much. It heals for a while.
Then swells, and oozes. I take my knife, open it, wash it. It starts to heal. Then, again, it swells up, bigger, worse. Again, I cut it. I think it is healing. Then, one morning, sore again, swelling. This time is the worst it's been.'
Joboam spoke slowly in simple words, matching Tillu's speech. She didn't bother to tell him she understood their language now. Specific words she might not know, but she was comfortable with the flow of the words and their strange inflection. And she could speak it more fluently than she did. She found it easier to speak very simply and briefly. Maybe to keep from having to talk about anything besides healing. Maybe to keep a distance.
'Lucky man. Lucky you're still alive, not poisoned. Bad kind of hurt. Maybe something in there. If something is in there, we have to find it, get it out. Going to hurt a lot to find it. But going to kill you if we don't.' As she spoke, she opened a tiny leather sack and spilled from it a small pile of salt. Biting her lower lip, she reluctantly added more to the heap of gleaming crystals. The salt was precious, not only as seasoning, but for its drawing properties when used in poultices and soaks. From the look of Joboam's arm, it was going to take most of her supply to heal him. She wondered idly why those with the most were the stingiest when it came to offering payment.
'Stop staring, boy!' Joboam growled suddenly.
Tillu glanced up. Joboam had arrived very early. She had been preparing food for the boy and herself, but had set that aside at the sight of Joboam's arm. Kerlew was waiting on the hides by the fire. He watched her like a hungry dog as she rook out her healing supplies. Kerlew didn't answer Joboam, but hung his head. His hands toyed listlessly with his precious spoons. Tillu spoke softly.
'Kerlew. Go outside. You can gather firewood for me.'
'But I'm hungry!'
'Then take cheese and sausage with you and eat that.'
'I want hot food.'
'Out, boy!' Joboam growled. Kerlew's eyes flickered sideways. Other than that, he gave no sign of hearing the man. He sucked his lower lip in tightly as he looked at Tillu.
Tillu set her jaw. She forced herself to speak calmly. 'Go for the firewood, then. Have cheese and sausage now, and pile up some wood. Then I will cook some of the reindeer that Lanya brought us. Go, now. Then I can work faster. Go on!'
She didn't look at Joboam as she urged her son from the tent. There had always been men like Joboam, would always be men like Joboam. Men who felt they could take charge whenever there wasn't another man around. Men who could not meet Kerlew's peculiar stare, who were offended by his slow speech and odd mannerisms. Men she couldn't trust not to strike the boy if he came too near or looked at them too long. Men who feared him, as they feared the touch of disease or madness.
As she dissolved the salt in the steaming water and set out clean white moss, she reminded herself that Joboam was in pain. And probably tired from traveling here, and uneasy in a strange place. She had to be patient and remember that she was a healer. A healer. After a moment, she sighed and let the tension ease out of her shoulders. She would be able to treat him as she did everyone else. And then he would go.
'Hot water. Slowly, slowly,' she cautioned him as she set the trough before him. It was just large enough for him to submerge the festering arm. She removed the poultice from the wound and motioned toward the water. She watched his face, saw him wince as his elbow touched the hot water. He set his jaw and narrowed his eyes, but slowly his arm entered the water. Sweat sprang out on his chest and forehead, but he made no sound of pain. She found herself turning away, unwilling to admire the control he exerted over himself.
'Why didn't you come sooner?' She picked through the moss, discarding bits of sticks and dirt into the fire.
'I thought it would heal by itself.' His voice was slightly strained. 'How long must I leave my arm in the water?'
'Water let wound open. Wound drain, then we clean out pus, then we reach inside, dig and probe, look for thing inside it.'
'Oh.'
His reply was soft and Tillu looked over her shoulder to see lines of stress embedded in his face. She started to speak, then bit her own tongue, ashamed. Her description had made him squirm as she had known it would. She was a healer, and she must not be petty. Breaking his control and making him cry out would not gain his respect for Kerlew or herself. It would only make her lose her respect for herself.
She moved to his side, eased her hands into the hot water, and gently touched the surface of the wound. It opened almost immediately, releasing its foulness into the water, and Joboam gasped at the release of pressure in his arm. 'Steady. Sit still. Be still,'
she said softly, keeping her eyes on the arm. He smelled of sweat and fear and maleness.
She worked deftly, using her moistened bits of white moss to clear the pus from the wound. Tillu motioned Joboam to lift his arm from the water. The wound gaped wide and angry in his flesh. 'Something in there,' she decided. 'Have to find it, get it out.'
Rising, she took the fouled water outside to dump it.
Kerlew was standing beside the tent, looking bored, 'I'm cold,' he began whiningly.
'No, you're not.' Tillu's voice brooked no argument. 'This is the warmest it's been for days. If you're cold, work. That will warm you. Bring down more wood.'
'Is it nearly done?'
She took pity on him. 'Nearly. I'm working as fast as I can. If I can heal him well, we will have wolf hides to sew with. New leggings for Kerlew, hmm?'
'No one needs new leggings in spring,' the boy pointed out, but looked pleased anyway.
'More firewood,' she reminded him, as Joboam's voice boomed from the tent.
'Healer! Healer, what is keeping you?'
Tillu didn't bother to answer as she pushed her way back into the tent. She wiped the trough clean with moss and set it to one side. Measuring more salt, she poured it into the trough and set water to heat again. She came then to kneel beside Joboam and peer closely at the injury. She could guess where the problem was. There were signs of the flesh trying to close over an object, only to break open again when Joboam used his arm. Whatever it was, it had gone in deep. Yet it probably hadn't been much of an injury at the time. Just a short, deep cut.
'Going to hurt. Cut open, get it out. I make a medicine first, help with pain.'
Joboam hesitated, then nodded. Wise. She stood up, measuring his size and weight, and then turned to her herbs. This was going to take a strong brew. She knelt by her fire, measuring out and crushing the herbs. She set raspberry root and willow leaves and bark to soak. Bound on a wound, they controlled bleeding. She hoped she would not need them.
'Where is your man?' he demanded suddenly to her back.
She didn't even turn. 'Gone.'
'What happened? Is he dead, or did he just leave you?'
'Gone.' She repeated it flatly, and went on with her work.
Joboam gave a knowing snort. 'The boy, eh? Well, it would be a hard thing to live with. But don't you have other people?'
Tillu finally turned to face him. 'Gone.' Her eyes were flat, her lips thinned to a line.
Joboam didn't falter.
'All alone, hmm? Must be hard. Would you like to join with the herdfolk? Go with us?' There was a strange note in his voice, a voice like a trader holding up prime merchandise.
'Go?' Tillu was doubly puzzled. She had seen the talvsit as a permanent village, but now this man spoke of 'going' as if they were a wandering, hunting people. Go? With a wrench she realized how accustomed she had become to the idea of living alone, but within reach of a village. She had thought she had a place as a healer, and yet the privacy she needed for Kerlew to be safe. She had thought ...
'Yes, go.' Joboam hadn't sensed her confusion. 'Capiam say, you might go with us to the summer grounds,
