by Lizzy Ford
At the back of my mind, I knew Batu was going down the same path these two had been down, but I couldn’t let myself think about him in that amount of pain or his body covered with boils.
I had been through too much to let my mind trick me into a meltdown I couldn’t afford. Nothing mattered – not the past, my confused emotions, my hope of returning home – except for helping Batu survive this.
Chapter Thirteen
The next several days were hell. Ghoajin came out for a few hours each day to help and to give me a chance to sleep while she tended the sick. She taught me about the medicinal roots and herbs they used to help soothe pain and aid sleep. When she was gone, I used the herbs she had prepared for the three men and stayed up most of the night to watch over them.
Lumpy passed on my fourth night, and I wept as I had never wept before. Not that I knew him, but because Batu’s boils had spread, and I couldn’t fathom the idea of living in the steppes of Mongolia without him.
Several of Lumpy’s kinsmen came out after Ghoajin carried news back of the warrior’s death. They built a funeral pyre between us and the camp, and Ghoajin and I wrapped Lumpy in blankets before hooking his pallet to a horse to be taken to the pyre. I dragged his body on top of it, and Ghoajin lit the fires, praying the entire time.
His death – while expected – still came as a blow. I had seen so many lives snuffed out while here through a combination of war and disease. The memories of all who died left me emotionally raw, frightened and once more questioning the greater meaning of life. Specifically, my life and why I was stuck here to deal with such sorrow.
I returned to the ger while Ghoajin spent hours beside the dead warrior’s pyre. Smoke twisted and curled into the skies above us, and I sat beside Batu, my eyes almost too swollen from crying to see out of. Sliding my hand into his, I squeezed gently.
He was unconscious and had been for most of the day after throwing up blood several times in the morning. Ghoajin had knocked him out with some herbs. Boils covered most of his body, and I absently began cleaning his skin once more.
Grumpy was doing better than I thought he would. He slept most of the day, woke up to throw up once, then settled into a deeper sleep. His sores were beginning to heal over, even though his fever remained.
While I wasn’t fully certain, I took the healing to be a sign he wasn’t going to keel over and die next.
Several more days passed in a haze of exhaustion and worry. Every morning, I opened up the tent to sunlight and the winds of the steppes. I was getting better at rolling the tent flaps, though my work was nowhere near pretty.
The morning routine was the same: water all around, prepare herbs and milk for the men, wash them down and then wait for Ghoajin to relieve me. After a few hours of sleep, I’d drag the two men into the sun with the desperate hope that sunlight would help kill any additional bacteria and dry out their sores.
The longer I was present, the more convinced I became that I was the worst healer in the history of the world.
Blinking back tears, I shifted when Grumpy strained to sit up.
“You shouldn’t be doing that,” I warned him and sat beside him. I pushed him back down. “You’re healing. You shouldn’t tax yourself.”
He grumbled something and remained where he was. I brought him milk. He was able to lift the bladder to his lips on his own this time. I considered every tiny advancement in his condition that he wasn’t going to die, in the hopes Batu would soon show the same signs of recovery. Evaluating him once more, I was pleased to see the puffiness of his boils receding. The discoloring remained, and the few that burst were still of concern for infection, but the illness was retreating.
Grumpy was beating it.
Initially slow, his recovery sped up over the next five days. While Batu got sicker and sicker, Grumpy took enormous strides in the other direction. By the end of my second week in the sick tent, Grumpy was active for half the day, weakened, scarred and nowhere near healed, but fever free and healing. He became my helper and showed me better how to roll the tent walls, helped me move Batu into the sun, and generally assisted in cleaning up the ger during the hours when he had strength.
Batu’s condition was critical. He had stopped speaking and was barely ever awake. I didn’t know what made Grumpy recover and Lumpy die, and I didn’t know how to do anything more to help Batu. I didn’t leave his side, though, as the next week dragged on.
At the twenty-one day mark, Batu’s fever finally broke. I was too tired to be excited, too fearful of a relapse to celebrate.
I awoke beside Batu after a fitful doze to find him resting peacefully. His skin was warm but not hot, and he wasn’t muttering in his sleep or tossing and turning. As with Grumpy, Batu’s boils were de-puffing. He looked like he’d been through a boxing match with a hundred different men; his body was black and blue from the illness.
Pushing myself up, I grimaced. I had a crick in my neck and tension ache from between my shoulder blades. I was an absolute mess.
“You are not eating enough,” Grumpy said from nearby. He was prepping Batu’s morning milk and herbs.
“It’s hard for me to eat when I am worried,” I replied.
“What does one have to do with the other?”
I snorted. He had Batu’s simple logic. He handed me a piece of cloth with meat and cheese on it. Grumpy was almost fully recovered, though I suspected it was going to take him some time before his full strength returned. “How are you feeling?” I asked and nibbled on my food.
“Better. I feel ready to return.”
“Good. You need a bath first.”
“No bath.”
I wasn’t certain what it was about … ah. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recalled they considered the streams and ocean to be the blood of the earth, and therefore, sacred. Ghoajin had also explained that a person’s smell was part of his or her soul, and so to lose it in a bath was an insult.
“You have …” germs. He wasn’t going to understand what those were. “… illness on your skin. It could infect others.”
Grumpy looked down at his arms.
“Trust me,” I said, amused.
“I do, goddess. You and Ghoajin healed me. If you say I need to bathe, I will.” By his tone, it was going to be as trying of a task as healing from the Black Death.
You and luck are what healed you. I doubted anything I’d done here made a difference. The disease seemed to need to run its course.
“How fares Batu?” he asked and sat down beside his clansman. He touched Batu’s forehead. “He is better.”
“He is,” I agreed. “Hopefully he will recover as well as you did. Are you ready to return home?”
“I am,” Grumpy said. “But I will stay with you until Batu is healed. It is only honorable.”
These men and their bizarre sense of honor. But I needed the help. He had already rolled up the sides of the tent, a duty that drained me of energy. My gaze went to Batu, and I studied his bloated features. Of the few thoughts my fatigued mind had managed to form the past two weeks, life here without him was the one I couldn’t comprehend. It was a different feeling than that I had about Taylor. Batu was a different kind of man, and the world here wasn’t anything like the Old West.
I feared what my future held, but it seemed a little less scary with Batu at my side. I didn’t fully comprehend my emotions for Batu except that I needed him to survive this with desperation that left me close to tears.
“Rest, Moonbeam,” Grumpy said kindly. “I will watch over him. Ghoajin will be here soon, too.”
I should have resisted, but I was exhausted. Standing, I crossed to the bed and dropped into it, soon deep in sleep.
Batu awoke the next day, and two days later, he was able to sit up and drink on his own. He didn’t stay up long, though, and Grumpy and I worked to keep him stable over the next few days, while his boils disappeared and his skin began to return to a healthier color.
Another week passed. I began to eat normally
again and slept curled up beside him. The morning I awoke with his arms around me, I knew the danger was gone. He certainly felt strong, even though he had a ways to go to recover his strength. I lay in his arms for several minutes, relieved and content. I missed this. Whether or not I should have, I wasn’t certain. I hadn’t spent any time on the conundrum of what I wanted to do about the man I spent a month caring for in a way I had never done for anyone else and risked my life to save. I hadn’t thought myself capable of being a nursemaid to anyone. I had neither the skill nor patience, but nothing had mattered aside from seeing Batu recover.
Maybe that’s my answer right there.
“How did you not fall ill, Moonbeam?” he murmured in a raspy voice.
I shifted, happier than I thought I should be to be in his arms once more. “I do not get these kinds of illnesses.”
“You are fortunate. Next time, take off my head.”
“Absolutely not. I’ll always take care of you, Batu.” I nudged him back. He rolled over obediently, and I sat to check his progress. “How are you feeling?” I lifted one arm to look at the discoloring. He was going to have scars in a few places from where the boils burst, but his skin was clearing up well.
“I am well, ugly one,” he said, a thread of his former sense of humor emerging for the first time.
I hid a smile. I had the urge to cry again and this time, it wasn’t because I feared for his life. “You need milk.”
“I need meat,” he returned. “I am not a child.”
Grumpy smiled from his place prepping Batu’s milk. “We have meat, cousin. If your Moonbeam approves, I will bring you some.”
“Do you approve, my Moonbeam?” Batu asked and sat up, gazing at me.
It took me a moment to answer. His eyes were clear and bright, his face marred by several new scars, and his hair grown in enough to make his head fuzzy. The sense he was back made my throat tighten.
Unable to contain the swirling emotions, I hugged him around the neck. Batu embraced me and hauled me into his muscular frame. It was so easy to forget he was weak from his ordeal. I had the urge to sink into him and stay, to sleep off a month of worry and fear.
His body was soon trembling from the effort to support us both. I eased back and released him. “You have a long way to heal, Batu,” I told him, concerned. “But I think meat is fine.”
“Good. I could eat a goat.”
I sat back and watched as Grumpy – whose real name I had learned was Temujin – brought him food and water. The two interacted with familiarity that led me to believe they had grown up together. Batu’s energy flagged after his meal, and he lay down for another nap.
It took another week before he was on his feet most of the day. As I noticed with Temujin, there were lingering effects, even after they appeared fully healed. Fatigue was one, and both men wore down more easily than before.
A full six weeks after I entered the plague tent, I returned to the main camp with the two men.
The weather had changed suddenly a week before, plunging us into a chilly autumn. Ghoajin had brought me extra coverings, but I burned pretty much everything before returning, so we came back in the bare minimum after all three of us had cold baths in the stream nearby. With wet hair and shivering, I stood aside as the two warriors greeted happy family members and received congratulations for being spared by the Eternal Blue Sky. I watched both for signs of fatigue or illness and was pleased both appeared to be healthy and upbeat, though I knew the road to full recovery was long.
It was decided there would be a feast in honor of the survivors this evening, and I walked away with Batu towards our tent. The only thing on my mind: sleeping. Hopefully for a week or so.
Entering the familiar ger, I found myself smiling as I looked around. If I had learned one thing from the sick tent, it was that I didn’t want to take for granted that Batu was alive or that we were healthy and comfortable. There were no luxuries here, but I was learning there was something more important than material things: companionship, family and their link to survival.
He grunted as he sat on the ground beside the fire.
“What’s wrong? Are you feeling ill?” I asked immediately.
“Be at peace, ugly one,” he replied. “My body is healing. It will take some time.”
I relaxed. “You sure?”
He met my gaze, amused. “As certain as I am that you need rest.”
“I’m fine. My skill is immunity to disease,” I said with no small amount of triumph. “It’s the only thing I’m better than you at.”
He laughed.
“But yes, I do need a nap.” I crossed to the bed and dropped into it with a groan. “Oh, god! I forgot how comfortable anywhere but the ground is.”
“Do you wish a song? Or a companion?”
I hesitated. My heart took off at his offer, and I didn’t quite understand what had changed between the time before he fell ill and now that made him sleeping with me seem far less innocent than before. Nothing was different on the surface. I had had no time to explore my confusion or feelings to determine what I wanted in my new life.
But I also had no desire to be too far from him, to risk losing him again or failing to appreciate the small things that made life here so much richer than I had thought before. His family, the community of people who helped me save him – their warmth replaced the sparseness of their lives. I was starting to comprehend how he was so immersed in the day to day. He grew up knowing the danger that existed outside the encampment. Any time one of them left home, there was a chance he or she wasn’t coming back.
Relationships, and the community, were more important than one person and his or her independence. It was an entirely different mindset for me, one I didn’t think I’d ever fully adopt, but one I was also beginning to appreciate. And … I was going to stop fighting the need to feel unique in a world that already accepted me as I was. It helped that I felt like I’d proven myself worthy to be here by taking care of Batu and Temujin.
“Yes,” I decided. “Both.”
Batu climbed into bed with me. He didn’t ask or hesitate before wrapping me in his arms and pulling me securely into his hard frame. What happened in the plague tent brought us closer together. I experienced the sensation of belonging when I was with him. Not that I hadn’t belonged anywhere before, just that this was … deeper. We were so very different and yet bonded by the sense of intimacy our partnership created. It was comforting, gentle, and warm, like walking from a winter morning into a warm room.
I sighed, and tension melted out of me. The twinge of worry remaining from the plague tent wasn’t likely to leave anytime soon. At least, not until I was convinced he was well. Exhausted, drowsiness swept through me the moment I closed my eyes.
“I think I can do this, Batu,” I murmured sleepily.
“Do what?”
“I think I can make it here. Like, have a life and everything.”
“Did you doubt this?”
“Yes. This place is so foreign to me. But I learned a couple of things while you were sick.”
“Always thinking,” he said and squeezed me to him harder. “What did you learn, ugly one?”
“That I’m stronger than I thought and that … I’m not lost. You were right. I can and do belong here.” It was mostly true. If given the choice of returning home or staying here, I would likely have a full-fledged meltdown. But since I had begun to accept returning home was off the table, I wasn’t as scared or hurt as I expected. I suspected, but didn’t want to admit yet, that the reason behind this was probably the man holding me.
“You wish to stay with me?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” I replied then twisted to glimpse his face. “Why? Were you planning on selling me again at the next trading post?”
“No, goddess.” He gave a half smile. “You seem at peace.”
“Yeah.” I settled back in his arms. “I feel that way, too.” If anything, I should’ve been scared after realizing how delicate life was
in this time period. But I didn’t. I wanted to enjoy the moments I had with Batu even more after knowing how fleeting they could be.
“This is good. You are safe here with me. Rest.”
It didn’t take long for sleep to creep over and claim me.
Chapter Fourteen
I slept for three days. Never in my life had I done something like that. Not as a child, not after hangovers or finals … my body appeared to be trying to catch up for all the missing sleep from the past six weeks at once. I woke up in the morning each day, decided I wasn’t done yet and went back to sleep.
When I awoke on the fourth day, I felt almost normal. Batu was gone, which didn’t surprise me, and I went through a quick morning routine. By the faint patter on the roof, it was drizzling. I hadn’t quite figured out if there was such a thing as rain gear here and dressed in a heavy over tunic to venture outside.
The day was gray and chilly, and few people were out in the rain. I had no clue what duties and activities occurred on sunny days that might not on rainy days. With some uncertainty, I wandered through the tents, following a path I thought was familiar towards Ghoajin’s ger. I had picked up another skill completely by accident from my time in the plague tent: identifying and using medicinal herbs. Ghoajin had taught me during the long hours when we nursed the sleeping warriors.
I had learned to identify over a dozen different herbs by sight and smell, to combine them to form potent mixes in water or milk and to make at least one balm. I was eager to learn more from her.
Soon, I was pleased to confirm my sense of direction was correct. I reached her large white tent and stood outside the door. Thus far, people seemed to just wander into other people’s gers, but I didn’t really know if there was some sort of protocol I was missing or not.
I walked in.
Ghoajin was seated at the fire with two other women. She looked up, her smile swallowing her features. “I am pleased to see you well, Moonbeam,” she said.
“Thank you.” I sat with the others and watched. They were sifting dried herbs while one lady crushed some with a mortar and pestle. “I came to learn more about the herbs.”
