Free Daughter of Albion by Ilka Tampke

its surface. Strange, when I left Cad the day had been clear, but now the water was dark under low cloud. I stood, knotting my waterskin back onto my belt, when I heard a long moan.
    Neha growled and I heard it again. It came from upstream, near the forest’s mouth. Neha darted toward it. I followed her and peered over the bank where she had stopped.
    There, crouched in the shallows, not five paces away, and hunched in pain, was a man. He was unclothed to the waist, his dark hair spilling over his bare shoulders, and he was rocking as he moaned.
    â€˜Are you…in need?’ I called.
    He looked up in surprise.
    â€˜By the Mothers,’ I whispered when I saw his face.
    A large iron fishhook was pierced through his lower lip. He stared at me from dark brown eyes, trembling.
    â€˜What a wicked wound!’ I dropped my basket and splashed into the water. ‘Let me help you.’
    But he startled, like an injured animal, jerking his face from my touch.
    â€˜Hush,’ I said, crouching before him. ‘I cannot help you if you don’t let me look.’
    Slowly he turned toward me. He was barely beyond learning age—perhaps three or four summers my elder—but his beard was thick and he was finer than a king, with searching eyes, hollow cheeks and the ripe, brooding lips of a displeased god.
    Neha had followed me in. She whimpered, licking the brown skin of his shoulder. Only now did I notice that she had not barked.
    My soaked skirts billowed around me. ‘Are you a fisherman?’ I asked, bewildered. ‘Where is your shirt?’
    He went to speak but flinched with pain.
    â€˜Let me try to free it,’ I coaxed. ‘I am trained in wound work.’
    He paused then shifted toward me.
    I eased open his lip and inspected the hook. ‘You’ll have to come back with me to the township,’ I told him. ‘It will take a smith’s tool to cut it cleanly.’
    His eyes flared and he shook his head.
    â€˜You will not come?’
    He shook again.
    I stared at him, wondering at his stubbornness. ‘This wound will catch heat if you do not clear the implement,’ I explained. ‘If you won’t come, then I shall have to cut it now.’
    He searched my face, making some kind of reckoning of me, then nodded.
    â€˜Be steady,’ I warned, loosing my knife from my belt. ‘There is a ring at one end of the hook and a barb at the other. I will enlarge the piercing and slide it out. Can you hold?’
    His eyes widened but he nodded again.
    â€˜I have some knowledge of surgery. It will be quick.’ I gripped the knife close to the blade. ‘Ready now,’ I said. ‘Hold here about my ankles and squeeze if the pain is too strong. I’ve helped a few women in birth, so I can take some squeezing.’
    A trace of a smile flickered in his face as he braced himself against my legs.
    I stretched his cheek flesh taut with one hand and positioned my knife with the other. ‘There!’
    He gasped as I sliced deftly. Deeply. Through the crimson surge I opened the cut and tugged hard on the hook, taking care that it did not re-lodge in his flesh as it passed. Proudly, I held it up for him to see.
    â€˜Mother of earth,’ he gasped, blood streaming down his chin, ‘you have the touch of a slaughterwoman!’
    I stared at him, disbelieving. Where were his thanks? ‘Come out of the water,’ I called as I climbed onto the bank. ‘I need to treat the piercing.’
    He did not move. I watched him from the shore. A trickle of blood ran down his chest and stomach. He was lean, but his muscles were long and well worked, the body of a messenger.
    â€˜As you wish,’ I said.
    He waited in silence as I plucked stalks of nettle from the river’s edge and squeezed their juice into my palm, mixing it with honey from Dun’s bundle. I stepped back into the shallows. ‘This will stem the blood,’ I said, dabbing it on