Black Scales V: A Poison Tree

Orla grappled with her fever like it was a physical thing with tentacles. She thrashed in and out of dreams that were hot and tight and squeezy, with sharp edges.

On the outside, floating around somewhere on the surface, Da paid a doktor to poke at her and find out what was wrong.

The doktor unbandaged her hand, and tutted over the ugly slashes in the skin that didn't want to close, and the dark veins of something growing out from them, like a tree inked onto her skin.

"Poison," he said confidently. He dosed her with antidotes, and packed various poultices on the wound, one after another. He also covered her in cold wet cloths, or else lowered her into a tub of cold water, or forced cold drinks down her throat. One day, he even managed to get some ice, and packed that round her, especially her belly, throat, and feet. It made no difference. The fever stayed high, and the black trail continued to creep across her skin.

When he started washing the cuts out with something foul smelling, the skin started to bubble, and Orla thrashed, screaming, but there was no other change. Da sent him away.

Da consulted with a witch, who poured bone broth into Orla, and stated firmly that the hand must come off. Da went pale, and stammered surely not!

The witch used a stick of charcoal to draw a boundary around the ominous black tree, which was definitely bigger than it had been that first day.

"Mind how this grows," she said. "If it gets to here," she made another mark, near the top of Orla's arm, "You might have only days before it reaches her heart."

Da swallowed hard, and nodded.

"Strap it up tight," the witch said, "That could slow it down. But soon, you will need to make a choice."

She left, with her mouth set in a hard line, and sadness around her eyes.

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Orla succumbed to the fever at last. Which is not to say she died, only that she stopped fighting it. Her eyes opened. Da fed her more of the broth, and brought her meals with actual meat. Orla ate it all. She was ravenous.

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As weak as she was, she wasn't sent back to the lake with the other children. She woke early, and peered out at the early morning sky, wondering if it was safe to venture out.

It took a good while to put the package together, because Da had bound her arm tightly, just the way the witch showed him. His snoring reassured her that she wouldn't be stopped from going, but she still tried to move quietly.

Had she imagined it, Da praying over her, begging and bargaining, I'll not touch another drop, I swear it, I'll pour it all away... Or was that part of the Dream?

Orla took a blanket off her bed, and wrapped bread, meat, and cheese in a clean cloth. Orla held the package to her body with her bandaged arm. It was awkward, but it left her good hand free to hold a stick.

It was deathly quiet out. Orla gripped her stick tight, and hoped she didn't need it.

There was nobody about. Orla made her way down to the shore of the lake, her heart hammering the closer she got to the point where the strip of rock jutted out into the water.

Choosing the right spot was important. Too near the shore, and the gift would be stolen by children at sunset. Still weak from the fever, Orla couldn't risk getting to close to the Cave, either.

"Girl?" Orla tried to attract attention without attracting attention. "Girl?"

There was nobody here. Was the Girl part of her Dream as well, then? Had she imagined her? She had been all too wild to be real.

Orla chose a spot and put the parcel down. There was still no sign of the dragon girl, so she started building a cairn. This seemed the best way to hide it, and draw attention to it, at the same time.

Maybe she was a dragon. Maybe she was going to transform in front of me, and that's why she rushed me away. Maybe she doesn't eat cheese, or use blankets, and it will all go mouldy and wet and unused under the stones.

When Orla turned to leave, she heard a voice across the lake.

"Wait!"

The girl looked thinner, and dirtier. Her eyes still flashed, but there was worry around them. Her hair was the same, still distinctive and wild, like a black flag waving to catch her attention.

Orla's fear evaporated, and she beamed. "Girl! You're real!"

"Of course I'm real," the girl scoffed, "Realer than you, prob'ly. And you can't call me girl. That's silly. You should call me Brenna."

"Alright. And you'll call me Orla."

"Orrrrrla." She rolled the name around her mouth like a marble. There were smudges on her cheeks and chin that looked like blood. Orla looked away.

"I brought you something," Orla said, pointing at the stones. "You know. To say thank you."

Brenna tugged them away, and her face lit up when her fingers touched the fabric. "What's this? It's so soft!"

"It's just a blanket," Orla said, sheepish but pleased. "I thought it might be cold at night. You know. In the cave."

"Dragons don't get cold. Didn't you know that?"

Orla didn't know what to say to that, so she just shrugged.

"There's some food as well," she said. "It's not much, but I can get more."

Brenna cleared away the rocks with renewed vigour, and pulled away the top layer of the blanket. The naked delight on her face at the sight of the cheese and meat made her look very young all of a sudden. She crammed a chunk of bread into her mouth and closed her eyes.

"It's good. I haven't had bread in ages." Brenna unpacked it all, and despite her assertion that dragons don't get cold she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and sat cross-legged, devouring a chicken leg. "Won't you have some?" she said, and Orla sat opposite her and ate slowly.

I can always have some more when I get home, but I don't know if the dragon girl has any food in the Cave.

For a little while, Orla forgot completely about the dragon, and the Egg in the cave.

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