by Ruby Dixon
As Leezh straightens and sips water, I reach out and brush a hand on Raahosh’s shoulder. He is healthy.
He looks at me with a frown on his face, questioning.
“Shall I help your mate? Maybe my khui can calm hers.”
“My khui’s fine,” Leezh declares, sitting back and resting for a moment. “It’s my stomach that hates me.”
I chuckle and pat the ground next to me. “It might be easier for you to come to me than for me to come to you.”
Leezh nods and crawls over to plop down onto the ground next to me. She looks tired and drawn, and I put a hand on her. Carrying a kit strikes some harder than others, and Leezh has had a rough time of it. Still, she is strong and there is no worry to be found in her body, only a sour stomach. I send healing thoughts from my khui to hers, to calm the anger in her gut and ease some of the sickness. “You must drink more water,” I chide her, and then add, “and more tea. Kemli has a good one for taking care of angry bellies.”
“I think I tried it. The tea that tastes like shoe leather?” She makes a face. “I think I’d rather just puke.” Her face pales, and then she reaches for her bowl again. “Actually, maybe not.”
I sit with Leezh and Raahosh for a time. There is nothing I can do for Leezh’s stomach that more water and time will not fix. We chat about hunting, and mates, and Raashel, who is one of the kits that looks more human than sa-khui. I brag on my little Esha, who is already learning how to work a skin with her father. And we discuss more pregnancies.
“I think I’m the only one that has resonated twice,” Leezh says. “Is that fast?”
“Mmm.” I think of Shorshie and her secret. “Not always. If the mother is healthy enough to carry another kit, it can happen even faster.”
Raahosh touches his mate’s flat stomach. “Can you tell us if it is male or female?”
Leezh grins at me. “We’re already arguing over names. I told him if it’s a boy, he can name it, but if it’s a girl, it’s all mine. I want to call her Aayla.”
“Ay-lah?”
“Yeah, after Aayla Secura. From the prequels. I mean, they were pretty shitty, but Aayla was a badass Jedi. And blue! It’s like a win-win.” Leezh rubs her stomach happily. “Not that my kid would be a Jedi, but it’s a pretty safe bet that she’ll be blue and badass, so I think it works.”
“Ah.”
“She does not understand your words, my mate,” Raahosh says. “And the only reason I do is because I have heard this many times already.”
“I am sure Jeh-die is a nice name,” I tell Leezh.
“Aayla. Not Jedi.” She just sighs and shakes her head at us. “Where are my Star Wars nerds when I need them?” Raahosh just snorts and gets to his feet, moving to pick up Raashel. As he does, Leezh gives me a curious look. “I don’t mean to be weird, but is that…cake by the door?”
Oh. I have forgotten about Stay-see’s food. I was hoping to quietly abandon it. “Yes.”
Leezh’s eyes light up. “Is there more?”
“I think it is gone,” I say, and then quickly add, “but you may have mine.”
She pumps a fist in the air. “I could just kiss you, Maylak.”
I do not point out that I would like that about as much as I would like more cake.
Har-loh has a dirty smudge on her face, a tool in hand, and a look of concentration in her gaze.
“It is a what?” I ask, frowning down at the strange boxy creation she is working on.
“A spays-heater,” she tells me. “For the brutal season. It makes its own heat. Well, in theory. I need to figure out how to make it get hot enough using the sakh bah-tur-ees without overheating.” She sticks the shiny tool into the spays-heater and pries a slice of it off of the front. “Right now it kind of gets molten, but I’m close. I think. Right, baby?”
Rukh grunts in agreement, handing little Rukhar a carved bone rattle. “Warm.” On a blanket near his father, the kit flails his arms, his tail flicking. He throws the rattle and then begins to crawl after it. A small, reluctant smile curves Rukh’s grim face, and it pleases me.
Har-loh is looking at me as if she expects an answer, so I nod. “I see.”
“I don’t want to freeze when it gets cold.” She pauses, and then tilts her head. “Well, colder. And with little Rukhar here, I want to make sure we’re cozy.”
“So you will be staying for the brutal season?” I know both Har-loh and her mate like to go to the Elders’ Cave to get away. Rukh is still not used to so many people around. The brutal season will be difficult on him.
“We stay,” Rukh agrees before Har-loh can speak.
“We will be glad to have you.” I place my hand on her arm and give her a little squeeze of affection. I reach out to her khui, and find it pulsing steadily. It is strong, but keeping Har-loh healthy takes much out of it. I send a bolstering wave of healing from my khui to hers before I remove my hand.
“I must get going,” I tell Har-loh and her mate. “I want to check on Ti-fah-ni and Salukh before the day gets too long.” I rub my belly, using it as an excuse to move along. “My feet are already tired of all this standing.”
“I walk with you, healer,” Rukh says, gathering up his son. Har-loh goes back to her box, pulling off another shiny layer.
As we get out of the cave, Rukh stops me. He glances back at his cave, then at me. “I have…worries.”
My senses tingle with dread. That strange, nagging feeling that has been following me all morning moves over me again. “Over Rukhar? He is doing very well.” I run a finger along the kit’s fat blue cheek. He practically hums with good health. “Or over the upcoming brutal season?” I place my hand on his arm casually. There are no problems. “Your family is fine, Rukh.”
His mouth sets in an unhappy line, and he holds his squirming son closer as he leans in. “Har-loh. I…worry. Resonance.”
“You resonated again?” So many kits will be coming to our small tribe. I can scarcely imagine it.
He shakes his head quickly, and there is fear in his eyes. “It my worry. Leezh—”
Ah. I understand now. Har-loh is the most fragile of the humans, and carrying Rukhar was hard on her body. I give him a reassuring squeeze on the arm. “I just spoke to her khui and it is fine. There are no problems.”
“Is…a way to stop more?” He caresses his son’s head, fierce love in his gaze.
“You do not want to resonate again?”
The look on his face is tortured. “Yes. But no risk Har-loh. She is…everything.” He clenches a fist over his heart, anguished. “I cannot lose her…”
“I know.” And I suspect he will not leave the caves unless there is a healer nearby. He will not risk his mate. “Perhaps you will not resonate again. Perhaps you will. Only the khui can decide.” When he looks troubled, I add, “Her khui will not allow the kit to destroy her. If she is not strong enough to carry, it will not happen again. And if it does happen, I am here. I am not going anywhere.”
Some of the tension eases from his face. He nods slowly and grips my arm tightly, then returns to his cave with his son. I watch him go, sorting through my emotions. I know how he feels. Some nights, I watch Esha sleep, terrified of all the things that could happen that could break a small, fragile body. And sometimes I stay awake and gaze at my mate, thinking the same thing. Our world is dangerous, and even though Kashrem is a tanner and stays near the cave most days, there are still many things that can happen. I worry. I always worry. The entire tribe is mine to protect, but Kashrem and Esha are mine.
I know Rukh’s fears well.
“Maylak,” someone calls, pulling me from my thoughts. “Healer.”
It is Bek. I head toward the sound of his voice, near the entrance of the cave. “I am here.”
He storms forward, an irritated expression on his face. “We need your healing. Harrec has sliced his hand open on his spear.”
“Again?” I take the arm he offers me and lean on him so I can walk faster. His khui is vibrant and stronger th
an most. It is not surprising—my brother has always been a fierce male. Of course his khui will be fierce as well. “What were you doing?”
He snorts, his steps impatient as he slows his gait to match mine. “I did nothing. He has hands like clubs. I merely tried to show him a better way to wrap his spear point.”
I chuckle. “You must be patient, brother.”
“I am.”
“With others.”
The grunt of acknowledgment he makes tells me that he does not agree, but he also does not wish to argue. We head out through the entrance and into the snows. The day is nice and mild, the wind ruffling my braids. In the distance, I see two or three of the hunters clustered together. It is odd—one of them is wounded and yet my sense of dread does not seem to be any greater. “I suppose Harrec could not walk to the cave himself so I could tend to his hand?”
“He could…if he did not pass out at the sight of his blood.” My brother’s voice is sour.
A small giggle escapes me. I had forgotten Harrec has such a problem. Hunting does not bother him, but one drop of his own blood and he is on the floor. “Of course. Well, I suppose it is a nice day for a walk.” I place a hand on the underside of my belly to support it. It is uncomfortable to walk so far, but I can endure it.
My brother is silent as we head up the ridge to where Harrec lies sprawled. I see Taushen and Hassen near him, crouching. Spear-making supplies are scattered in the snow. “Are you well?” Bek asks after a moment. “You seem…withdrawn today.”
“I am tired,” I tell him.
“That is not it.”
My brother knows me well. “And I worry, of course.”
“About the kit?”
I shake my head, my gaze fixed on Harrec. “Something feels wrong. I am not sure what. But I will find out.”
“Tell me when you do. If I can help, let me know.”
I smile at my brother. He hunts for us, and he is a good male. A good provider. I am sad for him in that the other humans have all started families and resonated, and there is nothing for my hot-tempered brother. I know he is jealous of their happiness. I know he still misses the quiet one named Claire. “I know. If there is anything that I need done, I will come to you. This I promise.”
Then we are at Harrec’s side and do not discuss it further. Bek helps me to kneel next to the fallen hunter, and I am relieved to see his color is good despite his stillness. In his breast, Harrec’s khui thrums, as bright and pulsing as ever. I send healing songs through to his khui, encouraging it to close the wound in his hand and knit the flesh…and to wake him, because the others will tease him mercilessly if he does not stir soon.
Well, they will tease him mercilessly regardless.
Harrec is roused, and the others rib him about the cut, even as I wrap a strip of leather around it. The flesh is almost completely healed, but the cut was deep and will need to be protected overnight. I take this time to touch Taushen and Hassen both and find no issues. Bek sees me sneaking a quick brush of hands against the others. I suspect he knows what I am doing, but he says nothing.
My brother may not be patient, but he is understanding.
3
The elders are fine. Despite their age, they are as fit as any of the younger tribesmates. Warrek is teaching young Sessah how to craft a snare, and I run my hands over Sessah’s head just to check him. All are fine.
Perhaps this is nothing but the worry of a heavily pregnant female. Broody, as Shorshie says. I do not know, but I will finish visiting everyone in the tribe before I will relax.
Haeden and Vaza are out on the trails and will not return to the caves tonight. Farli has taken her parents, Kemli and Borran, to the Elders’ Cave so they can learn the gesture language that Li-lah speaks. I will worry over them until they return, but for now, there are others to check on. I think of my brother, and where his heart lies, and head for Claire and Ereven’s cave.
I arrive just as Ereven is emerging, his fishing nets slung over his shoulder. He gives me an easy smile and touches my shoulder. “Healer. You are more full with kit every time I look at you.”
“That is because I am,” I tease back. That small skin-contact tells me that Ereven is not the cause of my worry, and so I peek past him into his cave. “I came to check on your lovely mate.”
“She is with Tee-fah-nee and the one that cries all the time. Their mates are out hunting.” He gestures at his nets. “And I am about to join them. Claire wants fish tonight.”
I smile. “I will not keep you.” My mind already is racing ahead. The one that cries all the time is Ar-eeh-aw-nuh, and not the mate I would have chosen for Zolaya, who is always smiling and happy. His mate is nothing like that. When she first arrived, she cried because she hated the cold. Now she cries because she is tired and her kit is fussy. I can help with that, at least.
As Ereven departs, my back seems to squeeze tight, the muscles pulling hard in protest to all my walking. A hiss escapes me, and I pause, sending healing through my body. The aches disappear a few moments later and I can walk again. I shuffle forward. I am tired and want nothing more than to return to my bed and curl up in a nest of furs, but I can do that once I have eased my fears. I rub the underside of my belly again and head toward Ti-fah-ni’s cave.
The three women are seated around Ti-fah-ni’s fire, sorting through handfuls of seeds. Ar-ee-aw-nuh holds her kit Analay, rubbing his back as he cries. Claire sits with her legs crossed in front of her, belly gently rounded with the first signs of her coming kit. Ti-fah-ni is newly resonated and will not have a belly for moons and moons yet. They all look up at me as I enter, and Ti-fah-ni jumps to her feet. “Maylak! Come sit! You look tired.”
I bite back my irritation. Why does everyone tell me I look bad? I am just fat with kit. But I know she means well, and so I put a smile on my face. “I heard Analay is having a rough day and wanted to help.” Ti-fah-ni’s hands are strong on mine, and the healing pulse I send through her tells me she is well. I let her help me to her seat, settling between the two women.
Ar-ee-aw-nuh immediately hands Analay over to me, her mouth downturned in a frown. “He’s so fussy today. Is it my milk again?”
I rock the kit in my arms, sending warm healing through his little body. Of all the tribe, Analay worries me the most. His khui is not strong, and he struggles where others flourish. I have never shared this with the mother because it is something that can either get better with time, or worse. There is no way of knowing, and to tell her my fears would only cause more worry. It is just another burden that a healer must bear, and so I watch Analay closely. The khui heals much, but it cannot heal all, and something in his mother’s milk makes his small stomach hurt. I send my healing through to him to encourage his body to welcome food, but every day is difficult for him. “It is. He is hungry, but it upsets his stomach.”
Tears of frustration rise to Ar-ee-aw-nuh’s eyes. “Is my baby lactose intolerant? Can’t you fix that?”
I shake my head, because I do not know these words. Milk is milk, and Analay does not like milk. “Perhaps when he gets older, he can eat meat if it is chewed well for him.”
“There’s a herb that settles the stomach, right? Maybe we can mash some not-potato with some bone broth and some of the herb and see if that helps?” Ti-fah-ni asks, looking at me.
“Kemli has one,” I agree. “Analay is young for solid food, but perhaps it is worth trying.”
“I’ll go,” Claire says, getting to her feet. She is graceful despite the rounded swell of her belly.
I reach out and put my hand on her stomach before she can move away. “How is your stomach?”
“I’m great.” Claire’s voice is shy. She puts a hand on each side of her stomach and gives a little wiggle. “Seriously, I feel wonderful. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“I am the healer. Let me be the judge of that.” I say, even as I pull my hand away. I do not even need to touch Claire’s skin to know she is in perfect health. Nor is fussy Analay the cause
of my worries. It is something else. But what?
With my healing soothing his aches, Analay sleeps in my arms, and Ti-fah-ni comforts the distressed mother. Poor Ar-ee-aw-nuh. I know it worries Zolaya, who cannot help. He spends long hours hunting because it is something he can do, and this just puts more strain on his mate, who is left with a crying child for long hours. No mating is ever perfect, but it is always hardest right after a kit is born. This, I know well. I think of myself and my Kashrem, when it seemed that overnight we went from lazy days in the furs to frantic swaddling changes and very little sleep. The first few turns of the moon are always difficult.
Claire returns a short time later with the herbs, and the women make a broth-and-root mash for Analay while I hold him. The first few bites he takes makes his little face pucker, but he manages to get a small meal down, and when I send my healing through him, I do not feel the gut-ache he normally has. “I think it is working. Perhaps feed some milk and some mash, and slowly you can move him over to mash entirely. He still needs the nutrients from your milk for now.” I hand him back to his mother, who has a relieved look on her thin face. “And always come to get me when he is upset.”
“I didn’t want to bother you,” Ar-ee-aw-nuh says, holding Analay close.
“I am the healer. It is my job to look after everyone.” I smile at her and slowly get to my feet. “And it is only a touch of my hands.”
“But doesn’t it make you tired?”
I am surprised at her question. Of course it makes me tired. Every ounce of healing I give to another is pushing my khui to stretch a bit more, and sometimes it stretches too far. But…it is also my job, as healer. Every untreated wound, I feel in my heart. It is my duty to keep the tribe healthy and strong.