As always, after the evening meal, Tlyna and Ramii would retire to the adjoining room, to rest or to work. It was the largest room in the house, occupying nearly half its space, and served as both a library and Ramii’s bedchamber. Three of its four walls were lined with shelves brimming with books. Ramii’s small bed stood at the far end, beside a narrow window.
At the center of the room stood a long cedar table where Tlyna and Ramii read or worked together. A silver-pelted lynx often lingered nearby. When Tlyna sat upon the bench, it would leap up to lie beside her. At times it rested its head upon her lap; at others it roamed beneath the table, brushing its long ears against Tlyna’s legs or Ramii’s.
Ramii helped his mother by copying her drafts. Tlyna often set her notes down on loose sheets before handing them to him. She also rendered meticulous illustrations of the human body, trees, herbs, and fungi. Her books were devoted chiefly to the study of the human form, its ailments, and their treatment.
“Mama, what is this? Does such a thing truly exist?” Ramii held up a drawing that had caught his interest, found among a bundle of drafts concerning a fevered malady. Upon thick paper, a grotesque face had been rendered in indigo ink, tinted with lime and ochre blended with linseed oil.
“Do you recall the tales of the red-haired boogeyman?” Tlyna asked, smiling with quiet meaning.
Her question carried Ramii back to his childhood. In those days he seldom had the freedom to wander outdoors as he did now. Yet his mother was always at his side. She did not press him to read or write as she had in recent years. Each night she came to his bedside and told him fairy tales, or sang him lullabies until sleep took him.
His favorites were the stories of the red-haired boogeyman, the knight clad in silver, ensorcelled crystals, and magic beans. Now grown older, he favored playing with friends over sitting indoors with books. Yet out of old habit, he still turned a few pages each night before sleep.
~~~
As she did each evening, his mother set him to bind and label the books. Most of the volumes in the room dealt with maladies Tlyna had studied, from her years at the Hunchback Horse infirmary to the present day. Illness was her chief subject, and the kind of reading Ramii least cared for.
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“So many afflictions under the sun! At last, I’ve finished the book on Marsh Ague,” Ramii exhaled with relief, then added, “Mama, do you know whence they come—all these maladies?”
“They are like the stars in the heavens, or the leaves in a forest,” replied Tlyna, her hand still moving as she illustrated a drawing upon the table. “People always think they can discover the origins of maladies, just as stars come from the heavens and leaves from the tree. Yet such understanding has its limits. No one can truly know whence the heavens or the trees have sprung. Perhaps only God knows.”
“Ah, let me try to say it,” said Ramii, “and see if it matches what you mean. Like Marsh Ague in this book: you discovered it comes from the bites of poisonous mosquitoes. Mosquitoes breed in swamps. But where they truly come from—no one can really know, can they?”
“That’s right, my son. I only try to trace the origins of illness so that it may be cured. The more I learn, the more I see how small and powerless I truly am. We must accept that there are things forever beyond our reach.”
Those who believed in God, like his mother, Ramii thought, must be more willing to accept their own smallness than those who did not. Almost absently, he said, “Perhaps Marsh Fever is the most dangerous illness there has ever been, isn’t it, Mama? I’ve heard so many people speak of it.”
“I do not think it is the most dangerous,” Tlyna answered slowly. “Human folly and greed have taken far more lives than any illness ever could. Of all the graves in the Humpback Horse Graveyard, those claimed by Marsh Fever are but few beside those claimed by war.” She lifted her gaze to him. “My little one, remember this. Read and learn each day. Wisdom is the most potent remedy I have ever known.”
Tlyna set down her pen and smiled tenderly. “Now, tell me this: what is the red-haired bogeyman most afraid of?”
Ramii’s face went blank. He searched his memory for the fairy tales of his childhood. After a moment, his eyes lit up.
“Ah! The mosquito!” he exclaimed.
The memory came flooding back. In those days, they had a little game. Tlyna would clasp her hands together and stick out her index fingers to mimic a mosquito. She would tickle him with it and tease, “Boogeyman! Boogeyman, are you afraid of the mosquito?”
Tlyna stepped over and placed the freshly drawn illustration of the mosquito into Ramii’s hands. She ran her long fingers lightly through his thick, undulant locks. They bore the same hue as her own tresses, a deep brown nearly ebony. Her eyes reddened at the rims.
“Mrow… mrow… mrow…” the lynx in the study yowled, three times.
It was time for Tlyna to leave their home. After midnight, the lynxes would draw three cots to the foot of the Snaketongue Tree. From the heart of its trunk, the bundled limbs parted, opening a narrow crevice that breathed a faint greenish glow. Through this aperture, the lynxes and Tlyna together ushered the gravely ill within. Before long, the crevice sealed itself once more.
~~~
