Chapter Eleven
Annie
A scream tears from my throat as my knees hit the grass beside him. His chest barely rises. His lips…Oh Gods, his lips are swelling, and his skin is flushing an awful, mottled red color.
“Fenric!” I shake him, but his lashes only flutter weakly. Think, Annie. Think!
Then I spot it. A tiny, crumpled bee on the path beside us.
Oh no, no, no, no… he’s allergic.
“Oh Gods!” I’m sobbing now, my hands flying to the pouch at my belt. My fingers fumble from trembling so badly that I almost drop it. Breathe, Annie. Just breathe. But how can I, when he can’t ?
The herbs spill into my lap, a tangle of dried leaves and petals. Elda’s voice drifts through my terror. This one’s called elecampane. Opens the lungs like a breeze through a closed window.
I spot what I’m searching for: the soft yellow petals, now half-crushed. But there’s no water. No mortar and pestle . Nothing! Just me and him, and my heart racing with the decision.
I shove the elecampane into my mouth and chew. The bitterness makes me gag, but I grind my teeth harder until my jaw aches. I don’t even care. I chew until it’s a pulpy mess, then I spit into my hand.
I cradle his head and smear it against his swollen lips, pushing it into his mouth. His skin is burning under my touch. Please. Please .
He gasps. Just a little. It’s working, it has to.
Hope flares, and I grab more herbs, chewing and spitting again, pressing my green-stained hands to his mouth, his chest, his neck, anywhere the medicine might seep in. I cup my hands around his mouth and nose to hold in the scent. Maybe if he breathes it in, it’ll reach his lungs.
Breathe! Please.
“HELP!” I scream. “PLEASE, SOMEONE!”
Tears blur my vision, but I don’t stop. I rock him gently, praying to the Gods.
O Bovina, gentle mother of milk and mercy. You give life to the smallest Calf. Give him just one more breath. Please.
O Theros, Great Horned One, keeper of strength, take my voice, my breath, if it means he keeps his.
O Yelna, Goddess of the earth, let your herbs do your will. Let them breathe life into him.
“Please!” I beg them out loud now. “Please don’t take him!”
I’m crying so hard I can barely see. His chest rises, just barely. The tiny breath is a miracle.
Another wheeze. Another shallow breath. I keep pressing the pulpy mixture into his mouth and over his chest like it’s magic, because maybe it is. Maybe love makes it magic.
Please, let it be enough.
Please.