the youth's hips.

Klair shifted against the clay placed over his loin cloth.

Kerrida moved on, packing clay around the upper legs and knees.

"You're almost done, Klair," Kerrida murmured as he continued his task.

The wood in the ready-made fire pile shifted. Klair sensed that the once white wood now lie ribboned with black, stinking with the all too familiar scent of rot.

Lower calves, ankles, upper foot and toes, until only the soles of the feet remained. Kerrida leaned close, as if with fascination as he must have seen one remaining worm's head cresting the flesh of the foot. Klair flinched in pain as several more small insects followed suit. They began burrowing into their new home.

Kerrida was about to cover the wound when another followed. "Is that all?"

After the briefest of pauses, "Yes."

"Make sure, lad."

Another long moment... "Yes."

"Finish it, Klair," the old man instructed, leaning back on his heels and reaching the torch. "You tell me when."

Kerrida listened to the labored breathing until he heard, "Now!"

The old man grabbed a bottle of liquor resting next to the torch and with a vigorous shake upended the bottle and sprayed Klair's foot to disinfect it.

Klair yelped.

Kerrida emptied the rest on the wood and shoved Klair's foot away from the lower pit. He winced as he briefly glanced at the open wound of Klair's left foot as it bled against the mound of dirt. He tossed the torch into the pile. Flames engulfed the mound wood, sizzling and sparking like oil in a hot kettle.

Kerrida dragged Klair's body further away as the flames of the now blazing fire. Kerrida brushed at the dried clay covering the boy's body pulling it away to expose pink skin. The hairs on his chest caught. Some were pulled at the removal of the mud. Once he'd cleared Klair's upper torso, Kerrida pulled a blanket to cover his trembling body. Cupping his hands into a bowl of rainwater, he washed away the mud off his face

Klair lay panting.

"As you prepare yourself for sleep, Klair, turn off every sense. Close smell, taste, hearing...everything. When you wake, your senses must be as normal as before."

Klair closed his eyes as the wood possessing thelast remnants of infestation sizzled under the flame.

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