Dragonsblood

EIGHT

Wind Blossom was surprised by the length of time they remained between. When the cold of between ended, it was abruptly replaced by a different chill. It was still night and rain was falling, lashing into them as Brianth dived around the Drum Tower toward the College.

“What happened?” Wind Blossom shouted over the noise of the wind.

“I took us back to last night, when I picked you up,” M’hall replied.

“You timed it?” Wind Blossom asked, her tone disapproving.

“I wasn’t thinking carefully enough and gave Brianth these coordinates,” he added ingenuously, concealing that he knew that he had already been here. “Here, let me help you down.”

Wind Blossom grabbed his hand and scrambled with a distinct lack of dignity down Brianth’s side. Just as she belatedly realized that she was far too short to jump to the ground without hurting herself, hands reached up to grab her.

It was Tieran. Wind Blossom schooled her pleasure at seeing him into a more neutral expression, saying, “Get help. The body must go to the cold room.”

“Body?” Tieran repeated. Before Wind Blossom could give him an explanation, a group of people rushed out from the College and grabbed the shrouded body from M’hall. Wind Blossom followed the group in and was inside the College, heading to the surgery, before a second boom announced the arrival of another dragon. Wind Blossom paused but realized that she was too tired and too stressed to concern herself with the second arrival. As she started forward again toward the surgery, a wave of fatigue swept through her and she wavered on her feet.

“Mother?” Emorra had turned at the sound of the second arriving dragon and had seen her mother falter. “Janir! Janir come quick, Wind Blossom has collapsed!”

M’hall shivered more from grief than from the cold of between as he lowered his mother’s body down to the waiting arms gathered below Brianth. He let out a sob as the group carried her body out of sight.

A boom heralded the arrival of his own younger self, timing it so as to bring Wind Blossom to his still-living mother.

“No!” M’hall yelled, tears coursing warmly down his cheeks. “Don’t do it!”

He knew it was pointless, that he couldn’t create a time paradox, but his grief was too great. If he didn’t go, then maybe Sorka would still be alive, he thought wishfully.

“Would you make a time paradox?” his younger self asked, eyes wide with horror.

M’hall tried to answer but couldn’t. Finally, he jumped back onto his dragon and cried, “Go then! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

Brianth gave one powerful leap and beat the air once with his wings before taking them between, to Benden Weyr and the comfort of Torene.

Wind Blossom found herself lying down on one of the infirmary’s beds with a blanket laid over her. A hand on her chest resisted her immediate effort to rise. Wind Blossom looked up and connected the hand to Emorra.

“I must get up-I have work to do,” she said, modulating her tone from one of outraged impatience to calmly clinical as she realized that she was too weak to bring off the former.

Quirking an eyebrow at her, Emorra reached to the bedside table and picked up a small steaming cup. Wind Blossom inhaled the fragrant odor of klah and suppressed a brief flash of regret that the tea plant had been lost in the mad dash to the Northern Continent.

“Drink this,” Emorra said, deftly slipping her other arm supportively under her mother’s back to help her sit up. “Janir’s coming.”

“You shouldn’t have disturbed him,” Wind Blossom replied unconvincingly. She sipped from the proffered cup. The klah was warm, not hot, but she could feel it rejuvenate her. She took the cup from Emorra’s hand, drained the contents, and pressed the cup back into her daughter’s still outstretched hand in one quick, surprising move. “There, all better.”

“Mother! You still need to rest. Your collapse shocked everyone.”

“Nonsense,” Wind Blossom said. “The sudden change from day to night triggered an attack of lethargy. I’m recovered,” she lied assuredly, swinging her legs to the side of the bed opposite Emorra, “and I have work to do.”

Wind Blossom encountered Janir entering the room just as she was leaving. “Where has Sorka’s body been placed?”

“In the cold room,” Janir replied. “But it can’t stay there much longer.”

“Have it prepped for autopsy, then,” Wind Blossom said, striding past him and causing him to turn around and match her stride. “I’ll be in the main surgery.”

“At this hour? Do you think that wise?”

“I have to work before rigor sets in, Janir,” Wind Blossom answered. “Can you do it?”

“Yes, but-”

“Fine. Five minutes?” Wind Blossom turned toward the surgery, leaving Janir speechless.

Wind Blossom roused the night-duty student to get her hot water with which to scrub. She forced herself to clean her hands and arms methodically, going the full five minutes customary for surgery on the living. As she did, she called forth one of the Eridani focusing mantras. She pulled her training around her like a cloak.

When she turned from the wash basin, Sorka’s body had already been placed on the operating table. Janir, and to Wind Blossom’s surprise, Emorra, were waiting for her. Janir was close to the operating table; Emorra had positioned herself deferentially at a distance, declaring her observer status.

“I can do this,” Janir offered, indicating the tray of biopsy equipment that he’d laid out.

Wind Blossom looked the gear over, picked up the most delicate of probes, and shook her head. “No.”

Deftly she performed her cerebral biopsy, content that only a magnifying glass could reveal her handiwork. She handed the sample to Janir. “Have that analyzed, please. I’m interested in any deviations in chemistry and cell structure, particularly any signs of advanced geriatric degradation.”

Janir took the sample reluctantly. “But-”

Wind Blossom shook her head. “I-I, Janir, I must honor her last request.” Emorra glanced between Janir and Wind Blossom but the outcome was foregone: With a slight nod of his head, Janir took the sample and left the room for the lab.

Wind Blossom turned to one of the surgical chests that lined the walls and selected a standard set of scalpels and clamps. She placed the set on the operating tray in place of the biopsy set she’d used earlier.

She moved to the right side of Sorka’s head and grasped a scalpel. For a long time she stood there, poised to re-create the gash on Sorka’s body that a watch-wher had inflicted on young Tieran.

Slowly, as though on their own, tears began to leak out of her eyes, first on the left side and then the right, creating long rivulets that dripped down her cheeks and off her jaw. Her hand spasmed and she flung the scalpel away. “I cannot, I cannot, I cannot!”

Emorra crossed the distance between them with long strides, paused hesitantly, then laid a tentative hand on her mother’s shoulder. As though released, Wind Blossom turned to her daughter with an inarticulate cry and buried her head against her.

“I cannot do it, Emorra, I cannot,” she whispered into the hollow of Emorra’s shoulder. “I dishonor our family, but I cannot do it.”

Emorra patted her mother gently in a way that she herself had never been patted and-she realized with a start-that Wind Blossom had never been patted by her mother, Kitti Ping.

“Hush, it’s all right. Of course you can’t. No one has a right to expect it of you,” she found herself saying. The words served double duty, reassuring not only her mother but Emorra herself.

Wind Blossom pushed back and looked into her daughter’s eyes. “But it was her last request!”

“It was only a request, mother,” Emorra answered. “Sorka only wished to ease your burdens, not add to them. Take it in the spirit it was given-”

A harsh sound broke through her words. Drumbeats, loud, fast, staccato.

Wind Blossom stood back and cocked her head, listening intently.

Emergency! Emergency! Emergency! The rules were emphatic-each repeat of an emergency gave increased urgency to the call. One more repeat and the drummer would be reporting a Pern-wide emergency.

Emergency! Medical alert. Wind flower-there was no code for “blossom”-bring medical bag immediately!

“It’s Tieran!” Emorra said.

Janir dove through the door in the same instant. “What’s all that drumming about?” he demanded.

“Janir, get my bag and meet me at the Drum Tower,” Wind Blossom ordered, bundling past him through the door.

“The Drum Tower? Wind Blossom, it’s pouring in buckets outside-you’ll drown!”

“Just do it, Janir,” Emorra said, following hard on Wind Blossom’s heels. “Tieran just sent a planet-wide emergency.”

Janir caught up with them halfway to the Drum Tower. As he passed them, Wind Blossom yelled, “Stay back! Give me my bag and stay back.”

“We can’t have both of you get infected,” Emorra explained as Janir looked questioningly at her.

With a decisive nod, Janir heaved to and crouched, lungs heaving in the downpour.

When did the boy get taller than me? Wind Blossom found herself wondering as she drew near the Drum Tower and Tieran, who was standing at the foot of the stairs. High above in the tower itself, she could make out the shape of another person peering down anxiously, all glows exposed to light up the scene. She nodded approvingly to herself-Tieran had remembered his quarantine protocols.

Tieran cupped something in his hands protectively. Beside him, on the ground, was the crumpled form of a fire-lizard.

“They fell from the sky,” he shouted down to them. “I couldn’t catch them both.”

It was quite dead. From its little mouth flowed some ugly green spittle.

“You were lucky to catch either on a night like this,” Emorra shouted back encouragingly.

Wind Blossom flung an outstretched arm in Emorra’s direction. “Stay where you are! This area is in quarantine.”

Emorra stopped, examined the situation for a moment, then stepped boldly forward, grabbing her mother’s outstretched arm.

“Silly girl! Why did you do that?” Wind Blossom hissed at her only child.

“You’ll need help,” Emorra answered firmly.

“But not at the loss of my only child,” Wind Blossom answered sadly. “Not with him in danger, too. Pern can’t lose both of you.”

Emorra arched an eyebrow. “One day you must explain that,” she said. “But not now. What can I do?”

Tieran heard them and looked relieved when he saw Wind Blossom’s medical bag.

“This one’s still alive,” he said, indicating the fire-lizard in his arms. “He needs antibiotics.”

“How can you know?” Wind Blossom demanded, stepping forward and kneeling down to examine the dead fire-lizard on the ground. She prodded it gently, got out a spatula from her medical bag, and gingerly sampled some of the green fluid leaking from the fire-lizard’s mouth.

“Get me a specimen bag,” she ordered Emorra curtly. When Emorra complied, Wind Blossom put the spatula in the bag.

“He’s wheezing-he’s got an infection,” Tieran said. “He needs antibiotics.”

“Which one?” Wind Blossom asked. “How can you know the right sort of antibiotic? What dosage level?”

Tieran gritted his teeth. “There is only one and you know it. The general-spectrum antibiotic. Maximum dosage for his body mass.”

“There isn’t that much of the general antibiotic left, Tieran,” Wind Blossom said, voice barely carrying over the wind and the rain. “If we use it and it’s not enough, the fire-lizard will die. And even if it lives, that antibiotic was being saved for your surgery.”

Tieran remained silent, focused on an internal debate.

When he spoke again, it was with a harsh certainty. “It’s the only chance he has, Wind Blossom.”