Jareen stopped at the chalk board while Silesh hurried on past. They had just returned from the lower district of their assignment in the city.

  “Wait,” Jareen called after Silesh. “We have no break today. We must go to the ward.” It was a full night and day’s work without sleep. Jareen did not need sleep so desperately as the humans—the Vien could sleep for days and also stay awake for days as they needed or wanted—but she knew it would be hard for Silesh.

  “I have to change,” Silesh said, barely stopping.

  “We have no time. We must go now or we will be late to relieve our sisters.”

  Silesh turned.

  “That man had the Clutch,” she said. “It’s catching.” Her voice was higher pitched than normal, and her eyes crinkled at the corners.

  “Ah,” Jareen said. “I will go to the ward. Meet me there.”

  Silesh turned, grabbed her skirts, and hurried toward her dormitory.

  Clutch was an awful disease, a progressing paralysis ultimately resulting in a rictus of the abdomen. Most cases experienced rupture and shock leading to sudden death after only two or three days of delirious pain. Due to the reduced absorption of tinctures during that time, it was difficult to give the Departing any relief. Thankfully, outbreaks were isolated, as the disease took such a short course that there was little time to pass it on, and it was easy to identify and isolate. Still, the Sisters who cared for the Departing had more than once succumbed to it, themselves. It was not a worry of Jareen’s, but this had been Silesh’s first case. Thankfully, they had identified the case early, and now the house was bricked.

  The Order had been searching for a disease source for the Clutch for some time to try to prevent outbreaks. Considering almost all cases occurred in the lower districts, it was likely hygiene-related, or perhaps diet. Jareen had tried to prepare Silesh for these things. She would already know them from her training, but it was different seeing it in person and having to put your hands on it.

  The Sisters in the Ward had dark-ringed eyes, fatigue apparent on their brows. In the city, the Sisters wore veils, but they were allowed to go bare-faced inside the Wards. They were also permitted to speak, though there was little exchange of words besides the necessary as they changed shifts. Two had departed. Three others would go at any time. Another was experiencing extreme restlessness, and had to be tied to the bed. Despite their efforts, he had cut himself on the restraints. It was his body’s last effort to fight the approach of death. It was futile.

  The relieved Sisters never asked Jareen where her novice was as they tersely informed of the night’s events. It was not their concern. Hopefully, sleep awaited them, and if they had the energy, the chance to wash in clean water in the dormitory fountain. Silesh must have taken advantage of the chance to take a thorough wash, for Jareen was half-way through her first check of the ward by the time the novice hurried to join her.

  It took two hours to finish their first checks—cleaning loosed bowels, dressing wounds, administering tinctures and unguents. They dressed a painful wound for an old woman who had so little fat left on her body that the bones of her pelvis and hips jutted out sharply, breaking through the skin. She cried the entire time, despite the tincture they’d given. As Jareen finished tying the dressing, Silesh hovered around the lady, adjusting extra pillows and trying to offload the pressure.

  “Is that alright?” she asked yet again, looking at the tearful woman’s face. But the woman could no longer talk, no longer eat, only weep.

  Jareen gathered the remaining supplies in her arms, ready to move to the next. Silesh sat down on the edge of the bed, taking the Departing woman’s hands in her own and staring into her face. She began to hum a melody, and the woman’s brow eased a little, for a moment not so deeply lined.

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  Jareen hesitated.

  “Come, there are more.”

  “Give me a little time with her.”

  “No, come.”

  “Why must you be so cruel?” Silesh snapped, her eyes narrowing. Jareen knew she could send her back to the pupils for this outburst and make her wait another year for a novitiate.

  “Do not argue with me,” Jareen said. Silesh’s back stiffened as she sat, holding the woman’s hands. Her brown eyes looked dark as she stared at Jareen, but then she looked back at the woman and started singing her song again.

  Jareen looked down the rest of the row of cots, her trained and experienced eye taking in at a glance the situations to come—her nose had already told her of a number of the tasks ahead of them. In that, she had it worse than the humans. She could hear the breathing, too. Some of the Departing were still in pain. Second to last in the row, a man lay propped up on a pillow, his jaw hanging open, his brow frozen into a grimace, his fists clenched around soiled blankets. At first, his breathing looked regular, but Jareen had her suspicions. She watched from a distance as they slowed and then paused. Seconds elapsed. Jareen counted. With a heavy gasp, his breathing started again, building to a rapid pace. He grimaced harder, moaned a little, tried to move, but he was too weak. This was the last rhythm before the end. It could go on for hours, even days in some cases. But this was no such case. The man was in pain, but his pain would end soon. Still, he was due for tincture half an hour ago. That was common; many needed care, and this was just the regular burden of human Departing, not a plague or a famine or a cold winter.

  Was she cruel? Jareen looked back to Silesh. The lovely young woman looked like the picture of Sisterly care, empathy, and concern as she stroked the woman’s hands and sang to her.

  If she thought Jareen cruel, then Jareen would be cruel, at least this time. She stood, waiting, letting Silesh comfort the old Departing.

  After another five minutes or so, the old woman had relaxed considerably, and after folding the woman’s hands on her stomach, Silesh stood, raising her eyebrows at Jareen and giving her a judging glance. Without a word, Silesh led the way to the next bed and set about working with the next Departing, a young woman this time. She had a fungating tumor on her jaw that hadn’t been there a month ago. From what Jareen could tell, it was growing toward the artery at a fast pace. What made it worse, the young woman was in her right mind, though she could no longer see or hear from her left side. Silesh took extra time again, speaking with her about her children, and comforting her as she wept.

  It was another hour before they reached the second to last bed. The smell assaulted Jareen before they even arrived. Silesh grabbed the man’s wrist and felt for a pulse, but there was none left. He had smeared himself in his own filth before the end. His blankets were stained, and his head had fallen to the side, releasing a stream of thick white mucous that had run out of his mouth over the side of the bed and onto the floor.

  “He’s gone,” Silesh said.

  “Yes, about twenty minutes ago,” Jareen said. “He was in great pain.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I looked ahead.”

  “And you did nothing?” For the past while, Silesh had looked relaxed, even happy, but now anger surged back into her voice. She was a pretty human girl, and there was a loveliness to her youthful ferocity that helped assuage the annoyance that Jareen felt.

  “Did you not know there were Departing here?” Jareen asked her.

  Silesh clenched her jaw.

  “When was he due for drops?” Jareen asked.

  Silesh thought, looking to the side as she considered.

  “An hour and a half ago.”

  “Closer to two hours, I think. He died in agony, alone, soaked in his own filth.”

  “Why didn’t you do anything?” Silesh stared at Jareen with wrinkled brow. Jareen had learned to read human expressions long ago, and if this one meant anything, it was a clear “you’re a monster.”

  “You wanted to stay and sing to the woman. And speak with the girl. . . And massage the swelling, and re-make the bed. . .”

  “You’re the full Sister of the Order! I’m a novice. Don’t blame me!” Silesh’s shout rang on the hard surfaces of the ward. A few Departing with the strength looked over. Footsteps echoed, and Jareen turned to see the head of Sister Yeremi from the next ward look in through the arched doorway. Jareen raised her hand to signal all was well. Yeremi’s sharp gaze took in the situation, and she nodded and left.

  “You’re exactly right,” Jareen said. “For now, you are the novice who should listen. But you forgot that. There is more than we can do. One day you will be a full Sister, and you will often work on your own, with your own Departing to care for and to be responsible for. More kindness to this one is less to others. We will not run out of those who need us. This one died with no care while we gave more to others.”

  Jareen expected argument, but Silesh stood frozen in place, staring at the soiled sheets and the hunched body before them.

  “Did he keep rites?” Jareen asked.

  “I. . . I don’t know.”

  “Go and check what was his custom. Then tend him. Clean him. I will take care of the remaining Departing until you can catch up.”

  The Dwarves of Ice-Cloak series and , but it is not necessary to have read those to enjoy this story. Maps are available at the bottom of the first chapter.

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