Storm Crow

by T. A. Creech

  “I’m not a parent to this one.” Hoalnia still came up beside him. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Get his pants and boots off. I don’t think he’s in any condition to help.” Catli traded a smile with his friend and they got to work.

  Catli smoothed out the front of his patient’s coat and shirt, frowning at the intricate buttons. The amount was ridiculous and they were so tiny, more like beads sown down the front. He even double checked for the button holes just to be sure, but there they were, as tiny as the buttons themselves. It was a style he had never seen before, so this one was probably a style follower. High maintenance.

  Good thing he was adept with beads and buttons. Undoing the twenty little things, all a brassy material, took a few minutes. When he peeled the placket apart, he sighed in relief. At least the shirt was normal, laced halfway down the front and easy to pull over the head. It was a shame Catli had to cut it off him.

  The small table to his right held a whole host of equipment for those without the magic to heal. A sharp blade, thin and smaller than a dagger, sat in the near middle, far from the edges of the table in case it was jostled. Catli picked it up and contemplated the coat sleeves first. The poor thing was ruined, but seemed a shame to mangle the fine fabric.

  He made quick work of the front and sleeves with a decisive pull through the stitches along the shoulders and down the tops. Maybe the coat could be remade into something else, if the stranger had an emotional attachment to it. Catli spread the pieces open further and filleted the shirt in a jagged tee.

  The skin underneath was alabaster, unnatural in its paleness. Only those who hadn’t seen sunlight were so pale. Catli frowned as he set the knife back in its place on the table. Maybe this man was a hermit, but why would he be anywhere near the Fire Stars? He should be home, not on Toa.

  A deep hum made Catli look at Hoalnia. His friend had done the same to the stranger’s pants, though he left his underclothes in place, and seemed to reach the same conclusion Catli had. “Where did this one come from, that he hasn’t seen the light in so long?”

  “If we knew that, we would know why he’s here.” Catli shook his head, both to quell more questions from Hoalnia and to shake away his own. “Let’s finish the job.”

  Hoalnia propped up the patient while Catli tugged the ruined clothes from under the stranger with careful hands and a clinical eye. His friend had seen Catli work hundreds of times and was well versed in his methods. Catli gave the man’s broad shoulders and long expanse of spine a thorough once over before he waved Hoalnia to put him back down. At first glance, the stranger seemed to have escaped back injuries all together by a great deal of luck.

  While his friend wrangled the cut pants out from under the patient, Catli found a piece of long cloth and draped it over the man’s hips and pelvis. Preserving the man’s modesty for the last part was always a good idea. The one time he had forgotten such a courtesy, years ago, he had ended up with a bruised jaw when his patient had woken.

  Once the cloth was properly draped and nothing looked to be revealed, Catli ran careful fingers down the side of the man’s waistline until he hit the softer fabric of the patient’s undercloth wound over his hip. He pulled it away from the skin and gave it a quick slice, the fabric parting like water. The other side met the same fate and Catli had the cloth added to the rest of the stranger’s ruined clothes in less than a minute.

  Now he took a long, hard look at the stranger on his table. The sunless skin was stretched over a broad and wiry frame, bones thick in the wrists and ankles, muscles defined in valleys and peaks where they were expected to be. His gold hair looked yellowed, sallow against the pale wood of the table, limp with neglect. The ocean’s salt clung to the sulfurous fragrance wafting from the patient’s skin. Definitely a traveler. A regular sailor carried the smell of pitch and salt, as this man didn’t.

  Blisters covered the upturned fingers. Red and painful to even see, they forced the hands to curl in more than normal, the digits swollen from heat. They streaked across the palms, halfway up to the forearms and turned into proper craters in the flesh. Now that was odd. Catli had seen how hot cinders fell on the skin before, touched any piece of skin exposed to the air and a great deal of clothing, burning through in moments to leave those exact pits in the flesh. The hands should have taken the brunt of the damage. It was almost as if the patient had his hands immersed in something to protect them from the flying ash of the vents.

  The chest and sternum didn’t escape injury either. Blood streaked in thin rivulets and starbursts around the holes. If he hadn’t found the man himself, he would’ve thought children painted his skin to match their childish idea of the stars.

  Catli’s breath caught in sorrow when he finally examined the man’s face. A pattern jumped to his mind of those very same points and how similar they aligned to the Scythe. Fitting, in a way. Something about this man made him think Serena had spared him from a fatal mistake.

  At least the garnet red stars along his brow, twelve total and missing the pinnacle that marked an Archmage, were unmarred. A master fire mage, then. Much the same as Catli was. Well, most fire mages came to the islands for one reason or another. He had to make sure this mage pulled through so he had a chance to find out.

  “Are there any injuries to his legs, Hoalnia?” Catli asked as he crossed the room to the small sink and faucet set into the wall. He only used it for healing, because it was so difficult to keep pressure in the pipe and he didn’t want to waste it if there was an emergency.

  “None that I see, but I can’t check the back of him from this angle.” Hoalnia’s reply was heavy with concentration. “If I had to guess though, I doubt the back of him is injured much.”

  Catli gathered up bowl of cool water from the faucet and a soft wool cloth. Maybe Hoalnia had more foresight than Catli did. Cleaning out the ash from burns like his patient’s hurt, and Catli might need his friend’s strength if the stranger roused during the process. He plucked a tub of soothing orchid cream off a shelf as he passed by his ointments and pulled another small table out from under the large workspace when he approached it.

  “There weren’t any marks to his coat when we lifted him up, either.” Catli nodded his agreement with Hoalnia’s assessment. “Perhaps we are lucky.”

  As Hoalnia came up next him, Catli met his dark eyes and grinned. “I’m lucky you’re here, too. I might need you to keep him still if he wakes up. An unknown face is sure to frighten him in his condition.”

  “Is that all? I was hoping you allowed me to stay for my witty conversation.” Hoalnia laughed outright as Catli rolled his eyes, but passed behind Catli until he stood ready at the head of the table.

  Shallow, steady breaths were a good indication his patient was asleep, so Catli started with the face. The burns were deep, though small, like someone had taking a pointed chisel and hammered it into the flesh over the right eyebrow and down the side of his face. He started on the one closest to the middle of his patient’s forehead.

  Not a muscle twitched when he brought the wet cloth up and swiped into the center of the divot with careful pressure. Blood and grit caught in the soft cloth, so Catli rinsed it the bowl and repeated his ministrations until fresh blood welled up into a perfect jewel of red glinting in the bright candlelight.

  “I wish I knew his name,” Catli murmured the thought as it crossed his mind. He never worried about Hoalnia’s reaction to what Catli said. Not since they were children and he had mentioned wanting to kiss another boy they knew, long gone by now, and Hoalnia shrugged about it with a quip that Catli could find someone with a better sense of humor.

  “So you can talk to him while you work,” Hoalnia followed the thought. “You always talk to your patients to keep them calm.”

  “It works, doesn’t it?” Catli sighed and blotted the blood out of the small hole. He smeared on a little spot of salve before he moved on to the next.

  Hoalnia hummed, not agreeing nor disagreeing, and tapped his fi
ngers on the end of the table in a quiet tattoo. “You could give him a name, just until he tells you otherwise.”

  “What?” He winced at the squawk. His friend’s chuckle made him look up. “I can’t even name that silly dog who shows up on my doorstep all the time. It’s not anything I’m good at.”

  “I think that’s why you shy away from having your own children, because you couldn’t name them.” Hoalnia raised a hand as Catli’s mouth popped open in protest. “I’m joking, Catli.”

  “You better be,” Catli grumbled back. “Just stand there and look useful, instead of trying to be funny with me.”

  Hoalnia laughed, but clutched at his chest. “Oh, that was a heart thrust, you fiend.”

  Catli rolled his eyes, but the quiet laugh escaped anyway. He left it at that though, and returned his attention to the man on the table. There was a lot of work to do.

  * * * *

  Catli’s patient hadn’t moved at all in the four days since he’d found the man. He wasn’t worried, yet, though he held onto the feeling by a few fraying threads. At least the wounds were closing a little more each day.

  Another dribble of water from the deep ladle spilled into his patient’s mouth and Catli stroked with gentle fingers along the apple of his throat. He cradled his patient’s head in the cup of his crossed legs. It was the only position he had found easy enough to hydrate the man, or anyone, really. Standing off to any side was too awkward when it came to watering a patient. The intimate position was a problem he tried to keep him mind off of, but this man made his thoughts difficult to control. The constellation of burns didn’t detract from the handsome lines of his face at all.

  He tipped one more half-full spoon of water into the man’s slightly parted lips and forced the last of the liquid down with another sweep of his hand over smooth skin. How the ash missed marring the swan-pale column was a miracle in itself. Even superficial damage on any other part of the body could have a terrible effect on the delicate workings in the neck, back or front. And until the stranger was awake, Catli had no way to gauge any wounds caused by inhaling the hot cinders of the volcano’s vents.

  With a little bit of practiced, careful rearrangement, Catli was able to lay his patient’s head back on the table, pillowed with a folded cloth, and hop off to the floor. He eased his hand under the modesty cloth and pulled the hollow, bent tube out of place for cleaning. The large bowl came out from under the table without sloshing its contents all over the floor. When he was young, that hadn’t always been the case.

  Oh, the joys of caring for a patient.

  A faint crescendo drum of fingernails on his door filtered through the near silent air of his home. Catli placed waste container and tube back on the floor under the table, growling under his breath. Anyone who considered him a friend knocked at a proper volume. This was someone looking to see if they could skulk around if he was away. A shame no door in the village held locks.

  Catli yanked his front door open before the intruder had a chance to barge in. “What can I do for you, Eshe?” Catli smiled at her, teeth bared in a subtle warning.

  “I came to ask your opinion on a point of magic. A friend and I are having a debate on the proper way to channel a smaller work. Can I impose on you for a minute?” Eshe gave a too-sweet smile and tried to push her way into the front room.

  He didn’t move. Not for this one. Over his corpse would he allow this detestable mage in his personal space, unless she was bleeding to death.

  Eshe had been a thorn in his side since she had reached the age of majority. A fire mage of master status, at first, Catli had welcomed her as one peer to another once she had gained her stars. What he hadn’t known then, but knew without doubt now, was she wanted his position as Koah. Even that ambition wasn’t really an issue. Eshe was fifteen winters his junior and probably the best suited to take over when the time came for him to step down or tragedy came upon him.

  The problem was her ways of manipulating the other villagers in her favor.

  Catli acknowledged, in an objective way, that Eshe was beautiful. All he needed to confirm that fact was how a lot of the villagers’ gazes trailed after her, lustful and wanting. She had flawless rosy skin and wavy black hair, wide hips and a proper bust. And Eshe was sharp as a spear, able to solve the most difficult problems with little more than a minute of thought.

  Of course, she had figured out early in life how to use the promise of her favor and her attributes, which she never delivered on, to extract what she wanted from others. And under normal circumstances, Catli would happily leave her to her games of wit and wiles. Except her schemes were to nab his position. That made his blood boil.

  “My opinion is to use whichever method a mage is most comfortable with,” Catli answered, ever word clipped hard in annoyance. “Now, I have work to continue with, if you have no other needs?”

  Eshe’s cheeks blotched dark as her mouth opened, ready to fire off some of her rare public insults, but a low, breathless whine came from the table.

  As he turned to his patient, door closing an afterthought, the flimsy wood shoved into his shoulder as Eshe barged her way in. Catli growled and tried to shove her out the door by her shoulders and back, though it was too late. She purred when her eyes landed on the unconscious stranger, hand fluttering to her throat. Catli wasn’t sure if her display was honest or intended to provoke him, but he wasn’t amused, either way.

  “He’s quite the specimen.” Eshe stepped around Catli until she bumped up against the table, fingers reaching out already to touch the defenseless man.

  “Don’t touch him,” Catli warned, voice a low rumble. The great room, warm already for the stranger’s comfort, heated up from the fire set ablaze under his skin until sweat beaded and breath was hard to draw. Now, Catli knew women assessed people better with touch, but his skin crawled when he thought of this one laying one finger on his patient. “He’s a patient, not someone for you to paw at.”

  “Paw at!” Eshe hissed her outrage between her teeth, quiet and intense. “How dare you?”

  Catli clamped her arms in a vise grip and marched her out the door. He let her go on the stoop with a finger in her face, where she couldn’t miss it. “Don’t think I haven’t caught on to why you’re here. My patient isn’t some piece in your political games and I don’t want to see you conjuring up excuses to mess about with him.”

  “He’s not yours to do with as you please, Catli.” Eshe huffed and crossed her arms over her breasts.

  “No, but if I catch you here while he’s still healing, I will go to the Latten.” The threat was clear. Zusah wasn’t a woman to trifle with and she took the health and safety of anyone in her borders as her personal responsibility. “She will do a lot more than forbid you from coming to my home and disturbing people.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Eshe snarled. She spun on her tiny feet and stomped off, dust scattered into puffs of clouds in her wake.

  Another pained sound came from the stranger. Catli shut the door softly and picked up another ointment from his shelves, something for pain. The room was still too hot, though it would cool before long as his anger faded away. Eshe’s nerve was stunning. To think she had come in to ogle an injured man while he couldn’t defend himself was beyond belief. Rude in the extreme.

  As if summoned by talk of her, the Latten appeared on his doorstep just as he wiped the cream off of his fingers with a damp cloth. At least their village leader wouldn’t barge in or try to sneak past him. Zusah had far more respect for him than that.

  He checked over the stranger, counted the easy, shallow breaths, and watched the sunless skin smooth out as the tension drained out of his body, pleased. He dropped the cloth in the laundry basket and let his guest in.

  Zusah was of the same general looks as the rest of the villagers, rosy and sturdy, with dark hair. She had years on him though, so her black mane was shot with iron gray. What set her apart was the height. Most island women were pretty short, standing at Catli’s chin. Th
eir leader looked over top of his head without effort at all.

  Unlike Zusah’s predecessor, her great aunt, she grinned at Catli with open amusement. “Eshe’s been to see me.”

  “She warned me she was going to do it.” Catli threw up his hands and turned away from the door. Zusah followed him in like he had invited her. Technically, he had by not turning her away at the door.

  “She says you were keeping a prisoner, or some ridiculous claim.” Zusah shrugged, grin still in place, when Catli turned and propped his hip against the edge of the worktable holding their unexpected stranger, near the knees.

  “As you can see, he’s unconscious, not a prisoner,” Catli said as he waved a hand toward the stranger’s top half. “Eshe came in here to lay her hands on him and didn’t like it when I objected. He’s my patient. She has no reason to touch him.”

  A wicked edge came over the Latten’s grin. He didn’t know what to make of the expression.

  “I see,” she murmured, like she was placating him. “Maybe she was willing to assist you in healing him?”

  “How?” Catli asked. They both were well aware Eshe hadn’t trained for healing at all.

  Zusah shrugged again and left behind that part of their conversation. “I wanted to come by anyway, see what was going on. Rumors have been flying about this man and I’ll admit I’m curious how you found him, and how you got him here.”

  “Nothing to tell, Latten. I found him wounded on the northern slope among Toa’s Eyes and brought him down,” Catli said.

  A thoughtful expression settled on her face in place of her smile, wrinkling the bridge of her nose. “No clue of his identity?”

  The pack he’d found near the patient sat next to the worktable. He still hadn’t looked through it, and wasn’t in any rush to do so. Rifling through it was wrong without permission, no matter the reason. He was aware Zusah might not share his opinion, so he kept the existence of it to himself. “I couldn’t find anything on him to tell me who he is. All I know for sure is he’s not from the island and he’s a master fire mage like I am.”