Windhaven

There was another visitor, a man strange to Maris. And yet he was not a stranger: She knew the touch of his gentle, sure hands, and the sound of his almost musical voice speaking her name. Unlike her other visitors, he came close to her and held up her head and fed her hot milky soups and spice tea and a thick, bitter potion that made her sleep. She could not think how or when she had met him, but she felt glad to see him. He was thin and small but sinewy. Pale skin was stretched taut over the bones and planes of his face, freckled with age. Fine white hair grew well back from a high forehead. His eyes, beneath prominent brows and in a webwork of tiny wrinkles, were brilliantly blue. But although he came so often, and knew her, Maris could not bring his name to mind.

Once, as he stood beside her and watched her, Maris struggled out of her half-sleep and told him how hot it was, and asked him to take away the blankets.

He shook his head. "You're feverish," he said. "The room is chilly and you are very sick. You need the warmth of the blankets."

Startled by this phantom who had finally answered her, Maris struggled to sit up and get a better look at him. Her body responded sluggishly, and a sickening pain seared her left side.

"Easy," said the man. His cool fingers were on her brow. "Your bones must knit before you can move.

Here, drink this." He lifted her head and pressed the smooth, thick rim of a cup to her lips. She tasted familiar bitterness, swallowed obediently. The tension and pain drained out of her as her head sank back on the pillow.

"Sleep and don't worry," said the man.

With difficulty she managed to speak: "Who…?"

"My name is Evan," he said. "I'm a healer. You've been in my care for weeks now. You are healing, but still very weak. You must sleep now, and conserve your strength."

"Weeks." The word frightened her. She must be terribly sick, horribly injured, to spend weeks in the house of a healer. "Wh — where?"

He put his strong, thin fingers against her mouth to hush her. "On Thayos. No more questions now. I'll tell you everything later, when you are stronger. Now sleep. Let your body heal itself."

Maris stopped fighting the coming sleep. He had said she was mending and must conserve her strength.

She wished only, as she sank into sleep, that she would not dream again about that brief, terrible flight through the storm, and the awful crushing of her body.

Later, when she awoke, the world was dark, with only dim embers alive in the hearth to give shape to the shadows. As soon as she stirred, Evan was there. He prodded the fire into new life, felt her brow, and then sat lightly on the bed.

"The fever has broken," he said, "but you are not well yet. I know you want to move — it will be hard to keep still. But you must. You are still very weak, and your body will mend better if you do not tax it. If you cannot keep still by yourself I must give you more tesis."

"Tesis?" Her own voice sounded strange in her ears. She coughed, trying to clear her throat.

"The bitter drink that quiets the body and mind, brings sleep and relaxation to stop the pain. It's a very helpful drink, full of healing herbs, but too much of it can be a poison. I had to give you more than I liked to, to keep you still. Physical restraints were no good for you — you thrashed and struggled and strained to be free. You wouldn't let the broken parts of your body rest and heal. When you drank the tesis you fell into the quiet, healing, painless sleep you needed. But I don't want to give you any more. There will be pain, but I think you can bear it. If you cannot, then I will give you tesis. Do you understand me, Maris?"

She looked into his bright blue eyes. "Yes," she said. "I understand. I'll try to be still. Remind me."

He smiled. It made his face suddenly young. "I'll remind you," he said. "You're accustomed to a life of activity, motion, always going and doing. But you can't go somewhere to get your strength back — you must wait for it, lying here, as patiently as you can."

Maris began to nod her head, checking it as she felt a dull, straining pain on her left side. "I've never been a patient person," she said.

"No, but I've heard that you are strong. Use that strength to be still, and you may recover."

"You must tell me the truth," Maris said. She watched his face, trying to read the answer there. She felt fear like a cold poison moving throughout her body. She longed for the strength to sit up, to check her arms and legs.

"I'll tell you what I know," said Evan.

She felt the fear in her throat and could scarcely speak. The words came in a whisper. "How… how badly was I hurt?" She closed her eyes, afraid now to read his face.

"You were terribly battered, but you lived." He stroked her cheek and she opened her eyes. "Both your legs were broken in the fall, the left one in four places. I set them, and they seem to be mending well — not as quickly as they would if you were younger, but I think you will walk without a limp again.