They gathered again in Topaz's room, almost twenty minutes later. Topaz, well-bathed and full to the brim with drinking water, was settled into his remade bed with his father close by one side, preparing the tinctures which had done the best in Birch's case and some new ones which might pair well with Topaz's younger metabolism, and his brother and grand-da on the other, keeping him damp and as cool as they could. In spite of his long, cool soak in the tub the air was rank with the bitter scent of illness and rot. Ginger thought that he would never smell that scent again without feeling fear.
Just as before the fever rose and rose, the heat drying Topaz's skin to a dull, rosy sheen as quickly as Mica and Jessamine got the water onto it, and it was all Jessamine could do to keep a supply of herb teas and fresh water on hand with which to sate Topaz's raging thirst. He was always running to and fro betwixt kitchen and bedroom with pitchers of the most cleansing herbal mixes, as well as Ginger's blends, most of which needed to be brewed into tea and taken internally in order to gain their full potency. Their herb stocks were lower than Jessamine could ever remember them being in his lifetime.
Repetition had dragged with the other sickbeds-there had been such a strong aura of negativity, faith only that the sufferers were doomed, that the work to save them had seemed like an exercise in futility. The passage of time had been agony. Now, with many cases behind them and all successes, the rush felt important. Topaz could actually be saved.
In light of this, it wasn't so hard to understand the calm determination which surrounded workers who before had been deep in disquiet. Even Ginger settled down to work with a will, turning out batches of the mixtures that would help the most instead of a frantic assembly line of experimentation like he had for his mate.
Jessamine, for his part, watched Topaz's symptoms closely to compare them with the reactions of Sineult, Beryl, Hazel, Hyssop, and Birch. He wanted to write down as concise a record for future generations as he could, so that no one would have to endure the mess he had from lack of clear information. With any luck, no Kindred would need such a record until his handwritten copy was long decayed.
But there was no time for notes now. Each victim seemed to have their own pace and their own manner of coming into the peak of the fever, and Topaz's was coming with a prowling ferocity that left the healers with a long struggle on their hands. The source of the sickness was unknown; it had never shown itself before in modern times, and the ancients, while they had known a lot of remedies and much about their own bodies, hadn't pinpointed bacterial versus viral infections or which internal system a disease was attacking. They hadn't needed to. By word of mouth they passed down the remedies for destroying the few sicknesses which affected Kindred, and when an epidemic like the Deathfever came through, there had been too many Kindred packed in one place and too good a chance of the whole pack being killed to stop and treat the victims. Ancient Kindred had done as wolves still did, driving out the spreaders of disease, often killing them in the process.
In this case, of course, that wasn't an option. Even if they had been willing to, modern Kindred tribes were so tiny and far apart that it wasn't necessary to kill the sick to save the entire Kindred population.
So Jessamine was left with his two methods of treatment, and no other. While he could pick up some things from the herbs that worked, since each herb, like each human medicine, had its own purpose, everything was moving too fast to sit down and gather more than a basic idea of what the illness was doing. Without knowing how to get rid of the sickness itself the only things which could be done were to keep Topaz hydrated and well cleaned out and to see him through his system's own natural defense.
It was hard work, and slow to come to fruition. Hours went by and still there was so little difference in Topaz's condition, such a small give in the temperature which Jessamine could read almost as well as a thermometer with just a touch of his wrist, that it was becoming difficult to keep up the pace. Thanks to the meadowroot and several of the other herbs which had been given him, he sweated out water as soon as it made its way into his broiling body. Jessamine began to wonder if he would die of exhaustion before he died of the illness. Hemlock came more than once to offer to switch with Ginger, but Birch's husband refused while his son was in that condition, and the three who had started out worked on together.
Five hours passed, and though the healers were exhausted, the rapid pace doubled. Topaz's heart was beginning to slow under the pressure of the fight until, when Jessamine pressed fingers at the pulse point on the youngling's throat, this deepest pulsating of the blood in his body was no more than a faint gurgle to the touch. Like the others before him, Topaz had started out vocal-his unhappiness had been heard and felt by everyone in the room. Now, he could hardly summon up the strength to twitch. Though his temperature had stopped rising, it also refused to fall, and for the hundredth time since the fiasco had started, Jessamine was afraid that his charge was in real, immediate danger of slipping away.
He could see that Ginger though so, too, and he wanted to stop and talk to him, but there was no time even to pause. Mica gave a suggestion of another bath, and they all trundled off with Topaz slung limply in his father's grip to try it out; though his heart's feeble beating made chilling him as had been done to Sineult and Birch far too dangerous, any semblance of a cooler environment would be valuable-especially with the weather working against them. Even with fans borrowed from the cubs' room running full-blast, the heat in the closed-up house was stifling beyond words.
It seemed to take forever, but finally, supplanted by the thorough purging, fever and sickness both started to recede. Jessamine's nose stopped scenting the thick, sour odour of disease. Topaz's heart, consoled by the rest it was getting, picked up its beat to more of a normal pace.
When told this last, Ginger breathed an audible sigh of relief.
"He'll be okay, then?"
"He'll be fine, and so will I if I can get a couple hours of sleep," Jessamine told the room at large, completely serious. "I'm getting too old for this kind of excitement."
But at the very least, he said tiredly to himself, Willow's fever wouldn't get going for another day, and those who had worked at Topaz's bedside would get a break.
That night, for the first time in much too long, there was sleep over all the household. Jessamine got up every so often to check on Willow and to keep sure that the fragile health of the newly recovered patients was still holding, but by the time light dawned and it was time to start another day of tending the ill, even he had gotten his few good hours of sleep.
Of course, later that morning the whole thing started over with Willow.
Onyx got recruited at once to take Sineult, Topaz, and Mica ahead to the Rante farm where the others were already waiting; Birch, Mem, Ginger, Jessamine, and hopefully Willow would follow as soon as Willow was strong enough to travel. Already Jessamine had been making plans for the aftermath, getting ahead of himself with his usual self-assured fervor.
Ginger, who had spent the night with his husband, managed to catch Onyx in the hallway as he was going into the twins' room.
"Can I say goodbye to them?" he asked before the redhead had gotten a chance to ask. "It will only take a minute; Jessamine sent me to get more herb, and I can't take too long..."
His eyes widened pleadingly, like a begging cub. In spite of the seriouness of the situation, Onyx laughed at him.
"Sure, if it will only take a minute. You wake them up." He stood aside and let the other male pass through the doorway.
Topaz was already awake, blinking drowsily at the ceiling with fogged awareness. He turned his head when his father came in.
"Dad?"
Onyx couldn't see Ginger's grin, but it was in his voice. "Yeah."
"I've been sick, haven't I." The teenager sighed deeply, but didn't stop for an answer. "Where's Da? He was sick too, wasn't he? But Mica's okay, right?"
"Oh, Mica's fine. Your da is fine, too, though he was sick for a while, and you'll both need plenty of rest. But Mica can tell you all that later. Right now, your Grand-da Jessamine wants you all to go to our house while he's taking care of your Grand-da Willow-everyone else who's been sick is already there, and everyone who isn't there will come tomorrow or the day after. All right? You'll have to look after your da for me."
"Okay. Are we leaving right now, then? Do you want me to wake Mica up?" Topaz wanted to know, rubbing groggily at his eyelids. The back of Ginger's head nodded, and Topaz leaned obediently over to touch his brother's shoulder.
"Mica? 'S time to wake up..."
Mica's eyes drifted open, as if he was still caught in a dream. They settled on his brother.
"Topaz..." His hand lifted from the heap of covers to touch Topaz's face with the slow shock of someone seeing a welcome ghost. "I thought you..." the cub-bearer slurred dazedly, and pushed himself up to sit too.
"I thought-!" he had started again, with more force and the clogged sound of tears starting, when all at once his gentle hand drew back and smacked full force across the older twin's sleep-flushed face.
Topaz startled, his own hand flying to cup his stinging cheek.
"What-"
"You scared me!" Mica burst out angrily, and now the tears freed themselves, overflowing to wet the upper hem of his nightshirt. His eyes were swimming. "I thought you were going to die!" He flung himself on his shocked twin and buried his face in the folds of clean white cloth draping Topaz's body.
Onyx and Ginger shared a smile; then Ginger slipped away into the deep silence of Willow's room to join the others while Onyx went on collecting his passengers for the ride home.
