“I think he has a chance,” he said in response to her unasked question. She nodded. She wouldn’t expect him to lie or make things out to be better than they were. “Is Rin stable?”
“We’ve slowed the bleeding. He has a large piece of metal in his shoulder. I could try and move it, but I think it would be better if you did it.”
“Yes. Just keep him still, the bleeding under control, and I’ll see to him. Meis?”
“Calm,” she said briefly, glancing in the direction of their other patient. Both Kei and Myka had kept their voices deliberately low. “She knows what needs to be done.”
“And so do I. I’m going to remove the shrapnel, stop the bleeding and stitch.”
“His face?”
“Will have to wait—it won’t kill him. Oh—wait.”
So
stupid
of him not to have checked. Kei closed his eyes and looked inside Misek’s skull—as he suspected, the man had been knocked out briefly by the blast, and awoken again, but Kei found deeper damage, bleeding in the brain. He carefully suppressed it.
Foolish
. He’d allowed himself to be distracted by the blood, just as his teacher and his mother had both warned him against, and Misek had nearly paid the price for that inattention. The head wound would have killed Misek almost as fast as that in his gut. Kei took precious seconds to check Rin was not similarly and silently dying, but the big man wasn’t so precarious. Kei could now give all his concern to the patient in front of him.
It was a slow business, because he didn’t want to cause more damage in the removal of the metal, but there was so much he needed to do. No point in stopping Misek bleeding to death if he died of a gut infection days later. Myka sponged away blood, and washed away the detritus from bowel and stomach with a distillation of nitre weed which would inhibit infection, as Kei eased fragments of metal from Misek’s intestines and liver, stitching, clamping and pushing organs and broken ribs back into position, all the while keeping an ear on his breathing, and an eye on his colour.
Kei wasn’t sure how long it took, except that it took a long time, and he swayed a little on his knees as he laid the last dressing over the neat stitches and the drain in Misek’s side.
“Do you need a rest?” Myka asked quietly, a supporting hand on his shoulder. Mind-moving always took so much out of him.
“Later. Can you clean up his face? I need to see to Rin. We can make Misek handsome later.”
“I think one eye is blinded.”
“Yes, I know, but better one eye and alive, than dead with two. You know how to deal with that. Let me know if you can’t.”
She grimaced at his words, but set to as he moved back to Rin’s side. Meis held her husband’s hand, and stared at him as Kei knelt. Pijli had gone—Kei had been too occupied to know where or why.
“Misek?” Meis whispered.
“I think he’ll live. Can you help me with Rin?”
“Yes.” Still little more than a whisper, but Meis was a calm, sensible woman and he could rely on her not to have hysterics at the sight of her husband’s injuries. Actually, when he removed the bandages, it wasn’t as bad as he feared, the shoulder injury being the most serious, although several other bad cuts would need stitching, and he’d lost a regrettable amount of blood. Kei washed his hands and set to work once more.
It took nearly as long to attend to Rin as it had to help his son. His wounds were somewhat less dangerous, but there were more of them, and, just as Kei was finishing, Rin roused, and started to struggle. Meis and Kei had to hold him down while Myka made him swallow a sedative potion. It took some time before Rin calmed—Kei couldn’t work on a struggling patient, so he had to wait until it took effect before continuing.
A patient in pain fights himself and the healer,
his father had written, and it was true.
Finally Rin settled, his body relaxed, and the bleeding his struggling had reawoken eased again. Kei could finish his methodical repairs of the long lacerations.
At last he was done, and he washed his bloodied hands off as he assessed the damage to Misek’s face. The young man would have some ugly scars as a result of today’s mishap. Still, he was luckier than Ban, and it was possible to adjust to the loss of an eye. Satisfied both men were stable, he stood and stretched, feeling the ache in his back and his knees.
His body told him it had to be nearly three hours he’d been crouched over his patients. Now he paid attention to his surroundings, he realised Peit had barricaded the door. Inside the ruined workshop, it was curiously quiet. Now he had time to regret the death of Ban, a good, honest man who had been so very kind to him, and to spare a thought for his friend, Banji, and how the loss of his beloved father would be affecting him.
“Peit? We need to get Rin and Misek out of here, back to their house.”
“Leave that to me,” Peit commanded, throwing open the door he’d barred. “Oy, you and you. We need two litters. And someone send for Kento, he can start on the workshop.”
Past Peit’s broad shoulders, Kei saw twenty or more heads, probably only a fraction of the people waiting anxiously for news of their friends and relations—as everyone was to everyone else here.
“Peit, we need a shroud.”
Meis spoke, her eyes wounded but her voice firm and low, as calm as it always was. “No, I‘ll provide that. Have my brother taken to our house.”
Of course. Ban, a widower, still had his sister and his son to carry out his burial rites.
Peit nodded and bellowed an order for another litter to be brought. Kei laid a hand on Meis’s shoulder in comfort, feeling her pain at her brother’s death and also her relief that at least her husband and son were alive.
“Thank you,” she said. “Erte would have been so proud of you.”
“If I were a tenth of the healer she was, I’d deserve that praise. I’ll come to your house later, but they mainly need rest and liquids when they wake. Myka can bring you a supply of dressings shortly and we’ll administer pijn as needed.”
Meis bowed in acknowledgement. Kei found a stool in the ruins and sat down heavily. Now he’d completed the surgery, he felt weak with tiredness, his body claiming payment for the substantial debt of energy his gift used. Myka, long used to this phenomenon, took charge of things, supervising the careful transfer of the three men onto the litters. Meis covered Ban’s face with her scarf and walked behind his body as it was carried out of the workshop.
Myka cleaned up the bloodied bandages, storing them carefully for rinsing, boiling and reuse. Kei could only watch. He needed to eat and to sleep now. He rarely used his powers so intensively nor for so long, and wished yet again he was truly Gifted, so that such task would not debilitate him like this. His patients would appreciate the faster service too.
Myka came to him, the kit over her shoulder, one hand holding the bandage box, as she shoved her shoulder under his arm. “Come on, I know you’re about to faint.”
“No, I’m not,” he protested feebly, but his legs were awfully wobbly as he stood.
When they went outside, they found everyone had gone—probably headed to Rin’s house to see if they could help. Kei was glad—he couldn’t have handled a crowd.
“Kei?”
Myka stopped, so Kei had to. He looked down to the source of the voice. “Risa?”
“Pa’s not dead, Kei?”
Kei knelt—well, slumped to the ground—and looked at the boy hiding at the side of the workshop. He beckoned him closer, and took the opportunity to make sure he hadn’t missed an injury in his earlier quick check. “No, he’s not dead, Risa. Nor is Misek.”
“Uncle Ban?”
Kei shook his head. “I’m sorry, Risa. I couldn’t help him.”
Risa nodded as he looked at the ground. “I was scared. Pa looked dead and Ma was crying.”
“Yes. But he’s going to be all right. Your Ma will be sad though.”
“Uncle Ban died.”
“Yes.”
Myka cleared her throat. “Risa, your mother will be worried about you. Why don’t you go help her look after your father and brother?”
“Yes, I will. Thank you, Kei.”
Kei put his hand out and patted Risa’s messy hair. “I wish I could have helped your uncle. Now run along.”
Risa gave him a quick, surprising hug and then ran along the street towards his family’s home. Kei slumped some more, and groaned. “I can’t get up.”
“Come on, you lazy brat.”
Kei smacked her lightly on the backside. “Some respect for your brother, woman.”
“I’ll respect you more when you’re not kneeling in the dirt, covered with blood.” But she knelt down beside him. “It was amazing, watching you. It always is...but today.... Meis is right. Ma would have been proud.” She brushed her hand along his cheek.
He leaned into her hand briefly. “Everything I can do, I do because of her and Pa. I wish I had finished my studies.”
Her large, dark eyes were soft with sympathy. “Ban would still be dead. Not even Ma could bring the dead to life.”
“I know...just...poor Banji-ki. It’s not fair—his mother six months ago, now Ban. He was just starting to smile again.”
“Well, one thing Ma always said which was absolutely true. You can’t solve everyone’s problems for them. Banji-ki still has a family.”
“And I have you, Mychichi,” Kei said gently, using her childish nickname and laying his head on her shoulder.
For a moment, she allowed the embrace, and then she stood, hauling him up with the surprising strength which came close to matching his own, for all he was a head taller. “Now, home, to rest and to wash. You smell of blood and shit, brother mine.”
“You’re a hard woman, sister mine.” But he let her help him up, glad of her strength and her presence and wondering what in hells he would ever do without her.
“Now, if I didn’t know you so well, young Sei Arman, I would say you were worried about something.” Karus leaned back into his chair, his weathered face wrinkling into a smile. “But since I know you never let your emotions distract you to such an extent, I shall blame a bolt from Akan, the god of mischief, for the fact you can’t play a simple game of kezi tonight.”
Arman sighed and pushed the kezi board away. “Apologies, Karus-pei. I don’t wish to contradict your belief in me, but I am worried, in fact.”
Karus’s eyes grew serious. “The new campaign? It’s not like you to fear a battle, my boy.”
“I don’t fear it, Pei. I question—” He fell silent. They were alone in Karus’s study, but his elderly tutor had a staff just as any well-to-do man had, and who knew who was listening at doors?
Karus waved a dismissive hand. “We’re alone, Arman, and you know my people have no interest in politics. I would remove them in an instant if I thought they did. You question...the motivation, perhaps?”
“The wisdom, more like. Her Serenity’s ambitions are laudable, they bring glory to the race of Prij. But....”
Karus watched him intently. “But...?” he prodded gently.
“But,” Arman said slowly, “fifteen hundred miles of mountains and desert are a heavy dowry to accept with Darshek’s port and trading routes. We’ve taken twenty years to truly control southern Darshian, Pei. It’s brought us great benefits, and the Prij grow stronger for having this land as their own. Will we say the same in another twenty years, when we’ve been forced to hold the north with all our armies engaged as invaders, and we have been stretched thin for all that time?”
Karus nodded. “You have said this to her, no doubt?”
“Not as such. Her Serenity doesn’t care for naysayers, not when it touches her pride.”
“Ah, yes. But to Ritus, Jozo? You have said as much? Do they agree?”
“Ritus only wants what Kita wants. Jozo...Jozo, I think, has some sympathy with me, but not enough to bring it up to her. Certainly the Lord Commander isn’t going to. No one else is bothered at all, and I am but the junior general,” he said dryly. “I must not exceed my position.”
“Yes, true,” Karus murmured. He cleared the pieces from the kezi board, and put them into the leather pouch. “But you’re not afraid for yourself? That the mission across the mountains will not succeed?”
“Of course not. Niko, lord of the heavens, sets our span of life and I can only trust to his wisdom.”
“Very pious, very true, my boy. But I would be sad if that span of life were not to extend for a few years longer.”
You’re probably the only one.
Arman scrupulously amended that thought. Loke would mourn him, and so would Tijus. Their father would regret losing the chance to further his dynasty, but Arman’s death would not bereave his father half as much as that of his brother. It was just, since Arman scarcely cared about his father’s well-being either. It had been a long time since they had eyed each other with anything approaching affection.
Of course, Mayl would bury him with appropriate rituals and much obvious weeping. His mouth twisted sourly as he thought of his wife. And then pass many happy hours thinking of how to spend her inheritance, free of her tiresomely stolid husband. No, Mayl would not care in the least if he were to die on the desert campaign. Her only concern would be extracting the widow’s allowance from the crown for his funeral.