Valentin sat upon the tent floor with his legs sprawled out. A cloth soaked up the perspiration from his brow, the stubborn remnants of his extensive morning training. Stretching the lingering fatigue from his overworked muscles, Valentin yawned and waited.
He did not wait alone. The pair of druids sat quietly and awkwardly beside him. They had been silently waiting before Valentin had entered. No greetings were offered to the boy and he had plopped himself on the ground unceremoniously.
Maeve had not spoken to him since Leith had pulled her aside and told her of Valentin’s arrangement. He had seen her several times over the days that had passed since then and the fury in her eyes had not subsided. If anything, it seemed to have only intensified. As if his mere appearance amplified her contempt tenfold.
Leith, in contrast, looked cowed in his silence. No doubt he had been thoroughly lashed verbally by his apprentice, exacerbating the guilt and self-hatred he already felt. In truth, Valentin did not expect to see Leith again after the events of the previous cycle. He had returned to Verbosc a man broken by watching his beliefs and worldview become warped and vandalized before his very eyes. Valentin could only reason that he did learn the truth of Elder Eudes’ consent to these activities. Leith likely felt that there was no alternatives but to continue following them, despite his soul’s vehement opposition.
His apprentice’s reminders of his self-treachery appeared to physically weigh upon him, dragging his shoulders closer to the ground. He was a pitiable sight, a hollow half-form of the chipper man that he had met on the outskirts of the city.
However, Leith’s presence did not necessarily mean that he was actively assisting Valentin. Outside of his responsibilities towards purifying blood for Valentin’s taboo ascension, he was meant to impart onto the boy the philosophies and teachings of the Verbosc brand of mysticism. Such a lesson had never come to pass, though Valentin could not blame the man for his hesitance in teaching something he may no longer believe in and Valentin had no interest in pressing for another lecture.
While it hurt Valentin that the budding friendship with Maeve had been pruned prematurely by her discovery of the truth, he knew that there was nothing that he could do to change it. So he waited on the possibility that she would change her mind, as unlikely as that possibility now seemed to be.
Sharp earthy aromas filled the tent. It was all the forests in the region condensed into one small space. The curator of this smellscape was bland in contrast. He hunched over a mortar and pestle, aggressively crushing the aromatics within. New, more striking scents escaped the workstation and wafted throughout the tent.
“I apologize for causing you to wait,” Zalavo said, speaking slowly while his mind was preoccupied with his work. He scraped the contents into a vat of simmering steeped in other mysterious plants. “My preparations were delayed by an urgent matter.”
“It is of no concern to us, I assure you,” Leith answered warmly. “A short wait is nothing when you are to learn from one of the greatest minds in healing.”
Zalavo did not answer. He was observing the liquid closely, occasionally stirring it with a metal rod. He added slightly more water to the mix and stirred again. One more splash and one more stir before the healer nodded shallowly and turned towards the awaiting occupants.
“I am not overly talented,” Zalavo admitted, dipping his hands in a wash basin and flicking the water onto the ground. “Most of my talent stems from my heritage and everything else comes from my library. If our blood was swapped, it would be almost certain that we would be using that language to refer to you.”
Leith gave an approving nod towards Zalavo’s displayed humility. In that regard, the pair were kindred spirits. “Of course there is always more to learn.”
“Indeed,” Zalavo replied with a similar nod. “I am always searching for the newest trends from the great minds of this field. Just recently, Pyotr of Dolofeir has made the claim that constantly washing one's hands can improve the survivability of patients during operations and treatments. I have ordered a wash basin and am currently testing its effectiveness myself. I have also been learning the art of Xanbo flame treatments for closing wounds from Zunjing.”
“Fascinating,” Leith marveled, eyes twinkling with wonder.
“That’s enough idle chatter,” Zalavo halted his musings. “It is my understanding that my purpose is to teach the young warrior how to survive on the battlefield.”
“Yes,” Leith confirmed. “And thank you for allowing us to sit here and absorb your knowledge. I believe it will be of great benefit to Maeve to learn from this field.”
Zalavo brushed Leith’s gratitude away. He stood before Valentin, not bothering to sit and meet him at eye level. “What do you believe kills the highly favored warriors the most?”
“To be killed as a child or in the Choosing,” Valentin answered, his words colored by his personal experiences.
While the answer dragged Leith closer to the ground, Zalavo gave an uncharacteristic grin. “Perhaps that is the leading cause of death for heirs,” he responded, adding emphasis to the term heir that caused Valentin’s throat to tighten.
“There are two causes of death that exceed dying in combat,” Zalavo explained. “The first one is infection. A non-fatal wound can fester and poison a warrior’s body, enfeebling them and eventually killing them. A wound from a blade covered in feces will always infect unless you can treat it immediately. That doesn’t mention camp fever or other diseases that rage through large armies.”
Valentin tilted his head in curious disbelief. “I have yet to see someone in this camp die from disease and only a handful succumb to infection. I have, however, seen many warriors cut down in the field.”
“I must ask you to cast aside your personal experiences,” Zalavo requested. “The contents of my blood alone invalidates the truths that are prevalent everywhere else. You will quickly see how many lives are lost regularly to these afflictions once you leave this warband.”
“And what is the second cause?” Valentin asked, begrudgingly accepting the truth that he had yet to see.
“This one is the primary purpose of today’s gathering,” Zalavo answered. “In truth, I lied. This does not kill more warriors than combat. However, it contributes to many of the deaths of people of your caliber. Poisons.”
“Poisons?”
The word held a dishonorable connotation. A common tool of the underhanded craven, the poisoner was the popular villain in modern writing and plays. Concoctions with the intent of sapping vitality from the hero’s body and destroying the nation’s fields and livestock were viewed as more nefarious as the one that destroyed it with sword and sickle. Valentin had not expected the word to be used when discussing the honor-colored calling of the warrior.
“When confronted with an overwhelming opponent, it is reasonable to expect for one to attempt to remove that advantage. Nobody wishes to die in the name of futility,” Zalavo calmly reasoned. “Therefore, someone such as yourself should be adequately equipped to prevent such tactics from crippling you.”
“I have heard that the blood of the favored are more resistant to poisons and curses,” Leith remarked.
“It is true,” Zalavo confirmed. “Poisons are less effective against those with powerful blood. Something that would cause you to drop dead would probably make Valentin bedridden for several days. However, even if it wouldn’t kill Valentin, it would rob him of his faculties and turn him into an impotent fighter. If you were poisoned on the battlefield, you would die. Even a feeble peasant would be able to slay you.”
Valentin furrowed his brow in displeasure. “There must be something I could do about it.”
“There are two ways to nullify poisons.”
Zalavo raised two of his fingers on his right hand. His sleeve slid down his forearm, revealing a latticework of innumerable thin scars. Reddish brown scabs crusted over portions of the skin like bloody caterpillars.
“The first is to consume the blood of a favored Siloran. For obvious reasons, it is not reliable. There are only a handful like me that are known to live in this world, all of which are in the employ of powerful nobles and holy leaders.”
“I have you though, Zalavo,” Valentin replied.
The healer stared impassively at Valentin, wordlessly rejecting the boy’s assertions. Valentin believed that he heard a stifled girlish laugh. He peered to his right and whatever jubilant expression crossed Maeve’s face vanished. Reconciliation was still not yet a possibility, but it still felt encouraging.
“You cannot rely upon my presence at all times,” Zalavo finally said. “I do not follow you into the melee. So it will be in your best interest to follow the second way. Immediately understand what you have been poisoned with and treat it yourself.”
“So one must accurately diagnose their symptoms to determine what they have been poisoned with before you succumb to it?” Leith asked with surprise. “Would you have enough time to do that before your body fails?”
“You prepare antidotes in advance and choose the correct one,” Zalavo explained. “We live in a blessed nation. Much of the most effective herbs populate our forests in vast quantities. Plants that grow commonly can be combined to treat numerous ailments, fevers, and poisons. However, even with the antidote on your person, you would still have only seconds to choose the correct one. Valentin’s natural constitution gives him several more crucial seconds to make the right decision.”
“That’s why we are here,” Zalavo continued. “We will all learn firsthand what happens to someone who is poisoned and what combinations cure them.”
“How will we do that?” Valentin asked curiously, looking forward to obtaining the ability to overcome such cowardly efforts.
“The best way is to experience it firsthand. I will poison you, you will memorize how it feels, and I will teach you how to cure it.”
Valentin was speechless and recoiled away from Zalavo like a stray animal from an unfamiliar hand. Fear crept its insidious body into Valentin’s heart causing his pulse to quicken and his breathing to become shallow and labored. He was going to be poisoned. How did they know for sure that it wouldn’t be fatal?
“Do not fret,” Zalavo assured tepidly. From his workstation, he revealed several vials of blood. “As long as your heart beats, you will not die from this.”
Valentin took a deep breath, summoning his courage to continue to push forward. “Very well, I’ll choose to trust you.”
Zalavo gently picked out a single berry the color of midnight. Holding it with reverential softness, the healer walked towards Valentin and crouched before him. There was a hesitation from the healer, a reconsideration within his mind that stopped him just short of administering the poison to the boy.
“Despite the assurances I received from Ferron, I must confirm this with you directly,” Zalavo said, his eyes glistening with a reluctance Valentin had yet to see from the man.
“I do not intend to offer you the antidote immediately. I must observe and record your symptoms and their severity. Even then, I will not give you the antidote. There is a newly considered recipe to counteract this poison. It is my intention to give you that first and record the effects. If, at any point, your condition worsens beyond acceptable levels, I will use the true antidote mixed with a vial of my blood and you will be fully recovered in a day’s time. Do you consent to this arrangement?”
Valentin was taken aback by the healer’s words. He had been mentally bracing himself for the undoubtedly unpleasant experience of being poisoned. Instead he received a torrent of information he had yet to process. They were doing what? He was not sure but the grave expression on Zalavo’s face told him that it was something that he should consider carefully.
It was Leith that spoke with a voice filled with an unsurprised exasperation. “What is so remarkable about this new concoction that we feel the need to experiment with it on a child? I wish to make that clear since it seems that this entire camp forgets. Favored or not, Valentin is only a boy.”
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While Valentin was initially annoyed that Leith was speaking about him in that fashion, he could not help but smile that the druid was continuing to advocate for him despite everything that had happened.
“One of the primary ingredients in the antidote is toxic in incorrect quantities,” Zalavo explained. “Many inexperienced apothecaries have further poisoned their patients with their remedies. This new recipe will remove such a concern. It will serve to save lives.”
From the corner of his eye, Valentin could see that Maeve was watching him with a face filled with concern. When looked her way, she turned away from him.
A sad smile crossed his face. If he did this, would it balance out the wrongs he knowingly committed? Would Maeve forgive him if saved these people? The ideas of salvation called sweetly out to him. Things would be better if he suffered in exchange. It was how criminals were punished, why would it not work for him as well?
“I’ll do it.”
“Very well,” Zalavo replied, the guilt evaporating from his eyes. “Then eat this.”
Not wishing for his thoughts to arrest his limbs, Valentin quickly popped the berry in his mouth. He crushed the flesh between his teeth and found, to his surprise, that the flavor was sweet. He swallowed the berry. He gave an unbothered look to the other occupants in an attempt to reassure both them and himself.
Valentin then sat and calmly waited for the effects to arrive. He cycled his favor in an effort to empower his blood and soften the eventual blow. A blow that did not come after a minute or two or five. He sat in anticipation for what felt like an endless amount of time. Every slight change to his body, no matter how miniscule, caused his mind to pounce towards it as the opening salvo of the poison’s insidious attack. Each time, he was almost disappointed to find that it had not started yet. He wished to finish this experiment quickly.
“When will the effects begin?” Valentin’s boyish patience was only so robust.
“It depends,” Zalavo answered noncommittally. “I gave you a larger dose that you would find coated on a blade to ensure that the poison would take hold. Depending on your inherit favor, it might be only a few more minutes, it may be hours or even tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Am I to sit here until the poison takes hold?”
“Yes,” the healer replied nonchalantly. “You cannot leave my presence until it starts. Your symptoms starting without me around will only increase the suffering you will have to endure. In the meantime, why don’t I show you all some common remedies?”
Leith was all too willing to accept the lesson from the skilled apothecary. Even Maeve showed a silent excitement towards the prospects. Without much other choice, Valentin reluctantly listened to the lecture.
Zalavo spoke about the best ways to break fevers, how to set bones, the best way to pull teeth, what teas to make to alleviate diarrhea, and all other manners of ailments. In these lessons, he did not include his blood as an ingredient, instead focusing on the drawbacks of the potions and what alternatives existed if the recipe failed.
All the while, Valentin felt a discomfort within his stomach. Occasional spurts of pain would gurgle up before disappearing entirely. The most recent burst made him lose focus and he clenched his teeth until it subsided.
“My stomach feels as though it’s full of needles,” Valentin commented angrily, interrupting whatever portion of the lecture they happened to be on.
“This would be the window in which you would take the antidote to avoid most of the symptoms entirely,” Zalavo replied, scribbling down something in his notes. “Remember closely how this feels.”
“So I should take the antidote now?” Valentin asked, relieved that this was the extent of the poisoning.
“Normally, yes,” Zalavo answered, tapping the true antidote with his fingers. “However, to accurately test the new antidote, we must allow things to get worse before we administer the cures. We must see if we can save someone with more severe symptoms.”
Valentin frowned but eventually nodded his consent and tried to manage his stomach while the conversations continued. While in this limbo of discomfort, he could no longer pay attention to the conversation that occurred around him. It was all he could do to focus intensely inwards to regulate his body, otherwise, for some inexplicable reason, it would feel worse.
“I have heard much about the medicinal properties of the Grest mushroom as of late,” Leith remarked as the conversation drifted to unconventional ingredients. “There are numerous mushrooms that grow in the forests around the temple but we usually avoid them altogether. What do you know about it?”
“You see, while the Grest mushroom is a highly flavorful and beneficial ingredient to place in soups, it takes an expert eye to differentiate it with its far deadlier cousins. Even with an expert it is not guaranteed they will pick the proper one. For that reason, I cannot recommend them.”
Valentin’s stomach burbled and waves of nausea began to spread over his body. His head swam and the foreign sensations gripped his body. He groaned softly but the two men were too preoccupied with their conversation to notice. He wished to move, but he was afraid that everything would collapse if he moved at all from where he sat.
“That’s such a sh-”
Valentin spewed the contents of his stomach onto the ground and collapsed to his side. He rose to his hands and knees and vomited again. He spit the bile taste from his mouth and heaved his empty stomach between gasping breaths.
Leith quickly moved to Valentin’s side and placed his hand on the boy’s back. He rubbed it reassuringly while Zalavo quickly grabbed his notes.
“Vomiting,” he said aloud as he scratched the word down. “How do you feel? Can you describe it?”
“I feel like my stomach wants to turn inside out and my skull is full of liquid,” Valentin answered through shuddering breaths. He collapsed but Leith caught him before he landed in his vomit.
“Nausea and weakness,” Zalavo recorded.
Valentin was placed on his stomach with his head turned to the side to prevent him from drowning in his puke. The shapes around him adorned fuzzy outlines before becoming incomprehensible colors and lights that shone at different intensities. The sudden changes to his vision sent waves of unbearable discomfort that squeezed his skull with invisible pressure.
If the pain caused him to groan, Valentin could not hear it. The mythical grip around his head drowned out all other sensations besides the distilled agony. Limbs writhed without his control, fingers gripping into anything that tethered him to the ground. Numb fingertips failed to inform him of what it was he was flailing out towards. His torso wriggled as his body tried everything to escape the torment that it had been subjected to.
He could feel the hot blood coursing through his body, the favor sparked and crackled and dissipated before repeating the cycle. Each quickened beat of his heart pumped new energy that cascaded into bursts of power.
A large pressure pinned his chest to the ground causing his heart to jolt. His body heaved upwards violently, relieving the pressure. Immediately, the pressure returned, followed by more and more pressures that fastened him squarely to the ground. His shoulders, his arms, his legs, his neck.
Valentin’s jaw was forced open and a paste was jammed inside. He recoiled in panic. He could not remember concepts of antidotes or remedies or even other people. All he truly knew is that he was dying in an excruciating way. The very fabric of his being was torn asunder with searing pain and shocks of lightning while he was pressed firmly against the ground. He flung his limbs wildly and without purpose but it only brought him brief reprieves from the pressure before the unseen force returned.
His mind spun and twisted, pulled and ripped. No thoughts entered his mind. His sense of self was reduced down to its purest, most primal forms. His thoughts were the thoughts of animals, impulses driven by sensations and instincts.
Deprived of coherent sight and sound, phantom visions and noises filled his head. Soft sounds called out to him in unintelligible voices with words that didn’t exist. Hulking forms of mercurial shapes encroached on the ringed peripherals of his vision and invaded the celestial lights that hummed in the center. The inky silhouettes swallowed more and more of the light. His veins burned like ropes of fire dug deep within his flesh, offering no relief from the all-encompassing sensation despite his struggling.
More tasteless liquids spilled into his mouth. His body thrashed indifferently, each pull and twist accomplished less and less. Depleted of energy, his autonomous body finally surrendered to the predator that it could not understand. Sounds muffled into the thumping of blood that quickly pulsated behind his ears.
Whatever fuzzy lights that remained in his eyes were fully trampled by the amorphous silhouettes, leaving nothing but darkness behind. He slipped into a pool of enveloping blackness that coated his eyes, ears, and tongue.
While he existed within this space, his body, reduced to tranquility, floated without sensation or acknowledgement of its condition. He lacked any mental faculties to consider what was happening to him or where he was. He could not even consider whether or not he was alive, the concepts of life and death no longer held meaning within his strangled mind. No emotions welled within his brain to color his existence.
A presence existed near him. It was unseen, unheard, and unable to be felt. Yet, he still detected it near him with the supernatural sensations that one feels when they are being stared at. There was something there, his body instinctively understood that fact.
Sharp pressure pierced through his numbness and pricked him in the mind. Formless, nonexistent colors wafted around him before bursting into an uncontrollable torrent. Nonsensical visions flashed and burned away, revealing even more ethereal sights that were beyond his acute awareness. If these sights were prophetic, they were wasted on the comatose mind that received them.
A thin line of light bisected the space and purged the spectral colors back to the recesses of his mind. All in an instant, everything that made Valentin who he was returned to him. Each new sensation and faculty reconstructed him piece by piece until the light expanded, turning into shapes and forms and feelings that he could identify.
Chiefly among them, pain.
Valentin awoke with his cruel sleeping partner still occupying the most crucial aspects of his sense of self. He gripped his face with his hands, pressing his fingers into his flesh and frantically rubbed his head with the crude massage.
“You’re awake,” a soft voice jolted in a combination of surprise and relief.
Valentin spread his fingers and saw that Maeve’s face hung above his, looking down at him with astonishment. His eyesight had yet to fully recover and left a fuzzy outline around her figure. His head still sloshed with discomfort and he stayed perfectly still.
A pillow had been placed beneath his head and was further propped up by Maeve’s legs. He wiggled slightly to alleviate the discomfort he believed she was feeling but quickly discovered that his muscles were completely depleted. No amount of effort and willpower would raise him from his helpless resting position.
“Did the new potion work?” Valentin croaked, his throat hoarse and strained. It burned as though the flesh inside was dried and chapped.
“You should spare your voice,” she advised.
Maeve lifted a steaming cup to Valentin’s mouth. A honeyed drink filled his mouth and coated his tongue with sweet and earthy flavors. When he swallowed, the beverage dulled the pain in his throat and spread warmth throughout his chest. His eyes grew drowsy from the relief and he had to force himself to remain conscious.
“The new remedy failed,” Maeve eventually answered. "It made your condition worse and you began to use your power wildly. You flung Leith and nearby warriors had to pin you down. Zalavo had to use much of his own blood to stabilize you again.”
Valentin’s eyes widened and worry gripped him. However, when he moved to speak, Maeve stopped him. She pressed a finger to his mouth and shook her head to silently command him into silence. The steaming cup was again put to Valentin’s lips and he drank the soothing beverage.
Understanding the meaning behind his facial expressions, Maeve answered his unspoken question. “There were only minor injuries,” she reassured. “Zalavo is treating them outside. He gave me instructions on what to do if you woke up before he returned.”
More of the beverage was forced upon him. He allowed Maeve’s words to silent the concerns that had begun to bubble in his mind. He was too fatigued to feel anxiety, to worry about anyone but himself.
Eyelids fluttered as his exhausted mind slipped in and out of consciousness. An invisible thread tethered Valentin’s mind to reality, constantly yanking his senses back every time he receded into oblivion. He wasn’t ready to sleep again, to slip into that foreign place that lingered on the edge of his memories.
Perhaps it was the fact that she was ordered to remain there or the delirium that still spun within the pockets of his mind that made him believe that he saw a sparkle of care in her eye. He knew that things were not that easily repairable, yet he had reason to hope that things could be mended.
“You shouldn’t have to do all of this,” she whispered to him with a voice that was as soft as it was angry.
“I had to do it,” he hissed. The pain in his throat made his eyes water. “The lives I’ve taken need to be used for good once in a while.”
Another soothing sip of the rapidly cooling beverage was administered. The relief that it brought was diminishing, the heat from the drink doing as much to comfort him as the ingredients. His cracked throat yearned for the sensations that were brought with the first few sips.
“I mean all of this,” Maeve clarified with a frown. “You are plenty strong, you don’t need to tarnish your soul for the right to live.”
It was the first time that someone had said those words with such sincerity. However, Valentin could not accept them. Maeve’s motivations were clear and Valentin did not know her well enough to know whether or not to trust her encouragement at face value. It was not enough to overcome his feelings of inadequacy.
Valentin attempted to respond, his croaking voice became the trigger to a coughing fit that made his chapped throat bleed. All the work that the drink had done was being counteracted by these coughs, reminding him of how badly it hurt when he had awakened.
Maeve offered him the rest of the cup before shifting out from under him. She lowered him onto his back and moved to Zalavo’s workstation to brew another cup.
With the girl farther away from his presence, he was forced to confront the wailing of his body. His muscles ached. Attempting to stir them only earned him dull aches and the feeling of depletion. His breathing was strained and each exhalation thrummed pain in his throat. If he looked half as bad as he felt, he would have the countenance of a corpse.
“Zalavo was right,” Valentin wheezed. “Anyone could kill me like this. Even with an antidote.”
He had braced himself to experience pain during this experiment. Zalavo’s grave request for his understanding gave him no choice but to expect the worst. However, this had far exceeded his expectations.
Experiencing such a potent poison created a terrifying thought, to be surrounded by enemies as one’s ability to even stand upright was deprived of them. He knew it now, his death would be assured if this ever happened to him on the battlefield. That was the true form of helplessness, curled on the ground in their own vomit waiting to be killed. Hoping to be killed to spare them from the misery.
“I told you to be quiet,” she reprimanded. “You’ve experienced worse than what the poison was originally capable of. Remember, Zalavo said if we had given you the proper antidote when you were feeling discomfort, you would have been fine after a few minutes.”
Maeve’s reminder only served to create an anger within Valentin that he was too weak to sustain. It was an anger born of hindsight that quickly fizzled out without the necessary fuel. The experimental antidote only worsened his suffering and was a primary contributor to his current atrocious condition. Yet, he knew that Zalavo would have never given him such a potion if he knew it would fail so spectacularly. Besides, he was one of the few that would have survived such an ordeal. Most others would have hopelessly passed on.
“Seeing such skills inspires me to try harder,” Maeve stated bitter-sweetly. “If Zalavo had not been there, I would have been unable to do anything to help. Even this beverage is one of his concoctions.”
Despite Valentin’s best efforts to persist, his body acted as a weight that dragged his mind down into the black depths of consciousness. The fear and concern that he might not wake again were not strong enough to prevent his freefall into sleep. His eyelids closed to be sealed shut by invisible forces and his mind started to float untethered until sleep swept all thoughts away.