Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (59 page)

“Oh
Jeffrey!” was all she could get out between the kisses.

Jeff
held Zimma at arm’s length just to admire her. It looked like she had been
crying.

“What
has happened, love?”

“It
is Ostfel. He and father were attacked far to the east, and an arrow struck
Ostfel. Belstan and I had returned from the West only days before they entered
the city. Carl cannot say whether Ostfel will live or not. He is so ill!”

Retrieving
Cynic, Jeff swung Zimma up behind. Cynic felt the urgency and went as fast as
he dared. Carl was slumped in a chair when they entered the infirmary. He was
unshaven, appeared exhausted, and new worry lines creased his forehead. He
jumped up at the sight of Jeff.

“Thank
God. At least you’re in one piece.”

“How
bad is it?”

“I’ll
show you.”

Zimma
remained with her father and the men hurried to see Ostfel.

“The
arrow struck him in the back about four inches from the spine. When Ostfel fell
backward, the arrow shaft broke off flush with the skin. I can’t tell how deep
it penetrated. At least he isn’t coughing up blood, even though I think his
lung is collapsed.”

“Can
you cut the arrow out?”

Carl
stopped to consider an answer. “I’m a biologist and chemist, Jeff, not a
surgeon. I’ve studied human anatomy, but only from books and holographs.
Ostfel’s wound scares the holy shit out of me. Major blood vessels, lungs,
heart—they’re all right there. If only I knew how and where they fit together!”
Carl took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Yes, I can cut it out. Just don’t
know what else I’m going to cut in the process.”

“But
you would have operated anyway, given the opportunity. What else is wrong?”

“Thanks
for the confidence, Jeff, and yes I would have. The trip back nearly killed
Ostfel, and I couldn’t risk it until he was rested. Now his temperature’s so
high he’s having periods of delirium.”

“The
wounds infected.”

“Badly.
If the arrow doesn’t kill him, the infection probably will. It’s the left lung,
Jeff. If the arrowhead penetrated deep, it may be close to the heart.”

“Oh,
boy.”

Throwing
his arms out in resignation, Carl resumed walking. “Doesn’t matter, though. I’m
going to have to operate whether I like it or not. If only I knew more human
anatomy, not to mention we’re not even sure these folks are put together like
we are.”

They
entered the room that served as an inpatient ward. Ostfel appeared emaciated,
was pale, and beads of sweat trickled down his face. Jeff noticed his breathing
was shallow and rapid. Carl picked up Ostfel’s wrist.

“His
pulse rate has increased again—It’s running around 120—and he’s comatose. Jeff,
we’ve got to operate, and now! If we don’t, he won’t last another day.”

 
“All right, let’s do it.”

“I
have to speak with Rogelf first. There really are no options, but this has to
be his decision.”

Jeff
and several assistants were standing by with a stretcher when Carl returned.

“We’re
on.”

They
moved Ostfel to the operating room, a roomy cubicle with a stout plank table
set in the middle. Buckets and side stands were arranged at the head. Deep
grooves had been cut in the table to channel blood into the buckets. Jeff was
impressed. The room had been whitewashed, the brick floor was absolutely clean,
and the table looked like it had been bleached.

They
were strapping Ostfel to the table with leather restraints when Jeff looked at
Carl with an embarrassed expression.

“Boy,
am I dumb. My backpack is over at Ethbar’s place, and I think there are some
antibiotic pills in that little first aid kit I carry. Would that help?”

Carl
dropped the leather strap he was cinching tight and looked at Jeff with
something like hope in his eyes.

“Help?
Those little pills might just save the day. I suspect bacteria are the same no
matter what world you’re on, but the ones here won’t have developed
resistance.”

Zimma
hurried into the room at Carl’s urgent call, and was gone as quickly when she
had directions on where to find the backpack. Carl and Jeff began washing up.

When
she returned Carl had succeeded in exposing the base of the bone arrowhead,
which was lodged next to a rib. Zimma blocked out the sound of blood plunking
into the buckets and peered over Jeff’s shoulder to get a better look. Carl had
made his incision, a clean four-inch cut, along the line suggested by the
affected rib and directly over the penetration.

The
blood-soaked toweling was bad enough, Zimma decided, but the arrow shaft stub
seemed to be growing from her brother’s back. It was obscene.

Working
the razor-sharp knife deeper, Carl flinched when he felt it grate against the
arrowhead. He bent lower in order to see better. Lanterns suspended from the
ceiling ringed the table, but it was yellow light illuminating a red field.
Carl probed the wound with a finger. He looked up, his face gleaming with sweat
and contorted with doubt.

“Can’t
go any deeper unless I have no other choice. I think I just felt the pleura,
the chest-cavity lining. If it is and I go deeper, I’ll be into the chest
cavity or the lung itself and really spread the infection or cut a major
vessel.”

Jeff
cleaned blood and pus from the incision. “I can see most of the arrowhead.
That’s a good sign. Let’s see if it’ll come, right?”

“I
tried that once, but it wouldn’t budge. Maybe it will now. Here, give me your
hand. Now the other one.” Carl placed Jeff’s fingers on either side of the
incision and had him spread the edges apart. “Good. I want you to hold it just
like that.” Zimma lifted a lantern from its hook and brought it as close as she
dared.

“Thanks,
babe. That really helps.”

Carl
fished pliers from an alcohol bath. Getting a grip on the arrow shaft, he
leaned back and pulled. A piece of the wooden shaft broke off with a sodden
snap.

“Shit!
Knew I shouldn’t have done that!” Slinging his head to get the sweat out of his
eyes, Carl took a grip on the arrowhead itself. “Now move, you son of a bitch!”
Carl gritted his teeth and heaved. Ostfel surged against the straps and let out
a heart-wrenching scream. The arrowhead didn’t move.

“Fuck!
There must be a barb on that thing!”

Jeff
searched his memory with furious haste in an effort to recall the different
arrowhead designs he had seen.

“Carl,
a lot of northern arrowheads have barbs, but I can’t recall any that were
offset. Look at how it’s lined up! It has enough rotation to hook the rib. Push
and turn the arrowhead before you pull.”

Carl
nodded, sweat flying off in large droplets. “God damn I hope this works.”

Taking
a deep breath, Carl found a new grip on the arrowhead but couldn’t make his
hand push.

“You
can do it, buddy. Use both hands to control the pliers.”

Clamping
both hands around the pliers, Carl murmured, “Please God, don’t let me kill
him,” and pushed. Ostfel surged again and cried out like a child. Whispering,
“Oh, Jesus, help me!” Carl held his grip, twisted the arrowhead and pulled.
With a faint sucking sound, the arrowhead came free and he stumbled back
holding it aloft.

“Thank
God! Finally! And the barb’s not broken off!”

For
a long moment, all three mutely stared at the arrowhead gleaming dark red.

“Filthy
thing!”

Carl
flung it away and poured sterilized water into the wound to flush out a new
flow of pus. Some minutes later the job was done and Carl loosely closed the
wound with gut sutures.

“Shouldn’t
that be closed tighter, Carl? Won’t more air get into his chest?”

“Wish
I knew for sure, but I don’t think so. I took a few stitches down deep near the
pleura. That ought to stop any leaking. Also, I can’t imagine we got all of the
crud out of there. Have to let it drain. I most certainly do not want the
infection to spread.”

Attendants
entered the room with a stretcher at Carl’s call, and they hustled Ostfel back
to his cot. After washing up Carl crushed three of the antibiotic tablets with
mortar and pestle but wasn’t sure how to administer the powder that resulted.
Zimma solved the problem by dissolving it in a small amount of water and
dripping the solution down Ostfel’s throat. Rogelf, Zimma and Belstan set up a
schedule so one of them would always be close by.

Carl
brought a pitcher of water. “We must encourage Ostfel to drink fluids, but only
in small amounts. He must not choke!”

The
men collapsed on chairs out front.

“I
think that operation was one of the most courageous things I have ever seen,
Carl.”

“Thanks,”
Carl replied with a wan smile. “I have never been so terrified in my whole
life. Now all we can do is keep our fingers crossed. Ostfel is really
dehydrated and that could still kill him.”

They
settled in to wait it out.

Ostfel
seemed to be breathing easier the following morning, and was taking sips of
water. After listening to Ostfel’s chest, Carl seemed satisfied.

“His
temperature and pulse are dropping, and I think his lung is beginning to
inflate.” Carl stared distastefully at the wooden tube he was holding. “This
makeshift stethoscope is better than nothing, I suppose. What I wouldn’t give
for the real thing.” He extracted two antibiotic tablets from a small medicine
vial. “Lord, I wish we had more of these.”

By
that night it was clear to everyone that Ostfel had improved. During one of his
brief waking periods he even managed a weak smile. Rogelf planned to sit with
his son and shooed everyone out to get some rest.

Jeff
and Zimma were so tired they just looked at each other when they were in bed.
Together and alone for the first time since Jeff had returned. They kissed and
were asleep before their lips parted.

It
was well into the next morning before Jeff awoke. Magda was dead to world, but
it was enough just to luxuriate in the feel of her silken skin. He abruptly
lifted his hands. It wasn’t Magda lying next to him, it was Zimma. Rolling over
on his back, Jeff stared at the ceiling for long minutes before quietly
swinging his legs out of the bed.

Zimma
was awakened by the clink of pottery. She sat up on the edge of the bed to
stretch and yawn. Sitting down next to Zimma, Jeff handed her a cup of coffee.
All right, he thought, you’ve put it off long enough. Do it now.

“I
must tell you of Magda, of what happened between us.”

“I
would hear the entire story of your winter, Jeffrey.”

“Very
well, but the telling is long. Will you join me at the table?”

“And
so you accepted her arms and body.” Zimma set her empty cup down.

“Yes.
Fear and dread consumed me before she gave herself to me. When we made love it
was as if you were there too, but Magda is not you.” What he was about to say
made Jeff pause and feel as if his life teetered on the edge of a blade.
“Zimma, Magda is a wonderful woman and I fell in love with her. I don’t know
how to understand this. My love for you glows like a white flame, but Magda
will always be in my heart. She plans to journey south so she may be with me
and meet you.” Jeff noticed Zimma’s eyes were swimming with tears. And so it’s
over. You knew it all along.

Wiping
her eyes with a napkin, Zimma took Jeff’s hands. “In Astholf, when I gave you
leave to bed another, my heart knew that such a gift might be the only thing
that would bring you back to me whole. Even now I feel the pain in your heart
from those days. Having given my leave, do you imagine I will now turn you
away? I cherish you more for the telling and owe a debt of gratitude to Magda.
I long to meet her. I know I will love her too, for she is clearly a woman of
value.”

Jeff
was totally unprepared for what Zimma had said, simply could not believe his
ears. He didn’t really intend to stare at her, but was unable to do anything
else. Jeff’s expression was so confused that Zimma smiled. She brushed away a
fresh tear.

“Yes,
Jeffrey. I do love you.”

“Perhaps
I am coming to understand what that word really means.” Jeff knelt in front of
Zimma and took her hands. “I am so honored. Thank you.”

Zimma
slipped out of her nightgown, moved to the edge of the chair and opened her
thighs.

“Come,
lover. Let us celebrate our reunion.”

Feeling
renewed by their lovemaking, Jeff and Zimma hurried to the infirmary. Carl was
already there and beaming satisfaction. Without saying anything, he led the way
to Ostfel’s bed.

Jeff
and Zimma were unable to believe their eyes. What only a few days ago had
nearly been a corpse was now a young man sitting propped up wolfing down a bowl
of soup and grinning at them between mouthfuls.

“Well,
I will be damned!” was all Jeff could get out. Zimma hugged her brother, nearly
dumping the soup on his chest.