I searched the shelf. I found the Agrimonia easily—Zerus had made me study it, and we had a small bush of it in my garden by the Sanctuary. I took the jar and emptied the contents on the table top. I rushed back to the shelves, looking for Vinca minor—another of the herbs that I recognized. I found it, and emptied the jar next to Agrimonia.
“Draven,” I said crouching down next to him, “can you describe Pelargonium to me? I don’t know it!”
“Geranium,” he replied with a faint smile.
Stupid me. Of course I knew it—he had used the Latin name, that was all. I found the jar quickly, and then asked about the Thuja oil.
“Bottom shelf,” Draven rasped. “Yellow oil. Mix it all together, and heat it. Becomes a paste. Put…put it on the wounds.”
His voice was growing fainter. I checked the bottom shelf, panic making it difficult for me to focus. There seemed to be more than one yellow jar on the shelf. Typically, like the rest of the ingredients, nothing was labeled. I picked up the three yellowish jars of liquid. I moved them about. Only one of them had the consistency of oil—the rest were like water. I grabbed the jar and took it back to the table.
“What can I do to help?” Bijarki asked me, appearing at my side.
“I need something to boil this in,” I replied. Everyone jumped to action. A few moments later, various pots and iron cauldrons were placed in front of me. I took the sturdiest-looking and moved it over to one of the makeshift stoves that were built into the table. It had a container of oil at the base, and a thick, fabric wick. A very basic ring of iron was arranged over it, creating the stove surface. I placed the cauldron on top and started to add the herbs, crushing them down with a pestle. Next I added the oil and lit the wick.
“Can I help?” Field asked.
I shook my head, concentrating on the liquid. I wanted to make sure I took the heat away at exactly the right moment. I knew from experience that if I left it too long the paste would return to liquid, and I’d have to start all over again.
When it was at the right consistency, I cut the heat and removed the cauldron from the stove using a rag to protect my hands. I carried it over to the Druid.
“How do we get it on the wounds?” I asked. Draven didn’t reply.
“Draven?” Serena called his name sharply, applying pressure to his arm. He groaned, looking as if he was about to pass out again.
She looked at me worriedly, and then scooped out the paste with her fingers.
“Serena!” I gasped, worried it might be hot.
“It’s okay,” she replied. Very carefully, she started to apply the paste to the runes.
“Let me do that,” I said gently, scooping out the paste. “You do his eyes.”
She nodded, tentatively removing the bandage from around his head. I heard her inhale sharply as she looked at the bloodied eye-sockets of the Druid.
“Bijarki,” I added, “get something to clean them with first.”
He nodded, moving off to one of the tables. I tried not to look at Draven’s face. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t had that stupid vision, none of this would have happened, and if Serena and I hadn’t insisted that we should visit the Daughters, Draven would still have his sight.
A second later, Bijarki was back. With a surprising amount of tenderness and care, he wiped away the blood around Draven’s eyes using a damp cloth that smelt strongly of alcohol. Before the bleeding could begin again, Serena applied the paste—her focus and professional manner were impressive. I didn’t consider myself particularly squeamish, but I thought I might have found it difficult if our roles had been swapped.
Once I’d finished on the runes, Draven’s breathing started to sound more robust.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“I’ll get some water,” I muttered to Serena, noticing his dry lips. I ran the faucet from a work sink in the corner of the room and found a glass.
“What about your eyesight?” Serena asked.
“Just have to wait,” Draven breathed.
I hurried over with the water. Serena took the glass from me, and lifted his head so that he could drink. He took two small sips and nodded, waving the water away.
“I’m fine now,” he muttered. “I just need to lie down.”
“I’ll take you to your room,” Serena replied. She looked up at Bijarki, indicating that he should help the Druid stand. Together they lifted him up. Once again, Draven made little to no indication as to whether or not he was in pain—only a sharp intake of breath and a short hiss of discomfort was uttered as he stood.
“I’ve got this,” Serena told Bijarki.