Twenty-six

“Just help me up,” Ava said.

“You need more help than I can give,” Rian told her. “You’re badly hurt.”

“Goddamn him,” and she sighed so deeply. Rian felt her spirit nearly broken, but the anger burned.

“I would give thanks that you’re alive.”

“Would you?”

Rian ignored the sarcasm, but he was chastised, too. “I mean ... Will he come back?”

“No.”

It was true. He could have killed the woman. Instead ...

“Likely he’ll run,” Rian agreed.

“Run? From what? From justice?”

Rian leaned forward just a bit and told Ava, “From you.”

Ava couldn’t help but laugh, but the laughter made her ribs ache and sharpened her temper.

“I’ll cut his balls off,” she said. “I will!”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Don’t,” and she fumed.

“Let’s get you cleaned up ... and then I’ll look for help.”

“No, no! Get along. I’ll want another woman to help me.”

Rian was quiet, glancing nervously around the hut, not wanting to say what had to be said.

“Get along then,” she repeated.

So Rian told her, “The women won’t come.”

“No?” She closed her eyes. “No ... they won’t. You’re right.”

“My mother will come ... if I ask–”

“No, don’t be foolish.”

Rian was grateful, but his head began to spin again. He forced himself to breathe deeply. “What have I done coming here?” he asked himself. “I’ve embarrassed everyone.”

But we do what we must, Rian knew. He knew what would come next and said aloud, “The healall’s gone up the lake. I saw her go. She’ll be back tomorrow. Late, she said.”

“Yes.”

“So I’ll bring Pater.”

“A priest?!”

“He’s the one to mend you.”

“Bugger a priest.”

“Please, don't--"

“Please? That bastard will be the last to come!”

“He’ll come. He’ll come. He’s a good man–”

“A good man! A eunuch more like, full of words and empty of sense ... or pity.”

“He’ll come.”