Journey Through Fire by Maya Snow Page A

nearby. But there was no response. I quickly turned to race out of the room when I suddenly remembered—my head scarf. There was the piece of silk, crumpled at the end of my bed. I picked up the midnight-blue square and wrapped it around my head. I did not try to find a surface in which to see my reflection, but as my hands passed over my scalp, tucking in corners of the scarf, I could feel that the brittle, cracked skin was turning smooth and soft to the touch once more. It was a relief to think that the burns might one day disappear for good.
    I stepped into the courtyard. Some monks were walking back into the grounds through the main gates. They carried large woven baskets over their shoulders with leafy greens dangling over the edges. They had been out gathering in the forest—we would all eat well tonight.
    I allowed them to pass and then ran toward the infirmary, where I had met Akira and his wife. Since my last visit there, I knew that Moriyasu was fond of this place. Perhaps my family would be there? I pushed through the doors. Groups of peasants sat around, talking quietly. Master Satoshi moved among them and he nodded once to me in greeting. Along the walls of the infirmary were rows of skeletal bodies, sleeping or…I shuddered and pressed the thought from my mind. My eyes ranged around the room.
    â€œWelcome, Kimi!” called Akira, from a corner. He had a damp cloth in his hands and was gently washing his wife’s frail limbs. I raised a hand in salute and walked over. I kneeled by the side of the couple and bowed my head respectfully. But my eyes were soon scanning the room again.
    â€œHave you seen any of my family?” I asked.
    Akira nodded toward a low paper screen. “Your sister is very beautiful,” he said. “Like you.”
    â€œThank you,” I said. I took a second cloth from the bowl and helped him wash his wife with the warm water, rubbing the soapy cloth across her frail back. When we were finished, I climbed to my feet.
    As I approached the paper screen I could see the silhouette of my sister’s elegant posture. Her burned arm was in a sling, tied neatly in a knot at her neck. Someone had helped her out of bed.
    â€œHello, Hana,” I said quietly.
    My sister turned to gaze up at me and I could see the happiness brimming in her eyes.
    â€œYou’ve found us,” she said. “We didn’t want to disturb you. You were in such a deep sleep.” She turned back to the woman she was tending. The woman looked ancient, though I guessed that illness had added to her years. Her face was sallow and scabs littered her lips. Brown spots covered the back of her hands and her skin looked paper-thin. She was starving to death.
    Hana brought a spoonful of broth to the woman’s lips and nodded. Obediently the woman sipped and gave my sister a hesitant smile. Hana dipped her spoon into the broth a second time. Despite her own recent illness, my sister was using her only free hand to feed another.
    I turned away so that Hana could not see my emotion. Sometimes it was too much to see how good Hana could be. Could I ever be as worthy? I counted under my breath, waiting for my feelings to subside. When I turned back, Hana was still bent to her work. She had not noticed that the sling had slipped. I could see that the new, raw skin of her healing burns looked stretched and puckered. Her young flesh was ravaged still. Hana glanced up at me, offering a smile. But the smile faded when she saw the expression on my face. Quickly she adjusted the sling.
    â€œThere are always scars at first,” she said. “Remember how we used to scrape our knees as children? Now we can barely see the marks.” Her smile returned, and so did mine. Her talk of our childhood years reminded me of the games we had played with the nazuna . Daisuke knew much about healing herbs. Perhaps he could help Hana—could he give us something to help her scars heal