Shadow Road: Book 1 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy

45. Sharp Eyes

20th of Nema, Continued

Rhaina was waiting in the Director's office to tell me that Doctor Longalli needed my help in medical wing B, so instead of working on the identity papers the Director had asked me to record, I grabbed my translation kit – a collection of lexicons, a slate, chalks, a barrel pen, ink, a lap-board and several sheaves of paper, all stuffed into my Father's satchel – and set off through the back halls of the school to the hospital ward.

When I got there, though, it took a moment to make myself go in. I bit my lip and stood outside the double doors to the medical wing, hesitating. I had been through enough of these translation sessions to know what waited for me inside, and the effect of it hadn't seemed to lessen with repeated exposure.

I was being selfish. Tear it off like a tacky plaster. I took a breath and pushed the door open.

The Doctor came bustling out of one of the treatment cubicles at the end of the aisle. "Oh good, you're here." She waved me in, then gestured toward the bed she had just come from. "This one won't let me near his dressings now that he's awake, and he's in danger of undoing two surgeries by developing a septic infection. I'd rather not have to put him under every time I see him."

"Name?" I asked quietly as I approached the cubicle.

She fell into step beside me. "I have no idea. He's southern, though, I think."

A stunningly handsome boy of about fifteen lay on the medical cot, both of his shins in casts. He smiled readily enough at the Doctor but went blank as a clam when he saw me behind her.

"Hello," I tried in Tettian. Then again in Ronyran. Nothing. Further south?

When I tried Caraki, "Tazhir'ai, inamsa Miss Westerby," the boy went perfectly still, his pretty doe-brown eyes wide. Then they welled with tears before he could stop them, and he buried his face in his blanket for a moment, muffling a sob before swiping furiously at the wet on his cheeks. He shoved himself up off his cot in spite of his broken legs, and held out his hand, fingers spread in a street greeting.

I touched my fingertips to his, and a glorious smile broke over his face. I didn't think I would ever get used to that look on another human's face – that realization that they weren't alone.

"Inos Nikkorus."

Yet again there was a tug on my heart, pulling me toward this place. I managed a smile in return and kept going in Caraki. "Hello, Nikkorus. This is a hospital. And this is Dr. Longalli." Then I started translating for the Doctor as she told him what she needed to do to treat him.

Knowing the Director would appreciate the effort, I got out my notebook while the Doctor worked, and began asking Nikkorus where he was from, and what he remembered. He answered readily enough. He was from the Pardeshi region just north of the Caraki border. He came from a small family farm that was overcome by the floods last year and had sold himself to a Friend in a barn outside Pordazh Kaskara so his father could build a new barn.

He didn't want to say what happened after that, but he did tell me what the name of his family was, and where they lived. I recorded all of it, then got out of Dr. Longalli's way as she started redressing the wounds on his back.

The next patient was a woman named Orra, who spoke a regional version of Tradeslang I had never heard. Thankfully, it only took a few minutes of asking questions to figure out the different pronunciations and the syntax, but it didn't help much. She didn't know where she came from. She only knew that she had been a slave in a 'long house' somewhere that she was unable to describe in much detail other than to say there were lots of other girls there, and they made parts for machinery.