“No! You’re wrong! You’re lying! I know you, the bastard girl, the clan whore.” She hissed, spitting saliva.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” I said quietly.
“Grandma.”
“I know what I'm saying. You live with men, sleep with them, and even dress like one of them.” The old woman pushed me away.
“Grandma, my hand hurts,” the child cried again.
I glanced at the boy who was holding the palm of his hand. There were black veiny lines that already stretched toward the elbow.
“Give me the water!” I growled at the woman.
“I’m not giving you anything! I’m going to save Jun, I know she’s still alive.” The woman turned and tipped the bottle, attempting to pour it onto the dead woman’s body.
“Give it to me!” I shouted.
“Help! Help!” the old woman screamed.
The child cried harder.
I clenched the bottle and pushed the old woman in the chest and she fell on top of the dead body. Without wasting any more time I got the child into a lock. He fought me with all the strength of his small, but surprisingly strong body.
“I’m going to help you!” I kept repeating, extending his arm and forcing him to open the palm of his hand.
“Grandma, grandma!” the child wailed.
The old woman wrapped her arms around my neck, but did not have enough strength to stop me from pouring the liquid on the boy’s hand. I dropped the empty bottle and released the boy.
“Get away from me!” I pushed the old woman back.
Just minutes later, the child stopped crying, watching me with his large eyes.
“You’ll be alright,” I said, getting up to my feet.
My lungs were burning with anger and exertion, but my heart sank. That was probably my only chance to get sacred water.
Just then, as if on command, a burst of wind hit my face and the sky thickened with the darkened screen of black thunder clouds. The first drops of rain landed on my head. A storm was coming.
Rain lashed against the roof and windows with fury and force when I finally returned to Victor’s room. He had not moved, but his face had gone ashen white, his skin was damp with sweat, and wild chills rippled through his body.
“Victor!” I called, but he did not seem to hear me.
I clenched my teeth, his body was already weak and now it was also infected. I lit another candle and carefully washed my hands before approaching the bed. His head moved from side to side on the pillow. He tried to say something but no sound escaped his lips.
“Damn you, Victor,” I whispered.
“Frid,” he called.
“I’m here.” I cleaned his forehead with a wet cloth and washed his face, his neck, and his chest.
“Frid,” he kept repeating.
“Don’t worry, I’m right here.” I touched his shoulder and only then he seemed to relax a little.
I kept tending him, fighting my fatigue, forcing him to drink and trying to bring down the fever by changing the cold compresses. But I very well knew that it was not enough.
Half the night passed with me by his bed, while the thunder shook the windows and the wind tore at the wooden frame.
