I had to piece together the story on my own from the clues around him.
His parents had taken fruit to market and, because he was Kieron, he’d decided to do one last project before sneaking away, chopping a fallen tree for firewood. His axe had split a log badly, and a piece had ricocheted back and struck his temple.
There was so much blood.
His equilibrium was off. I saw evidence he’d thrown up. He trembled, flushed with fever, but his hands were like ice. He answered my questions in confusing circles interrupted by snorts of laughter that dissolved into tears.
“Do you hear that?” he asked, whipping around toward the house. He pawed at the air, as if trying to swat the cause away.
I heard a smattering of birdsong in the trees, but nothing that should have agitated him so. “Hear what?”
Kieron frowned, then cupped his hands over his ears. “It’s so sharp. The ringing. It hurts! Make it stop! Make it stop!” He picked up a log and hurled it away from him, hard. It shattered a window along the side of the house, and I jumped at the sudden ferocity.
I’d treated patients with concussions before—there were dozens of ways a head could be struck during a workday—but this felt different, more dangerous.
His brain was swelling, I was certain of it, filling with fluid and pushing upon his skull. It would eventually restrict blood flow. His brain wouldn’t get the oxygen it needed, and parts of it would begin to die. And when the brain began to die…
There was only one way to stop the pressure from building to such levels.
Trepanation.
I’d need to drill a small hole through his skull, giving the brain a way to let go of all the pressure. It was his only chance.
But I couldn’t do it here.
Wrestling the axe from him, I guided Kieron to my cart. We’d have to go back to my farm, back to my cottage, back to where that damned valise waited. I’d send word to his family when I could and help clean up the mess of shattered glass later. Later, when Kieron was well.
Kieron didn’t want to go.
His steps kicked out to the side like a newborn foal’s. He nearly fell over trying to get up onto the wagon’s seat, and Cosmos went mad, barking with excitement and fear.
“Stop!” Kieron ordered, slurring as he pointed a warning finger at Cosmos, hitting the side of the cart with a booming thud that finally silenced the pup. I’d never seen Kieron so aggressive before. I knew it was only the injury, knew that the swelling could cause him to react in surprising ways, but it still set my nerves on edge anticipating the next blow.
The ride back felt a million years long. We passed the ghosts, but I barely noticed, mentally preparing myself for the surgery to come.
Once back at the cottage, I struggled to get him inside and across the large worktable in my study. He didn’t want to lie down, didn’t want to be still. I held back tears as I tried to smile and reassure him.
As fast as quicksilver, his mood changed again. A dopey expression washed over his face as he grinned up at me. He reached out to hold my chin. It took him several attempts to catch it. “So pretty today Hazel. You. I’m today Hazel, you marrying today Hazel. You,” he announced proudly, unaware his words were wrong, a jumble of noises and nonsensical sounds.
I wanted to howl. I wanted to fling myself over his heaving chest and burst into tears. I wanted to sit and wring my hands as someone else handled this, as someone else took care of him. But therewas no one in town who could help, not like I could. Not like I would.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tried, the cords in my neck straining as I struggled for composure, and I wasn’t sure if that promise was for him or me.
I needed to prepare, needed to grab at some sort of structure and plan to follow or I feared I’d lose my mind.
I opened my supply cupboard.
There were scalpels and braces and brushes, burrs of various sizes, and the drill.
I stared at the C-shaped piece of metal. It was thicker than my thumb. Its handle was made of polished mahogany, and it looked far too lovely to be used for such a gruesome service.
I’d practiced the surgery before—on the skulls of freshly slaughtered pigs bought at market—but I’d never done it on a live patient, and my hands trembled now.
“Today Hazel you,” Kieron murmured again as his eyes fluttered, struggling to remain open.
There wasn’t much time left.
As tenderly as I could, I probed at his head, feeling the wound.
