Free Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) by David Lundgren Page B

moss is quite slipp-”
    “You mind your tongue,” said the man sullenly. He glanced around the room and scratched his tangled beard. Crumbs fell out of it onto his chest. “I didn’t know I’d have guests. Besides, that’s hardly the way to speak to someone who’s just healed you.”
    “What?”
    “Of course, you wouldn’t know, you were knocked out. Silly me.”
    Raf touched his forehead, remembering what had happened. He realized it didn’t actually hurt that much - not nearly as much as he expected it to. He looked at Bhothy in confusion. “Are you a healer? Like Dr Ferrows?”
    “No.”
    “Well then wh-”
    “Shhh!” Bhothy suddenly opened his eyes widely and moved his eyeballs from side to side, bringing his finger up to his mouth. “Too many questions.”
    “But… if you healed me, then I owe you my thanks.”
    “Rubbish. Anyone would have done it. You would have done it to me.”
    “Healed you? Not likely. I’m not even an apprentice healer. I’ve no idea which herbs to use, or anything.”
    “Herbs?” Bhothy hooted with delight. “Brilliant! A thousand years of music and we’re reduced to using parsley to cure our problems.” He laughed loudly, only stopping when he was taken by a fit of coughing.
    “What would you use, then?” asked Raf, feeling a little peeved. “Sing a song to cure someone? Yeah, I can see how that would work. ‘La-dee-dah’ and your fever’s gone.”
    “Worked well enough on you, Council boy,” muttered Bhothy, turning away.
    He put the small pipe clumsily into his mouth at an angle and then stumbled over to the table in the middle of the floor where there was a small bush in a pot. It had no greenery on the spindly branches and seemed to be dead.
    “Blast,” mumbled Bhothy. “Running out.” He carefully picked up a small yellow, dried leaf lying on the table between his fumbling fingers, scrunched it up and inserted it into the hollow end of the pipe. Then he drew a thin pine splinter from a box next to the bush and struck it against the rough side. It sparked and flared up into a solid yellow flame that he held to the crushed leaf, drawing in a deep breath so that the end glowed brightly. He immediately broke into a bout of dry hacking and then, with a painful grimace on his face, offered a strained smile at Raf and flopped down onto the bag again, almost falling off in the process.
    “Is that the end of your supply of leaves, then?” Raf asked. “What a pity it’s all finished now.”
    Bhothy gave him a faint smile. “I think you’ll find that if you look closely, it isn’t all gone. Not at all…” He giggled and tucked his chin to his chest, closing his eyes.
    Raf sadly shook his head as he took in the small plant. It had definitely seen better days and if it wasn’t dead, it was certainly on its last legs. He thought he could hear Bhothy singing, of all things, and lifted a hand up to cover his eyes in frustration. A tendril of violet suddenly flared up in the darkness behind his eyelids.
    “What?” He opened his eyes and blinked them furiously to clear them. “Not again…” He stood up and turned to say something to Bhothy, when he saw the bush move. It was vibrating.  Every tiny branch on it was writhing in tiny motions. Then without warning, new buds appeared. They just suddenly emerged along the branches like tiny green dewdrops, and as he stood watching in disbelief, they elongated smoothly and started unfolding.
    Bhothy stopped singing and a soft snore gurgled from his throat, his head sliding sideways to rest against the side of the bag. Raf gazed silently at the bush which had now stopped moving. It was completely covered in a mass of fresh new leaves.
     
    .  .  .  .  .  .  .
     
    “See if you can drape some over there, Farley. But not quite as close together as the other ones,” called up Leiana. “No wait! Leave that one, just move over to the next one and try to make them more symmetrical.” She rolled her eyes at