Larkspur Mittel: The Lark & Owl Trilogy

5 - A Dark Winter is Nigh

"Pushba! Pushba!" Boer Mam was shouting and dropped her slingshot, "Ivan, go find Pushba, and be quick about it!" 

Ivan ran through the kitchen door.

"Aggie! Wake up Aggie!" Adelmus was kneeling beside his little sister, holding her hand which had gone limp. He pulled the tiny, golden dart from her neck, and threw it to the floor. A drop of crimson blood trickled down her neck and onto her shoulder. 

She was not moving.

"She's hot! Her skin is boiling!" He cried.

"Hero, go to the ice chest, and fill the barrel just outside the storeroom door. Use all the ice, fill it up, and then run across the road and get more from the ice boer!"

Hero ran out, while Boer Mam lifted Aggie from the ground.

"She weighs but a feather, yer wee sister! Now there's a good brother, go help gather some ice. We've got to slow her blood circulation so that the poison doesn't reach her heart too soon."

Boer Mam and old Pushba spoke in hushed tones. 

They lay dear, delicate Aggie in the ice bath for a while, and then slowly warmed her again by the fire. They fed her a mixture of herbs and medicines that old Pushba had prepared, and then finally, after what seemed many long hours, they sat down to wait.

"Nothing more we can do," Boer Mam spoke to Adelmus, who hung his head low. He sniffled, and pushed the tears out of his eyes with the back of his good hand.

They stood around Aggie, who lay on a bed next to the fire, her skin paler than ever. Her red curls were spread out on either side of her face, and her fair complexion was nearly as white as the pillow her head lay upon. A thin blanket was pulled up over her chest, which rose and fell in short breaths.

Her brilliant blue eyes, normally so lively, were closed and as a result thought Hero, she looked nothing like the Aggie they all knew and dearly loved. 

"Bring us the bird," old Pushba spoke from beneath the many shawls she wore over her head.

They lay the ugly, black bird out on the butcher block. It was much larger than it had appeared in the air, and the wings were huge and reached from one side of the block to the other.

A small, golden clock face was embedded in the crow's chest. The hands of the clock were tiny serpents, the heads reaching for the numbers, and the tails meeting at the center. The dart had emerged from 12 o'clock through a miniature trap door. 

"Why does it not bleed?" Hero asked.

Boer Mam's arrow had gone right through it's head, and yet there was no blood. 

"Because it is not real," said Boer Mam, "it's a mechanical sort of thing. Used them in the Peat Wars. I never saw one meself, just heard of them. I'm only glad me shot was able to bring it down."

Up close the bird still looked real enough, though they could see the black metal supports in the wings more clearly now. Boer Mam unscrewed the clock face from the bird's chest, and showed the children where the poison darts were stored, just behind each hour.

"I seen 'em before. Takes a rich hand to make 'em. They won't be happy that this one won't return," said old Pushba.

"What do you mean, 'they?' Who sent it?" Adelmus asked, glancing at Hero. He scratched the side of his cheek and pulled on his earlobe, his signal that he needed to talk to her. But she didn't notice. She was watching Ivan, who was tinkering with the clock.

"And why use a golden clock? Gold is so rare- it would be worth a small fortune in the market place!" Ivan added, glad to put to use his small tool collection that he carried in a leather pouch in his breast pocket.