Wildlings

41: You Can't Always Get What you Need

"What have you done, you skitting nyaff?" Merle was livid, crouched on the floor next to Gaen's prone body. "Go and get Goodmin. Go!" She shot Judit a look of hot hatred before returning all her attention to her shivering brother.

Judit flashed out of the door, fear and shame grappling inside of her. This is not real. I can't believe this is real. Make this not be real. She was still feeling a bit hurled out, spacey, from the chang.

The cold air felt foreign on her skin, and the splintered wood felt foreign beneath her fists as she hurled herself against the teachers' blackhouse door, hammering with all her might.

Goodmin opened the door, concern on her face and skin-tight turquoise pyjamas on her body.

"It's Gaen," Judit rasped. "He's eaten something. Mushrooms. I think he's poisoned."

Goodmin nodded, in control. She closed the door momentarily to confer with Dr. Dean behind her then followed  the shaking Judit back to the scene of the crime.

The Cruithne siblings were still crouched on the floor. Gaen's eyes were closed. His whole body would tremor violently, then stop, then tremor again. Small, animal moans leaked from deep within him.

"Help him." Merle turned tearful eyes to Goodmin. "Help him. Please."

Goodmin squatted down, opened one of Gaen's eyelids, felt the pulse on his neck.

"What did he eat?"

Merle pointed to the discarded stalks on the floor, and Goodmin took them in.

"Amanita pantherina." She addressed this to Dean, who had now joined them at the blackhouse door. Her voice was heavy with meaning.

Merle looked at both of them, her eyes wide with fear. "Do something. What can you do?" Gaen's body was limp, ocassionally tensing into a paroxysm of pain, shooting up like a monster was trying to escape from his throat, then dropping down again.

"Normally we'd administer atropine, get him hooked on an IV drip." Dr Dean advanced into the room, crouched by Gaen's shivering form. "But we can't do that in this case. Not here."

"What do you mean?" Merle said, panic rising in her voice. "Just call the field station, get them to send it up. Do something! Help him!"

She stroked Gaen's hair off his slick, white face. There were bubbles of white foam at the corner of his lips. He convulsed again, dropping back into her lap.

Goodmin and Dean shared another meaningful look. Goodmin opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated.

"We can't do it," Dean cut in, his voice firm. "That technology wasn't available to the Natives. We won't use it here."

"What are you skitting on about?" Merle howled, looking like she was going to drop Gaen's head, lash out at the teacher. "Are you crazy? Are you going to let him die? Could he die?" Her voice was pure anguish.

"There's some risk of renal failure," Goodmin said, seriously. "We need to get water in him, try to keep it down. And charcoal—that's what the Natives would use to treat poisoning, and it's not without medical basis. You–" she turned her eyes to Judit. "Look in the embers of the fire. See if there are any charcoal lumps and pull them out."