The infirmary was full of movement that evening. It was time that the villagers paid their tribute, as the awful lord Bahram would say. It was time to collect their blood so that my brothers could nourish themselves.

My small fingers were holding an elderly patient’s wrinkled arm, checking the bruise-like markings fading on her skin. I brought out the glowing blue Shivermaid II bottle and shook it gently, the iciness of its contents swirling around.

“One spoonful of this, and you’ll be able to sit out with the rest of your friends,” I told her. This patient had curly wispy hair, like frail cotton. She smiled as I brought a spoonful of medicine near her mouth. She shivered a little and was helped out by one of the burly warriors from Harlan's camp.

The cots were laundered by many of the women and children villagers. They brought out their large wooden basins and made more from the trees of the dark forest once we realized the fabric from the infirmary was too large. These newer ones were made in the shape of barrels. I helped them collect water from the stream and saw them sprinkle potash from their communal fire over the fabric. The children then took turns stomping on the cots, laughing.

Wilbur even added a few of his yellotongue and shivering maiden petals in the last wash, curious to see if it had any effect in the water without Gaelmar’s kindflame, but there was none. It simply smelled pleasant.

On one side of the infirmary were those very same children, sitting on those freshly laundered cots, their little legs swinging over the edge. Wilbur was soothing them as their mothers watched. Agate was among them, overseeing the whole procedure. He pricked their thumb, swabbed the tiny blood quickly with cotton, and placed them on a small wooden dish with the child’s initials. Woodrow was stationed just outside the infirmary doors, playing the wood pipes he borrowed from Jerome, filling the empty air with light music.

“It’s a real treat to do this now, instead of the dour mood Blake and Knox insisted on,” Woodrow commented.

“An infirmary should not be so sullen,” Wilbur agreed. “It is already dour enough.”

I smiled. For my part, I made sure the flames on the torches glowed brighter and more welcoming. The feverfluke incense also helped to produce a warmer ambiance.

“If only I had sweetmeats…” Wilbur mused. I remember he used to give them to the children back at Shoreglass Monastery, our first home, as a reward.

But the children of Kent barely caused a fuss. Just like in that first monastery, they trusted Wilbur. They held out their arms and hands. Wilbur sent them off one by one until Agate left and was replaced by Harlan. He brought in the men and women warriors. Woodrow stopped playing as he took over for Wilbur, who retreated inside his lab and arranged his equipment. I helped him prick the flesh of the men and women on their forearms, letting the blood flow into the small wooden bowls positioned just under.

“And you’re certain you can learn much from looking at our blood?” Harlan asked. We had told them what we were planning. Not all of the information, of course. But enough for them to understand that we’re trying to help them.

“Yes,” Wilbur said calmly. “I would check them in our lab and know if they’re lacking in certain… bile.” He was using the words he hoped they would understand.

We had explained to them earlier that there were certain minerals in the body and that if any of them were lacking, the whole body would suffer. Resulting in the loss of optimal work. Resulting in frail bodies that were unable to defend their villages. Agate understood enough. Harlan got the principle, but he couldn’t wrap his head around how blood led to those.

Harlan shrugged. “You’re the physician.”

I watched them closely, my brothers. Wilbur came back and resumed his work, his fingers steady with practice. Woodrow was biting his lip under a mask of concentration, but his eyes were glowing a distinct shade of green as he watched the dark red blood run. I tapped his shoulder lightly. He withdrew and I took his place.

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“You are so young, brother,” I heard them say again.

I smiled politely. For a while, there was silence save for the crackling of torches overhead and the sounds of branches outside. Warriors came in, we drew their blood, and they filed out, replaced by names Harlan called from outside. We told them to not lift or do any heavy activity after.

Jerome, the dutiful scout and archer who Agate was fond of, went inside and scanned the infirmary. His eyes fixed on our redheaded brother on the corner. Woodrow was not meeting his gaze. He went up to him. “I was hoping that we could have a word, just us two.”

Wilbur, Woodrow, and I looked at each other. Jerome continued, “You seem so scared to touch me now, when the first night we met you were friendly. Have I done something to offend you?”

“No,” Woodrow said. “No.”

I led Jerome and Woodrow to a cot separate from the ones the warriors occupied and placed the tools needed to draw blood. I locked eyes with him. If he wanted penance for what he did, then this was what he had to do.

Jerome plopped down and looked at Woodrow while Woodrow focused on the sharp needle he held. My brother took a deep breath and nicked Jerome’s skin and let the bright red flow into the bowl. “You have healthy free blood,” Woodrow commented. “You have a free spirit there behind all your doubts about your skills.” Finally, Woodrow looked at Jerome’s eyes. “You have become stronger. Especially at that last battle. You have proven yourself. You should be in the middle of the communal fire and take your space.”

“Could you help me with that?”

Woodrow nodded, smiling. I patted Woodrow’s shoulder and left them.

___

Our last two patients were Harlan and Agate themselves. Woodrow and Wilbur worked on them as I arranged the cots and swept the floor with a broom made out of dried twigs.

We locked the infirmary doors after we sent the two of them away. I told Ember to guard the church doors as we convened here. I dimmed the torchlight, save for the ones in Wilbur’s new lab. Wilbur arranged the blood we collected on the large stone-wood table, sounds of smooth dishes sliding over the surface. On one side was the blood of the elderly, and on the other were the dots of blood in cotton.

Wilbur brought one cotton to his mouth, closed his eyes, and tasted it. He spat the wet cotton out. “Healthy,” he said. He did this with the rest of the samples, deeming the first four the same good result. He paused on the fifth cotton. It lingered in his mouth. He made a sound. “Iron. This one needs iron.” He checked the initials I carved on the dish. “Kory.”

She was a little girl whoo always had a slight cough. She was the slowest and needed to take afternoon naps and early evening sleep.

He began to taste the rest. Three of the children needed iron.

Then he set to work on the adults. He checked Agate and Harlan. Agate needed iron as well. “Harlan’s blood is strong. But he needs rest.”

Almost all the elderly and grown men and women lacked nutrients. “Calcium. Protein. Iron.” Then he said weird names like, “Potassium. Cobalamin. Zinc.” He sighed. “And, of course, the sunlight vitamin.” He looked at us. “You remember how mothers hold their babies to soak in the early morning sun? That was supposed to be the only free medicine that was available to them. We need to manufacture new sources.”

“How about Jerome’s blood?” Woodrow said, holding the dish.

“He’s perfectly fine,” Wilbur answered. “Fit as a fiddle. Though there’s something there that I can’t quite place.” Wilbur shrugged. “I don’t recognize the taste.”

And then my brothers drank.

They poured all the blood in the wood dish onto a larger basin. Woodrow offered his clean glass bottles to Woodrow as he scooped up the thick dark red liquid. They both breathed out and looked at each other as they held their meal. Their eyes told the other to not let their primal side win.

I watched as their throats moved and their fingers curled. My brothers were famished. Almost immediately, I can sense them growing stronger. The dryness of Woodrow’s hair regained its smooth luster. So did my brother Wilbur’s messy brown hair. They looked rehydrated: parched soil watered.

This was my brother’s life. This was what they did back at Fairstep Monastery. Once they finished, they opened their eyes shyly at me. I silently grabbed their bottles, the basin, and the wooden dish near the barrel of water and scrubbed them clean, whistling.

“You both look well,” I said before leaving them. Even though the blood from the villagers was not the healthiest, it was enough to satiate my brothers' thirst. We all felt strong tonight.