The Golden Swan by Nancy Springer Page A

head on his lap at the time, and he clutched at him protectively.
    â€œHe won’t sicken! He’s as strong as a bear.”
    Do it , Dair said. I don’t care . There were tears in his voice, and not because of physical pain, either. I felt sure of it. Frain and I both stared at him.
    â€œDon’t try to be noble, Dair,” I snapped. But I took him at his word and prepared for the searing, made the fire and placed a blade in it to heat. I found myself being very stern. Only toughness would see me through this. When the knife was ready I took it and advanced on Dair, my face hard.
    â€œMust this be done?” Frain appealed.
    â€œYes. Burns are horrible, Frain, but contagion is worse. I’ve seen—” I did not say what I had seen. A shudder of foreboding passed through me, taking my breath for a moment. I closed my eyes, but I could not trace it.
    â€œGo find us water,” I said to Frain.
    â€œI am not entirely a weakling, Maeve,” he retorted coldly. Pride. And I had only been trying to spare him.… He stayed where he was and took Dair’s hands in his one.
    â€œAll right,” I said, knelt and applied the blade.
    Dair bore it as an animal might, shaking and wincing but not crying out. Silent tears ran down his face. The leg wounds were the worst, but we cauterized all of them over the course of the next hour except the cuts on his face. They were not very large, and we hoped they would not fester or scar. Dair clung to Frain throughout it all. I could see how he needed the comfort of his presence, so it was I who went for water finally, a long walk, and by the time I got back dusk was coming on and Dair had lapsed into an exhausted sleep. Frain and I eased him into the softest bed we could make him. Then we sat and tried to eat, but neither of us could eat much.
    â€œYou said he would not be hurt,” Frain muttered, staring at me fixedly, as if I had betrayed him.
    â€œI was wrong,” I said. Truth. I had thought Dair would be forced to make a choice. Instead, it had been made for him, and quite harshly.
    â€œHe had to go, nevertheless,” I added. “He had to face his fate sometime.”
    Frain only looked away from me, shrugging. He would not admit his own anger at me, and for once I was not willing to press him. I felt worn out.
    We watched over Dair by turns that night, but he did not need us. I was expecting fever, but none came. The next day he was in pain, but he made light of it. He ate some meat, and on toward evening he told us his story.
    â€œAnd I thought you had more sense,” I grumbled at him, still being stern.
    I am ashamed , he murmured, making me sorry for my words.
    â€œWhy?” I scoffed. “We are all fools one time or another.”
    For — leaving Frain .…
    Of course his shame did not extend to me—mere mothers do not usually merit such concern. Sighing, I turned to Frain and told him what Dair had said, not really expecting much help from him. I had not yet learned to know him well, to realize that he had a habit of exceeding expectations.
    â€œBut I know that call that sings in the wind,” he said promptly to Dair. His smile was warm, not forgiving but better yet—there was no need for forgiveness, that smile said. I gaped at Frain in astonishment. I had not known such understanding was in him.
    â€œI heard it when I stood on my first mountaintop,” he said, his face and the look in his eyes vital, alive with the memory. “I remember the marvelous sense of release that came over me, a wild singing sense of—of dissolution, all bonds gone, as if freedom were really possible. As if I could sprout wings and fly forever.” He smiled again, that same wonderful smile. “So that insane poetry is in you as well, Dair! Who would have thought it.” The smile faded. “But I cannot fly.”
    I cannot run with the pack, either , said Dair.
    There was the real wound probed.