by Katy Winter
Sarehl was lifted to a mattress the healer placed on boxes in the centre of the tent and there he was surrounded by lanterns, carefully placed around the makeshift theatre, to cast as much light as possible. Ensore looked at the instruments neatly laid out and swallowed hard. Kaleb didn't notice. He stared at the still sleeping man.
When Kaleb finally straightened, Ensore could see the sword slash properly. The thick, ugly and blackened scab now gone, Ensore could see a cleaned, very deep, long gash, and he gave a sigh of relief when he realised how much better the wound looked. The next step tried Ensore's fortitude sorely. He knew about resetting bones, of abilities to graft bone and remove splinters, and he could admire the healer's skill, but he was relieved Sarehl was unaware what Kaleb did. It seemed a long time before the forester finished helping the healer tie splints firmly in place. Sarehl looked like a laid out corpse flat on his back, absolutely straight and motionless, but even so, Ensore drew a deep breath of relief as he got shakily to his feet. He saw Kaleb hold out a goblet to him.
"What's that?"
"Just drink it. It'll help."
"How is he?"
"He'll do for now. He's still with us. I'll keep watch over him for the rest of the night."
"Will he live?"
"If he still has the will and he comes through this in the next few days, he may well do so." Kaleb paused and his forehead furrowed with a deep frown. "You're quite right. His mind's deeply troubled by this younger brother. He's also lost other than the Bethel boy, too. He cries out for a woman and what I think are other children, Dase included. He's not just hurt in body, is he?" Ensore shook his head and turned to look down at the still figure.
"Has seeing his brother helped?"
"Yes," said Kaleb, unexpectedly. "A great deal. He may be what Sarehl begins to live for. Ensore," he began, paused, then began again. "Don't raise your hopes too high. He may live, he may not. He's so weak, sometimes even with the best will and skills we can do no more than I've done." Ensore moved over to the little healer.
"I understand." Kaleb smiled up at him.
"Go and tell that fretting boy his brother's still alive."
~~~
Ensore arrived at the healer's tent just before dawn, and entered quietly, to find Kaleb squatting beside Sarehl, a cup in his hand. When the healer looked up, Ensore could tell he'd endured a very bad night. Sarehl lay still, with his arms outflung and his head to one side. The vicious gash down his face looked considerably less angry than it did the night before and the man's colour was no longer like parchment. Sarehl was very pale certainly, but his face didn't so closely resemble a death mask.
"Did you get any sleep?" Ensore enquired, kneeling to look more closely at Sarehl.
"None at all. His fever got worse, but I think it's finally broken. It took everything I knew to break it." As he spoke, Kaleb hauled himself to his feet. "I've just given him another dose so he should stay calm." Kaleb rubbed at his eyes. "Be a friend and stay with him while I have a short respite."
Kaleb quietly left the tent. Ensore put a gentle hand to Sarehl's forehead and felt it was damp. As he took his hand away, a voice murmured very faintly.
"Dase?"
"No, Sarehl. It's Ensore."
"Oh." Ensore didn't miss the relief in the voice.
"The boy's all right," he said reassuringly. "I'll bring him to you shortly."
"Care for him," came weakly. "Care for Dase for me." Sarehl struggled to touch Ensore's arm with his free hand.
"You can care for him yourself when you're feeling stronger," answered Ensore. He took the groping hands in his.
"Care for the boy," repeated Sarehl. "Promise me." The forester spoke softly.
"If it'll ease your mind, I promise I'll take over the boy until you can do so yourself."
The tension in the hands he held lessened. Sarehl mumbled something incoherent and was then still.
Kaleb came in, rubbing his head and beard dry. He took off one tunic in exchange for another, then hunted around for his boots that he found pushed to one side of his medicine chest. With a sigh, he sat and pulled them on. Kaleb threw himself wearily into a chair and glanced up at his friend.
"I can't go north and leave him you realise, don't you?"
"I accept that. Who'll go?"
"I'll send Konor. He's very proficient and can call on other healers further through the forest if he has to. I'd suggest the numbers of wounded escaping will drop now, am I right?"
"Few will be survivors now." Ensore stared at the ground thoughtfully. "Will you stay here with Sarehl?"
"He'll die if I don't," was the blunt reply. Kaleb paused, chewing on his lower lip. "Do you return northwest through the forest?"
"No, I won't go for a while yet." Ensore sat opposite Kaleb and gave a rueful smile. "Besides, I can't. Sarehl's asked me to look after the boy and he's not fit to come to a southern troop. How old is he? I did ask, but I've forgotten."
"Twelve or thirteen cycles I'd guess."
"He's only a child."
"He's not, you know," contradicted Kaleb. He got a long measuring stare from Ensore and added sadly, "Few of them are. Some of them are almost like little old men, and others, like Dase, have lost their youth and their ability to laugh."
Ensore sighed and asked sheepishly, "What do you do with a boy that age?" Kaleb heard the sigh.
"You teach him the arts of war."
"Yes," said a quiet, unexpected voice. Both men turned to look down at Sarehl who lay wide-awake regarding them.
"Oho, so you're awake, are you?" said Kaleb, crossing to the pallet. "How do you feel?" Ensore rose and knelt beside Kaleb. Sarehl put a hand to his face to cautiously touch the edge of the gash.
"This is very much easier," he murmured. "Thank you, healer." Ensore noticed Sarehl's gaze up at them was lazy and little pain showed in the eyes.
"How do your legs feel?" he asked quietly.
"Strange," admitted Sarehl. "I don't feel such pain as was there before. Or," he mumbled, "the pain's different."
"That's good. It should be easier now bones are back in place and splinters removed, though you're full of broken bones at the moment. You'll drink this for me." While Kaleb spoke, he mixed a drink in a goblet that he now held to Sarehl's lips. "Drink," he said firmly.
Sarehl managed to raise the goblet and drank by himself.
~~~
Daxel was tired. His mind was full of his brother. He found it difficult to concentrate and when he was ordered to do anything he did it in a detached manner, his mind preoccupied. He was part of a camp that disassembled at speed. Daxel remembered the first few moves after the refugees flooded into the forest. They'd been drawn out, muddled affairs, but now moves went smoothly because everyone knew what to do and when to do it, everything removed and the forest took back ownership as though no one had ever been present. This time, however, a small cluster of tents remained huddled on the western side of the camp to be occupied by the foresters, the healer and one of the injured.
Most of those hurt had already left with the rest of the refugees who moved north. Daxel heard talk that there was to be a meeting up of the refugee camps over the next cycle, well north of where this current group went and assumed he and Sarehl would leave this morning in the last group. He wasn't sure whether to be sorry or sad. He watched as the carts, trailers and horses began to move in a slow file, refugees finding seats wherever they could, those who couldn't cadge rides merely beginning a long trudge as Daxel would soon do. He thought he'd seldom seen as sad a sight as displaced people reduced to this. He blinked very hard.
As he stood there with the sun glinting on his dark hair, he became aware of someone close to him. It was Cardon. Daxel turned his head and found himself looking across at a man who studied him quietly.
"You've grown some more, lad," Cardon commented cheerfully. "You'll get taller if you follow your brother. Now, Dase, I want you to listen. I'm moving on. You aren't." He saw surprise in the dark eyes and went on befo
re the boy could speak. "I may not see you for some time because you're staying here to care for your brother. By the time he's fit to travel, I'll be beyond catching. You'll be answerable to Ensore from now on." He paused again. Daxel looked expectantly at him. "Aye, you'll do. They'll make a fighter of you yet." He laughed. "Just mind you do as Ensore says. He's not one for repeating himself, though you'd go a long way to find a kinder man or one more deserving of respect. I like him." He put an arm round Daxel and hugged him hard. He felt the boy's quivering response. Cardon playfully, but gently, shook the boy. "You look to yourself, lad, and take care now, you hear?"
He was gone on the words. He strode over to a horse tethered to a tree, Daxel watched him mount and raised his hand in farewell. When Cardon waved back and spurred his horse forward, Daxel watched until the horse and rider faded from sight, then the boy crouched and wept softly, bereft of his only friend.
~~~
The small group left in camp gathered round a fire and talked quietly among themselves. Daxel wasn't included in conversations. He kept to the outer edge of the group and quietly ate his meal, his big dark eyes going from one man's face to another. He was left alone. He was happier that way, not wishing to converse and not daring to ask where his brother was, though he looked surreptitiously around. There was light-hearted laughter and banter. It all passed over Daxel. He was conscious none of these men were Samars.
He finished eating and lay back to stare into the canopy of trees, the moonlight filtering through them on to the glade below. It was peaceful and Daxel dozed. A voice, asking if he'd eaten, woke him. Startled, he mumbled an affirmative, sat, and nearly collided with the large figure bent over him.
"Get up, lad, get up. You're supposed to be with me. Where were you then?"
Recognising Ensore's voice, Daxel rubbed his eyes, took the hand held down to him and felt the strength in the hand that pulled him to his feet.
"They needed help with cooking. Then I must've gone to sleep."
"Very good," said the quiet voice. "But from now on you do as I say - always. Do you understand that?" Daxel looked up at Ensore uncertainly in the half-light, to find the forester stared hard back at him. He nodded. "Sarehl and I've talked about you. Your brother's asked me to look after you until he's better." Ensore ruffled the boy's curls in a kindly gesture. "Appalling prospect, isn't it?" chuckled the forester. Daxel tried to make out the man's expression.
"No," he answered shyly.
"You need a bath and your hair cut, child. As you are, someone could grab your long curly locks and do you a mischief. There's a second pallet in my tent for you. When you're not caring for your brother, you can start basic training with us. Do you wish to?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't call me sir. To have to live up to the expectations of such a title horrifies me. Call me Ensore." The forester couldn't see the rare grin on the boy's face, but he knew it was there.
Two hours later Daxel went over to the mattress Ensore told him was his and sank onto it, aware of aching feet and creeping tiredness. He put a hand to shorter hair. Nearly dry it feathered all over his head instead of hanging loose and lank. He pulled off boots, put them neatly at the end of the bed, quickly stripped then curled up, pulling the covers rather haphazardly over himself. Within minutes he was sound asleep, his cheek pillowed on one hand.
When Ensore finally entered the tent he held the lantern over the boy, but a little to one side, so as not to waken him. He stooped and pulled the blanket more securely over Daxel's shoulders, then satisfied all was well with the child, walked outside again.
The next morning Daxel was woken by a sharp shake on his shoulder and a curt command to be smart about it. He blinked, bleary-eyed, at his mentor. Ensore, fully dressed, stared down at him.
"It's well past dawn. Go and wash and be back here in five minutes."
Still half-asleep, Daxel yanked on his boots and grumbling to himself, pulled the thongs tight and flung on clothes. Outside it was only half-light so he couldn't see very clearly, only conscious that he was cold. He peered through the gloom to see the men make their way to the pool some yards distant from the camp and reluctantly followed. He burst into the tent with youthful enthusiasm, to find Ensore throwing his cloak over his shoulders. The forester paused. He looked over at Daxel with an intent expression.
"You're cold, lad."
It was a statement, not a question. Daxel nodded. Ensore shrugged himself out of the cloak and crossing to Daxel, threw it round the thin figure. Since Ensore wasn't just tall but was also well formed, the cloak wound right round the boy's body and was very warm.
"Thank you," Daxel murmured, "but you'll be cold instead of me."
"True," agreed Ensore, "but I can easily get another cloak. You can't. You'll keep it. I've no wish to nurse a sick child. Besides, you've no flesh on those tall lanky bones of yours. I'll survive." Ensore paused and eyed Daxel thoughtfully. "Dase, as I said, I've promised Sarehl I'll care for you, but there's not much time any of us can give to the young. There's too much to do, so many people to help, and so few hours in a day. Do you understand?" Daxel nodded. Ensore went on gently, "Can you tell me anything about your brother?" Ensore saw unspeakable anguish in eyes that fleetingly met his and thought he understood. "Not about the invasion of Ortok, child. You can't think about that, can you?"
Daxel couldn't speak. Ensore waited a few moments.
"How old is Sarehl?"
"Nearly twenty cycles."
"The healer says he thinks, from your brother's feverish bouts, that Sarehl had a wife – did he?" There was a nod. "And children?" A second nod followed. "And you are one of several siblings?" There was a third and final nod. Daxel crouched and curled into a ball. Ensore went down beside him and leaned across. "Can I offer you any comfort, child?"
His arms went round the thin, rigid shoulders and he eased the boy back so he could hold him, his voice soft and reassuring. Ensore didn't speak of family to Daxel again because it clearly caused the boy too much suffering. When Daxel was more composed and smiled wanly at Ensore, the forester helped the boy to his feet and pushed Daxel from the tent out towards the fire that began to glow. Men hunkered quietly in front of it, all of them looking up as Ensore and the boy approached.
Ensore stood Daxel still, saying calmly, "You should know these men, lad. To your right, is Kalor. He's a Cyrenic. Next to him's Dalmin, a Qaran, and beside him is Sache who's from Dakhilah. Arth's also a Qaran, but he's from the east where Dalmin comes from the west. This boy, my friends, is a Samar from Ortok, and, as you know, our patient is his elder brother. This lad answers to Dase."
Daxel felt a hand upraised to touch his.
"Be easy, lad," said a deep voice. "We're all in this together."
Realising it was the Cyrenic, Daxel looked shyly at the man who'd spoken, only to see that the forester's eyes sparkled and he had a fascinating smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Involuntarily, Daxel smiled back. Ensore helped himself to bread, mulled wine, and crouched close to the fire. He indicated Daxel do likewise.
"Eat your fill, boy," he was told. "You'll need it, not just because it's cold but for your growth. You seem to come from very tall stock, judging by the look of your brother."
They ate in silence, Daxel aware the forester didn't like casual conversation. There was mostly silence around the fire. It was very early morning and there'd been a sharp frost, the leaves with a white brittle overlay that crunched under foot, so none of the men looked either warm or comfortable. Ensore was soon on his feet and Daxel followed. The forester pointed at the farthest tent.
"Over there, boy, you'll find your brother. Go and take care of him." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Let me know if he has any special needs, won't you?" The boy nodded. He watched the forester stride away calling in a jovial way to someone through the gloom.
Cautiously, Daxel made his way to the tent, trying not to crackle leaves or sticks. He stooped at the entrance and then crept quietly across the ground. It
was very cold, but he was warm in Ensore's cloak. Through the dull light, he could just make out a form lying on a mattress, crossed to it and looked down, drawing in his breath. Sarehl lay on his back, his arms across his chest and his lower limbs, no longer twisted, stretched straight. His face was clean but sallow, the scab, so black and festeringly ugly, gone, which made the gash look so much less disfiguring. Daxel gave a small sob. His brother was warmly draped in heavy blankets overlaid with a cloak such as Daxel now wore.
Daxel sat beside his brother and waited, watching the face that looked calmer and not etched with pain, aware that probably he looked at his only surviving sibling, other than Brue. He was so watchful, he wasn't aware anyone had entered the tent, until he suddenly looked up to see a looming figure at the end of the mattress. As he went to leap defensively to his feet, a voice spoke quietly.
"I'm the camp healer, child. I answer to Kaleb." The healer saw the tense young figure relax and went on. "Ensore asked me to come. Is he still asleep?"
"Yes, I think so," Daxel whispered.
"No I'm not," came a murmur. "Is that you, Dase?" Daxel leaned over and touched Sarehl's hand. It was held firmly.
"I'm here, Sar. So's the healer."
Sarehl sighed. Kaleb pulled out a phial. Deliberately, he forced Sarehl's mouth open and poured the contents down his throat. Sarehl tried to close his mouth to make the liquid seep through his lips.
"No you don't," murmured the healer, keeping Sarehl's jaw locked. "Come now, lad, swallow," he coaxed. Sarehl relaxed and the fluid went down, its effect so sudden Sarehl's eyes opened calm and steady, to regard Kaleb with interest.
"What did you give me?" he whispered. "I feel nothing." Kaleb smiled down into the black eyes.
"You'll do for the moment, young lad." He stood and waited until he saw the eyes close, then turned his head to look down at the boy. "Ensore will be here shortly."
As noiselessly as he'd come, the healer was gone. Daxel couldn't recollect having seen him before and the healer's looks weren't Samar.
~~~
Sarehl's convalescence progressed steadily. There was no recurrence of the fever that so wracked him for weeks. Though he remained frail and weak, Ensore saw more life in the eyes and heard increasing strength in the deep, mellow voice. Nearly four weeks after Sarehl was brought to the camp, the forester had his first glimpse of how stubborn Sarehl could be. Medicine Kaleb gave him in the first two weeks, with such drastic effect, Sarehl now fought. Ensore noticed with amusement the struggle Sarehl put up and commented on this one morning when the healer came from his tent, an empty beaker in his hand.