Even in the darkness he could make out the particular hut. The one he was about as familiar with as he was his own home. Oh yes...he'd visited this particular home more times than he would have liked. But to be fair, he was sure it frustrated Okonwe as much as it frustrated him.
It wasn't like the shaman was the primary authority of the village. She was not one of the leaders, but she might as well have been on the same level for the respect that was given her;even the leaders consulted her every now and then, for in addition to a healer, she was a spiritual, and thus moral, authority. But none of that was what really made it so bad for Kiyan. Truth be told...it was the fact that he was an orphan that did it. At least, that's what Kiyan had decided. His mother and father gone, and brothers with families of their own, she had taken it upon herself to play a hand in raising him. There weren't many orphans in the village, and those that were orphans weren't as old as he was. That was why his brothers helped him but didn't actually take him in--he was old enough to take care of himself, and he needed to learn how to do it.
Yet, at the same time, he was, according to anyone older than him of course, at an "awkward age", whatever that meant. Well, according to the same people that said he was at an awkward age, it meant he needed guidance, because apparently he didn't have any. And apparently, they'd decided he lacked guidance because he didn't live up to their idea of what they thought he should be. He was "drifting", according to them.
Who else to be his mentor than the shaman herself? His brothers agreed it was a good idea to give him direction, so it was done. And when they said "give him direction", they really meant "tackle him down, tie him up, and drag him down whatever path you deem best for him".
That had been fun...
Then, of course, there was the more recent debacle with Maricha...which she far from took his side on...
This would be fun...
Before long, they were right in front of Okonwe's home, a smallish hut with a roof thatched with dried leaves and raised off the ground by stilts, in the fashion of all their homes. It wasn't so much a deterrant for predators--a raised home wouldn't stop those--but from more violent prey animals, such as wild boars. Those things would tear up an unoccupied home if it was on the same level as them, vacant or occupied. Wearily, Kiyan eyed the ladder-style stairs that lead the way up. This would be a bit of a struggle for them...but if anything, they'd make enough noise to get her attention before they even had to tap on the door.
"Think you can make this?" he asked, but before Zarak could answer, he was already struggling to get them both up there. And, as he had mentally predicted, the effort was making a racket.
Before they were even halfway up, the door opened abruptly, washing Kiyan and his companion in dim candle light, though it was brighter than what it was outside. A woman, no older than her mid-thirties, stood in the doorway, thin and not very tall with a long, thick braid that hung down to her waist. A blanket was clutched around her shoulders to ward off the night's chill, and she stared out into the darkness blearily--or more pointedly, stared at them, lips half parted in an unspoken question. Clearly, she was still waking. She stared a few more seconds, and Kiyan waited stiffly, feeling the beginnings of a cringe coming on as he watched sleepiness wear off and recognition dawn. No, no...don't look at him yet...look at Zarak...he was the sick one...no lecture yet...please none of that already...
"...Kiyan?" She ventured, squinting. He winced despite himself and regretted it, because that confirmed her guess right away. Not that she wouldn't have known for sure once he was more in the light. "My Gods, Kiyan, where have--who's that?" Her focus switched over to Zarak, and her eyes widened a few increments as she took in his condition with a healer's keen eye. "Oh dear..."
And it wasn't a moment later before she was out the door and helping them struggle up the rest of the way up. Then, she was whisking them inside and directing Kiyan over to her own bed, a soft cot located in a corner of the spaceous room. "Lay him there, I'll be right back. And don't you think about going anywhere, Kiyan. I believe we have some catching up to do," she warned as she vanished into an adjacent room, which was separated by a cloth divider, and went about gathering up fresh blankets as well as clothes. As though he would leave Zarak...and as though he even could leave now. He'd only ever been able to run away when no one was looking. If he tried to split and she hollered, someone would tackle him down. If not her.
When she was finished, she set the bundle she'd gathered at the foot of her bed, and set on Zarak right away, peeling off his damp clothes before even blinking an eye. Obviously, she figured he was too sick to be modest, and herself? She was too no-nonsense to care if he decided to shirk. Once undressed, she used one thinner blanket as a towel and began to dry him, wiping away old sweat and rain and toweling his hair. She used the remaining blankets to bundle him up snugly.
"Good thing you brought him in. He's in bad shape," she told Kiyan as she straightened and used her one lit candle to light a few others in the room, brightening up the space nicely. Then she stooped back down beside the cot to examine his companion. Kiyan waited and watched, fidgeting with his necklace, anxious and tense for so many reasons, and exhausted enough that he wanted to just drop down right there and sleep. He couldn't sleep, though. He wanted to hear what was wrong with Zarak, and...sleeping only brought morning along faster.
Well, no matter what he thought, he was starting to doze off even as he stood there, but the shaman's voice brought him back. "Mm...bad indeed. His lungs are bleeding and filled with phlegm. His breathing is atrocious...no fever now though, thank Gods. How long has he been like this?" Other questions, as to who he was and what Kiyan was thinking running off would come later. But for now, she was running on a healer's instincts, and those instincts said to tend to the sick before anything else.
Kiyan shifted awkwardly, blinking wearily. "Since...earlier today..."
"Should have brought him in sooner," she said simply as she rose again, and as Kiyan blanched, she shook her head quickly. "No, no...it's not too late. I've seen worse. Come here." She had walked over to where she kept her supplies, and she picked up a knife from a small table. "Go out and get some avase, and peel off the skin while you're at it. And for God's sake, dry off when you get back. Can't have you getting sick, too," she said as she handed him the knife, which reminded him abruptly that he'd left his own behind. "You run, Kiyan, and I swear I'll have you switched like a toddler," she added. And meant it.
Then she went back to gathering up and combining the needed supplies, while Kiyan went outside, feeling like a nervous zombie, to quietly to carry out the task.
When he returned, carving off the last remnants of the green, thin, outer skin off the thick plant shoot, Okonwe had already created whatever concoction she had deemed would be best and had mixed it into a cup filled with water. She carefully raise Zarak up so he could drink. "This will help with the infection, help loosen the phlegm. It's bitter, but you need to drink it, and more water afterward, too. You need your liquids. Kiyan, the avase."
After she had gotten the medicine down Zarak, she covered him up again and placed the skinned plant shoot under his chin. It gave off a strong scent, almost akin to mint, and the vapors would also help with his breathing.
That finished, she sat back on her heels and rubbed at her eyes sleepily. "I'll have to perform a cleansing rite tonight as well...it'll take more than herbs to help him. Kiyan, I told you to dry off. Dry off and go to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."
Kiyan was too tired to debate, and he wouldn't have wanted to debate, anyway; he was wet, and he was cold, and despite everything, his body was begging for rest. She had everything under control now...
Half-awake, he picked up the blanket she'd used to dry Zarak and toweled off his damp hair and water sprinkled flesh, but that was about as far as he got. He didn't even bother to get a fresh blanket or change. He simply curled up on the floor near Zarak's bed, wrapped up in that semi-damp blanket--which he was too sleepy to realize kind of defeated the purpose--and fell asleep, leaving Okonwe to tend to Zarak through the night. For the moment, at least, he was no longer afraid or nervous...
He only had to worry about the morning.
