by Laura Taylor
Steve, to Mei-Lien’s relief, willingly agreed to the whole operation, though his reasons for cooperating were not much of an encouragement. “I’ve got not a whole lot to live for anyway,” he declared, glaring at Whisper as he and Mei-Lien prepared for the surgery. “Take a man’s wife and child away, and life starts looking a bit meaningless. Wouldn’t you agree, mate?” Whisper, to Mei-Lien’s relief, had refused to rise to the bait. A fist fight in her surgery room was the last thing she needed, when she was already on edge and terrified that this might be the first time in her fledgling career that she lost a patient.
The surgery itself was a nail-biting experience, with a dozen people standing around outside the medical lodge waiting to hear the results. Whisper was the designated anaesthetist, and Hawk was called in to play nurse – steady hands and a strong stomach made him a suitable choice. There were a few moments of near-panic, when Steve started waking up in the middle of it, and they’d had to get Aidan and Torrent to hold him down until Whisper managed to stabilise him again. It was a fine line between keeping him asleep and sending him so deep that he stopped breathing, and Mei-Lien had never had a greater appreciation for the miracles of modern medicine than now, when they’d likely been lost forever.
Finally, Mei-Lien emerged from the cabin, wiping her hands on a towel. “Steve’s awake,” she said first, those two simple words causing a sigh of relief to ripple across the gathering. “His leg’s looking good. It’ll take a while to heal, but I managed to remove the shards of wood.” She looked self-conscious for a moment. “And with any luck, I didn’t cause too much extra damage along the way. So hopefully he’ll be back on his feet in a couple of days.”
There was a moment’s silence, as the tribe digested the news. And then one pair of hands began applauding. More people joined in quickly, until the clearing was filled with cheering, everyone yelling their congratulations and gratitude to this young woman who had never quite finished her studies at university, but who nonetheless represented the best and brightest hope for a doctor that the tribe had had in years.
A roaring bonfire was burning at the fire circle, and everyone was in high spirits as the tribe shared a communal meal in celebration of the successful surgery. It was a relatively low-key affair, but a few people had put in the effort to cook something special. Mario had decided to crack open one of the bottles of gin he’d looted from the house and share his spoils with the tribe. Tom had pulled a couple of helpers together and created eight decadent apple crumbles, and Torrent produced a batch of whipped cream to go with it. There was no meat to be had, but no one was complaining. Millet, lentils and potatoes formed the usual backbone of their meals, and Nicholas had made a mint sauce to add a dash of flavour and a touch of sweetness to the normal fare of vegetables.
“So, Princess,” Whisper said to Mei-Lien, as he took a seat next to her on the log beside the fire. “It seems your magic works after all.”
“Did you doubt me?” Mei-Lien asked sweetly, smiling around a mouthful of dessert. “Perhaps you’ll know better from now on.”
Whisper couldn’t help but laugh. Though she was still shy a lot of the time, Mei-Lien certainly knew how to find her voice when it counted. “We still have to tackle making penicillin,” he pointed out, only to be interrupted by Torrent, sitting on Mei-Lien’s other side.
“Give her a break,” he said, a good-natured reprimand. “One miracle a day should be enough. Don’t go pushing your luck.”
Mei-Lien smiled, happy enough to indulge them both. “Penicillin is a lot more complicated,” she said, knowing how important it was, but also knowing when to take a break. “Growing a single strain of fungus is a lot harder than mixing a few chemicals together in a jar. It’s going to take a lot longer than making ether, and I don’t expect it to work properly the first time. So, for tonight, I’m going to enjoy the party,” she said, accepting a glass of beer from Stick with a grin, “and then tomorrow, we can start planning the next project.”
“Fair enough,” Whisper said, sitting back and shutting his mouth, and Mei-Lien noticed for the second time that he wasn’t drinking. He hadn’t had anything to drink at the wedding ceremony either.
But before that train of thought could develop any further, she suddenly found another man standing in front of her – Mario, whose leg she’d stitched up after the trip to town. He cleared his throat nervously and held out a lumpy package. It was wrapped in paperbark, with a ‘ribbon’ holding it together that was made out of grass.
“Evening,” he said bashfully. “I just thought… well, I wanted to give you this. To say thank you.”
Mei-Lien took the package, both surprised to receive it and curious about what it contained, but before she could ask Mario anything about it, he was gone. Bemused, she undid the ribbon and unwrapped it… and she gasped as she stared down at a carved wooden horse, slightly bigger than her hand. She looked around for Mario, wanting to go and thank him, and to ask why he’d given her such a beautiful gift, but before she could move, she caught a glimpse of the expression on Torrent’s face, and immediately froze to her seat.
“What’s that about?” Torrent asked, clearly making an attempt to rein in his temper and only just succeeding.
“I have no idea,” Mei-Lien told him. “It’s beautiful, but I…” She trailed off as Torrent’s glare got darker. Nope, that hadn’t been the right thing to say. “Should I give it back?” she asked uncertainly, already starting to stand up.
“No,” Whisper said firmly, pushing her shoulder back down. “You keep it. You’ve earned it.”
“Why the hell should I tolerate other men giving my wife gifts?” Torrent demanded. “She’s my wife!”
“Because she saved Mario’s life by sewing his leg back together,” Whisper said, his tone clearly stating that he thought it was a stupid question. “Your wife isn’t just another member of the tribe,” he pointed out. “She’s not even just a female member, as much as they tend to attract attention. She’s a doctor. This is it, for her, and for you now. She’s going to be getting up in the middle of the night to treat fevers and bouts of gastro. She’s going to be helping women give birth – if, God willing, we actually get that far. She’s going to be doing surgery on people when they get back from fighting battles for the tribe and spending hours with Nicholas to try and improve the herbal treatments he doles out. So, you can either be there beside her, letting her lean on you when the going gets rough, or you can be sulking in the corner, complaining that other people are getting more attention than you are.”
Torrent stared at Whisper like the man had just hit him, and Whisper waited patiently for him to process what he’d said. It was only a couple of weeks since Torrent had quite unexpectedly found himself with a wife, and Whisper didn’t expect him to have it all figured out already. But if he couldn’t see reason when it was waved in front of him, he was going to have a hard time making his marriage a long-term success.
“Fair point,” he said finally, and Whisper breathed a discreet sigh of relief. Torrent smiled at Mei-Lien, an attempt at soothing her nervousness, though it came out looking a little forced. “You should keep it. It’s beautiful. And Whisper’s right: you’ve earned it.”
“Thank you,” she said, then glanced discreetly at Whisper.
“Okay, I get the message,” he said. “We’ll talk about fungus in the morning.” With that, he got up and wandered off, leaving Mei-Lien wondering whether she should be blushing at Torrent’s obvious jealousy, or fuming at him for thinking she would just run off with any other man who smiled at her. Dusk or Rochelle might have dealt with the situation by throwing their opinion around and demanding that people respect it, but that wasn’t Mei-Lien’s way.
“You know you have nothing to worry about,” she told Torrent, sliding her hand over to take his. “A little horse is all well and good, but you gave me half a cabin, an endless pot of cream and the best foot rub I’ve had since the world ended. There’s really no competition.” She peered at him fro
m beneath her eyelashes, and then smiled properly when he visibly relaxed and leaned his shoulder against hers.
“I’m sorry. I’m not used to any of this.”
“I’m not looking for a different husband,” she whispered to him, pressing a mischievous kiss to his lips. “Maybe in a little while we should go back to our cabin, and I can show you what I mean.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Kneeling in hip-deep water, Whisper supported Mikey by the waist as he floated in the slow-flowing current. Healthy autumn rainfall had returned the river to its former size, deep, still pools and shallow rapids once more forming along its length, and though it was now edging into May, the water was still warm enough for swimming. Winters no longer had the bite they used to, and it was a rare day when they got frost anymore, even in the middle of August, usually the coldest month of the year.
“Okay, legs straight,” Whisper instructed Mikey. “Ready? Go!”
Mikey obediently started dogpaddling furiously, with far more enthusiasm than style, heading for Hawk, who was waiting a couple of metres away, arms outstretched. “Almost there,” Whisper called in encouragement. “Keep going, keep going… Yeah!”
There was a chorus of cheers from the three or four men ‘helping’ with the swimming lesson. Sitting on the bank in the shade, Willow, Dusk and Mei-Lien joined in the applause.
“Okay, Julia, your turn,” Whisper said, tugging her over from where she was waiting on Tom’s knee. He’d become a recent favourite with the children after he’d started writing brief stories for them, illustrated with his own drawings. “Remember how it goes? Kick your legs, paddle with your arms, and keep your head up. Ready? Go!”
As Julia was completing her part of the lesson, footsteps sounded from near the path, and Dusk looked over to see Rochelle stomping through the grass, a scowl on her face. She plopped down beside Mei-Lien and began shredding a leaf like she was trying to murder it. But then, through the dappled shade, they saw the fresh bruise on her face.
“Oh, no, not again!” Mei-Lien exclaimed. “Let me see.” She scurried over to look at the bruise, but Rochelle brushed her off.
“It’s fine,” she snarled. “The men look worse than I do. But for fuck’s sake, you’d think they’d have figured out by now that I’m not interested.” Dusk recognised the barely restrained rage in her voice. It was a reliable pattern by now; things would settle down for a couple of weeks, everyone would begin to relax, and then the issues surrounding Rochelle being an unattached woman would spark up again, loud arguments putting everyone on edge until things came to a head in an inevitable fist fight, at which point the men would all back off… until their frustrations once again got the better of them, and the cycle started again.
Excusing herself from the group, Dusk headed up the hill towards her cabin. As she had been right from the start, Rochelle was still steadfast in her insistence that she could look after herself – and she even seemed to take a certain pleasure in beating up on the men – but in Dusk’s eyes, the conflict had gone on long enough. And it was past time she did something about it.
She found Aidan weeding the herb garden outside their cabin. He had a leaf in his hair and a praying mantis climbing unnoticed over his shoulder, so she removed the leaf first, giving his blond hair an affectionate ruffle, then scooped the mantis out of harm’s way, setting it down on a nearby tree. Watching from the shadows, a bush turkey was keeping a close eye on Aidan’s work. He found a grub in the soil and tossed it to the bird, who eagerly snapped it up.
“Better watch out,” Dusk advised with a grin. “George’ll be over in a minute to chase her off.” George was the flock’s head rooster, a gorgeous bird with deep red feathers, highlighted with iridescent blues and greens, and he’d developed a serious dislike of his wild cousins.
Aidan snorted. “George is too busy chasing Max. You’d think with nearly a hundred bloody hens between them, they’d manage to get along.” Max was another rooster, white with salt-and-pepper black through his feathers, and George’s main rival for mating rights. Aidan stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands. “We’re going to have to get another sage bush from Nicholas. This one’s on its last legs.” He leaned over to kiss Dusk, then his eyes narrowed as he took in her stance – arms folded, feet planted squarely, a frown creasing her forehead. “What is it?” he asked, knowing the look well by now.
“Rochelle’s got another bruise on her face,” Dusk said without preamble. She hadn’t lost any of her directness in the past three months, but, in slow degrees, she’d managed to get a handle on her anger. Aidan had a hundred different problems to solve in any given day, and if he hadn’t been paying attention to Rochelle’s particular difficulties, it wouldn’t have been because of a lack of concern. “Every couple of weeks, she ends up in a fist fight,” Dusk went on. “I know the original conditions of letting her stay with the tribe were that she’d have to defend herself, but given the way you reacted when River and Mark tried to have a go at us, I’m a little surprised you’re willing to put up with this.” Since that infamous day in the orchard, none of the other women had had a single problem with men trying to assault them. Rochelle, on the other hand…
Aidan raised a shrewd eyebrow. “From the reports I’ve heard, things are working out very much as I’d expect them to. I’ve given all the men very clear instructions. They’re not allowed to throw the first punch,” he said, and Dusk wondered whether he was being deliberately disingenuous.
“What’s throwing the first punch got to do with anything? They harass her, constantly, no matter how many times she tells them to leave her alone. I’ve seen them do it. Every mealtime, someone’s trying to sit next to her and chat her up. She gets catcalled every time she goes swimming. How the hell is she supposed to put up with that? Why should she be expected to put up with that?”
Aidan raised an eyebrow, and Dusk felt her frustration rising. Though she and her husband had settled a lot of their differences over the past few months, there were still some issues where they just couldn’t seem to see eye to eye. “They bring her gifts,” Aidan said. “They make her clothes. They cook food for her. They tell her she’s beautiful.”
“And she’s made it clear that she’s not interested. So that makes it harassment.”
Aidan sighed. “I’ve mentioned before that this is not civilisation. I have to maintain a fine balance between keeping this tribe on an honourable path and giving them enough leeway that they don’t start a revolt. Do you know how hard it was to convince some of these men that we shouldn’t go down the path of the slavers?” Given the behaviour of a handful of the men, Mark, Archer and River among them, Dusk wasn’t entirely surprised by the news. Disappointed, maybe, but not surprised. “Rochelle was warned right from the start that being a single woman in this village was going to be a problem, and she said she would see to her own safety. I haven’t broken any promises, I’ve laid down firm rules to see that she’s not physically harmed -”
“She is being physically harmed!” Dusk insisted. “Have you seen the bruises on her face?”
“The only fights that I’ve seen, or heard about, are the ones Rochelle started herself. If she strikes one of the men, they’re entitled to defend themselves, same as anyone else.”
Dusk opened her mouth, a sharp retort on her lips, but she was interrupted by the sudden clanging of the village bell. Without another word, both she and Aidan spun around and raced for the fire circle.
Beside the bell, Stick was hunched over, gasping for breath, clearly having just completed a hard run back to the village. Another man was ringing the bell, and he left off as Aidan arrived, looking relieved to see him.
“What’s happening,” Aidan demanded, just as the group from the river arrived at the fire circle. Dripping wet and wearing only a pair of swimming shorts, Whisper pressed his way to the front.
“Trespassers on the eastern road,” Stick reported between gasps of air.
“Slavers?”
Stick shook hi
s head, making an effort to stand up. The look on his face was somewhere between trepidation and excitement. “You’re not going to believe this one…”
Aidan pressed himself flat against the leaf litter, holding his breath as he eased forward. He, Whisper, Stick and Rochelle were perched on a small hill overlooking the trespassers Stick had found, and though they’d been on the move when he’d left them, it hadn’t been too hard to work out where they would spend the night. There were only so many rivers weaving their way down towards the ocean, and with the light beginning to fade, there were only two real possibilities that would give the group a supply of fresh water for the night. They’d found the camp at the first of the two options, and Aidan had left the twenty men he’d brought with them in cover while the four of them came to investigate.
“They look like Amazonian warriors,” Stick breathed, the words barely audible.
They certainly did. Aidan did a quick head count – thirty women, all of them as hard and lean as any of his men. They wore buckskin or camouflage gear, with leather armour that looked surprisingly well made.
But finding a tribe of warrior-women crossing their territory wasn’t the only surprise of the day. There were at least thirty horses lined up along the edge of the camp, and Aidan was just about drooling with envy. The three or four horses his men had managed to collect had been stolen years ago, in one of the many raids that had nearly wiped out their tribe, and in a world without motorised transport, the animals were now arguably worth their weight in gold.
But as he looked closer, he noticed there were other details in the camp that told important stories. There was a smear of blood across the flank of one of the horses. Another one had a cut on its foreleg that one of the women was currently bandaging. And one of the sentries had a long, dark streak down the leg of her pants – likely dried blood.
