Haith’s cry was filled with relief. “Oh, Minerva! Thank God you’ve come!”
Simone’s blood-slick hands slid easily from beneath the useless bandage, and she skittered backward away from the body, watching the hag from behind. Simone was drenched in sweat and blood, and trembling so that she felt she would vomit.
The old woman eased to her knees with a grunt and immediately opened her satchel. She all but ignored the man before her. “When did the fits start, faery?”
“But a moment ago,” Haith answered. “His shoulder is—I’m sorry, Minerva—I don’t know how I could have forgotten the chant.”
“Doona fret. We must stop the blood, though.” The old woman withdrew a black, cloth-covered object and an ornately handled dagger from the bag. She plunged the knife into the closest brazier and spoke without turning her head. “I see you have nettle—good, faery. Well done. Little one—Simone, is it? To me.”
After an instant of hesitation, Simone joined the old woman who spared her not a glance.
“On my word, roll him this a-way and hold him on his side,” she said in a no-nonsense voice. “Faery, you tend the nettle; Genny, you be keepin’ his head still.” She pulled the cloth-covered object close. “Do it now, lassies.”
Simone strained with all her might to pull at Handaar’s convulsing body, and Haith quickly scattered large handfuls of dried, crumbling leaves on the woven mat, whispering a string of unintelligible words.
“That’s it. Now, ease him down.”
Simone released Handaar and watched in frightened amazement as the next events unfolded before her eyes.
Minerva held her gnarled hands over Handaar’s body and a soft, silvery mist began to envelop the old woman. When she spoke, her voice was strong yet quiet, melodious, ancient and with no hint of age.
When my Lady walked through the forest,
’Twas in the heat of Midsummer,
And the blood like a river.
Life of hare, buck, and owl.
Minerva wrapped her patched, dusty skirts around her hand and retrieved the now-glowing dagger from the brazier. She stroked it lightly across Handaar’s shoulder where it sizzled, and the remaining bandage fell away.
And a hunter was welcomed by Her,
Even though forbade to linger,
And he took of the bounty
And he drank his fill.
The old woman set the dagger aside, and Simone noticed that Handaar’s convulsions had slowed. Minerva then reached for the large object and removed the black covering to reveal a perfect hunk of blue and silvery ice. She held it in her cupped palms for but a moment before placing it on Handaar’s shoulder.
My Lady cried for the slaughter,
And in Her wisdom, called the Winter,
To save Her children for a season,
Let the blood stop now!
The hag’s ominous words died away in the silence of the hall, and Simone realized she’d been holding her breath. She let it out slowly, quietly, as Handaar’s body stilled and a peace seemed to come to him. Wondrously, no more blood seeped from beneath the rapidly disintegrating blue ice, but the melt water seemed to coat the wound, soaking into Handaar’s very skin.
What awful powers did this old woman possess that she should stop blood flow? Haith and Genevieve appeared quite comforted by her presence—even now, the dowager baroness had regained her composure and was embracing Minerva, murmuring her thanks.
The old one patted Genevieve’s back briefly and then eased her away. “There, now. You’ll have a bit of a rest. Go care for yourself—faery, tend your babe. Simone and me’ll take care of him until you return.”
Simone’s eyes widened as she watched Genevieve look to Handaar uncertainly. Surely the women—Simone’s only allies, now—would not leave her alone here with this dying man and frightening old woman. Simone’s heart sank as Haith gained her feet.
“My thanks, Minerva. I’ll be down to assist you in a thrice.” And she left the hall without looking back.
