Lilith Blackwood's Arc

Chapter 8 of 21

The book of remedies had made Lilith ready to heal. It had not filled a single feed bin. She counted the animals that morning and stopped at twenty. A fox, three rabbits, the goat, a crow with a bound wing, and a crowd of smaller strays curled on the shelves. The straw dwindled. The milk jug held one cup. Outside, snow blew flat against the dusty windows. Winter had settled in for good, and no shopkeeper in Gorethroat would sell her a crust. Lilith knelt by the warm shelves and stroked the goat's neck. "You will all starve before the thaw," she said. "I have nothing left to give you." Liko padded across the floor and jumped onto the shelf beside her. He had known her since she was small, and he read her voice the way she read the book. "The field fed you before," he said. "You crossed the snow for wool and straw. Cross it for grain." "They gave supplies once," Lilith said. "I cannot beg them each week. It is too far, and the town watches my every step." Liko sat and curled his tail over his paws. "Then do not beg. Ask for a source, not a gift. The lions can spare a flock. The sheep can spare their milk each morning. Ask them to send it, and it will come to you." Lilith stared at him. She had thought of the field as a well she could not keep dipping. Liko had turned it into a spring. She wrapped herself in her heavy coat and stepped into the storm. The walk took an hour. The lions rose from the white field like hills learning to stand. The largest one lowered its great head to her level. Lilith did not reach for it. She waited, still, until it chose to speak. "My animals starve," she said. "I do not want a single gift today. I want a promise. Send me milk each dawn, and grain, and hay, until the snow breaks. I will heal every creature you send. But I cannot heal the hungry." The lion studied her a long moment. Then the sheep behind it stirred, and their wool shimmered. "You honored the wounded we sent," the lion said. "We will honor this. Each morning, our creatures will carry food to your door. You will not walk this field again in the cold." Lilith bowed her head. She walked home before her tracks could freeze. At first light the next day, a knock rattled the apothecary door. Lilith opened it. Three sheep stood in the snow, baskets slung on their backs. Milk, oats, and pressed hay. Behind them, more waited in a patient line. She carried the food inside and filled every bin. The goat ate. The rabbits ate. The crow pecked at oats. For the first time, the sanctuary had a food source that would not run dry. But a steady stream to her door left a steady trail in the snow. And the town had promised to watch.