undisturbed.
* * *
Roarc didn’t return with the healwife until late afternoon, and Yim had remained unconscious the entire time. The healwife was an elderly but vigorous woman with sharp features and dark, clever eyes. She glared at Roarc when she saw Yim lying on the table. “Ya said I was ta mend yar son, not this outsider!”
“Rappali told me ta say that.”
The healer fixed her eyes on Rappali. “Did ya think I would not come if I knew tha truth?”
“It crossed my mind. But I only told my husband not ta say who ya’d be mending.”
The healwife walked over to Yim and felt her brow. When she prodded the wound with her fingers, Rappali looked away, but she heard Yim moan. Then the healwife spoke. “I’ll not mend anyone taday. She’s beyond hope.”
“At least sew up tha wound.”
“Why? Ya’ll only have a more comely corpse.”
“Sew her up anyway.”
“Is it worth a basket of dried fish? That’s my fee.”
“Ya’ll have it,” said Rappali. “Is there nothing more ta be done for her?”
“See tha flesh ’bout tha wound?” said the healwife. “ ’Tis fiery red, and like fire ’twill spread ta consume her spirit.”
“Mayhap ya’re letting her die from spite, though Yim was never yar rival.”
“She tended births, births I should’ve tended.”
“Only when begged ta do so, and then she never took a fee.”
“Which was all tha worse for me!”
“So folk will be right when they say ya killed her,” said Rappali.
“Nay, ’twasn’t I who cut her throat.”
“Aye, ’tis a grievous wound, and if ya cured it, folk would say ’twas truly a miracle. Pity tha deed’s beyond ya.”
The healwife thought a moment before she spoke. “I doknow of a draught that will either cure or kill her. ’Tis poison—poison that fights a wound’s poison. If I give it ta her and she dies, will ya say I slew her?”
“Nay. I swear by tha Mother.”
“Then set two pots of water ta boil,” said the healwife, “and I’ll do what I can.”
Roarc, who had silently watched the exchange, approached the healwife. “My wife said we’ll pay for tha sewing, and so we shall. But ’twouldn’t it be fairer if Yim paid for tha draught?”
The healwife gave the fish trapper a cold look. “And what if she dies?”
“Then she’ll have paid ya with her life,” replied Roarc with a grin. “A steep fee by my reckoning.”
The old woman didn’t reply, but searched her healer’s pouch for what she needed. She withdrew some herbs, three small dried mushrooms the color of dried blood, and a sewing kit containing a length of gut and a curved needle. Then she waited for the water to boil. When it did, she placed the herbs in one pot and the mushrooms in the other and then let them steep. Afterward, she cleansed Yim’s wound with the herbal solution and neatly sewed it close. Yim lay perfectly silent and still throughout the entire process, an ill omen according to the healwife.
After Yim’s wound was stitched, the healwife took the leg bone of a small animal from her pouch. It had been cut in half and the marrow removed to form a small, hollow tube that was closed at one end. Then she filled the bone with the mushroom brew. “Give her one bone full at sunrise and noon, and then two bones full at sunset,” said the healwife. “I’ll show ya how.” She lifted Yim into a sitting position and eased her head back so that her mouth gaped open. Then she emptied the bone’s contents directly down Yim’s throat. “Ya can feed her clear broth tha same way.”
“And how long should I give her tha draught?” asked Rappali.
“Till she wakes or dies,” said the healwife. “Most like, ’twill take a while either way. She might last like this for days.”
Rappali saw her husband roll his eyes at that news. “Yim’s a strong one,” she said. “She crossed tha fens by herself and gave birth alone. If anyone could live, ’twould be her. Thank ya for yar help. Only praise of ya will
* * *
Roarc didn’t return with the healwife until late afternoon, and Yim had remained unconscious the entire time. The healwife was an elderly but vigorous woman with sharp features and dark, clever eyes. She glared at Roarc when she saw Yim lying on the table. “Ya said I was ta mend yar son, not this outsider!”
“Rappali told me ta say that.”
The healer fixed her eyes on Rappali. “Did ya think I would not come if I knew tha truth?”
“It crossed my mind. But I only told my husband not ta say who ya’d be mending.”
The healwife walked over to Yim and felt her brow. When she prodded the wound with her fingers, Rappali looked away, but she heard Yim moan. Then the healwife spoke. “I’ll not mend anyone taday. She’s beyond hope.”
“At least sew up tha wound.”
“Why? Ya’ll only have a more comely corpse.”
“Sew her up anyway.”
“Is it worth a basket of dried fish? That’s my fee.”
“Ya’ll have it,” said Rappali. “Is there nothing more ta be done for her?”
“See tha flesh ’bout tha wound?” said the healwife. “ ’Tis fiery red, and like fire ’twill spread ta consume her spirit.”
“Mayhap ya’re letting her die from spite, though Yim was never yar rival.”
“She tended births, births I should’ve tended.”
“Only when begged ta do so, and then she never took a fee.”
“Which was all tha worse for me!”
“So folk will be right when they say ya killed her,” said Rappali.
“Nay, ’twasn’t I who cut her throat.”
“Aye, ’tis a grievous wound, and if ya cured it, folk would say ’twas truly a miracle. Pity tha deed’s beyond ya.”
The healwife thought a moment before she spoke. “I doknow of a draught that will either cure or kill her. ’Tis poison—poison that fights a wound’s poison. If I give it ta her and she dies, will ya say I slew her?”
“Nay. I swear by tha Mother.”
“Then set two pots of water ta boil,” said the healwife, “and I’ll do what I can.”
Roarc, who had silently watched the exchange, approached the healwife. “My wife said we’ll pay for tha sewing, and so we shall. But ’twouldn’t it be fairer if Yim paid for tha draught?”
The healwife gave the fish trapper a cold look. “And what if she dies?”
“Then she’ll have paid ya with her life,” replied Roarc with a grin. “A steep fee by my reckoning.”
The old woman didn’t reply, but searched her healer’s pouch for what she needed. She withdrew some herbs, three small dried mushrooms the color of dried blood, and a sewing kit containing a length of gut and a curved needle. Then she waited for the water to boil. When it did, she placed the herbs in one pot and the mushrooms in the other and then let them steep. Afterward, she cleansed Yim’s wound with the herbal solution and neatly sewed it close. Yim lay perfectly silent and still throughout the entire process, an ill omen according to the healwife.
After Yim’s wound was stitched, the healwife took the leg bone of a small animal from her pouch. It had been cut in half and the marrow removed to form a small, hollow tube that was closed at one end. Then she filled the bone with the mushroom brew. “Give her one bone full at sunrise and noon, and then two bones full at sunset,” said the healwife. “I’ll show ya how.” She lifted Yim into a sitting position and eased her head back so that her mouth gaped open. Then she emptied the bone’s contents directly down Yim’s throat. “Ya can feed her clear broth tha same way.”
“And how long should I give her tha draught?” asked Rappali.
“Till she wakes or dies,” said the healwife. “Most like, ’twill take a while either way. She might last like this for days.”
Rappali saw her husband roll his eyes at that news. “Yim’s a strong one,” she said. “She crossed tha fens by herself and gave birth alone. If anyone could live, ’twould be her. Thank ya for yar help. Only praise of ya will
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