The Fifth Sacred Thing Read Free

Drift back into her dream of last night, or was it yesterday morning? She couldn’t remember when she had last slept, she only remembered dreaming of Bird, and the dream left a sweet taste in her mouth. They were back in the mountains, in their watershed year, the year they gave to the forests, when they were both sixteen. They’d worked so hard, clearing firebreaks and planting new species of drought-resistant spruce and fir. But they were young, and their sweat seemed only an invitation to taste all the body’s salt streams.
    Funny, she still hadn’t dreamed of Sandy, although he’d been dead for a month. But Bird had come several times in the last few days. Maybe Maya was right; she said he was still alive somewhere. But nobody had seen him for almost ten years, since the big epidemic when he went off with Cleis and Zorah and Tom and disappeared deep in the Stewards’ territory.
    Most likely Bird was dead. Like the other men in my life, Madrone thought: my mythical father, Sandy, Rio. And a goodly number of the women.
    Stop it! she told herself firmly. Stop wallowing in self-pity. She sighed again and then let out a squawk as Lou hit a sensitive point. “Ow! What are you doing to me?”
    “That hurt?” Lou asked.
    “Go easy, would you? I didn’t ask to be tortured!”
    “That’s a point connected with the immune system. It needs strengthening.”
    “Is that any reason to torment the poor thing? You should call that point Lou’s Revenge.” His finger remained, strong and adamant, and in spite of her complaints Madrone felt some energy returning.
    “All right, Madrone, answer this question correctly, and I’ll let up. What are you going to do next?”
    “Since I’ve failed to heal the sick, maybe I should learn to raise the dead. Ow! You’re really hurting me! I’m not kidding!”
    “What are you going to do next?”
    “Rest! Sleep! I swear it! Ah, that’s nice.” She sighed as his fingers let up and he began massaging her shoulders. “Just as soon as I tell Rosa.”
    “What about the ceremony?” Aviva asked. “Aren’t you representing the Healers’ Council?”
    “Oh, Goddess, I forgot all about it. What time is it?”
    “About one o’clock in the afternoon on the first of August or, if you prefer, Third Foggy Moon,” Lou said. “The Day of the Reaper. The day youare supposed to represent us, your guildmates, in the great and glorious celebrations of the twentieth anniversary of the Uprising. If you get a move on, you still have time to make it up the hill. I don’t know if that’s good news or bad.”
    “Oh, it’s good,” Madrone said. “Since the Council for its own unfathomable reasons has chosen me as its representative instead of Doctor Sam, I better get my ass up there.”
    “Sam suggested it,” Lou said. “He meant it as a tribute to Sandy.”
    “Lou, if you get that knot out of my neck I’ll … what’ll I do for you? I’ll bear you a child. I’ll cook you a dinner. I’ll nominate you for the next public honor.”
    “Those aren’t promises,” Lou said, kneading her shoulders expertly, “those are threats.”

    I look like the death hag herself, Madrone thought as she stared into the scrub-room mirror. Wisps of her curly black hair had escaped from their thick braid; there were blue circles under her eyes and a grayish tinge to her bronze skin. Streaks of blood covered her cheeks and chest. She stripped off all her clothing and threw it into the solar disinfector, loosed her hair, and stepped into the shower. The hot water felt good on her skin, restored her sense of being back in a body. She scrubbed thoroughly, down to the roots of her hair. She could protect herself from the fever, but until they knew how it was transmitted, she wouldn’t risk passing it on.
    Clean, her wet hair clinging to her back, she changed back into her street clothes and went to look for Rosa. The girl was waiting in the corridor with Marie, another neighbor, one of the Sisters of Our