That night, the newcomers slept beneath the open shelter, keeping guard in shifts to ward against the monsters of the Mingling, though anything that ventured within the glade was likely to become a quthli meal before reaching the Vien.

Felit stayed with the others, for the vien she had embraced was her mate. Jareen was not sad to be free of her, for she found her company an irritation in the squalid conditions of their little shelter. The quth had dug out Jareen's hut and constructed an adjacent one for Coir. The shelters were only long enough to stretch out in. They offered shelter from wind and rain, but it was still bare dirt beneath them.

Jareen disliked the dark in the Mingling, and so as evening fell she and Coir left the others to seek the safety of their huts. As they were walking, Coir whispered to her:

"I have asked the quthli to watch over you even more closely. They do not trust all these Vien, either."

"I do not think they mean harm," she said, less certain than she sounded.

"We do not know what the enclave intends."

"If the enclave wanted us, they could come for us. Surely they could overpower this troop of quthli."

"Jareen, we cannot trust them. We must assume there is at least one spy for the enclave among them."

"Who?" She immediately thought of the sorcerers.

"I know not who. Yet the safest thing for the enclaves would be to learn as much as they can by subterfuge. The Inevien people hold the Children of Vah separate from harm or aggression. They will seek to know your secrets without appearing to transgress. Other enclaves would use it as a chance to denounce them."

How did Coir come to understand so much? If he had been this clever in Drennos, why did he have to run for his life? Then again, they were still running for their lives. Experience was cruel but instructive.

"And so?" she asked. "What should I do? I will not leave these to die."

"Of course you won't. But heed my advice and be wary. I have a few ideas. Remain aloof if you can."

The next day, Coir spoke with the quthli and the Vien both, and soon the camp was in a flurry of work. They set to felling trees to expand the clearing on the western side. The quthli had many axes among them, though many were knapped stone, and as they cut, the able-bodied among the Vien stripped the branches and bark off the fallen trees. While all this work was underway, Jareen prepared as best she could to attempt the cure for the four afflicted.

She had never treated four at once, and even if she had the strength to lose so much blood, the bladder would not hold enough if she intended to give the same amount she had previously. Her first attempts had been so successful that she would risk splitting the full bladder four ways. She already felt reduced in strength, and she didn't want to fill it up again. This preparation she undertook in the privacy of her own squalid shelter, though she could not even stand up beneath the slanting roof of sticks and soil. She had enough tincture to render the four Canaen unconscious, but she would need to harvest more of the herbs if any more came. She did not like the idea of venturing into the Mingling to look, nor was she confident the herbs grew nearby.

For now, her greatest need was somewhere to administer her blood to the afflicted without witnesses. For that, Coir and the quthli helped her yet again. Near the center of the clearing, the quthli had constructed one of their domed huts, framed with thin bendable branches and covered in layered sections of bark and hide. Inside they kept a central fire pit and piles of rocks that they heated and poured water over to create steam. They would often bask in the vapors of smoke and steam. Coir informed her that the quthli had granted her the use of it for a day and a night. Coir himself took down the hut's hanging hide entrance-flap and replaced it with an Canaen blanket, then doused the embers in the firepit with cold water. Jareen brought the four afflicted Canaen within and laid them on the ground in a rough circle around the firepit. Outside, Coir and a few of the older quthli females kept watch around the doorway, ensuring that no one would disturb her.

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It was dim inside the hut. The only light came from the narrow smoke hole in the roof, and it reeked of smoke and animal fur. Jareen had already prepared her few tools, which sat on a split wooden plank along with four carven cups filled with water from the spring, already mixed with tincture.

"Is it necessary to be in this vile place?" one of the afflicted vien asked. Jareen's eyes were watering.

"It is necessary that no one but myself and the afflicted be present," Jareen said. "Now be silent." She handed them each a cup. "Drink," she commanded. "Drain it, and as you drink, ask for the blessing of Vah in your spirit. Then lie back down in meditation."

She couldn't believe she was saying such nonsense, but she realized the utility of it, and none of them questioned her. They drank and lay down as directed. She waited, and before long, their breathing grew shallow. She checked each one to ensure that they were truly unconscious. Satisfied, she began her process.

She had given the afflicted a sufficient dose of tincture to ensure they remained unconscious well after she was done. On the third, she had trouble getting the thorn into the first vein she tried, and she had to use one on their foot instead, but she succeeded in the end. When she was through and their bleeding had stopped, she cleaned the marks of the thorn and thankfully fled the fetid hut, her nose running and her eyes dripping. No doubt, the afflicted would feel even more miserable when they came to themselves. Coir arched an eyebrow at her as she emerged.

"It is done," she said. She saw the Canaen in the camp watching. Even those laboring on the western edge of the clearing cast glances back.

"I will ask them to keep everyone out," Coir said, turning to the nearest female quthli and giving utterance to their tongue. The dam replied, but she didn't look up from her work; the females were occupied in sewing hides together using some kind of chewed sinew and bone needles. It looked like the covering for a new hut. Coir nodded, rising with the aid of his cane.

"If the quth are free," Jareen said, "why do they obey you?"

"They don't obey me," Coir answered.

"They do what you ask."

"They don't need to. The hunting has been good, so they can afford to help us."

"Why, then?"

"The quthli do not have many words. But one word they do have is friend."

***

The leaves of the trees turned golden, some even flaring red. Others turned brown, dying and falling to the ground. A few trees clung to life, their foliage turning a darker, deeper shade of green. Few trees had grown in Drennos, except in private gardens or in reserves of tall oaks grown by the Regency for future ship building. She had never seen those groves, for they grew on the southern shores of the island. She had seen changes in the leaves of trees in the Manse gardens, though. She knew what it foretold, though she had never seen the like in her homeland before. It was said that at the far edges of Piev and Veroi where temperatures fluctuated through the year, trees sometimes followed a seasonal pattern, changing color and shedding their leaves even as they sprouted a new burden. There were no new sprouts here. Cold winds from the west shook the dried leaves. She was thankful for the warm cloak that Liethni had brought her.

In the camp, work continued. Though the Canaen and the quthli stayed separate in all other activities, some of the quthli continued to help fell trees. The Canaen used axes and wedges and mallets to split the wood, and within three days the first walls had risen. Now, a cluster of simple homes sat amidst fresh stumps on the western side of the clearing.

"Daughter of Vah."

Jareen turned to see one of the vien she had treated for the Malady. He bowed, placing his hands on his chest. She smiled at him, a forced expression rather than sincere joy. It wasn't that she wasn't happy her treatment had worked—though she was still watching the two more advanced afflicted—but that the presence of so many in the camp made her uneasy. She had not forgotten Coir's words of warning. She was also not used to being with so many of the Canaen. Their accents and strange phrases, and even their manners reminded her constantly that she was not one of them. She was familiar enough with their manner of speech due to her long familiarity with Vireel, but their isolation had let Jareen think of the differences more as Vireel's own idiosyncrasies.

Jareen did not belong there. Not that she belonged in Findeluvié, either. She belonged nowhere, except with Faro. . . and Coir, she supposed.

"Thank you," the vien said. "I have spoken with some of the others. We have no doubts left. We must go and tell the enclaves. No more of our people must die of the Malady."

"It is too dangerous to make the journey," she said. The trip could be done in a day and a night, but the Mingling was far from safe even for so short a time. More than that, Jareen didn't want the attention.

"Others are dying."

It was true. She could not deny that. She felt a pang of guilt at wanting to hide.

A gust of wind blew strong through the clearing, and she wrapped her arms about herself.

"We will also bring what help we can," the vien said. "There are those who could bring warmth to this glade, even here at the edge of the Current's reach."

"Truly?"

"Yes, Daughter of Vah. If the Nethec's withdrawal is true, then this place may flower again."

The idea of warmth was more than appealing. It had grown harder to find fruits and vegetables nearby. At night, a rime of ice covered the grass. Many plants had withered. For the past two days, they had dug up yucca roots to eat. They couldn't go on like that for long.

"May Vah's blessing keep you safe," she said. The vien bowed once more.

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