Chapter 5: Recovery

The next day, Salim woke up tired, and Horsetail was weak and bedridden and complained that everything hurt, as expected given her condition. Salim stroked his beard, remembering the previous night’s wonders. She really did go an extra mile for him there, not just revealing the mysteries, but offering all that endless love-making. Even if she didn’t felt the pain in that god-state, it surely took its toll on her wreck of a body, and she knew it – but did it anyway. For him.

Was she moved by gratitude for saving her? A show of loyalty to cement her forgiveness? Or something even more selfish? His hand froze mid-beard as the memory of wanting to cut her apart resurfaced. He would have to be careful with these gods of hers – and with Horsetail herself.

Be that as it may, with no servants and Horsetail bedridden, Salim had to take care of her himself. Many house chores had long gone unperformed, and the garden was choked with weeds and suffered from insufficient watering. He would have hired other servants, but between tending to his slave girl and painting the battle scene for the sheikh’s dining room, he couldn’t spare the time to vet them.

How long did the healer ssaid my recovery would take, my masster? – she asked when Salim brought her soup in the evening.

One moon at least, my dear broken love doll, - he replied with grim sympathy.

Let’ss put that old potion mixser to sshame, - she smiled with her swollen, scarred lips, - Bring me a black hen each day, and we will ssee what Godss have to ssay about it.

Hens were easy enough to procure, as were a new bronze pot, a sharp stone, and some other ritual paraphernalia. With great curiosity, Salim watched and took notes as Horsetail performed the sacrifices and then ritually buried the carcasses. In three days, she resumed her usual routine of morning prayer-exercises and could walk unsupported.

After six days – and six hens – Horsetail was as healthy as before he sent her to the quarry. When he ran his hands over her back, the gashes were gone, and the muscles felt firm. She was whole again. Magic. Magic that would soon be his!

A new layer of messy, lumpy scars remained, however, a stark reminder of her ordeal. Another one was Horsetail’s new habit of tossing and turning in her sleep, crying or cursing bitterly at someone named Kazif. Considering what she went through, Salim was not surprised and hoped those inner wounds would heal as well in due time. Who was that Kazif anyway? An overseer? A slave? He did not ask. He didn’t really want to know. They were all dead now anyway.