By the time the captain got back to the hospital wing, Rolo had converted the room into a one-patient triage center. He’d bound three small cots together in the middle of the room and built a makeshift tent over the top with sheets and wooden supports. Stacks of supplies, consisting mostly of clean rags, various knives, and topical ointments, herbs, and buckets of fresh water were gathered at the foot of the conjoined structure. Rolo had also managed to secure bands of thread to secure the boy down.
“Oh,” said the captain. “Look at that.”
Rolo was wrapping excess thread into a ball as the captain inspected. He used the blade attached to his forearm to separate the surplus thread from the bed, then looked up.
“What’s the string for?” said the captain.
“His wrists and ankles.”
“Will that be completely necessary?”
Rolo gave him a knowing look that required no words.
“Aye,” said the captain. Then he noticed someone else in the room. It was the young woman who’d been adjusting the threads around the globe when they first arrived. She was standing in a corner, watching the archon and occasionally tending to the fire. Unlike her senior, Sister Darla, she seemed intrigued by the man with the wings. More than just intrigued, if the captain was any judge.
“Do you require any more thread, master archon?” said the girl.
“No,” said Rolo. “This should do.”
“Do you need anything else?”
Rolo kicked a cot away making more room to walk around the structure. It made a loud squeak before thumping against the wall. “Nope. You can go now. Thank you.”
“Please let me know if you need anything. Anything at all,” said the girl in a tone so sweet it was almost sickening. “I’ll just be, uh, through here.”
Rolo glanced at her, up at the captain with a smirk, then back at the girl. “Thank you … uh, girl.”
Dennis cleared his throat and watched the girl close the door behind her, never once taking her eyes off Rolo until the door was completely shut. He sighed. “Well, now what?”
“I’m going back to the tavern.”
“I believe it’s closed.”
“Not for a drink.”
The captain shook his head. “I really do hope you’re worth all this fuss, archon.”
“I’ll help you hold your wall, captain, you needn’t worry about that. And the archon order will forever be in your debt—if the boy makes it.”
The captain grunted. He fell backwards onto a cot, one untouched by Rolo’s redecorating, and kicked off his boots. “Well then. It's late. I’ve duties early in the morning along the wall. Wake me if anything … exciting happens.” He tipped his hat forward onto his face and was snoring within a minute.
Rolo walked over and stoked one of the two fireplaces, and tossed a log in. Then he inspected his creation one more time before leaving the hospital through the backdoor. He closed it behind him then, with a single whoosh, was airborne. He curved back around with a few more pumps and landed on the roof of the church. From there he surveyed the town. An archon could see better in the dark than a normal man, but it didn’t take any supernatural ability to spot Jane in the upper room window of her tavern, only a few streets away. There she was, plain to see. A balcony equipped with a pair of wooden chairs, supported the window.
He couldn’t quite make out what she was doing, but he could tell she was fussing over something. Cleaning? There was a bucket and a rag involved. She was scrubbing. Was she cleaning the room? No, she wasn’t cleaning. He squinted and saw the edge of someone else just out of frame. Felix, he guessed. It had to be. She was tending to the boy, to his back. She was the town nurse after all, and his aunt.
He sighed, looking around at the town. Yellow windows lit the area like fire flies stuck in place. Dark smokestacks rose from chimneys and blended into the ever dimming darkness of the night. Giant, ancient trees rustled in the wind. It seemed very peaceful here. He could see an ever-growing number of townsfolk gathering around the flickering bonfire in the middle of town. It contributed to the appearance of easy backdrifer life of a small communal island. A stark contrast to High Dawn, the island he stayed the night prior. That island was one massive city and never seemed to sleep, or stray from the endless parties, entertainments, and indulgences that went on there. Theaters, gambling houses, ale houses and restaurants, and of course pleasure houses. That’s what it was known for. The people there gawked at his wings, same as here, but out of awe and admiration, not unfounded religious fear and suspicion. There they gave archons free drinks and fawning admirers, who regaled at the stories he told.
Rolo thought about joining the captain and curling up on his own cot. Sweet Gemma knew he needed the rest. Instead, he found himself in the air again, circling above the tavern. He landed softly on the roof and slid down to Jane’s balcony. There he could see that the window was actually the upper half of a door. The boy was sitting on the edge of a bed, shirtless, while Jane dabbed at his bulging back.
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Rolo knocked on the window, a little louder than intended. Both Jane and the boy jumped. Then Felix got to his feet and Jane went for a drawer in a nearby nightstand and pulled a small black powder pistol. Rolo cringed and knocked again, this time a little more gently. The balcony wasn’t lit, so it was impossible to see anything but a dark shadow from inside. And Rolo did cast quite a big one. Tentatively, Jane pushed the door open and pointed the barrel at Rolo’s chest.
“Evening,” said Rolo.
Jane sighed when she realized who it was, although that didn’t convince her to lower the pistol. “Come for a looksie, have you?”
“I’ve come to check on the boy. Would you mind pointing that pistol somewhere else?”
“I don’t know how things are done wherever you’re from, Archon, but we don’t just pop up on each other’s balconies on the edge of the night uninvited.”
“I thought you backdrifer girls found that kind of directness alluring?”
“Not this girl,” said Jane.
“My apologies,” said Rolo, his hands up, holding back a smile. “And noted.”
“Aunt Jane, let him in,” said Felix, softly, putting his hand on Jane’s wrists and gently disarming her. He released the tension of the cocked hammer, set it on the end table next to the bed, and turned to Rolo. “Come in,” he said.
Rolo gave Jane a wink before pushing past her in the doorway, allowing his thick feathered wings to brush over her without consideration.
The room was lit by a fireplace and had a single, small bed against the back wall. A cabinet of medical supplies, herbs, and instruments stood against another wall, the contents revealed through glass squares built into the cupboard doors.
Felix took his seat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward. “How bad is it, from an archon’s perspective?”
Rolo leaned in close and couldn’t help but cringe. He let out a tisk, tisk, and looked at Jane. “There is threaded stitching here.”
“Well, of course,” said Jane defensively. “That's what you do with splitting skin.”
The vertical slits between the boy’s shoulder blades were, indeed, stitched and pulled tightly together. They were also oozing, despite the copious amount of herbs packed into the open flesh to seal it. The layers of exposed skin and muscles underneath also appeared to be infected. “Not if something’s trying to get out,” said Rolo. He looked at Jane. “From what I can tell, he should have birthed these wings days ago, maybe weeks.” He made a gesture with his wrist and the blade along his forearm extended with a mechanical twang. He slit the stitches with two quick, expert strokes. Felix flinched, and more blood spilled down the boy’s back and pooled on the bed. He clenched his fists and let out a shudder, but didn’t resist or cry out.
“I’ve … tried to keep it clean, keep the wounds from splitting further,” said Jane, her confidence ever waning. “But I—”
“You’ve done what you can, and what you thought best. But you can’t stop the inevitable,” said Rolo. “We need to get him over to that hospital. Tonight. I’ve prepared it well enough for what’s to come.”
“So it’s true,” said Felix, lifting his head, heaving a heavy breath. “I really am … like you?”
Rolo closed the blade on his forearm with a click. “Without a doubt, son.”
As if to emphasize the point, something under Felix’s skin rolled on its own accord, a smaller lump protruding and undulating underneath it all.
Felix groaned and covered his mouth. “It makes me sick when it does that,” he said, as more blood and puss spilled out from the slits as the muscles under contracted. He turned to look at Jane, sweat beading on his forehead, glistening in the firelight. “I told you,” he said pointedly. “I don’t care what they say,” he pressed. “They can call me what they want, they can say what they will. I am what I am but it doesn't change who I am.” He pounded his chest a few times and huffed a heavy breath. “Inside.” He emphasized that last word with a force of conviction, as if to vindicate himself, declaring final judgment on an ongoing debate with Jane that Rolo hadn’t been privy to.
It took a little further prodding to convince Jane that she was, indeed, out of her depth, and that the best and wisest course of action would be to transfer him to the hospital. Jane packed a few things and together they made their way to the church, the boy’s arm around Rolo’s shoulders.
On the way, they passed by the communal bonfire, which was still surrounded by an ever growing number of townsfolk slowly drinking away the dying day. The chatter hushed as the three passed, and Rolo caught sister Darla’s eye, who seemed to have the ears of three burly smiths. None of which had friendly looking expressions on their fire-lit faces. Someone pointed. Another couple whispered. But most just stared.
Suddenly, Felix dug in his heels and turned to the crowd. He stood up as straight as he could, which was difficult to do, and held his chin up high. “Well go on, then,” he challenged everyone and nobody in particular. “Say it.” He waited, but no one responded. “Alright then, I’ll say it for you. Since none of you have the balls. I am a son of Azural.” He pounded my chest. “I didn’t ask for this, but nevertheless I was chosen. Doesn’t change who I am. Ned, we’ve known each other since we were kids. Betty, you know me. Don’t let your tainted and silly religion make you think any different of me. I’m still me.” He pounded his chest again, then collapsed to the ground, his body convulsing.
There was a short gasp from some of the folk.
“He’s having another spasm,” said Rolo.
“The boy’s cursed,” shouted someone shrouded in shadow.
“That big one brought this on him,” shouted another, as the crowd began to stir uncomfortably. A few bigger men took steps towards them in a way that Jane took to be threatening.
“Step back,” shouted Jane, producing two more black powder pistols from seemingly nowhere. The men halted, eyes dark and brows furrowed, all of them backlit by the fire.
“Where do you keep pulling these guns from?” asked Rolo, pulling the boy over his shoulder.
“You conspire with demons,” one of the men whispered. “Your father would be ashamed, Jane.”
“Shut up, Jamesson,” said Jane. “Mind your own demons.”
And on that note, the two archons and the pistol wielding barmaid nurse disappeared into the darkness of the alleyway that led to the church. Surprisingly, no one pursued them. All the same, they traveled in haste.