PART TEN
The last time Aura felt this bad was when she’d been dragged back from the realm of the dead into the world of the living. Everything aches, and her chest feels like it’s on fire. She shakes her head, which is slightly fuzzy, and opens her eyes to find another pair of deep violet eyes staring directly into her own. Startled, Aura jerks her head backwards, hits it hard on something and knocks herself back into dreamland again.
Her second awakening is slightly less rude and a little more comfortable on her limbs. She’s lying on a real, proper mattress (first time in years) – someone must have carried her up to one of the castle’s many bedrooms. She no longer aches either, which is good, although she feels a little stiff and still slightly dizzy. The pain in her chest is completely gone. Cautiously, Aura sits up on the bed.
A young teenage girl – probably thirteen or fourteen years at the oldest, but with a very serious face and deep, violet eyes which look like they’ve already seen too much – is sitting expressionlessly on a wooden chair beside her. “I healed your ribs, and most of your other injuries,” she says in an emotionless, matter-of-fact way. “You may have a few bruises and cuts left, but the worst of it is gone.”
As if she’d been waiting for Aura to awake simply so she could tell her this and now that she has her mission is done, the girl stands up abruptly. Aura nods her thanks and the girl leaves. How unusual. Few children that age could master the power of healing to the point where they could repair broken bones. Something about the young girl’s manner sends a chill up the deity’s spine; she reminds her an awful lot of Mallos, although that’s hardly surprising. Half of the children in Shaman are related to him, and the girl is certainly the right age to be one of the “Mallos generation”; such a thing could explain her extraordinary ability to control her powers. Still, if she’d healed Aura, that means she’s not about to jump over to Mallos’ side any time soon... hopefully.
Discomfited, Aura slips out of bed and out of the room. There’s no sign of Penguin, Poppy, One Ear or anyone else – presumably they’re all gathered in the great hall. Determined to find them, Aura rounds the corner of the corridor and walks straight into none other than King Arthur himself, fully decked out in his usual knightly armour. After a hasty apology from both parties, he chastises her for getting out of bed, but she silences him with a single, intense look. There are more important things to worry about. She asks him to accompany her down to the kitchens, and en route quizzes him about the flood.
“Most people made it here – the familiars too. There may be a few still stuck outside... it’s hard to conduct a full register,” the King sounds tired. Aura has no doubt that he’s been working around the clock since the flood broke out to get the maximum number of people to safety as possible. “I think you’re the last.”
“Is all of Shaman flooded?”
“Everywhere but the innermost section of the Core... the water didn’t come this far. A few high points stick out – like Vista Mountain and Falcon Point – but only the very peaks. In this weather it would be too dangerous for anyone to live there.”
“Where is the rat which was with me?”
“With Poppy and her dog. She’s a bit giggly and loud – er, louder than usual – but otherwise she seems to be fine.”
“Probably just a bit concussed.”
Arthur nods as he opens the door to the kitchens, politely indicating Aura go through first, which she does. There are several pantries, some meats hanging from the ceiling and a few cupboards containing vegetables. The air is nice and cold to help preserve the food. Arthur watches as Aura does a quick stock check, opening each door and memorising the contents of each while simultaneously adding it to her mental stock count.
“It’s enough to last everyone about a week or so,” Arthur concludes.
Aura shakes her head grimly. “But we could be here for months.”
An ominous silence hangs in the air for a moment. “You really think we’ll be here that long?”
“I don’t know, but we have to prepare for the worst. Slaughter all the livestock. Pets too. If it’s not a fairy or a familiar, it’s just an extra mouth to feed. Pack the meat in salt to preserve it. Let the rats be, though,” she adds as an afterthought.
“Rats? But – ”
“Rats are Mallos’ chosen accomplice. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, Arthur. We would be more of a danger to ourselves if we alienated the rats.”
Arthur’s not sure that he agrees, but he doesn’t voice aloud his complaints. Not yet.
“If we’re going to make what we have last, everyone’s food has to be rationed. No more than a thousand calories a day per person.” They’ve left the kitchen now and are heading up to the great hall. “How is the wood?”
“In the cellars, which are flooded.”
“Burn the books. Get a fire going in the great hall, but don’t waste fuel by lighting fires anywhere else. Everyone in Shaman can gather there. Also, get everyone to collect anything made of leather – leather has some nutrition in it, and it can be boiled down into soup or stews. Meanwhile, get the wood out of the cellars and leave it somewhere to dry off, and gather some volunteers up. We need shifts of people fishing constantly if we have a hope of maintaining food supplies.”
They pause at the door. “This is the third curse, isn’t it?” Arthur says softly. “Imprisonment in the very symbol of Shaman... and famine.”
“We won’t let Mallos win, Arthur. Shaman will survive.”
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