Day 12

Not related to Day 10. This is somewhere in the future compared to Day 10. Notice that Aleth isn't around. Whoo.

The old woman brought Etana in to a corner of her hut, curtained off from the rest. In the corner was a small mattress, on which a young child lay, curled up in a ball. She seemed to be asleep, but every now and then would gasp out a cry as if she were being attacked by unseen enemies.
"Please help her," said the old woman.
"But I don't know what I can do," protested Etana.
"Please, miss. You helped Lessie's child."
"But that was different. That was just a small fever. You said that Nira has been like this for weeks."
"The old doctor couldn't cure Lessie, but you did. I know you can do this."
Etana looked at the old woman, surprised. "Why are you so sure?"
"Because..." She looked away for a moment, as if embarassed, or perhaps ashamed. "Because you wear a bracelet of the Friendly Folk. Did you not call upon them for help when you cured Lessie?"
"The Friendly Folk? What?" But the old woman pointed to Granny Rumple's charm, which still hung around Etana's left wrist even though she had passed safely to the Lady of the Hills.
"That bracelet. I know it's one of theirs."
"I --" I don't know what to say, she thought. She looks so hopeful, but I don't know what I can do. I'm no healer. I'm just a spinner, a dyer. "I don't know what I can do."
"Please try," implored the old woman, tugging pitifully at Etana's sleeve. "The doctor said he couldn't do anything and he wouldn't tell me wrong."
Etana frowned doubtfully, and started fiddling with the bracelet. She remembered how Granny Rumple had described the threads she had brought -- that she had captured the essences of the elements in them. And she had used them to weave this bracelet, the one that this old woman claimed must be one of the Fair Folk's. Perhaps... She remembered the pattern of Granny Rumple's fingers as she twined the strands together. There was power there. And there was power in the herbs she gathered. Perhaps there was something she could do. "How sick has Nira been? Has she been coughing? Sweating or shivering?"
The old woman shook her head. "Almost nothing. Just those little cries, now and then, and she won't wake up. She used to have nightmares all the time, real bad ones. This is like those, but I can't wake her up."
"Lost in nightmares..." The thought tickled something at the back of Etana's mind, but it refused to surface. And this... she approached the sleeping child and felt her forehead. It was as cool as if she had been merely sleeping, not feverish. But more, it felt like there was something essential missing.
"Megsie?"
"Yes, Miss?"
"Is there someone with an herb garden here?"
"Yes, the doctor has one. He'll probably let you take a bit."
"Thank you." And with that, Etana left.

The doctor's cottage was no bigger than anyone else's. The main way it could be differentiated was by the faded sign on the front, and the herb garden at the back. Luckily, it seemed to have the herbs that Etana wanted. She knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" came a creaky voice.
"This is Etana, the visitor?"
The door opened "Oh, hello," said the doctor pleasantly. "I hope you're not sick, too."
"What do you mean by that?"
"We-ell, it's just that most of the children in the village seem to be sick with something or other, and I can't possibly treat them all."
"I'm here about Nira."
"Oh." The doctor looked embarassed. "I -- I really don't know what's wrong with her. I don't know anything good for wakefulness..."
"Well, I don't really know either, but I wanted to look at your herb garden, and perhaps take some cuttings?"
"Oh, okay. Um, go ahead. Just be careful. And ask me if there's anything you don't recognize." The doctor limped back inside and picked up the book he had been poring over. Occasionally she heard a scritching sound as he made notes in the margins, probably about which remedies actually worked. Etana headed to the garden.
It was bright daylight now, a good time to gather sun plants. She found some marigolds in a corner -- she remembered someone telling her that they could be made into a cream that soothed pains -- and plucked some. Sunlight, earth... she drifts now, so I think that's all I need. She found some of the plants whose roots she needed, and went in to ask the doctor if she could have some roots. He luckily had some dried root, which was good enough for making dye.
Somewhere during the day, she stopped to ask herself "What am I doing? Am I really going to try to cure a girl by dying thread?" But she absent-mindedly touched Granny Rumple's bracelet again, and remembered the times it had saved her, and thought that maybe it was not so far-fetched an idea as it might sound.
She asked the old woman for a mortar and pestle, and ground up the ingredients. She had others in her pouch, which she had been saving until she had a chance to do some more dying. She mixed those in, and left the dyes to steep overnight. Then, tired, she went back to the inn and rested. She had no dreams.
The next day, the dyes were just concentrated enough for use, although they could have used a few more days of steeping. She asked the old woman for some undyed thread, and for some hair -- both the old woman's and the little girl's. Then, with her makeshift dye equipment of cooking pots and jars, she began to dye the threads. Yellows and oranges, for daylight and sunlight. Earth for the grounding and the call home. The hairs she dyed brown as well, with the root-based dye. Connections... The light from the sun was nearly gone when she had finished hanging the last of the skeins to dry. The old woman still seemed confused by the proceedings, but seemed to trust Etana. Again, she slept without dreams.
Early the next morning, Etana returned to the old woman. The dye had dried, thanks to the dry summer wind. She pulled the skeins down cut them to the right lengths. Then she began to braid them, concentrating first on the girl, and then on her surroundings. She let the gentle winds make their way into the rhythm, and the scent of the herbs she had used. She lost track of time in the weaving. Before she realized it, there was not enough left of the strands to braid, and she blinked confusedly at them for a few moments before she realized why she'd stopped. She tied the last of the strands together in a complex knot. Then she took the plaited cord into the house, and tied it around Nira's right wrist. "Please come home," she whispered. "This is the way home." She knelt by the bedside, waiting.
There was not a sudden change, but gradually, almost imperceptibly, the pattern of Nira's breathing began to change. It grew more even and regular from the shallow gasps of the nightmares, as if she were falling into a more peaceful natural sleep. Then her breathing began to speed up again, and she moved ever so slightly, and when she opened her eyes, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
"Granny?" Asked the little girl.
"Nira? Nira!" The old woman rushed to the bedside, overjoyed. Etana quickly moved out of the way. "Oh, Nira, I've been so worried about you! Thank the Light you're well again!"
Nira hugged her grandmother tightly. "It was scary, Gran. There were bad things chasing me and it was dark and I was so lost... I wanted to go home but I didn't know where to go!"
"It's okay, Nira. You're home now."
Nira just hugged the old woman tightly. Etana moved further out of the way. She felt a sense of... exhiliration.