056 – Healing

***

The two senior disciples had recovered from their injuries so that, by the time we reached Nettlewreath, they could pay the foot toll for walking into the capital city. During our time in the northern parts of Sandgrave, the city had increased the visitor toll and stationed more guards at the gate. Many people came here to take shelter behind the city’s unassailable defenses. Should a war break out, the capital was believed to be the safest location in the country.

Once inside the grand walls, Zambulon, Yurk, Hwilla, and I hurried to the tower of birds to meet with the cult’s spymaster. We found him grooming his brightly feathered messengers.

“Young disciples. We’ve heard of your success in the town of Bowbridge.” Luniquial said. This was the first time I had seen him so cheery. He must have finally had a chance to sleep. “Your actions there have been a great boon to our plans.”

“Bowbridge? Our mission was in Drainditch. We simply passed through that town on our way north,” Zambulon said.

“Yes. But from what I gathered, you four were instrumental in creating a schism between the two halves of the town on the festival night. Isn’t that true?”

“We caused some mayhem to steal horses and cover our escape,” he replied.

“Your festival pranks had serious repercussions. Had you done nothing there, the scuffle between some greedy town officials and a passing salt caravan would have amounted to nothing. The merchants would have paid a minor bribe and gone on their way. But thanks to your meddling, the situation escalated to a tense stand off and blockaded highway. Both sides sent representatives to the King’s Court to plead their case.

“This incident brought up a very sticky point in country’s laws. The king maintains the major highways because the local lords are notorious for letting them crumble away. That arrangement ensures the roads are passable, but denies the dukes and counts income from collecting tolls from travelers. The laws are clear about open roads across the countryside, but are less so when it comes to the towns the highways pass through, such as Bowbridge.

“The king had to judge this case, and rendered a verdict for the merchants. He declared that North Bowbridge did not have the right to impose tolls on his highway without his consent. Effectively, this decision states that his royal authority extends over all similar towns on the highways, and that it supersedes the dictates of the local lords. Because the town mayors are the sworn vassals of the counts and dukes, this decision completely defies the normal feudal order.

“The Loyalist merchants are happy, of course, because it frees them of burdensome tariffs inland. The Traditionalist Faction, however, is most displeased. They perceive the king’s claim over the fortified cities along the highways as highly aggressive. I shouldn’t have to explain how controlling those sites on the road would give a path stabbing right into the heart of the midlands for any advancing army.

“Your mischief has escalated to a kingdom-wide crisis,” Luniquial said with a note of satisfaction.

“But what of our assignment to the north?” Zambulon asked. “Did our work there count for nothing?”

“No. Your mission in the north was important. However Knogule’s spying won’t come to fruition for a long time,” the spymaster said “while the chaos you sewed on Bowbridge has already been harvested.”

“Hmph. Then maybe I should burn down barns wherever I go.”

“When head of the kingdom is well guarded, it is wise to strike at the feet to bring the whole thing toppling down. The royal spies are too busy in the palace to go investigate a riot in some small town, therefore our involvement will not be discovered. Minor acts of wickedness may seem frivolous, disciple, but any one of them could grow to more serious dimensions as this one has.

Luniquial warned us, “But while here in the capital, you disciples must be much more discrete. Stay out of sight. Don’t cause trouble or attract attention. The Gardeners are very watchful in these times.”

The Gardeners. Luniquial had mentioned them once before when first came to Nettlewreath. I didn’t see what gardening had to do with politics or crime.

“Who are the Gardeners?” I asked.

“The royal spies and secret police. They don’t hold public offices at the king’s court, but instead meet privately with him in one of the palace gardens. The name is ironic, but the Gardeners make my work of planting weeds very difficult.”

“They don’t trust you?”

“Not at all. But it’s the manner of their distrust that’s important. They see me as a self-serving parasite trying to worm my way into an official position at court. Thus they mistakenly believe I can be controlled with bribes and favors and flattery. They do not suspect I work for a higher power or manage a spy network of my own.” Luniquial plucked a tiny mouse from a box and tossed it to one of his colorful raptors. The bird swallowed the morsel whole. “But again, young friends, I must restate the importance of us not being seen together. The Gardeners often follow me around the city, so it’s not safe for us to meet except at predetermined times and places. For the time being, rest quietly at our safe house. I will contact you through our middleman shortly.”

***

During our trip back to the capital, Zambulon had been in a dark mood, speaking even less than Yurk. Part of that was due to his serious injuries. He could barely walk until we reached Nettlewreath, and after our arrival, he and Yurk were still too weak to fight. Hwilla attended to both of them as a zealous nurse.

Luniquial arranged for us to rent a small house in a quiet neighborhood under the walls. We were to wait patiently for any further orders. Likely, he would put us on the next ship sailing back to the citadel, because the two senior disciples were in no condition for fighting. They had time to rest and recover from their wounds. And I had a chance to explore the city on my own.

I grabbed my new staff, a simple piece of wood with no technological improvements, and headed to the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hwilla hopped in front of the door before I could make my escape.

“Nowhere in particular.”

“You can nowhere at home.”

“I need to step out to do some shopping.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“Ha ha. No need for that. I’m sure you’ll find my errands quite boring. And besides, our injured seniors are in need of help.”

She scowled at me. “Maybe you’ve forgotten that I’m also your senior.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten that. No matter how much I’ve wanted to.”

“After Yurk and Zambulon graduate, I’ll be in charge of you. And dealing with your funny business will be my problem.”

I had made plans for the day to make plans to plan my escape. I intended to go to the docks to speak with sailors. I wanted to learn what destinations the ships in port traveled to and what routes they took.

The original owners of the Black Tarnish Casino had the right idea about fleeing the country before war broke out. However, they had the advantage of knowing where to flee to. To me the island nations were wholly unknown. I had, of course, seen maps and globes of the world countless times in my previous life; but back then we had no names for the islands of the archipelagos. We usually just called them ‘bird islands.’ Specific places were marked by their longitude and latitude. Now that the islands were the refuge for humanity from the monsters and demons set loose on the continent, each one had its own name, and people, and long history…

I needed an atlas.

“So where are we going?” Hwilla asked me.

“To a book store. I need information for my studies.”

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We stepped out into the cobblestone street. Our safe house was a humble cottage that got very little light in the day due to being at the foot of the mammoth city walls. Peripheral neighborhoods like this had been practically uninhabited until recently, when refugees started buying up homes. As such, we didn’t stand out among the other newcomers and foreigners.

“Information on what?”

“Literally everything. But especially magic, history, medicine, and whatever passes for science around here.”

“You’re not going to spend the whole Student Improvement Fund on books, are you? I’m a student too, and I haven’t had a chance to be improved yet.”

“Ah. Now I see why you wanted to come along…”

The city of Nettlewreath divided itself into neat districts for residents, entertainment, schools, military establishments, and commerce. The commercial district was further subdivided into sections for various wares and services. This made it easy for us to locate all the bookstores in the city—or rather, both of them, as there were only two.

I rummaged through the dusty shops. Most of the merchandise were cheap book of myths and songs – all worthless for my purposes. It seemed that most of them came from the western islands, where they printed books on cheap paper. Mass production for mass consumption. Scholarly works, however, were rare manuscripts written on parchment and not commonly circulated.

I stumbled out of the last store with a heavy stack in my arms. “Rather a pathetic haul, by my estimation.”

“How many did you want?” Hwilla asked.

“A whole library or two.”

“You shouldn’t expect things like that out here in the colonies. Books are a luxury. The only books most people ever see are old hymnals in church.”

“Those stores had nothing at all on magic.”

“No wizard is going to sell their knowledge in a corner shop. Magi only share their secrets with their own disciples,” Hwilla said. While my hands were full carrying books, she snatched my money pouch off my belt and jangled the coins inside.

“Now that you’ve got your books, it’s my turn. I want to get some things too while we’re in the capital. First, I want to get Yurk a present. What do you think he likes?”

“Who knows. He rarely states his opinion on anything. But I’m sure he’ll like whatever you get him.”

Hwilla scowled at me. “Oof. You’re impossible. Aren’t you the least bit jealous that I’ve picked Yurk over you?”

“No. Why would I be? I’m happy for you and wish you both the best.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better at all, you scoundrel.”

“What do you want?”

“You were supposed to realize what a huge mistake you’d made by rejecting such a fantastic girl as me. Then you’d break down in tears and beg for me to take you back. But it would be to late, far too late. At that point, I would soundly reject you and skip away to happiness with my beloved Yurk while you wallowed in your well deserved heartbreak. That’s how things are supposed to work.”

“Sorry for not following the script.” I said and rolled my eyes at her melodramatic imagination.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” she yelled.

“No. No of course not. It’s just that my eyes were a little itchy, and I couldn’t rub them with my hands full.”

“Would you like me to scratch them for you?” Hwilla bore her claws at me.

“No! Ha ha. No need for that. They’re all better now.”

“You really are like a whole different person since your accident. It didn’t just break your brain, Strythe, it froze your heart solid.”

It made me nervous when Hwilla said things like that. She was perhaps the only person who paid any attention to Strythe before I took over his body. There was no telling how she’d react if she found out the truth about me. I really was a whole different person.

From there, Hwilla took over our shopping trip. Buying a bunch of heavy books in the beginning was a foolish mistake on my part, because I had to lug them all over the place as she drifted from shop to shop like a bee buzzing among the flowers. We wandered through mercantile districts of Nettlewreath, squandering her share of the Student’s Improvement Fund. The life of a disciple in the Void Cult was an austere one, so a trip to a major city gave her a rare chance to buy the luxuries of civilization, including soaps and cosmetics.

Hwilla examined her face in a decorative hand mirror purchased from a shop. “I think my skin is clearing up.”

“Probably the fresh air,” I said. Wearing a mask all day couldn’t be good for one’s skin. Especially considering most of the Faceless in training were greasy teenagers.

“No. It’s from augmentation. They say that magi change their appearance over time, becoming more like their ideal selves.”

“Like a witch’s stigma?”

“Um. I suppose so. Some swordsmen do develop weird features to go along with their weird personalities.”

I bit my tongue at that. Hwilla was the weirdest disciple of the bunch. There was no telling what sort of creature she might turn into.

“I still haven’t got anything for Yurk,” she said.

“We’re near the doctors' district. It’s not a very romantic present, but we should find some alchemic medicine. There are pills and elixirs that can increase a mage’s healing like an enhancement technique. Those would be nice to have the next time one of us gets their throat cut.”

She shuddered when I reminded her of Yurk’s injuries. His sliced throat had distressed Hwilla more than Yurk himself. For days, she hovered over him and Zambulon, feeding them and changing their bandages. When I tried to help, she would growl at me like a mother wolf around its cubs.

“Those will be expensive,” she said “but you’re right to want them. For emergencies.”

I went to the Leech District mentally unprepared for what I would find there. Of course, mankind had forgotten most of the knowledge of my era, science, chemistry, and biology; so I expected medicine to be in a primitive state. But I could not have anticipated the madness that would replace it. The so-called doctors wholly rejected any type of empiricism and embraced the wildest fantasies about the human body, filling it with humors, spirits, vital breath, influences, stellar vibrations, and other nonsense. Apothecaries and pharmacists sold poisons as medicine. Barbers stuck people with needles or sweated them in saunas. Doctors removed excess blood by applying leeches, a practice so common that ‘leechcraft’ became the general word for medicine. Madness.

It was the most depressing thing I had seen since my revival.

Among all these quacks, near the center of the Leech District, we found a real alchemist, which is to say a mage that made these special healing pills. I hoped that his understanding of aetherics surpassed the common doctors’ grasp of biology. The old shop no sign, making it impossible to find without asking the locals for directions. A place like this had no need to advertise to its exclusive clientele of magical swordsmen.

Hwilla and I entered the decrepit stone building. The shop contained the same sorts of equipment as the other apothecaries: ovens, retorts, crucibles, alembics. A large mortar and pestle sat on a counter next to piles of dried herbs. A wooden rack held ceramic and glass jars filled with all sorts of reagents. A crusty old man stood over a fiery crucible, working a hand bellows to increase the heat.

“Hello. We’ve come looking to purchase some medicines from the alchemist,” I said.

“I’m Fownst the Alchemist,” the man said with a grumble. “How much money do you have?”

I was surprised to find that he was a mage. He looked too haggard, with gray hair, rheumy eyes, and pasty white skin, almost as if he suffered from the early stages of scurvy. But the dim fire within him proved he was a mage. If what Hwilla said was true about a swordsman’s personality affecting their outer appearance, he must have been a rotten character.

“Hopefully we have an amount sufficient to buy your goods. Specifically, we would like medicine to temporarily enhance one’s healing. Something to recover from serious injuries.”

“A healing elixir? Yes I make them all the time for young knights. One vial will cost you a full minas.”

“A steep price, but we can afford a few–”

“Of gold that is. Not silver.”

“Oh. Sixty gold shekels might be out of our price range. Especially for a single dose.”

“You can’t put a price tag on your health, young man. It’s invaluable. Precious. Therefor a few gold for a life-saving elixir is cheap.” The alchemist gave me a crooked smile.

“I agree. A human life is a priceless. A miracle. The only thing worth protecting. Which is why you, as a practitioner of the healing arts, should sell your goods at the lowest possible rate to maximize the well being of your patients and society as a whole.”

“Pah! When I said ‘life’ is invaluable, I meant one's own life. Other people can suffer or die as they wish; it means nothing to me. And so profit always comes first. Medicine costs money.”

I looked around the old shop. Everything here was worn and dusty. The ceiling had soot marks from past fires. “And what has that earned you? By the looks of this old shop, you aren’t spending your outrageous profits on luxuries.”

He coughed into his sleeve. “For me, breathing is a luxury. My work is motivated by neither greed nor goodwill, but out of necessity. After being struck with a powerful venom many years ago, I took up alchemy to create an antidote. That medicine does not fully neutralize the poison, so I require a steady supply to keep death at bay. The ingredients to produce the antidote are rare and expensive. So the true purpose of this business is to keep me alive; the lives of any other swordsmen saved by my elixirs are mere side effects.”

“I see.” There was no point appealing to Fownst’s humanity or professional ethics. He wasn’t a doctor at all. I’d need some other way to haggle down his prices. My eyes roamed the interior of the shop. At the back of the room, a large shelf showed the leather bound spines of large codices.

“Forget your pills, master alchemist. How much for your books?”