Tetrarch (Well of Echoes) by Ian Irvine

seem to understand how high they were, or how to get down. The branches were spaced uncomfortably far apart and she had no idea which ones would support her weight and which would not. He had to check her every step, as if she were a two-year-old.
    Eventually they did reach the ground, where he was at a loss what to do. The black balloon could be seen for leagues and he was tempted to burn it to make it harder for the enemy to find them. Of course, he could only do that from underneath the tar-soaked fabric. Besides, a fire in the treetops would be even more visible.
    Nish did not think there was any possibility of repairing the balloon, which was a pity. He could see no other way out of here. There had been no sign of habitation from above and they would soon starve to death in this wilderness.
    His side began to ache. Taking off his jacket, jerkin and bloody shirt, he inspected the self-inflicted injury. A long shallow cut ran up his ribs almost to his armpit. The wound had closed over but was rather painful. It was getting late. Having no idea what to do, he put the decision off until the morning.
    ‘We’ll have to camp here.’ He unpacked the tent. ‘Could you find some firewood please, Ullii?’
    She stared blankly at him.
    Nish suppressed the urge to slap her. Ullii had never learned to do the least thing for herself and had no concept of cooperative labour. That was just the way she was. She was not going to change.
    ‘We must have a fire, Ullii,’ he said patiently, ‘and I’ve got to put the tent up. Could you collect some wood, please?’
    He pointed to a branch on the ground. She tried to pick it up, found it was too heavy and just stood there looking at it. Sighing heavily, Nish showed her two others that she would be able to carry. By the time he had erected the tent, she had brought back the two pieces of wood and was squatting by them, shivering.
    ‘That’s not enough, Ullii. We’ll need ten times that much to get us through the night.’
    He had to show her, piece by piece, and then help her to bring them back, so he might as well have done the work himself. Finally, when the fire was blazing, Nish looked around for the dinner bag. It was still in the basket at the top of the tree, with their packs.
    It was getting dark but they had to have food. The climb, a good thirty spans up, then down again in the gloom, was not one he cared to think about afterwards. But he made it with no more damage than a lot of skin off his hands and the departure of what remained of his temper.
    ‘I’ll make the dinner, Ullii …’ He was speaking to empty air.
    Nish swore. Where had the wretched woman gotten to? About to roar out her name, he heard a gentle snore coming from the tent. Ullii was inside, curled up in his sleeping pouch, fast asleep.
    ‘All the more dinner for me,’ he said selfishly, and set to with the frying-pan.
    On the morning after the crash, Nish discovered that the minor injury, which he had been too weary to tend the previous night, had become infected. It was now an angry red from one end to the other.
    ‘This is all I need,’ he muttered, peeling off his shirt.
    ‘Don’t die, Nish,’ Ullii wailed, thrusting her head hard against the wound.
    It was agony. Nish cried out and shoved her away, biting back tears. Ullii put her hands over her ears and ran into the forest.
    ‘Come back,’ he yelled once the shooting spasms had eased. She did not answer. Well, let her go; she would not run far.
    He boiled water, cleaned the wound, then put on salve from the medicine kit and bound it up in the cleanest cloth he had. With the rest of the water, Nish made a brew of liquorice tea, sweetened with great quantities of honey from a comb. The tea was too hot to drink, so he leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes, the better to think.
    The balloon carried a small repair kit: needles, thread, a length of silk cloth and a pot of tar to seal it with, though Nish doubted if there was enough