“Stop. Stop, Fitz. I am so tired now. It hurts. And the pain wakes all the memories.”
“Very well,” I agreed hoarsely, but it took some time for me to separate my awareness from his body. I felt as if I returned to my own flesh from a long and vivid nightmare. The last step of that withdrawal was my lifting of my hands from his face. When I opened my eyes to regard him, the room swam before me. I felt a moment of terror. I’d gone too far and damaged my sight! But it was only weariness. As I stared, the dim room yielded to my vision. I shuddered with relief. The candles had burned down to half their length. I did not know how much time had passed, but my shirt was sweated to my back and my mouth as dry as if I had run to Buckkeep Town and back. As soon as I released the Fool from my touch, he dropped his face into his hands and cradled it, his elbows on the table.
“Fool. Sit up. Open your eyes. Tell me if we accomplished anything.”
He obeyed me but he shook his head as he did so. “I did not close my eyes. I kept them open. Hoping. But nothing changed.”
“I’m sorry.” And I was. I was sorry he was blind and fiercely glad I had not lost my own sight trying to heal his. I had to ask myself how hard I had truly tried. Had I been holding back? I didn’t want to think I had, but I could not find an honest answer. I thought of telling the Fool my fear. What would he ask of me? That I help him regain sight in one eye by giving up one of mine? Would he demand that much of me? Would I agree or deny him? I measured myself and found I was less courageous than I’d believed. And more selfish. I leaned back in my own chair and closed my eyes for a time.
I jolted awake when the Fool touched my arm.
“So you were asleep. You suddenly became very quiet. Fitz. Will you be all right?” There was apology in his voice.
“I will. I’m just very tired. Last night’s … revelation exhausted me. And I didn’t sleep well.” I reached up to rub my eyes, and flinched at my own touch. My face was swollen and warm to the touch, as if I’d been in a fight.
Oh.
I gingerly prodded the tops of my cheekbones and the outer sockets of my eyes. Even if I had not given him his vision back, I would pay a toll for what I had done.
Why?
None of the other Skill-healings I’d assisted with had affected me this way. Thick had done a prodigious amount of healing on Aslevjal Island and shown no ill effects at all. The only difference that came to my mind was my connection to the Fool. It was far more than a Skill-connection: When I had called him back from the other side of death, we had had a moment of profound joining. Perhaps we had never truly parted.
I blinked and measured my vision again. I noticed no difference, no hazing. I was almost certain that while we had repaired bone, we hadn’t done anything that would benefit his eyesight. I wondered if I would have the courage to attempt any further healing. I thought of all I had glimpsed that was broken inside him, all the lingering infections and badly healed damage. How much of that must I take on if I continued my attempts to heal him? Could anyone fault me for refusing to make such a sacrifice? I cleared my throat.
“Are you certain there is no difference in your vision?”
“I can’t really tell. Perhaps I perceive more light. My face is sore, but in a different way. The soreness of healing, perhaps. Did you find anything when you were … inside my body? Could you tell what stole my sight?”
“It’s not like that, Fool. I could tell that there were breaks in your facial bones that hadn’t healed properly. And I put them on the path to healing, and tried to undo some of the places where the bones were not aligned as they should be.”
He lifted questioning hands to his face. “Bones? I thought the skull was one bone, mostly.”
“It’s not. If you wish, later I can show you a human skull.”
“No. Thank you. I’ll take your word for it. Fitz, I can tell by your voice that you found something else. Is more wrong with me than you wish to tell me?”
I chose my words carefully. No lies this time. “Fool, we may have to go more slowly with your healing. The process is demanding for me. We must employ good food and rest as much as we can, and save magical efforts for the more difficult injuries.” I knew those words were true. I tried not to follow that thought to its logical conclusion.
“But—” he began and then halted. I watched the brief struggle in his expression. He so desperately needed to be well and on his quest and yet, as a true friend, he would not ask me to exert myself past my strength. He’d seen me exhausted from Skill-efforts, and knew what the physical demands could be. I did not need to tell him that the healings might do actual injuries to me. He did not need to bear the guilt for what I’d already done to myself. That was my own doing. He turned his clouded gaze back to the candles. “Where did Motley go?”