When Women Were Warriors Book I: The Warrior's Path

Mothers

As I held Maara through the rest of that long night, I thought and thought about what to do. She was exhausted, and those few hours of sleep wouldn’t help her much. I had to get her home. Then what? How long had it been since she’d eaten anything? And after food and rest, what else could be done for her? Although she seemed to be herself again, how could we go on as if this had never happened?

I feared for Maara more that night than I had ever feared for her before. In the short time I’d known her, there had been much to fear on her behalf, but this wounding of her spirit terrified me.

She had told me dreadful things about her life before she came to Merin’s house, but I hadn’t understood how deeply those things had hurt her, and it was clear that some of those hurts had failed to heal. Perhaps what I thought of as her strange ways were not instead something I might have recognized if she had been one of us, if she had not been a stranger in Merin’s house.

From time to time she whimpered in her sleep. I soothed her with my voice and with my hands, not enough to wake her, just enough to chase away her bad dreams. The year before, I had held her like this, to keep her still, to keep her warm, to help her body heal. Now I wished I knew half as much about the healing of the spirit as I knew about the healing of the body.

I watched the light grow in the east, then closed my eyes against the first rays of the sun as it rose above the horizon. I didn’t feel her wake, but suddenly she pulled away from me and sat up.

“I’m hungry,” she said.

“That’s good. You must be feeling better.”

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

“Better?” she said. “I’ve seldom felt worse.”

“We need to get you home,” I said.

I took a long look at her. Her clothes were rumpled and dirty. Her shirtsleeve was in tatters. Her tangled hair and dirt-streaked face made her look like the wild woman so many still believed her to be. Even if her face were clean, her haggard look would attract attention. I didn’t like to take her home the way she was, but I had no choice. She needed to be cared for.

“What’s the matter?” she said.

“I can’t take you home looking like that.”

“Like what?”

“You need a bath.”

I stood up and held out my hand to help her up. Then I led her down to the river. We left our clothing on the riverbank and waded into the water. She bathed herself while I tried to comb the tangles out of her wet hair with my fingers. I made sure her face was clean.

While she sat patiently on the riverbank, I shook the worst of the dirt and wrinkles out of our clothes. By the time I finished, we were dry enough to put them on.

When we were both as presentable as I could make us, we started home. We left the meandering footpath beside the river and walked cross-country until we reached the main road. Even with having to make our way through thickets and over some rough ground, it was the quickest way.

Every step was an effort for her, but she made no complaint. We didn’t talk. She was too tired to do more than put one foot before the other, and I was puzzling over how to get her safely into the house. When we were almost home, I led her off the main path and took her up to the oak grove. I wasn’t sure it was the best idea to take her back there, but I couldn’t think of what else to do with her. I didn’t want anyone to see her the way she was.

When we reached the grove, she stopped.

“What are we doing here?” she asked me.

“You’re going to stay here while I bring you something to eat and some clean clothes.”