The climb was a brutal symphony of gasps and scraping boots. Every upward lurch sent a fresh wave of agony across Zale's face, his knuckles white where he gripped rock ledges. Sweat mingled with the grime on his temples, and his breathing was a ragged, wet sound that echoed too loudly in the thin air. He stumbled, catching himself hard against a boulder, a low groan escaping him.
"Zale," I gasped, my own muscles screaming in protest. "This is too much. Go back. Just tell me where to look for the herbs."
He pushed himself upright, swaying slightly. His green eyes, clouded with pain but burning with determination, locked onto mine. "No. You saved my skin. Roan… he's solid. I owe him the shot." He grimaced, bracing a hand against his bandaged side. "But Iris… I don't know the the roots. Tell me what to look for. Fast."
Right. No time for hesitation. I pointed left towards the steep, shadowed ledges climbing away from the fork. "You take the high ground. Look for two herbs up there. First, yarrow – it has clusters of tiny white flowers, like little upside-down umbrellas. The leaves are feathery, soft, almost like ferns. Find it in open patches on the ledges, even in rocky soil."
"White umbrellas. Feathery leaves," Zale repeated.
"Second, casbane. This one's trickier. It looks like ordinary scrub at first glance. The key is the underside of the leaves. Turn them over. They'll be covered in tiny red speckles, like someone flicked paint or… dried blood. It grows tucked into rocky crevices, deep shade. Don't waste time on plants without the speckles."
"Red speckles under leaves. Rocky shade. Check." Zale sucked in a pained breath, already turning towards the ledges. "Meet back here. Shout if you find trouble."
"You too," I said, already splashing into the icy stream, the cold water shocking my weary legs into action.
The stream was a narrow, slippery ribbon of darkness. Moonlight struggled to penetrate the dense canopy overhead. I scanned the muddy banks, my eyes straining. Pale, peeling bark. Curling roots. Water's edge. Minutes bled away, marked only by the frantic pounding of my heart and the image of Roan's mottled, poisoned flesh. An hour. Maybe less.
Then, movement. Not near the water, but deeper in the dense pines to my left. A deliberate rustle in a thick, dark thicket. Too heavy for an animal.
Instinct took over. I dropped into a crouch behind a mossy boulder, melting into the shadows. My hand found my dagger's hilt. Slowly, silently, I crept closer, using the undergrowth as cover.
"…confirmed at dawn," a familiar, gravelly voice stated – Beta Cael himself. "The survivors assemble at the central stone. No exceptions."
"The count's almost sixty percent, Beta," a younger voice replied, respectful but tense. "After the night's… attrition. Are the wolves prepared?"
"The wolves are always prepared," Cael snapped. "The bonding commences at first light. No delays. Anyone not at the stone by dawn is forfeit. Kyklos will ensure compliance." The implication hung heavy in the cold air.
"Understood, Beta," the younger rider replied. Rustling followed as the figures began to move away, deeper into the trees.
The words were ice down my spine. We had even less time than I'd feared. Roan needed the antidote now for whatever the bonding entailed.
Fueled by raw panic, I abandoned stealth and scrambled back to the stream bank. My eyes raked the muddy edges, the overhanging roots. Pale bark. Curling roots. Spongy.
There.
Tucked deep under a massive, water-slicked root, half-buried in black silt, was a cluster of gnarled, finger-like roots. The bark was a deathly pale grey, peeling away in papery strips. It looked utterly lifeless. I plunged my hand into the icy water, ignoring the numbing shock, and grabbed the roots. They yielded slightly, spongy under my desperate grip.
I wrenched the cluster free, mud and water streaming from it, and shoved the precious, ugly roots into my belt pouch. No time to savor the find. I splashed out of the stream and sprinted back towards the fork, my gaze frantically scanning the shadowed ledges above for Zale. Every second was stolen from Roan's dwindling hour. The cold air burned in my lungs as I ran, the koiroot a sodden, desperate hope against the poison and the dawn's deadly deadline. Where was Zale?
I burst from the treeline near the fork, the precious koiroot deep in my pouch. My gaze snapped upwards, searching the shadowed ledges. There he was – Zale. Not climbing down, but lurching, barely vertical. He clutched a messy bundle of plants and leaves against his chest with one arm, the other pressed tightly to his bandaged side. His face was grey, sweat-slicked, his breath coming in short, pained gasps that echoed faintly in the stillness. He stumbled, catching himself on a rock, swaying dangerously close to the edge.
"Zale!" I hissed, scrambling up the scree slope towards him, ignoring the bite of loose stones under my boots.
He flinched at my voice, then sagged with relief as I reached him. "Iris... good. Found... something." He held out the bundle – a tangled mess of green stems, broad leaves, and a few scraggly white flower clusters. "The... the speckles. Hard to see... in the dark. Brought... all that... looked close." His voice was thready, exhaustion and pain slurring his words. "Couldn't... find the... umbrellas... only got a few..." He gestured weakly at the sparse white flowers.
"Okay, okay," I said quickly, sliding my shoulder under his arm, taking half his weight. He was heavier than he looked, and the heat radiating from his wound was alarming. "It's alright. We'll sort it. Lean on me. We need to get back now."
The descent was agonizingly slow. Zale could barely lift his feet, each step a monumental effort that drew sharp, bitten-off groans. I bore as much of his weight as I could, my own legs trembling with the strain, the image of Roan's poisoned flesh burning behind my eyes.
Finally, the campfire's weak glow appeared through the trees. Marco was instantly on his feet, his face taut with worry as he saw us stagger into the circle of light.
"Gods, Zale!" Marco rushed forward, slipping under Zale's other arm, effortlessly taking the bulk of his weight from me. "Easy, mate. Sit. Now." He guided Zale down onto a relatively flat rock near the fire, away from Roan. Zale collapsed with a shuddering sigh, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he forced them open, pushing the bundle of plants towards me. "Check... please..."
"Rest," Marco ordered him firmly, already checking the bandage on Zale's side. It was soaked through again. "You're bleeding like a stuck pig. Stay put."
I didn't waste a second. I dropped to my knees beside Roan. His breathing was shallow, rapid, his skin clammy and tinged with that awful greenish hue spreading further down his chest. The stench from the wound was worse – sickly sweet rot.
I grabbed Zale's bundle, dumping it on the ground beside me. My hands shook only slightly as I sorted frantically through the damp foliage under the flickering firelight.
Yarrow first. I spotted the distinctive feathery leaves and clusters of tiny white flowers – not as many as I'd hoped, but enough. "Good, Zale, you got the yarrow!" I said, pulling the stalks free. I crushed the leaves and flowers roughly between my palms, releasing their sharp, medicinal scent.
Now Casbane. This was harder. Several plants had similar leaves. I flipped them over, one by one, scanning the undersides. Red speckles. Where are the red speckles?
One... nothing.
Two... just green.
Three... There! Tiny, rust-red dots, like flecks of dried blood, scattered across the pale green underside. "Casbane! You found it!" Relief washed over me, sharp and cold. I tore the leaves free.
My fingers were clumsy as I pulled the precious koiroot from my pouch. Its pale, spongy roots felt familiar in my hands. I grabbed my water skin and a clean(ish) stone Marco had used for the fire. Working fast, I piled the yarrow, casbane leaves, and chunks of koiroot onto the flat stone. With the pommel of my dagger, I pounded them into a thick, wet, greenish-black paste. The sharp tang of yarrow mixed with the earthiness of koiroot and a faint, iron-like note from the casbane.
"Marco, hold him still," I ordered, my voice tight. "This might hurt."
Marco shifted instantly, bracing Roan's shoulders. Roan moaned, his eyes fluttering open, glazed with pain and fever.
"No choice, brother," Marco murmured. "Hold on."
I scooped up a generous glob of the pungent paste. Gritting my teeth, I peeled back the soaked, foul-smelling bandage from Roan's collarbone. The wound beneath was a horror – angry green-black flesh, oozing yellow pus, the poison's tendrils visibly snaking deeper. I packed the paste directly into the wound, deep into the poisoned tissue, ignoring Roan's choked cry and the way his body arched against Marco's hold. I smeared more thickly over the surrounding discolored skin, focusing on the leading edges of the spreading corruption. Finally, I tore a fresh strip from my undershirt and bound it tightly over the paste.
The moment I tied the knot, I slumped back on my heels, trembling. My hands were stained green and black, reeking of herbs and decay. The fire crackled, the only sound besides Roan's ragged breathing and Zale's pained gasps.
"Will it... work?" Marco asked, his voice hoarse, his eyes fixed on Roan's bandaged shoulder.
"I don't know," I whispered, wiping my filthy hands on my trousers. I looked from Roan's ashen face to Zale's exhausted slump, then up at the sky. The deepest black was fading to indigo at the eastern horizon. "We did what we could. Now we wait. And pray."