Beyond the Great River (People of the Longhouse Book 1) by Zoe Saadia
“The stupid water got spilled,” he hissed through his clenched teeth. “I have to find the flask. Fill it again, if it didn’t get broken, curse all this into the underworld of the Evil Twin!”
“Wait.” She jumped to her feet too, all flushed and breathless. “Listen, Migisso, he loves healing, good with herbs. He’ll help, help your friend. Make medicine, eh? My brother no useless with herbs. Not like us. He help.”
He watched her, taken aback. “He can make medicine?”
“Yes, yes, he can. I told you. I took his bag, remember? His medicine.”
“Why would he agree?”
Her eyes sparkled. “I’ll make agree. I’ll talk, make agree.”
“How?”
“I have ways, my ways.” Again, her excitement was an irresistible sight to see. He fought the urge to touch her face, to run his fingers along the sharp curve of her cheek, to find out what it would feel like. “Also, he is to blame, no? Make mess, shoot at us. He owes, eh? Have to make it right.”
Her eyes shone brighter than the stars, now that the clouds came to hide some of the sky again.
“I… I will…” He swallowed, finding it difficult to articulate his thoughts. “If you make him help us, help Akweks, I will never forget. I will do anything for you.”
The glow of her eyes changed. As did the color of her cheeks. Licking her lips, she stared at him for a heartbeat, then dropped her gaze.
Embarrassed, he clutched the bow, wondering where the quiver of arrows might be.
“You talk to him. I’ll bring water.”
Reassured by her nod, he headed off, not bothering to look at the man. This one presented no danger now, of that he was sure. She would be able to handle him. There could be no doubt about her ability to do so.
Chapter 18
“You must do that, you must!”
In the meager light of the small fire, the wounded’s face looked grotesque, shadowed and pinched, with black, round holes for eyes.
Along with the wolf youth, Kentika held her breath. She could feel him by her side, as tense as a stretched bowstring. He had been all activity and vigor before, bringing water, talking, directing everyone, shooting direful glances at Migisso, but now he quieted down, succumbing to the solemnity of the moment, or frightened by it.
She glanced at him again, taking in the prominent features, his face pale and muddied, bruised all over, but still decidedly handsome, pleasing the eye, the sharp cheekbones protruding, inviting one to touch.
What would he say if she did? she wondered briefly, then forced her attention back to the present and the sagging figure of her brother, leaning against one of the cliffs, hugging his elbows in a protective manner.
“You must try, Migisso,” she repeated. “Please. They have nothing to lose. The wounded will die anyway if you won’t try. Why won’t you?”
He gave her a dark look. “Plenty of reasons, Sister. Too many to sound them all.”
“You must!”
Pressed lips were her answer, but quickly, his gaze returned to her companion, turning wary, defensive again.
“What does he say?” The wolf youth’s voice rang eerily, lacking in expression.
Dropping her gaze, she shrugged.
“He won’t help,” he said quietly, making it a statement.
His words held finality, a surprisingly calm acceptance. She shuddered.
“I will convince him. He will help.”
Drawing a deep breath, he seemed to be pondering his words for a moment. “Tell him I ask for his help not as an enemy or a friend, but as a person, just another person. Healers are helping people with no regard to their loyalties or belonging. Healers are above this. If he refuses to help because of us being enemies, then he is no healer, whatever his aspirations are, however he may like playing with herbs.” She watched him bringing his hands up, palms pressed together, fingers interlocked. The gaze that shifted to her held nothing but affection. “Tell him I will not kill him, because he is the brother of the bravest and kindest girl, a truly good, worthy person. But,” the eyes hardened, turned to stone, “he will stay here until we are gone, and he better keep very quiet and out of my way.”
She wanted to dwell on ‘the bravest and kindest,’ but the sternness of his gaze made her concentrate, storing these words for later thinking. Did he just say…?
“And here you have it,” she said, giving her brother a stern look of her own. “The enemy behaves in the noblest of ways, when you, out of all our people, coming out as prejudiced, as petty and narrow-minded as you can.”
“What did he say?” Migisso’s face lost the last of its coloring, and his voice rang faintly, barely heard, holding that familiar old despondency she remembered well from his infrequent confrontations with Father. Back home, it would make her indignant, to hear the old leader harping on her brother’s worthlessness. Now it did just the opposite.
“He said you are not worthy to be a healer, because you do not help people in need. He said this is not the way of the healers.” She let her own gaze relay the depth of her contempt. “But he won’t harm you, he said. You’ll stay here until they are gone, then you can go home.”
“And you?” he asked hoarsely, eyes haunted like those of a cornered animal.
“I can do whatever I want. I don’t need his mercy, nor his help. I’m not a prisoner of theirs.” His falling face made her compassion return, but she pushed it away, too angry and disappointed to let it interfere. “But you are, Brother. You tried to kill him, and he took you as a captive. And he should have killed you, or he should take you away. But he won’t. He is not that kind of a person. He is good and worthy.”
She felt his eyes, darting from face to face, as though listening to their exchange. It made her stomach tighten. He believed in her ability to convince Migisso. And he thought her to be brave and kind.
“Healers help people. They ease pain and suffering. They treat people, all people, and not just the ones they like or expect a returned favor from.” That was an undeserved slur, but she didn’t care. He was not being fair. He didn’t want to help her, and just as she needed it desperately. “You don’t want to help someone wounded and in pain. What does that make you? A healer? I think not.”
The wounded shifted lightly, his groan no more than a murmur, smothered behind the pressed lips. Their eyes went to him.
“It’s not that simple,” Migisso’s voice was strained, his cough a short, dry sound. “I could have tried to treat him, but for his wound. It looks bad. It’s rotting. My treatment won’t save him. No medicine will help him now.”
“But you can…” Helplessly, she looked back at him, desperate to hide her budding hope. “Surely there is something you can try to do. Anything.”
He shook his head, his gaze avoiding hers.
“What does he say?” The question in the foreign tongue bounced off the cliff’s walls, not really an inquiry. He knew the answer as well as her brother did. That’s why he was so angered when she had mentioned the rotting wounds for the first time.
“He says there is nothing, medicine no help.” To talk helped. The silence between their phrases was too heavy, pressing against her chest.
“No medicine, but…” The wolf youth took a deep breath, and she watched his jaw tightening, his eyes turning dark, as black as the night, and as unreadable. “It’s very early yet. Not much rotten flesh. A healer can cut, cut the rotten flesh away.” His throat convulsed as he swallowed. “I saw it happening once. The healer cuts, makes wound worse, but the rotten flesh goes away and the wounded gets better. Eventually.” Straightening his gaze resolutely, he faced her. “Ask him about this.”
Now it was Migisso’s turn to lean forward, following their words with his gaze as though hoping to understand. “What?”
“He says.” She swallowed hard. “He says healer can cut, you see, cut the bad parts away, the rotting parts. Do you know something about it? Can you try to do that?”
He backed as though she had struck him. “I can’t
. It’s terrible, and it won’t help.” His arms shot up, palms forward, pushing her words away. “No, no, it’s a terrible thing. The wounded suffers so! And it doesn’t help. He dies anyway.” His head shook violently. “No, no, I won’t do that. It’s of no use.”
“You have to!”
“I can’t. I’m not good enough. Even our medicine man didn’t manage.”
“Tell him I’ll find a way to repay him.” The wolf youth said eagerly, needing no translation anymore. “Tell him it will be worth his time. I promise to keep my word. I’ll find a way to make it worthwhile for him.”
“It’s not, not about make worth.” But her eyes went back to her brother, boring at him, willing him to agree. “You have to, you have to try. We’ll help, both of us. The wounded, he has nothing to lose, has he? He’ll die either way. Won’t he?” His pressed lips were her answer. “You have to try. I promise, I will be so grateful. I’ll make it all worth it, somehow. I’ll find a way.” She nodded at their host without looking at him. “He said he’ll make it worth, too. He will repay you.”
But Migisso shook his head angrily. “It’s not about that, Sister, and you know it! I can’t believe we are having this conversation…” The fire in his eyes died as suddenly as it lit. “You want me to cut this man? Well, I’ll do it. Maybe this way I’ll have one killed enemy on my count of achievements.” Abruptly, he straightened up, suddenly tall and resolute, more sure of himself than she had ever seen him. “You will help. And him, too. Tell him to bring more firewood, make a bigger fire. Also water. We need to boil much of it. And cloths.” His gaze encircled them, narrow and concentrated, deep in his inner thoughts. “We need something, anything. Tell him to think how to get pieces of cloth.”
“What for?” she began, but his glare made her stop babbling. “He says we need, need things. You know, material. Like from your clothes…”
The wolf youth nodded, understanding better than her, apparently. “I’ll cut a piece from my loincloth, and from his, where there are no decorations…”
His knife flashed readily, as his eyes assessed his scant clothing, seeking the parts that could be cut away. For a wild moment, she wondered if he’d have to take it off, to sacrifice all the available material for the healing process. Earlier in the night, she had been embarrassed greatly, encountering him walking the woods naked. As though she had never seen people bare of clothing before. How silly! There was nothing wrong with men strolling about with no loincloth, especially when heading for the shore as he did. And yet she had to fight the urge to avert her eyes, if not to turn away and run. Even now, the mere memory of it brought a wave of heat to wash over her face.
“I need more than one piece of cloth. Tell him. There will be much blood and… and other things. The cut will need to be cleaned over and over.” As always when treatment was involved, Migisso assumed control naturally, distributing orders in a calm, matter-of-fact voice, lacking its usual indecisiveness. Proudly, she watched him for another heartbeat. “Tell him to take care of the fire for now. It needs to be large enough to make the water boil.”
The wolf youth was still busy with his loincloth.
“He want you, he wants you make fire, big fire. And also,” she eyed the pitiful remnants of his garb, “stop ruin this. It will not help. Not enough. I take care. Have a lot to cut. See?” Lifting the torn rims of her dress, she grinned. “I cut, enough for all. My brother says we need many, many pieces. I have enough. You don’t.”
As he was staring at her, his eyes narrowed, but his lips quivered with a hint of a smile. “That you have. Well,” he jumped to his feet readily, “I’ll collect firewood, before the moon hides again.” A mirthless grin flashed for a heartbeat. “Or before that brother of yours changes his mind.”
The flames soared, filling their small hideaway with a wave of heat, suffocating, not welcomed in the least. Aghast, Kentika watched them licking the razor-sharp edges of the knife. They did so hungrily, as though trying to consume it.
“Now the other side.” Migisso was watching the knife too, having checked with the boiling pot for the tenth time, stirring the pieces of torn material floating in there with a stick from the pile of branches the wolf youth had arranged. “Tell him to turn it over and hold in the fire for the same amount of time.”
The young man looked up sharply. “What now?”
“Now other, the other side.” She could barely recognize her own voice, the way it rasped, low and gruff. “Same time. Count to few times ten, yes?”
He just nodded, turning the knife obediently, saying nothing for a change, clearly uneasy crouching so close to the fire, with his hands practically stuck in it. The knife’s handle was not long enough to burn the blade comfortably. Luckily, it was made out of stone and not wood, she reflected, still wondering as to why they were roasting it like that over the flames.
“Now tell him to give me the knife, then get a good hold of this one.” Her brother’s eyes indicated the wounded, who was half-lying and half-sitting now, staring at the fire too, wild-eyed. “Tell them it’ll hurt, so the wounded has to be held very tightly. I can’t treat him if he fights and struggles.”
Not waiting for the translation, the wolf youth got to his feet. For a heartbeat, he scanned his knife with a troubled gaze, then offered it to Migisso, as though understanding with no more need of her translating services.
“Now what?”
“You catch him. Hold him. Tight. No move.” She demonstrated with her hands. “Brother says it hurt, so he’ll move. But you can’t, can’t let him move.”
The last of the color washed out of his face, but again, he just nodded. “Should he be laid down?”
More translated questions back and forth. She watched the wounded biting his lips, his fear spilling, open, unconcealed, eyes so wide they turned round, the only feature to dominate the lifelessness of his face.
“It is going to be well, good, no trouble,” she said, coming closer. “Not so long, I’m sure. I help.” Crouching beside them, she looked up, facing her brother, who inspected his newly acquired knife calmly, if a bit dubiously. “Should he lie down? Or sit? What do I do to help?”
“Lay,” Migisso frowned absently. “Yes, lay him down, and you two hold him, because he will be struggling. Well, in the beginning, at least. Let us hope his mind will go off wandering fast. For his sake.”
She shuddered, unwilling to hear more. “We hold, together,” she said, addressing the wolf youth. “Both, me and you. It won’t, won’t be long, I’m sure. He be well again. You’ll see.”
His gaze clung to her, troubled, tormented, but expectant, as though wishing to hear more, as though needing her to keep talking. Was he reassured by her heedless promises? The thought made her stomach constrict violently, as though she had eaten something bad.
“He will be well again. You see … will see.”
His throat moved visibly as he swallowed. A slight nod and he was leaning toward his friend, talking rapidly.
Migisso came closer. “He’ll hold his upper body. You, his legs, especially the wounded one.” Another deep frown. She watched her brother’s eyes wandering, scanning the ground. “He needs something to bite onto. Something firm but soft, or he will break his teeth.”
“What?”
His gaze brushed past her. “For the pain. It helps. To keep the screams in.” He shrugged indifferently. “But we don’t have anything fitting, so he’ll have to manage. Tell him to keep as quiet as he can. Unless they want our entire village around and helping.”
Where was her timid mouse of a brother? She peered at him, puzzled as he fished one of the floating cloths out of the pot, then knelt beside the wounded, the knife ready, held expertly, just an extension of his hand. Was it someone else and not the man she had known her entire life?
“Be ready with more pieces. When I give you the ones I used, throw those back into the pot. Let them boil for a while.” Another frowning scan. “Make sure to keep the fire as large as it is now.”
&
nbsp; The wolf youth was listening too, avidly, as though trying to understand.
“You just hold, hold him, don’t let him move,” she said, too frightened to add something reassuring. “I keep fire … when need. You just, just keep him quiet.”
She heard her voice trailing off, her eyes glued to the knife as it neared the swollen mess of the wounded’s thigh, assessing, hesitating, yielding its turn to the wet cloth at first, not in a hurry. A mere touch of the soaked material made the patient’s body arch, and she strangled her own cry, horrified, watching his companion fighting not to let the flailing limbs escape.
“Stop his screams!” Migisso’s voice rang with urgency, but his hands didn’t tremble, didn’t stop, wiping the revolting mess away, cleaning the wound. Then the knife began its work.
The wolf youth’s entire body was busy making sure his friend didn’t move, still, he managed to free his hand in order to cover the twitching mouth, strangling the screams back. He was practically lying on top of the struggling body, but she was as busy, investing all her power into holding the leg she was responsible for from flailing about in its wild fight against its tormenters.
“Give me another cloth.”
She arched, trying to reach the pot without letting her charge go. Her fingertip burned, but she didn’t care, wishing nothing else but to get this nightmare over with. Anything but to witness the inhumane treatment.
“Put the other one back in there.”
“What?”
Migisso tossed the reeking, revoltingly sticky cloth at her without looking, his eyes on the wounded, whose body went limp all of a sudden. As she struggled with the repulsive mess, trying to bring it back to the pot without touching its worst parts, her brother and the wolf youth bent simultaneously, examining the lifeless form. Petrified, she followed their example, staring at the glaring white where the eyes of the man should have been. It made her wish to vomit.
Migisso put his head to the sweaty chest and listened. Then, unperturbed, he went back to work, more relaxed now, swabbing and cutting, then wiping some more.
“Wait.” She jumped to her feet too, all flushed and breathless. “Listen, Migisso, he loves healing, good with herbs. He’ll help, help your friend. Make medicine, eh? My brother no useless with herbs. Not like us. He help.”
He watched her, taken aback. “He can make medicine?”
“Yes, yes, he can. I told you. I took his bag, remember? His medicine.”
“Why would he agree?”
Her eyes sparkled. “I’ll make agree. I’ll talk, make agree.”
“How?”
“I have ways, my ways.” Again, her excitement was an irresistible sight to see. He fought the urge to touch her face, to run his fingers along the sharp curve of her cheek, to find out what it would feel like. “Also, he is to blame, no? Make mess, shoot at us. He owes, eh? Have to make it right.”
Her eyes shone brighter than the stars, now that the clouds came to hide some of the sky again.
“I… I will…” He swallowed, finding it difficult to articulate his thoughts. “If you make him help us, help Akweks, I will never forget. I will do anything for you.”
The glow of her eyes changed. As did the color of her cheeks. Licking her lips, she stared at him for a heartbeat, then dropped her gaze.
Embarrassed, he clutched the bow, wondering where the quiver of arrows might be.
“You talk to him. I’ll bring water.”
Reassured by her nod, he headed off, not bothering to look at the man. This one presented no danger now, of that he was sure. She would be able to handle him. There could be no doubt about her ability to do so.
Chapter 18
“You must do that, you must!”
In the meager light of the small fire, the wounded’s face looked grotesque, shadowed and pinched, with black, round holes for eyes.
Along with the wolf youth, Kentika held her breath. She could feel him by her side, as tense as a stretched bowstring. He had been all activity and vigor before, bringing water, talking, directing everyone, shooting direful glances at Migisso, but now he quieted down, succumbing to the solemnity of the moment, or frightened by it.
She glanced at him again, taking in the prominent features, his face pale and muddied, bruised all over, but still decidedly handsome, pleasing the eye, the sharp cheekbones protruding, inviting one to touch.
What would he say if she did? she wondered briefly, then forced her attention back to the present and the sagging figure of her brother, leaning against one of the cliffs, hugging his elbows in a protective manner.
“You must try, Migisso,” she repeated. “Please. They have nothing to lose. The wounded will die anyway if you won’t try. Why won’t you?”
He gave her a dark look. “Plenty of reasons, Sister. Too many to sound them all.”
“You must!”
Pressed lips were her answer, but quickly, his gaze returned to her companion, turning wary, defensive again.
“What does he say?” The wolf youth’s voice rang eerily, lacking in expression.
Dropping her gaze, she shrugged.
“He won’t help,” he said quietly, making it a statement.
His words held finality, a surprisingly calm acceptance. She shuddered.
“I will convince him. He will help.”
Drawing a deep breath, he seemed to be pondering his words for a moment. “Tell him I ask for his help not as an enemy or a friend, but as a person, just another person. Healers are helping people with no regard to their loyalties or belonging. Healers are above this. If he refuses to help because of us being enemies, then he is no healer, whatever his aspirations are, however he may like playing with herbs.” She watched him bringing his hands up, palms pressed together, fingers interlocked. The gaze that shifted to her held nothing but affection. “Tell him I will not kill him, because he is the brother of the bravest and kindest girl, a truly good, worthy person. But,” the eyes hardened, turned to stone, “he will stay here until we are gone, and he better keep very quiet and out of my way.”
She wanted to dwell on ‘the bravest and kindest,’ but the sternness of his gaze made her concentrate, storing these words for later thinking. Did he just say…?
“And here you have it,” she said, giving her brother a stern look of her own. “The enemy behaves in the noblest of ways, when you, out of all our people, coming out as prejudiced, as petty and narrow-minded as you can.”
“What did he say?” Migisso’s face lost the last of its coloring, and his voice rang faintly, barely heard, holding that familiar old despondency she remembered well from his infrequent confrontations with Father. Back home, it would make her indignant, to hear the old leader harping on her brother’s worthlessness. Now it did just the opposite.
“He said you are not worthy to be a healer, because you do not help people in need. He said this is not the way of the healers.” She let her own gaze relay the depth of her contempt. “But he won’t harm you, he said. You’ll stay here until they are gone, then you can go home.”
“And you?” he asked hoarsely, eyes haunted like those of a cornered animal.
“I can do whatever I want. I don’t need his mercy, nor his help. I’m not a prisoner of theirs.” His falling face made her compassion return, but she pushed it away, too angry and disappointed to let it interfere. “But you are, Brother. You tried to kill him, and he took you as a captive. And he should have killed you, or he should take you away. But he won’t. He is not that kind of a person. He is good and worthy.”
She felt his eyes, darting from face to face, as though listening to their exchange. It made her stomach tighten. He believed in her ability to convince Migisso. And he thought her to be brave and kind.
“Healers help people. They ease pain and suffering. They treat people, all people, and not just the ones they like or expect a returned favor from.” That was an undeserved slur, but she didn’t care. He was not being fair. He didn’t want to help her, and just as she needed it desperately. “You don’t want to help someone wounded and in pain. What does that make you? A healer? I think not.”
The wounded shifted lightly, his groan no more than a murmur, smothered behind the pressed lips. Their eyes went to him.
“It’s not that simple,” Migisso’s voice was strained, his cough a short, dry sound. “I could have tried to treat him, but for his wound. It looks bad. It’s rotting. My treatment won’t save him. No medicine will help him now.”
“But you can…” Helplessly, she looked back at him, desperate to hide her budding hope. “Surely there is something you can try to do. Anything.”
He shook his head, his gaze avoiding hers.
“What does he say?” The question in the foreign tongue bounced off the cliff’s walls, not really an inquiry. He knew the answer as well as her brother did. That’s why he was so angered when she had mentioned the rotting wounds for the first time.
“He says there is nothing, medicine no help.” To talk helped. The silence between their phrases was too heavy, pressing against her chest.
“No medicine, but…” The wolf youth took a deep breath, and she watched his jaw tightening, his eyes turning dark, as black as the night, and as unreadable. “It’s very early yet. Not much rotten flesh. A healer can cut, cut the rotten flesh away.” His throat convulsed as he swallowed. “I saw it happening once. The healer cuts, makes wound worse, but the rotten flesh goes away and the wounded gets better. Eventually.” Straightening his gaze resolutely, he faced her. “Ask him about this.”
Now it was Migisso’s turn to lean forward, following their words with his gaze as though hoping to understand. “What?”
“He says.” She swallowed hard. “He says healer can cut, you see, cut the bad parts away, the rotting parts. Do you know something about it? Can you try to do that?”
He backed as though she had struck him. “I can’t
“You have to!”
“I can’t. I’m not good enough. Even our medicine man didn’t manage.”
“Tell him I’ll find a way to repay him.” The wolf youth said eagerly, needing no translation anymore. “Tell him it will be worth his time. I promise to keep my word. I’ll find a way to make it worthwhile for him.”
“It’s not, not about make worth.” But her eyes went back to her brother, boring at him, willing him to agree. “You have to, you have to try. We’ll help, both of us. The wounded, he has nothing to lose, has he? He’ll die either way. Won’t he?” His pressed lips were her answer. “You have to try. I promise, I will be so grateful. I’ll make it all worth it, somehow. I’ll find a way.” She nodded at their host without looking at him. “He said he’ll make it worth, too. He will repay you.”
But Migisso shook his head angrily. “It’s not about that, Sister, and you know it! I can’t believe we are having this conversation…” The fire in his eyes died as suddenly as it lit. “You want me to cut this man? Well, I’ll do it. Maybe this way I’ll have one killed enemy on my count of achievements.” Abruptly, he straightened up, suddenly tall and resolute, more sure of himself than she had ever seen him. “You will help. And him, too. Tell him to bring more firewood, make a bigger fire. Also water. We need to boil much of it. And cloths.” His gaze encircled them, narrow and concentrated, deep in his inner thoughts. “We need something, anything. Tell him to think how to get pieces of cloth.”
“What for?” she began, but his glare made her stop babbling. “He says we need, need things. You know, material. Like from your clothes…”
The wolf youth nodded, understanding better than her, apparently. “I’ll cut a piece from my loincloth, and from his, where there are no decorations…”
His knife flashed readily, as his eyes assessed his scant clothing, seeking the parts that could be cut away. For a wild moment, she wondered if he’d have to take it off, to sacrifice all the available material for the healing process. Earlier in the night, she had been embarrassed greatly, encountering him walking the woods naked. As though she had never seen people bare of clothing before. How silly! There was nothing wrong with men strolling about with no loincloth, especially when heading for the shore as he did. And yet she had to fight the urge to avert her eyes, if not to turn away and run. Even now, the mere memory of it brought a wave of heat to wash over her face.
“I need more than one piece of cloth. Tell him. There will be much blood and… and other things. The cut will need to be cleaned over and over.” As always when treatment was involved, Migisso assumed control naturally, distributing orders in a calm, matter-of-fact voice, lacking its usual indecisiveness. Proudly, she watched him for another heartbeat. “Tell him to take care of the fire for now. It needs to be large enough to make the water boil.”
The wolf youth was still busy with his loincloth.
“He want you, he wants you make fire, big fire. And also,” she eyed the pitiful remnants of his garb, “stop ruin this. It will not help. Not enough. I take care. Have a lot to cut. See?” Lifting the torn rims of her dress, she grinned. “I cut, enough for all. My brother says we need many, many pieces. I have enough. You don’t.”
As he was staring at her, his eyes narrowed, but his lips quivered with a hint of a smile. “That you have. Well,” he jumped to his feet readily, “I’ll collect firewood, before the moon hides again.” A mirthless grin flashed for a heartbeat. “Or before that brother of yours changes his mind.”
The flames soared, filling their small hideaway with a wave of heat, suffocating, not welcomed in the least. Aghast, Kentika watched them licking the razor-sharp edges of the knife. They did so hungrily, as though trying to consume it.
“Now the other side.” Migisso was watching the knife too, having checked with the boiling pot for the tenth time, stirring the pieces of torn material floating in there with a stick from the pile of branches the wolf youth had arranged. “Tell him to turn it over and hold in the fire for the same amount of time.”
The young man looked up sharply. “What now?”
“Now other, the other side.” She could barely recognize her own voice, the way it rasped, low and gruff. “Same time. Count to few times ten, yes?”
He just nodded, turning the knife obediently, saying nothing for a change, clearly uneasy crouching so close to the fire, with his hands practically stuck in it. The knife’s handle was not long enough to burn the blade comfortably. Luckily, it was made out of stone and not wood, she reflected, still wondering as to why they were roasting it like that over the flames.
“Now tell him to give me the knife, then get a good hold of this one.” Her brother’s eyes indicated the wounded, who was half-lying and half-sitting now, staring at the fire too, wild-eyed. “Tell them it’ll hurt, so the wounded has to be held very tightly. I can’t treat him if he fights and struggles.”
Not waiting for the translation, the wolf youth got to his feet. For a heartbeat, he scanned his knife with a troubled gaze, then offered it to Migisso, as though understanding with no more need of her translating services.
“Now what?”
“You catch him. Hold him. Tight. No move.” She demonstrated with her hands. “Brother says it hurt, so he’ll move. But you can’t, can’t let him move.”
The last of the color washed out of his face, but again, he just nodded. “Should he be laid down?”
More translated questions back and forth. She watched the wounded biting his lips, his fear spilling, open, unconcealed, eyes so wide they turned round, the only feature to dominate the lifelessness of his face.
“It is going to be well, good, no trouble,” she said, coming closer. “Not so long, I’m sure. I help.” Crouching beside them, she looked up, facing her brother, who inspected his newly acquired knife calmly, if a bit dubiously. “Should he lie down? Or sit? What do I do to help?”
“Lay,” Migisso frowned absently. “Yes, lay him down, and you two hold him, because he will be struggling. Well, in the beginning, at least. Let us hope his mind will go off wandering fast. For his sake.”
She shuddered, unwilling to hear more. “We hold, together,” she said, addressing the wolf youth. “Both, me and you. It won’t, won’t be long, I’m sure. He be well again. You’ll see.”
His gaze clung to her, troubled, tormented, but expectant, as though wishing to hear more, as though needing her to keep talking. Was he reassured by her heedless promises? The thought made her stomach constrict violently, as though she had eaten something bad.
“He will be well again. You see … will see.”
His throat moved visibly as he swallowed. A slight nod and he was leaning toward his friend, talking rapidly.
Migisso came closer. “He’ll hold his upper body. You, his legs, especially the wounded one.” Another deep frown. She watched her brother’s eyes wandering, scanning the ground. “He needs something to bite onto. Something firm but soft, or he will break his teeth.”
“What?”
His gaze brushed past her. “For the pain. It helps. To keep the screams in.” He shrugged indifferently. “But we don’t have anything fitting, so he’ll have to manage. Tell him to keep as quiet as he can. Unless they want our entire village around and helping.”
Where was her timid mouse of a brother? She peered at him, puzzled as he fished one of the floating cloths out of the pot, then knelt beside the wounded, the knife ready, held expertly, just an extension of his hand. Was it someone else and not the man she had known her entire life?
“Be ready with more pieces. When I give you the ones I used, throw those back into the pot. Let them boil for a while.” Another frowning scan. “Make sure to keep the fire as large as it is now.”
&
“You just hold, hold him, don’t let him move,” she said, too frightened to add something reassuring. “I keep fire … when need. You just, just keep him quiet.”
She heard her voice trailing off, her eyes glued to the knife as it neared the swollen mess of the wounded’s thigh, assessing, hesitating, yielding its turn to the wet cloth at first, not in a hurry. A mere touch of the soaked material made the patient’s body arch, and she strangled her own cry, horrified, watching his companion fighting not to let the flailing limbs escape.
“Stop his screams!” Migisso’s voice rang with urgency, but his hands didn’t tremble, didn’t stop, wiping the revolting mess away, cleaning the wound. Then the knife began its work.
The wolf youth’s entire body was busy making sure his friend didn’t move, still, he managed to free his hand in order to cover the twitching mouth, strangling the screams back. He was practically lying on top of the struggling body, but she was as busy, investing all her power into holding the leg she was responsible for from flailing about in its wild fight against its tormenters.
“Give me another cloth.”
She arched, trying to reach the pot without letting her charge go. Her fingertip burned, but she didn’t care, wishing nothing else but to get this nightmare over with. Anything but to witness the inhumane treatment.
“Put the other one back in there.”
“What?”
Migisso tossed the reeking, revoltingly sticky cloth at her without looking, his eyes on the wounded, whose body went limp all of a sudden. As she struggled with the repulsive mess, trying to bring it back to the pot without touching its worst parts, her brother and the wolf youth bent simultaneously, examining the lifeless form. Petrified, she followed their example, staring at the glaring white where the eyes of the man should have been. It made her wish to vomit.
Migisso put his head to the sweaty chest and listened. Then, unperturbed, he went back to work, more relaxed now, swabbing and cutting, then wiping some more.