“I know you’ll be fine,” he whispered, lifting her uninjured hand and kissing it, “but it still breaks my heart to know you’re hurt.”
Deep in sleep she knew he was there and moved toward him slightly, her face turning upward.
“Everything is all right - sleep well, Little Princess,” he whispered, rising and carefully adjusting the covers around her.
***
Katrin woke with a terrible taste in her mouth. Her right arm throbbed. At first she was confused. Then she remembered the fall, her broken arm.
She moaned. The bedside lamp was burning low. She looked at her bedside table and saw that water and a few bottles were there, but she couldn’t bear the idea of trying to reach them, even with her good arm.
The door between her room and Menders’ opened and he was there, wearing his dressing gown. It must be very late.
He bent over her with a smile. She could smell the scent he used and memories of being carried everywhere by him as a little girl flooded back to her.
“Hello Little Princess,” he said. He felt her forehead. “Thirsty?”
“Yes,” she whispered, surprised to find her throat very dry and her voice hoarse.
“Ramplane does that to your throat,” Menders said, pouring a glass of water and helping her with it. “This will help.”
It did, but her arm was agonizing when she happened to move it. Katrin shuddered and couldn’t repress a whimper.
“Let me see,” Menders said gently, going around the bed and repositioning the arm for her. He then proceeded to pack it with ice from the basement ice store room, wrapping it in an old rubber apron that Kaymar used in his shed.
“The ice will numb the pain,” Menders explained. “You’ve had a good long sleep and missed the experiments with keeping ice on it without drenching the bed and drowning you.”
Katrin couldn’t help smiling, in spite of the discomfort. “Kaymar can’t make his rockets, for a while.”
“Oh, I suspect he’ll find another rubber apron.” She could imagine the heated exchanges between Menders and Franz as they tried to fashion the ice sling, as such projects always brought out the worst in both of them.
“Are you hungry, sweetheart?”
“No,” Katrin answered, glad to find that her throat was less raspy after the water. “I feel sort of sick.”
“Not surprising. Now, Franz wanted to see you when you woke, so I’m going to get him.”
A moment later they were back. Franz was in his dressing gown too but smelled of cigars, so he’d been awake.
He looked her over and took her temperature.
“Slight fever, but that’s normal after a break,” he said with a smile. “It’s hurting, isn’t it?”
“Yes. A lot. Thumping, like a hot, soft hammer.”
“Well, I think we’ll give you another dose of ramplane so you can sleep through the night. No point in lying awake in agony. It’s going to hurt very badly for a while, Katrin. I think you’ll be happiest sleeping a lot the next few days.”
She didn’t really care. She just wanted the pain to stop. It felt like someone was grinding her arm between two stones, and it wore her down to the point where she wanted to howl. Franz gave her more ramplane, made sure the ice was tight on her arm and said he would see her in the morning.
Menders sat on the edge of the bed beside her and held her good hand as the ramplane took effect and she went back to blessed, pain free sleep.
***
Menders let himself into Katrin’s room to find her dozy and groggy again. It had been five days since she’d broken her arm. Franz wanted her to stay in bed longer, as she’d been running a continual low fever. He had given her a bottle of ramplane syrup to take when the pain got bad.
Menders knew she’d had a great deal of pain, but the worst had to be over by now. Katrin was too restless and spirited to enjoy being in bed for periods of more than a day. He had a feeling that the ramplane was being misused so she would sleep and not care that she was stuck in bed and bored stiff.
“Hello there, Little Princess,” he said cheerfully, perching on the side of the bed. “How is it this morning?”
“It hurts.”
“Yes, it’s going to. Katrin, I want you to stop taking the ramplane, please.”
Even under the influence of the drug, she was startled.
“Why, if it helps?”
“Because you’re overusing it and misusing it,” he answered honestly. “You’re trying to stay asleep because you don’t like being confined to bed, my dear.”
“Menders, my arm truly does hurt,” Katrin said, struggling with heavy eyelids. He thought she sounded a little annoyed at the accusation.
“Yes, I know it does. It might hurt at times for the rest of your life. You can’t just lie around in a ramplane haze forever, waiting for your arm to stop hurting. So I’m taking it back to Franz today.”
“But what will I do when it starts up again? It’s terrible, it feels like my arm is being mashed up in a machine!” Because of the ramplane, Katrin was near tears.
“Off to sleep with you now,” Menders responded. “You’re not fit to talk. We’ll talk later, when you’re awake.” He sat with her until she slept, then rose and went to Franz’s office, ramplane bottle in hand.
The doctor raised his eyebrows when Menders placed the bottle on his desk.
“We’re having a problem,” Menders said bluntly. “She’s taking too much.”
“I told her how much to take,” Franz said with some concern. He lifted the bottle, looked at it, shook it a little.
“She’s probably lost track. She’s miserable and just wants to sleep and get past it,” Menders said. “But I must keep her mother’s habits in mind.”
“I have something else to give her, but it’s vile. You’ll remember it, I’m sure.”
“I do. I’d rather she have that, without the sedative effect.”
“Do you want me to go speak to her?”
“No, she’s asleep again.”
“What? It’s nine in the morning! Well, that’s way too much ramplane,” Franz said heatedly. “Gods, I never thought of it.”
“Time to look for some distractions. You want her in bed for another few days?”
“I think I’m going to change that. Let’s start having her get up and keep her occupied.”
“Good. I’m hoping a letter from Hemmett might arrive. I wrote to him right after she got hurt to let him know some moral support would be a good idea. I’m expecting Kaymar back tomorrow, and if I know our Hemmett, there will be a communication forthcoming.”
“I look forward to it,” Franz laughed. Hemmett’s missives were always funny and were very popular around The Shadows. They invariably detailed some mayhem at the Military Academy, usually involving Hemmett and his friend, Villison.
Later Menders sat on Katrin’s bed as she woke up. He could see that the pain was bad because her face was lined with it, making her look older. She moaned.
“Hello again,” he said, taking her good hand. “I’ve talked to Franz and he’s going to let you get out of bed.”
“That’s a relief,” she sighed.
“He’s also going to give you something that will help with pain, but won’t make you sleep. It tastes horrible but it does work.”
She nodded and sat up. Menders helped her, not wanting her to jar the arm. Franz had taken his advice about using a Thrun-style splint on it, and had soaked a piece of leather and then wrapped it around the injured arm, where it dried to rock hardness. It supported the injured limb beautifully but made it impossible for Katrin to use it.
“I’m sorry about the ramplane, Menders,” she said, surprising him. “I knew I was taking too much, but I felt compelled to do it. I just wanted to stay asleep.”
He looked at her.
“This is something for us both to remember then,” he said. “You will have to be careful with such things.”
“Yes, I thought of my mother.” Katrin sigh
ed. “I’ll just have to try to stand the pain, but it is really terrible, Menders.”
“I know a Thrun trick that might help you. Tharan-Tul taught it to me when I was much younger than you. The Thrun call it a healing trance.”
Katrin looked intrigued, though her forehead was still tight with pain.
“Would it really help when it gets bad?” she asked.
“Yes, it would. The trance doesn’t do any actual healing, of course. It just distracts the mind so the body can heal. It makes you not mind the pain. It’s easy to forget to use it when you’re actually in pain. I went through that entire episode with my eyes when you were a baby and never thought about it once,” Menders said.
“Really?”
“I was so afraid of going blind and of what would happen to you if I did that it never crossed my mind. Silly of me, because it would have helped me through what was not a pleasant experience. Now, here’s this vile concoction of Franz’s. It works very well for pain, but leaves your mind sharp. However, it is going to take every bit of your determination to get it down your throat.” Menders held out the dose, but had her wait until he had a glass of water poured.
“Hold your breath and try to pour it straight down, avoiding your tongue at all costs,” he directed with a grin.
She knocked back the dose and was absolutely silent for a second. Then she shrieked in horror and motioned desperately for the water. Menders laughingly handed it to her. She drained the glass.
“That is an instrument of torture,” she gasped. “Nothing should taste that bad.”
“And now, as it works very quickly, let’s get you out of bed,” Menders suggested, picking up her dressing gown. “Franz wants you to continue to take it easy but I think a change of scene and airing this room would be a good idea.”
“Gods, it’s thumping,” she muttered as she slid her feet into her slippers. Menders helped her with the sling Franz had left for her, then picked up a walking cane he had put on the floor by the bed.
“There’s nothing wrong with my legs, Menders,” Katrin said, taking the cane with a laugh.
“You haven’t been up on them for a week. You might be a bit wobbly and you don’t want to fall and jar that arm.”
“You think of everything,” Katrin said with admiration as he ushered her into the lounge.
“If only that were true,” Menders muttered to himself. “Now, I shall tell Borsen to come and regale you with news of his great riding prowess,” he continued as he settled her upright on the sofa. “He’s been coming right along, now that he’s over his fear, and put Snowflake over a tiny jump the other day. He’s been very worried about you.”
***
Menders had learned to leave his body from Tharan-Tul when he was only a boy, when he still lived at Stettan. Whenever the abuse from tutors and nurses became more than he could endure, he would escape from his home to the Thrun, sometimes staying with them for days. There was always a beating when he finally went back home, but during his time with the Thrun he would be revitalized and strengthened to the point where he could endure the consequences of running away.
He’d fled to them when a tutor broke every bone in his right hand by thrashing it with a stick after catching him sketching rather than studying. The hand was monstrously swollen, the pain agonizing. Tharak found him sobbing in the shelter of a huge stone hand that stood alone on the plain. He took his friend to Tharan-Tul.
The young shaman fascinated Aylam Josirus. He walked with a marked limp due to a withered and twisted leg. He had blue eyes, something uncommon though not entirely unheard of among the Thrun. More than once when Aylam fled to the Thrun after abuse or rape, Tharan-Tul caught him by the chin and simply stared into his eyes. It always calmed Aylam and gave him a sense of peace, though the power of the lame shaman was frightening to a boy less than eleven years of age.
Tharan-Tul looked at Aylam’s broken hand, then concocted a vilely bitter drink from dried plants hanging in his tent. He had Aylam drink it down, insisting that he take all of it though he gagged at the foul taste.
Soon Aylam felt elated and the pain in his hand receded. The shaman set the small bones, then carefully bound the hand in clean cloth. He wrapped it around with leather held with thongs and dipped it in water. Then Tharan-Tul had Aylam lie down, covering him with a fur.
Aylam had slept almost immediately, to waken later with his hand throbbing while arrows of agony shot up his arm to his shoulder. The leather had dried to rock hardness; he couldn’t move his hand.
His sobs woke the shaman, who sat beside him.
“I can give you no more of the drink, you are too small to stand much,” Tharan-Tul said. “But I can teach you a way to leave your body so that you do not feel pain. While you do it, you will be able to direct your thoughts to make your hand heal.”
Tharan-Tul instructed him to breathe deeply until he felt great peace – and then talked to him until Aylam felt as if he had risen from his body and was somewhere at the top of the tent. He couldn’t feel the pain from his hand, and eventually, with Tharan-Tul’s guidance, he could feel the broken bones knitting together. He wasn’t able to sustain the separation from his body long, but each time he opened his eyes and felt the terrible pain, Tharan-Tul was there, helping him leave his body again. By the end of three days he could enter the trance without help for as long as he liked.
He asked Tharan-Tul if there was danger of leaving his body forever, and the shaman laughed.
“No, the world will call you back until the appointed time comes for you to leave it and go to The Light At The Top Of The World,” he said. “So long as you have work to be done in the world, you will always go back to your body. This is only a way to heal your body, not a way to leave it.”
After that, Aylam often left his body at will. It had kept him sane when he was assaulted by his perverted tutor – where before he had gritted his teeth and screamed into the pillow the man shoved his face into, now he simply rose to the ceiling and felt nothing until the invasion of his body was over. Years later, when he became Menders, he’d used the shaman’s technique to conquer bodily pain from training or injuries. He’d even refined the discipline to the point where he could separate his mind from painful activity. Yes, he felt the pain, but he didn’t mind it.
Now he was teaching Katrin the same control of her mind and finding her a capable pupil.
“It starts with concentration,” he told her. “You close your eyes and begin to concentrate only on your heartbeat and breathing. At first you’ll hear things that go on around you, but that’s all right, you just come back to listening only to your heartbeat and breathing.”
She was doing as he said, her eyes closed.
“You slow your breathing gradually. Don’t force it, take your time.” He watched, fascinated, as she did as he said – rapidly. It was faster than he’d ever seen anyone learn the technique.
“At the end of each breath, before you breathe in again, there will be a moment where you feel like you’re suspended, or floating,” he went on. “Start concentrating on that moment. You’ll begin to feel as if you’re floating free from your body and soon all you will hear is your heartbeat and your breathing.”
Her breathing had already slowed to a deep, steady respiration. Menders waited. She wouldn’t be able to stay in the healing trance for long at first but she was going to master it quickly.
After a few minutes her breathing went back to normal and she opened her eyes.
“You won’t be able to speak right away, so don’t worry,” he said. She nodded, and looked very pleased with herself.
“You can use that if you’re in pain or sick,” Menders told her. “Once you learn to do it, you can stay in the trance for a long time and concentrate on healing yourself.”
“Is it all right to do it by myself?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes, you can’t come to any harm.”
***
Katrin found the healing trance easy. It took her to a quie
t and peaceful place where time didn’t seem to pass. Sometimes she was aware of passing shapes, as if people were walking by in a mist, but she felt no curiosity about them and there was no indication that they noticed her. She would drift, thinking of her arm healing, dreaming of it being strong and whole again.
It was better than ramplane, which took away the pain and made her sleep, but left her with black and red dreams and the memory of voices that kept chiding her and telling her what she should do.
***
Dear Willow,
How is the fallen soldieress? Sounds ghastly. Such calamity and confusion. I am thinking of injuring myself in some similar spectacular way, so that we can discuss our scars like old soldiers.
I have been given fourteen days barracks detention. What is worse, I am being punished for being honest. I expect you to weep on Menders’ neck over my sad tale.
A week ago, we were herded off to some frilly society do, as is often the case. Some Brigadier General was having a social brawl at his house and needed cadets to dance with his ugly daughters and their even uglier friends.
So there we are, with the dancing just beginning. I’m looking around for some girl who’s halfway nice to lead out. So what happens but Ufronia Vildsteen comes flumping over to me and curtsies. Normally I manage to avoid the ones who do this, because I don’t like it. I prefer doing the asking. Normally I let Villison take the forward ones, as he has no taste, but Miss Vildsteen’s got me dead in her sights and Villison ducked when he saw her coming, the swine.
So, I lead her out. Willow, she’s dressed like an unmade bed, with some ridiculous outfit that looks like a combination of summer bed curtains and sheets all coming adrift, with her great bosom taking the place of the pillows. She’s built like two over-ripe summermelons in a satin bag and a small bag at that. Her neckline is so low and her corset is laced so tight that there is almost nothing left to the imagination, it’s all popped to the top like doughy buns rising. Not attractive at all. Jiggle, jiggle, like a bowl of jelly on the tailboard of a drover’s cart. Where is a fellow to look? And if you do look, you aren’t a gentleman, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.
Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series Page 56