Chapter 30: Mushrooms

Niva studied Raska for a moment longer, hands resting on her knees, trying to reconcile the girl's claims with what had happened earlier outside Seraya's cave. Eventually, her doubt gave way to the thought that perhaps she truly had judged her too harshly.

"If the warrior gave her blessing... then I'm sorry," she said cautiously. "I thought you did something behind her back again."

Raska felt such a sudden surge of joy that she forgot the hot bowl in her hands for a heartbeat; Niva rarely looked at her like that, and even more rarely apologized for anything. She straightened up a fraction, nudging the soup toward her with an eager grin she didn't even bother to hide.

"Try it and tell me how it tastes compared to hers."

The girl took the dish, but before lifting it to her lips, she paused and looked at Raska once more, clearly unable to shake off her earlier doubts completely.

"You really aren't lying to me?"

"I swear on my life," Raska answered, pressing a hand to her heavy bust with such solemn conviction you'd think the gesture alone could make her words true. "Everything happened just as I said."

Niva looked down at the bowl, watching the chunks floating in the broth for a moment, then took a small sip, deciding at last that further grilling would be rude if Raska had brought her food at Seraya's behest. The soup tasted different from the earlier batch, but it was warm and smelled of meat, so after that first cautious sip, the girl drank again.

"Well?" Raska asked at once, leaning in close. "Good?"

"I didn't know you could make something like this," Niva admitted with a small smile, leaving Raska staring at her blankly for a second, as if she'd forgotten she was supposed to answer.

That single smile was enough to convince her that the entire nighttime escapade had been a stroke of pure genius, so she merely nodded, watching the girl slowly finish the portion. Only when Niva handed the bowl back and asked her to thank the warrior did Raska's glow fade a little, because even now, after everything she had done herself, the credit was flowing right back to Seraya.

She was just parting her lips to remind her who had actually delivered dinner, when hurried, stumbling footsteps echoed outside the entrance, and a moment later one of the women who had accompanied her on the heist stumbled into the cave.

She clutched both hands to her belly, pale and hunched, and upon spotting Raska, tried to pick up her pace, but her knees buckled so violently she had to brace herself against the rock wall.

"Raska... the soup..." she wheezed, gasping for breath. "Something's wrong, the elder and the others..."

She didn't finish; a violent spasm bent her nearly double, and when she tried to take another step, she collapsed to the floor with a dull thud, startling several sleeping women into sitting bolt upright.

Raska froze, the empty bowl in her hands, staring at her companion in sheer disbelief. But before she could ask what had happened, Niva let out a soft, agonized whimper and clutched her stomach.

"It hurts..."

Raska spun around so fast the bowl slipped from her fingers and clattered across the dirt, but she didn't even look at it - color had drained from Niva's face, her white ears drooping as she curled over her tucked-in knees.

"Niva? What's wrong?" she cried, grabbing her shoulders. "Don't scare me like this, you were fine a second ago..."

The girl tried to reply, but another groan tore from her lips instead, and as Raska reached out to steady her, she felt Niva's entire body go limp. She barely managed to drop to her knees with her, cradling her head to keep it from hitting the rock.

Niva's limp frame slumped directly onto Raska's broad thighs, her face burying into Raska's bare, deep cleavage. The girl shivered in the grip of a sudden fever - the thin fur of her garment had slipped from her shoulders, her burning skin slick with sweat and searing through the warrior's leather wraps. Niva's bushy, snow-white fox tail curled tight in an agonizing cramp, wrapping snugly around Raska's muscular thigh and brushing against her groin, while her long rabbit ears flopped limply across Raska's damp chest.

Raska felt her heart hammer against her ribs like mad - partly from pure terror, and partly from that vulnerable, overwhelming weight in her arms.

"Niva! Niva, talk to me!"

The shout roused the rest of the cave dwellers, and as women scrambled up from their bedrolls and hurried toward the entrance, one of Niva's mothers shoved past them, pushed Raska aside, and dropped to her knees beside her daughter.

"What did you do to her?"

Raska opened her mouth, but could only shake her head for a moment, looking between the unconscious girl and the companion crumpled by the wall.

"Nothing... I just brought soup. She ate a little and suddenly..."

"What soup?" Niva's mother whipped her head up so fiercely that Raska backed away on her knees. "Since when do you cook?"

She scrambled to explain, words tripping over themselves as she glossed over where the cookware had come from, but the moment she mentioned the other women and Selka, one of the dwellers snapped her eyes toward the entrance.

"The elder ate it too?"

Only then did Raska remember her companion's cut-off warning, her heart leaping into her throat, having been wholly consumed with Niva until now.

"Yes... she stayed with them by the pot..."

"Go check!" the girl's mother commanded, and several women dashed outside at once, while the others dragged pelts over to make room for the sick.

Little time passed before shouts echoed from the direction of Selka's cave, making it plain that this was no isolated case. When Raska arrived with some of the cave dwellers, she saw the overturned pot, spilled broth, and shattered shards of clay scattered around the hearth, and beyond them, the women who had been clamoring for their share not long ago.

One lay curled up clutching her stomach, another failed to respond to questions, and Selka had collapsed beside her bedroll, face so pale that Raska froze at the entrance, unable to take another step.

"What have you done..." one of the women choked out, taking in the scene, but Raska could only shake her head, digging her fingernails into her palms.

"What do we do?" she stammered, her voice cracking. "What now?"

"Fetch the Grand Shaman!"

This time she didn't argue or make excuses; she turned and bolted, stumbling along the rugged path, clinging to the sole thought that Vaelira would know how to fix everything.

The guards stopped her at the entrance, but a few frantic words about Selka and unconscious women were enough for one of them to disappear inside immediately. Vaelira had barely fallen asleep after the grueling evening, but hearing what happened, rose without questions and emerged moments later, adjusting her wrap as she walked.

On the way, Raska tried to explain, but the shaman cut her off with a curt gesture, fixing her focus on the distant clamor, and the moment they reached Selka's dwelling, her face darkened. The women had already cleared space around the stricken, and Niva had been carried over on an outstretched hide and laid alongside the rest, both mothers watching over her.

Vaelira knelt by each victim in turn, testing reactions and examining their faces.

In the stifling cave, the scent of dried herbs mingled with the heavy reek of fevered flesh. Burning with fever, the women had torn off their outer pelts - lying on the hides nearly bare, in thin, sweat-soaked loincloths that clung to their rounded hips. Vaelira leaned low over each of them, her own wrap parting with every motion to reveal the graceful curve of her throat, collarbones, and full breasts beneath the soft owl feathers woven into her hair.

The shaman ran slender hands over their feverish bellies and tense thighs, checking for convulsions, before ordering the herb pouch kept by her bedroll brought at once.

Raska stood off to the side, shaking so visibly that she had to clutch her forearms every few breaths, her hefty bust heaving heavily beneath her leather harness with every ragged gasp. Vaelira unrolled the pelt and sorted through the dried herbs, searching for something that matched the symptoms before her, but the longer she studied the sick, the clearer it became that she did not recognize the cause of their affliction.

She pushed away the hand of an attendant trying to pour water down an unconscious woman's throat and ordered her to wait, having no desire to add another hazard to a crisis already slipping from her control. None of the unconscious women regained their senses, and those who could still respond managed only disjointed gasps of nausea and pain. After a long silence, Vaelira turned her gaze on Raska, her stare hardening like stone.

"What exactly happened?"

Raska dropped to her knees as if lowering herself might shield her from the shaman's wrath.

"I don't know, Grand Shaman, I really don't... They only ate the soup, just like before, and then suddenly..."

"What soup?"

"Like the warrior's."

Vaelira pressed her lips thin, glancing at the shattered pot by the hearth, then fixed Raska with her stare once more.

"I did not ask what it resembled. I asked where you got it."

Under that tone, Raska lost the last shreds of nerve needed to hide the truth and spilled everything in a frantic rush: stealing the pot, the bowls, and the ladle, going to Selka, hunting for mushrooms in the dead of night, and cooking it all, which she swore she had supervised just like Seraya did. When she finished, she looked at Vaelira's face and feared the silence far more than any question, scrambling at once for an excuse that would deflect at least some of the blame from herself.

"It could be her fault," she blurted out. "She refused to give me soup on purpose, so we'd have to make our own, and then..."

Vaelira stared at her without blinking, so Raska babbled on, tangling herself deeper in her own web.

"She knew I'd want to taste it. Maybe she wanted me to take the pot and..."

"Enough."

Raska snapped her mouth shut. The shaman turned away, having zero patience to entertain a fable in which Seraya had orchestrated someone else's theft, a midnight foraging run, and the ingredients of the pot without even getting out of bed. She had known Raska long enough to tell an honest account from a pathetic attempt to scapegoat someone else.

At the same time, she gleaned something far more critical than wild accusations: the sick had eaten a completely different soup than the one she herself had tasted, and Raska's crew had brewed it without the guidance of the woman who had conceived the idea in the first place.

Vaelira looked from Niva to Selka, arriving at a swift decision.

"Go fetch Seraya."

Raska's head jerked up, seizing on the order as though it validated all her suspicions.

"I'll take some warriors and drag her here!"

"You will ask her to come," Vaelira corrected coldly. "For help. Do you understand?"

Raska froze, then nodded repeatedly before managing to squeak out an answer.

"Yes, Grand Shaman."

Seraya was sleeping so deeply she didn't even hear the first call, and when someone gently touched her shoulder, she only shifted on the bed, turning her face away from the nagging voice.

"Warrior... please, wake up."

Raska hovered beside the bed with the two women Vaelira had sent with her, looking for the first time in memory as though she would rather be anywhere else in the world. Remembering the shaman's tone, however, she dared not shake the sleeper or yell, merely touching her shoulder again, casting panicked glances toward the entrance.

"Seraya, please..."

At the next nudge, the warrior opened her eyes, staring blankly for a second before propping herself up on an elbow, every muscle in her body protesting the rudely interrupted rest.

"Is it morning already?" she mumbled, rubbing her face. But the second she recognized Raska standing over her bed, her brow furrowed. "What the hell do you want..."

She trailed off as her eyes drifted to the spot along the wall where she had set the cookware before turning in. After a beat of staring at empty dirt, her drowsiness evaporated into something far sharper.

"Where's my pot?"

She sat up, tugged at her rumpled clothes, and scanned the cave again, hoping she had simply mixed up her directions upon waking. But the absence of the bowls and ladle dashed that hope completely.

"Holy shit... Where are my things?"

Raska swallowed hard, which was all it took for Seraya to whip her head around in mounting disbelief.

"You took them?"

"I only wanted to make soup..."

"You stole my pot while I was asleep?!"

Raska started babbling excuses, but Seraya's jaw set harder by the syllable, ready to kick her out of the cave along with her pitiful sob story. Only when Niva's name tumbled from the frantic stream of words, followed by the news that the girl had passed out cold, did Seraya's expression change so drastically that Raska choked on her own tongue.

"What happened to Niva?"

"She drank some, and now she's lying in Selka's cave... The Grand Shaman told me to fetch you, because the others..."

Seraya bolted from the bed, nearly tripping over the stacked timber, and caught her balance against the rock wall as the last traces of sleep vanished under a rush of sheer panic.

"Then why the fuck didn't you lead with that?!"

She didn't wait for an answer, bursting from the cave, forcing Raska and her escorts to sprint to keep pace.

When Seraya arrived, the knot in her stomach tightened at the sight of the women gathered outside the entrance; the somber silence with which they parted before her boded ill.

Vaelira looked up from one of the victims and rose at once, fixing Seraya with a look of relief that in any other circumstance would have felt deeply satisfying.

"Finally. Look what is happening to them," she said urgently. "They ate the soup, but we drank yours earlier and nothing like this happened."

One of Niva's mothers shifted aside to make room by the bedroll, her voice trembling so violently that Seraya didn't even attempt an immediate answer.

"Warrior, please... help her."

Seraya knelt by the girl, taking in the pallid face and furrowed brow, looking as though even while unconscious she was still trying to weather the agony. Just hours ago, Niva had been sitting beside her, laughing at the crooked pot and helping ladle soup, and now she lay limp, surrounded by women waiting for something Seraya had no idea if she could deliver.

She pressed her lips thin and glared up at Raska, fury flaring so hot she had to fight the urge to jump up and beat her senseless. Instead, she swept her eyes across the cavern, trying to deduce what had actually been cooked.

She spotted the overturned hearth, the soaked earth, and the shattered pieces of her pot. Her eyes lingered on the shards for only a second before catching the mushroom scraps clinging to the fired clay.

Leaning in, she scrutinized the various caps and stems, and comparing them to what she had foraged and had verified earlier, a chill ran straight down her spine.

They weren't the same mushrooms.