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 forestâs 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.
âAre youâ¦in need?â I called.
He looked up in surprise.
âBy the Mothers,â 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.
âWhat a wicked wound!â I dropped my basket and splashed into the water. âLet me help you.â
But he startled, like an injured animal, jerking his face from my touch.
âHush,â I said, crouching before him. âI cannot help you if you donât let me look.â
Slowly he turned toward me. He was barely beyond learning ageâperhaps three or four summers my elderâbut 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. âAre you a fisherman?â I asked, bewildered. âWhere is your shirt?â
He went to speak but flinched with pain.
âLet me try to free it,â I coaxed. âI am trained in wound work.â
He paused then shifted toward me.
I eased open his lip and inspected the hook. âYouâll have to come back with me to the township,â I told him. âIt will take a smithâs tool to cut it cleanly.â
His eyes flared and he shook his head.
âYou will not come?â
He shook again.
I stared at him, wondering at his stubbornness. âThis wound will catch heat if you do not clear the implement,â I explained. âIf you wonât come, then I shall have to cut it now.â
He searched my face, making some kind of reckoning of me, then nodded.
âBe steady,â I warned, loosing my knife from my belt. âThere 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?â
His eyes widened but he nodded again.
âI have some knowledge of surgery. It will be quick.â I gripped the knife close to the blade. âReady now,â I said. âHold here about my ankles and squeeze if the pain is too strong. Iâve helped a few women in birth, so I can take some squeezing.â
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. âThere!â
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.
âMother of earth,â he gasped, blood streaming down his chin, âyou have the touch of a slaughterwoman!â
I stared at him, disbelieving. Where were his thanks? âCome out of the water,â I called as I climbed onto the bank. âI need to treat the piercing.â
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.
âAs you wish,â I said.
He waited in silence as I plucked stalks of nettle from the riverâs edge and squeezed their juice into my palm, mixing it with honey from Dunâs bundle. I stepped back into the shallows. âThis will stem the blood,â I said, dabbing it on
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley