But Ranan comes first.
I scramble to his side, ignoring the sharp jabs of the rocks on the undersides of my bare feet. “Ranan!” I touch his throat, feeling for the pulse of his heartbeat, and I’m relieved to feel it thrumming underneath his greenish skin. He’s hot and dry, though, his skin burning under the endless sunlight. He needs water and shade. Did he pass out from exhaustion? Heat? I skim my gaze over him, looking for issues…and stop when I see one leg tucked under another. There’s a tourniquet tied around the calf of one leg, and it’s swaddled in what looks like strands of seaweed from the shallows.
The sand around him is dark with blood. How am I just now seeing this? I thought it was a shadow. My body clenched tight with fear, I reach down and brush some of the seaweed away. It’s even worse than I thought. His leg looks as if it’s been ripped at from the knee down, like a sleeve being torn from a dress. I can see bone. I can see loose flesh. And over all of it is sandy grit.
No wonder he’s fevered.
“We’re going to fix this,” I swear to the unconscious Ranan. I won’t allow myself to panic. He needs help, and I’m the only one that’s around, so it has to be me. I’m not much of a medic, but I’ve sewn up many torn robes. Hopefully I can start from there. Stopping the bleeding is the first issue.
I glance around the tiny land spit, but there’s no shelter except under the fronds of the lone tree. I eye my surroundings and then Akara’s empty back, thinking longingly of the shelter that is normally set up there. Ranan must have removed it when we went to the grotto. I should have considered this when I climbed on Akara’s back earlier, but I was too panicked. All I’ve got is my knife and my tunic.
It’ll have to do.
Eyeing my clothing, I decide Ranan needs it more than I do. I pull off my brand new tunic and slit up the sides of the careful stitches I’d made just days ago. With the fabric, I make a long length and then roll Ranan’s heavy, limp body onto the end of it. I use the fabric as a makeshift travois and drag him to the shade of the tree itself. The leaves protect from the worst of the sun, so I settle Ranan against the trunk of it and then get to work on cleaning his leg.
The sand is everywhere, which is annoying, but I can hopefully get most of it cleaned. I end up ripping the material of my tunic in half. Half of it remains under Ranan so he has a relatively dirt-free spot to lie down, and the other half I take down to the water’s edge with me, soaking it and then returning to his side with my streaming bundle. With the seawater, I rinse the sand away and carefully try to push the brutalized flesh back into place. It needs stitches, like a ripped sleeve would, but I don’t even have a needle and thread with me.
Ranan moans in pain, drawing my attention.
I touch his cheek, noting that he’s burning up. “Are you waking up? Ranan?”
No response. His lips part and they look cracked and dry. I don’t know how much water he drinks, but I’m guessing that someone that spends most of his day submerged probably needs a fair amount to keep his throat wet. He needs a drink. I look around, helpless. There’s nothing here but those stupid oversized round nuts. I kick one away, and to my surprise, it sloshes.
Oh.
When I take a closer look at the nut, I recognize the outer shell. It’s some sort of exotic fruit that Lady Dywan would have on her table occasionally. I’ve never tasted it, but I have had a taste of the milk that comes inside. It’s something for Ranan to drink at least.
I claw at the nut’s hard-but-spongy exterior, trying to open it. Doesn’t work. Frustrated, I stab the knife right into the heart of the damned thing, and a clear liquid spurts out. I yelp, grabbing the oversized nut before all the liquid can pour out, and hold it carefully over Ranan’s parched mouth. It dribbles against his lips, and I stroke his throat to encourage him to swallow. When it runs down the sides of his face, I set the nut aside, tilted carefully so the precious liquid remains intact, and stroke his face to comfort him. “Ranan?”
Still no response. All I can do is hope that things aren’t as dire as they look.
I press my fingers to his skin, but he still feels hot and feverish all over. I soak the fabric one more time, then drape the wet length over his body to cool him. He sighs at that, and I feel as if I’ve done something right, at least.
There’s a splash in the distance, and I think guiltily of Akara. Is the turtle anxiously awaiting news about Ranan? Or does she know I have under control? I move to the water’s edge and wade back out to her, reaching for the enormous face. She could take my entire body in her mouth and snap me in half, and yet I’m not afraid of her any longer.
We both want the same thing—for Ranan to survive.
I stroke the hard beak, sending her warm thoughts. “He’s going to be fine,” I reassure her. I’m not sure if that’s true or not. I don’t know how to take care of him out here with no supplies, but I’m going to do my best. Ranan’s going to need food to keep up his strength, though, and I’m no fisherwoman. We can eat the fruit, of course, but I think Akara will need something to do to keep herself busy. I know I would. “Can you patrol the waters for us, Akara? Make sure no predators are coming this way?”
The turtle makes another bellowing sound, and then she pushes off away from the land-spit, leaving me alone with the unconscious Ranan. For a moment, I panic as she leaves. She’s my way back to the grotto, to safety. But as I watch her go, I relax a bit more. Akara is loyal. She’s devoted to Ranan. There’s no way she’d leave him here. She’ll make certain we’re safe here and once Ranan’s awake and able to walk, we’ll get him on her back and to the grotto where I can take proper care of him.
I sit down next to him, stroking his too-warm brow, and wait.
The stars glitter high in the sky and the night is absolutely clear. The weather is beautiful and the sea around us calm. If it weren’t for the fact that Ranan is grievously wounded, I might appreciate the quiet, perfect night.
As it is, it just emphasizes how much is wrong.
Ranan continues to sleep, but his dreams are fitful and unpleasant. He sweats. He tosses. He turns. He breathes rapidly sometimes, as if he’s running up a hill, yet he remains asleep. I keep his leg wet, because seawater has to be more sterile than the sand that crusts everything, but I worry it’s not enough. If we were in a city, I’d insist the local healer come by. They’d sell us some stinky potion for him to drink, sew up his leg, say a few prayers to Kalos, the Lord of Disease, and ask him to stay his hand.
And while I can do the prayers here, I don’t know if they’ll do any good if his leg doesn’t get sewn up. Right now it’s just an open wound, and I know that isn’t good at all.
I prop his head in my lap throughout the night, stroking the delicate fin that rises from his head. Even it feels overly warm, and it worries me. At least back at the grotto I could give him my willow bark. I could bathe him with fresh water and feed him soup. I could sew up his leg.
Being out here in the middle of nowhere will be death for him if he doesn’t awaken.
Daylight comes, and Akara returns with a bellow. She slaps at the water with her fins to demand that I come greet her. I wade back out to her, my face raw from the sunlight and my mouth parched. My stomach rumbles, but I’ve been saving the white flesh from the nuts for Ranan in case he should wake up. But now that Akara has returned, I have a new idea.
“I’m glad you’re back, because we need to talk,” I tell the turtle as I wade out to her side. Akara immediately comes to me and pushes her nose against my hands, not unlike the barn cats used to back at the farm in Parness. I stroke her nose and images of Ranan drift through my mind, pushed to me by the turtle. She’s asking how he is. I send my thoughts back to her, filling my head with the unconscious Ranan and then mental images of Ranan back at the grotto, Ranan awake and smiling. “We need to go back. I can’t tend to him here. Can you take us?”
