So it was his talisman that had granted him entry to Rowan Cottage. His hand rose to clasp the wooden goat. It was one of his most prized possessions, and where it came from was none of her business.
“It was a naming gift from my friend and brother, Chase Noble,” he answered, the words pouring out of his mouth in spite of his intent not to tell her.
What the hell had she given him?
Orabilis nodded, a satisfied expression settling on her wrinkled face. “Honesty is a good trait to find in a man, even if it’s not necessarily his first inclination. Very well, then. Since you received my little billy there as a naming gift, by what name are you called?”
“Hall O’Donar.” When her eyebrow raised, he felt her disbelief like a slap to his face. “It is as my brother named me. I was called Halldor before the gifting,” he explained.
Again her face creased into a satisfied smile. “So it’s Thor’s Rock gracing my humble home. I should have guessed. You hail from the Thunder people in the Lands of Mist, do you?”
“I do.” Though he rarely spoke of his family roots with anyone, he would never deny them. Not that he had the ability to speak anything other than the whole truth, thanks to whatever Orabilis had given him.
“In that case, I’d say my little billy had nothing to do with yer being here. All in all, good enough,” she muttered, crossing to a shelf on her wall to retrieve several pots. “Herbs,” she announced, returning to the fire to dump their contents into a bubbling cauldron hanging there. “Of my choosing, no yers.”
Some of the aromas he recognized but others were strangely foreign to him.
“A wound such as yers requires other than the usual healing herbs, wouldn’t you say, lad?”
He nodded his agreement. The sword had been created specifically to kill those from his world, so he wasn’t at all sure that even one as powerful as Orabilis was reputed to be could find a way to save him from the ancient Magic at work in his blood.
“There’s a way, never you doubt that, lad.” All traces of humor faded from her face as she held a hand over his bandage. “There’s always a way. I can only guess that whatever is wrapped in this linen is responsible for yer reaching my door with a breath of life left in you. And there’s only one thing I can think of strong enough for that. Would I be right in my assumption?”
“The jewels,” he confirmed.
It had taken more effort to speak this time than it had before. The old Faerie had been correct about the potion she’d used wearing off soon.
“When I remove them, you’ll likely drift away quickly. Never fear, lad, I’ll bring you back from the middle lands. But before we begin, let’s get you into the back room while we still can. I’ve no desire to be hauling yer great body around without yer assistance.”
Hall rose slowly to his feet, surprised at how difficult it was and how weak his legs felt beneath him. As he followed Orabilis, he tottered as much as she did.
She opened a door and pointed to a tidy little bed. Obediently, he crossed to it and lay down. His mind heavy with apprehension, he waited as her gnarled fingers began to work at the bandage on his shoulder.
“I have them. Shall I put them on the fire now?”
Bridget’s voice floated to him on a rush of cold air, settling around him like a favored blanket as the bandage on his arm was lifted away.
You’ve returned,he attempted to say, but the sound that came out of his mouth was little more than a garbled, gurgling noise.
He fought the thick, black ooze settling over his mind, using what strength he had left to reach out his hand as he forced his eyes open once more to focus on Bridget standing in the doorway.
She dropped the armload of peat she carried right there in the doorway and hurried to his bedside, catching up his hand and reaching out to caress his cheek.
It felt good to have her here with him. To have her touch upon his face. If this was to be his last interaction in this world, he could think of no one he wanted more than this woman at his side.
“WHAT HAVE YOUdone to him? Why did you remove the jewels?”
Brie’s breath seemed to be blocked somewhere in her throat, as if there were no longer room for the air to pass into her lungs.
Hall’s fingers loosened in her grip but she couldn’t make herself let go of him. Maybe, somehow, she could pass her strength to him. Pass her will to keep going on to him.
“Here.” Orabilis handed over a bowl and cloth. “Clean that wound while I gather what I need for the poultice. Mind you, try not to get those nasty bits of the ooze on yer own skin.”
“Will it harm me as it has him?” Not that it would stop her from helping him. She only wanted to know what to expect.
“No,” Orabilis answered, a sour, wrinkled expression on her face. “But it has a fair nasty smell that people like you would find difficult to wash away.”
Reluctantly, Brie laid Hall’s hand on his chest, then dipped the cloth into the warm water.
