Ilior missed her lie, as he was busy warming his own cool blood. She was glad. Surrounded by ice and chill winds had awoken the worst malice of her wound. The cold radiated out of the icy cavity of her blasted chest and there was nothing Ilior could do about it but worry.
After a time, the Black Storm’s crew came in, rubbing their hands and blowing on fingers. In no time, Hilka had them eating and drinking. After the meal, Cur, Grunt and Spit played at dicing, while Helm and Cook looked on. Julian sat alone, nursing a glass of golden mead, until Whistle came to the captain, excited and gesturing at the door. Julian reached into his pocket and withdrew something—money for his shore leave, perhaps. Whistle’s eyes widened at the glint of coin in his palm, and the boy looked as though he might hug Julian but the captain waved him off. Whistle scampered away, long legs and arms flailing. Julian watched him go, smiling faintly. He caught Selena watching him and the smile vanished.
Too bad, she thought, turning back to the fire. He’s quite handsome when he smiles.
Niven made short conversation with Selena and then begged her leave. After his wound had healed, he insisted on leaving Selena’s cabin to take a hammock with the rest of the crew, and he professed he’d never get used to the swaying.
“I believe I’ll retire to take advantage of a still bed on dry land while I have the chance.”
Before long, the room filled with whalers in bloody oilskins and faces painted in a variety of designs in brown and white paint. Up close, Selena realized it wasn’t paint at all but mud. She thought to ask Julian about the strange custom, but the whaler captain they had passed on the way in spotted him and the men were clapping arms and hailing the barmaid.
The room was loud with booming voices and guffaws of laughter. The season had been a good one, Selena surmised. The merchant packets would be here in a week to purchase thousands of barrels of whale oil the men had collected, and the township would survive the winter without want. The men were in such a boisterous mood, even the sight of a Vai’Ensai warming his clawed hands at their fire didn’t give them much pause.
Hilka moved easily among the men, jesting and laughing, and barking orders at her barmaids. She lingered near Julian’s table, resting her hand on Julian’s shoulder as they talked with the whaler captain. The township was small, close knit. Selena felt immediately the camaraderie of these people who banded together to make livelihoods in one of the harshest climates on Lunos. Now the windows showed flurries of snow whirling about outside—a small storm. She shivered and tried to sip her cider with shaking hands. It sloshed down the front of her coat on the first try, the second, the third…
She set the mug down, and decided to retire to her room, to curl up beside the fire there without fearing curious or pitying eyes on the “outsider” who couldn’t abide the Nanokar cold. She started to rise when the door banged open and a whaler, his face painted white but for brown circles around his eyes and chin, burst inside.
“It’s Boris! Oil spill! He’s burnt up awful!”
“Well, bring him on in,” Hilka cried, but the man shook his head.
“He’s thrashing like a shark in a blood frenzy. Cain’t touch him fer fear he’ll hurt worse.”
Julian leaned over to Selena from his table. “I’ll get Niven.”
“There’s no time.” Selena climbed to her feet. “You should stay here,” she told Ilior. “It’s storming out.”
She didn’t wait to see if the Vai’Ensai obeyed her, but followed the crowd as they rushed outside. They didn’t panic or cry or wail; but moved quickly and calmly. Hilka carried a jar of white powder under her arm.
Outside, the Nanokari paid the storm as much mind as others might pay to a light rain. To Selena, each little snowflake was an icy dart on her skin. She pulled the hood up over her head and ducked down. An icy patch nearly landed her on her rump but for a steadying hand that snaked out to grab her. Julian offered his arm, and she took it, letting him lead her to the accident so that she might keep her face bowed against the biting wind.
The trek across the beach to where Boris lay seemed to take a year. Selena’s boots crunched over gritty sand and snow, and her hand on Julian’s arm was claw-like and numb. The stench of burning blubber grew stronger and she could hear the burble of the tryworks under the awful shrieking of the wounded man. His cries were weakening and Selena forced her stiffened limbs to move faster.
A crowd had gathered and they made way for Hilka with her white powder, but closed to the strangers in their midst. “Let me to him,” Selena said. “I’m Aluren. A healer.”
The painted men let her pass, and Selena struggled to not let her alarm show on her face when she saw the burned man.
The oil had had burnt itself deep or clung to his skin until the flesh sloughed off. Half of his face was red like the setting sun, the other half still wearing mud in brown and white whorls. His skin bubbled with white foam from his hairline, down along his neck, and over his left hand. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly now, an occasional whimper escaping his lips that were swollen and peeling.
Selena knelt beside him, and peered up at the ring of townsfolk who surrounded them. Her trembling voice was all but torn away by the wind of the gale. “The oil has to come off if I’m to heal,” she said, and bit her tongue with chattering teeth. The townsfolk didn’t understand, judging by their anxious murmurs. She clenched her jaw tightly. “Like a dagger…stabbed in…I can’t heal the wound until…the dagger’s out.”
“Stand aside, by the gods!” Hilka bellowed from the other side of the fallen man. Her cloak blew around her like a sail torn from its yard. “She meant what she said. The oil’s got to come off poor Boris.” She sprinkled white powder from her jar over the burns and then daubed with a cloth. The cloth came up stained with oil and some blood as she worked.
“Good enough?” Hilka asked. “He ain’t got long, otherwise. Shock and cold is like to take him quick.”
Selena nodded. “Good enough.”
The moon was lost behind the flat gray of the sky and the driving snow of the storm, but she found it with her other hand that shook as though with palsy. With the other, she removed the ampulla from her belt, nearly dropping it twice until Julian grabbed it and pulled out the stopper.
“P-pour a little into my p-palm,” she said through chattering teeth.
Julian did as she said, and Selena blocked out the dubious murmurs around her. She ground out the sacred word out from between her teeth. The water in her palm glowed orange and she laid it over the man’s shoulder. The glow spread upward, over the man’s face and neck. The huffing mists of his breath became longer plumes and the cords or his neck relaxed. He lay back and peered at Selena blearily.
“An…angel,” he sighed.
Selena gingerly laid her damp hand on the burnt skin of his face. “Illuria,” she said again, almost a whimper.