Healers Page 13

  Daussie wondered if there was any way to signal the woman to shut up. How could she be talking about healing when she knew how dangerous it was in Realth? Then Mrs. Lee said, “And they don’t even charge for their healings! So it’s not against the law!”

  From her reading of the law posted at the gate, Daussie wasn’t sure not charging protected them completely. She wished the woman wouldn’t talk about it. However, Mrs. Lee continued, “They said an ear infection could make someone go deaf, so I’ve brought Abel Miller here,” she waved at an old man behind her, “whose hearing has been going bad.” She lifted an eyebrow, “Maybe he’s got an ear infection?”

  Even worse, Daussie thought, she’s bringing more patients! And of course, Mom won’t refuse to treat them if there’s anything at all we could do.

  The young mother bought herself and her child each a pizza, then paid for them with silvers instead of coppers. When Daussie tried to give the silvers back, the young woman bowed her head and said in an emotion laden voice, “Please take them. These pizzas,” her voice broke, “are the most wonderful things I or my daughter have ever experienced. I… I only wish we could afford to pay for them with coins of gold.”

  Daussie looked up to see tears running down the woman’s face. Reaching across the counter, she gave the young woman a hug and simply said, “Thank you.” As she wiped at her own eyes, Daussie precipitously felt the full power of the emotions that brought her own mother to take the risks she did to help people.

  Mrs. Lee was next, and Daussie saw she also had tears in her eyes. They hugged, then Mrs. Lee said, “Yes… These pizzas are without a doubt the finest food in all of the world.” She ordered a pizza for herself and for the older man who was with her.

  A little while later the lunch line had died down to only one or two customers. Mrs. Lee returned with the old man and asked if she could talk to Eva. Eva, however had already seen her and came to the front of the booth, guiding Mrs. Lee and the man into the back.

  A few minutes later, Kazy came out and said, “Your mom wants you in the back.” She replaced Daussie at the counter.

  When Eva saw Daussie coming she stood up and came to meet her. Whispering, she said, “His ears are impacted with earwax. Tarc tried to pull it out with his ghost, but it caused a lot of pain. At first we were going to have Tarc block the man’s nerves, but then Tarc pointed out you could simply punch little pieces of it out until it was gone and we wouldn’t have to make his entire face numb.”

  “Earwax?” Daussie giggled, “Really? Gross.”

  Eva shrugged, “It can get pretty hard and cause real problems in some older people. You’re right, it is kind of gross, but it’s not really a laughing matter for Mr. Miller.”

  Daussie bit her lip and tried to control her smile, “You’re right, sorry.”

  Her mother gave her an evil grin and lifted an eyebrow, “It could be worse. He could need your help with constipation.”

  “Ooh! Mom! That’s so gross. Sometimes you’re really disgusting, you know?”

  The evil grin returned, “A lot of the things that go wrong with people are gross. We will have someone come to us with constipation someday, you know?”

  “And, we’ll give them a soap suppository! I am not transporting their shit out of them one tiny pellet at a time!”

  Eva laughed, “Okay, okay. I’m proud of you for knowing a piece of soap can fix constipation. But come on back and transport a little earwax for Mr. Miller, okay?

  Daussie rolled her eyes, but followed her mother back to the man.

  A few minutes later the old man’s eyes widened, “I… I can hear you talking! I mean… I could hear you talking before, but you were really hard to understand! Now I can understand you!”

  Mrs. Lee winked at him, “We’ll have to stop saying such bad things about you, Abel.”

  He gave her a huge hug, “Say what you like! I don’t care… I can hear!” He went around and hugged everyone else as well.

  Daussie shook her head. It was hard to believe a lump of earwax could make such a difference in someone’s life. Or that removing it could bring such ecstasy.

  ***

  Tarc led their horse Blackie back from the wood seller in the forest. A couple of big bundles of wood strapped on each side and connected over the horse’s back let him carry far more than he usually did. He did wish for the old wagon they’d had back in Walterston. Even this way he had to make a lot more trips.

  Several paces in front of him, Sam stepped out from behind a tree.

  Crap!

  Sam sneered, “So, boy, Lizeth isn’t here to protect you now. Did you get anybody to give you any lessons?”

  Uncertain of what to do, Tarc looked at Sam’s feet and shook his head.

  “So, you want me to just go ahead and kick your ass now? Or, do you want a little more time to get a lesson or two?”

  “Neither,” Tarc said sullenly.

  Sam took two strides and was back inside Tarc’s personal space. He sniffed, “Gods, you just reek of fear. What a pussy! You got a load of shit in your pants?”

  Tarc shook his head. He desperately wanted to reach out with his ghost, but he’d promised himself to be nonviolent unless the situation was life-threatening…

  Sam shoved him. He dropped Blackie’s reins as he stumbled back. The horse turned to eye him curiously.

  Sam stalked after him, “Come on pussy. Don’t you have any spine?” He stepped up within inches of Tarc again. “You thinkin’ you’re going to go tell Mommy Lizeth again?”

  Tarc shook his head.

  Sam shoved again.

  Tarc was expecting it this time and caught himself with less of a stumble.

  Sam stepped up close to Tarc again, his breath hot on Tarc’s face. “Jeez, you’re so pitiful that kicking your ass would just be pointless.” He paused, but even with his eyes downcast Tarc could see Sam’s jaw working. Finally Sam said, “You bein’ such a pussy and all, I’m gonna let you off this time.” He stepped back, but then his hand reached out, grabbed the front of Tarc’s shirt and jerked Tarc so close Sam’s lips were against his ear. “But I’d better not find you sniffing around my girl again.” He shoved Tarc one more time, turned and stalked away.

  Tarc stood, heart pounding, knees trembling and knife holsters itching between his shoulder blades. When he’d calmed, he walked over, picked up Blackie’s reins and continued his way back to camp.

  Even if Tarc stayed away from Lizeth, there was a good chance Lizeth would approach him. Besides, he didn’t want to stay away from Lizeth.

  He wondered if he would be able to restrain himself if Sam did something like this again. Even knowing he could stop Sam if he needed to, it was hard to take the man’s attitude and aggression.

  Tarc wondered if an aggressive attitude was a good thing for a guard to have.

  ***

  Tarc helped Daum lift a barrel that had finished fermenting so it could be siphoned into Daum’s still. “Dad?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Are you worried about Mom doing all this healing, here where it’s forbidden?”

  “Uh-huh.” Daum said as he passed the hose into the barrel.

  Tarc frowned; the sun had gone down a couple of hours ago so it was hard to see Daum’s face. “Are you gonna tell her to stop?”

  Daum laughed, “Tell her to stop healing people?!”

  “Well, yeah.”

  Chuckling Daum said, “And what do you think she’d say, if I told her to stop?”

  Tarc felt a tightness in his face as his lips drew into an involuntary grin, “Tell you to mind your own business.”

  “Yep. Get me some wood so I can start a fire under the still.”

  Tarc returned with a small armload, “But aren’t you the boss?”

  “Hah! I guess a lot of families run that way. We’re more of a democracy here in the Hyllis family.”

  Tarc snorted, “When’s the last time you asked me or Daussie for a vote?”

  “Well, we asked y
ou what you thought about leaving Walterston.”

  Tarc thought back to that day. The day seemed forever ago, though it had only been a few weeks. He realized his parents had asked their opinions. He lifted his chin, “What you do in case of a tie vote?”

  “Usually the most passionate one wins. Who’s the most passionate one about healing?”

  Tarc snorted, “Mom.”

  “There you go.”

  In the dark behind him, Tarc heard someone say, “That’s Mr. Hyllis there.”

  A familiar voice said, “Thank you.” Mrs. Lee must have turned her face towards them then, because her voice came through more clearly when she said, “Mr. Hyllis? Is your wife nearby?”

  Tarc thought, speak of healing! He turned and looked. Even in the dim light he could see the concerned look on Mrs. Lee’s face. Behind her two men carried someone on a litter between them. Daum said, “Tarc, go have a look at the patient. I’ll find your mom.”

  Tarc turned and started towards the litter. The two men were crouching to set it on the ground. He said, “Wait, bring it over here near the wagon. We have lamps there.”

  Wordlessly, they stood back up and carried the litter over to the wagon. Tarc walked alongside. His ghost told him the patient was a young man, hot with fever. He seemed to be struggling to breathe so Tarc focused on the man’s lungs. The lower lobes of the right lung were filled with fluid.

  Pneumonia!

  This guy was almost certainly going to die!

  And, if he died here, the Hyllises would probably get blamed for it.

  Selfishly, Tarc wondered if there was some way to send them away before Eva got back.

  He sighed. While he waited for Eva to come, he sent his ghost through the rest of the young man, looking for anything else wrong. The problem seemed to be entirely in the lungs. He looked up at Mrs. Lee, “How long has he been sick?”

  “I don’t know; he’s a neighbor.” She pointed to the man who’d been carrying the front of the stretcher. “This is his father, Mr. Spencer, he can tell you.”

  The man looked uncomfortable. Probably one of the many people who didn’t trust healers. After a moment though, he shrugged and said “A few days. First he was just coughing, then came the fever. It’s only this afternoon he’s had trouble breathing. His mother insisted we bring him to Mrs. Lee’s healer.”

  Bemused to find his mother was now “possessed” by Mrs. Lee, Tarc asked, “Has anyone else had this problem?”

  The man shrugged, “His grandmother. Paul had been taking care of her, but she died yesterday.”

  Tarc assumed the young man’s name was Paul, and that it had been his maternal grandmother that had died, since the father didn’t seem all that broken up about it.

  Tarc squeezed a small area of Paul’s lung, pushing a little bit of the fluid out of it. The fluid moved out of the alveolar air sacs and into the small bronchi. The young man started coughing and Tarc wondered whether he’d just made him worse.

  Eva appeared at Tarc’s shoulder, “What’s he sick with?”

  Tarc said quietly, “I think it’s pneumonia. The lower lobes of his right lung are mostly full of fluid.”

  Eva said nothing as her ghost explored the young man. After a minute or two, she replied as quietly as Tarc had spoken to her. “You’re right. Have you had any ideas for treating him? His chances are pretty slim if we can’t think of anything to do.”

  “I tried squeezing the fluid out of a small area, but as it moved out into the little bronchi, he started coughing. I’m afraid that’ll just make him worse?”

  “Daussie’s on her way,” Eva said, “I suppose she could remove the fluid as little tiny droplets, but it would take thousands and thousands of her transports.”

  Tarc shook his head grimly, “I doubt Daussie can do that many transports. We’ve got to figure out how to make antibiotics!”

  Eva sighed, “Besides, infection is causing the fluid. Just removing the fluid doesn’t do much about the infection. It only removes the bacteria that’re floating in that particular drop of fluid.”

  Tarc found himself defending the idea of fluid removal. “But, it’s the fluid that makes it so he can’t breathe. If we remove the fluid so he can breathe, eventually his body’s immune system will kill off the infection.”

  “Maybe,” Eva said dubiously. “I’ll tell the family we’ll do what we can, but that there isn’t a whole lot we can do for this condition.” She turned and stepped towards Mr. Spencer and Mrs. Lee. Tarc could only hear a few words like, “pneumonia,” and, “not much we can do.”

  Daussie arrived behind him. He whispered to her, “This guy’s got pneumonia. We’re hoping to figure out a way to get some of the fluid out of his lungs so he can breathe better.”

  Daussie jerked a nod and dropped to her knees beside the young man.

  After a few moments, she stood back up and leaned towards Tarc’s ear. Sounding frightened, she said, “This is really bad! I tried transporting the fluid out of a few alveoli, and I can do it, but there must be millions of them. I could never do enough to make a difference!”

  “What if I squeezed the fluid up into the bigger bronchi?”

  Daussie’s eyes widened, “You’re thinking you’d just squish a section of the lung? What if it never reinflated?!”

  Tarc shrugged, “Then we wouldn’t squish any other sections. You got any better ideas?”

  Eva stepped up at that point, “The father wants us to try whatever we can. He at least says he understands we’re not likely to be successful.” She turned to her daughter, “Do you think you can move some of the fluid out?”

  Daussie turned her eyes on her mother, then explained the issue with the millions of alveoli. She continued, “Tarc thinks he can just squeeze little segments of the lung to push the fluid into the bigger bronchi.” She looked back up at their patient, “But even transporting it in bigger chunks, it would be a lot for me to transport.”

  Eva said, “Once he gets it into the bronchi, maybe the patient will cough it out himself.”

  Sounding a little excited, Tarc said, “Oh, once it’s in the bronchi, I can push it along with my ghost to help him cough it out!”

  Eva said, “If we raise the foot of the litter, gravity will help the fluid flow from those lower lobes up towards his throat.” She looked thoughtful for a minute, then said, “You guys find something to prop the foot of the litter up on. I’m going to go explain to them that what we’re going to do will make him cough a lot. Otherwise they’ll think we’re just killing him outright.”

  Daum helped them move the litter so the foot of it was propped up on the tongue of their little wagon. Tarc knelt on the patient’s left and Daussie on the right. They had decided Daussie should transport any big globs she could so the patient didn’t have to cough it all out. She held a little jar to transport it into. She would also gently pat the young man’s chest so Mr. Spencer, the father, and Mrs. Lee would see some reason for the patient’s coughing episodes.

  Eva knelt at the patient’s head with some rags for the patient cough into. They didn’t want him spraying infectious sputum everywhere.

  Daussie started patting and, with trepidation, Tarc chose a small segment of lung and squeezed it. The fluid poured from the alveoli, to the tiny bronchioles, to the larger and larger bronchi. From tiny droplets it consolidated into a steady flow in the bigger tubes.

  Paul, the patient, immediately began coughing, but Tarc mercilessly kept pushing the fluid along into bigger bronchi. He felt small segments of it disappear as Daussie transported it away. Eventually the patient’s own systems began helping move the fluid as he coughed it out.

  Eva carefully caught the disgusting phlegm Paul coughed out. She dropped the rag she’d kept over his face into a shallow pan of Daum’s moonshine. She used a second, moonshine-soaked rag to wipe his face and her own hands.

  They all sat, waiting to see what would happen to the segment of lung Tarc had squeezed. To their immense relief, after a few moments
areas of it seemed to pop back open, pulling air back into alveoli which had formerly been filled with fluid.

  Tarc blinked a couple of times on a sudden realization that his ghost should be able to help re-expand the segment of lung. He gave a few tentative tugs on areas that hadn’t really expanded by themselves and was gratified to feel them fill with air.

  They gave Paul a minute or two to rest from his paroxysm of coughing, then Tarc squeezed out a much bigger section.

  They decided the second segment had been too large. It took so long for the fluid to flow out of the bigger section that Paul coughed until he was exhausted. Eva said, “I think you should do intermediate sized segments from here on out. He’s going to need to rest a long time after that one.”

  The evening passed slowly as Tarc milked segment after segment of Paul’s lungs free of fluid. Paul’s mother showed up and hung about on tenterhooks, alternating between depression over her mother’s death and fear for her son.

  Eventually, it became obvious Paul was breathing better, however, he seemed to be getting really tired. Eventually, he begged to be allowed to sleep. The Hyllises were ready to go to sleep themselves, though Tarc was glad the breaks they’d taken to let Paul rest had been long enough that Tarc had only developed mild headaches despite the extended use of his ghost.

  In the morning, Paul looked quite a bit better and his father was pleased. However, Tarc was dismayed to find fluid reaccumulating in areas of lung he’d cleared the night before.

  Paul begged not to have to go through any more of the paroxysms of coughing he’d gone through the night before. Tarc caught Eva to one side, “What do we do when a patient refuses treatment that would save his life?”

  Eva shrugged sadly, “Let him die. Suppose you were in such pain you would rather die than live? Would you want someone to force you to stay alive?”

  “But… but Paul will get better if we just get him through this! I think… won’t he?”