Healing
Two Elven ladies wandered down the track in the morning sun. Both wore their hair in long braids, either side of their bodies, the blonde streaked with paler colours. Blue eyes sank slightly in sockets with a touch of laugh lines and their figures curved out gently to spreading hips as they chattered about the previous night. One carried a broom made of fine twigs while the other bore a wooden bucket.
Arriving in the glade, they clucked at the mess on the tables and started to pile everything into a heap in the middle. The wooden dishes and cutlery would burn, easier than cleaning. Everyone brought and cared for their own knives.
“What’s this about a fairy coming last night, then? I heard one joined in the dancing,” said the first cleaning lady.
“Nah,” replied the second, moving along the tables searching for salvageable foods. “Just a human girl from the Teaching Trees. You know, the one in the rabbit dance. Short hair and stupid name, so they are calling her Aine.” She reached the end of the table and stopped, hand coming to her mouth.
“Well, she does look like a fairy, I admit,” said the first, piling up wooden plates – really just slices from tree trunks – and separating woven baskets, re-usable. “Pretty little thing, ‘spect she gave that weasel boy a good time last week. What’s the matter?”
The second woman backed towards her, making frantic down gestures with her right hand, the left clamped over her mouth. The first peered over her shoulder, her mouth dropping into a perfect ‘O’ of surprise. Leaving their cleaning operation, the ladies ran, the first time in years, demonstrating they could still move with grace and silence through the woods.
From beyond the table came a gentle snore, and Susan rolled onto her back, a little smile spreading as she enjoyed the gentle vibration of her warm bed, on the cusp of sleep and waking. The voices gone, she rolled again, back into the warmth of her furry blanket.
*
Word spread through the trees faster than the winter rain and to the intense annoyance of the hunters, a throng followed them to the glade, Fionuir, Fainche and Laoire amongst them. The throng melted into the trees from where they could gain a clear view of the sleeping couple. The hunters hesitated, comments breathed into each other’s ears as they debated how to slay the bear while rescuing Susan.
A sunbeam broke through the leaves and played over Susan’s face. She grunted and turned away from the light, a hand rising to rub her temple, before both came up to rub the sleep from her eyes. She groaned, as the full force of the hangover beat into her brain. Something moved in her vision and she blinked trying to work out why the trees waved at her. Dryads? Myth, surely. Hang on, that dryad looked just like Fainche. She giggled, despite the pain in her temples, trying to work out where she was and what was going on. Was she dreaming?
The Fainche dryad was getting quite excited now, waving madly and, oh look, Laoire beside her. I didn’t know there were male dryads? What is going on? She wondered, as she realised the trees were full of people looking at her in her bed, on her lovely bearskin rug.
Rug? Bed? In the open? Fiotr? Where was Fiotr? She remembered last night, drinking and dancing with the dragon.
Her bed rumbled and let out a snore. Susan froze. She was sitting on a bear. In the glade. A bear. A big, hairy, smelly bear. A live bear. Asleep.
Moving with extreme care, she transferred her weight to her feet and ever so slowly stood up, taking two steps away from her bed before turning to look at it. The bear lay on her back, one hind leg kicking in gentle time with her dream, while a front paw searched for the missing weight from her chest. Her long muzzle cracked open, a pink tongue hanging out and the end of the mouth turning up in a very human smile.
Despite her predicament, Susan giggled, a hand shooting to her mouth to stop the sound.
The bear’s eyes shot open and she lurched to her feet, snuffling round as she searched for her cub, while using her right paw to try to beat and scratch out the awful pains in her head, where a giant wolf chewed into her eyes from the inside.
Susan walked backwards, each step a triumph, till a hand rested on her shoulder and she was with the hunters, none of whom she knew.
“We have the situation,” said one of the hunters, not taking his eye off the bear.
“What are you going to do?” Susan asked, the words hurting her drug and alcohol ravaged brain. Visions of last night drifted across her mind.
“Can’t have her in the village,” said the leader. “She’s looking for her cubs, she is, and in a bad mood.”
“Nice and fat,” said another. “Good feast next week.”
“No,” whispered Susan, as visions of last night flooded back with sobering clarity. She saw herself dancing and feeding the bear, realising now it was the bear and not Fiotr, the dragon, who didn’t exist. A bear that would have eaten and left if she had not kept it and given it more to drink. Guilt welled up.
The bear’s snuffling failed to find her cub and her nostrils filled with the scent of elves, danger, and her ears brought her the sound of voices. Her immediate response was flight, but her head hurt, she was in a bad mood and somebody had taken her cub. Again. She roared a threat to the thief, moving towards the hunters.
The bowmen on the outside bent their bows, big broadheads angled flat to penetrate the ribs, while the spearmen at the front prepared for a charge, resting their boar spears in the ground, the crosspieces woefully inadequate at stopping a bear. They would snap as the bear ran down the spear, impaling it deeper in her body but allowing her free access to the wielder.
Images of her dancing with the bear raced across Susan’s mind, culminating in a duet with two upturned heads crooning to the stars.
“Nooooo!” She cried out, jumping forward to stand between the bear and the hunters. “She is my friend, do not hurt her. She can stay with me, or I will take her back into the forest.” Susan stood with her arms spread wide, her back to the bear and blocking the view of the bowmen, who lowered their arrows, brows furrowing.
The bear stopped roaring. This strange creature did not smell of elf, the enemy, but of bear, of she-bear, herself to be exact and reminded her of her cub. She shuffled forward and sniffed Susan’s back, standing up on her hind legs and licking the back of her neck, blowing hard as she did so.
In the trees, the elves watched in wonder, Fainche’s fingers digging deep and painful into Laoire’s arm. She must be a fairy, to so enchant the monster of the forest, the nightmare of the night.
The she-bear grunted at the taste of Susan, and the peculiar smell. This thing was not her cub. The giant wolf in her brain bit again, chewing in a steady, grinding pulse. She roared once more, in anger and agony, and smashed her right paw into Susan’s shoulder, sending her flying across the glade to slam into a tree and oblivion with a sickening thud.
*
Susan floated, alone in an orange sea, a rough, swirling orange sea with waves that lapped over her, every now and then submerging her head to intensify the pain, the orange pain, her world. Too much pain, and she sank beneath the waves.
Three times she awoke to float through the sea of pain, three times she sank beneath the unbearable agony.
On the fourth occasion, the waves abated, and she saw an island, a little green island. She floated to the island and the sea ebbed away, leaving her aching on a green sand beach, every muscle and bone crying out in protest till she slept again.
She dreamed, not about pain. Something big, old and black, wise and gentle. She could feel it, no, him, sniffing her.
‘Come to me,’ came a voice in her head.
‘Fiotr?’ Dream Susan spoke in confusion. ‘Where do I come? How do I go there?’ But the dragon didn’t answer.
The fifth time of waking came with cold and wet, her legs raised in the air and something moving on her bottom. She tried to scream as horror washed up her throat in a foul geyser of memories she thought long buried, and her matted eyes cracked open. A gasp, weak and whispery, came from her abused mouth, while green filled her vision with whirling shapes from which she could make nothing. A sound beat her ears, noise chuntering away, and she realised somebody spoke in Elvish. She concentrated, and the words became clear.
“Can you hear me, love? Nod if you can. I know you’re awake. Come on, other leg, must get you clean this time, maybe next time you are well enough not to need cleaning, hey? Did you hear me? Nod when you do. Ah! That’s good. My names Muireann, I’m one of the healers. Well, an apprentice really, that’s why they have me cleaning you. There we go, all done, nice and clean. Hang on while I change the bowl and I’ll do your face.”
She could hear clanking and a door opened; in the distance water gushing and a bird called nearby. Footsteps came back and the bed sank by her head. She gasped as a pain struck her shoulder. A damp cloth brushed her face, rubbing at her eyes and the gummy residue eased away, allowing her eyes to open. A few blinks and the room swam into focus. The green persisted, sunlight coming through the leaves of the window. A young Elven girl smiling at her.
“There we are! You can see me now. You are probably in a bit of pain, that’s to be expected. You’ve been asleep for nearly a week, so you’ll be hungry, I’m sure. Here’s a sip of water, and in a moment I’ll get you some nice soup, pumpkin with a bit of marrow to thicken it.”
Susan panicked at the thought of raising her head, her shoulder crying out in agony at the very thought, but the girl pushed a tube into her mouth, a reed. She sucked and cool water poured into her mouth, easing the dryness and the sticky back of her teeth. With her tongue she checked them, all still there, not even a wobble. She tried to remember what happened, but wasn’t even sure of her name.
As if reading her thoughts, the Elf rested one hand on her forehead and held her wrist with another, fingers spread to read the different pulses.
“You’re doing fine, my girl. In case you wonder, you are in the healing tree and you’ve been here these last five days. We kept you asleep to speed the repair. Nasty break in your arm, and your shoulder joint came apart as well, so we had a bit of a time putting that together again. The worst came from the wounds in your back. The bear’s claws slashed you open, two deep and one shallow slash, and I don’t know what that bear had been doing, but you took a nasty infection. The fever took you hard, you haven’t eaten for all this time. We cut the wound and drained it yesterday and the fever broke early this morning. That’s why you are thirsty now, my girl, and you’ll be hungry too or I am no judge. Right, you’ve finished this water, enough for now, I’ll get you some soup.”
Susan tried to protest, but Muireann left without looking back. She tried to take stock. Her whole shoulder throbbed, a mass of pain, especially on her back. Her whole body ached, to a lesser degree. What happened? Why was she here? Speaking Elvish? Bit by bit, events floated into her mind, and she relaxed as she became aware of herself and her history. Noises came to her, with awareness she was not alone. At least two other people in the room, and the one behind her moaned.
She tried to sit up and turn around, hissing in pain as she did so. Relapsing, she considered the problem and found her left arm worked fine. She used it to lever herself up into a sitting position, taking a moment to get her balance, and pushing the blanket down, only to recover it on realising she wore nothing underneath. Twisting her body was impossible, but she could tilt her head a little and peer from the corner of her eyes. Two bodies in beds, with an empty bed between her and them.
The nearer body moaned again, thrashing with slow, desperate movement. She couldn’t see his face, enveloped in a poultice, made from spider web and moss, she thought, and gleaming. The sight brought her attention to a sweet smell in the room, and she recognised a honey poultice, to draw out infection. She thought it probable there was one on her back as well.
She wondered what happened to his face, and turned her attention to the second body, unmoving, with a mass of long blonde hair.
The door opened and Muireann entered, bearing a bowl with a wisp of steam coming from the top. She raised an eyebrow.
“My, aren’t we adventurous. Sitting up already. Well, I shall place this soup on the table here, and we’ll let it cool a little more. Do you want to try and feed yourself? Yes? Fine, I’ll check on you in a moment but first I must see to these poor dears.”
She moved to the first, still giving slights thrashes in his pain, and rested a forefinger on his poultice before cupping her hands a fingerspan from his face. Susan felt something as he quieted and guessed the healer used magic. She raised her eyebrows in query and Muireann noticed.
“Only a small magic. I gave him some energy and it helped. I’ll teach you if you like, it’s easy and you can help your own injuries to heal.” She bustled over to the last body, running her hand up the neck and nodding. She came back to Susan, removed the spoon from her hand which didn’t seem to work and fed her. The soup slid down her throat like ambrosia and Susan purred with pleasure. She found her voice.
“Who are they? What happened?”
“Couple of lads from the village who’ve been silly. This one and his friend tried to hunt a bear on their own. He’ll be lucky if he still has a face, but the bear killed his friend. That one fell out of a tree, trying to catch a bird for his girlfriend. Bad fall, lot of broken bones. He’s in a healing trance and will stay in it for another week.”
“Bear? Not my bear?”
“Your bear, is it? No, another one. The hunters killed your bear, quick as a wink, you were the only one hurt. Now, what’s this? Why the tears, little one?” Alarmed, Muireann tried to collect the tears with the spoon, to Susan’s annoyance and she brushed the spoon and tears away.
“I’m human. We cry a lot. She was my friend. We danced together. I only needed a moment alone with her and she would remember.”
“Tsk. It was a bear, not a person, dear. Yes, they are clever and we respect them, but they don’t love us. We have an agreement with them, see. If they interfere, we eat them and the other way round too. That’s why that one is lucky to be alive, and still he faces an awkward interview with the Elders when he’s better. Now, do you want to know how long you’ll be here?”
“You know?”
“Of course. While you were asleep, we made you swallow plenty of bone knit tea and we’ll have the plaster off tomorrow. You must be careful for a week, no hard exercise or work. Your shoulder takes longer, the soft parts take a month to mend, while your back with the scratches is healing now. We just want to observe you for another day, then you can go home.”
“Home? I’m healed? So fast?”
“Fast? It’s normal, you’ve been here nearly a week. Fever lasted longer than I thought, that’s why.”
“But broken bones take ages to heal, and then usually crooked… don’t they?”
“I can’t think why. Perhaps you don’t have bone knit where you have been. It’s my favourite plant. I make a thick plaster from the roots and leaves, harvested any time of year. Wrap that all round the break after you put it back together and it holds it in place while mending. I make the tea from the flowers and young leaves, so I can only harvest them in summer and autumn. Of course it wouldn’t work without the spells, they go together. Now, enough of this, I have work to do. Tomorrow before you leave, you must speak to the temple guardian to arrange payment.”
“Payment?”
“For the healing, love. Hope you have something valuable to trade, as she’ll want a lot. You’ve been here a week, nearly, and we used a lot of magic on you.”
With this cheering thought, she took the empty bowl and left.
Susan lay back down on the bed, something nagging at her memories. Something else had happened, she should remember. She shut out the sound of the bear-bitten man moaning, and replayed the evening. She remembered finding the Goibhniu, and the world going crazy.
Gods, something about Gods. Oh, yes, she remembered, with a tingle of pleasure, the Gods visited her and found her desirable. She remembered the pleasure, the wonder of coupling with a God, and her thoughts moved on, to the return and the words of Fionuir.
She sat bolt upright in the bed, oblivious of the jolt of pain.
Not Gods. She had been tricked. Tricked in the most base, underhand manner. She buried her face in her hands, going scarlet with embarrassment. What would people think? Oh, no, first Oengus, now these dreadful men taking advantage of her high on the Goibhniu.
She lay on the bed and wept in the tatters of her reputation.