Chapter 9

The Fires of Hell

All the air seems to have been pinched from my lungs at the surprise of seeing him again. He boldly steps inside the room and latches the door quietly behind him. I can see he has several parcels at his belt and a bundle of firewood strapped to his back.

He turns to me with a wild gaze in his eyes. "I have been as good as chased by the hounds of hell themselves, for all the trouble your quest has caused me. Do you know what it is like traveling from fiefdom to fiefdom, without leave? Asking each apothecary you cross for the strangest medicines they own? If I were a woman they would have burned me as a witch!"

I know he is upset but his news falls on my dumbfounded ears. "Gale, you came back! And you have a cure for sweet Peeta! Where is Prim? She needs to set to work at once."

His eyes pierce me sharply, but he must realize I am half-drunk off hope at this moment, and speaking more freely than my usual self.

"I have some of the cures your sister recommended to me. Katniss, I could not take her. She is pledged to the land; bringing her would cause the demise of all of us. They are glad you are alive and were convinced you perished in the woods. I gave them a part of the gold chain. They will have food for the winter."

It takes me a moment to respond and I fear I am out of practice when it comes to holding a simple conversation. He has helped me as best he can, but I am afraid it is not enough. I give him the best answer I can manage. "Good. You are very noble, Gale. What medicines did you bring?"

It is my turn for my question to unbalance him, and it takes much longer for him to finally answer. "As I said before, I only have some of what she recommended. But you told me he was gravely ill, and I thought it best that I give you something to start your work."

My heart thuds in my chest when he refers to the work as mine; I am no healer.

He walks towards the fire and unloads the wood by the edge of the hearth, then beckons me closer and begins to press parcels into my hands. The first is a small leather sack that fits nicely in my palm. I open the drawstring and my eyes start to water and I sneeze.

"That is dry mustard and flour. You'll need to add water to it and cover his chest with it. The heat of the mustard will make his lungs boil, and draw what is festering out of them." I nod but feel like I am not comprehending his words. While I want to heal Peeta more than anything, I doubt my ability when it comes to this craft.

"The next parts to the ritual are easy and don't require much. Prim said to raise the temperature of the room. As hot as you can stand it. Boil water and soak rags in it. Then cover his wounds with them while the rags are still hot. She said it works faster the hotter they are, and that if you fear for his life, force him to keep them on through the pain. The heat should open his wounds and cause his blood to run hot. Prim said to keep doing this until his wounds run red with blood; that is how the wound is purged."

My stomach lurches. I can kill a rabbit and clean it with no trouble. But bleeding someone, while trying to keep them alive is a riddle I cannot comprehend.

"Is the mustard the only cure you have?"

"No, but that was the main treatment she recommended. The rest of these you should use later." He pulls a small vial from the pocket of his tunic. I could nearly cry. I found that vial myself long ago in the woods. I gave it to Prim for her to use in her healing practice. The circle has come whole and she has returned it to me.

"Your sister crafted this cordial herself. She assured me it is quite strong. When you are done with all things hot, give him a few drops of this and have him drink all the water he can hold. She says this has coaxed life back in even the worst cases." He then produces a thin linen parcel and unwraps it to reveal the wide leaves of the comfrey plant. "Grind these into a fine powder and mix them with oil or fat. Put them on his wounds after you have used heat to clean them, and bled him. It will cause them to knit closed so they cannot fill with filth again."

"Bleed him, Gale?"

"Yes, but that can wait a day or two. Your sister gave me leeches. But she warned me not to keep them in the room when the temperature is hot. They could shrivel and die."

"Where will you keep them then?"

"On my person."

My eyes snap to his face at his words. "Gale, you will be in the room too!"

"No, I won't. Katniss, I have already been missing half a fortnight. I have bribed those that I could, but it is time for me to return to my duties. You must do this on your own. Besides, you were the one who wanted to keep sweet Peeta alive."

"Gale, you don't understand! I cannot do this on my own. He is close to death as it is! I need your help!"

For the first time since he entered the room Gale looks to Peeta in the bed. He studies him for a long while, and then his face contorts in what might be either horror or disgust.

"I have one more thing for you, Katniss." His hands move to his shirt collar and he pulls a necklace over his head. It is the cross and pearl Peeta gave me. The chain is gone, broken and sold off as Gale told me. He has replaced it with a crimson cord that is as red as blood.

He presses the necklace into my hands. "It's yours again. I have enough gold left over to get the final medicines your sister recommended to me. And I will do what I can to help you, Katniss. I will build the fire high and bring you more water, and some rags, but that is the limit of what I can do for you."

"Thank you, Gale." His words strike me as noble in their own way. Gale is brash and as harsh as the north wind, but he can be virtuous at times too.

He gives me a solemn nod in acknowledgment and then slips from the room again. I begin to mentally ready myself for the night ahead of me. It is strange I have spent so much time begging for a miracle; in the end, I will have to be my own miracle worker. I move to Peeta and stroke his hair tenderly. I don't want him to die, and I will do what I must to save him. My mind spins with incoherent prayers, as I beg God for some small amount of wisdom. I need to be transformed from an angel of death to one of mercy.

I try and force my mind into a distant place. I have done this before when I first became a hunter. I learned that if I thought too much I would freeze and be unable to work. Peeta deserves better than that. I decide to play pretend that I am Prim as I work tonight. She would be perfect for such a task, and Peeta may have been in a better way if she had been taken and not me.

I try not to think this way. I need to have my wits about me. My mind starts to break everything down into small, manageable tasks. I try to have no deeper or unintended feeling when I realize I will have to undress him. Nakedness is our natural state, I suppose. I am not like my sister and mother who are so accustomed to it. I can't be deterred by these silly thoughts of mine. Peeta needs help and I am the only one willing to give it to him. My hands move the covers off him and I grab the hem of his nightshirt and pull it off him. He is all skin and bones and the stench of his wounds are worse up close. I let the shirt fall to the floor and then recover him with the blankets. I'm happy he is not aware of what is happening. I would never wish to upset or offend him.

Gale returns with the rags and water that will be needed, as well as a small dish to mix the mustard and water. He advises me not to use all the mustard at once so we can repeat the treatment as much as possible. It always strikes me how little Gale and I need to speak. Once we have said a few necessary things we set off to do our tasks as we would have in the woods. We don't need to speak to each other, our minds are so alike.

My eyes water and burn as I add water to the mustard, and the finger I have been using to stir starts to become an angry red. The room begins to grow much hotter as Gale feeds the fire more and more, and the cauldron of water begins to boil.

Gale gazes into the flames listlessly for a minute and then breaks his eyes away. "I've done all I can for you, Katniss. If he lives through the night I will try and gather the rest of the medicines. Godspeed with your tasks."

"Thank you, Gale." I am unsure what else I can say to him. I can sense a storm is beginning to brew inside him.

He stands to his full height and then looks at me intently for a moment. He steps towards me for reasons I cannot understand. Then he acts like a spooked animal from the forest. Some force unsettles him and he moves swiftly to the door, and leaves without saying another word.

The loneliness settles heavily on me. I would give anything to have someone help me in this hour of need. No one is coming to save me or Peeta and I know that now. I scold myself for being so foolish; a few nights ago I was begging heaven for a way to save him. I now have a way. I just need a will to carry on.

I take the rags and dump them in the cauldron so they can begin to heat. I then move back to Peeta. Now is as good a time as any to coat his chest in mustard. I pull the blankets down to his waist and give the mustard one last stir before placing a small amount of it on his chest. I can feel his heart pounding as I begin to rub it on him. The grain of the mustard seed seems to catch briefly in the lines of my fingers and hands and fills my skin with fire. Peeta's eyes snap open and his blurry gaze is filled with a bewildered horror.

"Hush Peeta, it's just medicine."

Some of the tension leaves his body, but I can feel the pace of his heart quickening. I'm unsure whether or not to talk to him more. In my mind I envisioned him resting peacefully through the treatments. The idea that he will be awake for them makes my stomach drop like a cold stone.

"We just have to do a few simple things and then you will be all better."

He doesn't answer. His eyes are filling with tears and I am unsure if it is grief, pain, or a natural reaction to the spice of the plaster. I have to bring heat to his wounds now. I try and serenely move back to the cauldron to collect a rag from the boiling water. I decide I am going to treat Peeta as I would treat a wild thing that can smell my fear from miles off.

At the edge of the cauldron, I realized a problem I had not thought to solve. I have nothing to get the rags out of the water with. I mentally scold myself for being so careless. The only solution is using my own hands. I know I can't think of my actions as I perform them or the pain will be too much. I hastily grab two of the rags that have been pushed to the top by the bubbling water and wring them out fiercely. I bite my own lip trying to prevent a scream and tears run down my face against my will. I run to the edge of the bed and pull the remaining blankets off Peeta. He gasps at the action and then screams as I cover his puss-filled wounds with the boiling rags.

His scream doesn't last long and mutates into a hacking cough. I cannot tell if it is another fit, or if the mustard is helping him. I use one hand to hold the rags to his wounds and another to cover his mouth as he coughs. I've never seen his face so red, and his eyes and nose run as he keeps coughing. I hope against hope this is the right thing to do to help him.

"It's alright, Peeta. The cures are working! We just have to do this but a moment more."

I don't know if it is a lie or not. No one gave me any direction in how to care for him at this moment. I begin to cry a little. I need Prim or my mother here so badly. I have no notion of what I am doing, or if I am being a harm to him.

He keeps coughing and heaving; Gale was right about the plaster boiling his lungs and bringing forth the disease. I am forced to let the rags rest on their own against his leg so I can cradle him as his coughs grow more violent. At first, his coughing is no more extreme than what I had grown accustomed to with him, but then it changes in nature. The mix of blood and watery disease passes and is replaced by thick, brown phlegm. It is monstrous for him to heave forth and stinks worse than an open sewage pit. Again and again, he coughs and then begins to whimper.

Another sickening smell fills the room and I realize the wounds on his leg are opening more fully and draining. His eyes go wide with pain and I'm terrified about the consequences of what I am doing to him. This isn't healing. This is torturous. I do my best to hush and soothe him, but through his blood-soaked eyes, I can see the distrust and disgust he has for me. It was foolish of me to think I could hide the fact that I am a skilled killer, and the farthest thing from a healer imaginable.

One more of his jagged wounds tears open with such force I can hear the skin split. He attempts to yelp with pain, but that only causes another round of coughing to begin. I'm soaked in my own sweat now, and it occurs to me how cool the room feels. This isn't right. Gale told me to keep the room hot. In a daze, I move to the fire and add more wood. The fire grows and grows as I build the flame until it is an inferno. I suddenly worry I was foolish and the flames will leap from the hearth and burn me alive. I scurry back to Peeta's bedside like a frightened animal to be farther from the heat.

Peeta's chest is heaving up and down with such force I can see each one of his ribs leap from one position to the next. I reach out to touch his hand in an effort to bring him some solace and it feels still like ice. I search his body for the source of this mystery and realize to my horror his hair is soaked through. Gale told me to force him to drink as much as he could hold, but I had forgotten. I am as wicked as a high summer sun that causes old men to faint and die.

I fill a cup of water and rush to his side. "Here Peeta, drink this." I take him by the shoulders and lift him up enough to place the cup at his lips. He makes no effort to drink and rage falls over me as swiftly as a thunderbolt. "Drink, Peeta!"

I tilt the glass back suddenly with my words, trying to force him to do as I say. He sputters and spews, and for half a moment I think I am drowning him. Then, miraculously he begins to drink one long draft after another. I am relieved. It is my duty now to keep him drinking as much as he can, like Gale said. I fill the glass again and again.

The room begins to take on an eery and otherworldly glow. The edges of objects seem to bend and twist in the orange and red light and I feel myself swaying with them. Sweat binds my nightdress to my skin and the trips back and forth to get water become more hazardous as my footing becomes less clear with every journey. I have never been one to believe in bewitchment, but perhaps it is possible.

No matter what obstacle I am to face I will not surrender. I have come this far and I am the only hope Peeta has left. He becomes less willing to drink after the second cup, but I refuse to let him stop. I entice him to drink with the meager skills I have. And when that fails I scream and curse at him not to stop. I am no longer myself, but some kind of evil spirit attempting to do one kind act.

The fire grows hotter, and higher, and my skin begins to burn and flush. Peeta's is beet red. I am unsure if this is from pain or heat. He enters the throes of another coughing fit; this is the most violent I have ever seen. He heaves so violently his voice becomes an unearthly whooping sound and his lungs begin to empty of the disease they hold.

His blue eyes stay on me as he coughs, and they wound me worse than any weapon could. What have I done to him? I begin to understand why I shouldn't have tried my hand at healing him. I have no skill to speak of and have made a terrible mistake somewhere. This will surely kill him. My mind can no longer bind two thoughts together. I know I must do more to help, but I cannot think of what. He reaches out to take my hand and I jerk it away from him. This isn't me, and this isn't him. I begin to worry I have killed us both and we are now in a pit of hell. I begin to have an uneasy feeling that I am seeing flames around me and not just the ones from the hearth. My skin crawls and I suppress a scream.

It burns my throat to breathe, and Peeta's unearthly coughing fills my ears and torments me. Tears begin to fill my eyes as I try and think of what should be done. I am so wicked for all of the suffering I have caused. I need a way out!

The fit stops and Peeta falls back into the pillows with the softness of a young tree that has been felled. My heart stops. I've surely killed him!

I place my hand on his chest and the mustard singes my fingers, but underneath I can feel a faint heartbeat still. I try to steady myself as I collect my thoughts, but great fears begin to swell inside me until they have filled me completely like a violent tide. I'm overwhelmed by the idea that Cardinal Snow is lurking somewhere in the room, and begin to search the darkened corners with my gaze. I would have heard him if he entered I think, but perhaps Peeta distracted me at the time. My teeth begin to chatter together in fear and I cannot stop them.

I force myself to refocus on the task at hand, but any sense of steadiness has been replaced with a quiet form of mortal dread.

"Peeta," I say as softly as I can manage, hoping he shows me some sign of life.

His eyes flutter open briefly and the blue of his irises seems to float at the top of deep lakes of blood. My body seizes at the sight, and my violent jump back causes him to start heaving again. His coughs are almost silent this time, and to my horror, I realize he might be convulsing. I've surely caused his demise now!

This is hell. This is hell. This is hell. And I am not trapped here, I am the chief demon sent to torture the innocent. My vision bends and quakes, and I begin to sob a prayer, "Forgive me! I have killed him! Help me! Send an angel! Send me Prim! I don't want him to die!"

My body shakes as I sob, but no tears seem to come. I am so wicked I can't even feel true remorse, I realize. I bury my face in my hands and try to force tears to come. I want to be dead myself if I am the cause of such wicked deeds. It would have been better to let him pass on peacefully. The guilt builds until it feels like it could physically crush me, and then out of the depths of my despair, a small voice speaks. "Katniss, the cordial."

I could live a thousand years and still know that voice anywhere. It is Prim's voice; she has come to help. I move as through a dense fog as I retrieve the small vial Gale brought. Peeta is still awake and gasping and straining like a fish pulled from water. I uncork the vial and tip the contents into his mouth. He tries to spew it out and I cannot tell if it is intentional or not. I cover his mouth with my hand until I can feel him gag it down. The room begins to flip and turn, and my thoughts lose all meaning. A great heaviness comes over me, and I succumb to the darkness. Finally free of the fire and pain, the world is still and black.

Author's Note: As always misscyn is amazing for editing for me. She helped revive this story and I can't thank her enough!

The medical portions of this fic, are researched, but strictly fictional. Do not use this story, or treat this story like medical advice. That isn't safe!

Also, I have a first date tonight so wish me luck, lovely readers :P