Heart Rot

❺ - FIVE

"Neli's Landing! What happened?!" Lotlixya cried the instant she saw them, springing from her stool. Hurriedly she unfastened herself from her loom and rushed over, laying her hands on Tliichpil's shoulders, cheeks. "Oh, brother -"

"Fell. The cataract."

"Oh stars! Well sit down!" The exclamation was almost redundant; Comalpo had already led Tliichpil over to her vacated stool, and now pushed him down on it. She fluttered over him, touching his forehead, neck, hands, checking for twisted muscle or disjointed bone.

"Comalpo already did all this," Tliichpil complained.

Lotlixya looked up to him. He nodded. "I don't think he's broken anything," he said. "The only thing that really worries me is this." He pointed to where the Tliichpil's hair was already clotting over the gash on his scalp. "But his eyes are okay, so -"

She checked anyway, to Tliichpil's very evident consternation, sucking on her teeth. Finally, not satisfied-looking but having apparently noticed no more unbalance in his pupils than Comalpo had, she leaned back. "Take off your tunic," she ordered. Tliichpil did gingerly, and she poked at the bruises and scrapes that had been hiding underneath that as well. He winced and glanced up at Comalpo, sending him a silent plea.

Nope. There was no crossing Lotli when she was in maternal mode - one just had to give in and let oneself be taken care of. He sat down against the wall to wait as she snatched a bowl out of its niche and poured a splash of water into it, then stood on her tiptoes to haul her box of herbs down from the rafters. The sweet smell of bay drifted out. She rummaged through the small tied bundles, the dried leaves, the chunks of root and picked some out, dumping them into the bowl with the water and snatching up her pestle to crush them.

"Mala," she said, and he looked up suddenly, nostrils flaring as his head came right into the way of a wisp of her yarrow-y, bay-y solution. "Grab me the cotton, will you? In the second basket - no, the next one," she said as Comalpo rolled onto his knees and leaned over to open it. He propped the coloured lid against the rim and dragged out a two-handed handful of the downy filament, holding it up for her inspection. She nodded, and he dug into the basket beside that for cotton strip. She took both and tucked them atop her knees to keep them clean while she finished crushing the herbs, murmuring the appropriate incantations over them.

He had to remember to ask her for this knowledge, for these rites, as part of his inheritance, as neither Tliichpil nor the little ones had expressed any desire for them. Lotli had been especially beloved by their father, his only child from his first wife, and so it was her to whom he had spent the most time teaching healing. He knew - they all knew - that it was still only a very thin sliver of what he could have taught, before his death four years ago. But still, though - an uncelebrated skill, but so important.

Apparently satisfied with her solution, she twisted off a small knot of roving and soaked it in the mixture, then set to work squishing each small poultice against one of Tliichpil's injuries, binding them with ripped pieces of cotton strip. Every movement, she asked another question:

"Do any of your fingers feel weird?" Above elbow.

"No."

"Does your chest hurt at all?" Shoulder.

"No."

Eventually, she took the last remaining wad of roving and sopped up the last of her solution with it, making a move to touch it to the cut behind his ear. He cocked his head. "You're not going to tie that to my neck."

She huffed in frustration. "No, you fool, just hold it there." She grabbed his hand and pressed it down over the damp glob. "But you really feel okay," she asked.

"Yes."

"You're not just lying because you are afraid to worry me."

"No."

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

Lotlixya pursed her lips. "Well, all right," she acceded. She stooped again and kissed him on the temples and cheeks, then engulfed him in an embrace. He wrapped his bandaged arm obediently around her back and leaned into it. "I swear," she sighed. "You two are going to be the death of me some day."

Why was she bringing Comalpo into this? He hadn't been the one to carelessly-or-not terrify the rest of them. It wouldn't even be fair for Tliichpil to bear criticism for something that was an accident - why should he bear some?

"Why are you bringing him into this?" Tliichpil asked. "It's my fault."

Okay, shut up Tliichpil, he didn't want that defense. In the hopes that it would distract them from bickering about fault and favour, Comalpo went over and joined in the embrace, nuzzling his chin into the top of Lotlixya's head. Her pin rubbed cold against his jawline.

"Okay," said Tliichpil calmly, "you're all sort of suffocating me now..."

He chuckled and drew back. Lotlixya did as well. And looking down at his meekly-sitting bandaged brother, Comalpo's heart clenched; now that they were safe, it smote him fully how close he had really come to losing him for good. How nigh the dark had come, and the water-wraiths, to stealing him to be theirs forever. His eyes prickled; to conceal it, Comalpo knelt down and embraced him again around the back, pushing his face into the undamaged side of his neck.

"I'm glad you're okay," he whispered into his hair.

"Yeah," he replied, leaning into Comalpo's warmth. "Yeah, I know."