by Jackie Dana
“What’s the oath?” Kate asked. She had pulled off one of her shoes and was rubbing a toe she had jammed against a rock. It was hurting quite a bit, and between that and all her blisters, she had been limping all day. Looking at the blisters on her heel and ball of her foot, she wondered if it was possible to get a blister on top of another blister.
“In ancient Sarducian tradition,” he explained, “the Oath bound two people together for all their lives and beyond. Even today it’s seen as a promise to the goddess Kerthal to live out your life with one person. Although we have ordinary marriage rites, some people choose to affirm their relationship in this way since it is considered more meaningful. Unlike regular marriages, few who speak the Oath ever remarry if their partner dies.”
“It does not bother you?” Fantion asked as he drank from the newly-filled flask. The water dribbled down his beard, and he wiped it with his sleeve, and then offered Arric the flask. “After all, pairings such as theirs are not generally acceptable in Loraden.”
Arric held the flask in his hand without drinking. “Like I said, I am happy for them both. Oath or not, I respect anyone with that kind of bond, regardless of who they are. It’s a rare thing to find someone you can truly care about in that way.”
“Aye, ‘tis true enough.”
Turning to look at Kate, Arric abruptly changed the subject. “How long have you had those blisters?”
She pulled her skirt over her feet. “They’re nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Ah, Kate, you should have said something.” He stood with his hands on his hips, and shook his head. “Is it easier for you to ride?”
Shrugging, she replied, “marginally, but one way or the other, something’s going to hurt.”
Still dissatisfied, he coaxed her into giving him a better look. “You’ve had those for days, haven’t you?” When she didn’t answer, he added, “you should have told me. Well, Sander should be able to help. When he returns, I’ll ask him to tend to you, aye?” He caught his tongue in the pocket of his cheek, and made an odd face as he handed her the flask.
Surprised by the way he spoke to her, she hid her smile by the mouth of the flask. He stepped over to the same small waterfall Fantion had used to fill his flask, and filled his hands with the spring water. He splashed it on his face, and then used a small handkerchief to dry his face and hands.
She watched him intently. She wondered what was on his mind that had caused the peculiar expression, but she remained silent.
Fantion, meanwhile, had busied himself with examining the horses’ hooves, to make sure the rocks had not caused any damage that would surface later. Continuing their previous conversation, he asked Arric, “Tell me this, old friend. Do you think you’ll ever take the Oath? There was that woman, before you left—”
“Merel? Aye, that might have turned out well, but I left, and she married someone else.” Arric wiped his hands on his trousers, and then quickly added, “and anyway, the borderlands were notoriously deficient in eligible women.” It was an attempt to make light of the matter, though neither man actually laughed. “It is for the best, as I do not see myself as the marrying type.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Arric. I bet your brother started making plans for you as soon as you returned,” Fantion replied with a chuckle.
“Indeed, he probably has already arranged a politically-expedient marriage for me. Can you see me married to the ugly daughter of some Hansari lord?” He held out his elbow, pretending a woman was at his arm. “What am I thinking? Bedoric hasn’t been making any such plans. He would leave this matter to his meddling Aldrish.”
“With that man planning your future,” Fantion added, “you’ll be lucky to enter into a marriage that does not bring you endless misery. From what I hear, he keeps to himself and refuses to marry, an altogether peculiar choice for a man of his position, so perhaps it is impossible for him to understand anything about being happy. My guess is that he’ll find the oldest, most wrinkled hag on the continent for you.”
“Surely that’s not true,” Kate said. “He was very kind to me. I can’t imagine that he’d want to make other people’s lives miserable.”
Both men turned to her. “That’s quite a favorable report, Kate. Maybe he does have a way with women, then? Or at least one, perhaps?” Fantion winked, causing Arric to smirk even as she blushed.
“I’ll be keeping an eye on you, then,” Arric announced to her playfully. “Perhaps you’ll be the one who finally melts that man’s heart.”
“I don’t think so..” She tried to protest, but her words were cut short when Fantion, actually grinning at her, tossed her a second flask.
“Don’t worry yourself on that score, Kate,” he comforted her. “Arric hasn’t been around long enough to learn that the Aldrish has no heart.” Then he pointed to the flask. “Help yourself. It will take the edge off the soreness.”
She grimaced as she swallowed some of the havar, but she suspected he was right about it helping, and took another drink. As she did so, in what seemed fair play, Arric asked his friend, “how about you? Anything between you and that woman you’ve mentioned...”
“Halia?” Fantion said, a bit surprised. He rubbed at his beard, twisting his mouth to the side. “Ah, I fear it will never amount to much, what with a price on my head and all.”
“You know, I respect your decision to stand up to my brother,” Arric said. “If only I had done as much years ago.”
Fantion nodded. “Well, when it all started, someone had to stand up for the Sarnoc and challenge that foolishness. Who knew back then that Bedoric himself would turn out to be one of the Prophet’s followers, and he’d punish those who argued with all that nonsense?”
“But what a price to pay...”
“Aye, my friend. Being fhaoli certainly isn’t the life I wanted for myself, but at least I didn’t lose my head to one of the Senvosra’s swords.”
Kate was startled by the news. “Wait—are you saying you were outlawed for speaking against the Prophet?”
“Aye,” Fantion confirmed with a sigh. “Not long after Bedoric became Vosira, this Hidden God nonsense began. He ordered the removal of Sarnoc Sofinar from the Council, and banished him from the city. He claimed that it was because Sofinar was involved in Parmon’s murder, but no one believed that, and it was pretty obvious that he just didn’t want a Sarnoc around. It wasn’t long after that he banned all Sarnoc from the city. It was a terrible decision, and as it turned out, I was the only one on the Council who openly spoke up against it.” He laughed lightly as he toed at a rock protruding from the cliff. “I remember saying I could not serve a Vosira who turned his back on the gods, and stormed out of the meeting, and that was that. Within the day I was named fhaoli and they confiscated my lands.”
He swung his head up, and, speaking more to himself than to Arric or Kate, cast his gaze to the sun. “I won’t be marrying Halia or anyone else in this lifetime. Though the gods know I desire her, I cannot live outside the safety of the forest, and she cannot live here with me. Lockleaf is no place for women.”
“Nor men, in truth,” Arric said in sympathy.
“Aye. That is more true every day.”
Arric walked over to Trill, and scratched the mare’s gray forehead. Then, reaching in one of the saddlebags, he pulled out a small parcel of meat and offered it to Kate.
She took a small piece, surprised that it wasn’t jerky. “Where did this come from?” She started to hand it back to him, but he encouraged her to take more.
“A couple of fat hares stumbled into Nyvas’s snare last night after you fell asleep,” Arric explained. “It was his first chance to set them since we started back, but I’m glad he did.”
She nodded, and gratefully accepted another slice. A week ago the idea of eating rabbit might have repulsed her, but now it was one step short of heaven after their sparse provisions the past couple of days.
After their brief snack, Fantion looked up at the sun, which was slidin
g towards the west. “Shouldn’t they have returned by now?”
“They have been gone longer than I had expected,” Arric said. “I hope they did not run into trouble...” Then he caught sight of the two men climbing up the incline. “Thank the gods—there they are.”
“Something’s wrong,” Fantion guessed, as he noticed their hurried pace. His mouth twitched, and he waved Kate over to the horses.
When he reached them, Lysander struggled to catch his breath. “Senvosra—a dozen men.”
Nyvas, just as out of breath, was right behind him. He added, “they were behind us on the main road, headed towards the city. We got caught on the wrong side of the road, and had to hide until they passed.”
“Were you seen?” Fantion asked.
“Nay, we were careful, but they’re heading this way.”
“We must leave this footpath,” Arric said grimly. “Since they are on the road, and we’re higher up, it will be difficult for them to catch us, even if they spotted us. Still, I think we should leave the ridge. We need not make it easy for them, aye?” When he was greeted with nods from everyone else, he announced, “then that decides it—we will have to travel further to the north.” He looked to the sky. “We have time to put some distance between them and us, but we must hurry.”
Leaving the ridge, however, was not as easy as Arric thought it would be. Going down the incline was difficult enough with the horses, but making matters worse, each of the men had to take a turn at slashing through thorny vines and picking out a route that would take them around trees and boulders. This meant that Kate needed to take the reigns of each man’s horse in turn, doing her best to maneuver both herself and the beasts through the tangle. Worst of all, her feet continued to ache with every step, but she said nothing about it.
It was Lysander’s turn with the knife, cutting a path through the woods. He struggled against an ancient thicket of greenbrier, with stems nearly as thick as his fingers. They all had to halt along the narrow path as they waited for him to hack at the vines.
“So I suppose this detour means no grassy meadow for our camp tonight, eh, Arric?” Fantion said, obviously teasing, though he sounded a bit disappointed as well.
Arric scrubbed at his cheeks, where a scraggly beard had grown out. He had earlier confided to the others that his untidiness aggravated him. So it was no surprise when he responded, “And no time for a shave.”
“I’d give anything for a nice hot bath,” Kate said.
“Baths are overrated,” Fantion said with a laugh. “Though in truth, it’s been a long time since I’ve had one. What I really miss is my hammock. I hate sleeping on this damn rocky ground. I’m too old for this abuse.”
“Aye, my friend, it catches up with us—” Arric began, but stopped in mid-sentence when Lysander cried out.
Standing behind Nyvas, Kate was unable to see what had happened. The boy, however, quickly tossed the reins of his horse to her. He frantically pushed through the thorns, oblivious to how they scratched his face and hands, trying to reach Lysander as quickly as possible. Then Fantion shouted to her to reverse course and head towards a small clearing they had left moments before.
Kate, not very good with horses even in the best of situations, struggled to convince both Lysander’s and Nyvas’s mounts to follow her out of the trees without a lot of room to turn around. They kicked out in frustration, and swung their heads back, but she spoke calmly and pulled firmly on the reins, and they finally cooperated.
Back in the clearing with Arric, she worried when the others did not emerge from the trees.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Sander got caught in the vines, and I think the knife slipped,” Arric said, his eyes on the trees where they had just been. “I don’t know for sure.”
“Aye, he’s cut,” Fantion confirmed as he led his mare into the clearing. “I saw it happen, but I could do little to help him, not with those damn vines snagging my cloak in every direction. I just hope it’s not serious.”
A minute later, Nyvas led his friend out, his left arm over his shoulders while his other hand helped support Sander’s bloody right arm. Lysander was pale, and he had clenched his teeth against the pain.
“Clear a space for him,” Nyvas called out. “He needs havar, and we need to wrap his arm.” Instead of his usual boyish demeanor, he now commanded the others with calm authority.
Fantion pulled a flask from his saddlebag. Kate, meanwhile, called to Arric. “Give me your knife.”
He stood motionless, staring at her in confusion.
“Your knife, come on.” She was impatient now, and held out her hand.
Arric pulled the blade from his belt, and she immediately took it, using it to slice fabric from one of her wide sleeves, thinking to use it as a crude bandage. She stepped over to Lysander, who was now sitting on the ground, one arm cradled in the other, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. Nyvas held Fantion’s flask to his lips, coaxing him to swallow a few sips.
“Leave it to the healer to be the one who gets injured,” Lysander joked, though his voice was weak.
She considered the situation. She knew nothing about Sarducian medicine, or their form of healing, but she knew basic first aid. “Can I see it?”
“You should look away,” Nyvas said, trying to protect her. “It’s a deep cut, and pretty ugly.” He looked towards Arric. “You’ve seen battle wounds—maybe you can help?”
One glance at Arric told Kate all she needed to know. His frown indicated that while he wasn’t afraid of the sight of blood, his knowledge of proper wound care was meager at best. “I think I can handle it.”
At the moment, Lysander had no patience for social niceties, so he held out his arm, grimacing as he did so. Across his left forearm was a long, deep gash, bleeding profusely. It was obvious that he had been holding a vine in his hand, and somehow he had slipped, his blade slicing his flesh on the downstroke, rather than cutting the vine. Given how sharp these men kept their knives, she was surprised he hadn’t cut it clean through to the bone. She wiped at it with her skirt, to clear away some of the blood. To Nyvas, she held out the fabric she had cut from her sleeve, and instructed, “fold this, and then hold it tightly against his arm, putting pressure on either side of the wound, to slow the bleeding. Oh—and help him keep it raised, like this.” She demonstrated by holding her own arm against her chest. To the other men, she said, “it could have been a lot worse. He’d probably do better with stitches, but I’ll try to bind it without any.”
She looked around, trying to decide what she needed. “I’ll need more fabric to clean it and stop the bleeding, and the least dirty stuff you can find to make into a bandage, to cover and wrap it. Linen, if you can get enough, rather than wool.” Arric had pulled an extra shirt from his pack and was already cutting it into strips. “Boil it all first so it’s clean.”
Then she remembered her mother’s herbal lessons, and began scanning the ground. “Yarrow. Anyone know it? A small plant with soft fern-like leaves? Or shepherd’s purse, the plant with the little heart seedpods? They’ll help.”
“I know them both,” Nyvas said. “It’s too late for shepherd’s purse, but I saw some yarrow not too far from here.” He looked down at his friend. “Kate, take over and I’ll fetch it.”
While the men worked on a small fire, she applied pressure to Sander’s wound, holding it above his heart, and praying her efforts would be enough to stop the bleeding. Already the cloth she was holding was soaked with blood. She had to breathe deeply to banish her own queasiness.
Nyvas quickly returned with a sizable pile of leaves. She crushed the leaves between her palms, and then applied the fresh herb to the cut and quickly covered it with another handful of linen. “Can you make a strong tea with the rest?” As she shifted her hands, Lysander noticed the blood and started to fuss. “Don’t look at it,” she admonished him. “We’re going to stop the bleeding for now. You’ll be okay.” As he protested, she said, “close your eyes
, and breathe deep breaths. You need to calm down.” So he was a healer, she thought to herself. In her world, they always said doctors made the worst patients. That truism seemed to apply here as well.
A short time later, Nyvas circled around to the other side, and placed a poultice of tea-soaked fabric over the cloth she was already holding on Sander’s arm, allowing the liquid to slowly seep downwards to the wound. He understood that the plant would help staunch the blood flow.
When the makeshift bandages were ready, she pulled the bloody cloth away. It was nothing short of a miracle, but the bleeding had largely stopped, and the wound didn’t look quite as bad as she thought it had before.
With a second bit of cloth, she started wiping away blood. Then she grabbed a flask. “This will hurt,” she warned, “but it’s all I have to clean it.” He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut, and then she wiped a cloth soaked with a bit of havar lightly along the edges of the wound, trying not to get any directly in the cut. Still, he groaned loudly, and gnashed his teeth. “Sorry, it can’t be helped,” she said sympathetic to the pain he felt.
He nodded. “I know,” he said weakly.
Nyvas knelt beside her and offered a small ceramic jar to her. “This will help with healing,” he suggested.
She uncorked the container. It was a green salve. She sniffed the contents. She guessed it might contain comfrey, but the other ingredients were a mystery.
“We use it when no healer is available,” he explained. “There’s plenty more, so use what you need.”
Once she had dabbed the salve around the cut, she tied the bandage tightly over the wound, taking care to pull the edges of the cut as closely together as possible as she did so. “You can’t use this arm for anything until it heals over,” she told him. “Understand? You can’t move it at all, or the wound will open up and start bleeding again. You’ll need to ask one of us for help for anything you’d otherwise use the arm for.”