The Shattered Mountain

13

MARA unloads the second packhorse and distributes everything among the remaining healthy children to carry. Then she helps Hando mount, hoping and praying that no one else becomes injured, for they are out of horses.

By nightfall, his arm has swollen to twice its size. Everyone else feasts on roasted snake, but Hando can’t keep anything down. He thrashes on the ground, moaning, only half conscious.

She checks Alessa’s feet. They are badly blistered, but the blisters seem to have drained well, and Alessa claims they only hurt when she walks. Mara orders her to keep them clean.

Next she settles beside Julio. He lies on his side by the fire, unable to sit up. “Hello, beautiful,” he whispers weakly.

She traces his lips with her forefinger. “I have to check your back.”

He nods.

Carefully, she unwraps the bandages. The entry site has puffed out like a cauliflower, and something that is part blood, part pus leaks from the gash. It’s badly infected, in spite of her earlier efforts. If they don’t get help soon, he’ll die.

“How bad is it?” he says between gritted teeth.

Mara is glad the dark hides her tears. “I think it’s getting better.”

“Liar.”

She rewraps the wound. There is nothing she can do for it.

He says, “If I don’t make it, promise me—”

“You’ll make it!” Her voice comes out angrier than she intends.

“Mara. Love. This is a bad wound. A death wound. I need to know you’ll look out for Adán.”

“I . . . of course.” Then she reaches over to flick his nose. “But I’m not giving up yet, you idiot.”

He grins. Then his eyes flutter closed, and she hopes with all the hope in her heart that it’s a natural sleep and not a sickly one.