Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

“Do you think you can sit up?”

Winter gave a weak nod, planted her hands, and levered herself off the ground. Halfway there, the world swam sickeningly. She felt Bobby’s hands on her shoulders, guiding her the rest of the way. When she opened her eyes again, the corporal was giving her a worried look.

“The colonel had a look at you,” Bobby said. “Your nose isn’t actually broken, but you took a couple of nasty cracks to the head. He said you might be a little dizzy, but it should pass.”

The colonel. The memory of their last conversation came rushing back. Did he really. . I mean. . he knows , but he’s not going to tell? She couldn’t make that fit in with the world she understood.

“I’ll be all right,” Winter said, more for her own benefit than for Bobby’s. She touched her nose gingerly, and winced again. “Beast’s Balls . Not broken, he said?”

Bobby nodded. “If you can get out of bed, we ought to get you cleaned up. Graff wanted to look at your ribs, but the colonel said you shouldn’t be moved too much.” She hesitated. “Does he-did he see-”

“He knows.” Winter gave a hollow laugh, which brought a stab of pain from her side. “He’s agreed not to tell anyone, what with my saving his life and all.”

“Good,” Bobby said. “That’s. . good.”

Winter looked at her clothes. She still wore the uniform she’d fought Davis in, torn undershirt and all, caked with mud and dried blood. A wide stain across one shoulder marked where the sergeant had slid to the floor. Gripped by a sudden revulsion, she started fumbling with the coat buttons. Her fingers felt thick as sausages, and the buttons slipped away from her twice before Bobby leaned in.

“Let me,” the corporal said gently. She deftly got the coat open, then turned away with a blush when Winter shrugged it off as though it was full of spiders. Bobby indicated a bucket and cloth beside the bedroll. “There’s not enough for a proper bath, I’m afraid. But we can at least get the blood off. Unless. .”

Winter blew out a long breath, feeling the ache in her ribs. “It’s all right.”

It had been more than two years since Winter had been naked in the presence of another human being, and she found the prospect deeply unsettling. Back before the Redemption, when the Colonials had enjoyed unrestricted access to Ashe-Katarion, she had very occasionally scraped together the coin to rent a room at one of the private bathhouses the served the high-rent districts. A big cistern full of blood-warm water, all to herself, seemed like the height of unimaginable luxury, but she’d never been able to bring herself to fully enjoy it. No matter how sincere the attendants’ promises of total discretion, no matter how far away from the areas normally frequented by Vordanai the bathhouse was, she could never shake the feeling that someone would take the opportunity to spy on their pale-skinned visitor. Then, somehow, her secret would get back to Davis, and the captain, and the colonel, and then-

She’d never been able to picture what would happen then, but the thought had been horrifying enough that she’d hurried through her ablutions and back into her carefully altered uniform. Now that the worst had actually happened , Winter wasn’t sure what to think. But the habits of years died hard, and even if Janus was prepared to accept the fact of her gender, she was certain that the men of her company and her fellow officers would not.

Her torn undershirt was so soaked with Davis’ blood that the front was as stiff as if it had been starched. Winter tossed it aside with a shudder of disgust and fumbled awkwardly with her belt, trying not to look at Bobby. She stepped out of her trousers and underthings, kicked them aside, and sat back down on the bedroll.

Bobby hissed through clenched teeth. Winter looked down at herself and winced. The bruises had subsided a little from the night before, but they still covered her skin with a mass of blue-and-black blooms, as though she’d contracted some awful plague. Her left side in particular was swollen and tender to the touch where he’d kicked her.

“Son of a bitch,” Bobby said. “I wish you hadn’t killed the bastard. I’d like to have a turn at him.”

Winter gave a weak smile. “You might have to wait in line.”

“I should have been there with you.”

“You’d already saved my life once that night, and nearly gotten cut in half because of it. I’ll live.” Winter touched her side and flinched again. “Probably.”

“Those cuts need cleaning.” Bobby gestured imperiously to the bedroll. “Lie on your stomach.”

Winter propped her chin on the pillow, keeping the weight off her bruised face, and waited. The air was warm and dusty on her bare skin. The first touch of the wet cloth made her flinch. Bobby paused.

“Sorry,” the corporal said. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Actually, after a few moments, it became almost relaxing. The bruises hurt in a dull way whenever the wet cloth passed over them, but Bobby had a light touch, letting the rag sit and soak sticky patches of dried blood before wiping them away. Where her skin had been torn up against the rocky ground or Davis’ fists, the stinging made Winter chew her lip, but she managed to keep from crying out.

“How long have I been asleep?” she said, in an effort to distract herself.

“More than two days,” Bobby said.

“Two days ?” Winter couldn’t help but twitch, and it made Bobby’s finger stab hard into her bruised ribs. She pressed her face into the pillow to muffle her shriek.

“Sorry!” Bobby squeaked, dropping the rag. Winter turned her head to look up at the corporal. She wondered again how she’d ever believed Bobby was a boy.

“My fault,” Winter said, through gritted teeth. She hissed a few breaths and tried to relax. “But-really two days?”

The corporal nodded. “They had you on one of the carts. Colonel’s orders.”

Winter didn’t remember that at all. Then again, given the tendency of the unsprung carts to bounce over every pebble, maybe it was better to have been unconscious.

“Two days,” Winter repeated. “So what’s happened?”

She listened while Bobby worked even more tentatively with the rag and explained about the ambush, the near-complete annihilation of the Desoltai fighters, and the subsequent march to the oasis. When the time came for her to roll onto her back, Winter closed her eyes to keep from having to stare up at Bobby’s blushing face.

“They tried to make a stand,” the corporal went on, “but there wasn’t much fight left in them. Most of them broke at the first charge, and we spent the day cleaning out the rest. Give-Em-Hell was all for following the ones that ran, I hear, but the colonel ordered us to stay put. We’re camped just by the edge. There’s a little town-not much more than a few shacks, really, but there’s a spring and a pool, just like the colonel said.”

“What about you?” Winter said.

“I’m sorry?”

“You. The-” She drew a line across the front of her body with one finger, where Bobby had been cut, not wanting to say the words aloud. “You know.”

“Oh. Fine. The same as always.” Bobby gave a weak chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve had so much as a hangnail since. . the first time.”

“That’s good.” Winter tried not to picture the healed skin under the corporal’s uniform, warm and pliable but glassy as marble. And spreading. . She gritted her teeth again.

Bobby gave the cloth a last swish and sat back. “There. That’s better. Do you think we need to bind those cuts?”

Winter opened her eyes and sat up, poking at her torn skin with one finger. “I’ll be all right. It doesn’t seem to have started bleeding again-”