Difference between revisions of "Logs:In Time"

The morning of Iskiveth's untimely demise had been like any other. Miska made his rounds of existing patients, saw to the squabbles amidst the apprentices, and signed a slew of paperwork that he was sure he'd never remember in the end. He was chatting with a cobbler, who had twisted his ankle in ironic manner, when the keening started. His own reaction was slow in coming, but eventually, a casual flick of his eyes around the room noted the changes in the mood, in the thickness of the tension. Before he had a chance to collect his thoughts - and notes - one of the other journeymen was already at his side.

They met the contingent that included the Weyrwoman and Weyrlingmaster, on their arrival, having rallied enough to come to a semi-unanimous conclusion. Telgar's goldrider would be afforded the luxuries they would give any patient of her status, and yet, this particular situation required careful maneuvering; they chose a secluded room off the main infirmary, where they could provide personal care for her individual needs.

Miska knew she was addicted to fellis. His acquaintance, a healer at Telgar, had made her predicament known to him some time before. He could claim to be unbiased when it came to this particular case, but he knew, deep down, that he wasn't.

Was he proving a point, then? Was he making an ethical stand? It was hard to say, even to himself.

Those next few days were some of the hardest.

Apprentices and aides, when not busy with their duties, were to watch the door and keep Teris from harming herself or otherwise bribing someone to find her fellis. They couldn't keep her from seeing guests altogether, but they didn't make it easy either. Miska found himself, when not doing his routine checkups on the woman, staring despondently towards her door.

He knew his decision wasn't a popular one, and more than a few of the staffed healers had expressed their concern; dragonriders notwithstanding. But he did want to help her.. or did he want to experiment? More than once he caught his mind roaming, to the what ifs and expectations, to the possibilities and information gleaned, but he always put a stop to those revolving ideas. She deserved a choice, not being handed one that was classically ingrained.

Why, if only they looked at that boy at Fort! He was doing well!

Misgivings were just that, and he had to remind himself, often, that what he was doing would benefit her, would benefit them all.

Miska didn't remember who told him that Teris had managed to find relief from her suffering. That day was much of a blur. He only remembered the loud thump-thump-thumping of his own heart over the myriad sounds of the infirmary, and his anxiety, that crept up from places unknown. What had he expected? Wasn't this better, in the end?

Still, he sat for a long time in Madilla's office, his temporary office, with his head in his hands and not a single thought in his mind that he could remember later.

That Madilla released him of his duties didn't come as a surprise. That it took her so long, did.

Miska wasn't welcome at the Reaches. He could see the hatred in their eyes when they looked at him. He could feel the weight of it in their words. He was relieved when they called him back to the Hall.

There would be an inquest into his actions. They could take away his knot. They could take everything away from him, and yet.. and yet..

He didn't feel scared. He didn't feel anxious. He felt numb.

He did what they asked of him. He taught the classes they allotted him. He had his own room, kept it tidy, and wrote correspondence to his parents of his impending inquest.

When the time came, he sat in front of the board of seasoned healers and spoke his piece, trying with minimal success to convey his part and his regret. It never came easy for him.

And then he waited, teaching the over-eager apprentices, going through his daily route by rote. He still felt numb, but there was a sense of anticipation. Did he want punishment? Did he want to atone for his crime (as they put it)? Perhaps he did.

But when Tevara sat him down and told him the news, that he was to be spared the humiliation of demotion, he released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. No, he wouldn't be setting foot in a Weyr for a while, but he'd still be able to practice his craft.

His father would be ecstatic, his mother would just smile and say she knew it would end this way, and most of all, he would be able to live again.

In time.