Should’ve told her “nothing,” Tarc thought, surprised to find himself amused despite the gravity of the situation. “Don’t worry about it,” he grunted.
Stopping the chest compressions, Tarc said, “I’m going to try another trick.” He dropped his head down against Blacksmith’s chest as if he were listening again. His ghirit showed him that the twitching fibrillations of the heart were pumping blood back and forth inside the segment of heart muscle that’d previously been cut off by the plaque. That blood might not be pumping through the muscle like it was supposed to, but at least it was moving. The segment seemed a little more normal than it had been and parts of it were actually starting to twitch a little as the fibrillations swirled around them.
Tarc started forcing electrons to one end of the heart. When he’d corralled as many of them as he could, he suddenly let them flow back the other way, delivering the biggest shock he could.
As he did this, he’d been feeling desolate, sure nothing would work.
The heart twitched hard, then stilled.
Despair flooded over him. Thinking about their experiment with the pig, he thought, Pig hearts probably aren’t that similar to ours. Besides, that pig’s heart was healthy, not diseased like Blacksmith’s.
He sat up, wondering whether it’d be worth trying again.
Then Blacksmith’s heart contracted.
He stared, paralyzed. The heart sat quietly again.
Then it contracted another time. And again, and again…
Holy shit! It worked!
Suddenly, he realized he needed to do something that might explain the heart restarting. He certainly couldn’t tell Ms. Blacksmith it’d restarted because he’d held his head down next to it. “Okay,” he said, “I’m going to try something else.”
He slapped a hand on each side of Mr. Blacksmith’s chest, then rubbed hard for a few seconds. Dramatically pulling his hands away, he leaned down as if listening again. Widening his eyes, he looked up at Ms. Blacksmith, then sat up. “It worked!” he said as if he couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t difficult, since he really did have a hard time believing he’d succeeded.
She gave him a doubtful look. “Let me listen,” she said, shuffling her knees closer and lowering her ear to her husband’s chest.
Tarc looked up and saw Gloria’d arrived, white-faced and wide-eyed, hands clapped over her mouth. “What happened?!” she cried plaintively.
Tarc looked down at Ms. Blacksmith thinking she, rather than he, should explain things to her daughter. Head against her husband’s chest, her eyes were widening. “I hear a heartbeat!” She sat up and looked down at her husband. “John?”
His eyelids fluttered…
~~~
Gloria was sullenly polishing and oiling the blades in their shop. She alternated between thinking about how Tarc Hyllis had managed to be even more than she’d dreamed, and being pissed at her mom for making Gloria run the shop while she got to talk to Tarc.
She’d expected to be overwhelmed by Tarc’s presence, after all, she was in awe of what he’d done when he saved their town from Krait. But she hadn’t expected him to be handsome, tall and polite.
She didn’t notice when the clanging at the forge stopped. It stopped and started all day as her father alternately heated and worked a piece. When she heard her mother scream her father’s name, her first reaction was an uneasy concern that her dad might be threatening Tarc. When the yelling went on, she moved to look out the back door. She couldn’t see anyone but…
Gaining resolve, she hustled to the front of the shop, dropped the bar across the door, then hurried back through the shop and across the yard to the forge to make sure her dad wasn’t hurting Tarc.
She slowed so she could slowly step forward to peek around the corner—in case they might object to her presence.
She found Tarc kneeling at her father’s side, smashing his chest over and over. At first, she thought Tarc was assaulting her dad, but Gloria’s mother knelt across from him, holding her dad’s wrist—not trying to fight Tarc off.
What…? Gloria wondered, slowly creeping closer.
Tarc stopped shoving on her dad’s chest, leaning down and putting his head against her dad’s chest as if listening for a heartbeat. Is Dad dead?! she wondered, stumbling forward.
Though he didn’t seem to be doing anything but listening, Tarc’s features looked cramped, as if he were making some kind of immense effort. Suddenly, his expression relaxed and he sat up, staring down at her dad’s chest. A couple of moments passed, then he said, “I’m going to try something else.” He slapped and rubbed hard at the sides of her father’s chest—as if he were trying to give him Dutch rubs. Then he looked up and, with an expression of astonishment, said, “It worked!”
Moments later, her mother was listening to her dad’s chest.
Finally gaining her voice, Gloria plaintively cried, “What happened?!”
Eyes widening, her mother said, “I hear a heartbeat!” She sat up and said, “John?”
For the first time, Gloria looked at her father’s face. He’d turned white as milk. Creepily, his eyes were partly open, partly shut.
He looks dead! Gloria realized.
Then his eyelids fluttered.
His head rolled and he said, “Wha’ happen’?” His hands flopped up to rub weakly at his chest.
Gloria looked at her mother.
Her mother was focused on Tarc, “Do you know what happened?” she asked.
His brilliant blue-gray eyes examined her soberly. “He had a heart attack.”
“And it… killed him?” she asked, glancing apprehensively at her husband, as if wondering whether he might now be some kind of monster.
Tarc shrugged, “It stopped his heart. That’s not exactly the same as dead, some people live. Some heart attacks just kill a little part of your heart making it weaker. Other ones…” he looked as if he were wondering how to explain, “other ones do that but also throw off the heart’s rhythm so it stops beating. Those’re the ones that kill people right away, but sometimes it can be restarted.”
Gloria’s father lifted his head a little to stare at Tarc along with Gloria and her mother. Her mother asked dubiously, “And he had one of the attacks that stop the heart, but you restarted it?”
Tarc shrugged again, “There’re several tricks you’re supposed to try because they sometimes restart it.” He frowned, “They don’t usually work. We were really lucky today.”
“Tricks?”
“Yeah,” he sounded eager, “the ancients had a lot more things they could do to restart the heart. Medicines and electrical devices.” He shook his head, “But even they couldn’t restart the heart every time.”
Gloria’s dad looked groggy, but he lifted his head and blinked at Tarc, “Who’re you?!”
“Tarc Hyllis, sir.”
Her dad frowned, then let his head sag back. “I thought you moved away?”
“Yes, sir. I’m back… just to do a little business.”
Gloria’s dad rolled his head, looking around blearily, “Is your mom here?”
“No, sir, just me.”
“And you knew what to do?”
“I just tried some of the things she’s taught me. Luckily, one of them worked.”
“Holy shit my chest hurts!” he moaned, rubbing at it. “Is that pain from the heart attack?”
Tarc looked a little embarrassed, “Maybe part of it, sir. But it’s probably bruised from some of the… the things I did trying to get your heart restarted.”
“You bruised me? Scrawny little Tarc Hyllis?” Gloria’s dad lifted his head and widened his eyes as if he were trying to stretch them so they’d focus better, then he looked up and down at Tarc. “Oh,” he said, letting his head drop again. “I guess you’ve grown some since I last saw you.” He dropped his head and rolled his eyes upward for a moment, “Man! I was working away with only a little tightness in my chest when suddenly it felt like the whole forge landed on my ribs.” He gave a l
ittle shake of his head, “I don’t know what happened after that.” He reached a hand out to Tarc, “Give me a hand up young Hyllis. If I’m still alive, I need to finish that knife I was working.”
Tarc had started to reach out for his hand, but now he pulled back. “No, sir. One thing I’m sure of, after a heart attack, you’re supposed to rest.”
Gloria’s mom said, “I’ll shut down the forge John. You do as you’re told.”
Gloria felt somewhat astonished to hear her mother following instructions from a boy Gloria’s age. And telling her dad to do the same.
She wasn’t surprised when her dad objected. “I’ll go slow and take it easy. A little hammering isn’t going to hurt me.”
Her mother leaned over him and said, “Gods be damned, John! You were dead a few minutes ago. I saw it with my own eyes. This young man saved you and by God you’re going to do as he says!”
Gloria saw Tarc wincing, but then he spoke calmly and gravely. “Your heart’s been seriously injured, sir. You rest here a while and we’ll work up a stretcher to take you to your room.”
“You want me to just lie here?!”
“Yes, sir.”
Referring to his massive size, her father asked, “Who the hell’s going to carry a stretcher with me on it?!”
~~~
Gloria found herself willingly co-opted by the handsome young man. She took him to the collection of hardwood poles her father kept as raw material for hafting knives. Then to the cowhides they used to make sheaths and scabbards. Tarc soon had a hide stretched between two poles to make a stretcher.
They returned to the forge. When they were about to come around the corner, she heard her mother yelling at her father, telling him to lie there like he’d been told. Apparently, he subsided, because as they made the corner, she said, “I’ve got your damned forge shut down. Is there anything else I should do?”
“No,” her father said, sounding sullen. “The rest of this stuff’ll be fine for a day or so.”
“A day or so?!” Gloria’s mother turned and saw Tarc, “How long should he be resting?!”
“Rest for a week or two, then light exercise.” Tarc shook his head, “But he shouldn’t be doing heavy exercise for about six weeks.” He clarified, “Hammering at the forge puts a heavy stress on the heart.”
Hands on her hips, Gloria’s mother turned on her husband, “You heard that. Six weeks. What else should I put away if you’re going to be shut down for six weeks?”
“Six weeks?! That’s ridiculous!” Her dad rolled his head toward Tarc. “Are you just pulling these numbers out of your ass?”
Soberly, Tarc said, “No, sir. That’s what my mother tells people who have heart attacks. That is, that’s what she tells the ones who didn’t die the way you did. To tell the truth, though we’ve tried the tricks that’re supposed to restart a heart before; they’ve never actually worked. So, you’re the only person we’ve ever treated who’s returned from the dead. I’d assume someone who died should rest longer than someone who had a milder heart attack.”
Her dad scoffed, “There’s no way I can do that. Someone’s got to earn the money that puts food on our table!”
Tarc thought to himself that his wife and daughter probably earned some of the money he was talking about but said nothing about that. Instead, he went with, “Sir, if you die, you surely won’t be able to put any food on the table then. Not for the rest of your wife or daughter’s lives. This heart attack came because one of the arteries in your heart plugged itself off. The other arteries in your heart are…” Tarc stumbled over the fact that he’d just about claimed knowledge he shouldn’t have. “The other arteries must be in bad shape too. While you’re at rest, you could travel to Clancy Vail. Up there my mom can get your arteries cleaned out.”
Even from the floor, Gloria’s dad gave Tarc an astonished look, full of doubt. “And just how the hell is she going to clean out my arteries? She gonna run a bottle brush through them?”
Tarc sighed, “That’s her secret sir. I can’t tell you, but I assure you it can be done. Without it, you might last a few more years.” He shrugged, “Or you might not. But it’s highly doubtful you’ll make ten years.”
Gloria stared at her father, trying to restrain his bull-headedness with her thoughts alone. Nonetheless, John’s eyes widened at Tarc, then he shook his head, “No. Sorry. That’s just ridiculous.”
Gloria expected Tarc to protest. Instead, he simply nodded. “Refusing treatment’s your right sir. For the sake of your wife and daughter, I wish you’d reconsider, but I won’t badger you about it. If I can, I’ll try to help them after you’re gone.”
Gloria stepped forward and dropped to her knees at her father’s side. She stared down at him for a moment, then, mindful of his bruised chest, gently lay down beside him and put her arm around him for a gentle hug. “Daddy?” she asked worriedly, fully aware of how calling him “Daddy,” tugged at his heartstrings. “How old was your dad when he died?” She knew her grandfather had died suddenly at the age of thirty-nine, but she wanted her father to think about that fact.
There was a long period of silence before her father rasped, “Thirty-nine.”
“And how old are you now?”
“Forty.”
Voice cracking with emotion, she said, “I’ve seen you dead today.” She’d expected to say something more—perhaps about the miracle that he was alive—but she searched fruitlessly for words. Then she realized that the stretching silence held more power than anything else she could think to say.
Her dad reached up and wiped at the corner of his eye. “Oh hell,” he said resignedly and Gloria knew she’d convinced him. She saw his eyes go to Tarc’s, “And you’re sure your mom’ll actually do something? She’s not gonna charge us a couple of golds to chant over a dead chicken’s guts or something like that?”
“No, sir. If she can’t make you better, she won’t expect you to pay at all.”
“Better? How’re we gonna tell if I’m better? Wait five years and see if I’m still alive?”
“No, sir. That tightness you feel in your chest when you’re working? That’s been coming from your heart. If it’s not gone, you shouldn’t have to pay.” He shrugged, “In any case, she won’t expect you to pay if you’re not happy.”
“And how much is she gonna expect me to pay if I am happy?”
“Whatever you think it’s worth, sir. Whatever you think it’s worth.”
~~~
Gloria’d wondered how they’d get her dad on the stretcher. Tarc simply rolled him up on his side, then had Gloria and her mother lay the stretcher right behind him. When Tarc rolled him back flat, he was mostly on top of it and only had to scooch a little to be centered.
Gloria was standing there wondering how many men they’d have to hire to be able to carry the stretcher, after all her father really was big. Tall and heavily muscled. To her astonishment, Tarc bent down and lifted the poles at the head end of the stretcher as if it were no strain at all.
As Tarc turned toward their living quarters, dragging the other ends of the poles on the ground behind him, Gloria saw her father’s eyes, also disbelievingly wide, glance up at Tarc’s strapping shoulders.
When they got to the house she wondered whether Tarc intended to drag the poles over their floors. Standing there, holding up the head end of the stretcher as if it were no effort, he said, “Ms. Blacksmith, do you think you and Gloria can each lift one of the poles at his feet?”
“We can try,” she said dubiously, bending and taking a grip on one.
Gloria grabbed the other.
Her mother counted to three and they heaved their ends into the air.
Oof, Gloria thought. Almost as heavy as I’d feared.
They made their way through the house, Tarc looking as if there were nothing to it, while Gloria and her mother staggered unsteadily under the burden. They made it to her parents’ room just before Gloria thought they’d have to put the foot of the stretcher down for a r
est.
Though she and her mother couldn’t lift the foot of the stretcher onto the bed, Tarc put a knee on the bed and carried his end far enough on that Gloria’s dad could easily roll off onto the mattress. He was a little oblique to the bed but Tarc just picked up his legs and shifted him straight.
Gloria caught her dad’s eyes studying Tarc’s arms—which she now realized were… impressive.
Just like the rest of him.
~~~
A few minutes later they were in the kitchen. Gloria’s mother was brewing some willow bark tea—which Tarc said would be good for her dad’s heart because it thinned the blood a little. Her mother gloomily said, “I hope there’s a caravan going north soon. Even though John’s agreed to go, if a couple of weeks pass before we even get started, the stubborn old guy’ll probably change his mind.”
Tarc said, “You could go back with me. I’ll be going back as soon as I finish my business here.”
Sally turned to study him. “You’d travel without a caravan?” she asked.
Gloria could tell her mother was conflicted between thinking anyone would have to be insane to travel without a caravan, and thinking that if anyone could do it, it’d be Tarc Hyllis.
He shrugged, “Yeah. We’d have to buy a small wagon to carry our stuff, and so Mr. Blacksmith could ride part time, but we could sell it in Clancy Vail.”
“Have you…” her mother hesitated, “have you traveled without a caravan before?”
He frowned, “Yeah, though it was with my family.”
“So you had your dad and his bow with you then?”
He shrugged again, but nodded.
~~~
Tarc stayed at their house. They set him up with an old mattress on the floor in their public room. It saved him money and eased their fear about what they’d do if John had more problems with his heart.
Unable to sleep, Gloria got up and wandered out to the kitchen. She didn’t deceive herself. She was hoping Tarc—the reason she couldn’t sleep—would be awake and might come to the kitchen and talk to her. Walking around without a candle or lamp wasn’t a problem since she seemed to be able to see in the dark.
Hood Page 25
