"No, silly," Meri told her. "She'll be in the infirmary with us. Just get your shoes on, because we need to go."
"Hair back too," I reminded them. "Braid or bun. Either will work."
"Devil's hands," Callah cursed as she began to frantically search her area. "I can't find my hair tie!"
"I've got an extra," Meri promised.
While she braided Callah's hair down her back, I straightened Meri's smock. It took mere minutes, but the clock was already ticking. The moment the three of us were considered presentable, I reached for the door, heading out first.
The hall was busy, but not as bad as I'd expected. Any girl over the age of fifteen was expected to help. For some, this would be their first time healing. For others, like the three of us, we were expected to train them. But first, we needed to get into position.
Scurrying with light feet and soft steps, every girl in our wing rushed to the main hall. One by one, we lined up, putting our backs against the cold stone, clasping our hands before us, and bowing our heads. We were supposed to be praying, because the power of our faith could save the fallen, but I had a feeling I wasn't the only one with a blank mind.
The next hall over, I could hear the panic growing louder. Male voices. Some women too. Cries of pain pierced the night, making a few of the younger girls flinch. Looking down my line, I could see fear on far too many faces, but this was normal. This had been happening more and more often. It was something we all needed to know.
And I was good at it.
So when Ms. Lawton finally returned, I was the first girl she stabbed her finger towards. "Ayla Ross. Also you, you, you, you..." She kept going, singling out the older girls first. I had a feeling the quality of our stitching helped her make her decision. "To the infirmary! The rest of you?" The older woman paused to run her eyes across the group of us. "Pray. Pray with all your hearts, because the Devil must be pushed back!"
I didn't stop to listen to the mumbled words I knew would be filling that hall. I turned, marching towards the infirmary with purpose. Meri and Callah had also been selected, but further down the line. I couldn't wait for them. I didn't dare let Ms. Lawton - or anyone else - know how close we were.
Friends were a weakness in women, we'd been told. They encouraged gossip, which could bring the Devil into our sanctuary. A woman's place was to serve our men. Fathers, brothers, husbands, and neighbors, it didn't matter which men. They all deserved our complete devotion in the eyes of the Lord. That was why the three of us had gotten good at pretending to do little more than share a sleeping space.
But when I turned into the infirmary, it was worse than I thought. All ten of the available beds were filled with men. Blood coated the white sheets. In some cases, it was running down to make puddles on the floor. I noticed it all, but my feet were already moving to the cabinets at the side. The ones where we kept the suture and needles.
"Ayla!" a male voice snapped. "I need you on this one!"
"Yes, sir," I replied as I scooped handfuls of medical supplies into a pouch formed from my skirt.
But when I turned to follow the direction of the voice, I saw my patient. Arrows stuck out from his body. The man was gasping, clearly having trouble breathing. Sucking in a shocked breath, I hurried to him, not even caring if it wasn't polite to run - because he must be dying.
"Hold him down," I told the other hunter as I placed my supplies beside me.
"You have to pull the arrows," the man snapped at me.
But my hands were already in motion, reaching for the safety lever on the gun still strapped over the man's chest. Flicking it so the weapon couldn't fire, I began to unhook the strap which went over his shoulder and around his back. The whole time, the hunter merely watched me.
Stupid men. They knew we couldn't repair their wounds unless we could get to their skin. They also didn't seem to think any of them should be bothered with such mundane tasks. No, this was what women were for.
Once I got the weapon free, I pulled, sliding the strap out from under his body before passing it to the hunter watching over him. The fool looked at me as if he had no clue what to do with it, but I didn't care. Storing weapons was not part of healing. It was their job, and while we all knew how to handle weapons - we were taught in our first year of school - women were not supposed to be bothered with them.
"What do you think I'm going to do with this?" the hunter grumbled.
"I don't know and I don't care," I assured him. "I simply cannot heal this man with it in my way. Strap it over your shoulder or drop it to the floor for all I care. Just get it out of my way."
Because for this one moment, I got to be in charge. Here, in the infirmary, the women had the power. Knowing that gave me the courage to lift my eyes to the hunter and glare. His grey eyes widened in surprise, but nothing else. He didn't dare punish me for my tone. Not right now.
"Okay, but you'd better know what you're doing, Ayla."
"I know what I'm doing," I snarled. "So you listen to me, do what I say, and hold this man down!"
The hunter bobbed his head in agreement, set the gun by his feet, and then braced the wounded man's shoulders against the thin bed. That forced the man to stop rolling in pain and let me see what I was working with. Multiple primitive arrows were buried in his body. Most were shallow enough, but three were deep. Thankfully, they weren't near anything vital.
"He will fight," I warned as my hand wrapped around the shaft of the first arrow.
"You sew, girl," the hunter shot back. "I'll keep him still."
So I pulled. The arrow made a sucking sound as it came free, the head of it tearing the wounded man's flesh like a dull blade. Naturally, the victim screamed, doing everything in his power to flinch away from the pain I was causing. Surprisingly, the hunter holding him managed to keep him in place.
So I moved to the next, then the one after. I didn't pause to give my patient a breather in between. No, the faster it was over, the sooner the pain would recede. In total, I pulled seven arrows from his body. The one by his hip bled profusely, but I wasn't worried about it.
Right now, I needed to get this man's clothes off. Reaching back, I grabbed a large pair of shears and began cutting. I didn't have time to worry about maintaining his leathers or shirt. The infirmary wasn't a place to be shy about removing his pants and underthings. In order to save this man's life, I had to get to his skin so I could put it all back together, and his clothes were in my way.
So I cut. Then I pulled. When the hunter realized what I was doing, he leaned in to help, making it even easier. Bit by bit, I removed everything in my way, leaving my patient as much dignity as possible, but what I reached for next was not the suture.
It was clear and smelled like it could singe hair. The alcohol was meant for wiping down our counters and supplies, but I'd learned it could do more than that. The first time may have been an accident, but this wasn't.
"Hold him," I demanded before pouring the vile stuff across my patient's exposed body.
The man screamed. The hunter struggled to keep him on the bed, but I was already setting the bottle aside and reaching for clamps. Any place that was still bleeding needed to stop. Leaning in close, I looked, trying to find the cut vein so I could crimp it. Not easy on a moving patient.
"Hold him, I said!"
"Yes, ma'am," the hunter panted, struggling to do just that.
One by one, I found the bleeders and stopped them. Bit by bit, I prevented this man's blood from spilling onto the floor. Only when all of that was done did I reach for my suture, intending to sew my patient back together.
But Callah rushed to my side. "Ayla, you're needed at bed three," she said, meeting my eyes.
