Web groaned and opened his eyes. He felt a cool cloth on his hot forehead but his vision was blurry and he could not focus on the form above him. He heard voices and a wave of terror washed over him. He tried to move but he found himself too hot and weak to struggle and too tired to care. He felt a tear slid down his hot cheek and a cool hand wiped it away.
"Do not cry," said a gentle voice. "I know you do not feel well but it is not that bad." The hand went away. Web whimpered. Cool liquid touched his parched lips and he realized how hungry and thirsty he was. It was not water but some kind of oily broth but he slurped it down, his eyes still closed. When he was done, he flopped back against the pillows and relaxed into sleep.
Above him Anialia carried the empty bowl to the kitchen returned to the main room of the house to peer down at the elfling's flushed face.
"How is he?" Zionel asked, pausing the whittling he was doing on a strong piece of wood.
"The fever is worsening and he is not very strong," Anialia replied. "I am beginning to think the usual method of burning it off is not the best in this case. I wish you had found his parents, Galleon."
"As do I," Galleon replied, looking up from the floor where he was building towers from blocks with Ilune.
Anialia looked at the half-conscious elfling lying in the bed before her. After a moment, she said, "Zionel, play with your sister. Galleon, come help me take these blankets off. If the fever does not subside, it will kill all that is good within him."
Web cracked his eyes open, curling tighter to stay warm. He felt cold . . . so cold, after the burning hot he had lain in for what seemed like forever. He clenched his teeth together and scrunched into a small ball. He was still on the bed before the fire in the same room but where had all the blankets gone? The straw was damp beneath him and he was drenched in cold sweat.
A hand touched his forehead and Web jerked, his head turning to meet the kind yellow eyes of an elf, his dark hair tumbling over his shoulders. Web stared at him, too frightened to speak.
"It is all right," the elf said. "My name is Galleon. How are you feeling?"
Web did not answer.
"The fever is gone," Galleon said. "Climb out of bed and let me change the sheets."
Web uncurled, shuddering all over and slid out of bed on the opposite side as Galleon. He sat down by the fire and shivered until the heat warmed him and dried the sweat on his clothes and skin. He felt sticky.
"Come and take a cool bathe," Galleon said, placing a hand on Web's shoulder. "The bath is full in the kitchen and you can change into clean clothes while I finish with the bed."
Web glanced up at the tall elf above him and diverted his eyes. After a moment he stumbled to his feet, finding his legs numb after so many days of disuse and followed Galleon's finger to the kitchen door. Another fireplace warmed the kitchen and before it, on the streaked boards, was a big metal tub full of steamy water. Web discarded his clothing and sank into the relaxing liquid with a small sigh. He washed his hair and ran the slimy soap over his arms and legs. After rinsing off, he stepped out of the bath and dried off with the fluffy towel hanging over the back of a nearby chair.
Galleon came through the door as he was tugging the clean shirt over his head. The elf almost halted in the doorway as if the sight of the bruises on his back and stomach horrified him but the shirt came down to cover them and he resumed.
Web followed Galleon out to the main room and sat down with his back to the fireplace. The bed looked fresh and dry, covered with a pink and purple patchwork quilt. Looking at it made him tired again.
"You hair must dry before you can return to bed," Galleon said. He crouched down beside Web. "Can you speak?"
Web blinked. He peeked at Galleon, almost answered, and looked away, unsure of what to say. After a moment he turned his head back around and nodded.
"You can talk," Galleon said.
Web looked at him and nodded again.
"You can talk with me," Galleon clarified.
Web's eyes slid to the ground.
"What is your name?" Galleon asked.
"Web," Web whispered, his voice hoarse.
"Do you have any parents?"
Web seemed to consider the question. He shook his head.
"Do you have a home?" Galleon asked, with growing apprehension.
"The palace healing wing," Web mumbled.
The palace was a ways away. Galleon wondered how Web had found himself so far away from it. If he had a home with the healers but no parents it must mean he was an orphan; the healers looked after the orphans.
"I was caught in the rain," Web said, as if he could read minds.
"I know," Galleon replied. He sat down as he noticed a tremor running through the elfling's body and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Web stiffened before he relaxed against Galleon's warm side, resting his damp head on his shoulder.
"How long have I been here?" Web asked.
"About six days."
"D-do I have to go back there?"
"To the healing wing? Yes. I am sure they are worried about you." Galleon felt a flash of doubt. He knew most of the healers. None of them, he was sure, would—could—be responsible for the marks of cruelty all over this child . . . could they? Web's tone suggested the healing wing was more of a dreaded prison. Had he run away?
"As soon as you are strong enough, I will take you home," Galleon said. Web did not answer. When Galleon looked down, he was asleep, tears leaking out from under his closed lashes.
Anialia regarded Web with interest. The elfling was sitting up in bed, devouring a bowl of hot soup.
"He certainly seems much better," she remarked. "And it is good you found out where he lives."
Galleon finished his breakfast with a slow nod, unable to shake off the memory of Web's pathetic face against his shoulder. He slid off the bench and beckoned to Zionel. "Come on, ion. We have wood to cut."
Zionel followed his father out to the pile of knarred stumps and logs out back that had to be split into burnable pieces with the sharp axe. He sat down on the low stonewall running around the house back while Galleon took up the axe. It would be his turn soon anyway. He watched his father split stumps into pieces, his muscles rippling and the axe making sound cracks against the cutting block as the smaller pieces fell around it.
Zionel sighed.
"Is there something on your mind? You have been more preoccupied lately," Galleon said.
Zionel straightened up. "So you noticed . . . I was actually waiting for today; I wanted to be alone with you. I-have a few questions for you."
"Ask away," Galleon invited as the axe head soared through another stump.
"It is about Web," Zionel said slowly. "He has so many bruises . . . where did they come from?"
The axe head came to rest on the ground. Galleon leaned on the handle and looked at his son. "Have you thought about it?"
Zionel looked uncomfortable. "Yes, I have. But—well—I hardly like to believe my answer to be true."
Galleon came to sit beside his son. "You know how babies are made, ion. I guess you are ready to know this. His parents gave him those bruises, son."
Zionel looked down at his hands. "Yes . . . but why?"
Galleon considered the best way to explain the mysteries of child abuse to young minds. "Well, think of Web as the cutting block for wood. Instead of cutting wood, his parents cut him. We cut wood to keep the fires going. His parents hit him to keep their fires going. Maybe it seemed to them Web had done something wrong and needed to be punished. Abusive people hit for no reason, Zionel. They simply cannot control themselves. Web could have burned himself and the tears he shed would have been enough to make his parents fall on him."
Zionel blinked. "It—it is not one of the healers, is it? They are supposed to heal people not beat little elflings."
Galleon rose to his feet. "I know it is bothering you; it bothers me to. You finish cutting the wood and I will step up to the palace and find out what I can."
Zionel nodded but he sat on the stonewall for a long time, watching his father go. After a moment he got up and cut wood with vigor. Perhaps he imagined the stump to be the invisible presence of the people who had harmed the helpless, half-dead elfling lying inside the house.
When the pile of split wood came up to his knees, Zionel laid aside the axe, stacked up a pile of wood on one arm, and took it inside to his mother. Anialia looked up from the pot of simmering broth over the kitchen fireplace.
"I do not hear the axe," she said. "Where is your father?"
"He went up to the palace," Zionel replied. As he headed for the door, Anialia grabbed his arm.
Zionel sighed. "Yes, I will play with Ilune."
"No, not that," Anialia said with an amused smile. She looked worried. "Go sit with Web and see if you can cheer him up. I stepped out back a few moments ago to throw out the dishwater and, when I came back inside, I noticed he looks miserable. It breaks my heart to see him sitting in shadows, it really does."
Zionel nodded and stepped out into the main room. Ilune was sitting on the floor, coloring pieces of paper with lines and squiggles. Zionel walked past his sister and sat down in the chair beside Web's bed. Web turned his eyes away from the fire to look at him.
"Hello," Zionel said. He felt the urge to ask a million questions about Web's family but common sense told him it would disturb the elfling so he said instead, "Feeling better?"
Web blinked. "A little," he murmured in a voice so small Zionel had to strain his ears to hear him.
Zionel did not get the feeling Web was inviting company. But he knew what his mother meant; Web sat in silence, his eyes dull, staring at the fire as though life did not exist. He attempted to tug the elfling out of his shell.
"Want to pet Briar?"
The name seemed to spark something in Web's eyes but then it died. Zionel whistled and his wolf friend slunk out of his bedroom. If he had wished for a response, Zionel could not have been disappointed for Web shrieked at the sight of the wolf and tumbled out of bed. He scrambled backward into the corner and huddled against the wall, whimpering softly.
Zionel coughed a little self-consciously as Anialia shot out of the kitchen, her hands covered in flour, yelling, "Zionel! What have you done to him? Be gentle!"
A flush spread across Zionel's face but he did not answer. He felt a little guilty for frightening Web but he had not known the elfling would react the way he had. Briar was looking at Web with interest, his ears pricked up the animalistic whimpers he heard. Zionel dove for him, yelling, "Briar!" but the wolf had already made it to Web and was sniffing him.
The whimpering stopped as Web froze, his face buried in his knees, not daring to utter a sound as he felt the warm breath on his hair. He felt Zionel touch his hand and, thinking only to escape the animal sure to eat him, he scrambled past Briar and into Zionel's arms. There he curled tight against his chest, eyes squeezed shut.
Zionel was a little surprised as he felt Web dive into his arms. As the shock wore off, he realized the poor child was shuddering. He wrapped his arms around him and held him, resting his cheek on Web's hair. Web was a lot bigger then Ilune and it felt good to cuddle him.
"D-do not l-let it e-eat me," Web stammered.
"Briar will not eat you," Zionel said warmly. "He is my friend; he lives with us. He likes you."
"Really?" Web asked, his voice muffled in Zionel's shirt.
"I promise," Zionel said.
Web shifted and peeked over his shoulder at Briar. The wolf sat on his hunches; tongue out, staring at Web with his head cocked to one side. As Web looked at him, the wolf rose and Web whipped his head back in Zionel's shoulder.
"He wants you to pet him," Zionel said gently.
Web peeked at Briar again. As the warm, rough tongue ran over his cheek, he reached out a hand and touched the wolf. He moved to face Briar, still sitting in Zionel's lap.
The door opened and Galleon walked in. He stopped short in the door behind his wife, her hands still flour-coated, with an odd smile on her face. He stared at Zionel, Web, and Briar, the soft smile on Web's face a new ray of sunshine.
"Anialia," he said.
Anialia seemed to jerk back to reality. Without returning the greeting, she exclaimed, "My stars, the bread!" And fled to the kitchen.
Galleon shut the door and went to sit in the easy chair. Without remarking on the sight before him, he simply asked, "Zionel, did you finish cutting the wood?" And picked up Ilune as she climbed into his lap to show him her drawings.