David Weber - Hell's Gate

When they opened again, he stepped back and gave Shaylar a very reassuring smile. But Jathmar saw the worry in his eyes, and he spoke with Gadrial again. The questions were longer and more detailed, this time, and he listened very carefully to her answers. Jasak asked a question of his own, and the gray-haired man answered gravely, evidently trying to explain his findings. Jathmar had seen plenty of Sharonian Healers conducting examinations by touch and Talent, but that didn't seem to be what was happening here, although he couldn't have said precisely why it felt different.

At length, the man urged Shaylar to lie down. Gadrial touched Jathmar's arm, then pointed from the healer to Shaylar, folded her hands, and laid her head against them, pantomiming sleep. Jathmar nodded slowly. He didn't much like the idea of some strange healer putting his wife to sleep in order to do unimaginable things to the inside of her head, but she needed medical care badly, and this man seemed to be the best that was available.

Dozens of questions he couldn't possibly get across through pantomime streamed through his head, but even if he'd been able to ask them, he probably wouldn't have understood the answers. So he simply nodded and pointed to a chair, trying to ask if he could sit beside his wife. The healer hesitated. His expression was easy enough to decipher, Jathmar thought mordantly. Jathmar was an enemy who'd killed an unknown number of their people. The healer was afraid that he would react?badly?if anything went wrong during his wife's treatment.

Jathmar wished the other man was wrong, but he wasn't positive he was. The thought of letting this man go poking around through Shaylar's brain with whatever strange methods he used terrified Jathmar, and he could feel his self-control wavering under the pressure of that terror. But as with so much else, he had no real choice. Something was badly wrong with Shaylar's Voice. That suggested deep damage from the concussion, and whatever this man had sensed from his examination, it had him worried. It had Jathmar worried, too. Head injuries were the darkest fear of most of the Talented, whether they were willing to admit it or not. So little was known about the human brain, even now, and without the services of a Healer specifically trained in treating those with major Talents, the odds of Shaylar's ever recovering her Voice were probably much less than even.

But there was almost certainly no one in this entire universe with that sort of training. This man Jathmar couldn't even communicate with was the best available.

"We have to risk it," Shaylar said softly, correctly interpreting his stricken expression.

"I know," he said, his voice low. He started to say something else, trying to reassure her. Then he stopped himself and simply shook his head. "I'll be right here beside you the entire time."

"I know," she replied, and smiled. "Whatever happens, Jathmar, I love you."

He started to speak, but his throat tightened savagely. He had to clear it, hard, before he could get the husky words out.

"You're my life, Shaylar." He stroked her hair gently, smiling at her, willing his lips not to tremble. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

He pulled the chair over, his eyes silently daring anyone to countermand him.

After a brief moment of locked gazes, the healer simply sighed and nodded.

Jathmar sat down and held Shaylar's hand in his. The healer glanced at him once, then placed his own hands carefully on her temples and began whispering. Something was happening between his hands?an indefinable something that shivered around Shaylar's head. It wasn't quite a glow, so much as an odd thickening of the light, and as it strengthened, her eyes closed.

There wasn't anything to see, really. Jathmar was peripherally aware of activity behind him as more wounded men were brought in, groaning and trying not to cry out as they were transferred to beds, where other healers got to work. The man bending over Shaylar worked with his eyes closed and kept up a constant subvocal whispering the whole time he did whatever it was he was doing. Shaylar lay pale and still beneath his hands, looking broken, lost, and childlike in a bed whose frame was designed to accommodate one of the strapping soldiers assigned to this fortress.

Then the bruises began to fade.

Jathmar's eyes widened. Dark, ugly bruises?purple and black and crimson?paled to the yellows and browns of old trauma … then faded completely away. The swelling receded, as well, as some fantastic process he could only gape at sent the pooled liquids under her skin?blood serum and excess water?seeping back into the tissues and blood vessels from which they had come. The man spoke quietly, and Gadrial dampened a cloth and used it to gently cleanse the crusted cuts and abrasions. As she rinsed away the dried blood, Jathmar saw that the skin beneath it had completely healed. All that remained of the ugly cuts and deep abrasions were the faintest traces of fine white scar along her temple cheekbone and eyebrow. Her face, so fragile against the white hospital sheet pillowcase, bore no further traces of the desperate injuries she had sustained.

At last the healer sat back. His quiet whisper faded away, and the odd, thickened light around her face faded with it. The healer spoke to Gadrial again, very carefully, and she nodded.

He's giving her instructions of some kind, Jathmar realized. Then the implications of that sank in. He's telling her what to do because they don't expect us to stay here very long.

The man finished speaking to Gadrial and rested a hand on Jathmar's shoulder. That surprised him. The gesture was firm, reassuring, even friendly. None of the hatred Jathmar had seen in the eyes of Jasak's men shadowed this man's eyes, and he felt his own tension recede a notch.

"Thank you," he said slowly, carefully.

The healer gave him a brief smile, patted his shoulder once, and turned briskly to the wounded men still awaiting badly needed treatment. Shaylar was still asleep, and Jathmar wondered how long she would remain unconscious. Then, as if she'd heard his mental question, her eyelids twitched. They fluttered slowly open, and even before she was awake, the marriage bond roared wide open. He felt her confusion and wondering surprise that the pain in her head was gone. Then her eyes focused on Jathmar, and the rush of love and relief and gratitude that overflowed his heart poured into her senses.

She reached up and touched his face with gentle fingers that trembled ever so slightly.

"It's back," she whispered. "The bond … I can hear you again… . "

"And I can hear you," he whispered back, cupping the side of her face which was no longer bruised and swollen, fingertips tracing the faint white lines that remained. "The bruises are gone, the swelling?everything. If that wasn't magic, I don't know what else it could have been."

Her tremulous smile was radiant. She was so beautiful his throat ached, but when she tried to sit up, Gadrial reached down swiftly and stopped her, saying a single word which obviously meant "No."

Shaylar looked surprised. Then she touched her own brow, which had furrowed.

"My head feels really strange," she murmured, terrifying Jathmar for a moment. "Not in a bad way," she reassured him hastily. "Just … odd. When I tried to sit up, it started buzzing like a swarm of bees. And there's an odd sort of tingling, down deep. I hadn't noticed that before I tried to sit up, either."

"Well, whatever he did, I think Gadrial's right. Lying still for a while is a very good idea," Jathmar told her.

"I don't feel like arguing the point." Her smile was more of a grin. "Besides, it's heaven to be lying in a real bed again."

He laughed softly and smoothed her hair again. It still needed the attention of a pair of shears and a good stylist to repair the damage, and he found himself wondering if these people's beauticians used magic, as well.