Free Warbird by Jennifer Maruno

you,” the doctor replied.
    â€œThe words should always be the same when you are reading,” Etienne continued. “I don’t think Nicholas knows how to read.”
    â€œIt was not within his realm,” the doctor said. “Your mother gave you an important gift when she taught you to read.”
    Etienne looked at the doctor with interest. He had never thought of reading as a gift. But besides the priests and the doctor, he was the only other one who could.
    â€œTsiko’s people do not write things down,” he said. “They tell everything important in story and song.” He picked up the large basket of dried currants and gave it a shake. “Hi-hey, hi-hey, ho,” he said, imitating them. Heshook it again. “Hi-hey, hi-hey, ha.”
    The doctor looked up from his immense volume of parchment. Sketches of leaves, plants and flowers filled the margins. His life’s work, as he called it, was the lore of medicinal plants. “Don’t let Father Mesquin catch you doing that,” he advised. “He won’t let you visit the village if you take on the ways of the savages.”
    The door was flung open, admitting a wind strong enough to make the massive fire flicker. Etienne and the doctor exchanged glances. It was Father Mesquin himself.
    He limped into the room and sat on a wooden chair without speaking. The doctor rose from his desk and placed a wooden basin at the father’s feet. Etienne stooped to undo the priest’s laces.
    â€œStir the fire,” the Jesuit told Etienne as he eased his feet from his boots. “I don’t have the flesh of your youth on my bones.”
    The doctor removed the Jesuit’s stocking. His gnarled, bent toes had reddish blisters. Etienne poured water from the fire into the basin. Nervous at being so close, he accidentally splashed the priest’s legs.
    â€œWipe me off,” Mesquin commanded.
    Etienne dabbed at the skinny white legs protruding from the black skirts.
    The Jesuit lowered his swollen feet into the hot water.
    â€œ
Mal de raquette
,” the doctor said as he removed a stopper from a bottle and filled his palm with crushed bits. “It’s the snowshoes that cause this.” He sprinkled them into the water. “There’s inflammation at the ankle and the tendon that flexes the great toe.”
    The priest pulled his cloak up around his shoulders. “There is much work to be done,” he said with a shrug.
    â€œThe pain will increase with exercise,” the doctor said. “The only remedy is rest. A hot drink,” he directed Etienne.
    As Etienne held the cup out to the priest, he noticed how much paler Father Mesquin had become over the winter. His skin was rough and pitted. There were heavy crow’s feet around his eyes. He reminded Etienne of the stone used to build the walls of fortifications.
    â€œWell, the great warrior has agreed at last,” the priest said, taking the hot drink.
    â€œHe has?” the doctor repeated in amazement.
    â€œHe will be baptized at Easter,” Mesquin announced as he held out his cup for refilling. “First, he challenged me to an ordeal by fire,” he said with a shake of his head. “He suggested we both walk through flames to show the people which God will protect us.”
    â€œSurely you are not thinking . . .” began the doctor, but the priest cut him off.
    â€œI know all their tricks,” he said. He lifted his reddened toes from the water.
    â€œLeave them in,” the doctor warned. “It’s going to take some time.”
    â€œI told him I would not be spared by fire,” Mesquin continued. He stirred his feet in the water and grimaced. “The Son of God was not spared on the cross.”
    â€œThen how did you convince him?” the doctor asked. “Such a great warrior must not seem to be less than a Frenchman. He needs a reason of grandeur to