by Mark Angel
The will to live reflects the Power of Manifestation
Where Mystery calls all things first to be made.
— Kalikanuma
17. Healer’s Lodge
Healers’ lodge at high meridian, 18/01/1643—
It was only a short trip from home for Tamik to visit his father at the Healers’ Lodge. It was a journey he had made many time since his return to Stonehaven after the hunt. The Lodge was built into the west end of the same barrier wall as the rexrider's residence. He walked along Inside Road hopeful that this visit would be different from those previous. In each of his several visits so far he found Melok either delirious or unconscious. He had not seen him fully conscious since the evening they returned from the hunt four turns past, and he was beginning to question the wisdom of taking his father there in the first place. Maybe he should have just gone to get Dasha, Meera’s healer and brought his father home with him. Now he could not ignore the possibility that Melok might never recover, but he chose not to dwell upon the thought.
The Healers’ Lodge was flanked on one side by a small guardian’s constabulary near the gate and under the guard tower, and on the other by an agricultural planing center. And, like the rexrider’s own dwelling, each structure was integrated into the lengthy two-story East Barrier.
The large, sterile-looking edifice of the healers had all the most modern comforts: fully plumbed hot and cold running water; gas lamps along each corridor; cross-ventilation throughout; and even steam lifts between floors. Usually, Tamik walked past the main entrance and went up the back steps right to his father’s ward. But this time for some reason, he used the main entrance and made his way through the inner passageways of the Healer’s Lodge.
First, he passed the waiting area where long lines of those with minor injuries or sicknesses sat against walls that seemed to go on forever. Then he went through the sorting room where healers assessed, stabilized, and assigned treatment regimes to more critical patients. Here a usual collection of sick and injured ambled about in various states of discomfort: limping, coughing, whimpering, groaning, rocking, bleeding, vomiting and the like. Some, undoubtedly delusional, called out for help as he passed by. He resisted the natural urge to respond.
Tamik then followed a narrow corridor running along the back of the building. On the other side of the solid stone wall was the outer face of the barrier, so there were no windows, but colorful and intricate murals illustrating historical settings of Stonehaven were painted inside. Some of the murals mimicked windows by depicting the agricultural inner paddock and its freely wandering animals, including a pride of prairie rexes in the distance, perhaps modeled on ancestors of some of the current pride members.
Next, he passed an open door of a supply room stocked with a variety of implements and applications associated with the healing arts. Tamik recognized a jar of leeches, used to dispel serious swelling, bruising, and blood blisters, and beside it a container filled with carrion fly larvae, the source of cultured maggots that the healers could apply to festering wounds in a slightly more sterile practice than exposing a wound to wild flies. In a large terrarium lived an entire colony of sacrificial suture ants. Their heads would be dipped in a sterilizing fluid before putting their gaping jaws to skin. Once the insects clamped their jaws shut their bodies could be clipped from their heads and the pincers would remain closed until cracked open—perfectly suited to mend deep wounds on rexes as well. Some of the other “medicinal creatures” that Tamik saw made him wince—creeping gall beetles, flaccid flat worms, buzzing honey bees, squirming freshwater eels, and small, furry rodents scampering about their enclosure. The precise medicinal use of each, Tamik could hardly imagine. Nor did he wish to.
Tamik began to wonder if he was ever going to reach the end of the corridor, but then he saw the flight of stone stairs that went up to the second level and knew that he had. He began to ascend the steps and soon was flooded with white light from above. Patients on the second floor were invariably admitted for more than a turn. The first ward Tamik passed was the dyingroom, filled with those on the edge of returning to the Beyond. Their families attended them in morose moods. Bright sunlight streamed through a generous ration of tall, clear windows, pitching a cheerful cast over the painful reality of what went on within those walls. The vast windows, which currently stood open seasoning every precious breath with a flavor of the Interior, provided a grand view of the inner paddock. Even the woodlands above the south cliffs were visible. He was relieved to find that his father had not yet been moved here. Bouquets of flowers and scented oils infused the air, but the heaviness of despair permeated the atmosphere.
A charcoal brazier radiated in each corner, heating water for tea for that room’s group of patients and visitors. Beneath the firebox was a catch-plate that collected clean, warm ash in small piles, which could be used for several common remedies.
Finally, Tamik came upon the recovery room where his father was lying in a bed against the outside wall. There were only a few visitors here, and they tended to be a bit more cheerful.
When Melok saw Tamik, his eyelids fluttered. He was obviously conscious.
“Appa? Are you awake?”
Melok turned his head toward his son and presented him an oversized smile, eyes half open. “It’s good to see you, son.”
“How are you doing?” Tamik asked.
“They tell me I had some cracked ribs and a rupture in my gut, in addition to the damage to my leg.” Melok almost laughed as he said it. “Shows you how good a healer Pako was, I didn’t even notice that until I got back here. That’s when the infection set in.”
“Maybe you should have just stayed home with Pako and Dasha,” Tamik said.
Melok chuckled and it sounded like it hurt.
Tamik had a natural dislike for institutional healers that stemmed from his first few turns in this world. His mother died after Dasha and Melok had brought her and Tamik to the “Healer’s Lodge.” He had always wondered if he and his mother would have been better off at home after his birth.
Melok stared dreamily out the open window, and said, “With all the pleasure pitch they were giving me, I could hardly recognize my own thoughts. When I asked if there was something else, they used some sea snail venom locally, which seems to be working well to stop the pain in my leg, but that’s all it works for.”
Tamik lowered his voice and put his lips by his father’s ear. “I don’t trust any of these medicinal malefactors. I think you should stay away from all their concoctions . . .” Tamik looked around to see if they were being overheard.
“With so many better informed opinions here, I’m not about to listen to yours. You don’t like anyone. Maybe you need to spend some more time as a Junior Guardian and learn to live more in harmony with your compatriots.”
“Sure,” Tamik snapped. “That would really help.”
Though abrupt, the return of an edge to Melok’s voice made Tamik feel better about his father’s prospects for recovery.
The young rexrider changed the subject. “But at least you seem to be in . . . er . . . better spirits.”
“How’s Gar?” Melok turned back to his son.
“Unruly. And I don’t think he’s ready to let you go just yet.”
“Yes, I suppose I’ll be around for awhile as death seems to have escaped my grasp for the moment.” Melok took in a long, slow breath and flinched. “But just barely. Nonetheless, I am essentially extinct as a rexrider.” Melok’s eyes regained some of their focus as he looked at his son. “Loyalties to the guardians notwithstanding, I trust you’re ready to handle Gar on a regular basis?”
The question struck Tamik with as much force as a physical blow. Sure the last hunt had been exhilarating, but becoming a Primary Rexrider was not part of his immediate agenda, and he had been making every effort to convince himself that his heightened responsibilities were just temporary until his father recovered.
“Oh, no, I’m not ready for that. You’ll be better soon.�
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“I suggest you listen to the other rexriders and learn.” Melok continued as if he had not heard his son’s protestations. “Like your mount, you have to earn the respect of your peers.”
Your mount. It was the first time Melok—or anyone—had ever referred to Gar-rex as Tamik’s mount.
Melok changed his position, shifting his coverings, revealing that his leg had been removed just below the hip.
Tamik stared, thunderstruck. Cries and moans from other patients around the room seemed to underscore his discomfort.
“Your mount,” his father repeated for emphasis, wiping his mouth, expression unchanged, “needs you more than ever this close to a contest for Primacy. Pako and Ka’tag, and even Almar will look after you as best they can. Don’t venture far from them.”
“I know, Father,” Tamik stammered, although the concept had not been introduced to him until now, and he was still in shock seeing his father’s missing leg.
Melok closed his eyes and lay still for a moment. With his eyes shut, he added, “And don’t get too comfortable with those two words.”
“What words?”
“‘I know’.”
“Of course, Father,” Tamik said contritely.
Silence again interrupted their conversation, broken only by the occasional patient's outburst from elsewhere in the ward, or an odd noise from the paddock.
“What happened to your new sword?” Melok finally asked, noticing his son’s empty sheath.
Tamik told Melok about the Seer, the smuggler, and the sword.
“It’s no wonder the skywatchers dislike the crippled old man.” Melok chuckled.
“It was weird,” Tamik said. “The old guy knew stuff that he shouldn’t have. No one knew of the smuggler’s disappearance until several turns after we left for the hunt.”
Melok grunted, implying his concurrence, and then returned his focus on the pride. “Well, it doesn’t really matter what we or anyone else in the civilization knows or doesn’t know; ‘sees’ or can’t ‘see’, the rexes will do what the rexes will do, and we rexriders have to do what we can do to help them succeed at whatever that may be.”
Tamik scrunched up his face. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean,” he laughed.
Melok laughed too, even shaking a bit. Then he cleared his throat and wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes. He regarded his son at length, studying him. “Tamik, there’s a lot you don’t know about my youth,” he offered, somewhat grimly. “I think it’s time I tell you a little story.”
Tamik sat down on the stool next to Melok’s bed and watched his father grimace as he readjusted his body. The younger man’s stomach turned again, as the realization that the injuries Melok had sustained could have as much of an impact on him as they did on his father. And he couldn't help but sense that something of great weight was about to be revealed to him, which made him feel a bit more unsteady.
His father took a deep breath and exhaled. “I wanted to become a rexrider from early on,” he began. “But I didn’t have your advantages. I had to work my way into the order. I never regretted the situation of my birth, and was glad for the freedom I had been given as an outsider with no expectations. Sometimes I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you the same choices my father gave me. My boyhood decision forced you into your station.”
Tamik nodded absently, unsure of where his father was going, and hesitant to ask what he was talking about for fear of distracting him.
“I’m content, Tamik. Really I am. But when that lance split during the hunt, and my life nearly ended right there, it suddenly occurred to me that you know little about your family history. As I rested alone, outside the circle of riders with my thoughts, I began to feel I’d done you an injustice . . . been a bad father by not passing my recollections of my parents and relatives to you.”
“You’re a fine father,” Tamik said. The times in the past when he doubted that statement had nothing to do with whatever his father was talking about now.
Melok made no sign of hearing his son’s flat reassurance, and simply drew in a few coarse breaths before continuing.
“I was born an outsider, Tamik, in the hovel of a crippled calasheer. My father was a fine beast handler in his time, but he suffered injuries when I was still too young to take over his rig. He traded his domehead to another handler in exchange for a pittance—far less than adequate to support our family. At first it didn’t dampen his spirit. I can still hear his voice rasping: ‘Melok, never forget. You can be whatever and whomever you want.’
“But as the seasons passed, and he continued to lie on his broken back, it got harder for him to put up an optimistic front. He was dependent on Amma and me for everything. Amma wouldn’t let him be alone, nor did he seem to wish it. She was insistent on one of us remaining with him at all times. I never understood why—he was disabled, but stable enough.
“Then one turn when I was fourteen, my mother went out to find food and left me to watch over him. He asked me to bring his sword and dagger to him, and gave his sword to me. I didn’t even know how to carry it, let alone draw it. It’s rare for people on the outside to even have swords of such quality, let alone the skill to use them, and he was renown for his skill with it. He made me swear not to draw it until I had been properly trained. So I asked him when he would train me.
“He said, ‘Never. You’ll find a teacher among the guardians who has a whole body and skills far exceeding mine. Go out and find one, and don’t forget your promise!’ With that, he waved me away.
“Those were the last words I heard him speak. I didn’t find a guardian that turn—there were none in the Southend Drainage to be found. And when I got back home he was dead. My mother was holding his body in her arms, covered with his blood. I may have gotten the sword, but I had forgotten entirely about the dagger. Until then, when I saw it buried in his chest where he had rolled off the sleeper and fallen on it.”
Melok paused again. Tamik swore his father looked like he was shrinking before his very eyes. It was unnerving to see the man so vulnerable.
“I used to blame myself because I had left his side,” Melok finally continued. “Through all the long turns during his illness he never wanted to be left alone, so I should have suspected something when he sent me outside when Amma was out. My mother didn’t blame me, though. I remember her looking up at me and saying that I looked like a real man with that sword slung over my shoulder.”
An awful conclusion came creeping over Tamik.
“Father . . . you aren’t considering. . .”
A thin smile formed on Melok’s bloodless lips. “You don’t have to keep me under constant guard, if that’s what you’re thinking. I wouldn’t do that to you. Besides, I do have some chance of a reasonable recovery, and will still be able to sit in at Council meetings.”
Tamik relaxed, tilting the stool he sat on back slightly. “How did you deal with . . . it?”
“I remembered my father telling me that I could be anything or anyone I wanted to be. It was the one positive message I received during that whole bleak time and I held to it like a quarrier's safety line.
“After spending my childhood out in the paddock with my father, transporting goods and people from one area to another, I always admired how the rexes reigned. How all the other animals, including our domehead, would go to great lengths to avoid crossing their path, even if the pride had just fed and were fully sated. To think that there were people who could go up to those beasts whenever they wanted to and just get on and ride them out into the wilderness . . . it was a concept hard to fathom. I always wanted the freedom to go outside the perimeter wall and ride though the wilderness. I could think of no better way than on the back of the sovereigns of the prairie.
“A few turns after my father’s death, I headed off without a plan, toward the perimeter wall to get on as a post assistant or something. Too dirty and scraggly for anyone there to take me seriously, I had nothing but the clothes I was wearing and my father’s sword and
dagger. I shadowed the rexriders and their assistants. Sometimes they would throw rocks at me to keep me away. But I snuck in and slept in the stalls whenever I could. I had no idea how dangerous that was.” Melok shook his head. “Maybe I just didn’t care.”
“What happened to grandmother?”
Melok did not answer right away. Then he explained, “Later, she too took her own life . . . off the cliffs by the falls. I never saw her again after I left.”
An attendant brought a clean dish of warm water and a towel. Tamik took it from her and wiped his father’s forehead with the soft, wet cloth.
“One turn, a young Senior Guardian was called in to remove me once and for all from the area around the stalls. When I first noticed him, he was looking at my weapons as though he meant to steal them. I ran and hid from him like I did from most non-Outsider adults, but he found me easily. I was too afraid to draw the sword, but found the dagger in my hand, and tried to look as menacing as I could.
“‘Are you hungry?’ he asked, once he had me cornered. Of course I was, but having no idea how to act I just hissed at him, a trapped animal with my claws and fangs at the ready. He paid me little mind, but just said, ‘Follow me,’ and walked away. My first thought was to hide again, but that would not have filled my belly. So I followed, maintaining a safe distance.
“He led me all the way across the paddock on foot to the inner gate, without even looking back to see if I was still there. When we approached the gatekeeper, she seemed to know that I was with the other guardian and smiled at me as I passed through. By then I had returned the dagger to its sheath.
“I had never been through the barrier walls before. The first time the guardian and I made eye contact since our initial encounter was when he summoned me to join him at an outdoor table in a fine eatery—a place that changed hands long before you were born.”