Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles)

by Dale B. Mattheis

  “How bad is it?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  Zimma remained with her father and the men hurried to see Ostfel.

  “The arrow struck him in the back about four inches from the spine. When Ostfel fell backward, the arrow shaft broke off flush with the skin. I can’t tell how deep it penetrated. At least he isn’t coughing up blood, even though I think his lung is collapsed.”

  “Can you cut the arrow out?”

  Carl stopped to consider an answer. “I’m a biologist and chemist, Jeff, not a surgeon. I’ve studied human anatomy, but only from books and holographs. Ostfel’s wound scares the holy shit out of me. Major blood vessels, lungs, heart—they’re all right there. If only I knew how and where they fit together!” Carl took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Yes, I can cut it out. Just don’t know what else I’m going to cut in the process.”

  “But you would have operated anyway, given the opportunity. What else is wrong?”

  “Thanks for the confidence, Jeff, and yes I would have. The trip back nearly killed Ostfel, and I couldn’t risk it until he was rested. Now his temperature’s so high he’s having periods of delirium.”

  “The wounds infected.”

  “Badly. If the arrow doesn’t kill him, the infection probably will. It’s the left lung, Jeff. If the arrowhead penetrated deep, it may be close to the heart.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  Throwing his arms out in resignation, Carl resumed walking. “Doesn’t matter, though. I’m going to have to operate whether I like it or not. If only I knew more human anatomy, not to mention we’re not even sure these folks are put together like we are.”

  They entered the room that served as an inpatient ward. Ostfel appeared emaciated, was pale, and beads of sweat trickled down his face. Jeff noticed his breathing was shallow and rapid. Carl picked up Ostfel’s wrist.

  “His pulse rate has increased again—It’s running around 120—and he’s comatose. Jeff, we’ve got to operate, and now! If we don’t, he won’t last another day.”

  “All right, let’s do it.”

  “I have to speak with Rogelf first. There really are no options, but this has to be his decision.”

  Jeff and several assistants were standing by with a stretcher when Carl returned.

  “We’re on.”

  They moved Ostfel to the operating room, a roomy cubicle with a stout plank table set in the middle. Buckets and side stands were arranged at the head. Deep grooves had been cut in the table to channel blood into the buckets. Jeff was impressed. The room had been whitewashed, the brick floor was absolutely clean, and the table looked like it had been bleached.

  They were strapping Ostfel to the table with leather restraints when Jeff looked at Carl with an embarrassed expression.

  “Boy, am I dumb. My backpack is over at Ethbar’s place, and I think there are some antibiotic pills in that little first aid kit I carry. Would that help?”

  Carl dropped the leather strap he was cinching tight and looked at Jeff with something like hope in his eyes.

  “Help? Those little pills might just save the day. I suspect bacteria are the same no matter what world you’re on, but the ones here won’t have developed resistance.”

  Zimma hurried into the room at Carl’s urgent call, and was gone as quickly when she had directions on where to find the backpack. Carl and Jeff began washing up.

  When she returned Carl had succeeded in exposing the base of the bone arrowhead, which was lodged next to a rib. Zimma blocked out the sound of blood plunking into the buckets and peered over Jeff’s shoulder to get a better look. Carl had made his incision, a clean four-inch cut, along the line suggested by the affected rib and directly over the penetration.

  The blood-soaked toweling was bad enough, Zimma decided, but the arrow shaft stub seemed to be growing from her brother’s back. It was obscene.

  Working the razor-sharp knife deeper, Carl flinched when he felt it grate against the arrowhead. He bent lower in order to see better. Lanterns suspended from the ceiling ringed the table, but it was yellow light illuminating a red field. Carl probed the wound with a finger. He looked up, his face gleaming with sweat and contorted with doubt.

  “Can’t go any deeper unless I have no other choice. I think I just felt the pleura, the chest-cavity lining. If it is and I go deeper, I’ll be into the chest cavity or the lung itself and really spread the infection or cut a major vessel.”

  Jeff cleaned blood and pus from the incision. “I can see most of the arrowhead. That’s a good sign. Let’s see if it’ll come, right?”

  “I tried that once, but it wouldn’t budge. Maybe it will now. Here, give me your hand. Now the other one.” Carl placed Jeff’s fingers on either side of the incision and had him spread the edges apart. “Good. I want you to hold it just like that.” Zimma lifted a lantern from its hook and brought it as close as she dared.

  “Thanks, babe. That really helps.”

  Carl fished pliers from an alcohol bath. Getting a grip on the arrow shaft, he leaned back and pulled. A piece of the wooden shaft broke off with a sodden snap.

  “Shit! Knew I shouldn’t have done that!” Slinging his head to get the sweat out of his eyes, Carl took a grip on the arrowhead itself. “Now move, you son of a bitch!” Carl gritted his teeth and heaved. Ostfel surged against the straps and let out a heart-wrenching scream. The arrowhead didn’t move.

  “Fuck! There must be a barb on that thing!”

  Jeff searched his memory with furious haste in an effort to recall the different arrowhead designs he had seen.

  “Carl, a lot of northern arrowheads have barbs, but I can’t recall any that were offset. Look at how it’s lined up! It has enough rotation to hook the rib. Push and turn the arrowhead before you pull.”

  Carl nodded, sweat flying off in large droplets. “God damn I hope this works.”

  Taking a deep breath, Carl found a new grip on the arrowhead but couldn’t make his hand push.

  “You can do it, buddy. Use both hands to control the pliers.”

  Clamping both hands around the pliers, Carl murmured, “Please God, don’t let me kill him,” and pushed. Ostfel surged again and cried out like a child. Whispering, “Oh, Jesus, help me!” Carl held his grip, twisted the arrowhead and pulled. With a faint sucking sound, the arrowhead came free and he stumbled back holding it aloft.

  “Thank God! Finally! And the barb’s not broken off!”

  For a long moment, all three mutely stared at the arrowhead gleaming dark red.

  “Filthy thing!”

  Carl flung it away and poured sterilized water into the wound to flush out a new flow of pus. Some minutes later the job was done and Carl loosely closed the wound with gut sutures.

  “Shouldn’t that be closed tighter, Carl? Won’t more air get into his chest?”

  “Wish I knew for sure, but I don’t think so. I took a few stitches down deep near the pleura. That ought to stop any leaking. Also, I can’t imagine we got all of the crud out of there. Have to let it drain. I most certainly do not want the infection to spread.”

  Attendants entered the room with a stretcher at Carl’s call, and they hustled Ostfel back to his cot. After washing up Carl crushed three of the antibiotic tablets with mortar and pestle but wasn’t sure how to administer the powder that resulted. Zimma solved the problem by dissolving it in a small amount of water and dripping the solution down Ostfel’s throat. Rogelf, Zimma and Belstan set up a schedule so one of them would always be close by.

  Carl brought a pitcher of water. “We must encourage Ostfel to drink fluids, but only in small amounts. He must not choke!”

  The men collapsed on chairs out front.

  “I think that operation was one of the most courageous things I have ever seen, Carl.”

  “Thanks,” Carl replied with a wan smile. “I have never been so terrified in my whole life. Now all we can do is keep our fingers crossed. Ostfel is really dehydrated and that could still kill him.”

&
nbsp; They settled in to wait it out.

  Ostfel seemed to be breathing easier the following morning, and was taking sips of water. After listening to Ostfel’s chest, Carl seemed satisfied.

  “His temperature and pulse are dropping, and I think his lung is beginning to inflate.” Carl stared distastefully at the wooden tube he was holding. “This makeshift stethoscope is better than nothing, I suppose. What I wouldn’t give for the real thing.” He extracted two antibiotic tablets from a small medicine vial. “Lord, I wish we had more of these.”

  By that night it was clear to everyone that Ostfel had improved. During one of his brief waking periods he even managed a weak smile. Rogelf planned to sit with his son and shooed everyone out to get some rest.

  Jeff and Zimma were so tired they just looked at each other when they were in bed. Together and alone for the first time since Jeff had returned. They kissed and were asleep before their lips parted.

  It was well into the next morning before Jeff awoke. Magda was dead to world, but it was enough just to luxuriate in the feel of her silken skin. He abruptly lifted his hands. It wasn’t Magda lying next to him, it was Zimma. Rolling over on his back, Jeff stared at the ceiling for long minutes before quietly swinging his legs out of the bed.

  Zimma was awakened by the clink of pottery. She sat up on the edge of the bed to stretch and yawn. Sitting down next to Zimma, Jeff handed her a cup of coffee. All right, he thought, you’ve put it off long enough. Do it now.

  “I must tell you of Magda, of what happened between us.”

  “I would hear the entire story of your winter, Jeffrey.”

  “Very well, but the telling is long. Will you join me at the table?”

  “And so you accepted her arms and body.” Zimma set her empty cup down.

  “Yes. Fear and dread consumed me before she gave herself to me. When we made love it was as if you were there too, but Magda is not you.” What he was about to say made Jeff pause and feel as if his life teetered on the edge of a blade. “Zimma, Magda is a wonderful woman and I fell in love with her. I don’t know how to understand this. My love for you glows like a white flame, but Magda will always be in my heart. She plans to journey south so she may be with me and meet you.” Jeff noticed Zimma’s eyes were swimming with tears. And so it’s over. You knew it all along.

  Wiping her eyes with a napkin, Zimma took Jeff’s hands. “In Astholf, when I gave you leave to bed another, my heart knew that such a gift might be the only thing that would bring you back to me whole. Even now I feel the pain in your heart from those days. Having given my leave, do you imagine I will now turn you away? I cherish you more for the telling and owe a debt of gratitude to Magda. I long to meet her. I know I will love her too, for she is clearly a woman of value.”

  Jeff was totally unprepared for what Zimma had said, simply could not believe his ears. He didn’t really intend to stare at her, but was unable to do anything else. Jeff’s expression was so confused that Zimma smiled. She brushed away a fresh tear.

  “Yes, Jeffrey. I do love you.”

  “Perhaps I am coming to understand what that word really means.” Jeff knelt in front of Zimma and took her hands. “I am so honored. Thank you.”

  Zimma slipped out of her nightgown, moved to the edge of the chair and opened her thighs.

  “Come, lover. Let us celebrate our reunion.”

  Feeling renewed by their lovemaking, Jeff and Zimma hurried to the infirmary. Carl was already there and beaming satisfaction. Without saying anything, he led the way to Ostfel’s bed.

  Jeff and Zimma were unable to believe their eyes. What only a few days ago had nearly been a corpse was now a young man sitting propped up wolfing down a bowl of soup and grinning at them between mouthfuls.

  “Well, I will be damned!” was all Jeff could get out. Zimma hugged her brother, nearly dumping the soup on his chest.

  “Yup,” Carl said with an enthusiastic nod, “had the same reaction when I came in this morning to send Rogelf off to bed. Getting that lung inflated and removing the source of infection played a big part, but the antibiotic clinched the whole deal. I’ve got to find time to isolate the antibiotic from that mold!”

  They sat around and chatted until Ostfel fell asleep, then went in search of something to eat. A nearby inn looked clean and bustled with a noisy lunch crowd. All the tables were taken, but the atmosphere was so upbeat they decided to wait. Most of the customers were gone by the time they finished. A good share of the racket left with them, allowing Zimma to relate her trip to Borstel.

  “Other than finding a way through the mountains, we encountered few serious difficulties. The soldiers Rengeld sent with us prevented attack and made the whole trip possible. If one of them had not been familiar with the Skarpa Mountains and guided us to a low pass we would never have found our way.

  “We traveled to Trunstad first. The merchants were quite enthusiastic. When Belstan had traded what he could, we went to Hochberg.” Zimma laughed as she remembered the visit. “Hochberg merchants were most anxious to join in trade when they discovered Trunstad’s enthusiasm. Belstan was quite gleeful over the whole affair. I believe the merchants were relieved when we departed.”

  “I can just see him,” Carl chortled. “What a trader!”

  “It was certainly an education for me,” Zimma replied with wry amusement.

  “Good trip back?”

  “Without difficulty, Jeffrey. Belstan was worried about the passes becoming closed with snow so we left earlier than planned. While many of the merchants we spoke with talked of forming a caravan and journeying to Rugen, Belstan advised caution until we return west. It would not serve our purposes to have a caravan from either of those cities sacked outside our gates.”

  Mention of the Salchek sobered them, and it was Jeff’s turn to relate events. When he finished, they sat in silence trying to come to terms with what was marching north.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  One Man’s Portion

  Rugen sweltered in August heat, and the air was sticky with moisture from a recent thunderstorm. On the plus side, rain had flushed sewage channels cleansing the smell of fecal material from the city.

  Jeff and Carl were only distantly aware of the welcome change as they followed a messenger sent by Rengeld. A scout had returned. They were barely seated in a room at headquarters when the scout was given the go ahead to report.

  The redoubtable Harko jittered nervously in front of so much brass. “Sir, me an old Taget sneaked out the night you folks left and sorta scrunched down to keep a eye on them buggers like ya wanted. Taget, he tooked the big bunch which was hit by you. Me, I hunkered down to watch the sojers out east a bit.”

  Momentarily forgetting his august company, Harko laughed and slapped his leg. “Well, sir, them sojers was stirred up right good. The wagons was still burnin’, and the packhorses was nowhere to be seen.”

  Jeff asked, “What of the cavalry?”

  “Sir, them wolves and you done a fine job. A real mess o’ them horse sojers was piled up in a heap fit only fer buryin’. Looking off a piece, I could see a couple hunnerd town folk heading home east. Old Taget, he seen the same where he was. Them wagons you fired was burnt to the ground, sir. Taget, he counted only eighty er so fit to be used.”

  The story came out bit by bit. A semblance of order had not been restored until a full day after the attack. From what Harko reported, it appeared that a contingent of mounted troops eventually headed south toward Khorgan. What was left of the smaller force from Astholf joined with the main army and the combined force resumed its march north.

  “Old Taget, he stayed behind to track them buggers and sent me in to report, sir, but not ‘til we follered fer a coup’la days. Taget says to tell you he figgers they’s pushing them foot sojers so hard that a good lot of ‘em ain’t never gone to make it this far. Watched quite a few plumb give up and lay down afore I left to ride back.”

  After dismissing Harko, Rengeld observed, “I believe we may conc
lude that our mission was a complete success. That it had certain unforeseen consequences is also clear. Moving as they are, I estimate the Salchek Army will arrive in no more than four weeks. On balance, however, I am content with what was accomplished. The army will be in sad condition by the time it appears, even though that appearance will be somewhat sooner than previously estimated.”

  “The crops must be harvested at once.”

  “Indeed, Carl, that must be seen to. There is little enough time. All crops must be in city storehouses no later than three weeks from this date. What remains will be burned in the fields. Likewise, those who cannot fend for themselves in the forest must be within the walls in the same time period. Jeffrey, what are your thoughts on how best to accomplish this task?”

  Hoisting a heavy burlap bag onto his shoulder, Jeff picked up a canvas grip. “You coming, Jorgenson?”

  Carl appeared from the bedroom lugging saddlebags and another grip plus sleeping bag and tent.

  “Cripes, Jeff, Cynic is going to kick your ass out of the stable when he sees all this stuff!”

  “Going to be awhile before I get back to civilization,” Jeff replied, nudging the door open with a foot. “We don’t have far to go.”

  “Where’s Zimma?”

  “At the warehouse with Rogelf. Wasn’t anymore to be said.”

  Carl eyed Jeff when he drew abreast outside the house. “I guess there does come an end to good-byes. Sure hope I find a woman like Zimma someday.”

  “You will. This isn’t Earth.”

  “Aren’t you leaving a bit early?”

  “Don’t think so. Rengeld really knows what he’s doing. I’m more worried about those heathens up north.”

  “From what I’ve heard, that says it all,” Carl said with an appreciative laugh.

  “Yep. Say, listen. Let’s drop this stuff out of Cynic’s sight and feed it to him one bag at a time.”

  “Smart move.”

  The ploy worked to perfection. Cynic was saddled and loaded before he figured out what was going on. By then it was too late for active resistance, but he planted his feet when Jeff tried to lead him out of the stable.