The Crowded Shadows (29 page)

“Are you with us now, sis? Can you keep count from here on?” Razi, cool and practical, wanting an honest answer, needing to get on. She nodded. He bent back to his work.

Razi cut down into the successive layers of Sólmundr’s muscle, Christopher slipping the silver retractors into place each time. Hallvor worked to keep the area free of blood. Wynter noted every single square of cloth used and then discarded, every single retractor placed into the deepening wound, and she marked them down on her slate.

Sólmundr’s frantic moaning grew to fill the tent, a continuous background noise, Ashkr’s steady voice its deep underscore. The sun moved overhead, slowly creeping down the walls of the tent, and burnished the top of Razi’s curls as the minutes trickled by. Wynter blinked sweat from her eyes—it was going to be another hot day.

Suddenly Razi paused and jerked his knife from the cavity of the incision “I’m through!” he said, his exclamation unusually loud in the ringing silence. At the same time Ashkr whispered something, his voice so quiet that it went unnoticed by them all.

Razi licked his lips and blinked around him, as if amazed he’d got this far. “I… I wonder if I may need more light,” he said. Wynter, Christopher and Hallvor peered down into the wound, trying to make sense of what they were looking at.

Ashkr reached a shaking hand behind him, his eyes on Sólmundr. “Tabiyb,” he said, and suddenly Wynter was aware of how loud their voices were, how still it was. Razi glanced up sharply. Wynter turned to look, and her heart jerked in her chest. Ashkr was staring at them, his tears bright in the streaming sunlight. “Tabiyb,” he pleaded. “Sólmundr, he… Sól
…”
He looked down at Sólmundr’s white, motionless face, and made a helpless sound. “
Sol!
” he cried.

The four of them sat, blank and staring for a moment, unable to process what they were looking at. Wynter looked down at Sólmundr’s hand, pinned to the ground just by her left knee. He had ceased his compulsive scrabbling at the ground, and his long, pale fingers lay motionless, the fingernails filthy from clutching at the dirt floor. “Oh,” she said.

Razi reached and pressed his bloody fingers to Sólmundr’s groin. He tilted his head, his lips parting, as if he was listening to some distant sound. He knelt quietly for a moment, the sun beating down on him from above. Then his eyes slipped back into focus.

“He has lost consciousness,” he said, “that is all. Sól is all right, Ashkr Put your hand on his chest. You feel him breathing?” Ashkr nodded, great tears shivering in his eyes, his attention focused on Razi as if his words and his words alone were keeping Sólmundr alive. “Keep your hand on his chest, Ashkr,” said Razi. “You will feel him breathe, you will feel his heart beating, and it will let you know that he is still with us.” Ashkr’s gaze dropped to the red wound in Sólmundr’s side. “
Ashkr!
” The navy eyes shot back to Razi’s face. “Keep looking at Sól’s face now. Look at Sól’s face, that’s it. He will revive soon enough, and it is your eyes I want him to see, not your ear.” He smiled gently at the distressed man, and Ashkr nodded, turning back to stare at Sólmundr’s face.

Razi turned back to his work. “Let us take advantage of this while we may,” he murmured. Without any pause, he carefully slid his hand deep into the wound in Sólmundr’s side. Christopher watched with calm, emotionless concentration as Razi groped about inside the body cavity. Wynter turned her head away, alarmed at how close she was to retching. “If you are going to be ill,” said Razi evenly, “please go outside.” Wynter sniffed and gritted her teeth. She was just turning to tell him that she was all right, when she realised that he was talking to Christopher. The young man had turned the most delicate shade of green and was hunched and bug-eyed, trying to control an unexpected bout of nausea. Wynter couldn’t help it she grinned. Christopher turned his eyes to her. Then he ballooned his cheeks in distress and turned his back on the scene, breathing deeply to get himself under control.

Hallvor caught Wynter’s eyes and they exchanged a smile.

“Chris,” said Razi, “retractor.” Christopher swung back, still swallowing repeatedly, and slid two more retractors into place. Wynter noted them on her slate. Razi’s face screwed up with concentration. “Shit,” he said. “I can’t
…”
he growled in frustration. He was rooting about inside Sólmundr, hunting blindly. “Where are you?” he grunted. “Where are you, you whoreson, pox-ridden, bull’s pizzle of a misbegotten cur’s abortion.”

“
Jesu!
Brother!” said Wynter, startled. Even Christopher was given a moment’s appreciative pause at Razi’s atrocious language.

Razi lifted angry brown eyes to them and hissed impatiently as he felt about in Sólmundr’s organs. Slowly his face began to grow desperate. “Curse you,” he muttered. “All right then, I shall try the other side of… Oh!… hah!” His face brightened in a moment of pure, childlike delight. “There you are, you scabrous, putrescent
…”
Sólmundr jerked suddenly and Razi froze, his eyes snapping to the man’s face. Sólmundr made a grating noise and tried to arch against his tight bonds. “Shit,” said Razi. Ashkr briefly met his eyes, then he leaned to peer into his friend’s now horribly alert face.

“Hallvor,” said Razi, bending once more to his work. “
Hallvor!
I cannot see, God curse it! Good woman, that’s it, just keep with me now. We’re almost done here. More retractors, Chris.”

Sólmundr’s hands starfished up against the leather straps and his entire body spasmed. He yelled suddenly, in Hadrish, “
No! Oh, no!
” Then he began to babble in Merron. Wynter did not need to understand his words to know that he was pleading for them to stop.

“Two more swabs, girly,” murmured Christopher and Wynter made the note. She forced her eyes back to the operation. Razi’s fingers worked quick as a lace-makers, a new urgency to his movements. He took his scissors to some slithering thing in his hand and snipped. Sólmundr bucked, the muscles in his legs and arms straining, and he keened a high animal sound. “All right, friend,” murmured Razi, tossing something into a bowl by his side. “All right. We are almost done. Almost done.”

Wynter glanced up. Ashkr was leaning over Sólmundr’s chest, blocking his view of the operation. He had taken his friend’s face between his hands and was forcing him to look into his own, smiling all the time and talking. But Sólmundr had reached the end of his self control and his face was a rigid mask of terror. Though he kept his eyes set fixedly on Ashkr’s face, Wynter doubted that Sólmundr was aware of anything but agony, and his desire that it would stop.

“I am setting your organs back in place now, friend,” said Razi, his deep voice warm and soothing. “I must ensure that they are not twisted or
…”
he stopped talking, all his concentration on his work, and he once again slipped his hand into the wound. Sólmundr’s hand knotted to a fist by Wynter’s knee. His eyes rolled up and he released a scream so agonised that it was nothing more than a long hiss of air. Razi’s demeanour did not change. He continued to speak in that same deep tone and feel about inside the man’s stomach. Then he withdrew his hand and looked at Hallvor. “Clean water,” he said. As he washed his hands, he glanced at Christopher. “Needle and gut, Chris.” Christopher bent to prepare the needle. Razi, soaping his hands and rinsing them, glanced at Wynter. “Count those swabs now. Then pay attention and mark off each retractor as it is removed.” As soon as his hands were free of slime, Razi took the needle, and, without pause for breath, began the laborious procedure of sewing Sólmundr’s successive layers of muscle back together.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Razi snipped the thread on the last stitch and sat back on his heels, his eyes wide. “We
…”
he said. “We are done.” He ran his bloody hands through his hair and laughed shakily. “We are done!” he said, and Wynter found herself grinning from ear to ear. Razi looked at Christopher, his grin luminous. “We are done, Chris!”

Christopher nodded, smiling gently.

Razi leant to look down into Sólmundr’s chalky face. “We are done, Sólmundr. It is over.” Sólmundr rolled bloodshot, swollen eyes to him. “We are
done
, friend, you stuck it out to the end.” Razi smiled and put a bloody hand on the man’s trembling shoulder. “Such bravery,” he said. “I am in awe. I have never seen the like.” Sólmundr swallowed and his eyes slid shut.

Hallvor staggered to her feet, groaning and rubbing her calves. She was calling out before she even ducked beneath the tent flap, and whatever she said was greeted with whoops and screams and the frantic baying of hounds. Christopher tilted his head and shut his eyes, weary now, listening to the happy shouting outside. Wynter reached for his hand, and their bloody fingers entwined.

“Can we set loose Sól now, Tabiyb?” asked Ashkr softly. “Can we unbind him and put him in bed?”

Razi watched as Sólmundr’s breathing evened out and he slipped into a deep, exhausted sleep. “Aye,” he said. He laid his hand on Sólmundr’s steadily breathing chest, and smiled at the feel of his heart beating strong under his palm. “Aye,” he said again. “I think that would be just fine.”

R
azi helped Ashkr to remove the leather straps while Christopher and Wynter cleaned Sólmundr’s stomach and hands and bandaged his wound. Then, between the four of them, they lifted Sólmundr into the fragrant nest of furs that he shared with Ashkr.

Ashkr, silent now and exhausted, took off his boots and his tunic and crawled up the far side of the bed. Carefully, he fixed the covers up around Sólmundr’s chest and took his hand. He looked down on his sleeping friend for a moment, his face tender, then lay down on the furs beside him, watching Sólmundr as he slept. Slowly, Ashkr’s eyes slipped closed, and the two men lay peacefully side by side, their lightly clasped hands rising and falling with the motion of Sólmundr’s steady breathing.

Razi, standing in the centre of the tent, watched them from the corner of his eye. “Sólmundr will not be fit to travel for quite a while, Ashkr.” Ashkr’s eyes drifted open and he regarded Razi expressionlessly. “If there is any urgency to your purpose here, I’m afraid it will have to wait at least a fortnight.”

The corner of Ashkr’s mouth twitched. “Sól and me, we not go no further than here, Tabiyb. You not worry.”

Razi frowned in confusion and he traded a worried glance with Wynter.
The Merron were going no further?
Had they misjudged this entire situation?

“You not worry,” whispered Ashkr softly, staring at Sólmundr with surprising sadness. He squeezed his friend’s slack hand. Then his eyes slid shut and his handsome face relaxed into sleep.

Razi looked questioningly at Christopher. The pale young man was regarding Ashkr with a grim mixture of sympathy and anger. After a moment, he glanced at Razi, shook his head with what looked like despair and resumed tossing the bloody equipment into the cauldron.

A strange, slithering movement overhead caused them to flinch and look up in alarm. The hides were being drawn back into place over the top of the tent. Unseen hands hauled on the guide ropes and, as they watched, the hides closed over the support poles and the sunlight was blotted out.

By the time they had gathered Razi’s things and ducked out into the fresh air, exhaustion had, once more, settled on them all. The sunlight and heat was such a shock that it almost sent Wynter staggering. She took a step back and shaded her eyes as people advanced in a rush of sound and colour. Razi’s equipment was taken from his numb hands and brought to the fire for boiling. Hallvor came up, drying her arms and talking excitedly to Embla who was translating for her.

“Hallvor wish to speak to you, Tabiyb. She want to know why not you burn wounds close? She say you sew together, like shirt, the men, Wari and Sól alike. She wonder
…”
Embla tilted her head quizzically, and Wynter saw a tender understanding blossom on her face. She murmured something to Hallvor, who paused in her gesturing and gabbled questions and looked for the first time at Razi. He was oblivious to everything, blinking up at the sun and swaying on his feet, his face a blank and happy mask. The healer smiled, and turned away, gesturing as if to say
later
.

Embla put her hand on Razi’s arm, and he started, as if noticing, her for the first time. “Embla,” he said, surprised.

“Aye, Tabiyb.” Embla gently pushed the curls back from Razi’s blood-stained face. “Come.” She led him, unresisting, to the table where their wash kits lay and bowls of fresh water steamed gently in the morning light. “We have took your other things from your bags—clothes, cloaks, blankets. We have washed from them the fire smell. They will be dry soon; you and your family can have clean things to wear, yes?”

She glanced back at Wynter, gesturing warmly that she should follow. Wynter nodded and looked around for Christopher. He was staggering away through the crowd, heading for the river. People were patting him on the back and saying things to him, and he was shrugging them off and lifting his hand to deflect their questions with weary irritation. Wynter frowned after him for a moment, then turned back to the others.

Razi stood by the wash table like a lost child, dazed with exhaustion. As Wynter made her way towards him, Embla pushed down on his shoulders until he was sitting on a little folding stool, his elbows on his knees. She took one of the copper bowls of water and began lathering soap onto a cloth. Then she knelt between Razi’s splayed legs, took his hand, and began slowly washing his fingers and his palm free of blood. Razi’s eyes roamed Embla’s face, and Wynter saw the rest of the world fade away for him.