by Lori Holmes
Nyri could not help him. She quickly assessed Omaal. His shoulders were bleeding from a row of deep gashes where the cat had caught him. Muscles and sinew were exposed. Blood dripped to the ground. He needed a healer urgently.
Curling over the injured boy, Nyri offered what little protection she could while they waited for their fate to be decided. Climbing into a tree with Omaal as a burden was out of the question and if she ran, the feline would give chase. Batai would not be able to stop her. Nyri’s only option was to hold her ground and pray.
Batai dodged the cat’s slashing claws with difficulty. She was lightening quick. The wolf had to get the cat in his teeth to have any hope of winning the fight. Disregarding the danger, Batai lunged forward, forcing close quarters, bearing the cat to the ground, biting, snapping, snarling, seeking the death hold. Fur flew into the air. Over and over, the two deadly predators rolled, ripping and clawing at each other. Pulling Omaal tight, she turned closed her eyes against the savagery. She did not want to watch. She held the screaming, bleeding child as still as possible.
A sudden mewling screech was followed by a sickening crack. Then silence. Omaal was howling. Shaking from head to foot, Nyri did not dare raise her head. Death or survival awaited.
She flinched and bit back a cry as something caught at her arm. A soft growl quieted her. Batai. Nyri forced her eyes open. The wolf was lying on his brisket at their sides, his muzzle slashed and stained. Nyri could feel the warm wetness of blood on her arm where he had nudged it. Numbly, she shifted the arm out of his way and the wolf snuffled at the distressed boy on the ground.
“Batai,” Omaal flung his arms around the wolf’s neck and cried himself out into the matted fur.
Nyri made the mistake of glancing past their saviour and flinched as she met sightless yellow eyes staring straight back at her from across the forest floor. The cat’s neck was crushed and broken. She tore her gaze away but her flesh crawled at the close proximity of death. She wanted to leave.
“Nyri! Nyriaana!”
Nyri started at the sound of Daajir’s frantic voice. He came sprinting through the trees, his face covered in sweat. She did not know how far he had had to run to answer her call of distress. “What happened here?”
Nyri staggered to her feet. Her muscles felt weak and cramped. As she struggled to gather herself, only one thought stood out in her mind. Omaal was badly wounded. He needed help. She could not let the shock of what had happened catch up with her now, she had a duty. “Dar, we have to get Omaal back to Baarias, quickly! Help me with him.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Daajir shot forward, assessing the boy’s condition. He caught sight of the open gashes. “Ninmah’s mercy! You little fool! What did you think you were doing? You could have been killed!”
Nyri grabbed Daajir’s arm with a trembling hand. “Daajir, stop! He did not know. Batai got here in time.”
“Do not make excuses for him!” Daajir’s temper flared like wildfire as he shook her hand away. He rounded on Omaal again. “He is one of the strongest. His parents were carefully selected. He’s too precious to us and to our survival to be lost in one act of carelessness.”
Omaal’s cries intensified. A low rumble of warning was emitting from Batai’s throat.
“Daajir!”
“And where were you?” He now unleashed the full force of his anger upon her. “I turned around and you were gone. You’re just as bad as the child! We could have lost both of you! Did you even stop to think about what that would do to our people? Has it escaped your attention that our entire race is dying out!”
His words struck Nyri and hung brutally on the air.
“Of course it hasn’t,” she said in an expressionless tone. “I have to face that truth every day, just like you, Daajir. During my every waking moment, I face it.” She pointed at Omaal. “And you take your frustrations out on him? A boy who should not even be away from the protection of the eshaara grove but has been forced too far too soon through no fault of his own.” Nyri turned her back on Daajir without waiting for a response. She was in no mood to fight. “I’m taking Omaal to Baarias, he needs his wounds treating.”
“Nyri, I’m…” Her words had doused his anger but the damage was done.
“I have to go.” She cut him off. “If I don’t get him to Baarias these wounds will fester.” Nyri did not want to even look at him. She had suffered enough of his temper tantrums during their lives together. This was one too many.
“I will see you back home first,” Daajir muttered, gruffly.
Sighing, Nyri stooped to lift the wounded boy under the armpits. “Come on, Omaal,” she beckoned. “Let me get you some help.”
Though he must have been in pain, Batai pictured what was needed. He got to his feet and then stooped, offering Nyri his broad back. Grateful, she helped little Omaal climb into place behind his shoulders. Daajir walked along behind them as they set off. Nyri ignored him.
“You need some attention, too, young wolf,” she spoke as they travelled, scratching his ears. “Thank you for saving our lives.” She translated her human feeling of gratitude to him in a way he would understand. He swiped her arm with his tongue, showing he understood.
Omaal whimpered at every motion.
“Shh, shh,” Nyri soothed him awkwardly. “We’ll get you to Baarias and everything will be okay. You’re safe now. You are safe.”
The words were as much for her own benefit as they were for Omaal. She tried to stop her hands from shaking and failed. She was struggling against the shock, starting badly at every little sound. They had just felt the hot breath of death across their necks. Much as Nyri hated him right now, Daajir was right. They had come close to losing two members of their tribe today. A loss her people could ill-afford.
Never before had a grishnaa come so close to their home. Nyri tightened her hold on Batai, seeking strength she did not feel and could not help but ask herself what tomorrow would bring.
She lifted her eyes towards a break in the rippling canopy, desperate for reassurance. Ninmah gave none. She simply turned Her face behind a veil and left Nyri in shadow.
5
Healer
When the eshaara trees of home finally reached out to surround them like a protective cocoon, Daajir came up alongside Nyri and Batai. “Nyriaana.” He tried to get her attention.
She still wasn’t ready to forgive him and turned her shoulder. “Just… go and find Omaal’s parents, Daajir. We’re safe now, you can go.”
She was surprised when he heeded her dismissal. She felt his presence move from her side. But despite his repentant demeanor, she knew he would report her behaviour to his precious Elders before he went to find Umaa or Imaani. Nyri snorted bitterly.
Baarias’ dwelling was situated at the very centre of the eshaara grove. He had chosen it specifically for its location and for the network of chambers that the tree formed. Unusually for a Ninkuraaja dwelling, most of the chambers could be accessed at ground level. As the tribe’s master akaab, this feature was essential for Baarias. He could not expect the badly injured or sick to climb very far for treatment.
“My teacher,” Nyri called over Omaal’s whimpering as she walked inside the tree. “I need you!”
“Not for long, I suspect,” a soft voice spoke behind her. “My dear Nyriaana.”
Nyri let out a breath as some of the tension left her. Baarias’ assured presence had always possessed the power to steady her through anything. Just the sound of his gentle tone made it easier for Nyri to focus her mind and close out all else.
“Omaal was attacked by the Pits.” All business now, she pulled the boy from his wolf’s back and laid him on his side upon a waiting bower of cotton moss. Omaal flinched and cried as the motion disturbed his wounds. “A grishnaa cat like the one who killed Chaard. Its claws wounded him before Batai could get there.”
“Let me see,” Baarias came forward and leaned upon his healer’s staff, the herbs he used for his work swaying from the tip. Silver
-white hair fell past his brow as his forehead creased, disrupting the marks of the master akaab, the tribal healer, second only in respect behind the Elders and Sefaan herself.
Baarias’ features were tired and careworn, deeply lined by countless sorrows, making him appear older than he was. His pale, lilac eyes, however, were intense as he took in his patient’s injuries. The prominent scar that slashed across his aging jawline tightened as his lips pressed together and he tutted. “Five deep gashes across the shoulders. You’re a lucky boy, Omaal.”
“Batai s-saved me,” the boy hiccoughed.
“Of course he did,” Baarias soothed. “He’s a brave one. Just like you.”
The boy gave him a weak smile, sightlessly staring in the direction of Baarias’ lined face. Baarias sighed and touched Nyri’s arm, focusing his thoughts upon her. Yet another sad victim of our folly.
Our folly? The only folly had been her own in not watching the boy.
Just like Sefaan, Baarias was given to making these cryptic little comments. If the two did not antagonise one another so much, she might believe that they collaborated behind her back to cause her as much frustration as possible.
Baarias’ only answer was a shake of his head. “Never mind. Come, my akaabi, let’s get to work.” He paused, taking in Nyri’s pale face. “Unless you need to rest? You are not hurt are you?”
“No,” she shook her head. “I let me stay, Baarias. I can do this. Please. I’m not hurt.” If Baarias sent her to rest, she would only dwell on what had just happened.
Baarias scrutinised her face for one moment longer then turned to the wounded boy and stood, waiting silently for Nyri to join him. Relieved and grateful for his acceptance, Nyri surmised she was old enough now for Baarias to respect her choices. She moved to stand beside Omaal’s head. The boy’s eyes were glazed with pain and his breath came in short gasps.
“It’s all right, young one.” Baarias soothed. “We’ll get you put right. Nyri, ease his discomfort while I examine the injury.”
Obediently, Nyri crouched and placed her hands against the boy’s temples. She watched as her teacher chose a few select herbs from the bunches hanging from the reddish walls of his home, crushing them into a collecting bowl formed of one half of a hala nutshell. Drawing water from a clinging aquilem vine, Baarias made a paste and began to smear the sticky substance onto the boy’s wounds to purify the area. Omaal flinched and cried as the mixture stung his exposed flesh.
Breathing deep, Nyri followed the precise steps that Baarias had taught her, focusing first on her own body and closing out any external distractions. Concentrating, she stretched her energy inward. Almost instantly, she became acutely aware of her own heartbeat, the flow of blood in her veins, the zing of messages being sent to her brain from every part of her body, the perfect balance of Ninmah’s creation.
As soon as she was completely attuned, Nyri carried her awareness down to her fingers where they touched Omaal’s head. She could feel the warmth of his skin, slightly slick with sweat, and the pulse of his blood next to hers. She gathered her life’s energy in her fingertips and pushed outward until it merged with the boy’s. They became one.
Pain lashed against Nyri’s senses. With practised effort, she blocked it out and focused solely on what she needed to do, shifting her attention to the injuries. Omaal’s nerve receptors were like blue fire in Nyri’s mind’s eye, thrumming their fierce warning. Stop. She formed a cocoon around them, blocking the impulses, soothing them like a balm. Omaal sighed with relief. His breathing became more even. His body uncoiled. Good. Nyri moved to the next task.
Baarias’ work would be made easier if the boy was completely still. Sleep, she pushed the word and the essence behind it into his mind, visualising him recumbent, out of pain and dreaming of warmer days playing with Batai. The words were purely habit, helping Nyri to form the image of what she needed to achieve. Using her connection to the boy, she sent his body the sense of deep exhaustion. It wasn’t difficult. He was almost there on his own. His body bent to her will and Omaal fell into peaceful oblivion. His breathing deepened.
“Well done,” Nyri heard Baarias mutter from a great distance. “My turn. Watch carefully.”
She knew better than to open her eyes. That was not what her teacher had meant. Nyri’s awareness was extended further still as Baarias linked his life force to theirs. She felt his power gather in the boy’s wounded shoulders. Pinching the deep gashes together, the healer encouraged more blood to flow to the area, willing it to condense and form clots, knitting the rent tissues together, sealing the wounds. He used his energy to speed up the body’s natural processes. When Baarias was finished, Omaal would only have five faint scars to show for his ordeal.
Nyri watched with pride and admiration as her teacher worked. His skill and precision never ceased to amaze her. She only hoped that one day, she could be half as talented. The task was complete before she knew it.
Nyri withdrew her awareness and blinked her eyes open. The dim light of the healing chamber now seemed over-bright. She focused on the twisting reddish walls and the drying herbs hanging from them as her eyes adjusted.
There came a low whine from the corner of the dwelling. She’d almost forgotten about Batai. The wolf looked in worse shape than she remembered now she that knew Omaal was safe. Nyri went over to where the bloodied Son of the Great Spirit lay and put a hand in his warm fur. “Baarias, we need to tend to Batai now.”
Baarias laid a hand on her shoulder. You don’t need me. You have all the skills and knowledge you need to heal Batai yourself. You have learned your lessons well, my akaabi. It’s almost time for me to complete this. He brushed the half finished akaab mark on Nyri’s forehead. Ninmah herself would be proud.
Nyri beamed up at him and touched his hand in thanks as he left the chamber. Another step taken.
Batai gave a long-suffering sigh as Baarias disappeared, eyeing Nyri warily as she squatted in beside him.
“Hey,” she said, mildly insulted by the look in the wolf’s eye. “We can’t all have the master akaab. I’ve got to practice, you know. Now, hold still or I might go and attach things to the wrong place.”
Wall-eyed, Batai licked his lips anxiously. Nyri smiled to herself as the wolf lay flat out and did as she asked.
Working slowly but carefully, Nyri focused her entire attention upon the task. Baarias made it look so easy, so effortless. She had to remember every blood vessel and how to seal the skin in precisely the right way. The level of attention and knowledge that was required was staggering. It had taken long seasons of careful teaching before Baarias had even let her near her first wound. Nyri had chafed at his restrictions but now she had a healthy respect of the need for such patience. Sweat began to drip from her brow. The task required no small amount of power.
Concentrating, she knitted the torn tissues back together, bit by bit, layer by layer, mindful to not miss any stage that would cause further problems later on.
At long last, Nyri was finished and the wolf leapt impatiently to his feet. He was extremely hungry. He shook out his ragged fur, sniffed at the still sleeping Omaal to assure himself of the boy’s well-being then ran out into the lengthening shadows, off to find the rest of the pack and whatever scraps he may be able to scrounge from the day’s hunt.
Nyri rose and stretched, wincing as the blood jabbed like thorns inside her numbed legs. She was exhausted but was still not quite ready to seek out her own space. She settled beside Omaal, watching the boy sleep as she fought to keep her own eyes open. His parents should be here soon, Daajir would bring them.
“Nyri?”
Nyri glanced up at the sound of Kyaati’s voice. Her friend had been hovering in the entranceway but moved quickly inside at Nyri’s bleary acknowledgement. Kyaati appeared as worn as Nyri felt as she lowered herself heavily to the ground, studying Nyri’s face.
“You look like you’ve been dragged through a tree backwards.” Kyaati attempted to smooth Nyri’s tangled hair and remo
ve some of the dirt that Nyri hadn’t even known was smeared upon her skin.
She caught Kyaati’s hand gently, stilling it and drawing it away from her face. She had not let anyone fuss over her in such a way since… Nyri halted the thought in its tracks and smiled gently at her friend, softening the rejection. Kyaati had always tried to treat her like the little sister she had never had. Nyri was greatly touched by this, even if she could never accept it. It would hurt too much to let anyone else get so close.
“Where did you go?” Kyaati asked, taking her hand back. “We turned around to talk to you but you had disappeared. Dar nearly had a fit. Then we heard you scream. Daajir sent us all running for the tribe then he went back for you himself. You scared me, Nyriaana. What in Ninmah’s name were you thinking wandering off alone like that? What happened?” She made it clear she would not move until she had answers.
Nyri sighed. She did not want to relive her brush with death but she knew better than to resist. Her friend would only stress further if she wasn’t forthcoming.
“Omaal nearly fell into one of the Pits. There was a grishnaa cat. She wounded Omaal but Batai fought her off and saved us. She’s dead now.” Nyri suppressed a shudder and her sorrow at the loss of life. Sometimes KI could be a hard master.
Kyaati put her hands over her belly in an unconsciously protective motion. “A grishnaa?” she whispered, horrified. “Here? So close to the tribe?”
“She’s dead now,” Nyri repeated dully.
Kyaati nodded as her hands continued to rub. “I saw Daajir briefly,” she said, looking for a topic of distraction, which was fine by Nyri. “He seemed upset…”
Nyri grimaced. That was putting it mildly. She considered covering the truth to save trouble but Kyaati would know if she lied. “When Dar found us he got… upset with Omaal and then with me for defending him. He was furious. He was scaring Omaal with his temper.” Nyri picked up Kyaati’s wrist and replayed the scene for her. She didn’t have the energy to explain with words.
