“Are you supposed to keep me awake?” he asked.
“Awake but not active,” Shilan said. “It sounds like a prescription for total boredom.”
“Not with you here,” he said then winced at another stab of pain.
“And she said you probably wouldn’t want to talk,” Shilan added, pulling out a book. “So you just lean back and rest while I read.”
“Aloud?” he asked with another grimace. It felt like being a child again.
“I doubt you’d want me to,” Shilan said with a chuckle. “It’s a book on weaving techniques. I was watching one of the reenactors the other day and I got interested in it. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a woodcutter.”
“I think you’d be wasted as a weaver,” Herzer said, leaning back and closing his eyes.
“I have to do something,” she said. He could hear the worry in her voice.
“Mechanical looms aren’t that hard to make,” Herzer said. “They can be run on water-power. And there are plenty of things you can do. Doctor comes to mind.”
“Thank you, no. I’ve seen too much of the strain that’s on Dr. Daneh. Not having access to nannites is killing her.”
“Is that what it is?” he asked.
“She lost a patient yesterday; one of the new apprentices working in the mill didn’t heed the safety warnings.”
“Shit.”
“I don’t want to face that, knowing that if I had the power I could save a life and then seeing it drift away.”
“Somebody has to,” Herzer said, shifting and then noticing he still had his bracers on. He opened his eyes and winced as he fumbled with the catches.
“Let me get that,” Shilan said, setting down the book.
He leaned back and felt her cool hands on his arms and fought down a strange tide of lust. It wasn’t the way he’d felt around her before and he wasn’t in any shape to follow through. For that matter, it was making his headache worse. He tried to think of something to reduce it but his head was too muddled to think. Instead he put out one hand and ran it up her arm, cracking his eyes open to see her expression.
Shilan briefly froze and her face froze so he quickly removed his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” she said sadly. “Maybe… maybe soon, Herzer.”
“Not with me,” he said. “I was serious earlier. I like you but I don’t want… I don’t think we’re made for each other.”
“You’re in love with Rachel,” Shilan said, looking at him.
“She’s just a friend,” he said, closing his eyes again, surprised that a tear leaked out.
“Oh, you poor dumb hero,” she said quietly, stroking his face.
“A hero is somebody who does something they don’t have to,” Herzer replied, tightly. “A hero is somebody that is there when they’re needed. I’m not a hero. Please don’t call me one again. Please.”
“What is with you?” she asked, confused.
“It’s just… it’s hard to explain. But… I’m not a hero.”
“Sorry, Herzer, but I thought I was dead when that spear went through the boar. You’re always going to be my hero.”
Herzer shrugged and leaned back, unable to explain the welter of emotions that was running through his brain. The good news was that the wave of lust had receded, leaving him even tireder. “Mithras I wish I could sleep.”
“Don’t,” Shilan said. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”
Herzer nearly corrected “Almost anything” but thought better of it and just let his mind wander instead.
The next two days passed in a fog. Herzer remembered Dr. Daneh coming in and Rachel being there. Others came by but he had no real memory of who they were. He remembered being moved to a wagon and the jolting as it moved him somewhere, complaining querulously about the light. He remembered Shilan being there and one time when she was crying, quietly. He remembered trying to get her to stop crying, but couldn’t remember anything else, what she was crying about or when she had stopped. It wasn’t until the third day after the big roundup that he woke clear-headed. It was before dawn and Rachel was sitting on a more substantial, and more comfortable, chair, fast asleep. He took a deep breath and looked around, more aware that his headache was gone than anything else.
He was definitely out of the shed and in a substantial house of stone. There was an oil lamp on the cupboard across the room and tapestries on three of the walls. The bed was incredibly soft; he identified the mattress as eiderdown from some deep memory. He also realized that he must have taken a harder blow than he’d thought; the last few days were such a blur he must have had some brain trauma. Rare as it was, that used to be fairly repairable. Given the current conditions he was just really glad he’d actually survived.
There was a table by the bed with a jug and a cup. Picking up the cup he recognized water and gulped it down greedily; he was terribly parched. He sat up and fumbled for the jug, waking Rachel.
“I’ll get that for you,” she said, sleepily. “What are you doing awake?”
“Haven’t I been sleeping enough?” he asked, pouring the water shakily. His hands were trembling so badly, he got some of it on the coverlet. He gave up the cup and jug to Rachel and leaned back, overcome with weariness.
“You nearly died, stupid,” she said, pouring the water and holding the cup to his lips.
He had enough control to take the cup and drink from it again. “I had sort of figured that out.”
“How long have you been awake?” she asked, putting her hand on his forehead, gently. But the touch didn’t elicit any pain.
“Not long,” he replied. “Where am I?”
“In Dad’s house. It was the only place Mom felt you’d get enough rest. I need to check something.”
“Okay,” he said as she pulled back the coverlet. Only then did he realize he was naked and snatched at the bedclothes.
“First of all, you weren’t that modest in the baths,” she said with a chuckle. “Second, I’ve seen it for the last three days.”
“Oh,” he said as she pulled back the covers again. She took what looked like a knitting needle and applied it to the end to his toes, painfully. “Ow!”
“Good,” she said, working her way up his body. She checked all the extremities and various other apparently random spots. By the time she finished he was trembling in fatigue. Which really ticked him off. She covered him back up and put something in a notebook with a nod of satisfaction.
“Do I pass, Doctor?” he asked querulously.
“So far,” she replied with a tired smile. “We were really worried about your responses. The second day some of your extremities were fairly numb. That’s a bad sign. But it all has recovered. Try not to take too many more blows to the head, okay?”
“I will,” he said. “What happened?”
“There’s no way to tell for sure, but Mom thinks you developed a bruise on either the lining of the skull or the brain itself. It’s called subdural cerebral hematoma. Just call it a brain bruise. Sometimes those can kill. In your case it looks like you just have a harder head than should be possible. No slurring of the voice, pain stimuli all good. The only thing left is to check your reflexes and I’ll let Mom handle that.”
“How is she?” Herzer asked. “She looked… awful out at the roundup. I heard she lost a patient.”
“And you would have made two for two,” Rachel said sadly. “Bob Towback. He fell into a couple of logs and they flailed his chest and abdomen. It… took a while for him to go and there wasn’t anything we could do. It hit Mom hard. Losing you would have hit her harder, I think.”