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Use me.
A sharp rap on her front door. Lin jumped to her feet, flipping the tablecloth across Qasmuna’s book to hide it.
“Lin!” A familiar voice. “It’s Chana. Mariam—”
Lin flung the door open. Chana Dorin stood at her threshold, her broad face creased with worry.
“It’s bad, Lin,” she said, in answer to Lin’s silent question. “She’s been coughing up blood. And her fever—”
“I’m coming.” Lin slipped the stone into the pocket of her tunic, caught up her satchel, and stuffed her bare feet into a pair of embroidered slippers Josit had brought her from Hind. She followed Chana out into the night, her heart hammering as they raced through the dark streets of the Sault.
She found Mariam in her bed at the Etse Kebeth, racked with uncontrollable coughing. She held a bloody rag to her mouth, andmore rags were littered on the bedspread. She was pale as starched linen, drenched in sweat, but she still managed to glare at Chana.
“You shouldn’t—have bothered Lin—I’m fine,” she gasped. “I’ll be—fine.”
Lin clambered onto Mariam’s bed, already unbuckling her satchel. “Hush, darling. Don’t talk. Chana—tea, with feverfew and willowbark. Quickly.”
Once Chana had left, Lin wrapped a shawl around Mariam’s shoulders, despite Mariam’s coughing protests that she wasn’t cold. There were streaks of blood on Mariam’s chin and neck, blackish red.
“It’s always worse at night,” Mariam said, hoarsely. “It…goes away.”
Lin wanted to scream in anger, though she knew it wasn’t Mariam she was angry at. It was the disease. The blood on the rags was flecked with foam: It was coming from deep within Mariam’s lungs, carrying air inside it.
“Mari,” she said. “How many nights? How long?”
Mariam looked away. Sweat shimmered on the sharp divide of her collarbones. The room smelled of blood and sickness. “Just make me well enough to go to the Festival,” she said. “After that…”
Lin caught Mariam’s thin wrist. Squeezed it gently. “Let me try something,” she whispered. “I know I keep saying that. But I think there’s a real chance this time.”
Some part of her knew it was a terrible thing to keep asking—to keep raising Mariam’s hopes and then dashing them. But the voice in her head was louder:You have the book now. You’re so close. She cannot die now.
Mariam managed a weak smile. “Of course. Anything for you, Linnet.”
Lin reached into her pocket and drew out the stone.
Use me.
Holding it lightly in one hand, she placed her other palm over Mariam’s heart. She could feel Mariam watching her as she lether mind spin away into that space of smoke and words, where letters and numbers hung shining against the sky like the tails of comets.
Heal,she thought, picturing the word in all its separate components, and then in its completeness, the pieces ofgematryflying together to form the concept, uncovering the truth of what language had been formed to hide.Heal, Mariam.
“Oh!” Mariam’s gasp broke the silence, and the shadowy world fled from Lin’s vision. Mariam had a hand on Lin’s shoulder, and her huge dark eyes were wide. “Lin—it feels different.”
“Is the pain gone?” Lin demanded, not daring to hope.
“Not entirely—but it’s much less.” Mariam took a breath—still a shallow one, but less ragged than before.
Lin reached for her satchel. “Let me examine you.”
Mariam nodded. Lin retrieved her auscultor and listened to Mariam’s chest—the terrifying clicking and bubbling noises had faded. Lin could still hear a faint wheezing when her friend inhaled deeply, but at least shecouldinhale deeply. Some color had come back to her pale face, too, and the beds of her nails were no longer blue.
“I’m better,” Mariam said, when Lin straightened up. “Aren’t I? Not healed, but better.”
“It really seems like it,” Lin whispered. “If I try again, or try differently—I need to look at the books again, but Mari, I think—”
Mariam caught at Lin’s hand. “I’m well enough to go to the Tevath, aren’t I? However long this lasts?”
Lin bit back an assurance that of course this would last. She could not be sure, and knew she should not raise Mariam’s hopes unreasonably. But her own hope felt as if it were pressing against the inside of her chest like a bubble of air. For so long, nothing had worked to help Mariam—to have helped her at all, even just a bit, seemed a reason for optimism.
