Please, please. Tears rolled down his cheeks. She had to make it. He couldn’t bear it if she didn’t. He’d already lost her once, yesterday. He kept at it. The vial was now only half full. He gave her more.
Her lips. Something had changed. Tomaaz inspected them. He couldn’t be sure, but was the blue fading? Two more drips. He checked her hands. Yes, her fingernails had lost some of their bluish tinge. He let out a slow breath. The piaua was working, but did he have enough?
Soon the vial was empty. Ma’s pulse was stronger, but still not normal. A tinge of color crept into her cheeks. Tomaaz sat, cradling her head, his knees numb, waiting. There was nothing more he could do except wait and hope.
§
A snort at the hole in the wall made Tomaaz jerk awake. His legs were dead under the weight of Ma’s head and shoulders, and he was fighting to stop his head from drooping again, but he didn’t want to move and disturb Ma. Sometime while he’d dozed, her breathing had deepened. Her chest was now rising and falling regularly, thank the Egg.
Another snort. He turned, rubbing his stiff neck. The beast was watching him again. The gray film over its eyes had thinned, showing a glimmer of startling green. Tomaaz tried to speak, but his throat was dry.
Gods, he hadn’t eaten or drunk for hours.
Ma’s hand twitched. Then her foot. A gusty sigh shuddered through her, then another. Her eyes fluttered, then flew wide, alarm shooting across her face.
“Ma,” Tomaaz croaked. “It’s me, Tomaaz.”
“Tomaaz?” Her voice was fragile.
“Yes, Ma, I’m here to take you home.” How, he had no idea.
“Ezaara?”
“I haven’t seen her.” What had happened to Ezaara? “Don’t worry about that now. Let’s get you better.” Shards, he had nothing to feed her, no water. Nothing to keep her warm, not even a blanket.
Her eyes drifted shut again. He shook her gently. “Ma, I’m going to find you water and food. I’ll be back. You’ll be safe here.” Nodding, she curled up and went back to sleep. Tomaaz hovered, unsure about leaving her.
There was another snort at the wall.
“Keep an eye on her,” Tomaaz said to the beast.
The large green eye winked.
Tomaaz nearly jumped out of his skin. Snatching up his shovel, he rushed down the valley.
§
The noon sun broke through the mists, beating down on Tomaaz. Panting, he paused at the junction to the main valley. He was much weaker than he’d realized. He had to eat—soon—and source some food for Ma. Oh, and feed the beast. With Ma hiding next to the beast’s cave, the last thing they needed was a roaring ruckus to bring tharuks running. Whips cracked to the south, near the latrine pit. Tomaaz headed north toward the eating area. If he was caught out of place, he’d be whipped, but he’d also be punished if he collapsed from exhaustion in the latrine ditches.
To Tomaaz’s surprise, the area was full of milling slaves. He’d never been feed here at noon, but by the look of their pickaxes and grubbers, these were the crews that worked in the mountainside. Tomaaz casually deposited his shovel and lined up with them. These slaves were covered in grime and fine yellow powder. They smelled of the mist that leaked from the crevasses.
Many of them had fingers, ears or hands missing. One had his nose cut off, leaving a gaping scar in his face. Coughing and wheezing punctuated their sluggish movements. The little girl in front of him hacked, spitting up dark globules of phlegm. Those in line shuffled forward, hands out, to grab chunks of hard bread from the numlocked serving slaves. As the girl took her bread, she coughed and fell, her crust flying into the dust at Tomaaz’s feet. She lay on the ground hacking. Then she stilled, eyes rolling back in her head.
Tomaaz took his bread from the server, then picked up her piece, slipping it into his pocket. Gods, stealing bread from the dead to feed Ma. What would he stoop to next?
The slaves ground to a halt, waiting for the tharuks to act.
A huge tharuk flicked its whip, striking a man, who yelped. Still gnawing their hard crusts, the crowd parted to let the beast through. The tharuk booted her in the neck. Her body slid, rasping against the dry dirt, her head lolling at an odd angle.
“Dead,” the tharuk pronounced, its red eyes scanning the slaves.
Although Tomaaz’s belly grumbled, he suddenly had no appetite.
The tharuk pointed a stubby finger at him, its claw a whip’s breadth from his face. “You! To the flesh pile. Take this human scum.”
Tomaaz bent to retrieve the girl. Shards, he could hardly lift her. Last night, he’d carried Ma without a problem, but now he was too weak.
“Move it.” The tharuk glared at him, whip poised.
Slinging her over his shoulder, Tomaaz staggered off. A tharuk hovering over a crude bench holding waterskins motioned Tomaaz over. “Slave, drink. Water makes you healthy.”
Healthy? Hardly. Tomaaz put the girl down and drank the numlock-tainted water, not stopping until the waterskin was nearly empty. The tharuk turned its back to give water to other hapless slaves. As Tomaaz picked up the girl, he slipped the mostly-deflated waterskin up the back of her shirt, and tucked her shirttail into her breeches. There, that should hold it. Now he had food and water for
