During the next months and years, it would take additional healings and a collation of evidence for Yozef to understand the full implications of the nanoelements, for himself and others.
Abersford, after the Battle of Moreland City
Further conclusive evidence of Yozef’s fast healing came after the Battle of Moreland City. As the battle drew to a close, a Narthani cannon ball shattered the carriage of a captured 12-pounder only eight feet from him. A chunk of wood scored a glancing but solid blow to the side of his head, nicking the bone and leaving a serious gash. Carnigan wrapped Yozef’s head with cloth to staunch most of the bleeding, and when they reached their original positions, a medicant closed the wound with eight painful stitches.
The throbbing pain and an intense headache slowly subsided during the two days it took them to return to Abersford. When Yozef got home and surreptitiously examined the wound site with mirrors, he would have estimated it was ten days old or more.
If he had lived alone or with a wife less perceptive or assertive, hiding the wound would have been manageable. Unfortunately, neither of the two conditions existed.
* * *
“Don’t tell me it doesn’t bother you,” fumed Maera. “You winced when you turned your head fast and were unsteady on your feet yesterday when you returned. You’ll let the medicants at St. Sidryn’s examine your hard head.”
“Maera, it’s not that bad. I was just tired from the trip.”
“Oh, sorry, Yozef. Did I give the impression we were having a discussion on whether you were going? If I have to, I’ll go get Carnigan, and he’ll carry you to the abbey.”
Well, shit, Yozef cursed to himself. The big oaf just might do it, if she starts in on him. I wouldn’t blame either of them. Normally, you should keep an eye on any wound to the head. She didn’t see it after it happened, and neither did the St. Sidryn’s medicants, so I should be able to bluff my way through.
The two of them stood staring at each other, Maera waiting for Yozef to give up and Yozef imagining the medicant examination and the resulting comments on the condition of the wound.
He focused back on Maera, standing arms folded, looking back at him with her “I’m Maera Kolsko-Keelan, and we’ll do it my way” expression.
“You’re right, Maera. We’ll go to St. Sidryn’s.”
When defeat is inevitable, you might as well pretend it’s a good idea.
Maera had been in mid-pregnancy, and they walked to St. Sidryn’s. Scheduled appointments were not available. Patients arrived and waited their turn. Yozef still felt uneasy about how he was now treated differently than an average citizen, especially since marrying the hetman’s daughter. He finally capitulated and admitted to himself that he appreciated it at times like this. As soon as they appeared in the hospital reception area, an aide rushed them to an examination room. Yozef tried not to look at the patients waiting their turn, but as he and Maera passed them, he couldn’t help himself and checked out their expressions. All were neutral, respectful, or even seemed pleased to allow Yozef Kolsko and Maera Kolsko-Keelan to go first.
The medicant aide had no sooner left them in the examination room than Saoul Dyllis rushed in. The middle-aged medicant was the chief surgeon at St. Sidryn’s and served temporarily as head medicant, because Abbess Diera Beynom hadn’t returned from Moreland City. Diera had sent word that it would be several more days before she came with wagons carrying the non-walking wounded Keelanders from the battle site.
“Maera, Yozef,” said Dyllis, as he rushed in, breathing heavily. “Nice to see you. Especially you, Yozef. I heard you returned last afternoon and with a bandage on your head. I assume that’s what you’re here about, though I’ve sent for Sister Norla to check Maera, as long as you’re both here.”
“Yozef first,” said Maera. “I haven’t seen his wound yet, but it needs to be checked. He acted like it bothered him, and now he’s trying to insist it was fatigue from the travel.”
“Very right to come in,” Dyllis agreed. “At least, you’ll need to learn how often to change the bandage. Sit over here, Yozef, next to the lanterns.”
Yozef sat, and Dyllis used flint strikers on four of the kerosene lanterns Yozef had introduced during the previous year. The lanterns were arranged in a vertical square, where a patient’s chair or cot could be moved to allow maximum light on whatever body part was under examination.
When Yozef started to unwind the bandage, Dyllis stopped him. “Here, let me do that. We don’t want the cloth to pull away scabs or break stitches. You did have stitches, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Saoul, eight in fact.”
“Eight? It must be a significant wound for that many,” Dyllis said, as he pulled the small pin holding the bandage end closed and slowly unwrapped the cloth. “Tell me if you feel any pulling.”
Maera stood looking over Dyllis’s shoulder, her frown and eye focus reminding Yozef of his mother, making sure he behaved for the doctor when they visited for whatever reason.
The medicant had nearly finished unwinding when Yozef felt a twinge. He had glimpsed the bandage reddened with dried blood. “Something there, Saoul. Not bad, but like a little pull of skin.”
“Only a little left,” said Dyllis. “Let me dampen the cloth to lessen the chances of opening the wound.”
The medicant moistened the last of the bandage with a wet rag, then carefully exposed the side of Yozef’s head . . . and frowned. “Well, that doesn’t look so bad,” he said with a puzzled tone, gently probing the area with his fingers. “It appears completely closed. In fact, from what I’m seeing, I question whether it needed the stitches at all. A simple compression bandage might have served or maybe two stitches at most, but eight?”
“So it wasn’t that serious?” asked Maera.
“Not that I can see. Oh, there’s redness around the cut and stitches, maybe more than I would expect. It’ll leave a surprisingly big scar for such a minor wound, but everyone’s body is different, so it’s nothing that unusual.”
Dyllis stopped examining the wound and picked up the old bandage. “This is also puzzling. From the amount of blood, I would have expected a more severe wound. Of course, head wounds bleed profusely. Even minor cuts can give an impression the injury is far more serious than it is.”
The medicant dropped the bandage into a waste receptacle and turned to Yozef and Maera. “I could cover it again with a smaller bandage, but there’s no sign of leakage, so I’d be inclined to leave it exposed to the air.”
No way, Jose, Yozef thought. People seeing for themselves how fast it heals will raise red flags from here to Caernford, and Carnigan and Wyfor saw the original wound!
“I’ll be working in several of my shops in the next sixday, so maybe it’s better to keep it covered so nothing gets in it or hits it directly.” Yozef tried his best to sound sincere and resisted the impulse to check how Maera reacted.
“As you wish,” said Dyllis. “I’ll cover it again and give you several similar bandages. Change them until you think the area is sufficiently healed not to need protecting while at your work. If it continues to bother you or anything changes, come back.”
Yozef and Maera walked back home, holding hands. Past the abbey’s tended fields, Maera put her other hand on top of their clasped ones. “Sorry if I sounded so ‘pushy,’ as you call it. It’s just that I worry about you and wasn’t sure if you’d take care of yourself. I know it’s silly. You’d do what was necessary. Maybe I’m just overly worrying because of the baby.”
“Nonsense,” said Yozef, smiling and patting her hand. “It’s our responsibility to worry about each other. It’s part of being married.”
“I warn you,” said Maera, “I’ll keep pestering you about how you feel, and I’ll change the bandage for you.”
“Thanks, Maera, I appreciate it.”
In a pig’s eye, he thought. Now I have to find excuses to change it myself for the next several days. By then, I should be able to get away with claiming quick healing on a mi
nor injury.
By the next morning, his headache was gone. Yozef peeked under the bandage to see further signs of healing and confirmed the need to keep Maera from too close an examination. He rose before his wife and changed the bandage, later showing her the lack of blood on the old bandage, confirming the injury to be minor and healing well. The second and third days, he found other excuses she grumbled at but seemed to accept. Finally, he let her take off the bandage, only when they prepared for bed.
“Well,” she groused, as she finished touching the wound area with her fingers. “The candlelight doesn’t let me see that much, but it seems all right, and there’s no warmth of the skin.”
“I feel fine. No headache or tiredness. I think it’s safe to say that’s behind me.”
“Just don’t do too much yet, and another examination by Brother Dyllis is a good idea.”
“Okay. Tomorrow is too busy, but let’s figure on the day after.”
Fat chance. A few delays, and it’ll all fade away.
Which was what happened. Safe from Maera and Dyllis, Yozef had two more people to be wary of—Carnigan and Wyfor. Both men had been present at the time of the wound and saw the gash, the blood, and Yozef’s unsteadiness. They were the most pertinent witnesses who could cause trouble.
Fortunately, avoiding them proved easier than with Maera. Yozef canceled a scheduled monthly sparring session with Wyfor. By the time the next month rolled around, Wyfor would accept normal healing. Carnigan was more difficult. Yozef wore the bandages the first few days, then a cap hiding the wound site. By the end of the second sixday, Yozef risked exposure with Carnigan, who evidenced no interest in the wound.
Bronwyn and Aragorn
One consequence of Yozef’s effort to hide his fast healing from Maera brought back to mind a separate concern. The Watchers had altered his biochemistry and physiology by modifying the genes of his mitochondria, the sub-cellular organelles responsible for energy production, to compensate for Anyar’s higher gravity: 1.18 times that of Earth. He had grudgingly admitted the Watchers were trying to help him, short of returning him to Earth. Although the vast bulk of human genetic material existed within the 30,000 genes in the cell nucleus, the mitochondria contained only 37 genes, remnants of the genome of an ancient symbiotic microorganism that evolved into the mitochondria.
A concern that occurred to Yozef the first time he’d held Aragorn, his and Bronwyn’s child by their affair, was the effect of the higher gravity on a child with one parent from Earth. Yozef knew Aragorn would not inherit the enhanced energy production, because all of the mitochondria in a baby’s cells descended from the mother. A mother’s ovum contained mitochondria, but the father’s sperm did not. However long since humans had been transported to Anyar, he assumed that during the intervening thousands of years, there had been natural selection for genes favorable to the higher Anyar gravity. How would having only half of his genes Anyarian affect Aragorn?
Yozef already assumed Aragorn would be susceptible to diseases, because the child didn’t possess the nanoelements. Residual antibodies transferred from the mother initially bolstered a baby’s immune system, though that protection faded and the child became self-dependent within months. The same reasoning that caused Yozef to worry about gravity also applied to disease resistance. Because half of Aragorn’s genes came from Yozef, those genes might not be adapted to Anyarian microorganisms, and the child would be more susceptible than other Anyarian children. It would be bitter if Aragorn was doubly stressed by both Anyar’s gravity and diseases.
It had been three months since he’d last seen Aragorn. The child was now almost six months old (seven Earth months) and should be crawling. Signs of impairment should be apparent.
The questions had immediacy, because Maera would deliver another child in only a few months. He needed to visit the Merton farm to see for himself.
At morning meal, Yozef broached a visit with Maera.
“Maera, I haven’t seen Aragorn for several months. I’m considering a quick trip north to the farm to see how he’s doing.”
Maera had been buttering a warm biscuit and continued with only a slight glance up to her husband. “That’s a good idea, Yozef. I meant to suggest a visit to you, but with everything going on . . . ”
Yozef relaxed. Even after three years, he hadn’t fully adjusted to the Caedelli customs about such matters. Here, adults were adults, and no stigma attached to a child conceived outside marriage, as long as the child was cared for. In Aragorn’s case, the father had acknowledged responsibility in providing for the child. Yozef still shook his head at the memory of a Godsday service attended by himself and his pregnant wife, along with Bronwyn holding Aragorn, her husband, her sister/co-wife, and the sister’s three children. Everyone took all of it so matter-of-factly.
“Do you plan to spend the night?” asked Maera, taking a bite of biscuit.
“No, I thought of going right after we eat and being back this evening.”
“I think I’ll stay here this time. I’m not looking forward to the carriage ride in my condition,” said Maera. “I’ll walk with you to Abersford and buy gifts for Bronwyn and the baby, do some visiting, and come back home.”
An hour and a half later, Yozef bid Maera good day and mounted Seabiscuit. He tied a package to the back of Seabiscuit’s saddle that held a bolt of cloth for Bronwyn and several shirts he assumed were too large for Aragorn now, but into which the child would grow.
No word of his visit preceded him, so when he arrived at the farm, there was no welcome committee. From Seabiscuit’s back, he could see Bronwyn and her husband, Cynwin, working in a field with two other men. As he rode up to the house, Bronwyn’s sister Dellia came out of the house. A child of about two years of age hid behind her skirt, and she carried baby Aragorn. The two older children, five and seven, stopped playing with a dog and stood watching Yozef rein in and dismount.
“Greetings, Yozef,” called out Dellia, shifting Aragorn to her other hip. “It’s been months since we saw you last and were relieved to hear you returned from the terrible fighting in Moreland.” Dellia said to the oldest child, “Ginwan, run tell Mother Bronwyn and your father that Yozef Kolsko is here.”
The seven-year-old ran to the field, followed by his sister and the yapping dog.
Yozef walked up to Dellia. She held out Aragorn, who clung first to Dellia, then relented and held his arms open while Yozef picked him up. The child scrunched his eyes at his new conveyance, as if in doubt, then stuck a hand into Yozef’s mouth and burbled.
“He’s crawling since you last saw him,” Dellia commented. “Set him down and watch. We have to keep an eye on him every second, or he’s out a door.”
Yozef squatted and put Aragorn on the ground. The child stared into Yozef’s face, then twisted around and crawled back to Dellia.
Yozef’s doubts about his child’s health eased. Well, he’s certainly healthy-looking enough. Not that I’ve handled him or any other baby that much. I was afraid I’d see him as struggling. He might not have my modified mitochondrial genes, but those genes he has seem to be sufficient for Anyar’s gravity, at least when raised on it from conception.
“And he’s strong and hasn’t been sick?” asked Yozef.
“No!” said Dellia. “As healthy as any baby I’ve ever cared for. This whole last year has been a blessing. The other three children had minor ailments, but the rest of us have never felt better. Darling little Aragorn brought good fortune to us all.”
Something nudged the edge of Yozef’s consciousness, but before he could identify it, Bronwyn and the others hustled in from the field, and for the next two hours the four adults sat on the farmhouse porch, Aragorn alternating among four adult laps or playing, then being breastfed by Bronwyn and falling asleep. Yozef asked questions about Aragorn, inquired politely into the three parents and their other children, and was, in turn, queried about Moreland City and what it meant for the future of Caedellium.
Halfway through the visit, D
ellia went inside and came back with plates of bread, cheese, hard sausage, and water. When Yozef left to return to Abersford, he held Aragorn one last time to reassure himself, then bid goodbye with an invitation for the Merton family to eat mid-day meal with him and Maera the next time the family attended a St. Sidryn’s Godsday service. His last glance back received a wave from Dellia and another from Aragorn, his arm controlled by his second mother. The other children played again, and Bronwyn and Cynwin were absent, presumably back at work.
The ride back was different from the time he’d returned home after Bronwyn told him of her plans to marry Dellia and Cynwin and that she carried Yozef’s child. Yozef had known the affair was slowly ending and felt ambivalent. Part of him was relieved at the ease at which he avoided any commitment to Bronwyn and pleased that Bronwyn and the child were secure, yet at the same time he suffered from an aching loneliness.
This time was different. He looked forward to going back to Maera and their child swelling within her. To their home.
Maera, Curiosity Unquenched
When Yozef finally allowed Maera to examine his wound in full light, he strived to be nonchalant, and he assumed the view satisfied her. He was wrong.
“See, I told you it wasn’t that bad,” said Yozef. “The same as Brother Dyllis noted.”
Maera stroked the pinkish scar tissue, with hair growing back a lighter hue than before, not quite white. The original gash and eight stitches were barely discernible.
Heavier Than a Mountain (Destiny's Crucible Book 3) Page 33