Waterdance by Anne Logston Page A

reassuringly.
    “My friend has helped treat the sick before,” he said. “He wishes only to look at your child.”
    The girl hesitated again, glancing suspiciously at Peri.
    “If he is a healer,” she asked timidly, “why is he so covered?”
    “He is not a healer, of course,” Atheris said quickly. “He only has a little healing lore. He was badly burned in a border skirmish, terribly scarred and rendered mute. When he could no longer act as a warrior, he served instead by assisting the healers in tending the wounded.”
    The girl still hesitated, but at last she laid her baby down on the ground, unwrapping the cloth in which she’d been carrying it. Peri inspected the rash which dappled the baby’s body; she’d seen the like before several times. Gesturing reassuringly at the mother, she bent down to smell the baby’s breath. Once more cursing the necessity of her silence, she pointed at the baby and made a retching sound, miming vomiting.
    “Yes,” the girl said timidly. “He is often sick.”
    Peri sighed. There was no possible way she could convey what she wanted to say by gestures. She stood and took Atheris’s arm, pulling him aside.
    “Watch my hands while we talk,” she whispered, moving her hands and fingers through an intricate series of gestures. She knew she was safe enough using the hand talk, although of course Atheris probably didn’t understand it; most countries used one form of it or another in hunts or in battle when silence was crucial. “When we go back, tell her that it’s her milk that sickens the baby. He needs goat’s milk—not cow, goat.”
    “And where,” Atheris whispered patiently, “is she to get goat’s milk?”
    Peri ground her teeth and hunkered down on her heels, huddling in on herself. She reached into her tunic and fumbled one of the gold coins loose. She scrabbled through the dirt until she found two rocks and as unobtrusively as she could slid the coin between them, then hammered the rocks together hard until the markings on the coin were completely obliterated. She continued hammering until she broke a piece off of the now shapeless coin; sliding the larger part into her pocket, she handed the fragment to Atheris.
    “I’ve seen a couple goats in the crowd,” she whispered. “That ought to buy one of them.” She glanced around again. “Remind me to crush up the rest of those coins whenever we get a chance.”
    Atheris returned to the girl and her child. Peri did not hear their conversation, but she saw the girl take the bit of gold intrembling fingers, her eyes wide. Then the girl stood slowly, walked to Peri, and to Peri’s profound discomfort, dropped to her knees in the dirt.
    “Thank you, wise one,” the girl whispered. “Bless you for saving my baby. May you find mercy and ease from your suffering in Eregis’s touch which heals all ills.” Then she was gone.
    Peri shivered. Maybe it was her understanding of Sarkondish which was flawed, but the odd wording of the girl’s blessing sent a chill down her spine.
    “That was foolish,” Atheris murmured, returning to Peri’s side. “Others saw what you did. Now they will spread word that you have some of the healing art, and that is woman’s magic, not man’s. It will cause talk. We will be fortunate if that does not draw the priests’ attention.”
    Peri ground her teeth again in frustration and said nothing. There was nothing to say. Besides, why should she bother to defend herself? She was mute, after all.
    Fortunately, when Atheris might have pressed the argument, the priests mounted their horses and the procession was moving again. Peri fell in gratefully, not watching to see whether Atheris walked beside her.
    They walked from midday to sunset without pause. For Peri it was no great hardship; she was well accustomed to walking, riding, or running long distances, and her load was not that heavy. She was surprised to see that Atheris also held up well under the pace. She’d had him pretty