Amber sighed. "I guess we’re going to the Tartana then."
After passing village after village, they entered a clearing that was even bigger than the others. Five of the great trees stood evenly around a large hut, the walls of which were decorated with animal drawings and scenes of the forest.
"Is this the Tartana?" Amber said.
The first man looked at her sideways. "Did that arrow hit your head? The Tartana is inside."
"Hello, the trees!" the man with the bird tattoo called.
"Hello, the birds!" a voice replied from within the hut.
Without further ceremony, they entered, drawing aside a thin curtain. Amber stooped to avoid hitting her head on the low doorframe.
"Oh, what have we here?" a tiny man sitting up on a chair said, peering down at them. He finished picking at some kind of bird, chomping his gums and throwing the bones aside.
He was withered beyond belief, seeming like a bag of meat and bones, but he had a devilish twinkle to his eyes, which were framed by immense white eyebrows.
"Tartana, this is a young deer we found in the forest," the man with the bird tattoo said seriously.
"A young deer?" the Tartana frowned.
"Well," he frowned also. "I am sure she is dear to someone."
Instantly everyone in the room burst into fits of laughter. Amber saw tears coming out of the Tartana’s eyes.
Amber suddenly felt terrible, waiting here while Ella was sick, close to dying.
"Tartana," Amber said. Instantly all of the faces in the room sobered. She faltered under the Tartana’s gaze, disturbed by the quick change in the mood. "My friend is sick, near to death. She grows closer as we speak."
"I have never heard of a plant called ‘closer’," the Tartana said. "And how can she be growing this plant if she is near to death?"
The hunter with the bird tattoo stifled a laugh.
"Tartana, I respectfully request the assistance of a healer. Please, I need a healer. Now."
"A healer? You mean an apolaranasan?"
"Yes!" Amber eventually broke. "Yes, if that’s what you call it! I need a healer!"
The Tartana made a soothing motion with his hands. "Do not get angry, young one. But you should leave this place, and tend to your friend, for I cannot help you."
"Lord of the Sky! I was told by Miro, he said you could help me, that you could provide a healer who could help my friend."
"That name means nothing to me," the Tartana said.
"Skylord scratch you! He would not have sent me here for nothing, and I will not leave without a healer!"
A slow change came over the Tartana. His countenance grew dark, the wrinkles getting deeper in his forehead, his eyes sinking deeply, giving him a ferocious glare.
"You make demands on me? You, young girl of the Alturans, or the Halrana, or wherever you are from? You, who came here and called the Eternal false, who scratched his countenance from our temples? Be gone from here, foolish girl, and be lucky to take your life with you."
Amber cowered beneath his glare, the terrible tirade coming from such a small figure. "Please…" was all she could say.
"I said get gone with you," said the Tartana.
"He said you would help. Their nurse, she was one of you."
The two hunters began to drag Amber from the hut.
"Their nurse… Her name was… Her name was… Alarana!"
The Tartana waved the two men to a stop. "Alarana?"
"Yes, Alarana."
"Alarana," the Tartana said. "Little Alarana. She left Dunholme, in my seventieth year, and she returned, speaking of two children. She is no longer with us."
Amber realised the Tartana must be terribly old. "Yes, that’s right. Two children, Miro and Ella. Tartana, please, Ella is gravely ill. Can you help?"
The Tartana paused, thinking for a moment. He finally nodded. "We will help."
16
The Lord of the Sun said, ‘Let Stonewater be marked with my favour. It is a holy place, and special to me. Let the greatest of our relics reside here. Let the shape of the mountain guide the people’s gaze to the heavens. For one day, we shall return.’
— The Evermen Cycles, 9-14
MIRO lifted Ella’s head and rearranged the pillow. She had grown colder; the fever had worsened. At one stage she had become so hot the skin on her shoulders had blistered, bright red and fiery. She had screamed with the pain of it, clutching at Miro, unseeing.
It was one of the worst sights he had ever seen. The pain she was in — the ravages of her sickness — cut him deeply.
The day had come and gone. He hadn’t once left her side, bathing her head with cool cloths when she needed it, willing her to be strong.
Ella now lay still. Miro almost preferred it when she was writhing, at least then she was noticeably alive. Now he had to rest his ear against her mouth to hear and feel the softness of her breath.
He sat on the floor beside the bed.