The Peasant (20 page)

She has the bedside manner of an executioner, Trickling Stream thought, dismayed.

“Oh, my,” the old woman said, looking afraid. “Does that mean I can't share my pleasures with my mate anymore? I don't have much else, eh?”

“No, not at all,” Gentle Hand replied, smiling. “You'll still have your vagina. After I remove your ovaries, you'll need regular treatments of estrogen. Once every six months or so should do it.”

“I don't have no money like that,” she complained.

“You can't afford not to have your ovaries removed either,” Gentle Hand said calmly. “You'll die in a year if they don't come out. Don't worry about the cost; just come back to see me in six months.”

“But I don't feel right, not payin' you! I maybe don't have no money for the operation.”

“How much money do you have?”

“I got only three taels.”

“That's fine. Do you want to have the operation now, or would you like to think about it and come back?”

“Do I got to wait, like I did today? I been here all day, you know.”

“Probably.” Gentle Hand sighed.

Trickling Stream guessed the medacor had worked non-stop since morning. What she'd first thought was callous indifference was simply fatigue.

“Will it hurt?”

“Not much.” Gentle Hand smiled.

“Well, do it now then, and thank you. Infinite bless you.” The old woman lay back at the medacor's bidding. Suddenly, she slept.

Trickling Stream's knees almost buckled from the peripheral energy of Gentle Hand's sleep compulsion.

Moving around the table, the medacor bumped into Trickling Stream and frowned, looking puzzled. “Are you still here?”

“What can I do to help, Lady Hand?”

“Why don't you just drop the 'Lady,' all right? I'm a peasant. Thank you for being considerate, but it's not necessary. Stand on the other side of her. Yes, right there. You don't faint at the sight of blood, do you? Good, then you'll do. I'll instruct you as we go along. If you really want to help, tell your Matriarch to give me back my son, eh? I'd be done with all those patients out there if she hadn't taken him. As it is I have a full waiting room, most of whom I'll have to send away.

“All right, I need you to dab the blood from the incision. I'll pinch off all the arteries, but there'll be a lot of blood in the abdominal cavity. What's your talent? Dehydration? What kind of talent is that? Sorry, I just never heard of it. Might be useful here, though. Sure, try it. Better than those expensive sponges. Of course, I always knew I'd lose him, but I didn't expect he'd be gone at seven years old! He's just a
baby
!

“Here we go. Oh, my, look at the tumor. Let's take you out of there, along with the ovary you've eaten. There, get that blood; that's it. The other ovary has growths; out it comes. What I wouldn't do for an assistant right now. Then I'd have to pay that assistant, which I can't afford. Do I really need to remove the uterus? Looks all right, and so does the vagina. Good, good. Here, take these, and I'll close her up. Over there, in that bin. There, that was easy, and not a seam to show where I opened her. With a dose of estrogen, she'll be good for another six months. Wake up!”

The old woman stirred, looking disoriented. “Is it over?”

Gentle Hand nodded and stepped to a sink to wash the blood off her hands. “Just leave your money on the table there. I left your uterus because I didn't see anything wrong with it, but I did take your ovaries. You'll be sore for a week or so. Come back in six months for another dose of estrogen.”

“Yes, Hand, and thank you. Oh, Infinite bless you for leaving my sex. I'm so grateful.” The old woman slipped off the table and stood.

Trickling Stream helped her into the waiting room and said, “Next!”

Of the twenty or so patients only five remained. Among them was the man from across the street. While she watched, he placed a large hand on a young girl's broken leg and healed it.

“What is it?” Gentle Hand asked behind Trickling Stream, then stepped up beside her. “Oh, uh, thank you for your help, Lord.”

Looking toward her, he smiled, his eyes bright blue.

Trickling Stream wondered how he'd healed fifteen patients in so short a time. She looked at Gentle Hand. The medacor didn't look surprised or concerned. Has the man helped here before? Trickling Stream wondered. “Do you know him?”

“He comes to help occasionally, but not often enough that I can rely on him. Lord, would you attend to the other patients while I feed my daughter?” Gentle Hand jingled the old woman's three taels in her palm.

Nodding, the blond man smiled and turned to the next patient.

“Thank you, Lord. Come this way, Lady.” Gentle Hand stepped through another curtain.

Following the woman, Trickling Stream wondered why Gentle Hand called the man “Lord” when she disliked honorifics. Unless the man were nobility, but if so, who
was
he?

Beyond the doorway were living quarters. On one side of the room was a scullery and refectory, on the other a central room. Opposite her was another doorway, probably the bedroom and excretory—if the abode
had
an excretory. I can't imagine living in such cramped quarters, she thought, even by myself. With my mate and three sons, I'd find it intolerable. How Gentle Hand endures it, I'll never know.

In a central room chair was an older woman, a baby in her arms. Gentle Hand stepped toward her. “I'll take her now, Grass. That settles your bill. Thank you for your help.” The medacor took the infant from her.

Standing, Grass bowed to Trickling Stream and left.

Gentle Hand loosened her cotton sash, freeing a breast; the child latched on before the mother sat down. “Hungry, eh?”

Smiling, Trickling Stream pulled up a chair opposite her. Shelves lined the central room walls, hundreds of books on them, the only sign of wealth she'd seen. She read a few titles; anatomy, physiology, pharmacology, all the texts looked medicine-related. At the base of one bookshelf was a rolled up mattress. Probably Healing Hand's bed, she thought. “Who's your Matriarch?”

“Don't have one—she disowned me after I left my mate and took his son.” Gentle Hand stroked the infant's head.

Trickling Stream suppressed her shock. “Didn't your mate object also?”

The medacor looked at her calmly. “I told him I'd leave him if he beat the boy again. Would you leave your son with a man like that?”

Frowning, Trickling Stream shook her head. “I admire your courage.”

Gentle Hand smiled. “Thank you.”

“Forgive me for prying. I needed to ask.”

“You're welcome to ask. I can refuse to answer.”

“Indeed. Are you a certified medacor?”

“Yes and no,” Gentle Hand replied. “The Council of Physicians took away my certificate and that senseless title of 'Lady' when my son began to help me. They said he was too young. As if they know who can or can't heal. They tried to stop me from practicing. After half the people from this quarter camped on the steps of their building, they decided to leave me alone—on the condition I practice quietly.”

Trickling Stream chuckled, liking the woman. “Will you try to get re-certified, Lady Hand?”

“I don't need their sheepskin,” Gentle Hand said. “I told you before, I'm a peasant; don't call me 'Lady.' ”

Trickling Stream smiled. “The Lady Matriarch sent me to find out what you
do
need.”

Gentle Hand looked at her and laughed.

Not the reaction Trickling Stream expected.

“Oh, Infinite help me, I need so much I can't
tell
you what I need.” Shaking her head, the medacor sighed. “I want my son back, but that won't happen, will it?”

“Hasn't he applied for apprenticeship under the Imperial Medacor?”

“So?”

“The Lady wants to secure him lodging inside the castle where he won't have any distractions from his studies.”

“The Imperial Medacor hasn't accepted him yet!”

“That's only a matter of time,” Trickling Stream replied.

“And if he
doesn't
accept him?”

“He will.”

Gentle Hand shook her head. “How can you be so sure?”

“The Lady knows. You were there when she had that vision. Your son will become the Imperial Medacor, of that you can be confident. When and in what manner are all that's in question.”

“The Lady Matriarch puts a lot of confidence in her visions,” Gentle Hand said with contempt.

“They've never been wrong—and an Empire depends on the accuracy of her sight. Anyway, the Lady also wants Healing Hand to learn other disciplines. He'll work very hard, Hand. The Lady abides by no indolence.”

Gentle Hand sighed. “All right, so I'll lose the best assistant I'll ever have. I don't want to lose my son as well.” She frowned at the other woman. “So the Lady Matriarch sent you here to find out what I need?”

Trickling Stream nodded.

“I want someone who'll help in the clinic, who'll take care of my daughter when I can't, and who won't begrudge the rotten working conditions, long hours, and complete lack of pay.”

“All right.” Trickling Stream smiled. “Why
do
you run this clinic?”

“I ask myself that every day, and haven't found an answer. Since I haven't stopped, I must find it rewarding.”

Trickling Stream nodded. “Do you own your home and office?”

Frowning, Gentle Hand shook her head.

“This place needs a few repairs, eh?”

The medacor nodded, looking puzzled.

“Do you need medical supplies?”

Gentle Hand nodded her head vigorously. She looked down at her daughter, who let go of the breast. Putting the infant to her shoulder, she burped the child, then freed her other breast, where the girl latched on.

“Make a list, please, and—”

Poking his head through the doorway, the blond man from across the street interrupted her. “Hand, someone's here with a crate full of everything, says you ordered it.”

“A few items for your household I thought you might need, Hand,” Trickling Stream said. “I hope I haven't been too presumptuous.”

Gentle Hand smiled, her eyes glistening.

“First, the Lady will buy the property and renovate it to suit your needs. For as long as you run the clinic, you may live and work here rent free.”

A big, bright tear spilled from a green, glowing eye.

“Second, a medacor will help you each day. When you so need, a nurse will care for your daughter at any time, day or night.”

A sob shook the woman.

“Third, last, and more important than anything, Hand, the Lady and I want you to continue to treat the people in this area. We'd feel terrible if you had to stop because you lost your assistant. We believe we'd have very little suffering if more people chose to serve the community as you have.”

Her gratitude poured down her face. “Thank you,” Gentle Hand whispered. The infant girl let go and began to cry. “Oh, I'm sorry, precious baby. Mother got upset and lost her milk for a moment.”

“Where's the Lady Stream!” Silent Whisper said gruffly from the other room.

“In here, Lord Captain.” Trickling Stream wondered why he'd come to get her, only fifteen minutes having passed.

Pushing aside the curtain, Silent Whisper nodded to the blond man and looked at Trickling Stream. “Lady, forgive me, but you've a summons.”

“Thank you, Lord Whisper,” she said, standing. “Hand, an architect will come here tomorrow, and you should probably think about the design of your clinic. Any immediate needs you have you can request through him. Infinite be with you.” She bowed, according the woman a respect beyond her station, then stepped past the blond man toward the door. In the empty waiting room, she stopped, frowning. “The Lord and Lady…” she asked in a whisper.

“They escaped,” Silent Whisper replied.

“Oh, thank the Infinite they're safe.” Trickling Stream sighed. “That man, Lord Captain, does he … Why are your eyes red? You've been crying, haven't you? Infinite bless you your caring, Lord. Anyway, does that man look familiar to you?”

Silent Whisper looked back toward the curtained-covered doorway. “He looks a little like Healing Hand.”

“You're right! He looks a
lot
like Healing Hand,” Trickling Stream whispered. “The man fathered the boy—I'm
sure
of it. Why does Gentle Hand claim she left him?”

Smiling, Silent Whisper leaned close. “The man's a bandit.”

Oh, Trickling Stream mouthed as he led the way out the door. Stepping through it, past the house shields, she consulted the psychic flow.

The Lord Emperor Flying Arrow was summoning her.

“Why?” she asked, tapping the flow for further information. Terror sank its terrible talons into Trickling Stream's heart. Commanding the Imperial troops at the west gate had been her mate Tumbling Pigeon. The Emperor had ordered him to stop the Matriarch Water's palanquins.

“Are you all right, Lady Stream?” Silent Whisper asked.

The Emperor will have my mate's head for his failure! she thought, feeling his loss already. Looking at the Captain, not seeing him, Trickling Stream gestured mutely toward the castle.

“Shall I come with you?”

She shook her head, the world blurry and distorted.

“You look faint. I'll take you to the castle gate, Lady.”

She felt his firm grip on her arm. A moment later, she began to walk under her own power. “Oh, dear Lord Infinite, where are my children?” she wailed, falling to her knees.

Silent Whisper helped her stand. Trickling Stream began to run, praying her three sons were safe somewhere. Anywhere.

T
he psychology of Swords themselves ended their nine-thousand year reign. The tendency in people to identify and emulate figures of authority is strong. Hence, when an object becomes the literal and figurative source of authority, the society governed by that authority reflects the values embodied by that object. One value that the Swords embodied was dominion over others—dominion enforced by the threat of death. Investing a weapon like the Swords with such absolute authority condemned civilization to a nine-thousand year history of bloodshed and violence. What continues to puzzle historians today is that the sovereignty of the Swords lasted so long.—
The Fall of the Swords
, by Keeping Track.

Carrying official announcements, news of importance, rumor and speculation, the psychic flow is the medium that Emperors often use to disseminate their opinions, sometimes in very subtle ways. The Imperial Swords enable Emperors to infuse the flow with the intensity and duration they need for each particular message. The Emperors Condor, for instance, generated feelings of racial superiority and xenophobia with the Western Imperial Sword. Always pervading the flow were subliminal suggestions that pure Western heritage was better than mixed extraction, and that anyone without blue-black hair and epicanthic eyes was barbaric and untrustworthy. The Emperors Condor infused very little energy into this suggestion but never ceased broadcasting it. Hence, despite the suggestion's weakness, its very endurance and pervasiveness indoctrinated everyone within the borders of the Western Empire.—
The Great Universal Mind
, by the Sorcerer Flowing Mind.

* * *

Someone shook her shoulder, waking her. Bubbling Water opened her eyes to a star-filled sky, wondering momentarily where she was. Hot water lapping at her stomach, she remembered.

When she reached the camp, Snarling Jaguar suggested a hot bath. They walked around the hill, inside the perimeter of tent, to a hastily constructed bath. Sap beaded the new plank of narrow step. They led up to a wooden platform with a low railing, the bath built around a large iron cauldron. A pyrathon had already heated the water nearly to scalding. Before they disrobed for the bath, Bubbling Water scanned the area with trace sectathonics. She found thousands of Jaguar soldiers and one odd, familiar signature. Snarling Jaguar sent a warrior to investigate, concerned that sentries hadn't seen and dealt with the intruder already. The warrior returned sick with several ailments and Healing Hand. After the boy cured the warrior of his afflictions and explained his presence, Snarling Jaguar insisted they all three bathe. In the water Bubbling Water fell asleep.

“Thank you for waking me, Lord Jaguar,” she said, yawning. “I'm sorry—I didn't mean to fall asleep.” She dunked her head to wash the dregs of sleep from her mind.

“I couldn't let you sleep in here all night, Lady.” Snarling Jaguar stepped from the bath and over to a bucket. While he eliminated, Healing Hand and Bubbling Water politely looked elsewhere. As in the Eastern Empire, bodily functions in the Southern Empire were just bodily functions. In the Western Empire elimination was a private matter, obscene to discuss or see.

Bubbling Water pulled herself from the bath. A servant began to dry her, and a coiffeuse worked the snarls from her long sopping hair. “I'm Climbing Ivy, Lady Matriarch,” the coiffeuse said in the Southern language. “How would you like your hair?”

While describing her favorite coiffure, Bubbling Water glanced at Healing Hand. A servant insisted on drying him; he looked uncomfortable with the attention. After that indignity, Healing Hand snatched the loincloth from the servant and put it on. Then he grabbed the small robe from the railing before the servant could. Grudgingly, he accepted the moccasins and comb from the servant. “I can dress myself, thank you.”

Bubbling Water tried not to giggle. A servant helped her dress in a soft lambskin loincloth, then a silk halter. “Careful with the pyrokinesis, Ivy,” she said in the language of the south. “My hair's more sensitive to heat than what you usually work with.”

“Yes, Lady, I've noticed,” the Southern coiffeuse replied.

“If I become a medacor, Lady Water, do I have to learn that awful-sounding language?”

“To be of service to your liege lord,” Snarling Jaguar replied, “you must discipline your actions, emotions and thoughts. To become a leader, Hand, you must compel people, which requires a knowledge of your language, and perhaps other languages.”

“Oh,” Healing Hand said. “I guess it's not that awful.”

Snarling Jaguar chuckled. Fully-dressed, he stepped to the small set of stairs. “I'll be at the entrance to the main tent. Follow at your leisure,” he said, pointing up the hill and leaving.

Bowing, Bubbling Water frowned at Healing Hand, who hadn't. Have I
ever
seen him bow? she wondered. While she looked at her reflection in a hand-held mirror, the coiffeuse deftly arranged Healing Hand's hair.

“What are you doing?!”

Climbing Ivy sent an image needing no translation.

“First I have to take a bath,” Healing Hand complained. “Then someone acts like I can't dress. Now this. I'm gonna be sick! Give me the mirror, Lady Water.”

“You look handsome,” Bubbling Water told him, caressing his chin. Glancing from his reflection to her, he looked at her in disbelief. “You do, Hand! More handsome than the Lord Bear.”

“Now I
know
you're fibbing, Lady Water!” Shoving the mirror into her hand, Healing Hand tousled his hair and stepped toward the stairs. “You think the Lord Bear's the most handsome man you know.”

“True,” Bubbling Water said, uncomfortable that the boy knew so much about her. Sighing in acceptance, she reminded herself that Healing Hand needed to learn discretion.

Following him down the steps, Bubbling Water strode face first into the cool night air. They began to ascend the steep slope, toward the sprawling tent crowning the crest of hill. Above the tent, the three-headed jaguar banner fluttered in the wind. The light from within framed Snarling Jaguar, talking quietly with Stalking Jaguar.

Miles to the east, a slumbering city surrounded the edifice of Emparia Castle, glowing bright in the night. Seeing it, Bubbling Water knew now was as good a time as any. Stopping, she put her hand on the boy's shoulder, her fingers wound in his golden locks. “Little Hand,” she said, sighing, “you know how your talent enables you to learn so much about the people you treat?”

Healing Hand nodded, sensing her reluctance.

“Already you've learned several secrets that…” Searching for the best approach, Bubbling Water decided that euphemism simply couldn't suffice for truth. “Secrets that could get you killed.”

“I know,” Healing Hand whispered, head bowed in shame.

“There's no shame in having a talent like yours. I'd be proud. It's a gift of the Infinite, who meant you to have it and to use it. What you tell others is what concerns me. What you said back there, Hand, was personal to me, and—”

“You mean about the Lord Bear?”

“Yes, and—”

“It's the truth!”

“Yes, it
is
true,” she said, smiling and gathering patience. “Sometimes, Little Hand, truths are painful and dangerous. You remember what the Sorcerer did to my daughter? If everyone knew of the deed, what do you think would happen?” She felt his probe. “No, Hand, I want you to find the answer inside you.”

“People would die?” Staring at her, his eyes larger than moons, Healing Hand whispered, “It's that dangerous? No fibbing?”

“No fibbing.”

Looking toward the castle, he sat heavily on the ground. A sparkling tear slid down his cheek. Sitting beside him, Bubbling Water gathered him to her. A telepathic whisper touched her mind. Looking toward the two men above them, Bubbling Water caught the portable shield Stalking Jaguar had thrown. Activating it, she felt the barrier enclose herself and the boy.

When he could speak, Healing Hand wiped his face clear of sorrow. “I don't want to know what I know.”

Hesitant before to have the memory erased, Bubbling Water considered letting him keep it. The seed could grow into the dense foliage of discretion an Imperial Medacor needed. With just his talents, Healing Hand would learn many secrets as dangerous. No time was too soon for the seed to be sown.

Although he'd listened in upon her thoughts, Healing Hand wished to be rid of the knowledge still. Despite his years, he was wise enough to recognize the need for the painful lesson.

Emitting gentle support, Bubbling Water waited, the decision his alone.

“Lady Water, I think I'll learn—” he lifted the word from her mind “—discretion.”

Bubbling Water chuckled, hugging him. “I knew you'd decide wisely. What might help, Little Hand, is to think about the effects of your telling on others. When you can balance your needs against those of others, then your disclosures will be discreet.”

He thought about that one. “It's not easy to learn, eh?”

“No, it isn't.” Picking up the spherical shield, Bubbling Water switched it off and stood. Helping the boy to his feet, she put her arm around his shoulder. They began to climb the hill, wrapped in thought.

“Thank you, Lord Heir,” she said as they approached the two men.

“A small kindness for a lady far more kind.” Stalking Jaguar caught the thrown shield.

“Infinite bless your gilded tongue. Lord Emperor, can you get a message into Emparia City?”

“What message and where, Lady Water?”

“To Healing Hand's mother at her clinic in the southwestern quarter, that he's in my care.” She tousled the boy's hair affectionately.

“I already sent such a message, Lady Matriarch,” Stalking Jaguar replied.

“Oh, why thank you, Lord Heir.” Bubbling Water smiled gratefully at him.

Snarling Jaguar gestured them inside, his hand on the boy's shoulder. Stalking Jaguar led the way and Snarling Jaguar took up the rear. Inside the large tent was a maze of tapestry. Each shimmering wall embroidered with a pattern or scene, the corridors unfolded before them, the tapestry ahead as intricate and beautiful as the ones to the sides and behind. The labyrinth reminded Bubbling Water of Emparia Castle itself, with its countless stairwells, cavernous amphitheaters and convoluted construction.

Stalking Jaguar stopped, stepped to one side, knelt and bowed. The tapestry was of a large, ferocious jaguar face, its fangs long and dripping saliva, its eyes fierce and viciously feline. Bubbling Water knelt opposite the Southern Heir. Healing Hand looked at them, puzzled. Snarling Jaguar stepped around him and lowered himself to a velvet cushion, his back to the image. Bubbling Water nudged the boy toward the ground with a whisper of talent. Turning red, Healing Hand knelt and bowed.

Snarling Jaguar nodded to acknowledge their obeisances. The other three straightened. “No one is to disturb us,” he said, addressing empty air. From beyond the flimsy walls, the creak of leather and susurrus of silk receded. They were alone now. Bubbling Water guessed that ever-present guards had shadowed the group.

“Why do you have all that gold and stuff on your hands, Lord Emperor?” Healing Hand asked, reaching to touch metalled hands.

“The purpose of the jewelry, Hand, has little to do with the ornamental value.” Snarling Jaguar held out his left fist at arm's length. “Lady Water, would you measure the weight?”

Nodding, she applied her telekinesis, lifting only the metal and not the flesh. “About seventy pounds, Lord.”

“I've lost some baubles,” the Emperor said in mock distress. “They usually weigh seventy-five pounds.” He dropped his arm; it crashed with a metallic clash to his knee. “Like all parts of the body, a person must exercise the hands and arms frequently to maintain their strength. Too often I'm so busy with the Empire, I grow lazy. I
could
use hunks of lead, but silver, gold and platinum are much prettier, Hand. Don't you think, Lady Water?”

“Much prettier, Lord.”

“My turn, Little Hand. You've applied for apprenticeship under the Imperial Medacor, eh? I saw how you sickened the guard I sent to investigate. Can you make anyone sick to the degree you can make them healthy?”

Healing Hand frowned. “Yes, Lord Emperor, but I don't like to. I really didn't make the guard very sick, either.”

“Hearing that pleases me, Little Hand.” The Emperor pulled from his sleeve a small device with many buttons. He punched several, and Bubbling Water felt the tent's electrical shields change. A hole opened on the side toward the castle. “Do you see that archer, there on the city wall?”

He found the archer with his trace sectathonic sight and nodded.

“Give him a rash, Hand.”

The Arrow Archer tore at his clothes to scratch the inflammations breaking out all over his body. As suddenly, the rash disappeared, leaving the archer baffled.

Chuckling, the Emperor pressed a few buttons and repaired the hole in the shields, then tucked the shield-control panel into his robes. “Well done, Little Hand.”

“That was nothing, Lord Emperor,” Healing Hand said.

“I hear no false humility in your voice or manner,” Snarling Jaguar said. “Have you done that at greater distances, Hand?”

“Thirty miles, Lord.”

“Infinite help us,” Bubbling Water said. No one could send farther than twenty-five miles without help such as the focus in the Imperial Sword. “Are you training in the arts of war, Little Hand?”

Healing Hand shook his head.

“From what I've seen, you might also become a psychological Wizard.” Another Wizard-medacor, she thought, remembering her old friend Easing Comfort—a blond haired man with blue eyes and large hands. Panic gripped her. She began to glance at Healing Hand, then shut her mind and looked away. She knew the resemblance was no coincidence.

“The Infinite has given you great gifts, child.” Snarling Jaguar glanced at Bubbling Water. “I hope you find the guidance to use them wisely.”

“Yes, Lord Emperor.” Looking torn by internal shame, Healing Hand didn't see Bubbling Water's reaction.

“Have you seen the unwise use already?”

“Yes, Lord Emperor,” the boy said, glancing at the Matriarch.