Rhys, meanwhile, began attuning himself to the grim business awaiting him. When he had scrubbed the grime from his hands and made a brief examination of Tavis’s condition, he went into Healer’s rapport with Oriel and reviewed the younger man’s plans. He found Oriel inexperienced but imaginative—a combination he could work with easily enough. After only a brief exchange of information and techniques, they settled down beside their patient.
While Evaine monitored Tavis’s life functions and kept him in deep sleep, beyond even the sedative already in his system—a task which seemed to surprise Oriel, since Evaine was not a Healer—Rhys controlled the area where Oriel worked, stopping bleeding, anchoring severed muscles and tendons and ligaments, sealing major nerve-endings, holding all in suspension as Oriel removed a bit more bone and smoothed the jagged ends and drew new flesh and a flap of skin over what once had been a Healer’s hand.
When they were finished, they bandaged what was left and propped his left arm upright at his side, resting on the elbow, the forearm tied loosely to a chair drawn near the bed—though they covered arm and chair with a light blanket to disguise its lines. They would not have him see too much of it too soon.
Since they were approximating what a healed amputation should look like, rather than using the body’s natural tendency to be whole while still in one piece, they knew that the Healing could not be completed that night. The body must be free to reroute blood vessels in its own way; and until that happened, there was danger of blood pooling in the stump and pressure building, making further surgery necessary on an even weaker patient. Besides, there would be less pain when Tavis woke, with the injured member elevated.
Oriel stayed with them a little while longer, observing their patient’s condition and picking up fine points of technique from the Master Healer. After some discussion, it was agreed that Rhys should take over the case, reckoning it likely that Tavis might respond better to a Healer with whom he was acquainted, once he regained consciousness and must begin his terrible adjustment as a Healer with only one hand.
Oriel left around midnight, and an anxious Javan slipped into the room through the opened door. The boy was exhausted, wound up as tight as a catapult skein, dark smudges undershadowing the grey Haldane eyes. His face was streaked with tear-tracks through the day’s accumulation of grime. His limp was more pronounced than Rhys had ever seen it as he made his way to the foot of the bed.
“Is he—alive?” Javan whispered, as though afraid to speak the words.
“Of course he’s alive.” Rhys smiled. “You didn’t think we’d let him die, did you? It takes more than that to kill a Healer.”
“I suppose.” The boy stared hard at his toes. “Did—did you put his hand back?” he asked plaintively. “I wrapped it up as well as I could, and I tried to keep it warm.…”
Slowly Rhys crouched down before the boy, taking his slender arms and trying to get him to look him in the eye.
“I’m afraid that wasn’t possible, Javan. It had been too long. We can Heal a lot of things, but even we have our limits. Can you tell me how it happened? A guard said you were attacked.”
Angrily Javan jerked his arms away and moved to the right side of the bed, touched tentative fingertips briefly to Tavis’s remaining hand, knuckled away grief-stricken tears from his bleary eyes.
“I was riding on Piedur’s shoulders,” he said shakily. “There were lots of people around us, singing and laughing. Some of them were wearing masks, because it was carnival time.”
He sniffed and drew himself more erect. “All of a sudden, Tavis wasn’t with us anymore. I looked around and saw him being rushed into the alley by a couple of men who had hold of his arms. They were wearing dark cloaks and masks. And there were others around him, too, and they were part of it, even though they didn’t all have hold of him.
“I—saw one of them hit him in the head,” he continued, his voice quavering a little, “and I yelled and pointed, and Piedur saw what was happening and put me down.” His voice strengthened. “The other guards came running, but I couldn’t see what happened next. There were people running everywhere and screaming. I managed to squirm through the crowd, but it was too late. T—Tavis was lying on the ground, and there was blood everywhere, and the guards were starting to chase the other men.
“I tr-tried to stop the bleeding, but I w-wasn’t strong enough to hold the pressure point. Piedur came back then and helped me, and I—found his hand and wrapped it up in my sleeve.” He shuddered, his tired shoulders slumping in dejection. “But, it didn’t do any good, did it?”
Camber, standing across from the sleeping Tavis, could hardly control his amazement and horror at the tale the boy told.
“Oh, my poor boy, you’re wrong about that,” he murmured, starting to reach out to him. “If you hadn’t tried to staunch his wound, he might have bled to death before Piedur could even get to him. You probably saved his life.”
The boy did not look up, but he drew away slightly and swallowed hard. A fresh tear rolled off the lad’s dirt-streaked cheek to splash on Tavis’s hand. The unconscious man did not react, but Evaine did, moving in to lay her arms around the boy’s rigid shoulders.
“I won’t go to bed,” Javan murmured, stiffening and shaking his head. “Not yet.”
Evaine only smiled gently and pulled a straight-backed chair closer, on Tavis’s right, near the head of the bed, and urged him to a seat on it.
“You don’t have to go to bed yet, Javan. You’re not a child anymore. You’ve proven that today. Sit here, where you can keep watch with us. Your good thoughts and prayers can help him Heal faster, you know. In that respect, everybody has a little bit of Healer in him.”
“Really?” Javan whispered, heartened both by her statement and her acknowledgment of his maturing.
“Of course,” Evaine replied. And she brought a blanket and tucked it around him in his chair, gently smoothing his hair and reaching out for control as she glanced at her father and her husband.
But her expression soon showed she was not making contact. She could not touch Javan, other than to read his presence as a hazy area of shielded consciousness as he gazed down at his friend.
She sent her surprise to the others, relaying to them what she was feeling—or not feeling—but she could not get through to Javan, and dared not try harder for fear of being detected.
Cinhil must have given him shields, Camber surmised, as he read his daughter’s frustration. Probably the others, as well. I wonder if he realized what he was doing?
Rhys moved in to check his patient again, meanwhile sending: Well, at least we know about it now, instead of finding out during an emergency. It’s going to make things more difficult in the future, though. A logical protection, but I wish Cinhil hadn’t done it.
What about Javan now? Evaine queried. He’s exhausted, but he won’t let himself go to sleep.
Just ignore him for a while, then, Joram returned. As you’ve pointed out, he’s exhausted. By the time Tavis comes around, Javan may have fallen asleep on his own. It isn’t worth a fight, at this point, and that would only antagonize him.
Joram is right, Camber interjected. But force isn’t the only way to put a prince to sleep. Watch this.
He yawned and pulled up another chair, making a show of settling in with every appearance of falling asleep himself.
“Evaine is right,” he said aloud, giving a deep sigh as he let his eyelids droop. “I think we should all try to rest for a while. When Tavis wakes, he’ll need us. And we’ll be much more help if we’re rested.”
And as the others took his lead and began settling in to keep drowsy vigil, Camber covered a smile with yet another yawn as he saw Javan already yawning widely in response, the weary eyelids drooping lower and lower.
Soon Javan was asleep, and Evaine and Joram dozing in chairs around the bed while Camber and Rhys kept dreamy watch. Several hours passed before Tavis finally stirred, moving his head to one side with a low moan. Camber was instantly aler
t.
“Rhys?” he called softly.
The Healer had been grinding a posset of herbs blended with another sleeping potion, but he returned immediately to Tavis’s side and laid his fingertips along the man’s good wrist.
“He’s coming out of it. That’s a good sign. I was beginning to fear he might have lost too much blood.”
Gently Camber touched the unconscious Healer’s forehead, almost recoiling at the churning awarenesses beginning to surface.
“I fear that blood may be the least of what this man has lost,” he said softly. “Rhys, are you certain he’s ready to face what has happened? Maybe we should just force him back down for a while yet. Despite what you and Oriel have done, there’s Healing that only his body and mind can do, and that only with time.”
Tavis moaned again, and Rhys laid his Healer’s hands lightly on either side of Tavis’s face, beginning to extend his awareness around the reviving mind. Evaine woke and moved back to her position at Tavis’s head.
“He’s going to have to face what has happened, Alister,” Rhys said, his face reflecting his concentration. “And for a Healer, the sooner the better. Tavis, can you hear me? Tavis, it’s Rhys. Open your eyes, Tavis. You’re all right. You’re going to live. Open your eyes and let me know you understand.”
Slowly Tavis obeyed, pain washing outward in increasing waves even through Rhys’s rigid control and the drugs in his system. His glance flicked to the Healer’s face first, to Joram, beyond, and Evaine, near the head of the bed, then to the bishop standing at his other side. Then he swallowed and tried to move his left arm. Gently Camber restrained him, taking a firm grip on the injured arm just below the elbow, through the folds of shrouding blanket. Rhys turned the pain-wracked face back toward him, away from the maimed arm.
“Don’t look. Not yet,” he commanded.
“How—” Tavis swallowed hard and had to start again. “How long have you been here, Rhys?”
Rhys dropped his grip to Tavis’s shoulders and shook his head sadly. “Not long enough, I fear, my friend. I was out riding with Bishop Cullen. The royal physicians saw you first, and then a young Healer named Oriel. But it took them a while even to find him. By the time I got here—”
He sighed and bowed his head. “Tavis, there was nothing any Healer could have done, that late. It wasn’t Oriel’s fault. It wasn’t even the physicians’ fault. They did the best they could. At least they saved your life.”
“They saved my life,” Tavis repeated dully, turning his face to the left, to stare blankly at the shroud over his arm, “but not my hand. Why did they bother? What good is a Healer with only one hand?”
“Why, the same as one with two hands,” Rhys began puzzedly.
“No!” Tavis croaked. “The balance won’t work, don’t you see? I’m flawed, defec—”
“Tavis!”
“No! Listen to me! Even the scriptures—”
“Tavis!”
“The scriptures agree: ‘They will lay hands on the sick, who will recover.’ Hands, not hand! And the Adsum confirms it. Cum manibus consecratus—with consecrated hands, make whole the broken.…”
“The Adsum also says, Tu es manus sanatio mea—thou art my healing hand upon this world,” Rhys interrupted, thinking fast. “And all your arguments and self-pity to the contrary, there’s nothing in scripture to suggest that two hands are necessary to heal. Jesus put forth His hand to heal the leper—”
“No.…” Tavis wailed, near hysteria.
“Tavis, stop it!” Rhys snapped. “Stop dwelling on what you don’t have, and think about what you do have. You’re still a Healer! It wasn’t your mind that was affected by what happened to you today—only your hand!”
“Only my hand!”
Tavis laughed, a clipped, broken sob, then seemed to crumple inward as the pain took him once more. Rhys clamped one hand to Tavis’s forehead and tried to curb the pain again, then shook his head and raised the other hand as well, shifting to Tavis’s temples for finer control.
A difference of balance? Perhaps. But nothing said that a new balance could not be learned—though this was not the time to give Tavis an object lesson. Now Rhys must use his own familiar balances to calm his patient’s hysteria and keep it from nudging him into shock again. As the pain eased off, and the injured Healer cautiously opened his eyes—still a bit disoriented-looking for Rhys’s tastes, but not raving at least—Rhys took a deep breath and sighed, casting his glance grimly over the others.
“Tavis, we need to know who did this to you,” he said.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know why, then?” Joram asked. “It doesn’t sound as if they were after the princes.”
“They weren’t,” Tavis whispered, swallowing another sob. “They were after me.”
“You?”
“But, why?” Evaine gasped.
“If thy hand offend thee, cut it off, one said. And, Deryni should not aid the enemy.”
Joram frowned. “Now, what the hell is that supposed to mean?—Deryni should not cud the enemy. Tavis, they weren’t Deryni, were they?”
As Tavis nodded, the flood of repeated memory triggered the real agony all over again, and it came surging through to conscious levels. Tavis screamed.
Rhys moved in at once and set about damping the pain, but still it reverberated among the four of them so acutely that Evaine paled and looked as if she might faint. Joram hurried around the bed to steady her with arms and mind, but even his strong shields could not completely insulate her from Tavis. Backlash from his tortured memory surged around the room in waves as he vacillated in and out of consciousness, until finally Evaine turned and stumbled from the room, Joram going with her.
Rhys glanced after her for a moment, probing beyond the door, then returned the greater part of his attention to his patient.
“I should have had her leave before this,” he whispered distractedly, stroking Tavis’s forehead as he tried to soothe his pain. “This next daughter will be a Healer, like her father.”
“A Healer!” Camber breathed. “But female Healers—”
“Are extremely rare. I know. I can name four alive today. Evaine was affected because the child already senses extremes of pain in others and yearns to control it, though she has no strength to do so yet, of course.” A quick grin lit his face. “On the other hand, what would you expect of my child by the daughter of Camber of Culdi?”
“But Tieg didn’t—”
“Tieg is a boy. Apparently the male line carries the gift more easily than the female, though Evaine had a few twinges when she was expecting him, too. This child.…”
He gazed toward the door again, his expression touched with awe, but then Tavis moaned, edging from unconsciousness into delirium, and Rhys turned his full attention back on his patient.
“It’s all right, Tavis,” he murmured, letting his entire consciousness submerge in his questing task, now that his wife was safely out of range. “Let go and let it flow. I’ll help you channel off the pain. Let it detach. I’ll bear it for you, and so will Father Alister.”
As Tavis calmed beneath his hands, Rhys let himself begin to sink even deeper, beckoning with another part of his mind for Camber to link into rapport and follow where he led, gradually suppressing physical discomfort and forcing the tortured mind downward into deep, Healing sleep. As Rhys emerged from Healing trance, he saw Camber leaning heavily on the side of the bed, rigid and white-faced with shared fatigue. Rhys, after a few deep breaths to steady himself, reached out to Camber with hand and mind.
“Are you all right?”
“I will be.” Camber took a deep breath and shook his head. “God, the bitterness! That our own people should do this to him!”
“Aye. And if he doesn’t master it, that bitterness can kill him—just as surely as if he’d bled to death in that alley.”
“Is there anything we can do?”
Rhys shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s not likely to listen
to much of anything I have to say, after what I did to him the night Cinhil died. Oh, I blocked the specific memory, but I wasn’t able to block all the emotion that went with our little scene. There’s resentment there, even if he doesn’t remember precisely why. You’re no better choice—too much of an authority figure. Besides, you’re not a Healer.”
“What, then?”
“A second opinion, I think. Not Oriel. Oh, he’s a competent enough Healer, with a lot of potential, but he doesn’t have the experience, or the grand overview, the way we do—though it’s times like this that I almost wish we didn’t, either.”
“Amen to that!”
“I think—Queron,” Rhys said, after a thoughtful pause. “Or maybe Dom Emrys would be even better. Tavis must have studied with Emrys at some time. Most Healers do. Maybe Emrys can get through. If we get a message off tonight, they should be here by tomorrow noon. I don’t think we should wait any longer than that, though. He could go critical on us at any time, and I don’t mean physically.”
“I agree,” Camber said. He started to turn toward the door, then paused.
“Is it all right to leave him alone for now, do you think?”
Rhys touched a hand to Tavis’s forehead and probed lightly, then nodded and turned toward the sleeping Javan.
“I think he should sleep until morning. Javan, too.” He held his hand a little way from Javan’s forehead, then shrugged. “I’ll be damned if I can figure out those shields of his, though. Cinhil must have understood a great deal more than we gave him credit for.”
He peered closely at Javan, then tucked the blanket more securely around him.
“Poor little fellow. He’s really had a hard day. We’ll let him sleep where he is, for now. Come on. I want to get those messages off to Emrys and Queron.”
But when they had gone out of the room, and the door had closed, a young raven head was raised cautiously from its rest against the high-backed chair.
The Legends of Camber of Culdi Trilogy Page 113