“Go to the tower. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Where are you going?” Alec asked with a wince. The long walk to the city hadn’t done any good to his injuries.
“The canteen. Everyone must be missing me there.”
“Don’t! Nobo--”
Iago raised his hand to silence him. “I know. Go there, I’ll be right with you.”
The militia leader didn’t seem convinced but picked up his pace again. The others fell in step after him, silent like graves. Not a word was shared as they marched towards the city and neither did they whisper, share significant glances.
Shock must still have them in its grasp. Iago quickened his step, almost running to the storage room. The cook welcomed him with a question on her lips but he ignored it, moving past her to the stinking buckets. A breath, and it was over.
“Sorry for being late,” he murmured to her and left. Then he moved to the canteen where impatient survivors were wondering what had happened. Since Iago had arrived, the meals had never been late.
He walked through the mass of voices, many conversations quietening when they noticed his dishevelled appearance. Ignoring everyone, Iago located his targets. “Jistas, Mala, I need your help. Get Evic too.”
Mala stood up in an instant, asking as she did so: “What happened?”
“Get a lot of clean water and clean cloths. Bring it to the tower.” He turned to leave, facing curious stares. “Oh, and don’t bring a crowd. I’ll need peace.”
“All right,” Jistas agreed easily, his baritone echoing through the hall. He said something to the eager crowd but Iago was already out the door. His steps slowed when he heard a soft snapping of wings in the next street, blocked from the view of the canteen.
The nosferatu landed next to him, shifting into his human form mid-air. Fascinating how he could do that so easily, rearrange his whole bone structure in a heartbeat. But this was not the time to ponder such mysteries.
“How are they?” Scorpius asked in a whisper, his eyes downcast.
“Been better, but they’ll live. Don’t worry.”
They walked in silence for a time. Moving quick but not running, lost in their own thoughts for a time. Right before they would have turned a corner to enter the tower’s street, Scorpius caught Iago’s sleeve.
“What is it? Is something wrong?” Iago asked in a gentle voice.
The nosferatu looked up at him with fear etched onto his face. What in the world? “Aren’t you going to send me away?”
“Send you? Where? What are you talking about?”
“There was a death… and… and… It was made by a nosferatu!” Scorpius explained in a shaky burst. He released Iago’s sleeve and turned away, shoulders hunched. “I wouldn’t blame you…”
This was getting ridiculous. “You didn’t do it,” Iago stated in a firm voice. Scorpius whirled to face him but before he could ask the obvious, Iago continued. “I’m not going to push you away just because of what you are, what another of your kind has done.” A thought struck him. “Is that why you’ve been absent the last week?” he asked, not above using accusation in his tone.
Scorpius lowered his head even lower, not meeting Iago’s eyes again. “I thought… I thought you’d hate me.”
“That’s stupid! I won’t blame you for things you haven’t done. Now, enough, go check what Commander is up to while I try to patch up his victims. If he decides to come here, or meets with Mistress, find a way to warn me immediately,” he said, rounding the corner. “The last thing I need is either of them barging into my home.”
As he reached the tower, it was deathly silent. Entering the building, he found the militia fallen as they’d come, in any open place in the room. Some had their eyes closed, but most stared at the walls or the ceiling, unseeing.
“Hugh, Tyr, come with me.” The two boys stood up and he led them through the nearby buildings. Soon they found a suitable table - long, thickly made - and brought it to the middle of the tower room. The sun was rising in the east and, bursting through the open windows, washed the room in gold.
Good, he’ll have enough light to work by. “Get Malek on the table,” he ordered. The two boys raised the makeshift stretcher and grunting rose it higher. Iago helped them transfer the shivering boy onto the table and taking out a knife, cut his clothes.
The wound was a pulsing mass of discolouration, stinking fluids and dead flesh. He ignored it for a moment and touched Malek’s forehead, fever hot. Opening the boy’s eyes, he saw the pupils darting in every direction, restless.
It were obvious fever signs but where was the raving. There must have been much more than the shivering.
“We brought the water. What..?” Mala choked on her words as she was met by the wrenching sight of beaten and bruised children. “Oh, goddess, dear blessed Lady.” She withered in place. Evic quickly dropped the buckets to catch her.
“Later,” Iago muttered. “Bring the water here, and the towels. Yes, give them to me. Evic, Jistas, hold him still for me. I’ll need to remove the shard. Mala, can I trust you to assist me?”
She took a couple deep breaths, then pushed herself free of Evic’s arms. “Yes, tell me what to do.” Her voice shook a bit but she came with determination in her step, a rigid set to her mouth.
“Right.” It was time to start now. He glanced at his hands, they weren’t shaking - that was something. His first major operation and he had to do it alone. Kallum, have you ever considered I’d need to put your idle explanations to use? I didn’t. Would have listened more, had I known.
Shit, he didn’t need to lower his own expectations any more, they were at the very bottom already. Healer, ha, all he’d done before was wrap a bandage and hold a patient still. Not once had he dirtied his hands, actively participated in the cutting, sawing of human flesh and bones.
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People were looking at him. He didn’t need to catch their gazes to know they were expecting him to make everything right again. Could he? Doubtful. But he had to try. He’d read dozens of treatises on how this works, what needs to be done, and been present at thousands of sewing ups. After a battle, Kallum had hundreds of patients to patch up and he’d been there most of the time, helping as he was still among the survivors.
“Hold him still,” he ordered and moved to stand by the shard. Around it the wound oozed yellow and purple. He took the shard in a comfortable grip and wrung it free. Malek screamed. His body thrashed against the captors, the two brothers straining to keep their hold. “Clean it.”
Mala jumped to his side, cleaning the foul fluids that seeped out. Blood gushed out too, a positive sign. Not all flesh was dead yet. Iago went to clean his hands, cursing for not having any alcohol at hand. Kallum had mentioned it was known to stave off infection.
No matter. He went to the corner of the room and brought the medicine kit. From inside, he took out the instruments and arrayed them by Malek’s side.
First, he needed to understand how deep the damage went and cut off the dead flesh. He could try to shape it later but that was dangerous. If he left any behind, the wound would fester from inside and Malek might die before anyone figured out what had happened.
Pushing a bit of flesh aside, he saw the damage within. There were still pieces of wood left inside, the shard must have splintered upon impact or during the jostling when they carried Malek all over the desert.
While he considered what to do, blood drenched his hands. It was covering the wound and obscuring Iago’s sight. He cursed under his breath, reaching for the currents. Healer, what a joke. He let the energies pass through him and gently let them out into the wound.
If this worked, he’d be the luckiest fool alive.
Cracked shoulder bone closed shut, the muscles above it reattaching themselves. Iago cut the dead flesh off, removed the splinters he could reach and shaped the others. Mala used the cloth to block the blood flow as he worked in silence, focused on not injuring his patient more than necessary. By the time he finished, his eyes felt like they’d been drilled through, the view coming in and out of focus from squinting for so long.
“It’s done,” Mala murmured by his side, sitting down on the dirty floor.
“Yes,” he murmured, moving to wash his hands in a remaining bucket. The swift reflection he noticed before plunging his arms in, revealed a butcher’s face. Expressionless eyes and blood splattered face, robe and hands.
He washed his hands, splashed his face and turned to his helpers. “Find a place to lie him down where someone could watch over him. I did all I could and now it’s up to him whether he’ll survive.” Then he looked through the medicine kit and found the ‘Fever’ labelled bottle.
Sniffing it, he ascertained it was the right extract and passed it to Mala. “Two drops into a glass of water four times a day. Make him drink all of it.”
“Should I make it now?”
He nodded and went to the kids. Grey was his first target. The boy wasn’t eager to shed his robes and reveal the damage but after a long stare down pulled the shirt over his head. It pained him considerably and soon Iago saw why.
Grey’s whole left side was a giant bruise, bluish purple, black and yellow. It was disgusting and painful just watching it. Iago tried to touch it as gentle as he could but Grey gasped in pain and he brought his arm back.
Broken rib? Maybe just strained. Still, the ice package wouldn’t hurt. He went to the cloth pile and sifted through it to find a couple long ones, then went to pick up a water skin Grey had forgotten in the room during his training. Opening the skin, he shaped the water as it poured until he had a dozen ice cubes.
Wrapping them up, he put the cold bandage against Grey’s skin. The young soldier took in a rasping breath and then settled with an almost smile on his face. “Thank you,” he whispered. “It feels great.”
Satisfied, Iago moved towards Shea. He softly touched her face, moving it so the light fell on the bruise. It was widespread and gruesome but nothing that won’t heal in a week or so. “Spread this on your face, all right?” he asked passing her an ointment from the medical kit. “It’ll remove the sting and help the bruise go away faster.”
Her answer was a half-hearted nod but that was enough for now. Time to move on.
Alec didn’t look happy to be the next but was quick to shed his shirt and show the full extent of his injuries. And there were plenty of them. His whole chest, torso and arms were discoloured from the dozens of bruises. They made him look like a different life form, all blue and dark purple.
Every move pained him and there was a problem with his breathing. Larger than just a broken nose.
Fractured ribs? Broken? More than likely. That shoulder was wrong too. Was it why he didn’t fight for being the one to carry Malek? The right hand did hang unnaturally limp. Damn, Commander. Just how much damage had he inflicted on this soldier?
“Jistas, come over here,” he called over his shoulder. The large man was by his side before he finished speaking. “Hold him steady.”
The militia leader spluttered in anger but before he could grasp what was happening, Iago lunged for his shoulder and twisted it back into place. Alec howled in pain, his eyes glazing over for a second. Not waiting for the waves of pain to subside, Iago reached for the nose and with another crack set it in place. Such things were best done swift and without ceremony.
Alec cursed like a dock worker, and Iago smiled a bit while making another cold bandage. His patient hissed from the icy feeling against his hot skin but soon settled with a comfortable sigh. “That’s nice,” he grunted.
“You can let him go,” Iago told Jistas and found another bottle of the healing ointment. It was the last one and would be enough maybe for one covering for Alec. After this, he would have to go in search of more supplies, but for now it’ll do. “Spread this over the damaged skin and don’t be thrifty about it.”
Then he stood up and looked over the whole room. “Anyone else has injuries I should look at?” Negative shakes of the head. “Good, then all of you are ordered a long rest. Mala will make you a relaxing tea and all of you have to drink it, understood? Good. I’ll come to check on Alec and Grey later in the evening. Now, go. Return to your homes.”
When they moved out, he gave Mala dried mint and told to boil it for thirty minutes, then have it cool before bringing to the patients. She promised to do just that and left for the canteen, there should be hot water there already.
He followed her rapid steps and once she was gone turned to his abode. Dirty, spattered with blood and other fluids, stinking like a latrine. Jistas and Evic stood on each side of the table like silent guardians over Malek’s prone form.
Will the boy live? He was doubtful. Broken bones and bruises were something he was familiar with. Had earned more than a share of his. But fever and dead flesh? Splinters stuck in muscles? It was as far from his expertise as it got.
He’d done all he could and that was that. There was no point in worrying whether it was enough. Time will tell, and if it wasn’t enough? Well, it wasn’t. He’d never claimed to be a healer, had he? Maybe he did. That’s why one should never take up more than he could manage.
Having seen a true healer for years did not make him into one. Not really. He came to stand by Malek’s side, brushed the hair from his sweaty forehead. The kid was so young, no more than fifteen, just a child. To die so early…
“Live, boy,” he whispered as much to himself as to the limp form on the table. “You’re too young for this.”
There was no answer but he hadn’t expected any. It would have been more of a shock if there had been one.
It was time for him to clean up, change and look for something to eat but he couldn’t be bothered. The canteen could be in another continent by how close it felt. He was certain he’d fall over ten times before reaching the destination.
He sent a last glance to the two guardians who nodded as if understanding his unvoiced question and Iago dragged himself up the stairs. Why did he ever think it was a good idea to live on the second floor? Should have known better. Had known better not a year prior. Foolishness, trusting in the youthful energy to ignore worldly knowledge collected by old people through thousands of years.
A scent brought his mind back from its wanderings - boiled potatoes and chicken. He took the last two steps at a run and dashed into his room. On the desk lay a plate bursting with hot food. It’s tantalising smell brought him diving to the meal when he noticed a small note by the side written in a tight neat fashion. Scorpius.
‘I’m sorry for not believing you would understand.’
Warmth spread through Iago’s chest as he sat at the table, tearing the note apart. It would not do for anyone else to find it but he would remember. The sweet sweet nosferatu. He was so much more human than most humans were.