Chapter 14: The Most Difficult Patient

Seraya clenched her fists, ready to pay this wild shaman back for every blow and claw strike, but seeing her curled up on the ground, the anger lodged somewhere between her throat and teeth.

Vaelira lay beside the bedding with a forearm pressed tight to her lower belly, cold sweat trickling down her pale face. Moments ago she had tried to tear into Seraya's face, yet now she trembled so hard she could scarcely hold her head off the stone.

Seraya let out a heavy breath and uncurled her fingers.

"You should thank your ancestors it was me you ran into," she muttered, crouching at a safe distance. "Someone less patient would've hit you back with that stick long ago. Can you move?"

Vaelira glared up at her with such sharp indignation that Seraya could almost hear the unsaid reply.

Lie down beside me and see how pleasant it feels yourself!

Catching that look, Seraya couldn't help a short laugh.

"You're laughing?!" the shaman hissed, fingers digging into the furs.

"Am I supposed to cry with you?" Seraya tilted her head, turning slightly more serious. "All right, enough growling at each other. It hurts that bad, huh?"

"None of your concern."

"Seeing as there's a mob outside waiting to cave my head in if I don't help you, it's actually a little bit my concern."

Vaelira turned her face away, as if the outsider's presence alone were a personal insult. Seraya watched her tight jaw for a moment, then leaned in slightly and lowered her voice.

"I can try to ease it."

The shaman eyed her with suspicion.

"I'm supposed to believe whatever you say? I still don't even know who you are."

"I just told you. Seraya. Commit it to memory, because I'm starting to take it personally."

"A name tells me nothing."

"Great, we have something in common, because yours didn't mean anything to me until a little while ago either."

Vaelira pressed her lips thin, the owl feathers trembling at her shoulder as another cramp forced her head down. Seraya reached out on reflex, but caught herself halfway, remembering how the last attempt at getting close had ended.

Stubborn as hell.

She'd sooner bite her own tongue off than admit she needs help.

Neither spoke for a moment, until Seraya finally rubbed her face with a hand and sat back on her heels.

"Listen. Does this pain come back regularly? For a few days, along with the bleeding?"

Vaelira studied her more closely, then gave an almost imperceptible nod.

But suspicion rushed right back with double the force.

"How do you know that? Were you spying on me?!"

Seraya leaned her head back in disbelief.

"What?! Girl, I set foot in this cave for the first time today! I have better things to do than lurk behind rocks spying on a shaman!"

Vaelira kept glaring up at her, so Seraya threw her hands out in exaggerated outrage.

"And don't think that just because you've got a pretty face, gorgeous hair, and horns like some forest goddess, everyone has to peek at you!"

Only when the shaman slowly raised an eyebrow did Seraya realize how her own words sounded.

Damn. Real convincing, truly.

She cleared her throat, hitched up the shirt slipping off her shoulder, and hastily got back on track.

"Never mind that. Point is, I know a few methods from back where I come from. Where I'm from, doctors handle healing."

"Doctors?"

"Women who treat the sick. They figure out what's wrong, tend wounds, and try to patch them up."

Vaelira frowned.

"Shamans, then."

Seraya looked at her in silence for a second, then waved a hand.

"Fine, have it your way. Just let's get one thing straight: if I'm helping you, you stop clubbing me with sticks and clawing at my eyes."

A faint, mocking curl touched Vaelira's lips.

"I am a shaman myself. I've tried many remedies, and none have freed me of this for good. Yet you wander in from nowhere claiming you can?"

Seraya drew in a breath, but the shaman cut her off before she could answer.

"I will find a way myself. You may leave. And if you tell anyone what you saw here, you will regret it."

Seraya gritted her teeth, feeling her temple throb at the mere thought of stepping outside.

I'd love to leave, sister.

Just convince those old hags out there not to turn me into a doormat at the threshold first.

She scanned the cave, trying to spot anything that might spark an idea. Her eyes drifted over bundles, dried herbs, and leather pouches, finally settling on a cluster of stalks resting by the edge of the bedding.

Seraya narrowed her eyes.

Leaning closer, she rubbed a small leaf between her fingers and gave it a cautious sniff.

"Is this mugwort?"

Vaelira looked at the plant in her hand.

"Yes. Leave it."

Seraya almost smiled.

Look at that. Something familiar at last.

She wasn't about to shove an unknown herbal mix down the shaman's throat or play master healer just from the scent of a leaf. She simply remembered a warm hot-water bottle pressed against her own stomach, and that slight relief that helped survive the worst cramps.

She glanced at the fire pit, then at the folded cloth resting nearby.

"Can you shift away from those stalks? I want to take some of the dried herb."

"What for?"

"So you'll stop looking at me like you want to bite my nose off."

Vaelira didn't look convinced, but didn't stop her when Seraya pulled a few stalks from the bundle. She snapped off the woody ends, wrapped the softer parts into a small bundle with the cloth, and warmed it carefully by the fire pit, keeping cloth and herbs well away from the open flame.

The shaman tracked her every move.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to help you instead of waiting for your people to figure out what rock to smash my skull with."

Seraya drew the compress back from the fire, checked the temperature against her palm, then returned to Vaelira and held it out.

"Here."

The shaman wrinkled her nose.

"Am I supposed to eat that? What do you take me for, a goat?"

Seraya's eyes drifted unbidden to the slender horns on her head.

Vaelira narrowed her eyes at once.

"Don't even think it."

"I didn't say a thing!" Seraya answered, though the corner of her mouth twitched. "Press it to your stomach. Over the wrap. It's a warm compress, not dinner."

Vaelira hesitated, but another cramp twisted her features, sapping her urge to argue. She took the bundle, set it against her lower abdomen, and sat still for a moment as if waiting for a hidden catch.

Seraya watched with quiet tension.

Come on. Just a little. I don't need a miracle, just for her to stop writhing on the rocks.

After a bit, the shaman's shoulders eased down, her clenched fingers loosening on the cloth. She hadn't regained her color or strength, but her breathing evened out, letting her lean back against the bedding without another sharp jolt of pain.

Looking up, she eyed Seraya in surprise.

"How did you do that?"

Seraya straightened with the look of someone who had just cracked medicine's greatest mystery.

"See? And you wanted to throw me out."

"That plant..."

"Mostly the heat," Seraya cut in, pointing to the bundle. "If it took the edge off, good. Just don't start lunging around with that stick again."

Vaelira glanced at the discarded staff, then back at the stranger whose smug expression was growing increasingly grating.

"Thank you," she ground out.

Seraya raised her eyebrows.

"You're welcome. Next time you say thanks, you can even try not to sound like you're laying a curse."

The shaman scoffed, but didn't raise a hand this time.

For a few quiet minutes, only the crackle of the hearth and distant murmurs from the entrance filled the air. Seraya sat nearby, gently rubbing her sore shoulder, while Vaelira held the compress, stealing glances at her with mixed suspicion and reluctant curiosity.

As the bundle cooled, her brow furrowed again.

Seraya noticed and held out a hand.

"Give it here, I'll warm it up again."

Vaelira handed the compress back, tracking her with her eyes as she walked to the fire.

"You said your name was Seraya. Why haven't I ever seen you before?"

Seraya crouched by the hearth, turning the cloth over in her hands.

"Because I only joined the tribe this afternoon."

The shaman jerked her head up.

"Today?!"

"That's right. For my first day, you have to admit I've got quite a packed schedule."

"And the elders already allowed you into my cave?"

Seraya glanced back with a broad, cheeky grin.

"Allowed me? They dragged me here themselves. Selka even helped me through the door with a shove to the back."

Vaelira tightened her lips, the owl feathers bristling slightly on her shoulder.

"Those useless..."

"Oh, see? We agree on one thing already."

Seraya walked back and handed over the reheated compress, but the shaman took it almost without looking, clearly lost in an unpleasant new thought.

"Who knows I lost consciousness?"

Seraya hesitated.

"About fainting? The elders, your caretaker, the guards by the entrance, Raska..." She trailed off, seeing Vaelira's face tighten. "And plenty of people in our cave heard the news that you were bleeding and might die."

The shaman closed her eyes.

Seraya watched her for a moment, trying to grasp why word getting out seemed to rattle her almost worse than the pain itself.

"Hey, easy. Nobody knew what was wrong with you. They were just shouting that you were bleeding."

She reached out to pat her shoulder, but Vaelira snapped her eyes open and pinned her with a glare so cold that Seraya's hand froze in midair.

"Right, no touching," Seraya muttered, drawing her hand back. "Got it."

The shaman pressed the compress tighter.

"Explain everything to me. From the beginning. How did they learn of my state, and why did they bring you of all people?"

Seraya took a breath, settled in more comfortably, and began laying it out.

She explained that she had wanted to cook her meat because she had no interest in eating it raw, and then other cave dwellers had started gathering around the flames. She described Raska, her jealousy, the snitching, and the accusation of stealing the Holy Fire, pulling no punches with words that sent Vaelira's eyebrows climbing higher and higher.

When she reached the part about the stone held over her head, her voice hardened.

"And then that runner barged in, screaming that you were dying. Naturally, they decided it had to be my fault, because apparently I had time to commit every crime in this valley in a single evening."

Vaelira listened in silence.

"So I told them if they killed me, nobody would save you either," Seraya finished. "Otherwise I wouldn't be sitting here right now."

The shaman stared at her for a long moment.

"You bluffed."

"I saved my own skin. Call it whatever you want."

Vaelira looked down at the compress, then suddenly frowned.

"Wait. You said you can summon fire?"

Seraya reached into her pocket and pulled out the lighter.

"Kindle it."

Click.

A small flame danced above the metal hood, and the shaman leaned toward it, forgetting her grip and aching belly for a moment.

She knew how to strike fire with flint and iron, but preparing tinder and catching a spark took time. Yet this outsider produced fire with a single flick of her thumb, as if lighting a flame were no harder than brushing hair from her eyes.

"How...?"

Seraya snapped the flame shut and tucked it away before Vaelira could reach out.

"Just let's be clear: I didn't steal anything from you. I saw your fire for the first time when they dragged me in here."

The shaman didn't reply right away.

She stared at the girl's pocket with such intensity that Seraya pressed her elbow against it on reflex.

No way, sister. I have few enough keepsakes from my old life as it is.

"If you can kindle fire and know ways to soothe pain, why did your tribe exile you?" Vaelira asked at last. "You could have served as their shaman."

Seraya stared at her for a second, then tilted her head back with a helpless sigh.

Here we go again.

Could none of them fathom that a person could come from outside without being a criminal?

"Nobody exiled me," she said. "I just ended up very far from home."

"How far?"

Seraya glanced toward the cave mouth, beyond which lay strange rocks, strange forests, and women ready to take an ordinary lighter as reason for an execution.

"Much farther than I wanted," she replied quietly, then shook herself and looked back at Vaelira. "It's a long story. For now, I just want to survive tonight, and then go check if Niva is still in one piece."

The shaman raised her brows, but Seraya pointed to the compress before she could ask another question.

"How long have you had this trouble?"

Vaelira shifted her shoulders.

"A long time."

"How long is a long time?"

"It started around the time I became shaman."

Seraya leaned in with interest.

"And how long have you been shaman?"

"For a long time."

Seraya closed her eyes, looking for a second like she was considering banging her forehead against the nearest rock.

Wonderful. Talking to you is an absolute joy.

Vaelira caught her expression and frowned, clearly offended that her answer hadn't been deemed sufficient. After a moment, however, she glanced toward the entrance and added:

"Since then, I have eaten ripe peaches from the trees beyond the valley nine times."

Seraya looked up.

Nine harvests.

If the trees bore fruit once a year here, that meant roughly nine years in the role. She looked once more at Vaelira's youthful face, then at her slender horns and the compress held stubbornly to her belly.

She still couldn't calculate her exact age, but one thing was becoming increasingly obvious: all that cold solemnity, the threats, and the shamanic majesty masked a young woman who hadn't let herself show weakness in front of anyone for a very long time.

Seraya rested an elbow on her knee, studying her with fresh interest.

Look at that... Grand Shaman, terror of the valley, and you're harder to reason with than that damn tigress.

All right, sister. Let's see if you can cooperate for five minutes without trying to tear my head off.