“Of course,” she said. She didn’t feel up for eating breakfast anyways, her stomach full of heavy ash. “I’m sorry it didn’t work, Father.”
“Three days of work, and it wasn’t enough. Another failure.” He fixed red-veined eyes at her. “I thought I had him. That it would work. It almost did.”
“You’ll get it, Father.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Shall we tidy up?”
It wasn’t as bad as she feared. A heavy canvas bag held most of the bloody rags. The lab table needed a good scrubbing and the floors mopping. She’d grown used to the aftermath of a surgery. The pain the spilled blood represented was a sign of love, of the effort spent by Dualayn to heal them. It was proof of how much he cared for his patients. He saved lives.
When he could.
At least two of the patients recovered, she thought.
She opened a cabinet in the corner and pulled out a heavy apron. She tied it before her then pulled on a white cap. Last, she donned thick gloves made of canvas. All would have to be washed afterward. She found the aquifer and filled a wooden bucket with it, the stream of water spraying from the sapphire. The size of the gem would allow more water to gush out. Jewelchines were like that. Bigger gems created bigger effects.
It was one of the limitations of the healers. To be at all effective, they required some of the largest topazes found, the size of her fist. Not cheap and not common. Miners around the world searched for them.
I imagine Qoth is happy to have a use for topazes that big. While there were plenty of mines in the Border Fang Mountains separating Lothon and Roidan, the best jewels came from the Vobreth Mountains and the central highlands of the eastern lands. Qoth lay in the center, a land of high valleys and soaring peaks.
The bucket full, she grabbed a bar of hard soap, the scent of lye strong. She dunked it in the water and swirled it around to form suds. Once she had enough, she dipped in her pig bristle brush.
“How is the research coming on the Recorder?” Avena asked as she began scrubbing the old blood.
“Oh, I’d thought you’d forgotten about that,” he said. “Spending all your time learning to break bones.”
A flush colored her cheeks. “It’s . . . necessary. When the riots happened, they—”
“Ōbhin drove them back while you . . .” He sighed. “Maybe you do not have the temperament for fighting.”
“Because I’m a woman?” She scrubbed hard at a patch of blood. “Because I’m delicate and will faint?”
“Because you have a healer’s touch, not a killer’s.”
She froze for a moment. “I don’t want to kill, but I can’t stand by and do nothing. Not when I can help.”
“The soul of a healer, child. We are going to revolutionize the world. What I am learning from the Recorder is fascinating.”
“Like embedding gems throughout a body.” She glanced down at the mess. “Is that what caused this? The blood seems . . . old.”
Dualayn glanced at the Recorder. “The implantation didn’t work. I suspect I didn’t hit the right nodal points.” He looked back at her, grinning. “But I learned. Oh, Avena, the knowledge I am deciphering. I have pages and pages written down. Did you know information can be transmitted through the air?”
She shook her head, the whisk of the scrub brush dwindling.
“When we speak, we transmit sound. Imagine doing that through the resonance of crystals, sending them across the world or using them to control devices. Mechanisms. Automatons.”
“Like the clockwork dolls being made for the rich’s amusement?” She shook her head. “They don’t do anything useful. Just a way to flaunt money.”
“Not useful, yet. I hear Bareyin Duames is close to getting one that can be programmed. He has a theory that instructions can be held in a jewel. Basic ones.” Dualayn smiled. “He’s right. I should write him a letter and nudge him in the right direction. Imagine a guard that can’t get tired. A whirling mechanism of gears that will protect you. Then you don’t need to risk getting your own head split open or leg cut to the bone.”
And I’d have to stand there helpless.
“So, these automatons . . .” She frowned. “Are those like the ancient crystalmen who fought the darklings before the Black shattered the world?”
“And after,” said Dualayn. “For a time. They are mentioned in the Recorder. They were instrumental in the ‘sealing of the Ruby Nodule’ when someone named Ozsor lead the counterattack and created the Warding. I suspect it is the same Warding Boan Sword-Arm reestablished to stop the darkling incursion. The entry on the subject of Ozsor is the newest I can find. I suspect the city was destroyed not long after. Now Ozsor is a name that pops up in heathen mythologies, you know. In a variety of forms, of course. Scholars of theology had noted the various Heralds, Avatars, Tones, and Gods of the east. They have names that appear to derive from a single source, even in languages with no connection.”
“So they’re named after real people who lived when the Black shattered Elohm’s creation?” Avena asked. “The centuries have just distorted things?”
“Time has a way of doing that,” Dualayn said. “Look at me. I’m hardly young any longer, and my Bravine . . .”
She shifted, an emptiness filling the air. “You love her a lot.”
“More than I could possibly express, child,” he said, his voice tight, his words almost a groan. He stared down at his hands.
“Did you ever love anyone before your wife?”
“What a curious question, child.” His gazed lifted.
