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Authors: John Claude Bemis
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crawl?”
He did not answer, but at her urging hand, he followed her to the fire. Conker sat with his knees tucked to his chest, shaking. “Let me get you soup and tea,” Jolie said. “It will warm you, and the herbs will help restore your strength.”
Dashing to the small cave where she hid her food from prowling animals, Jolie brought out dried fish, herbs, and roots. As she prepared the meal, she kept her eyes on Conker. Although the well had nourished him, he was thin, his face gaunt, his body weak. She brought a wooden bowl over to him and held it up to his lips. “Sip slowly. You have not eaten in a long time. It is hot.”
He gulped and, despite the heat, ravenously consumed the entire bowl in several swallows.
“Can you take this cup of tea while I get you more soup?”
Conker looked in her eyes for the first time. Recognition came over him. He nodded and held the wooden cup. Jolie spooned out more soup and brought it over.
“Take more, but try not to eat it too fast. Your stomach might not be ready for so much.”
Conker sipped at the soup and the aromatic tea, his gaze shifting anxiously.
“You are in a safe place,” she assured him. “It is a well used by my siren sisters. For healing. You were badly injured. Do you remember?”
Conker’s bright white eyes stared at her, and he cocked his head. Then he closed his eyes, wincing. She was not sure whether he was troubled by what he remembered of the train or if he could not remember at all.
“It is okay,” she said, thinking this response would do in either case. “There is much to tell, but it may still be too soon.” She touched his neck and broad shoulder. “You feel as if you are warming. That is good.”
Conker finished the soup and let the steaming cup of tea warm his hands. The night wore on, and Jolie was eager for Conker to speak, eager to help her friend in so many ways. He needed his hair cut. She would have to get him to try walking. But she made herself remain patient. As the faint light of dawn pushed aside the stars, she decided that the soup had not given his stomach trouble and that he should eat something more substantial.
“Conker,” Jolie said. He lifted his head weakly. “I am going to catch us something for breakfast. Wait here. Do not get to your feet until I can help you. Agreed?”
He nodded, and after watching him a moment longer, Jolie took the conch shell knife and set off to hunt.
When she returned an hour later, Conker was sitting as she had left him, staring into the fire. She plucked the turkey and skinned the groundhog, and built up the fire to roast the game.
“How long?” Conker’s voice was little more than a croak.
Jolie spun around. “You can speak!” She smiled tentatively.
“How long?” Conker repeated.
Jolie took a deep breath. “You were badly injured, Conker. The train … do you remember what happened on
The Pitch Dark Train
?”
He nodded slowly.
“You should be dead. The explosion. If you had not been wearing Redfeather’s necklace—”
Conker’s hand went to his chest. He clutched the copper head on the necklace, squeezing it tightly. “You look … different, Jolie.”
Jolie stuck the game together on a spit and placed them over the fire.
“You’re … taller.” His voice gained strength. “You seem older.”
Jolie prodded the logs to increase the flames.
“Jolie?”
She rose. “I need to get more—”
“How long have I been asleep?”
Jolie bit at her lip and turned. Conker stared urgently. “Almost a year,” she said.
Whatever he had been expecting, she could tell he had not imagined it could possibly be that long. He sank back, his arms trembling to support him.
“Your body was broken, Conker. Only because of the well have you healed.”
Conker was taking shallow, rapid breaths. His jaw clenched tight, and he ground his teeth as he tried to speak. “Where … where is it?”
“What?” Jolie asked, getting closer to Conker.
“The Nine Pound
He did not answer, but at her urging hand, he followed her to the fire. Conker sat with his knees tucked to his chest, shaking. “Let me get you soup and tea,” Jolie said. “It will warm you, and the herbs will help restore your strength.”
Dashing to the small cave where she hid her food from prowling animals, Jolie brought out dried fish, herbs, and roots. As she prepared the meal, she kept her eyes on Conker. Although the well had nourished him, he was thin, his face gaunt, his body weak. She brought a wooden bowl over to him and held it up to his lips. “Sip slowly. You have not eaten in a long time. It is hot.”
He gulped and, despite the heat, ravenously consumed the entire bowl in several swallows.
“Can you take this cup of tea while I get you more soup?”
Conker looked in her eyes for the first time. Recognition came over him. He nodded and held the wooden cup. Jolie spooned out more soup and brought it over.
“Take more, but try not to eat it too fast. Your stomach might not be ready for so much.”
Conker sipped at the soup and the aromatic tea, his gaze shifting anxiously.
“You are in a safe place,” she assured him. “It is a well used by my siren sisters. For healing. You were badly injured. Do you remember?”
Conker’s bright white eyes stared at her, and he cocked his head. Then he closed his eyes, wincing. She was not sure whether he was troubled by what he remembered of the train or if he could not remember at all.
“It is okay,” she said, thinking this response would do in either case. “There is much to tell, but it may still be too soon.” She touched his neck and broad shoulder. “You feel as if you are warming. That is good.”
Conker finished the soup and let the steaming cup of tea warm his hands. The night wore on, and Jolie was eager for Conker to speak, eager to help her friend in so many ways. He needed his hair cut. She would have to get him to try walking. But she made herself remain patient. As the faint light of dawn pushed aside the stars, she decided that the soup had not given his stomach trouble and that he should eat something more substantial.
“Conker,” Jolie said. He lifted his head weakly. “I am going to catch us something for breakfast. Wait here. Do not get to your feet until I can help you. Agreed?”
He nodded, and after watching him a moment longer, Jolie took the conch shell knife and set off to hunt.
When she returned an hour later, Conker was sitting as she had left him, staring into the fire. She plucked the turkey and skinned the groundhog, and built up the fire to roast the game.
“How long?” Conker’s voice was little more than a croak.
Jolie spun around. “You can speak!” She smiled tentatively.
“How long?” Conker repeated.
Jolie took a deep breath. “You were badly injured, Conker. The train … do you remember what happened on
The Pitch Dark Train
?”
He nodded slowly.
“You should be dead. The explosion. If you had not been wearing Redfeather’s necklace—”
Conker’s hand went to his chest. He clutched the copper head on the necklace, squeezing it tightly. “You look … different, Jolie.”
Jolie stuck the game together on a spit and placed them over the fire.
“You’re … taller.” His voice gained strength. “You seem older.”
Jolie prodded the logs to increase the flames.
“Jolie?”
She rose. “I need to get more—”
“How long have I been asleep?”
Jolie bit at her lip and turned. Conker stared urgently. “Almost a year,” she said.
Whatever he had been expecting, she could tell he had not imagined it could possibly be that long. He sank back, his arms trembling to support him.
“Your body was broken, Conker. Only because of the well have you healed.”
Conker was taking shallow, rapid breaths. His jaw clenched tight, and he ground his teeth as he tried to speak. “Where … where is it?”
“What?” Jolie asked, getting closer to Conker.
“The Nine Pound
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