CHAPTER 13
A Cove in the Southern Continent, 15.7.7-15.8.7
JAXOM ROUSED, felt something wet slip down from his forehead across his nose. He irritably brushed it aside.
You are feeling better? Ruth’s voice held a volume of wistful hope that astonished his rider.
“Feel better?” Not quite awake, Jaxom attempted to lift himself up on one elbow but he couldn’t move his head, which seemed to be wedged.
Brekke says to lie still.
“Lie still, Jaxom,” Brekke ordered. He felt her hand on his chest preventing his movement.
He could hear water dripping somewhere nearby. Then another wet cloth, this one cool and aromatic with scent, was placed on his forehead. He could feel two large blocks, padded because they lay along his cheeks to his shoulder, on either side of his head, presumably to keep him from moving his head from side to side. He wondered what was wrong. Why was Brekke there?
You’ve been very sick, Ruth said, anxiety coloring his tone. I was very worried. I called Brekke. She is a healer. She heard me. I couldn’t leave you. She came with F’nor on Canth. Then F’nor went for the other one.
“Have I been sick a long time?” Jaxom was dismayed to think he’d needed two nurses. He hoped that the “other one” wasn’t Deelan.
“Several days,” Brekke replied, but Ruth seemed to think a longer period of time. “You’ll be all right now. The fever’s finally broken.”
“Lytol knows where I am?” Jaxom opened his eyes then, found them covered by the compress and reached to pull it away. But spots danced in front of his eyes, even shielded by the fabric of the compress, and he groaned and closed his lids.
“I told you to lie still. And don’t open your eyes or try to remove the bandage,” Brekke said, giving his hand a little slap. “Of course Lytol knows. F’nor took word to him immediately. I sent word when your fever had broken. Menolly’s has too.”
“Menolly? How could she catch my cold? She was with Sebell.”
Someone else was in the room because Brekke couldn’t speak and laugh at the same time. She began quietly explaining that he hadn’t had a cold. He’d had an illness known as firehead to Southerners; its initial symptoms were similar to those of a cold.
“But I’m going to be all right, aren’t I?”
“Are your eyes bothering you?”
“I don’t really want to open them again.”
“Spots? As if you were staring at the sun?”
“That’s it.”
Brekke patted his arm. “That’s normal, isn’t it, Sharra? How long do they generally last?”
“As long as the headache. So keep your eyes covered, Jaxom.” Sharra spoke slowly, almost slurring her words but her low voice had a rich lilt that made him wonder if she looked as good as her voice sounded. He doubted it. No one could. “Don’t you dare look about. You’ve still got that headache, haven’t you? Well, keep your eyes closed. We’ve got the place as dark as we can but you could do permanent damage to your eyes if you’re not careful right now.”
Jaxom felt Brekke adjust the compress. “Menolly got sick, too?”
“Yes, but Master Oldive sent word that she’s responding to the medicine very well.” Brekke hesitated. “Of course, she hadn’t flown Thread or gone between, which aggravated the illness for you.”
Jaxom groaned. “I’ve gone between with a cold before and got no worse for it.”
“With a cold, yes, not with firehead,” Sharra said. “Here, Brekke. This is ready for him now.”
He felt a reed placed at his lips. Brekke told him to suck through it as he should not lift his head to drink.
“What is this?” he mumbled around the straw.
“Fruit juice,” Sharra said so promptly that Jaxom sipped warily. “Just fruit juice, Jaxom. You need liquid in your body right now. The fever dried you out.”
The juice was cool in his mouth and so mild in taste that he couldn’t figure out from which fruit it came. But it was just what he wanted, not tart enough to irritate moisture-starved tissues in his mouth and throat, and not sweet enough to be nauseating to his empty stomach. He finished it and asked for more, but Brekke told him he’d had enough. He should try to sleep now.