Page 127 of Malady

“Get thy bloody hands off me!”

He drives his boot into my gut, and I scream as the wound tears beneath it, doubling over with such pain that I can scarcely draw breath. Still, I cannot bring myself to release him, even as he bends to wrench my fingers from his sleeve. I have to get Avis out of that ditch, and in my desperation, I reach for the stripping knife hanging from my girdle, fumbling for the hilt with fingers slippery from my own blood.

With what little strength remains, I wrench it free and thrust upwards, driving the blade deep into the side of his neck. He gives a choking cry and jerks away, tearing the hilt from my slippery fingers as blood begins pouring down the front of his leather jack. For a moment, he simply stares at me, his mouth opening and closing as though he means to speak, before clapping both hands against his throat.

He staggers backwards into the cart, struggling to breathe through the blood spilling between his fingers, and I can only watch in horror as he tries to call out. Nothing comes but a wet gurgle, and I know enough of such wounds to understand that I've severed something no amount of binding will ever mend. He makes one last attempt to steady himself against the wooden frame before his legs give way, sending him sprawling face down in the dirt.

Then Avis begins coughing again, and I turn towards her, trying once more to drag myself across the flooded road.

“Avis? Sweetheart, Papa's coming. Just a little farther, darling.”

But my strength is failing, and despite my best efforts, I manage another foot before my arms give way beneath me and I land on my side.

Avis is still calling for me, though her poor voice has grown so faint that I can barely hear her above the storm.

Oh, my darling girl. She's going to die in that ditch, and I cannot even get close enough to hold her.

“Please,” I sob, reaching towards her. “Somebody, please help my little girl.”

A sudden gust of wind tears through the hollow, bringing with it a voice so deep that I hear it quite clearly above the rain.

“Now, what is all this commotion about?”

I lift my head, blinking through the water running into my eyes, and find a man standing a few paces away.

I hadn't heard anybody approaching, though with the wind howling as fiercely as it is, I suppose he could have been walking behind me for some time. He's terribly tall, wrapped in a long, dark cloak that conceals most of his figure, and something about the way he stands there looking down at me suggests he's quite untroubled by the weather.

Perhaps he's a physician. Oh, please let him be a physician.

“Sir?” I manage, struggling to raise myself onto one elbow. “Please, sir, my daughter is terribly ill. We were trying to reach the abbey at Tewkesbury, but a man attacked us, and I cannot seem to get up.” I reach towards Avis, hoping he'll understand. “She's just over there, see? If you could help us get her to the brothers, I can pay you. I've nothing on me now, but my wife has some silver at home, and I'll gladly give you every penny of it. Please, I only need you to help my daughter.”

He comes closer without answering, and I try to raise myself higher, hoping I might persuade him to help. But when he kneels beside me, the shadow beneath his hood does not lift, and however hard I squint through the rain, I cannot make out a face within it.

I instinctively try to draw away, but the agony sets me alight, and I cry out, collapsing against the muddy road. The stranger makes no attempt to steady me, merely lowering his gaze to the blood seeping between my fingers as I struggle to press the wound closed.

“The man who put you here is dying,” he says, his voice so quiet that I cannot understand how I hear him above the rain.

“I beg your pardon?”

He glances towards the cart, where the fellow lays sprawled in the mud, before turning his attention back to me. “He has taken your life, though he has little of his own remaining. I will take what is left of him and give it to you.”

“I don't understand—” A cough catches in my throat, bringing with it a mouthful of blood, and I have to swallow several times before I can speak again. “Please, sir. I've a wife waiting for us at home, and our youngest is only a fortnight old. I promised her I'd bring Avis back, and I cannot bear the thought of leaving them all. If there's anything you can do to help us, I beg you to do it.”

The stranger stares down at me. “I cannot return you to the man you were. That life is already lost. But I can offer you another, if you are willing to bear the years that will follow.”

“Another life?” I gasp, trying to understand.

He doesn't answer, and I look down at my belly, where blood is still spilling through my fingers no matter how tightly I press them together. There's so much of it, and I'm growing terribly cold, though I cannot tell whether it's the rain or the blood I've lost.

I try to gather my thoughts, but all I can think of is Piers, Joan, Margery…

And I promised her I would bring Avis home.

Oh, God. I promised.

“What must I do?” I whisper, reaching for the stranger's arm with a trembling hand. My fingers leave bloody smears across his pale skin, but I hardly notice as I struggle to pull myself towards him. “Whatever it is, I'll do it. Only please, you must help me get to my daughter. She's lying just over there, and I cannot bear to leave her in that water another moment.”

“As you wish,” the stranger replies, calmly freeing his arm from my grasp and rising.