by Ava D. Dohn
* * *
Jonathan quietly sat beside Chasileah, occasionally singing or humming some little tune that would pop into his mind. Surgeons had determined that her internal bleeding was stopped and that under present circumstances there was little more they could do for her other than keep her fluids up.
Earlier, when Jonathan asked about her condition, a doctor had told him, “I’m quite sure she will live, but she won’t walk for a long time, maybe years. I don’t know. There are healing machines that might fix her up in a few weeks or months, but they’re sparse at best and we have none here. The general’s spine is severed. Nerves grow very slowly. I don’t know.” She patted Jonathan on the arm and smiled reassuringly. “But she lives.”
Jonathan looked across the cavernous room. It was one of PrasiaOdous’ hangars turned into a hospital ward, caring for thousands of wounded. The far end was curtained off for the surgeons’ use. Hundreds lay on mats or blankets waiting for help while an ever growing throng of hundreds more remained huddled along the hangar’s tunnel entrance.
Seeing such a need, Jonathan began taking short breaks away from Chasileah who was sleeping soundly. He offered assistance to others, fetching water or a little food. Sometimes he would just chat for a moment. It required hundreds of orderlies just to provide necessities for this vast number of people, there being no time left to linger in friendly conversation. Spending time with other patients made Jonathan feel useful. ‘At least I’m of some real value here.’
He then thought about his dismal performance on the battlefield, chiding himself for forgetting his wonderful sword. He gained solace in the thought that Chasileah lived. It mattered little her physical condition or the length of her convalescence. She lived.
Returning to his companion’s side after a lengthy absence, Jonathan began another little song, falling to sleep while singing it. Sometime later he was waked by a tap on the shoulder.
“Major… Major...” An orderly whispered. “A word with you, Major.”
Jonathan struggled from his sleep, nodding as he sat. After checking on Chasileah’s well being, he got up and followed the orderly. In short order, he found himself facing General Noaz.
“Please sit.” Noaz offered as he walked to the other side of his desk and took a chair, then got right down to business. “Major Jonathan, I want to thank you for saving Chesse’s life. You don’t know how much it means to me. Second, I want to ask your assistance.”
Jonathan was perplexed. Noaz continued, “This mountain is filled with the injured and dying. At the moment there must be close to forty thousand needing extensive care, and that number is growing. We knew the battle for MueoPoros was going to be costly but I don’t think anyone was prepared mentally to pay the piper, so to speak.” Jonathan did not understand what to ‘pay the piper’ meant, but said nothing.
“Major Jonathan, I have spoken with Field Marshal Trisha and she approves, with your permission, that you should stay here for an extended time and do your healing thing on these people.”
Jonathan became quite adamant, describing his total lack of understanding regarding what the general was talking about, declaring there must be some confusion over what he was really doing.
Noaz was polite but to the point. “Your kind are a strange and wonderful lot. Look, I don’t know much about healing songs, only that some of the Ancients have those powers. How you came by them is beyond my understanding, but those in the know say you have them…and have been using them on the wounded. They tell me that just your presence around the people lifts their spirits and sooths them physically and mentally.”
“Last time I talked with Chesse - before the war started – she said that you were a good egg, but quite dense when it came to the ways of this world. If she says you’re a good egg, then you’re a good egg. I trust her. You certainly fit the dense part.”
Jonathan was flustered and somewhat put off by what Chasileah had told the general, and it showed in his question. “Sir…” he replied, fidgeting with discomfort, “Sir…what’s a ‘gue·dag’?”
General Noaz roared with laughter to the point of tears. It was all he could do to ask, “So, will you help me?”
Jonathan was beyond confusion by this time, but he realized that the general was very serious in his request. “Sir, if that is truly what you desire of me, then I shall attempt to do as you wish.”
“Good! Good!” Noaz exclaimed, still chuckling, wiping his fingers across his eyes, squeezing away tears.
Getting up from his chair, Noaz came around his desk and took Jonathan’s hand. His face became grave. “We need you here during this dark hour. You, alone, saved Chesse and with your continued help, she’ll be walking sooner than anyone thinks. You can do the same for others.”
Jonathan stared at Noaz. “Continued help?”
Noaz grinned. “Of course! Did you think I’d separate you two? No, Major, not at all. You’ll be put up in the officers’ quarters. I have set aside a decent sized room so that Chesse can have her medical needs cared for. When she’s up and about, there’ll be plenty of duties for her to tend to…duties she won’t need legs for. In the meantime, you will have her to take care of.”
Patting Jonathan on the shoulder, Noaz concluded, “Major Jonathan, go get cleaned up.” He called out the door for someone. “Lieutenant KittleBaclin will take care of your needs. She will also assist you with the general. You are to dine with me at my table in the officers’ mess at nineteen hundred hours. Again, thank you for your help.”
The lieutenant was introduced and Jonathan saluted his goodbye, going away with her. He hurried his shower, trying to act nonchalant about the lieutenant’s presence as she patiently waited for him to finish. It was doubly difficult when she insisted on helping him towel down. It became more awkward when he went for his clothes only to discover they had been taken to be cleaned and mended.
The long walk to his cabin was such an embarrassment for him. Lieutenant Kittle - she preferred to be called Kittee - puzzled when he demanded to cover himself with a towel before leaving the common shower. And she puzzled more when he refused her entry to his cabin after she offered to help him dress. Like a good officer, Kittee asked what the major wanted her to do.
Jonathan called out from behind his closed door, “Go check on Chasileah and keep her company until I call you.” The lieutenant shrugged and departed.
Jonathan checked out his new cabin. Lying over a chair was a clean, new Army officer’s uniform with a major’s insignia braided into it. Everything was prepared for him, just like General Noaz had said it would be. There was even a special hospital bed for Chasileah. Jonathan frowned when he noticed that Lieutenant Kittee’s things had been delivered to the room. His frown turned to consternation when he realized there was only one other bed there.
He thought for a moment, pondering his dilemma. What dilemma? Was his pious opinion any different than those of the Christian missionaries he had read about - the same ones who traveled from one land to another, demanding everyone ‘follow the Lord’ as they did or they would burn in some kind of Hell?
After all, he was now in a foreign land - not by his own volition - but invited there to become part of its citizenry. He needed to stop acting pious and overly righteous. His old culture and ways were in his past. He had no right to imply guilt upon a people who were not guilty. He determined to try to fit in to his new home and become one with these people.
Jonathan dressed, examining himself in the mirror while trimming his beard and nails. He liked the new clothes, but wondered about the ones he had been wearing before. A knock came on the door. Opening it, he saw an orderly holding his cleaned and pressed uniform.
“Do you know where my other things are?” Jonathan asked, half expecting to be told ‘no’.
The orderly was chipper. “They’re in your locker, Sir.” She hurried away.
Jonathan thanked the woman and clo
sed the door. He walked to the locker to put the clothes away and was shocked at what he saw after opening it, the shock turning to wonder as he studied the beautifully engraved handle of his Cherub sword.