Frantic knocking sounded against the door of Enfri's home.

Enfri snapped awake. Someone needed the sky woman. Of course they did. Someone always needed a sky woman when the last one around was tired as sin and forgot to make dinner the night before.

"Come in," she called out as she worked to throw herself from Grandmother's rocking chair. She reached for her shawl while the knocking continued.

"Winds, I said come in!" she shouted. Enfri put her hair back into a tie and covered it with her shawl. "It's a door, not a blustering drum!"

Enfri looked to the windowsill, then around the room. Deebee hadn't yet returned. How long had she been asleep? It must not have been very long.

The family that worked the farm two miles away had a pregnant daughter, her third child. She wasn't to give birth for another week, but stranger things had happened in pregnancies. Perhaps that was the reason for Enfri's late night visitor.

More knocking.

"Winds and storms, come in!"

The door cracked open with a definite air of hesitation. Enfri was tossing bundles of herbs and tonics into her basket when her tormenter finally worked up the nerve to pull the door open wide enough to come through.

It was a young man, several years Enfri's senior. He had fair skin and also tilted eyes the shape of almonds and the color of brandy. Like most in the nearby village of Sandharbor, he was a pureblooded Althandi. Enfri didn't like to dwell on how different she was from the other villagers. Her brown skin and blonde hair revealed her foreign blood, but she did possess Mother's eyes. Those, if nothing else, showed her Althandi heritage over what distant land it was that Father hailed from.

The young man's gaze darted to the bundles of drying herbs around the single room of Enfri's home and settled on the kettle hanging over the cold hearth. The dope likely thought there was something sinister ready to be brewed inside.

"What's the problem, Haythe?"

Enfri recognized the boy's face. He was the eldest son of the blacksmith. Goodman Smith kept his house and forge a half-mile outside of the village. Mother had taken Enfri there often when she was younger, when a sky woman was needed to tend to illnesses or injuries.

Haythe blinked. The look of bewilderment looked natural on his handsome face. He may have been a skilled blacksmith's apprentice, but he wasn't quite as sharp as the knives his father made. In fact, Mother had said in private that Haythe was about as sharp as his father's anvil.

"How do you know who I am?" he asked with big eyes.

"We've met," Enfri said flatly. Though, in Haythe's defense, it was easy to overlook the little hunchbacked girl in the corner when a bone was being set on the other side of the room. "My mother was the sky woman who fixed up your arm after you dropped an anvil on it."

He blinked again in bewilderment. He seemed to do that often. "Where is she? I'm supposed to bring a sky woman."

"I'm the only sky woman now," Enfri replied. "My mother's dead."

It used to be shocking how so few noticed Mother's death. Even fewer took note of when Grandmother passed. It didn't seem fair how the women who spent so much effort looking after the villagers were beneath everyone's notice when it came their turn to be on a deathbed. Enfri and Grandmother buried Mother alone. Grandmother had to settle for a pyre because Enfri wasn't strong enough to dig a hole deep enough for a grave.

"Oh. Well..." Haythe stammered and shuffled his feet. Enfri glanced in his direction and blushed. Winds, but she wished someone as dull as him wouldn't have such a nice looking face.

"I'm guessing something's wrong?" Enfri said to cover her embarrassment. It wasn't her fault a strapping village boy had decided to come while she was in her shift. It was his fault if he didn't spit it out already.

"My pa," he said. "Something's in him. A sickness."

Not a baby, then. Enfri tossed the crumbleweed from the basket. Unless Goodman Smith had grown a uterus since she'd last seen him, it wouldn't do much good. "What are the symptoms?" Enfri asked.

"The what?" Haythe asked.

Enfri sighed as she pulled a fresh linen dress over her head. "What's wrong with him?" she demanded in frustration.

"He's burning up and sweating. Keeps talking about the war like he's there again."

Fever and hallucinations. It could have been any number of things. "Is he coughing?"

"No, ma'am."

Ma'am? Haythe was about to need a poultice to help the concussion he was about to earn himself. "Has he eaten anything strange? Is anyone else in your family feeling off?"

"No, nothing but what we normally have. Potatoes and chicken. Eggs and turnips."

Enfri frowned. She hobbled to Grandmother's piles of notebooks and flipped one open. "What about his eyes? Are they discolored?"

"This color?" Haythe mumbled. "What color?"

Enfri tried not to groan and failed. "Are the whites of his eyes turning yellow?"

"Winds, no!"

"You're certain? Did you get a good look at them yourself?"

Haythe hesitated. "Well, as to that..."

"Has the iron you've been working been bad?"

The boy perked up at that question. Here was something he knew. "Yeah, it has. Pa's been calling the last few loads pig iron. Most everything out of the Nadia mines has been like that for weeks. Brittle as bones."

"It's discolo... a weird color when it cools, isn't it?"

Haythe nodded. "Takes a bluish patina. How'd you know?"

"I think your father has iron fever. About fifty years ago, the Nadia mines unearthed iron with a poisonous mineral mixed in with the ore. They must have dug up more and didn't remember what to look for."

Haythe snorted. "No one alive can remember fifty years ago."

"My Grandmother wrote it down. Just as good as being there yourself. I can help your father, but we have to get to him soon. The affliction will begin to manifest as a necrotic infection that will spread to his marrow..." She stopped when she saw the glazed look appear in Haythe's eyes. "He may die if we're not fast. Please tell me you brought a cart. I can't hobble my way to town on my own."

He got a panicked look. "No, I... I rode pa's horse."

The strings Enfri kept on her temper were starting to slacken. "And how'd you think you'd get a sky woman back to your house? Will your horse carry me in its mouth like a mama cat?"

He just stood there. Mother had been an ugly-souled harridan of a woman, but she had been right on target with her assessment of young Haythe.

Enfri immediately regretted the cruel thought. He was frightened and tired after a late night ride to the desert's edge. She couldn't say she'd be any better in his situation. Fear was the most terrifying enemy a healer had to contend with. Worse than tumors or blood worms. Fear made one forget what was needed.

"It's all right," Enfri said in a soothing voice. "We'll just have to ride double. Just don't drop me. I'm as clumsy as a bear with bourbon when I'm on horseback."

Haythe nodded. He was kind enough to carry a couple notebooks for her as he led her to where he left his horse.

The chickens stirred when Enfri passed by the coop, and one of the geese gave a hungry honk at her. Rascal. If the hooligans wanted dinner, they shouldn't have gone off to pester the ducks.

Enfri tossed the goose a bit of cornbread she still had tucked in her shawl's pocket from her lunch yesterday. The goose pecked at it with a happy clicking noise while his cohorts waddled over to snag some for themselves. No wonder they were always so cranky, staying up at this hour.

A breeze stirred against Enfri's skirt. She was about to pay it no more mind than the ground beneath her feet when she noticed something odd about it. The nighttime wind from the desert was warm.

Another omen? Enfri wondered before she shook her head clear of superstitions. Mother and Grandmother were both fiercely intelligent women, but that hadn't been enough to save them from pseudo-prophetic foolery.

She was more concerned about Deebee. What would the dragon think if she returned from hunting to find Enfri gone?

Enfri hesitated by the chicken coop. She plucked a small knife from her basket and began scratching into the old wood. Deebee could read, so Enfri thought a message left behind would serve best.

Called to treat blacksmith.

But how to make sure the dragon found it? Simple. Enfri sucked on a finger and smeared her saliva over the scratched message. Deebee's sensitive nose would find her scent.

"What are you doing?" Haythe asked.

Enfri supposed that this must appear abnormal. She looked over her shoulder at him. "A simple charm to protect my home," she said in a mysterious voice.

Haythe's eyes grew as wide as saucers.

Oh, that was mean of me, Enfri thought. The poor dope can't tell I'm being silly.

"Bad joke," Enfri sighed. "And it would take too long to explain. Let's just get going, shall we?"

Haythe nodded, uncertain. He kept a wary eye on her as he worked at untying his horse from Enfri's rarely used hitching post.

The animal was huge! Why would the Smith family have a monster like that? Maybe the crown awarded Goodman Smith the horse for his service, just as Enfri's father had been given this land.

She wanted to shy away from the creature, but she couldn't afford to waste time. Having Haythe mount the beast first and hold out his hand for her helped somewhat. The boy had no right to be that handsome.

Enfri had expected to make some manner of fool of herself in trying to get into the saddle, but Haythe's arm pulled her up behind him as if she were a feather. Winds, he was strong. The curve in her back made settling in behind him difficult, but if she leaned to the side, it wasn't so uncomfortable.

She barely had time to secure her basket between them before Haythe gave the horse his heels and they shot down the road like an arrow leaving the bowstring. Enfri yelped and clutched Haythe around the waist to keep from being thrown off.

Bolting off in the dead of night with a second rider? No, Mother had been too kind by half!

By the time Enfri pulled herself together and formed a proper rebuke for Haythe's recklessness, they had already arrived at the forge. A half-mile in so short a time? Blustering fool. Enfri was still breathless from the wild ride when Haythe leapt from the saddle and pulled her down beside him.

Enfri had to fight to keep her blushing under control. She muttered her thanks to him under her breath as he ran ahead to the door of his house. It was a larger home than Enfri's. It must have had several rooms, maybe even separate bedrooms for the family members. It rose to a second story as well. The house seemed a castle.

She hobbled towards the door while Haythe shouted that he had brought the sky woman. She passed the forge, cold and dark, built adjacent to the house. Enfri gave it a discerning eye while a pair of women appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the light of oil lanterns inside. One was a grown woman, the other a youth.

"Haythe, wait a moment," Enfri called. "Bring me some of this ore you talked of."

The new figures exchanged a confused look while Haythe rushed to obey. Maybe not bright, but he could follow instruction. That was more than Enfri could say of most people she visited. He returned with a handful of dirty rock.

Enfri asked him to bring a lantern. While she waited for him to come back, she sniffed at the ore and rubbed her fingers over it. Grandmother's notes said that the toxic ore she had seen fifty years ago had a scent like almonds, and the dust had a twinge of alkaline when tasted. Enfri gave her forefinger a tentative lick, then quickly spat out the bitter taste. Definitely as Grandmother's notes described. Goodman Smith was suffering from iron fever.

Haythe came back with the lantern and held it up for her. The ore didn't appear much different than it should. Haythe, on the other hand, nodded and muttered about its patina, whatever that meant. Maybe he was seeing as he thought he should from what Enfri told him, but then again, he might actually be able to see what she could not. Regardless, she was certain of the cause of the blacksmith's delirium.

She let Haythe lead her into his home and took the arm he offered. Under normal circumstances, she would have preferred to walk unaided, but this wasn't the time for stubborn pride.

The grown woman standing in the doorway curtsied as Enfri approached. "Winds bless you for coming, Oldwife," she said. "Thank you for seeing us at this hour."

Blustering people, do I really look that old? Enfri thought.

When she stepped into the light, the two women flanking the doorway looked startled at the sight of Enfri's face, young and unweathered. She gave them a smile she thought should be a pretty one. It had the opposite effect that she hoped for. If anything, Goodwife Smith and her youngest daughter looked horrified, like she was some unnatural gremlin from the deep desert.

"I came as fast as I could," Enfri said as Haythe led her deeper into the home. "It's been a long time since I saw you last."

Goodwife Smith blinked.

Ah, so that's where Haythe gets that from.

Recognition came slowly, but it did come. "Oh, yes. Of course," Goodwife Smith stammered. "You've... grown."

"Older, but not much larger, I'm afraid. I'm pretty sure I know what's wrong with your husband, thanks to what Haythe told me. I can help, but it will be a difficult night. Please put water to boil. A lot of it."

Goodwife Smith hesitated before nodding her assent. She and her daughter hurried to a separate room from which the light of a hearth burned. A kitchen away from the rest of the house? How wealthy were these people?

Haythe led her through the house, then pushed open a door at the end of a short hallway. It was dark in this room. Dark, and the only sound to be heard was frantic and labored breathing.

"A light, please, Haythe," Enfri whispered. As dim candlelight appeared, Enfri got her first look at a man suffering from iron fever. The sight almost rocked her back on her heels. "Merciful winds," she muttered.

Goodman Smith lay on a double bed. He was fully clothed in the thick, leather apron of the forge. Black smudges covered his arms and face, and he was drenched with sweat. It ran in rivulets that left blackened tracks down his face and arms. His cheeks were flush with blood, a good sign. If he had gone pale, there would be nothing left for Enfri to do but try to ease the pain of his passing.

"He looks worse," Haythe mumbled. "He wasn't near this bad when I left."

"How long ago did the symptoms appear?" Enfri asked as she rolled up her sleeves and began laying out the contents of her basket on a nearby dresser.

"You mean... Right. I found him like this after sundown. He must have fainted after settling the forge. I brought him inside and came to your place straight away."

Enfri nodded gravely. "It hasn't been long. Good. Grandmother's notes say that the sooner the fever is treated once the symptoms show, the better chance the patient has. If you hadn't found him so soon, he would be in much worse shape."

Haythe stood straighter, though his face was still filled with worry. "You think he'll live?" he asked in a whisper.

"You gave him a chance. That's all I can say at this point. The toxin in the ore is a vile one. The last time this happened, hundreds fell victim to it. Don't forget this, Haythe. Tell your apprentices the signs of it. Pass the knowledge along with the proper way to swing your hammer. Don't let this happen again."

His voice turned hard. "I won't."

Maybe he wasn't as dull as Enfri thought.

Haythe's mother and sister appeared. They brought in a pair of wide bowls filled with steaming water.

Enfri told them to take one of the bowls and wash the grime of the forge from Goodman Smith's body. There was no way to be sure the soot wasn't carrying more of the poison causing the fever. She warned them to be sure not to let it touch their skin.

Enfri let the two women undress the blacksmith and cover him with fresh linens. All the while, Goodman Smith mumbled under his breath.

While the goodwife undressed and washed her husband with a terrified look in her eyes, Enfri dropped pinches of herbs into the second bowl of hot water. She stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon with one hand while she rolled a poultice with the other. Her back may have been bent and crooked, but her hands were as nimble as the finest tailor's.

"Winds and storms, why is that cat in here?" Goodwife Smith called out. "Where did it come from?"

Enfri looked towards the commotion and saw a sleek cat sitting in the bedroom's doorway. It had silver fur and bright, amber eyes that watched her with a familiar intensity.

I nearly forgot she could do that, Enfri thought. Inkpens aside, it was years since she had last seen Deebee change into an animal.

For whatever reason, the dragon didn't like the idea of people knowing she existed. When hiding out of sight was inconvenient and discovery was inevitable, Deebee would make herself appear to be a cat, sparrow, or other small animal.

"Oh!" Enfri exclaimed. She fumbled with her tongue as she mustered up a believable explanation. "She's mine, Goodwife. Very well trained. Deebee assists me."

Deebee blinked, then bounded over to her side. She leapt up to a chair and poked her nose against Enfri's wrist.

"Sorry for leaving without telling you," Enfri said, "though I see you caught up well enough."

Deebee touched her forehead to Enfri's elbow and purred.

The Smith women whispered to each other. What they said was too low for Enfri to hear, but she caught the phrase "witch's familiar" being uttered in hushed tones.

If this went on, the Smiths would curse her for a sorceress or some other foolishness. Maybe if they saw her use nothing but simple herbs— and not an inch of anything magical— they might stop looking at her as if she were about to turn into a bat.

"Deebee, I need willow bark."

The cat-dragon tilted her head.

"Willow bark," Enfri repeated. "It's the one on the end. Don't chew it."

Deebee narrowed her eyes and looked from Enfri to the strips of bark layed out on the shelf.

"Hurry up," Enfri scolded. "If you insist on being here, I need you to pitch in. Now scoot!"

A wrinkled nose and a hint of fang communicated Deebee's displeasure at being ordered about. She pounced onto the shelf, then returned with a strip of willow bark in her mouth. Enfri took it and added it to the water so that it might steep into her brew.

Deebee made a disgusted face and smacked her lips.

"I told you not to chew it," Enfri said.

Goodman Smith's voice rose in volume. Whatever visions his fever dreams were bringing him must have been intense. "They ride!" he called out. "Eyes of blue!"

The goodwife tried to shush him as she pressed the poultice Enfri handed her to his forehead. The blacksmith thrashed in his sleep and cried out in what could only have been stark terror. "Dark magic! They ride, the king's black hounds. His assassins with eyes of blue!"

From her basket, Enfri pulled a vial of red liquid. She stood and hobbled to the blacksmith's bedside. He was thrashing about so violently that it was all Haythe and his sister could do to keep him from flinging himself out of bed.

Haythe's mouth was twisted into a snarl. His sister wept as she held onto her father's arms. Goodwife Smith crawled up and knelt on her husband's chest to try to subdue him.

Enfri was nowhere near strong enough to even attempt to help. She called for the goodwife to hold his head still. The goodwife wailed as she held onto the blacksmith's head. Enfri reached for his face.

She clamped her fist over his nose and poured the contents of the vial down his throat. He sputtered and coughed, but he swallowed most of it. Enfri called for everyone to let him go.

Goodman Smith struggled for several moments more. His thrashing came less often and less strongly as time went by.

"The tonic will keep him calm," Enfri explained. She pointed to Haythe's sister. "Bring more water. We've only just begun."

Deebee jumped onto the foot of the bed. The fur along her spine was standing on end.

Enfri couldn't spare a moment to wonder what Deebee was doing. She busied herself by getting the bowl of water steeped with herbs and willow bark.

"The assassins," Goodman Smith murmured. "Eyes of blue. Eyes... of..."

He seemed to be winding down. The tonic she gave him would hopefully grant him a deep sleep, during which Enfri could administer her cure properly.

"Eyes... of blue," he said again.

Deebee went rigid, as if a predator had appeared before her.

"Eyes of beasts."