The Windcaster [Fantasy/Adventure | Featured | Complete ]

Chapter 59: Mommu

"No... no, no, no, no!"

Tia slid onto her knees and turned her friend over. Mommu coughed again. Blood pulsed onto the ground, staining her leggings.

"Enlil... Enlil!" she yelled. Her hands shook as they fumbled with the front of Mommu's tunic. There was a big gash in his abdomen. It wasn't as deep as Nisroch's, but the blood wasn't stemming.

She tore the cloth out of the way, exposing his front. Blood seeped out incessantly from the jagged gash from Asag's first attack. Mommu had pushed her out of the way, having sensed the Mawlinese's intentions. He had taken the blow that would have killed her.

No... no! Mommu cannot die! He cannot! Tia's thoughts were in a flurry as she fumbled with the cloths, forming them into a messy pile and pressing hard on the wound as she had seen Sarpanit do many a time for injured farmworkers. The healer had always managed to stem the flow after a few minutes.

The blood soaked through the material, apparently unaffected by the makeshift gauze.

"No... stay with me," she pleaded, patting his cheek. His skin was cold and clammy. "Mommu! Mommu!"

"It's... cold, Tia," he said, his voice barely audible. Enlil scooped him up with ease. Mommu's head lolled, his eyelids fluttering. Even his curly hair seemed limp.

"Do not sleep, do you hear me? Answer me, Mommu!"

"Ye... yes."

"Get Sarpanit! Get someone. Anyone!" she shouted to one of the men, who nodded and sprinted away. She took off her short cloak and folded it roughly before shoving it on top of Mommu's wound. Enlil's front was beginning to be soaked with blood also, leaving bloody footprints in the sand with each step. Mommu's complexion was getting paler. His half-closed eyes were unseeing.

Desperation clawed at Tia, worse than any hunger or anxiety she had ever experienced. She felt so helpless. All the Wind magic in the world would not help her in this situation. There was nothing she could do beyond pressing as hard as she could on his body wound as they rode back to the battleground, blood dripping all the way.

The fighting appeared to have stopped, not that Tia gave a damn. By that point, it had been many minutes since the boy had lost consciousness. The blood wouldn't stop flowing no matter how much she dabbed at or pressed on the wound. Her heart was racing like mad and her skin was cold; Mommu's hands were even colder. Her brain was empty except for the constant repetition of "Please". There must be something, anything that she could do. There must be something that she was missing. A key ingredient? A magic word?

She couldn't accept that she was helpless to watch her friend die.

All through this, Enlil said nothing. He held him securely in his strong arms, taking long, steady strides towards the tents that had been erected by the Gwentians. The worn, holey canvas rippled with the desert wind; it had dipped in temperature again. Sarpanit drew the front tent flap back, her heart-shaped face withdrawn and pinched. Her blue eyes darkened at the sight of the injured boy. Without another word, she jerked her head, inviting them in.

"Sarpanit is going to heal you, Mommu. Do not worry. We will be there. Stay strong!" urged Tia.

Mommu was silent.

*****

Enlil nipped in and out of the medics' tent as he had to assist the others with taking care of injured soldiers. He explained it to her, offering consolation and reassuring her that he would return as soon as he could. She didn't take any of that in. She just felt hollow, empty. It took her several minutes before she realised that she had been carrying Mommu's Caster staff as well. She ran her hands along the grooves that wrapped themselves around in a spiral along the shaft. Her previous staff was identical to Mommu's, but he always took better care of his items. His staff was clean and polished in the right places, with little chips or scratches. Tia's, on the other hand, was always scuffed and dirty, used more often than it should and often without adequate caretaking.