“Aye.”
I fall into the vernacular of the culture without a thought and the moment I say it I regret it. I just agreed I might be a witch. What is wrong with me?
“I’ll speak to Alesoun.”
“You do that,” I say, holding my head high and clinging to my own bravado.
This is what I get for getting involved. I should have stayed with Alesoun making salves. Our staring match continues until I’m again struggling to not squirm when he finally breaks eye contact and walks away without a word. I’m breathless and my heart is racing.
I give myself a shake and go back to Alesoun to resume helping with the salves. She doesn’t say anything but then she doesn’t have to. The look she gives says it all. She told me not to get involved and I didn’t listen.
The rest of the day passes quickly. Alesoun and I set up a makeshift medical-slash-healing station where we tend to the wounds of pretty much everyone. The people of the clan seem to have a handle on how to do this. They self-triage and make sure the most wounded are tended to first with no effort from Alesoun or I.
In a surprising act of kindness Elsie brings food to us. It’s a thin stew but delicious if for no other reason I’m starving. We have worked through breakfast, not so much by any choice but because I don’t think there was a breakfast served. Listening to the people we treat as they come through, it’s clear the supplies that are on hand are not going to be enough.
No one was prepared for what happened. Mostly we treat cuts and bruises, but the first of the day there were sword wounds and more serious gashes along with a few broken bones. As the sun sets behind the cliff my exhaustion becomes overwhelming. The line of those waiting to be seen has diminished and there are only a few left.
The last man hobbling in is the one I set his leg for. He has a makeshift crutch that he leans heavily on and grunts with each step. One of the villagers has planted two torches close to our work area so we can see in the dusk and in that light my stomach clenches seeing his leg.
“Ach, it’s paining me a bit,” he says as he hobbles forward.
Alesoun frowns and looks over. Her eyebrows draw together, and she purses her lips.
“Let me help,” I say, hooking his arm over my shoulder.
We have a relatively flat boulder that has become our makeshift table. I help the old man onto it and adjust the blanket we’re using as a pillow to support his head. His breath is trembling and his eyes flutter but those are the only signs of the pain he’s in, which must be incredible.
Alesoun is looking at the leg from the opposite side of the table and I join her. The leg is infected, badly. The setting I did of the break didn’t hold and it looks like shards of bone have cut into the muscles around it. The skin below the break is gray and edging towards black. There is no doubt the blood flow has stopped.
Alesoun tsks and shakes her head. She’s seen this before too. She leans in close to whisper in my ear.
“He’ll not make it,” she says.
I frown. Necrosis is setting in and even my limited medical training knows that means amputation or she’s right. We don’t have the tools or techniques to amputate and I’m sure my stomach wouldn’t hold up to it anyway.
“I have an idea,” I whisper.
Less an idea than a dim ray of hope. What is life if there is no hope?
“What are you going to do?”
“Ach, what are you lasses discussing? How bad is it? If’n I’m done for then find me some whiskey so I might go to my maker with a song on my lips.”
“You’re not going yet,” I say confidently, meeting Alesoun’s steady gaze with one of my own.
I place my hands on his thigh directly above the break. As I close my fingers around the flesh the warmth of his body seeps into my hands. I close my eyes and imagine the vessels carrying blood along until I see it clearly in my head.
Slowly I move my hands lower, towards the break, and as I do I imagine what I would see inside the leg. I visualize the break working by feel. The old man grunts in pain. Once I’ve got the break fully imagined in my mind, I visualize it coming back together. The low trickle of power that flows through my body rises, passing from my limbs into the man’s leg.
“This is a bad idea, Quinn,” Alesoun whispers.
“Hush,” I say, not opening my eyes.
I can’t break my concentration. I don’t know how I’m doing this; I’m operating on instinct but it feels like it’s working. The man squirms and I tighten my grip on his leg. He grunts louder in obvious pain. The shards of bone shift. I feel it happening under my grip and in my mind’s eye they’re lining up. The natural order of the bones is asserting itself as they shift towards their expected position. They want to return to where they should be and I’m helping them. Somehow.
“Ach, damn, lass, but that hurts.”
There is an audible snap then the bone is set. Blood rushes back into the limb and the man groans, rolling side to side. I take my hands off him and open my eyes. The leg is coming back to life. He’s not free of danger yet; the necrosis will put poisons in his blood stream, but he at least has a chance and Alesoun has some herbs to combat the poisons.