The Lost Tribe: Maliha the Wanderer (Book 1)

As One

Ancient hands gripped Maliha's shoulders, bolstering her weakening form.

"Come child" croaked Makula as she pulled Maliha along.

Maliha wanted to protest, there were still people to be seen to, but her body ignored her reasoning. Leaning heavily on Malika, she stumbled along until she was pushed down onto a hastily made sick bed. Her chin rested on her forearms as she became drowsy from blood loss and exhaustion.

"Stay with me," Makula called.

Her steady hands cut away at Maliha's dress as a song began to wind over her. Makula sung her healing chant to Maliha as she mixed herbs and wiped the blood from her back. Her warm withered fingers gentled over a mark on Maliha's lower back, her hands hovering over it before she gathered up her cloth and continued cleaning Maliha's wound.

Maliha's eyes closed for a short moment and when she opened them again a cup was pressed to her lips.

"Drink." Makula pleaded, forcing the cup closer to her mouth.

"This will help with your blood loss and will encourage healing. Drink," she prompted.

Maliha propped her body up on her forearms, grimacing when her back spasmed in pain. The drink was warm and smelt like dirt, the taste was even worse but Maliha gulped it back, feeling energised as soon as the liquid sunk into her stomach.

"Good. Now hold still."

Maliha gritted her teeth at the searing pain of the needle sewing her flesh together, the pain was agonising, but she made sure not to cry.

She was lucky. All she had suffered was a small stab wound whilst others were not as fortunate as her. Maliha wouldn't pity herself. Makula lay a cloth soaked in herbs on top Maliha's wound and then bound it with a thin strip of material.

"You should heal fine. Just don't strain your back too much."

"Thank you, Makula."

Maliha sat up and kissed the withered lines of Malika's cheeks before climbing from the stretcher. As her feet touched the ground, Makula gripped her hand to halt her retreat.

There was a look in the elderly woman's eyes that spoke volumes. For the first time Makula looked unsure of something. She was troubled. It appeared as if she wanted to impart some information with Maliha but hesitated with whether she should. Just as she was about to speak, the clatter of warriors yanked Maliha's attention away.

"Another time," Muttered Makula But Maliha didn't hear her.

Instead she was too focussed on trying to spot Ujarak in the sea of warriors and wounded people.

Ujarak spotted Maliha before she could find him or the thunderous expression that distorted his face. Ujarak pushed through the crowd of weary soldiers until he stood in front of Maliha with barely any space between them. His eyes caressed over her body, lingering on her face and lips.

"What happened to you?" he growled, motioning to the distressed material of her dress.

Her tongue flicked out at her lip in a nervous gesture. She didn't want to tell him but there would be no hiding the wound or scar that would eventually come.

"I was wounded but only slightly."

"Maliha," he choked.

His hands glided hastily along her body as he tried to figure out where she had been wounded, the distress was clear to see in his eyes.

She cupped his cheek in her palm and tried to soothe his worries. "I am fine Ujarak, but you are not."

From the moment he had stepped before her, Maliha had noted the blood that clung to his body like a second skin. The blood has turned a dark crimson as it dried along his body in some places but in others it flowed freely.