North Star Guide Me Home

by Jo Spurrier

  When he entered the guardroom, the men stood in silent ranks. The only sound was a rustle and clink of armour as the man at the door hauled it open and saluted Isidro as he went through.

  Inside, Rhia had laid Sierra on the table where they’d eaten breakfast only a few hours ago. The knife jutting from her chest drew his eye, and it took an effort to tear his gaze away. Around her, Mira helped Amaya sort through the medicine chest, while Delphine brought a pot of water to a roiling boil. Rhia was cutting Sierra’s clothing away with a pair of shears, while Cam stood by Sierra’s head, murmuring something in her ear. He glanced up as Isidro entered and at the sight of Rasten his eyes turned flinty.

  Everyone fell still — everyone except Rasten, who went to Sierra at once, bending his head low over her still form.

  Watching him with narrowed eyes, Cam moved closer to Isidro. ‘By the Black Sun, Issey —’

  ‘Two physicians are better than one,’ Isidro said. ‘He saved my life when the rot set in on my cursed arm.’

  ‘A physician now, is he? Not the word I’d have used.’

  Rhia looked Rasten up and down with her lips pressed together. ‘Have you dealt with wounds like this before?’ she asked him.

  He glanced around before answering. Rasten was not used to explaining himself, Isidro judged. It seemed to take him a moment to decide how to respond. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You?’

  ‘Several times.’

  ‘Did they live?’

  ‘One did, for a time. And you?’

  Rasten shrugged and turned back to Sierra, peeling back her eyelids and her lips to check the colour underneath. ‘In the dungeons no one lasted long enough to heal. But when Angessovar broke his ribs a few years back, it was the old man and me who were sent for.’

  ‘It pierced a lung?’

  Rasten squeezed Sierra’s jaw to open it and peered into her mouth. He slipped fingers past her lips, and when he held them up to the steady gleam of the mage-lanterns, they were red with blood. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘How would you treat her?’

  Rasten set his hands on the table as he frowned down at Sierra, now stripped to the waist. ‘Let me see what we’re dealing with, first.’ He stooped, pressing an ear to her chest and tapped fingers against her ribs, frowning in concentration. After a moment he stepped back, and Rhia took his place. ‘You hear that?’ he said. ‘Hollow as a drum.’

  She nodded, her mouth troubled. She was trying to hide her worry, but Isidro knew her well enough to see through her mask of calm. They’d both seen people die from lesser wounds than this.

  Once she stepped away Rasten rolled Sierra onto her side to run a hand over her back. ‘It hasn’t gone through. Good.’

  ‘Is it?’ Cam snapped. ‘That blood on her lips tells me it couldn’t be much worse. I’ve seen enough lung wounds to know they usually kill.’

  ‘Not always,’ Rasten said. ‘The bleeding’s not enough to drown her, at least, but it’s serious. She hasn’t bitten her tongue or her cheek, so the blood in her mouth must come from the knife-wound; and from the sound of it, the lung has collapsed. The real problem is the air leaking around the blade into the hollow of the chest. So long as it’s there, she can’t breathe properly and eventually she’ll suffocate.’ He turned to glance at Isidro. ‘We need to let it out.’

  ‘Let it out?’ Cam demanded. ‘How?’

  ‘Pierce the chest and bleed it off so she can breathe again. We make a hole, here.’ He lifted Sierra’s arm and pressed his fingertips along her ribs, high on the left side. ‘It’s the safest place, away from the other organs.’

  ‘She’s taken one cursed chest wound and you want to give her another?’ Cam turned to Rhia. ‘Surely you don’t agree with this!’

  Rhia bit her lip. ‘Cam,’ she said. ‘It’s more invasive than anything I’ve ever tried … but grave measures are called for, I believe. Rasten saved Isidro’s life when he took his arm in the west — do you think he would risk Sierra now?’

  Cam said nothing. He only folded his arms and glared down at Rasten, who shrugged again as he peeled the pad of rags away from the blade. ‘That was simple,’ Rasten said. ‘This … the knife is close to her heart. I don’t think it’s nicked it, but if the wound turns foul it’s dangerously close … do you have any verdigris? It’s a powerful purification agent.’

  ‘I do. After Isidro told me you used it on his arm I sought out a supply, but I haven’t used it yet.’

  ‘What do you think, Rhia?’ Isidro said.

  She frowned as she gazed down at the knife and Sierra’s pallid skin. ‘I agree with his assessment. I’ve never done anything like this, but if he has … We have to act. Do nothing, and she will die.’

  ‘I won’t let that happen,’ Rasten growled. ‘If this isn’t enough, I’ll use the Blood Path if I have to.’

  Isidro studied the man before him. Rasten seemed calm, although there was tension in his shoulders and his back, and Isidro could feel his power clenched tight beneath his skin. He was icy cold and composed now, but Isidro suspected if he tried to order Rasten away, that would change in a heartbeat. He knows what he’s doing, he told himself, that’s why you brought him here. However he felt about Sierra, Rasten wouldn’t shy away from spilling her blood if it was necessary. When Rasten looked up to catch his eye, Isidro nodded, once.

  Cam gave a low hiss, and shook his head. ‘Fires Below,’ he muttered. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Issey.’

  ‘What supplies do we need?’ Rhia asked.

  ‘Eggs, honey and flour to start with. Some oiled silk, too.’

  ‘Amaya, the kitchens. Go,’ Rhia said, and the girl took off at a run.

  ‘I might have some silk,’ Delphine said, and turned towards her quarters with Mira following after her.

  ‘And a hollow tube, like you’d use to drain an abscess,’ Rasten said. ‘What do you have?’

  ‘I have fowl bones boiled in vinegar —’

  ‘Boiled down to cartilage? No, too soft. What else?’

  ‘Some shafts from eagle feathers?’

  He frowned, thinking. ‘Show me.’

  Amaya returned as Rasten and Rhia sorted through the quills. The girl carried a bowl of eggs, a crock of honey and a half-full sack of flour. Rasten looked them over with a nod. ‘Mix egg whites, honey and a bit of flour to make a paste,’ he told her, and when Mira and Delphine returned with a piece of waterproofed silk, he accepted it with a nod and set it aside.

  Rasten pulled out the longest of the quills, rolling it between his fingers. ‘This’ll do. Set it boiling.’ He turned to Isidro and Cam. ‘I need a dirk, or a poniard, maybe …’ He glanced back at Sierra, frowning. ‘One of Kell’s big needles would do, but they’re gone now.’

  With a muttered curse, Cam crossed the chamber to haul a trunk out from under a bench. Throwing the lid back, he rummaged through until he pulled out a dagger with a long and slender blade, the sort that would slip through the rings of a mail shirt. He handed the weapon to Rasten in silence.

  Rasten slipped it from the sheath to examine the point. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Boil that, too.’

  ‘What about the cursed knife?’ Cam demanded. ‘Are you just going to leave it in her?’

  ‘For now. It’s not doing any more damage.’ He turned to Rhia. ‘We’ll need a cleanser, and needle and thread. Bandages, too.’

  On the table, Sierra gave a soft sigh. Rasten glanced her way, briefly, but Cam went to her at once, with Isidro following more slowly. The sight of her sprawled half-naked and unmoving with a knife between her ribs was far too close to the nightmares he’d endured after she left the Spire. His shirt felt drenched with sweat, and the scars on his back prickled and stung.

  Cam bent his head over hers, whispering in her ear. Isidro heard her breathing change, and as her brow creased, her eyelids fluttered open.

  ‘Sirri?’ Cam said. ‘She’s waking up!’

  ‘Don’t let her move,’ Rasten said.

  She drew a short and painful
breath, and then tried to lift her head. Cam set his hands to her shoulders to press her down. ‘No, Sirri, hold still.’

  Her eyes, full of pain and confusion, fixed on the hilt of the knife still buried in her chest. ‘How bad is it?’ she said, her voice weak. The effort of it brought fresh drops of blood to her lips.

  Rasten came closer. ‘You’ll live,’ he said. ‘I swear. Just lie still and let us see to it. Whatever you do, don’t move.’

  ‘Rasten? What are you doing here?’ she said, her eyelids heavy.

  ‘Where else would I be, Little Crow? I owe you this. Now lie still, don’t waste your breath.’

  She gave a long, slow blink as she studied his face, and then her eyes sunk closed again.

  Rasten took one last look at the preparations, and nodded to himself. ‘Alright, we’re ready. You,’ he pointed at Cam, ‘keep your hands on her shoulders. Be ready to hold her down. Isidro, hold her arm, like this.’ He lifted her left arm, holding it straight up and away from her side. ‘Don’t worry about her power if it spills. I’ll keep it contained. Rhia, bring the tray here …’

  Laid out on a clean cloth were a bowl of cleansing brew, the dagger and the quill, and a dish of egg whites and honey mixed into a paste. Rasten rubbed a sop from the bowl over Sierra’s side, just beside her breast, and then reached for the dagger. ‘Like this, you see?’ he said to Rhia. ‘You find a spot between the ribs …’ he set the point against Sierra’s skin, and slowly pushed it through. His hands were steady, fearless, but Isidro had to turn away rather than watch the blade slide in.

  Sierra’s eyes flew open, and Isidro felt Cam’s weight shift as he leant against her. ‘Just hold on,’ he whispered to her.

  She said nothing, she simply closed her eyes again and drew a ragged breath.

  ‘How deep?’ Rhia asked.

  ‘You can feel it, there’s less resistance when you hit the cavity.’ He never lifted his gaze from the task. ‘There.’ He withdrew the dagger, and with bloody hands picked up the feather shaft, rolled it in a little pile of green powder poured into a dish, and pushed it into the hole while Sierra shuddered beneath Cam’s hands. After a further dusting of powder, Rasten smeared the egg-and-honey paste around the tube. The pale mixture swiftly darkened with blood.

  ‘Honey is a purifier, too,’ Rhia said. ‘It ought to help keep it from turning foul.’

  Rasten nodded. ‘But it’ll need watching. Any sign of infection and we’ll have to clean it out thoroughly. The shaft, too, if blood clogs it up.’

  ‘And if it does?’ Cam demanded.

  ‘We take it out, clean it, put it back,’ Rasten said.

  ‘What about the bleeding?’ Rhia said. ‘Blood around the lung will cause as much trouble as air.’

  ‘If there’s only a little she’ll be alright,’ Rasten said.

  ‘And if there is more than a little?’

  ‘Another tube, down here,’ he gestured to the lower region of her ribs. ‘And we sit her up to help it drain. But that one will clog as the blood clots, and another wound means more risk. See how she does without it first.’

  Once the edges of the small wound were sealed to his satisfaction, Rasten turned to the blade between her ribs. While Rhia added the boiled needle and thread to the tray of implements, Rasten climbed onto the table until he was straddling Sierra’s small form. ‘Hold your positions,’ he said, catching first Cam’s gaze and then Isidro’s.

  At his first tug, the knife didn’t budge, and Rasten released it with a grunt of irritation. ‘Snagged on bone,’ he muttered, and shifted his position.

  ‘It’s not notched, is it?’ Cam said.

  ‘No, just stuck.’ Rasten set one knee across Sierra’s chest, and renewed his grip as Cam bent his head low again, whispering Sierra’s name.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ Rasten told him. ‘She’s fainted. For the best, probably.’ With that, he drew a deep breath, and clenched his hands around the hilt.

  For a long moment, it seemed that nothing was happening — and then, under the force of bunched muscles and clenched teeth, it came loose so swiftly that Rasten almost toppled backwards. He dropped it into a bowl Amaya held ready, and then scrambled off the table while Rhia set about cleaning and stitching the wound. It was a small gash, not even as long as Isidro’s thumb. Once it was closed, Rasten dusted it with more verdigris and smeared some of the egg-and-honey paste over it. ‘Now, bandages,’ he said. ‘Lift her up. Isidro, keep her arm out of the way. You,’ he pointed at Mira, ‘come hold her other arm.’

  A pad of clean lint was laid over the knife-wound, while Rasten saw to the tube in her side. He cut a triangular piece of oiled silk and set it over the hollow quill, sticking it down on two sides with more of the paste. Then, Rasten guided the bandages to cover two sides of the triangle, leaving the third open.

  Isidro watched him closely, and after a moment he thought he understood. ‘You’re making a valve,’ he said.

  Rasten glanced up. ‘A what?’

  ‘It lets the air flow out, but not in. You could do the same thing with a jar of water, if you had a tube that was long enough, and flexible.’

  Rasten considered it as he wrapped the strip of cloth. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But where would you find something like that?

  When the bandages were tied, Cam eased Sierra back onto the bare wood. With a glance to Rasten and an answering nod, Isidro lowered her arm, setting it away from the splash of coloured silk.

  ‘Now,’ Rasten said, ‘watch.’

  For a long moment there was silence, and no one moved. Isidro wasn’t sure what they were watching for, but after a moment he thought he saw it — Sierra’s breath was no less laboured, and it seemed that only the right side of her chest rose freely, but not the other. With each arduous heaving of her ribs, the left side stayed quite still.

  ‘See that?’ Rasten said to Rhia.

  ‘I do. Will it re-inflate on its own?’

  ‘Better not left to chance.’ With that he climbed onto the table again, taking Sierra’s face in his hands to tilt her head back and pry her mouth open. Then, he pinched her nose shut and drew a deep breath. He pressed his lips to hers, as though to kiss, and breathed into her lungs.

  Isidro watched the oiled silk billow as air was forced out through the hollow quill.

  After one breath Rasten released her and sat back to watch. Now, both sides of her chest rose evenly with each breath and the oiled silk clamped down over the tube with each inhalation, making a seal against air being drawn in.

  Rasten wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and it came away smeared with blood. Wordlessly, Amaya offered him a clean rag, and he wiped the gore away. Rhia crouched down to stare at the quill and the billowing silk. ‘By the Good Goddess,’ Isidro heard her murmur. ‘It works!’

  ‘Get her sitting up,’ Rasten said, jumping down from the table once again. ‘She’ll breathe easier.’

  ‘What about the deeper wound?’ Cam said as he levered Sierra upright, supporting her head against his shoulder. ‘Won’t it keep bleeding?’

  ‘It’ll clot, so long as she keeps still,’ Rasten said. ‘The valve will keep forcing out any air that leaks through, so long as it doesn’t clog.’ He turned to Rhia. ‘Someone should stay with her at all times, and check the quill every hour or so. In a few days, if she’s strong, it can come out. Sirri’s tough. Keep the wounds from turning foul and she’ll be well again.’

  After a few moments, she stirred again, coughing weakly and raising clumsy hands to catch the spray of blood.

  Rasten leant close, catching his head in her hands. ‘Don’t cough,’ he told her, ‘you’ll tear the clots loose and make it worse. Take shallow breaths, and try not to move.’

  ‘Can we get her off this cursed table?’ Cam said. ‘She’d be more comfortable if she’s not lying here like a beast on a slab.’

  ‘Point. But don’t cover the dressing on her side.’ Rasten moved towards her, but Cam’s glare warned him back. With one arm at her back, Cam slipped t
he other under her knees, ready to scoop her up. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘I’ll take you to the bedchamber.’

  She stiffened in his arms. ‘No.’

  ‘Sirri —’

  ‘No! The babe. I want to see her. I think I know what’s wrong.’

  ‘What babe?’ He turned to Isidro. ‘What’s she talking about?’

  ‘The woman who stabbed her used a sick babe to get close,’ Rhia said. ‘She’s likely down at the temple still.’

  ‘It’s her foot that’s hurt,’ Sierra said. ‘The right one, I think.’

  ‘It’ll take too long to bring her here,’ Cam said. ‘I’ll send word, Sirri, I promise, but you need to rest.’

  Sierra shivered, her skin ashen-pale, but her lips were growing pink. Isidro hadn’t noticed how dusky they’d become until they brightened again. She let her head fall against Cam’s shoulder. ‘I messed up,’ she said in a whisper. ‘I let you down.’

  ‘By the Black Sun …’ Cam said. ‘It’s not your fault, Sirri. The guards shouldn’t have let her get close … we’re just cursed lucky that it wasn’t worse.’ He kissed the top of her head, and turned to Isidro. ‘We should have seen this coming. She needs a dedicated bodyguard, someone with more skill than the men of the household guards.’

  ‘I think you’re right.’ Isidro glanced around for Rasten, only to find the other man had vanished from sight. With a step to the side Rasten came into view, however. He had backed away until his feet brought him to the wall, and there he’d slid down to crouch on his heels, one hand to his brow. He looked strained and weary. The dogs, huge black and white hounds that followed Cam around during the day and guarded the door at night, came over to investigate the newcomer with snuffling noses.

  ‘Rasten,’ Isidro said. Rasten glanced up, and heaved himself up to his feet. ‘Step outside, please.’

  Rasten bowed his head and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Cam breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Alright, Issey, I’ll grant he knows a bit of medicine, but he still makes me uneasy. Let’s get Sirri settled, and I’ll send for Ardamon.’ He started to gather Sierra up again, but she wrapped a hand around his wrist to stall him. All the while she kept her gaze on Isidro.