“What in the name of the Goddess is going on!” I stood there with my hands on my hips.
Everyone turned in consternation, took one look at my face, and took to their heels. The few that remained tried to offer explanations, and there were mentions of a dance and the pattern, and their plan. Atira was trying to hide the board with both hands, and I realized that she was trying desperately not to laugh.
“Out of my tent!” I shooed at them with my hands. “Out! Out!”
Atira lost her fight as hardened warriors fled before me. Rafe was laughing, leaning on Prest, who was roaring as well. “Silly fools,” I grumbled. “This is no way to treat an injured warrior.” I gestured to the sides. “Help me lower the sides.” I grumbled as we worked, and Rafe and Prest were hard pressed to keep their faces straight.
“Warprize, we were planning the pattern.” Atira was wiping her eyes with her hands. “They meant no harm.”
“What is a pattern?” I asked as I moved up next to her.
“For the dance!” She hastily covered the board. “Don’t look, Warprize! It’s bad luck.”
“Very bad luck.” Joden walked into the tent. I smiled to see him. “I heard the noise, and came to see if you needed aid.”
He looked around the tent. “I see that you have routed the enemy without my help.”
“Atira’s needs rest.” I started to check the leather and the straps.
“May I speak with her for a moment?”
Atira’s eyes grew round. I looked over at Joden, but his face was calm and serene. “Of course, Joden. But not for too long. Do you need privacy?”
“No, Warprize.” Joden moved to a seat by Atira’s cot. “Warrior.”
“Singer.” Atira’s tone was respectful and questioning at the same time.
Joden shook his head. “No. I am not a Singer yet. But that is why I have come to see you.”
“Really?” Atira propped herself on her elbows.
Joden nodded. “I am working on a song. I would sing of your injury.”
Prest sucked in a breath. Rafe stood up straight. I could barely hear Atira’s response. “For all the sky to hear?”
Joden nodded. “I need to hear your thoughts and words. Would you think on this, then speak to me of what happened?”
“Yes.” Atira looked solemn. “I will.”
Joden stood. “We will talk tomorrow.” He smiled at the rest of us, and walked out.
Atira fell back onto the cot and let out a gust of breath. I laid a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
She smiled up at me, her eyes filled. “Oh yes, Warprize.”
I smiled back. “Well then, do you feel up to bathing?”
She looked delighted. “I can?” She glanced at her leg.
I smiled as I checked the bindings, pleased that the swelling was minor. “It will be awkward, but we can do it. Is there any pain?” She denied it, but I could see tension in her eyes. “Well, with bathing and all, you’ll start to feel it. I’ll give you something for it before we are done.” I stood. “We can rig a blanket curtain—”
She looked at me oddly. “It’s not necessary, Warprize.”
It wasn’t easy. I helped as much as I could, but Atira did most of the work herself. My job was to ensure that the leg stayed as straight as possible.
Atira moved slowly and carefully, and showed no embarrassment in bathing where all could see. It made sense that a woman warrior would have no qualms about that, but I found it unsettling. It took longer, since she was unable to move, and I had the tent walls lowered to keep the heat in. No sense her taking chill on top of it all.
By the time we were done, everything near and around Atira was wet, and the rocks that pulled at the leg needed to be retied, but she was cleaner and thankful for it. It was short work to clean the mess and change the linens of the cot. Once dry bedding was in place, and her weapons restored to her side, Atira lay back and heaved a sigh of relief.
“I’ll get a clean tunic for you.”
“Thanks, Warprize, but no. More comfortable naked.” She sank back and pulled the blanket up.
I fixed an eye on her. “I can give you something for the pain now.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Warprize, I’d prefer not. I’m not in pain as such, just achy.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but saw that this was a matter of pride. So I merely nodded. Looking about, I could see that my other patients were tending to their own needs. I leaned a bit closer to Atira, picking up soap and cloths. “Atira, could I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“You might be offended.”
“Offended, Warprize?”
I flushed slightly. “Well, the Warlord uses a token…” My voice trailed off as she frowned.
“No one explained?”
I shook my head.
It was her turn to shake hers. “The Warlord’s token, or anyone’s token is for truths or questions that they may not want to hear.” Atira answered softly. “Those who lead have elaborate tokens and bearers, which bespeak their status.” She shifted slightly to get more comfortable. “We are a warrior people and weapons are always at hand when tempers flare. Without tokens, there’d be little truth telling for fear of killing ourselves off!” She grinned at me. “For one such as I, a token can be a stone, a tool, a shoe even, if that’s what’s at hand.”
“A dagger?” I asked, nodding toward her weapons.
Atira wrinkled her nose. “That’s not done, Warprize. It can be done, but its insulting in its own way. Now, with leaders, warlords and the like, they set the token out where it can be seen. An invitation to use it. With me, you must ask.” She fumbled for one of the pattern stones. “Now, ask for my token.”
“Atira, may I have your token?”
She handed me the stone. “You hold my token, Warprize. What truths would you voice?”
I clutched the stone in my sweaty hand. “I have a question.”
She inclined her head. “I will answer.”
I pointed to the tattoos on her arm. “What do these mean?”
She chuckled. “You need no token to ask that!”
“But how do I know?”
The despair must have been in my voice, for her smile faded as she looked at me. “Healer you may be, but you’re a horse in a strange herd, aren’t you?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. My homesickness lay in my stomach like a rock.
“It’s best, if you are not certain, to use the token.” She spoke carefully, as if to a child. “But as warprize, any who would lift a weapon to you would answer to the Warlord. You need not be concerned.” She looked down, and picked at a nit on the blanket. “Truth is, if the Warlord knew that I had grabbed you that day, I’d like be dead at his hand.”
“He found out.” Atira went white, her eyes wide. I shook my head. “He saw the bruises. I refused to tell him who had done it.”
Atira’s color slowly leached back into her face. “You refused?”
“You didn’t mean any harm, and I lost my temper.” I flushed, embarrassed.
“It appears that I owe you for both life and limb, War-prize.”
“No, Atira, please. No debts between us.”
She tilted her head. “So, at this point I reply ‘I will answer to your truth’. Then you return my token. Or, if you fear my anger, you may hold the token, until I answer.”
I handed her the stone, and her smile grew wider. “As to your question. This tattoo?” She pointed to her right arm. “It bespeaks my tribes back four generations.” There were two columns of four lines each, black ink against her tanned skin. None of the designs repeated. “So you can see what tribes mix within my blood. Each tribe has its own pattern. The right column is the women, the left are the men.”
I nodded, not completely sure I understood.
“Now this,” displaying her left arm, “this is my required births.” This was a row of five lines, each line a separate design. “I took the tribe design of the man for each child.” She had a look of satisfaction on her face.