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A Chapter by lilynait

Gil opened his eyes and let go of the woman. He didn't have any sympathy for her when she dropped, boneless into a patch of water. He pulled his mask off and just breathed for a second.

"What was that?" Gil turned and scowled at her unresponsive figure. "Have you totally lost your mind? You want to kill the both of us?"

"No.."

Gil growled. "You better hope I believe that. Don't think I'll just-"

"Kylie, no. I don't want.."

He stared, uncomprehending, before he threw up his hands. "Great, just what I need, a delusional old hag -"

"Don't send me. Not now."

"- and no Panacea. Damn it. Damn it."

She rolled over and a sheen of red on her leg caught Gil's eye and drew him from his ranting. The blood was bright on the wound - it was fresh, and it flowed as slick as water.

Gil licked his lips. It looked bad. Really bad. He averted his gaze when he caught the faint glow of green on bone and swallowed, hard.

"Not me. Not now."

Gil startled. His breaths bounced from wall to wall and echoed back to him half a second later. The cavern seemed filled with sound.

Her eyes were open now, staring straight ahead into the puddle where she lay.

Water, yes. That's right. Gil licked his lips again and pulled out his flask. The water was cool, clean and chilled his sweaty hands. He gave himself a second as the flask filled from the cave water and tried to tune out the woman's murmurs behind him.

The flask sloshed when he moved and sent waves of coldness over his arms. He knelt beside her and tried to study the wound but his breath quickened and his eyes were disobedient when he told them to focus. He tried to still his fingers but they wouldn’t listen either.

He had to make three trips before the wound was clean but even then, Gil saw specks of sand and grime in between jagged edges of the flesh. He looked at his hands, at the dirt under his nails and decided he'd do more harm if he tried to clean any further.

His stomach churned and he had to take a second to calm himself.

Okay. It was washed. Now what? Bandage? His clothes weren't the best quality and hers were even worse. Just what had she been doing?

What could he use? Sleeve would have to do. He pulled off his shirt, tore the sleeves clean off and after a moment of thought, soaked them in water.

He wrung them dry and the filthy that dripped off the fabric made him grimace. They weren’t much better after the second wash and he decided it was about as good as they were going to get. He tore the sleeves down the middle, then again until he had four makeshift bandage strips.

Okay, back to the wound. He lifted her leg and she screamed.

It was a high pitched sound that shrieked in his ears with as much force as the Falls in the North.

He jerked and dropped one of his bandages. She spasmed, her legs flailed in the air and Gil skirted back on his heels.

"Woah, woah. It's okay. Stop moving. Hey! Shut up!"

She didn't listen, or she was unable to listen.

"Damn it."

In a fit of desperation, Gil threw the flask of water onto her face. She spluttered and the screams stopped. Gil gaped. That really worked?

She was gasping now, short rapid breaths and moans that twisted her mouth into something agonising.

"F**k," she said. "The f**k. F**k!"

Gil scrambled over to secure her legs. He wrapped the three remaining bandages around the wound and deftly knotted them tight, just in time to stop her from seeing. He held her leg still as she struggled to sit. Her hair dripped with water and slicked to her face, her mouth open wide in what might’ve been horror or pain. Gil waited apprehensively for her reaction.

She flicked her gaze from him to his hands to the bandages in her leg which were already soaking through with blood. Then she twisted around, nearly knocking Gil off balance, and pulled her bag from her back. She squeaked, and for a moment, seemed to forget about her leg.

Gil took the opportunity to bind the fourth bandage over the rest and tightened it over the blood stain.

She didn't react beyond a low pained groan, but that could also have been for the contents of her package.

The drawstrings flew apart under her frantic fingers and she drew scroll after scroll from her bag and onto her lap. Then she realised she was as damp as their previous container and hugged them to her chest. She looked in vain for a dry surface in the cavern and finally settled on Gil and Gil's satchel.

"Quick. Quick!"

She reached a hand and the barely restrained desperation in her posture made Gil pass over his prize without complaint. Caught up in her fervour, he helped transfer the scrolls into his satchel. Some were damaged beyond repair and the woman let out an aching keel every time her fingers broke through paper. Gil tried to find those before she did.

The ones on the bottom were the worst. She was sobbing by the end, big wet sounds that tore through her chest. When she finally withdrew her hands, they were covered with ink-stained paper mush.

"No. My precious. My darlings. No, no, no."

Gil filled his flask and offered her the water. This time, she took it and chugged it down in a single gulp. She hunched over his satchel and gasped in sudden pain.

“Ohh my leg. What did you do to my leg?”

She tried to move and gasped with pain. Gil laid a restraining hand on her shoulder to keep her still.

"You probably don't want to do that," he said. "I didn't have much time to work." Hopefully she’ll let go of that line of questioning.

She collapsed back and landed in the water with a splash and sent a wave of water over Gil’s already saturated boots.

"What happened? I thought I saw.."

"You were an idiot," Gil cut in. It was an impulse, but as the words passed his mouth, he realised it was true.

That's right. Everything was her fault. He had to act, had to get her out of the Perfume as fast as possible. It wasn't his fault.

"No one handles Panacea apart from the Gatherers. Everyone knows that. You guess yourself what happened."

She lifted her leg experimentally but Gil caught it and eased it back down. The bandages still held, but the blooming of the red was worrying. He didn’t think she got a good look at her leg before, being too occupied with the scrolls, and he wasn’t exactly comfortable letting her see. It wasn’t like either of them could do anything to help. No, they’d have to go back to the others, back to Orlson and his tools.

"Gatherer? You're a Gatherer? You can't be more than a boy."

She mumbled something indistinct and grimaced. Gil didn’t think it was anything good.

He scowled, but was thankful for her change of topic. "What are you talking about? I'm a man! And why can't boys be Gatherers anyway? I've been training for three years."

She let out a breathless chuckle. "It's not often that men proclaim themselves as men. But then again, here you are, Gatherer in training, taking care of a stranger and being mocked for it."

She made an effort to lift her head. "I don't mean to be ungrateful. And believe me; I'm damn glad you came when you did." She flopped back and heaved a breath of exhaustion.

The drip of water and her ragged breaths filled a brief moment of silence. The distinctive helictite formation on the ceiling told Gil exactly where they were and it was with surprise that he realised he made so much progress blinded.

The cavern they were in now was a good third of the way back to the tribe, well within reach of the daily patrols. If they were lucky, it would only be a few hours before they got help.

"I'm Gil," he said, ready to break the silence.

She chuckled again. "To think I'll be taking lessons in etiquette from a boy half my age. It's Clara." She swept an arm across her body in a mock bow. "Clara Bishop, Guardian of the Manuscripts and Grand Translator to the High Lord of Tals. I don't look the part, do I?"

Gil wrinkled his nose. "You look more like a thief than anything."

She stiffened, and her eyes flicked over to his. "Would you leave me here, if I were?"

Suddenly, his joke didn’t seem quite so funny. Or quite so unlikely. She did look like a thief, though not a very successful one. Gil didn’t think someone capable of stealing a sack full of scrolls would get lost in the tunnels afterwards. Either way, she wasn’t much of a threat with that leg.

He found a bit of elevated rock and settled down into a crouch above her. "I didn't know you were any of those things before, did I? And I’m still here."

"So you do believe me. Never thought I was the lucky type before."

"Never heard of this Lord of Tails before," Gil murmured.

"Tals," she corrected. "Don't imagine you would. Not that I doubt your knowledge or anything. It’s just far, far away." She chuckled mirthlessly. "So far away."

"So… If you're not escaping with the scrolls, what were you doing back there?"

"Escape huh? That's as good a word as anything."

Gil raised his eyebrows. He checked and the straps of his satchel lay free on her lap. It wouldn't be hard to grab them and make a run for it if he had to.

"Not like I wanted to leave. No one else could read the maps. Not the fit, experienced men of the Watch, not our capable Gatherers, not the craftspeople. Everything was down to me. Me! And a week after I set out I found out the maps were useless. Ha! Wasn't that a royal surprise? Though I should've clued in around the time of the third empty cavern."

Gil tuned in with a start. She wasn't talking about -

"The Panacea. All gone. Gone. Gil, was it? You be bloody glad your people are still fed. I fear.. I fear mine."

She sobbed for the scrolls, but the tears that leaked from her eyes were accompanied only by silence. Her hand rose to cover her face and she turned away from Gil as much as she was able. He bit his lip and glanced down at his hands.

His satchel tilted on her lap but she wrapped an arm around it and held on as if it was a lifeline. What a turn of events. It was meant to be filled with Panacea. The woman- Clara’s words, Clara’s tears, they spoke of things Gil didn’t want to believe, didn’t want to imagine. He found her so still in that cave, so still and so weak. How much better could her people fare, without the sustenance of Panacea? How much worse had they fared?

He clenched his fists, grimly feeling his nails dig into the flesh of his palms. He wouldn’t let his tribe suffer like Clara’s. Panacea doesn’t just disappear. He was going to get to the bottom of this.

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