Chapter Two: A Fortnight of Speculation

“If you ask me, she's already as good as dead. You should just cut your losses and feed her to the pigs,” those were the words that had greeted Larishi upon her return to the oasis. They were the same words that had haunted her without pause throughout the fortnight that had followed. Try as she might to push them from her mind, each time that she sat down to watch over her comatose rescuee they returned with renewed vigour.

Every day whispers followed her around the oasis. It never took long for information to make its way around the tribe but such queer news as Larishi the Timid purchasing a half-dead **** was bound to spread like wildfire.

“You’re a fool, no matter how cheap her price was. Even if you manage to revive her, it’ll cost you a fortune in the process,” Hanash had told her, shortly after inspecting the girl. The herbalist had been blunt, as always, but it was a trait that Larishi appreciated. In her experience, a harsh word often yielded greater gains than a gentle one, that was why she had sought out his aid. He’d been the first to see the girl, save for the patrol that had greeted Larishi as she had approached the oasis.

She’d been **** to plead with Hanash before he would come back with her to her tent, to where the girl was laid out on a cot tucked into the corner where it was the coolest and the darkest. An ensemble of furniture and stacked goods forming a makeshift wall around her to shield her **** form from the prying eyes that would no doubt seek her out.

“Trust me when I say that I have enough coin to manage,” she’d told the herbalist, following his appraisal. "Price is of no concern, just tell me what she needs.”

“Larishi, you’re my friend…” the herbalist had sighed, glancing once more over the still form that the pair had been hovered over. “I know that you don’t have much and I don’t want to see you waste what little that you do have, so please, listen to me: this girl has been thoroughly ravaged by the sun, she’ll need several tonics and poultices a day just to reduce the inflammation. The process will be grueling on her body and it could take weeks before she’s gathered enough strength even just to wake, during which time she’ll need plenty of food and water in order to sustain her, portions large enough to satiate two people at least; ideally you’d want to give her even more, enough for three or four given her dire condition.”

Larishi had breathed deep to steady her nerves before grabbing Hanash by the hand. She’d placed the plump purse into his upturned palm and closed his fingers around it, firmly enough for him to clearly feel the mass of coin stored within. She had asked: “would this be enough?”

The herbalist’s mouth had been agape, his gaze sharply snapping between the purse and Larishi. “Where did you get all of this?”

“I found it on a corpse in the desert. Some merchant, I think, who was unfortunate enough to lose their way. The coin was of no use to them out there so I pocketed it, hopeful that it could serve at least some purpose here.”

Hanash had chuckled under his breath and had thought hard for a moment, his jade eyes fixed on the purse. When his gaze had at last returned to meet Larishi’s, she’d seen a conviction burning deep within. “I’ll do everything that I can for her,” he’d promised, turning on his heel to stride towards the tent’s entrance. “I’ll just need some time to prepare the medicine. I’ll try to make it quick, get back here by nightfall or midnight at the latest, but I can't make any promises.”

Midway through his exit, the herbalist had paused. Already halfway through the flap of the tent he’d suddenly turned back to lock eyes with Larishi once more. His tone had shifted, it was now neither blunt nor gentle and sounded strange when coming from him. He’d said: “I also can’t make any promises that she’ll live. I’ll do as much as I can for her, for you, but there is no guarantee that it will be enough.”

Larishi had only given her friend a solemn nod in response.

As the days slipped by, the whispers grew louder and louder. By the end of the week, Larishi was all but a celebrity, not a single member of the tribe was left unaware of her new acquisition. Her stall in the market square grew to be regularly overcrowded, not by customers seeking her wares as she would hope but instead by meddlesome neighbours seeking answers.

Hanash often complained to her about suffering a similar fate, yet despite such the herbalist never once wavered in his duties. Thrice a day he would visit her tent to check on his patient. He would feed her and water her, change her poultices and administer her medicines; and as the week grew into a fortnight he would proudly note improvements in her condition.

“I don’t want us to get our hopes too high,” he’d say, holding back a smile, “but it’s looking more and more likely that she’ll survive. You might get your money's worth after all.”

Larishi knew that such news ought to bring her joy, but late into the fifteenth night of the stranger’s recovery she found herself pondering the reality: that she was filled with dread when faced with the idea that the girl might actually survive.