The main thing Arram remembered from the spring examinations was his goodbye to Faziy. He had paid Yadeen some of his carefully saved money for the silver materials—slender chain, double loop clasp, setting—and a beautiful piece of jade, both for calm and prosperity. Even Yadeen, who was difficult to please, praised the necklace when it was done. Faziy wept when he presented it to her on the last day of class, and allowed him to help her put it on. She laughed when he showed her the mark he had engraved on the clasp: a tiny lightning bolt.
“I won’t worry about your prosperity,” she told him before he left for Dagani’s class. “I know that one day everyone will know who you are. You should start to think about a mage name.”
“She’s right,” Tristan said when Arram told his friends about it at supper. “Arram Draper isn’t the sort of name to inspire awe. No one is ever going to learn what my name was before I changed it.”
Varice leaned her chin on her hand. “Something dark and mysterious, like you’re growing to be. Though I’ll miss Arram.”
“I’d feel silly with a grand name,” Arram said, feeding Preet bits of fruit.
“And I have to keep mine,” Ozorne said. They gathered up their dishes and left the dining hall to work on their studies. The discussion was over, but every now and then Arram would toy with the idea, trying out new names and laughing at his efforts.
When the marks were posted, Arram was pleased with his. He was even with Ozorne and Varice in the classes they shared, which was all that mattered. Tristan and Gissa did well enough in their own classes that they mustered a group of friends and headed into the city to celebrate. Arram, Ozorne, and Varice retreated to the menagerie, where new leopard cubs had just arrived.
The friends’ week of relaxation was done before they knew it, and Arram was pitched into his new schedule. He dimly realized at some point that he had expected to be making more medicines for Ramasu at the infirmary. In truth, that was part of his work, as was mopping, scrubbing, fetching materials for older helpers, and guiding patients to the rooms where they would be cared for and given a bed if necessary.
He had been there a month when one of the older students grabbed him by the arm and hauled him into an examining room.
Ramasu stood by a weathered, skinny man who sat on the worktable. The man wore a plain old shirt, breeches, and sandals, as well as a thick, dirty rag wrapped around one arm.
“Water, clean cloths, cleansing liquid,” Ramasu ordered.
Arram turned to get those things, but Ramasu said, “Not you, Arram. Gerb will do it.” The student who had brought Arram there left the room. “This is Daka. He is a farmer from one of the villages to the south. Daka, my student, Arram.”
The man nodded shyly to Arram.
“Daka had an accident a week ago, and waited until now to come to us,” Ramasu said with reproach.
Daka glared at the master. “It’s plantin’ time,” he retorted, as if Ramasu had forgotten a central aspect of life. “My woman is near to poppin’ with another babe, so she’s no help. The older two is some use, but she needs them at the house and the home garden.” He smiled. “Him and the girl is hard workers, and a help to their ma.”
“And how did you hurt your arm?” Ramasu asked. Arram was startled. Talking with the farmer, his reserved and aloof master was gentle, even kind.
“Agggh!” Daka growled. “I tripped comin’ in from the field and hit a sharp-edge rock. It wasn’t too deep, so my woman washed it in vinegar for me and wrapped it up. I didn’t think no more of it till the thing leaked through the wrap. I took it off, and the thing were all swole up. I put a clean cloth on it, but it hurts and hurts.”
“Were there herbs in the vinegar?” Ramasu asked. “Bits of leaves or sticks?”
“She puts plants in it for flavor,” Daka snapped. “Everyone does.”
The student Gerb returned with the requested supplies and laid them out on the table, ready for use. “Shall I remove the bandage, Master?” he asked Ramasu.
The master shook his head. “Arram will do it. You prepare a wet cloth. I will be ready to hold Daka’s arm if it is needful.” Ramasu looked at the farmer. “We’re cautious only because this cloth may now be stuck to your arm. I’d like you to hold still, if you would be so good.”
Daka looked at Ramasu, then Arram, gulped, and nodded. He held out the arm.
“Wash your hands in the fountain,” Ramasu instructed Arram. “Use the soap. Touch nothing once they’re clean, until you hold Daka’s arm. Where is the injury?”
Arram could see the swelling of the cloth on the underside of Daka’s forearm, but the man pointed it out anyway. The rising flesh under the bandage reached from the farmer’s wrist almost to his elbow. Arram hurried over to wash. When he finished, he shook the excess water from his hands as he had seen Ramasu do. Then he walked over to Daka and undid the knot on his grubby bandage. Gently Ramasu raised the farmer’s arm until it bent in an L shape. Arram would be able to look directly at the injury when he bared it.
“You should see Arram in class,” Ramasu told Daka as Arram carefully unwound the bandage from the farmer and wrapped it around one of his own hands. “He has a bird—the size of a small blackbird—that goes nearly everywhere with him.”
Arram lost track of what the master was saying. In the lean flesh under the bandage he felt something wrong, just as he felt something wrong when he worked with sick animals. If he went by what he knew of animals, the man had an infection, a bad one. Already he could see yellowish leakage on the bandage, then brown old blood on the last few layers. These were not inclined to come away from Daka’s skin.
The man grunted.
“I’m sorry,” Arram said. “I’ll take one more small pull, and if that doesn’t give, we can soak it a little to—” He tugged gently on the cloth.
“Here,” Ramasu told him. Arram reached out with his Gift to feel what the master did with a touch of his own power and the sigil for release.
The cloth yanked free of the wound, peeling away dried blood and other matter. Pus and blood spurted, splattering Arram’s face and shirt.
Instinctively he kept his mouth and eyes closed until he felt no more fresh liquid. Then he grabbed the cloth over his shoulder and wrapped it tightly around Daka’s wrist, stopping the flow of blood and matter. For a moment none of them said or did anything else. Then Gerb soaked a cloth in the warm water he had brought and began to clean Daka’s arm. Slowly Arram unwound the clean cloth until he could see the wound. It oozed sluggishly, an abscess that would have killed the man without treatment.
“That seems bad,” Daka remarked. He looked at Ramasu, his eyes filled with terror. “If I get my arm cut off, my fam’ly will starve.”
“It’s no cutting matter,” the master said kindly, resting his hand on Daka’s good shoulder. “Watch. Arram, I understand you know the basics for the sharing of power.”
“But that was marble!” Arram cried.
Ramasu nodded. “The combining of our power is much the same—I discussed it with Yadeen a while ago. The difference is in the lines. Instead of fibers within stone, we will work in terms of nerves. And you will not lend power this time. You will work as part of me, learning this kind of mending spell as you go.”