#ch: healer nettie

[wiltf]

perhaps amma should have considered the loss of feeling in her body as something interlinked with the holes in her mind. she was aware of it, of course, dragged through the shore and goblin gore alike, into the winding hills of a druid stronghold. but that awareness was similar to each breath daring to force more of her innards outwards.

she had yet to truly remove her shirt and inspect the damage, but as she leans against one of the carved statues, amma knows she should have. a finger prods and pokes herself, while the rest lead the conversation. asking for halsin, healer, information not fully divulged. sworn to secrecy, much like how amma swears that her finger should not have been able to press her flesh so far, until it finally hurt.

(gods, was that a kidney missing?)

haphazard armour and leathers, stained in all kinds of muck, hide her away. retrieved from bodies in the nautiloid and along the beach. amma thinks of the pod, and the burn on her thigh that had not healed. she had to take fire to the wound, sear it shut for as long as she could.

wets her lips, but it’s not enough. everything tasted like old iron, and when amma looks up, finally, her gaze meets astarion’s first. heady red eyes, brighter in the shadows of this hollow. watching her, flare of the nose, and he looks away.

were her mind in a better place, amma might have been able to put it all together.

except she agrees to the request - find halsin, now. not just in the stone here, no, towards the goblin camp. a good few days of travel away. back teeth grind, catching the inside of her mouth in the process. that ethel had a few elixirs on her table that would no doubt keep her moving, at least, regardless if her soul still wandered within the flesh.

movement. like a hive mind that came to a decision, action, progression. amma meant to follow, except that stone was cool, and her head felt so hot. a mind that searched, of course, for the source of just where it all came from, calling forth haphazard memories of scalpels and stitches. sometimes it was her own hand, other times it was not.

amma does not remember crumpling to the floor. nor the way in which her skull bounced off of stone, throwing her spotty brain around in the bone and fluid. that would just be a fact, acknowledged and something to move on, when she would awake.

salves and incense drawing her back to life with a hiss. everything itched and amma blindly reaches for the bandages, trying to free herself from whatever druidic healing method she had been subjected to (how did she know? why did she assume? were they not trying to help? her mind asks. she tells her mind to quieten).

“amma, you need to stay still.”

too many hands, too much force. was she blinded? did they not know that it was possibly worse to blind a frightened animal? let alone a wounded one, who had already proven times over that anything was a weapon? amma wants to bite the hands who heal her. amma wants to tear and scream and cry, gods, it hurt. where was she watching from, truly, to be able to somehow know that she was thrashing? was it all a part of her mind, tricking her into thinking she was simply an onlooker — a passerby?

was this a fragmented memory, irony twisting this into the way hands force the centre of her chest down. they do not dip into the ribcage, like she might once have been inclined to. no, these hands follow a shape, ignoring ridges and bumps. trying to force the weave in, and pull—

and pull the rot out.

“let me die.” her voice, yet her mouth does not move. a whisper that contained no fear. “lead me to the fugue plane.”

please please please please pleasepleasepleaseplease!

“you swore an oath to find halsin, and i cannot let you die before you bring him back.”

were they talking to her? was she talking to them? amma only lifts her head enough to slam it back into the stone; how silly that no one gave her a pillow to soften the blow. again, and again, and again, as hands are quicker, and voices are raised. wasted resources, she agrees, whilst she is pinned and strapped to a bed — wait, no, no she was not. there were no restraints on her hands, as when amma rolls her wrist, she cannot feel a buckle nor leather. nor her feet, legs, waist, wherever. most definitely not against her forehead.

strange, so strange. she could have sworn they were were. gods, gods, who did she pray to? who would she seek? amma recites the names, wordless, trying to ignore how she was burning from the inside out. how she finds herself begging at the feet of death — loviatar, mask, talona, shar, kelemvor, jergal, bha—

amma screams. and screams, and screams.

they were regrowing an organ. fuck, fuck, fuck! she could see all now, even as she thrashed and fought and tried to throw all the hands off. sweat and blood, over herself, over them. druids had replaced the few companions who had just walked in the same direction. wyll did not linger back, nor did lae’zel. a shoulder each, and fury in the latter’s eyes. amma looks between them, fast enough that the room spins, and she is not sorry she did not say anything — she was just sorry that she increased the debt.

somewhere along the way, the druids withdrew. at some point, amma was able to bend her knees, straighten her back on the stone. breathe, and not feel like everything might cave in should she hold for a second longer than she should. wiggle of her toes and moving her fingers, and the stone was cool where she had expected it to be warm, as she slid her hands towards the edge, to where she might be able to sit.

“you should have died several days ago, by my estimation.”

amma laughs — then stops. why should she? why was that a familiar statement, that humoured her. everything hurt, as she tries to stand, to keep her spine straight. not to fold on the newly grown nor repaired. meets nettie’s eye, and it was just them, only them.

“where are the others?” voice far too hoarse, but amma would fix that right up, yessir. the pitcher of water was where nettie sat, chair pulled against a table. one step, two, one more for good luck.

“i do not know,” nettie says.

yet she was lying through her teeth, and amma had yet to figure out why people insisted on lying to her. but that was fine, the water was within reach. tin cup, shaky and outstretched hand. sting of nettles, across skin that was still covered in a film of something vaguely minty.

“fuck—! really?!” amma can only stare, now. amazed. skin already mottling around the wound. “why did you save my life, then? to only poison me once more?!”

“they told me about the tadpoles, and had a look at what research halsin had left behind. however, this was after—”

amma doesn’t listen. not really. she did not understand these people; druids had never been her kind of preferential crowd, that much her mind could tell her. so, she does the next best thing, in that amma grabs the pitcher, and holds it to her lips. and drinks, deeply, as water had never tasted so sweet. like a book, with some pages torn out and others written in draconic or infernal or whatever other language she must have known at one point, her mind opens. acknowledges that she would not be capable of flushing her system of a poison in this way. but that was not the intended effect of damn near drowning herself in the pitcher.

as the action seems to stun the woman before her, who clearly had prepared a speech. open mouthed, gaping, as amma drinks until the last drop is gone, with water that spills over the edges cascading down whatever bandages still clung to scarred skin.

“apologies, i was quite thirsty—as you were saying? you know about the tadpoles, i should have died and… then i do not know.”

“you—i—well…” clearing of her throat, and yet nettie had lost the bravado, as in her hand was a vial neatly labelled. no doubt an antidote, intended to be a bargaining chip in this conversation, that much amma was certain of. loosely held, and one quick swipe would secure it.

“someone performed surgeries on you, only recently.”

“yes, i had assumed as much. thank you for regrowing an organ or—” quick press, along skin. possibly half of her liver restored, and it did not feel as if her body was going to collapse from weight. “—two, muscles… bone.”

yet nettie’s brow furrows, trading the antidote for a pencil. “we did not manage such a feat. it was all we could to relieve your body of the infections you carried.” quick words on paper, trying to capture her confusion. “we reset some bones, pulled shards from inside—and i am sorry that we were unable to remove most of the scarring but…”

amma does not wait for the opening, downing the antidote quickly. holding the little glass vial with care, despite herself. despite the need to press in. “what the illithids are truly capable of is far beyond anything imaginable.”

she did not need to finish nettie’s sentence. yet that little tadpole stirs in her mind, proud of itself, for keeping her alive. interesting and unsettling at the same time — whoever had taken the time to consider such a thing was not someone she was sure she wanted to meet.

“i ask you—beg of you—to find halsin. he is far greater a healer than i, or anyone in this grove. i—we—” a pause, a vulnerability. repeating herself as if it might endear amma to the cause, and not acknowledging that she was not going to give up her word.

were her head not throbbing, she might have been offended.

“he cannot fall to them, amma. you cannot let him be infected.”

a snort, despite herself. letting the vial rest gentle on the edge of the desk, and amma is not sure what to do with her hands just yet. whether she would have been given a courtesy to inspect wounds and scars alike. “your druid could have already been infected in the time he was gone, you know. a grim reality you may want to acknowledge soon.”

nettie shakes her head. too sure of herself, but amma. amma does not ponder over such defiance in the face of reality. amma does not consider that nettie may have only been fooling herself. no, amma does not consider that this was categorically a narrative moment, were she within a fairytale. all she does, really, is pull the damp bandages from her skin, wash basin and cloth at the ready to remove balms and salves alike.

bloomed in bruises, and amma only laughs to herself, as new scars interrupt old tattoos, as that deep scar on her chest now sits. a malformed dowsing rod if she had ever seen one. hair piled and tied on her head, fingers that follow the scars that disappear into whatever remained.

“halsin would be able to heal your mind.”

that stops amma, and with a click of her tongue, she responds, “you should not make promises on behalf of a person, that you are in no position to keep.”

“those lacerations are quite deep along your skull, and i presume that the bone had been pierced. halsin can help.”

when amma meets nettie’s eye, it was not the face of someone who should have known better. earnest, defiant, scared. holding the gaze presented to her with no indication that she would back down, but her thoughts were all over her face — scattered yet fearful. the situation should have been rather humorous or light, as amma sat on the bed she had occupied only just before, with only the towel as some form of modesty. clothes neatly folded at the end, and these druids had seen more of her than she could even remember.

nettie does not stop, despite herself. it was almost admirable.

as amma dresses, she speaks, loudly and clearly, without so much as a backward glance. “a word of advice for negotiation, nettie. when someone had already agreed to an impossible task, it generally considered quite gauche to poison them. particularly after you also healed them, which reinforced a repayment in kind.”

“apologies… it has been a stressful time, and i anticipated the worst once your companions revealed that you had all been infected.”

like a delicate little tick tick tick in the back of her mind, does it finally have amma react. sharp twirl, controlled paces, but how her hand hits the desk, or holds the back of nettie’s chair. that was not control. that was nails digging in, grain of the wood bending under pressure. it was amma caging nettie in against that space, furrowed brows and annoyance on her face at the apology.

“i will say this—i may not remember who i was, but my muscles remember much of what i can do. and i will not act on that memory today, nettie, out of the kindness shown by healing me.” deep shaky breath, as amma stares at her own reflection in nettie’s eyes. “but you should show caution for the next person that you swipe at. kelemvor’s kiss can go both ways.”

let go, she tells herself. step back. and her body aches, willing her forward, to show the healer exactly what she meant. but amma can only curse, sweat beading on her forehead, and stands upright. “now, where are the others?”