Cursed Ch. 02

Chapter Two

The Priory of Junen
Anteran

Three hours later the unconscious man was transferred onto the smooth wooden table in the small thatched hut Lena shared with Eula.

Merryl and Karina left immediately without speaking.

Trying to shut out their strained faces from her mind, Lena struck a fire in the hearth at the centre of the cool, dark hut, feeding the flames with dry kindling. When it was blazing with reassuring heat she lit as many candles as she could find, while Eula fetched water from the well. The hunting trip hadn't been a complete washout; Lena had managed to harvest a number of crucial herbs and while they steeped she mixed a poultice in advance for her patient's thigh.

When Eula returned with the small cauldron of water, Lena was examining the man's worst wound. She peered over Lena's shoulder and wrinkled her nose at the filthy wadding around the broken arrow. "Eesh, what a mess."

"I know. I'm almost scared to look."

"Have you seen anything worse? I don't think I have. Except maybe when Iyllia stood on that barb last summer and it turned into an abscess. Remember?"

"I'm not likely to forget. I had to drain it three times a day for a week." Lena gingerly plucked at the grubby bandage. "Whoever did this almost did a good job. Shame it wasn't clean. At least they had the sense to leave the arrow in. He might have bled to death otherwise."

Her first task was to remove the tourniquet. She tutted in frustration. "It's set solid." With a sharp knife she gently sliced through the inches of matted material until at last it cracked apart.

Both women jerked back, gasping sharply in unison.

Eula grimaced. "Maybe I'll burn some safar oil. He's a little ripe."

Lena gave a rueful smile at the understatement. "Good idea." She hardly dared look too closely at the wound at first, fearing what she would find, but after rinsing away the caked blood saw with immense relief it wasn't as bad as she'd dreaded––a little red, but not yet seeping. The tourniquet had been tight enough to keep filth at bay. But there was no denying an arrowhead was not a sanitary object. Junen knew what evils lurked beneath the surface.

Soon the welcome scent of safar wafted past her nose. "Oh, Eula, that helps."

Eula returned to the table still with a frown of discomfort furrowing her brow. "Not much. What a rotten stench."

"I know, but it's mostly the bandage." She held up the offending material.

"Let me take that. I'll burn it outside." Pinching her nose, Eula disappeared outside with the bundle held at arm's length.

With the bandage removed the air was noticeably improved. Lena cut the man's leggings off. They were soiled beyond repair anyway and she had to make sure there weren't any hidden wounds about his person.

His genitals lay inert and innocuous in a nest of dark curls. It wasn't the first she'd seen in her life; most recently she'd tended Caldey's baker for the furuncle he'd developed in his groin. She'd behaved with perfunctory courtesy. But then Doran Malwand was as doughy as the bread he baked. It was easy for Lena to tend him with professional disinterest. The man lying here on her table begged to be looked at. Under the grime and dried blood he was a beautiful specimen––fit and lean, except for powerfully muscular thighs. A horseman, she guessed, and shivered at the thought of the beasts he'd controlled with a squeeze of his muscles.

Butterflies fluttered for a moment in her belly, and with a small frown at the direction of her thoughts, she set the image aside, covering his groin with a cloth and going through the mental list of tasks she must perform.

A low groan rumbled through the man's chest and his cracked lips parted.

Dismayed to see him waking already, Lena scurried to find some valerian to help him sleep. She returned just as his lids began to flicker open revealing pain-veiled eyes.

He stared at Lena. "Y-you came back." Some unseen muscle twitched in his body making him gasp and in reflex grip her arm with surprising strength.

"Hush. You're safe now. But I need to give you this so I can deal with your leg." She held up the stubby bottle of viscous fluid.

Panic replaced the pain in his eyes. "D-don't take my leg!" He tried to rise up but groaned and slumped back, his hand going to his head.

"It's all right, I'm just taking the arrow out, nothing more." Uncorking the valerian she poured some onto a wooden spoon and held it close to his lips. "Here, this will help."

To her alarm he pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"I'm going to hurt you...a lot. I can't have you moving about."

He shook his head again and remained tight-lipped.

Lena pulled back with the spoon. "Why won't you take it?"

He regarded her with a wary eye in case she meant to trick him into opening his mouth. "I-Ib preber to b-be awake," he mumbled through almost closed lips.

"If it was me I'd want to be asleep."

"I d-dob want to wake ub w-wibout a leg."

Lena's heart gave a squeeze of sympathy. "You have my word, you'll keep your leg."

"R-really?"

She made the sign of Junen across her breast. "On my life." Then she held up the spoon with an encouraging smile.

He hesitated, even more pale than he had been, but after another agonising twinge that made sweat bead on his grimy forehead he finally conceded and opened his mouth.

Lena passed the spoon between his lips and gulped as they closed over the small scoop. She'd never noticed before how intimate an act it was to feed someone when they were as helpless as he was.

By the time Eula returned the man was asleep again. "What can I do?" she asked.

"Keep an eye on him. If he shows any sign of waking, let me know."

Eula pulled up a stool and focused intently on the man's face. "Who do you think he is? A soldier? He looks fit enough to be one. He had no uniform though."

Or he discarded it, Lena thought. "Anything is possible."

"He hardly looks dangerous though. Don't you think? I don't know what all the fuss is about."

Lena wasn't so sure. She'd felt singularly not herself from the moment she set eyes on the man and she had no explanation. Why did her hands linger on his skin as if she took as much pleasure from touching him as she might from being touched? An image popped into her head of what it might feel like to be touched by him, and she shivered. Why did she keep looking at his face, which in repose and despite the beard revealed him to be younger than she thought, maybe about her own age, or a year or two younger? Not dangerous? She was beginning to understand Josta's reservations, and Nerris's for that matter.

She couldn't help her cheeks growing warm and fired a nervous glance at Eula to make sure her thoughts weren't too visible, but her friend was concentrating equally hard on their patient. "He might not be dangerous now, but who knows what he's like when he's well? He could be a monster."

Eula gave a doubtful smile. "You think?"

Feeling strangely lightheaded and shaky, Lena latched on to Josta's advice as a means to keeping herself on the straight and narrow. "I'm just saying we don't know anything about him."

"He's very handsome."

"Compared to who?"

Eula flickered a look at Lena with a questioning raise of an eyebrow. "Have you seen a man more comely?"

Lena peered closely at the protruding arrow trying to decide how to attack it but felt her cheeks grow hotter and was grateful for the dim light. "Can't say as I noticed."

Eula made a small scoffing sound. "So why is he here?"

Pausing for a moment Lena met Eula's look with a small frown. "To be healed of course."

"Would you have been so intent on rescuing him if he looked like the baker?"

Discomforted that Eula had come so unwittingly close to echoing her own thoughts, Lena frowned. "Doran is a very nice man."

Eula snorted again. "You're a terrible liar. You always have been."

"I need to concentrate now. This is going to be tricky." That was no lie. Working quickly and calmly she made incisions around the wound and began to edge the barb out. The delicate work took a great deal of concentration and thoughts of the man's appearance drifted to the back of her mind.

When she finally dropped the bloodied arrow on the table Lena breathed a sigh of relief. "He's lucky," she said, "it didn't hit anything vital."

"Nice work," Eula remarked with open admiration.

"How is he?"

"Fine. Still out cold."

"Good, on the shelf there's a small bottle with red liquid in it...just to the left, could I have it, please?"

Eula fetched the bottle and passed it over. She picked up the arrow, squinting at it as she turned it over in her hand. "Well, if he is a soldier he's not an enemy of Anteran."

Lena didn't know as much about weaponry as her friend. Different mentors concentrated on instilling different skills in their novices. Eula was a novice hunter and knew a great deal about weapons and the like. "No?"

"Anteran soldiers don't use longbows, they use crossbows."

"Oh?" Lena remembered the Faerie's protestation of innocence. "Is it a Faerie arrow?"

Eula peered at the iron tip. "No. And the workmanship isn't very good. Most regular smithies would take more pride in their craft. Whoever made this didn't give a damn. They just wanted to churn out something capable of killing or maiming."

The two women looked at each other.

"Cathasian," they said together.

Lena looked at the man with no small amount of relief. If he was an enemy of Cathas he was likely a friend of theirs. She would have mended a Cathasian as well as anyone else, but the ramifications for the Priory if they were found to be harbouring an enemy of the territory would be huge.

Flushing the wound with the contents of the bottle she pointed to her workbench. "Grab those flat tongs for me please? Hold them like so."

Eula held the wound together with the tongs as Lena made a series of holes along the torn edges of skin with the point of a blade. Then she threaded a bone needle with linen cord and stitched the wound. After tying a neat knot at the end of the row she sluiced the wound again, this time with a salt solution, then stood back.

"It's good," announced Eula, examining the stitching, "some of your best."

"Tell me that in a day or two when he keeps his leg."

With Eula's assistance she dealt with the lesser gashes across the young man's torso and arms, at the same time thinking about what her friend had said. He was comely, possessed of a tightly muscled body harking to years of hard, physical training. There wasn't an ounce of spare flesh on him. She had to pause for a moment to still the trembling of her hand, wondering if contrary to the standing joke she really had caught a cold during the hunting trip. It was the only explanation for her current, almost fevered, condition. It wasn't like her at all to be so nervy, not when it came to the business of healing.

When she finally finished it was well into the small hours of the morning. She applied a poultice to the man's thigh and covered him with a pelt. "I think we've earned a rest."

Retiring to the hearth both women sank down––relieved to finally put their feet up. It had been an incredibly long day and night.

"Thanks for your help tonight," Lena murmured.

"You're welcome, but I hope not to have to do that for a while," Eula said, stifling a yawn. Her eyelids were drooping.

Just then Josta entered the hut. When both girls jumped up she patted the air. "Sit." Her keen gaze shifted to the patient on the table. "How is he?"

"If we can stave off inflammation he may survive," Lena answered.

"Did you learn his name?"

Lena mentally kicked herself for the basic oversight. "He was awake for a short time but very distressed. I didn't think to quiz him."

"Never mind. And how long do you think before he can walk?" Clearly the priesta felt eager to see the man on his way.

"His leg will take some time to mend, but he seems strong and healthy. I'd say in a week, maybe two, he could travel with the aid of a crutch."

"Days will be bad enough," Josta said with a sigh. "I'll have a hard time justifying weeks."

"If he survives that long," Lena remarked.

Josta rested her hand on Lena's shoulder and squeezed. "I'll go to the temple and pray for a speedy recovery." With that she ducked back out of the hut.

"Doesn't she ever sleep?" Eula asked, yawning again.

"Not much." Seeing how tired the other girl was, Lena stifled a yawn of her own. "I'll make up a pallet by the fire. If you can help me carry him down I'll sit with him to make sure he doesn't take a fever and you can go to bed."

Once the man was resting in the little bed Lena fixed for him, Euna retreated to her own cot on the other side of the hut while Lena sat down next to her patient. She touched her palm to his forehead, relieved to feel it was cool and dry, and let her hand linger to brush a strand of hair away but snatched it back when he opened his eyes. For some reason she felt guilty, as though she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't. But she was only tending a patient, like she would any other. "Hello," she murmured.

The closer to consciousness he rose, the more clarity his bright eyes took on, like an oil lamp being turned up. His hand went straight away to pat down the pelt and he relaxed when he felt the reassuring lump of his limb.

"I told you all would be well. How do you feel?"

He licked his lips and Lena at once brought a cup of water to his mouth. When he'd taken a few small sips he sighed. "Like I've been trampled by a herd of oxen." His voice was rough with dehydration and disuse.

"Stranger things have happened in these parts."

He snorted and winced.

Lena helped him drink more water again then put the cup to one side. "What is your name, sir?" she asked, remembering Josta's imperative but wanting to know more for her own need than anything else. She didn't want to keep referring to him as the man, or the soldier.

Opening his mouth to speak, he hesitated. "Uh..."

It took Lena a moment to realise the significance. Seeing his confusion she touched his shoulder. "It's of little note. You've had a great deal of valerian today, and suffered a lot of pain."

A crease deepened between his brows. "But my name. I know it...it's..." He rubbed his furrowed forehead. "It's..."

"No matter," Lena assured him. "It's not unusual to feel confused, especially after a blow to the head. You've quite an egg there. Doubtless you'll feel better in the morning. Don't worry about it too much."

He lay quietly for a few moments, still frowning. "Y-you're the one who found me in the woods," he said at last.

"That's right."

"Where am I?"

"You're a guest of the Priory of Junen, near the village of Caldey, in Anteran," she prompted, seeing no hint of recognition in his face.

His hand clenched into a fist. "It's on the tip of my tongue..."

She tried to distract him. "I'm Lena." She pointed into the shadowy corner where Eula lay snoring already. She was a famously heavy sleeper. "My friend, Eula, helped mend you as well."

His gaze slipped sideways following her hand. "You know a lot about healing, Lena."

She made a face. "I wish I knew more. Unfortunately I'm a slave to time as much as the next person. I'm learning to be patient."

His mouth twisted into a wry smile. "I have a feeling I'm not a patient man." Suddenly his long fingers closed over hers. "Thank you for helping me. I thought I was going to die. Those men...they didn't look right."

Surprised by the passion of his admission, and disconcerted by the unaccustomed intimacy with a man, she disengaged her hand and clasped it in her lap as goose bumps stippled across her arms. "You don't have to thank me. It's my job. And they weren't men, they were Faeries."

His lips crooked into a faint smile.

"Is something funny?" Lena asked, bemused.

"I must be drugged. I thought you said those men were Faeries."

"I did. They were."

He scoffed, and winced again. "That's ridiculous. There's no such thing as Faeries."

"You said yourself they didn't look right."

"I know, but I meant they didn't look like..." He was having difficulty following his own logic. "Faeries are like dragons. They're myths designed to make children behave."

"Every bedtime story has an ounce or so of truth in it. They were definitely Faerie-folk, and you're fortunate they didn't decide to punish you for being on their land. They aren't always so accommodating."

He was quiet for a time. When he spoke again his voice was low. "Whoever they were, if you hadn't found me I'd be dead. I owe you my life."

Lena had no argument. He very likely would have died. He still could. "Hush, don't dwell on it. You're safe now." Her hand slipped over of its own accord and stroked his cheek. If he hadn't had the strength to call out she might never have stumbled upon him. Thinking of him lying cold and lifeless in the bracken sent a chill through her blood. "Shall I give you something for the pain? It will help you sleep."

He didn't need it. He'd drifted off of his own accord.

*******

Lena started awake with a curse. She'd nodded off beside her patient with her head on her arm and it had gone to sleep. Shaking the numb, useless limb until the flashing pain of pins and needles heralded a return of circulation she saw the fire had reduced to black embers and a faint, watery light filtered through the door. It was nearly dawn.

A moan drew her attention. The man's cheeks were flushed and hot to the touch, yet he shivered.

"Bloody moon." Lena scrambled to the pantry to rummage through the jars, so focused she forgot to apologise to Junen for swearing. Blue Bramble oil. Where in the blazes of death was it? She knew she had some somewhere. When her hand fell on the familiar jar her heart thudded in relief. Praise Junen!

He growled when she pushed back the pelt and began smoothing the cool oil onto his body. His skin burned under her hands. She cursed herself again for sleeping as his damp head tossed fitfully back and forth in discomfort and he fought to snatch the cover back.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, knocking back his hands and working the unctuous oil into his chest, "I know you feel cold but this will help." She swallowed hard feeling the tight points of his nipples sliding under her palms. It was an outrage, she thought, that she should take any physical pleasure from tending to him. She resolved to visit the temple at the first opportunity and beg forgiveness.

A scuffling noise behind her made her look around as Eula got up from her cot and shuffled across the room, rubbing her eyes. "How is he?"

"Fevered," Lena replied.

"Damn. Can I do anything?"

"Pray."

"I'm going to Morn Prayers now. I take it you'll stay here?"

"I can't leave him like this."

"Of course. I'll tell Josta."

With shaking, oily hands Lena screwed the lid back on the jar and sat back, cursing again her inattention. It would be full daylight before she knew if she'd arrested the fever in time. She stoked the fire. In a short time the dawn chorus would begin and Morn Prayers would commence. All the priestae and novices would be gathered at the temple. No doubt Nerris would note her absence and mark another black strike against her name. Right now she didn't care. Nerris could whistle. She returned to her vigil. There was no law to say she couldn't praise Junen from where she sat. Raising her eyes to the thatched ceiling she spoke quietly. "Blessed Mother of the forest, You sent him here to us, and I wouldn't question Your motives, but I beg for a sign of some sort...anything to guide me. What would You have me do?" She waited, holding her breath, but no sign came.

Idiot. What were you expecting, a thunderclap from the sky? As if the Great Mother would waste Her time talking to a novice, and a failing one at that! She sent him here and need not explain Herself to the likes of you.