Chapter 11 #2
Aftyn watched him for a moment, then turned to study the remaining structures.
So far, everyone else seemed unharmed, but men still stood atop thatched roofs and ran between buildings, putting out small fires.
Now that its roof had collapsed, the fire in the kirk was dying, and smoke drifted across the entire abbey.
She noticed some of the men dousing rags in the water buckets and tying them over their faces.
Aye, that would help them breathe and keep out some of the soot, but not all.
Some would develop terrible coughs, she feared. But the worst seemed to be over.
She turned and walked back to where Neve tended a young man.
He smiled at her, as though he saw Neve as his guardian angel.
Black-ringed burns dotted his robe, but Aftyn didn’t see any serious injuries.
The abbot had sent a few more men to their care.
One of them groaned. Aftyn dropped to her knees beside him and went to work.
It seemed hours later when she glanced up and thought to wonder about Jamie and the father from the kirk. All her charges were resting quietly. The sun had set and a cool night breeze blew the last of the heavy smoke away from where they lay.
She stood and stretched, then walked toward Jamie.
In the dim glow of embers, she saw him, still bent over the burned man, Fearchar, Rabbie, and Bhaltair forming a ring around them, keeping others away.
She could see a small pile of burned fabric that must be from the man’s robes.
Jamie’s case lay open beside him. Several jars were open, and he smoothed on unguent.
Aftyn knew Jamie was a healer of great skill, yet she had to wonder how long the priest, in his condition, would remain alive.
She approached Rabbie, but he waved her away. Stung, she paused. “I have medicines. Do ye need aught?”
“Jamie will send one of us if he does,” he answered quietly. “Go rest. I dinna ken how long we’ll be here.”
Aftyn paused to study Jamie. He seemed fully absorbed in caring for his patient, but all right himself. She nodded and moved away, her gaze caught by the abbot and several of his priests kneeling together, praying. For the injured? For their losses? She hoped it gave them comfort.
Jamie fought. After Calder, he had a better sense of his limits and that he approached them, but the priest still needed his help and he was determined to give it.
The man was lucky in some ways. The surface of his robes had burned, but the layers underneath protected his torso, if only a little.
Flames had singed the hair from one hand, the other one that had held the crucifix had deeper burns.
The gold metal must have heated in the fire to a dangerous level.
The lower part of his face had also blistered, and Jamie would do what he could there to preserve the man’s appearance and ability to speak and eat.
But his worst injuries were invisible. His throat was scorched and kept swelling.
Smoke and soot in his lungs made breathing nearly impossible.
Jamie fought to keep the throat open as he worked to save at least one of his lungs.
If he could not, the external burns would not matter. The man would not survive.
Healing those injuries agonized Jamie and robbed his own ability to breathe. He had to work slowly or he would pass out before he could save the man’s life. But by working slowly, he fell behind as the man’s body did what was natural much more quickly than Jamie could combat it.
The longer it took, the more ground he lost, and the more danger he was in.
He knew he could not be present in his talent as the man died.
He’d learned his lesson with Calder—it would be too easy to follow into oblivion.
His men knew the risk he took. On his orders, they all watched closely for any sign that it was time to pull him away from his task.
He shook his head as another wave of agony washed down his throat into his chest. Not yet. He could do more. He must.
There! He’d cleared one lung, and Jamie felt some ease in his own chest, but the man’s throat closed again.
Jamie sucked in air and forced down the swelling, gratified to see the man’s chest rise and fall.
He couldn’t stop yet. The body fought him still.
Blackness filled his vision and he forced himself to breathe, then lift his hands away from the man’s body.
“Drink,” he rasped. Rabbie put a cup in his hand and guided it to his mouth. He drank greedily. Cider. The sweet drink would help replenish his strength. “More.” He consumed three more cups, then dropped the cup and turned back to the priest.
The man’s throat kept closing against the burned tissue.
Jamie cleared the swelling and felt air enter the lung he’d saved.
He turned his attention to the other lung and used his newfound energy to repair what he could and clear the fluid that threatened to fill it, coughing as he did so.
He was finally gaining ground. The throat stayed open and the man breathed.
Jamie stilled for a few heartbeats, waiting, but the man’s chest continued to rise and fall.
He could breathe on his own for now. Relieved, Jamie rubbed his own chest and took a deep breath. He wasn’t finished.
The hand that had held the crucifix was next.
The cloth he’d bundled around it as he carried it out of the burning kirk had prevented worse damage, but Jamie could see a bit of tendon or bone exposed in the midst of blackened tissue on two fingers.
He would not repair them now. He would have to cut away the most severely burned flesh, and the man needed to take in as much water and cider as he could before Jamie could help his body build new tissue.
“Bandage that loosely,” he said, knowing Bhaltair would hear him and do what he needed.
“His face, too.” He checked the throat and found it remained open.
“See if ye can get some of that cider into him. He needs it. And water. Keep trying, but dinna drown him.”
As his men did as he asked, he collapsed onto his back on the ground and closed his eyes, resting, breathing, and willing the pain away.
“Should we take him back to the keep?” That was Bhaltair.
“Nay, a chamber here will do. I will stay with him. One of ye, too, must watch over him while I rest.”
“I’ll go beg a chamber from the abbot,” Rabbie said, and moved away.
“What can I do?” Aftyn’s voice, close, comforting. Did he imagine her bending over him? Touching his face? Nay, he didn’t imagine her. Her touch gave him a bit of pleasure in the midst of all the pain. He clung to that.
“See if the abbot has a place inside for the less injured,” Fearchar answered for him. Jamie didn’t have the strength.
She must have moved away. Jamie didn’t hear her any more. Or anything else. The next he knew, he woke in a strange chamber on a pallet. The injured man lay on a similar one on the opposite wall. Rabbie sat on a bench between them, his gaze on the other man until Jamie moved.
“Ach, ye’re back with us,” Rabbie said. “I’ve food and drink aplenty for ye. And I’ve gotten a few drops down him a time or two.”
“Good,” Jamie told him as he forced himself up. “Keep trying.”
Rabbie handed him a cup and set the platter beside him.
Bread, butter, sliced venison, honey, cheese, apples, enough for both of them twice over.
He made short work of two of the four pitchers of cider and water lined up under the bench.
Once he finished, Rabbie ate from what he left, while Jamie drank another cup of cider.
“Ye did more than ye should,” Rabbie said, censure plain in his tone.
“I did what I had to do,” Jamie answered, his gaze on the injured man. “He’s still breathing freely?”
“Aye. Ye saved his life. Nearly at the cost of yer own.”
Jamie dismissed that. He’d survived, and so had the priest. “There is still much to do.”
“And the abbot is most concerned. I doubt he slept all night, but with Lathan and Keith help, all the fires are out and cleanup has begun.”
“Bhaltair and Fearchar?”
“Resting outside this door.”
Jamie forced himself to his feet, every joint aching. But the pain of the man’s injuries had faded. His throat no longer burned. He took a deep breath. His chest felt clear. “Did ye bring in my bag? I must work on his hand if he’s to have the use of it.”
Rabbie nodded toward the opposite corner of the room. Good, it was there.
“Aftyn and Neve?”
“With the other injured and some of the Keith men.”
“Aftyn will come here, soon enough. I must finish what I can with him and cover the wound before she arrives.”
“Ye dinna think ye can tell her? Show her what ye can do?”
“Nay, ye ken I canna. ’Tis too dangerous.”
“She might understand…”
“It doesna matter if she does. Remember where we are. The kirk frowns on abilities such as mine. If she doesna accept it, my life could be forfeit. All our lives here. Perhaps even those in the Aerie. The risk is too great.”