Dragongirl (25 page)

“If he did,” Kindan explained, “he’d know better than to irritate a Weyrwoman in her own Weyr.”

“We haven’t moved him much,” Bekka said, deciding that everyone was spending far too much time on unimportant matters—like manners—and not enough on her patient. “His leg was threadscored, we’ve dressed it and changed the bandages.

“We haven’t given him fellis for the pain nor numbweed for the wound for fear of affecting his coma,” she continued briskly, “but I’m getting worried about keeping him in the same position for too long—he’ll get bedsores if nothing else.”

Lindorm glanced at her in surprise, then asked calmly, “So what do you recommend?”

Bekka frowned in irritation. “If I didn’t know any better, and I could be certain that he had no spinal injuries, I’d say that we should try to move him in his bedsheets into his pool to let him soak a bit.” She frowned. “It’d be difficult with the bandages—maybe we’d be best off removing them while he’s bathing—but I think the warm water would aid in circulation.”

“Who did you study under?” Cerra asked her, amazed.

Bekka shrugged. “My mother mostly.” She threw a hand toward Fiona, adding, “And Weyrwoman Fiona knows a lot about Thread injuries, human and dragon.”

“Your mother?” Lindorm asked, his eyes going to Seban.

“Merika, midwife at Fort,” Seban said.

“Have you considered apprenticing at the Healer Hall?” Cerra asked. She glanced up to Seban, adding, “She has the gift.”

“Actually,” Fiona chimed in, “she’s a place at the Healer Hall as soon as we can let her go.”

Bekka’s eyes lit up and she leaped into the air in excitement but, with an apologetic look toward T’mar, did not shout in glee.

The import of Fiona’s words were not lost on the two healers and they exchanged wary looks.

“I know something of spines,” Cerra said. She glanced up to Bekka approvingly. “I think if we follow apprentice Bekka’s suggestion, we could use the chance to examine T’mar’s spine in the water.”

“The only danger is in moving him,” Lindorm pointed out.

“I’ve got to move sometime,” T’mar said.

“If only to use the necessary,” Fiona said, surprised at herself for not considering that need sooner.

“He flew a Threadfall when he was injured, so he was dehydrated,” Seban said.

“And his metabolism was slowed by the coma,” Lindorm added.

“If he’s to get better, he’ll need to get mobile, won’t he?” Fiona asked, glancing down to give the bronze rider an encouraging smile.

“Let me check his neck,” Cerra said, glancing up to Lindorm for agreement. When he nodded, she turned to Bekka and beckoned to her.

“Kneel beside me,” she said. Bekka knelt and was surprised when Cerra turned to her, placing her hands on either side of her neck.

“Your fingers are smaller, more gentle, so you’ll go first,” she told the young girl.

“Feel how I’m moving my fingers? I’m probing for anything out of place, anything that doesn’t feel right.” Bekka’s eyes widened in brief panic, then she closed them, her expression intent as she absorbed Cerra’s movements, ready to replicate them.

“Now, you do it to me,” Cerra said. “That way I’ll know that you’ve got it right.”

“’Cos if I don’t, he could die?” Bekka asked, wide-eyed.

“It’s possible but not likely,” Lindorm spoke up.

“Perhaps—” Seban began, only to stop himself with a deep sigh.

“Most likely, with your small fingers, you’ll do no harm,” Cerra assured the young girl. “That’s why we’ll start with your hands.”

Bekka took a deep breath, glanced up to Seban for an instant, then placed her hands gently behind Cerra’s neck. “Okay.”

Cerra closed her eyes and said nothing as Bekka ran her fingers up her neck, fingering each veterbra in succession.

“There’s a spot here, just before the last bone,” Bekka said, opening her eyes.

Cerra raised an eyebrow in surprise, put her hands to her neck, and felt the spot before nodding. “Yes, there is,” she said, smiling at the youngster. “Good for you! It’s nothing, just a misalignment—” She twisted her head quickly and Bekka jumped as the apprentice’s neck gave a loud
pop!
“There, back in place again.” She smiled at Bekka and gestured for Lindorm to join them. “Lindorm, let her practice on you, too.”

The other healer was only too willing and, after Bekka repeated her examination, pronounced himself completely satisfied with her abilities.

“You’ll make a great healer,” he told her with a smile. Shyly, she smiled back. Then he nodded toward T’mar. “Are you ready for the examination now?”

“Are you ready, Weyrleader?” Bekka asked, standing up and bending down over the Weyrleader, poising her hands on either side of his neck.

“I’m in your hands,” T’mar said.

Bekka ignored the remark, instead closing her eyes and reaching her hands down to delicately touch his neck. She went over it twice, before standing up and turning to Cerra. “I can’t feel anything wrong.”

“Okay, let me,” Cerra said. Bekka was happy to move away, particularly after Kindan assured her, “Whenever possible, healers like to get a second opinion.”

And a third. After Cerra had finished her examination, she moved aside to let Lindorm repeat the examination.

“I don’t feel anything broken,” Lindorm said as he straightened up after his examination. He smiled at T’mar as he added, “I think it’s safe to move you, Weyrleader.”

“Good,” T’mar said a bit distractedly. “In which case, the soonest the best.”

Bekka and Fiona scurried aside, willing to let the larger and stronger adults take on the burden of moving the fully-grown Weyrleader in his bedsheets.

Fiona watched the proceeding carefully, noting how Lindorm had no hesitation when it came time for him to step—fully clothed—into the warm bath so that he and Kindan could be on the far end of T’mar’s makeshift stretcher.

“We’re going to just lower the whole thing into the water,” Lindorm said to T’mar. “You’ll float off.”

“That sounds quite relaxing,” T’mar said.

Bekka quickly lifted her skirts and, with a quick twist, knotted them higher up as she stepped into the pool, declaring, “I’ll keep your head above water.”

“Hold his shoulders,” Cerra said.

Soon the whole maneuver was completed, the bedsheets removed and T’mar, still in his clothes, was floating in the water. His features relaxed into a look of pleasure.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to remove your clothes to complete our examination,” Lindorm said.

“I’ll be glad to get them off,” T’mar said.

“Perhaps Bekka should be excused,” Lindorm said.

“Not if I’m going to be a healer,” Bekka said. Her expression changed and she glanced down to T’mar, “Unless you don’t want me, Weyrleader?”

T’mar smiled. “Were you the one who changed the bandages on my leg?”

“Yes,” Bekka replied offhandedly, not seeing any connection.

“She’s been watching mothers give birth since she could crawl,” Seban said by way of assurance.

“But if you’re going to be embarrassed, Weyrleader, I promise I won’t look,” Bekka said in assurance.

T’mar’s lip twitched. “Do what you must, healer.”

Bekka’s face flamed into a brilliant smile at the compliment.

Safely in the water, Cerra had Bekka repeat her performance, this time checking T’mar’s spine. First she and then Cerra and Lindorm pronounced themselves satisfied.

“But this is no guarantee, Weyrleader,” Lindorm warned. “Your head injury could have caused injury to your spine as well. It could be that if you move the wrong way, you’ll sever your spinal cord.”

“And if I do?”

“You’ll be paralyzed,” Bekka told him. “The spinal cord is the nerve that runs the length of your body.”

“Which would make it difficult to fly Thread,” T’mar said drolly.

“But not impossible,” Fiona said. T’mar glanced at her in surprise and exasperation before saying, “With you, I believe it could be done.”

“Be certain of it,” Fiona told him.

“Very well,” T’mar said, “with such assurances, I think we should give it a try.”

Cerra glanced at Lindorm, who turned to Bekka. “What would you suggest?”

“To see if he’s paralyzed?” Bekka asked. When the others nodded, she continued, “Well, he’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he couldn’t help twitching when I bandaged him,” she said. “If he was paralyzed, he wouldn’t have been able, would he?”

Lindorm exchanged a surprised look with Cerra, before shaking his head, “No, I suppose not.”

“And having said that,” Cerra continued, “the chances of his having a spinal injury are slight.”

“Because if he had, he would already have severed the cord?” Bekka guessed.

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Kindan said, glancing at T’mar’s face.

“So he’s all right?” Fiona said.

“He still had a major brain injury,” Lindorm reminded her. “That can cause long-term problems.”

“Memory loss, mood changes, and other such-like,” Fiona said, glancing toward Kindan. “That’s what Kindan said.”

“Harper Kindan has the right of it.”

“We should get him out of the water, before he turns into a giant wrinkle,” Bekka said.

It was not quite as difficult an operation as the job of getting him into the water, particularly once Cerra and Lindorm had satisfied themselves that T’mar could move all his limbs freely.

“Does this mean I can get some fellis for my head?” T’mar asked testily as he reclined in his bathrobe, with Fiona gently drying his hair by rolling it in a towel and squeezing it.

“I’d recommend against it,” Lindorm said. “I know you’re in a lot of pain, but with a head injury such as yours, until we know you’ve fully recovered, we don’t want to do anything that might dull your wits.”

“That way we’ll know if your wits are dulling from the blow,” Fiona said.

Cerra gave her a surprised look; Lindorm merely nodded in agreement.

“When can I get back to my duties?”

“Duties?” Bekka snorted, as she worked to bandage T’mar’s leg. “Your leg has to heal yet!” She shook her head. “A month at least, just for that.”

“Probably six weeks,” Fiona said, glancing at the rebandaged wound.

“You can try sitting up later this week,” Lindorm said. “You shouldn’t walk, though, without someone to help you.” Seeing T’mar’s frown, the healer explained, “You were in a coma; it’s doubtless that you have a concussion. That can leave you disoriented, even feeling like you’re walking on air—which is not recommended with stone floors.”

“When you do sit up, have a care for any signs of dizziness or muzziness,” Cerra warned.

“Muzziness?” Fiona repeated, glancing at T’mar. “Muzziness can be caused by head injury?”

“Often,” Lindorm said, his eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask, Weyrwoman?”

“Because Fiona and I—and many others—have been suffering from some sort of muzziness for the past several Turns,” T’mar said in answer.

“Like Tullea,” Kindan spoke up suddenly.

“That’s what M’tal said,” Fiona said. T’mar looked at her questioningly, so she said, “Tullea timed it back to High Reaches Weyr and was there for the last three Turns. That’s where Minith clutched and the sickness-immune hatchlings grew. Jeila’s Tolarth is one of them.”

“During which time at Benden Weyr,” Kindan picked up the tale, “Tullea was the most difficult, irascible, and vindictive”—he shot a glance at Lorana—“person I’d ever seen.”

“M’tal thinks we could be timing it, too?” T’mar asked. “Or is this a result of our timing it back to Igen?”

“If it is,” Fiona said, “then wouldn’t all the injured riders from the other Weyrs feel the same effects?”

“The Benden riders were tired but they recovered quickly,” Kindan said, glancing at Lorana for agreement. His brows furrowed as he turned back to Fiona. “Are you saying that you still feel this way?”

Fiona nodded.

“And it’s slowed you down?” Kindan asked. When she nodded once more, his lips twitched and he said, “I was hoping that you’d just calmed down.”

Fiona’s eyes flashed and she deliberately turned away from him. Catching sight of Tintoval, who had observed the entire proceedings without saying anything once—a feat Fiona recognized was beyond her own capabilities—she asked, nodding toward Bekka, “So, do you think she’ll do?”

“Cerra, Lindorm?” Tintoval said, deferring the question to them.

Lindorm smiled and Cerra ruffled Bekka’s hair affectionately.

“She’ll do,” the young woman said. She frowned thoughtfully before adding, “In fact, I’m worried that she’ll outshine some of the older apprentices.”

“And it may be a detriment having her father with her,” Lindorm added thoughtfully.

“Seban goes with her,” Fiona said, even as Bekka started to make her own protest. “Seban, how would you feel about apprenticing yourself to the Healer Hall?”

Seban took a step back in surprise.

“What were your plans?” Lorana asked the ex-dragonrider.

Seban furrowed his brow. “I suppose I hadn’t thought about it,” he said, glancing toward Bekka. “My only thought was to help my daughter, here.” He pursed his lips as he added with a sad look toward Bekka, “But that includes, one day, leaving you to your own devices.”

“Here’s my request,” Kindan said, glancing to Fiona briefly, then smiling at Lorana and grabbing her hand. “I ask that you go present yourself to the Halls—Harper and Healer—as an apprentice.” He smiled at an old memory, adding, “There has been a long tradition of weyrfolk finding a calling at the Halls.”

“You’re not thinking of Mikal?” Seban asked, surprised at the comparison. M’kal—ex-dragonrider—had become a legend among healers in his lifetime before the Plague.

“Yes,” Kindan said catching Seban’s eyes with his own. “I most certainly was.”

“You’re a natural teacher,” Lorana said. Seban gave her an incredulous look.

“She’s right,” Tintoval said. “Half of teaching is knowing when to be silent and”—she gestured to her position at the outside of their group—“observing.”

“If nothing else, your memories of Weyr life would be invaluable,” Kindan said.

It was Bekka who brought up Kindan’s unspoken meaning, as she stepped forward and slipped her hand into his, “And, Father, you know what it means to lose a dragon.”