“This is my judgment,” Tangan said. “Leave this house. I’ll not begin a guild war. You have half an hour to reach the airport. Take my warning seriously.”
Betan turned on her heel and walked, carefully, up the track past the hatani on the boulders, up the steps at the end of the hall. Thorn trembled, but it was cold; it was the burns. Where Betan had been, where part of his youth had been, was cold inside.
“One more question,” Tangan said.
“Master?” Thorn turned and looked up at the old man on the rock.
“What have you done today that you take the most pride in?”
Thorn blinked. It betrayed him and he was chagrined, but his eyes stung and his knees wobbled under him. “Getting Duun’s cloak here.”
There was laughter, all round the room, stinging laughter, hoarse and harsh.
“It’s a novice’s trick,” master Tangan said. His face relaxed and kindness came through. “Novices who grow up in the guild house never get caught by that, except the first day they arrive. But you weren’t told. And you honor your teacher. They laugh because you found four pebbles besides the water and the food. That’s very rare. I do fault you on letting the water out. But you made it up the hard way. Those burns will scar, young man. I think you should get them treated before we send you back.”
(I’ve lost, then.)
“You’re apprenticed to Duun no Lughn for as long as Duun sees fit. Beyond that point you’ll do as you see fit. You have the wisdom to refrain from judgment where you have no knowledge. That’s very important. Be gentle. Be merciful. Give true judgments. All other rules of the guild flow from these. A free-hatani judges and the guild will not involve itself. When you judge, the guild will shed blood to back you. Always remember that, Haras-hatani.”
“Yes, master Tangan.” And for a moment the master’s face let him see past another barrier. (This is a worried man. The hatani up there see it now. They were startled into laughter. There is anger in this room.) He slid his glance toward Duun and saw the other half of that expression. (They know something. No. Duun knows and master Tangan discovers it.)
“Take him and get those burns looked to, Duun-hatani.”
* * *
* * *
XIII
“Take care of him,” Duun said in leaving him. These were hatani meds, who took Thorn’s clothes and made him stand on a plastic grating and rest his hands on tables on either side for them to work on. Two more meds with soap and a small clear water hose started with his hair and washed him on down with sponges: gray water spattered down and swirled away into the white plastic grate, smoke and sand, and the knee stung and throbbed, but their touch was quick and gentle. The meds washed his hands too, but in a different way, with greater care. “This will be cold,” one said: something smelled pungent and likely to hurt; it hit his burned right hand with a shock that seemed for a moment to go to the bone, as the med sprayed a clear liquid on. But numbness followed, or the cessation of pain. It was so great a change Thorn knew then how much pain he had been in. The washing went on, and they did the other hand. The right they immersed in something gelatinous; and immersed again in something else, and that hardened to a shiny plasticity while one dried his hair and another saw to his knee and bandaged it. Their touch was kind. So was their manner. “Please, could I have a drink?” Thorn said, meaning from the hose when they could spare a moment. He had wet his lips while they rinsed his hair and face, but was thirsty again. The one drying his hair left off and brought him a cup of water, holding it for him to drink because they were working on his hands. Thorn looked into this man’s eyes and saw nothing but kindness.
“You ought to go to bed,” the med said who worked on his right hand, “but we understand otherwise. That’s finished now. Carry the elbows bent as much as you can, don’t close the hands or lift anything, hear, till the gel peels.”