***
All at once Ran-Del realized he was in a hospital. It wasn’t because of the smell; Ran-Del had recognized that the air had a strange scent, but he hadn’t known that it was hospital air. Now, however, he saw himself lying motionless in a hospital bed, a vision so strong and compelling he couldn’t reject it as he had the many other visions that seemed to inundate him. Ran-Del had seen pictures of hospitals in the news bulletins, and he knew he must be in one now.
Ran-Del was aware of the desire for him to open his eyes, to awaken from his almost-dream state. He couldn’t remember not being aware of it, and yet he knew that it wasn’t his own desire. He wanted nothing more than to lie still, to avoid the pain and the fear as much as possible. That was what he would do—nestle down like an armored mole sleeping in his burrow over the long winter months, trying to escape the cold and the notice of predators by digging deep within the earth and sleeping, soundless and motionless.
And then the ocean of pain began to recede, and Ran-Del could feel his body again—soft cloth under his fingers, faint, cool air moving across his cheek. He could move his limbs and know that he was controlling them. He heard sounds—someone moving around in the room, faint pings of electronic equipment, a hissing breath from a machine. And then a low voice spoke to him insistently.
“Ran-Del,” it said. “Wake up, Ran-Del! Open your eyes and look at me.”
The voice wasn’t at all familiar, and Ran-Del ignored it.
“I don’t understand,” the voice went on. Ran-Del could sense the speaker’s frustration. “I know he’s conscious. He’s got to be.”
Ran-Del could feel the fear grow suddenly.
“Could it be brain damage, doctor?” said a second voice. This one was definitely familiar. Ran-Del knew it quite well.
The first voice made a noise of denial. “Nonsense. There was no noticeable deterioration in brain function. You can stop worrying about that, Baroness.”
Ran-Del almost frowned in concentration. Baroness? He knew what the word meant. But Francesca wasn’t a baroness. Her father was a baron, but she was simply Francesca Hayden. Abruptly, Ran-Del remembered the raging fury of the burning flyter. No, Baron Hayden was dead. Francesca was a baroness, now. And they were married.
Ran-Del reached up to touch his hair, to reassure himself that he wasn’t still dreaming. His hand came in contact with something else, something soft but bulky. He tried to push it out of the way.
A cool touch on his hand brought a flood of images into his mind—peculiar machines, rooms full of very sick people, bodies cut open and draped with cloths.
Ran-Del moaned in protest and pulled his hand away.
“Don’t touch the bandage!” ordered the first voice.
Ran-Del opened his eyes, compelled to see if his visions were true.
A room swam into focus, a strange room with no windows, no natural light. The woman who bent over him seemed to be scowling. She wore her black hair pinned back from her face, and her clothes had a neat, almost prim appearance. The scowl softened to a smile as she saw him looking at her.
“There,” she said. “That’s better. How do you feel, Ran-Del?”
Ran-Del studied her without answering her question. There was another woman behind her, and Ran-Del lifted his head to look at her. A stabbing pain in his head told him this wasn’t a good idea.
“Ran-Del!” the second woman said, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”
Ran-Del winced as he laid his head back down on the pillow. “Hurts.”
“Just keep still,” the first woman said soothingly. “The medication will accelerate your healing. The pain should be much less in two or three days.”
“Hurts,” Ran-Del said again, fretfully.
The woman reached for a small canister, adjusted a dial, and popped it into a tube.
“I think it’ll be best to increase your dosage of pain killers just a little.” She pressed the tube against Ran-Del’s arm, and he felt a now familiar pressure. She must be a doctor.
“Ran-Del,” the other woman said anxiously. “Do you know me?”
Ran-Del stared at her face for just a moment, fearing this was a test of some kind. Did he know her? Yes, of course. “Fran-chess-ca,” he said slowly, having trouble with so many syllables in one word. “Wife,” he added faintly.
The woman smiled with relief.
“There, you see?” the doctor said comfortingly. “I told you not to worry.”
The medication took effect and Ran-Del watched their faces blur and fade into nothingness.
The Sixth Discipline Page 76