Yuen-Mong's Revenge by Gian Bordin Page A

and he needed to rest.
     
    6
    Struggling up that rope sapped the last bit of energy Atun could muster.
He sank to the floor and would have remained there if Yuen-mong had
not carried him to his sleeping alcove. He was shivering from exhaustion;
his whole body felt on fire; worst of all, he was loathing himself. All he
wanted to do was to close his eyes, never to wake up, never having to
face Yuen-mong again.
          She covered him, and he heard her get water to the boil. He did not
know how long he had been floating in and out of consciousness, when
she raised his upper body and put a cup to his mouth.
          "Small sips … swallow."
            He swallowed. It tasted bittersweet. It seemed to have a soothing
effect. A short time later she removed the cover and carefully cleaned
every nick on his face, arms, chest, stomach and legs with the crushed
green tops of the swamp root. It stung. He did not even have the strength
to wince, keeping his eyes closed, letting it happen. He did not protest
when she took his penis into her palm and cleaned a small festering
wound there. Then she again dabbed each nick with the scab-forming
milk of the swamp root. He must have fallen asleep while she did this.
When he woke, most of the pain on his body had gone, only his head still
hurt.
          She made him sit up, putting another cup of the bittersweet liquid into
his hand, saying: "Drink, and stay sitting while I clean your back."
            He felt that he was getting drowsy and that even the pulsating pain on
the back of his head diminished. He vaguely registered her pushing him
down gently and feeling the cover lightly hug his body before sleep
wiped consciousness.
          The first light of dawn entering the cave found him awake. He had a
vague memory of having been haunted by nightmares and that somebody
had held him in her arms, while humming a soothing melody. At the time
he had thought it was his mother. He also remembered being helped by
Yuen-mong to empty his bladder. The throbbing pain on the back of his
head had returned, not as intense as before, but constantly demanding his
attention, although he did not feel as feverish anymore.
          He was just wondering whether Yuen-mong was still asleep, when he
became aware of her kneeling next to him, offering him a cup.
          "Drink. This will ease your headache a bit," she said.
          How had she known? And then he remembered that she was an
empath. He raised himself and eagerly drank the liquid.
          "Small sips," she reminded him. "Are you hungry?"
            He nodded. She went over to the cooking area and a moment later
brought him a bowl of spiced hot mash containing small pieces of
smoked meat. He did not need to be reminded to eat slowly and chew
well. After eating she ordered him to lie down again.
          As he lay there, he wondered whether he would ever find the courage
to look her in the eyes again. She must utterly despise him, the way he
despised himself. And she had not even rebuked him. All she had said
was "you silly man," like you would talk to a small child who reached for
the flame of a candle, trying to take it away. She must see him as a
helpless, useless fool. He wished he could wipe his slate clean and start
over again. Would he ever be able to redeem himself in her eyes?
          But how could he? She was so superior to him. She surpassed him in
everything he could think of: courage, strength, stamina, willpower, wisdom, intelligence, cunning. There was nothing he could offer her. He was
only a burden, a fool who did not learn, who did not listen. He saw again
her sparkling blue eyes when she had teased the echo on top of that ridge
— was that only two days ago? That beautiful angry face when he had
called her stupid. Her fearless stance, like a supernatural apparition,
keeping two score savages in check. He wanted so badly that she liked
him, that she respected him. It was a yearning that was