“Oh please, not today…”
Exill staggered to his knees and snatched up the scalpel. It was potentially lethal in the wrong hands. He felt the young woman’s claw tug at his tunic while rasping her usual demands with a peculiar lisp.
“P-please Healer! Take me with you!”
Spit drooled down the gaping hole in her oozing cheek. Her eyes were unusually lucid in their earnest brightness, chiselling away at his resolve. He wordlessly unclasped her claw like appendage from his sleeve, then hurried to the water trough.
He rinsed his hand and tools in a washbasin, ignoring the girl’s wails resonating through the warehouse. Despite his best efforts, there was something about the despairing screams that set his teeth on edge.
‘I’ve already saved one damsel in distress and look where that got me!’ Through a process of introspection, he had recognised his own self-destructive nature and had taken concrete steps to break its cycle. The most important part of that plan was to not get any more slaves.
He rushed out of the slave compound into the bustling streets of Ark, eager to put as much distance between him and that damnable place. However under that bright, cloudless morning sky, an incongruent thought slipped through his head.
‘Envy turned out alright in the end… didn’t she?’
He shook his head hurriedly; how could he possibly forget all the teasing and uncertainty she put him through. Seriously, at one point he had been afraid for his life! Not to mention she was the reason behind Sir Eumol’s challenge.
‘It’s a bit unfair to blame her for catching the eye of a noble.’ Exill reluctantly retracted that last bit of blame, after all, she had been willing to rewrite her contract so that he wouldn’t die.
The Witchdoctor stood rooted on the sidewalk, frozen in indecision as pedestrians bumped past him. The problem was that he had a bleeding heart, unable to ignore people earnestly asking for his help.
In the end, he reached into his pouch and withdrew the divination coin, channelling mana into it. He flipped it, and caught the whirring disc mid-air. The mana dissipated warmly in his closed fist, the glowing runes fading away – sight unseen.
It was said that when a person flipped a coin to decide on something, they would experience a remarkable moment of clarity revealing their innermost desires. That brief moment his hands clasped around the falling coin; he had fervently wished ‘please let it be heads.’ Cursing at himself, he marched back to slave market and barged into Diallo’s office.
“Tell me about the young woman covered in burn scars in the middle of Row C.” he demanded of the slave trader.
Diallo was unfazed and reached out with one hand to flip through a rack of clay tablets to his left. “You mean the dwarf woman? She is 22 years old. It says farmer/forager by trade and that should equate to 1000 Denars.”
Exill sighed inwardly in relief. At least she wasn’t a murderer, but he had to be sure this time. “Does she have a criminal record? Why was she sold into slavery?”
Diallo swept his hand back across his bald head, confused by the Witchdoctor’s interrogation over a run-of-the-mill slave. However, considering the trauma he must have undergone with that murderous vampire – it was somewhat understandable.
“I sell slaves, not information. Go ask her yourself if you’re that curious, but I will tell you this: she is unremarkable in every way aside from her injuries.”
“Then 500 Denars, her injury is extensive, and I’ve seen her here for the past four months.”
Diallo grimaced. It was worse than that. She had been here for the past four years, and his losses only grew while feeding her every day. “1000 Denars... and I will throw in a blood potion recipe. It is shelf stable for a month and will help feed your vampire in a pinch.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
‘A blood potion recipe?’ Exill was intrigued and had never seen it referenced in the tomes back at Savta’s clinic. Should he suffer a major accident like before, it could help tide Envy over while he recovered.
However he clung firm to the price, “500 Denars, I’ve had no problems feeding Envy these past five months.”
Diallo stared at Exill over his steepled fingers. He knew the lad was soft but there was a strange, hardened look in his eyes, making the slave trader reluctant to push the price. “Fine, 700 Denars and the recipe. That is the lowest I will go and I’m taking a loss here.”
Exill paused, slowly unclenching his fists, he nodded at Diallo.
“Let’s sign the contract now.”
***
Her name was Tsarra.
He led the stumbling slave through the meandering back alleyways, occasionally looking back over his shoulders to check she was keeping up. They eventually reached the towering inner walls of Ark and waited in line to pass through the East Gate, all the while examining the dwarf inconspicuously. She was around 150cm (5ft) tall and barely came up to his shoulders. His cloak was draped around her frail figure, and she trembled on bare feet, unused to walking such distances. Her long brown hair was tangled and matted, covering the oozing burns on one side of her face.
Exill felt the stares of people disgusted by her stench, and he hurried through the gate. The guards barely glanced at Tsarra’s temporary pass, then they went home via the quiet side streets. ‘I need to do something about her clothes.’ He thought, trying to ignore the sickly sweet scent of pus mixed with her foul rags.
Exill led her to the smithy, reluctant to bring her to the sterile treatment room. He let her rest on the tool bench while heating water over the hot coals. Tsarra locked up in fear at the sight of the sparks, remembering the fire that had consumed her parents and siblings.
“When the water is at the right temperature you can wash yourself with this cloth. Just throw your rags into the fire, and here is fresh change of clothes.” Exill waited for her to respond but her gaze was locked onto the flames, the whites of her eyes clearly visible.
‘Damn, how could I be so insensitive. Of course she is afraid of fire.’
He led her to the treatment room instead, peeling off her borrowed cloak to find it was smeared with blood and pus. Tsarra looked at his mottled raiment in discomfort, uncertain of the punishment her new master would wreak.
Exill sighed softly as he flung the cloak to the side. It was a shame but it would have to go. Trying not to let his disappointment show, he examined the burns covering her upper torso and face. He would need to clean and stabilize this, or her new clothes would be ruined the moment they were worn.
They spent the next hour washing the filth away. Exill consumed 20% of his own vitality to heal and stabilize the worst of her weeping sores, covering the remainder in poultice and gauze. He was surprised to find that underneath all that layer of grime stood a pretty girl, albeit severely underweight. Long auburn hair covered one side of her face and timid jade like eyes stared back at him, a scar bisecting her pale lips on one side.
The large hole in her cheek needed to be examined next, from which drool continued to flow out as she swallowed self-consciously. He tried to make her feel more comfortable.
“You don’t have to hide your burns here, let’s tie your hair back for now or it will get wet.” With this, he wrapped a towel around her neck in an impromptu neckerchief.
“We’ll eventually heal all your burns, but I need you to build up strength. That means you need to eat and sleep well. You can rest in this bed while I go shopping.”
Tsarra nodded, not trusting her smoke damaged voice. She was embarrassed when her cheeks grew wet at the thought of food, soaking her neckerchief quickly. Exill noticed and pointed to the stacked towels on the shelf, then left the clinic.
He returned half an hour later with a large chunk of wheyr tail, vegetables, and some sweet roll from the bakery next door. He remembered stories of concentration camp prisoners on Earth and how a sudden calorific increase would cause their death. He was an engineer, not a medical professional, and the best he could do in this world was gradually increase the amount of food she ate.
Returning to the treatment room, he tore the sweet roll in half and tossed it to her. She quickly devoured it and watched with yearning eyes as he finished his half, making him feel guilty. “I’m sorry but it is bad for you to suddenly eat so much in your condition.”
Tsarra acknowledged him with sad eyes, and Exill started to feel discomfort from staying in the same room. He needed to prep and boil the Wheyr tail all night over a low fire if they wanted to eat it tomorrow. There was a lot of collagen and calcium in the milky white broth, and when cooked right, the meat between the tail bones would fall away, yielding a surprising amount of protein.
“I’m going to take a rest and you should as well. My room is the rightmost door upstairs, knock if you need anything.”
‘I should open a charity at this rate.’ He silently mused while climbing the stairs, slightly dizzy from his vitality drain. After preparing the Wheyr tail soup, the tired young man lay down on his bed and took a little nap.
However a few hours later, Exill woke with a start, sensing a threatening presence. He looked around to find Envy leaning on the doorway, arms crossed and a disdainful scowl on her beautiful face.
“I didn’t know we were doing so well for you to afford another slave.”