After a few minutes of hushed and…maaaybe… angry-sounding whispers outside the door of Lyla’s room – it appeared to be a study of some kind and she’d dripped blood and filth all over the sumptuous leather sofa she was on – the door opened and someone entered again. It was an elderly gentleman which approached Lyla. He had the quiet competent air of a man used to dealing with stubbornness and firmly getting his way.
“You must be the healer.” Lyla greeted the man warmly, yet the wary light in her eyes had to have been quite evident.
“Doctor, actually.” The gentleman corrected her. “There is a significant difference. Healers,” the doctor informed her as he knelt beside her lounge “…can perform miraculous feats of healing with magic.” Gingerly he probed the freshly healed wound in her abdomen and carefully felt the stitches as he continued.
“Doctors, unfortunately, are only able to use stitching, surgery, and medicines to keep a patient alive. Sometimes it is enough to save someone. Sometimes, all I can do is try to keep a patient alive until a healer or Mage can save the patient for me.”
“Is that what happened in my case?” The doctor smiled kindly, glancing briefly up at her as he worked. His fingers were careful and professional removing her stitches with only slight discomfort. Though she had performed the task many times herself, she had never had to feel the particular sickening sliding pull of thread slipping through her flesh. It stuck and tugged occasionally.
“Yes, child.” Lyla nodded to herself. She had been right. She was certain that she could not have been in this room longer than a few hours.
“Was that what….?” The doctor paused in his work, waiting for her to continue. With an effort, Lyla continued the humiliating question. What should she say? Was the pervert that kissed me while I was unconscious doing it to save me or does no one know that he was prone to taking advantage of women who couldn’t defend themselves? Did she even want anyone to know that had happened if that were the case? “Was that what… that man… who was in here before? Was he the healer?”
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“No!” Emphatic. “He was not a healer.” With stern and honest eyes, the doctor held her gaze. “No healer and no doctor should ever abuse their position by kissing a woman who could not consent, and most certainly not by using the very act of healing as an excuse to be close to her.”
“Oh.” Lyla let her lips compress angrily. “I knew I should have hit that jerk harder. I bet he wasn’t even supposed to be in here.”
“That’s not entirely true.” Her physician corrected quietly. “Do you understand how magical healing works?” With a sigh of understanding, Lyla closed her eyes before reciting by rote, the information she’d had to memorize in her training.
“The healer performs the spell which tells the body to speed repair…” Nodding, the doctor silently encouraged her to continue. “Then a donor, man or woman, sometimes even the healer breathes into the mouth of the ill or wounded person and the donor’s own life force feeds the healing spell. Otherwise, the injured person’s own body can be significantly cannibalized in the healing process, and they die anyways.”
“He was just a soldier who volunteered to breathe life into a dying woman.” The doctor explained. “He shouldn’t have kissed you, but he may not have understood that it was not entirely necessary. After all, the process is referred to as…”
“The Kiss of Life.” Lyla finished for him. “I suppose that explains his reaction after I slapped him.” Chuckling, the doctor smiled as he pulled the last piece of thread from her side.
“Good for you. He definitely deserved a slap.” Sitting back on his heels the doctor gathered up his supplies and stood. “The Magistrate will be coming in to speak with you momentarily. As soon as that is finished a group of soldiers will be taking you home to safeguard your village and protect any other caravans that will be coming over the mountain as the season progresses.”