Calm: Ice Planet Barbarians: A Slice of Life Short Story (4 page)

“Sure.” Mah-dee takes the cup, and her fingers touch mine. No sickness in either of the sisters. A good thing.

As I straighten, I glance over at Rokan. He has gone very still, his gaze on me. His expression is blank, but I sense he is thinking. After a moment, he offers me his hand, palm up.

He knows what I am doing.

She knows things, like me.

My eyes widen. Does he feel it? Did he wake up with the creeping dread as I did? I must know. But I do not want to frighten the others. So I put a bright smile on my face and look at the humans. “Did you know that Stay-see made cake?”

“Cake?” Mah-dee asks, gesturing to her sister. Li-lah puts a hand over her mouth in pleased surprise.

“I do not know if there is any left, but I am sure if you ask, she will make more.” I smooth my clothing over my hard, rounded belly.

Rokan just watches me.

“I’m game if Lila is,” Mah-dee says, hand-speaking to her sister.

Li-lah’s hands move, communicating, and then Mah-dee looks over at me. “Lila thinks you’re trying to get rid of us so you can talk to Rokan.”

I incline my head slightly. Li-lah is wise.

“Fair enough. I can be bribed with cake.” Mah-dee gets to her feet, and Li-lah does, too. Li-lah hesitates, and then goes to Rokan and kisses him on the mouth quickly before darting back to her sister’s side. I watch Rokan give his mate a scorching look as she exits.

Resonance is definitely ongoing for those two.

They leave, and the cave grows quiet again. I toy with my clothing, trying to seem calm and relaxed, though I do not feel it. There is too much going on in my head for me to be calm.

Rokan looks over at me after a moment, and his gaze is weary. “You feel it, too?”

Y
ou feel it
, too?

My heart clenches. “I do.”

“What is it?”

He does not know? “I hoped you would have an answer.”

Rokan rubs his chin thoughtfully. “And I the same.”

I shift in my seat, uneasy and yet somehow relieved. Rokan feels the same way I do. I am not just a pregnant female seeing trouble where there is none. Something is wrong…or will be wrong. “I woke up this morning and I felt it,” I tell him. “Subtle, but nagging. Like grit in the eye. I do not know what it is, just that I sense…something on the horizon.” Even now, I feel the slight unease in the air, clinging like smoke.

“Is it your kit?” he asks. “Are you healthy?”

I shake my head. “I can…feel sickness, if that makes sense. My khui feels different around those that are unwell. This feels similar, yet different. So I have been visiting everyone, but no one is sick. I do not know what to make of it. I thought perhaps it was just me…”

“Until I spoke up,” Rokan finishes. He continues to rub his chin. “It has bothered me for two days now.”

I am surprised. “You said nothing?”

He shrugs. “It feels vague, like an idea more than anything else. And like you, I cannot find it centered on anyone.”

“But you
do
feel it,” I stress. Now I am even more worried. I am just a healer, but Rokan can sense things. He knows when a bad snowstorm will arrive, when game is scarce…he knows so many small things. “Is it the weather?”

“I do not think so. It is…difficult.” He taps a finger on his chin and sits up, frustrated. “I cannot describe it, just that I know it lingers. Like a bad taste.”

“Well, now we know all the things it is like,” I say impatiently. “It is like a bad taste. It is like grit in the eye. It is all these things and yet we do not know what it actually is.”

He raises his brow at me, surprised at my outburst. “Once I know what it is, I will say more.”

I rub a hand over my face. “I know. I am just tired. And worried. I would much rather a broken arm than some nameless, formless problem I cannot see.”

“I understand.” Rokan takes a stick and pokes at the coals of the fire. “At first I thought it was my Li-lah, and my heart was filled with dread. I did not let her get out of our furs for a full day, worried there would be something that would happen if she stepped out of my sight. But when the feeling continued…” He trails off. “It worried me, and yet I am relieved. It is not Li-lah, and I feel bad because I am glad that whatever it is, it does not touch her.”

I reach out and put my hand on his knee. “I know this feeling well. I have a mate and a kit, and another on the way. I wake up at night, worrying over them. It is because you love deeply. It will terrify you at times, but it is also a good thing.”

The hollow-eyed look he gives me tells me there is much worrying going on in his head yet.

Concern prickles through me, and a new dread arises. “I cannot remember, Rokan. Did you have your ‘sense’ when the khui-sickness hit all those seasons ago? I was not yet a healer, so I do not know if this is the same.” My entire body clenches against the thought.
Please, do not let it be that. Anything but that.

I want to cry with relief when he slowly shakes his head. “It is not the same. When the khui-sickness was here, it felt…” He makes a fist and clenches it over his chest. “Like a crushing sense of wrong. This just feels…slight. Unnerving.”

I exhale, pondering his words. He is right—this does not feel crushing. It feels like…a suggestion? An idea of a bad thing about to happen. “So what do we do?”

“We wait. What else can we do?”

“We can tell our chief. Vektal should know so we are prepared.”

“Prepared for
what
?”

He has a point, but still, our chief deserves to know. “Anything and everything.”

Rokan nods.

I put my hands in the air. “Help me up and we will go to his cave.”

Rokan helps me stand and then pauses. “I will go see Vektal. You should return to your cave.”

“No, I can go with you—”

“Maylak,” he says gently, and gives my hands a squeeze. “Can you not feel it? Your kit is on the way.”

In that moment, my body gives a powerful clench, a contraction ripping through me. I release his hands and double over, holding my belly.

“Your water is about to break, too,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Let me carry you back to your mate.”

I grab onto his tunic, fistfuls in my hands. Everything in my body that I have been ignoring, been pushing aside because I have been too busy, too worried—it is all coming to the surface. All day, my body—and my kit—has been sending me signals that my time is near, and I have been too distracted to notice. Now I feel it all: the change in my kit’s position inside my belly, the slow expansion of my flesh between my legs, the contractions that ripple through my hard stomach. I have been soothing it with small touches all day, focused on the well-being of my tribe.

Now my kit is desperate to be born.

Oh. I hesitate, because I must find out what is ailing the tribe. I must fix it because they depend on me to keep them safe and healthy. “But—”

“Everything else can wait, healer. I promise you.” He helps me to stand upright and then begins to walk me toward the entrance of his cave. “Have your kit. I will speak with Vektal. We will come and see you later.”

I hesitate.

“Your water,” Rokan warns. “Very soon.”

I nod and shuffle out of the cave, clutching my stomach. The moment we are in the main tunnel, he swings me carefully into his arms. “Let us get you back to Kashrem, yes?”

Another contraction bears down on me. “My cave,” I agree, panting. “And hurry.” More pain tugs through my belly, and this time I do not use my healing to soothe it away.

My kit is coming, and each knot of pain that rises in my belly is a reminder that soon, I will have a new little face to greet.

Very, very soon.

* * *

A
short time later
, I sit up in the furs and put my hands on my belly, letting my healing flow through my body. The birth was an easy one, thanks to my khui, but I still ache. I am exhausted. With a little bit of healing, I will recover that much faster.

Near the fire, my mate wipes the kit down with a wet, warm towel. There is a wide grin on his face that will not fade, and he touches the soft blue skin of our kit with reverence. Each tiny toe is counted, each small finger uncurled. “A boy,” he murmurs, and looks over at me with love in his eyes. “You knew?”

I smile. “How could I not? He lived inside my body for season after season.” I have been with kit for so long that now I feel a little empty and forlorn without the comforting feel of him in my belly. I smooth a hand over the soft mound of my stomach. It will tighten and grow flat again soon enough, and I am almost sad because I miss carrying my kit already.

But then Kashrem is moving to my side, our newest kit carefully cradled in his arms. He holds the tiny male out to me. He is a perfect, beautiful child. I remember Esha’s face, squeezed and wrinkled with wailing, her little horns already budding. This kit is fat, and his horns are but suggestions on his little brow. His expression is sweet, his gaze calm as he stares at me with unblinking, dark eyes. My khui stirs in my chest as I take my kit into my arms, but there is no answering khui to reach out to. Not yet.

That vague sense of unease returns, but this time, it is different. This is a mother worrying over her vulnerable kit. I stroke my hand over the small head, nearly bald. “Not much hair.”

“Not like Esha,” my mate agrees, settling down next to me in the furs. His arm moves around my shoulders and he holds me close, pressing his mouth against my mane. “She had a full head of black and it stuck up like a puff-weed.”

I chuckle, remembering. The kit in my arms blinks, and his little mouth moves, pursing. I cradle him against my breast and offer my nipple, and a moment later, he latches on. Fierce love rushes through me and I have to blink back tears. Did I miss my rounded belly? It is nothing compared to holding this small life in my arms.

Kashrem nuzzles me again. “You are beautiful, my mate. I am the luckiest of males this day. I have a beautiful female at my side, a strong, healthy daughter, and now a son. My heart holds so much joy.”

I touch his cheek as the kit nurses. He is strong, my new son. Healthy. I can see this even without a khui in his breast to speak to. “You wanted a boy.”

“I did,” Kashrem agrees. “It feels selfish, knowing that our tribe needs females so badly, but I cannot imagine loving another little girl as much as I do Esha. So I wanted a small son.” He rubs my arm absently. “Of course, now that he is here, I cannot imagine loving him less or more than Esha. He is just different, and has already claimed another part of my heart.”

I know exactly what he means. Little Esha left with Rokan so she would not be frightened of any cries I made while giving birth. I miss my daughter, though. I want her here. I want to show her the new brother she has, and see her charming smile. I want to hug her close and reassure myself that she is safe, even though I know she will be with Rokan and his Li-lah. I am just…worried. “A name?” I ask my mate, keeping my tone light. “Have you considered one?”

“I thought we might blend our names, as the humans do. Makash.”

“A fierce name for such a sleepy kit.” I smile down at the small bundle in my arms. I could watch the small face for hours, the fat cheeks working as Makash nurses.

“He will grow into his strong name,” Kashrem says, giving my arm one last caress and then getting to his feet. “Better that he be a hunter than a tanner like his father.”

I look up, frowning at such negative words. “Why does it matter?”

As I watch, my gentle Kashrem picks up his seldom-used spear and goes to the entrance of our tiny cave. He sits and watches out the entrance, and his face is solemn.

“What is this?” I ask. This is not like my mate. My Kashrem is sweet of nature and not a fighter. I have never cared if he picked up a spear to hunt or if he cured a hide. Why the sudden change of heart?

“I have worried,” he says in a low voice, his hands gripping the spear awkwardly. His eyes glow as they fix on tiny Makash.

“Over the kit? But—”

He shakes his head. “Over what you said this morning when you woke. That something was wrong. And it made me think…should I be stronger to protect my family? Should I do more? Should I hunt? Be fierce like Hassen and Bek?” He gazes down at the spear in his hands as if it is foreign to him. “Will that help?”

“My mate,” I say softly, calling to him. I hold my hand out, waiting.

He gazes down at the spear, then sighs and casts it aside. He moves over to my side and kneels, then cups my face in his hands. “I want to be enough. Enough for you, enough of a father for Esha and Makash.”

“You
are
. Never doubt that.” I stroke his hand and hold it there, against my cheek. “Do not think you have to be anything other than who you are.”

“But the danger—”

“Could be nothing,” I say firmly. “I spoke with Rokan, and he feels the same unease, but it is not like the khui-sickness from before. We do not know what it is, and it might be something as simple as bad weather this brutal season.” It feels like a lie against my teeth, but seeing the worry on my mate’s face disappear is worth it.

“I want to protect you,” Kashrem says fiercely. “You are my female. My mate. The mother of my kits.”

“A mother who is busy tending a tribe that grows every day,” I say softly. I nuzzle his hand and then look up at him again. “A mother with two very young kits who is thankful that she has a husband not out on the trails, because it lets her focus on helping all.”

My words soothe some of the tension from his shoulders. “Why do you always know the right thing to say to ease my heart?”

“Because I am the healer,” I say gently. “And your mate. My duty is to know you and to know how to heal you in all ways.”

He gazes down at Makash, then chuckles. “He has fallen asleep feeding.”

I glance down and our small son’s little mouth quivers, as if trying to latch on in sleep. I lift him to my shoulder and rub his back, waiting for the inevitable belch. When it is done, I swaddle him in soft furs and then hold him out to his father.

The look of love on Kashrem’s face as he takes his son in his arms makes me melt and fills me with fierce protectiveness. We do not require a hunter in our family. I am the healer. I will keep my family strong and safe with my healing. The tribe provides food for us in thanks. There is no more that is needed.

And I feel guilty that my worry has bled over to my mate. This is why a healer has so many secrets. Because sometimes they should not be spoken until they have turned into something that can be healed away with a touch. I have made my mate worry over formless dangers that might never come to light. And yet…I cannot hold these things back from my mate. He is my heart. He is the only one I can share my burdens with.

“I know that look on your face,” he murmurs, even as he gently rocks Makash in his arms.