Appo was dizzy as he lumbered through the streets. The room was spinning. Or was it the city? He wasn’t quite sure. He vaguely remembered that he had to stop the bleeding, but he had no idea how. At some point, he had taken off his tunic and wadded it into his wounded arm. No good. He was still bleeding, and now he was shirtless.
“Fire. I need fire. Where is fire?”
Appo recalled how other healers treated amputated limbs. If it wasn’t possible to stitch, the healers would take a scalding metal and press it into an open wound. It would stop the bleeding but could lead to a host of other problems. Infection. Bloodrot. Shock. Death. Typically in that order. Appo didn’t have the luxury to consider other options, however. His surgery kit was across town, and his blood loss wasn’t slowing.
Appo opened his eyes. He was leaning against a wall now. “How long have I been doing that?” It must’ve been only a moment since he was still holding his tunic against his wound, the blood still dripping and sticky in his hands. He stumbled away from the wall, finding his balance. As he walked, Appo felt soreness on the top of his head. He realized what must have happened: he tripped, lost his footing, and knocked his head into the wall. The bump must have jolted him awake.
His vision was blurry. The darkness wasn’t helping matters. Appo couldn’t recognize where he was. There was no one near him and all the homes around him were empty. "West end?" His breathing was slowing too. Fortunately, the pain in his whole left arm had numbed somewhat. If anything, he was just annoyed from hitting his head. It was a bad sign altogether.
“What I wouldn’t give for thebacium right now.” Appo’s thoughts drifted to the plant the Healer’s Guild grew underground in Jyväsk. No pain was too great for thebacium. It wouldn’t cure his blood loss, but with just a few seeds he wouldn’t care whether he lived or died.
Appo was thirsty. And hungry. He hadn’t eaten since earlier that morning, and the blood loss wasn’t helping. He was so tired. He needed to lie down and sleep. He needed to catch his breath after all he had been through. The ground looked so comfortable, he could just lie down and-
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“No! If I sleep now I’ll never wake up. Move. Get help. Someone must be nearby, I smell cooking.”
Appo turned a corner and saw why the air smelled so crisp. In front of him was a small clay home, in front of which lay an iron pot, sitting atop a stone outcropping. Appo could see the amber cinders of a recently abandoned fire pit. A metal pole stuck out of the pit, bent at an awkward angle under the pot. It looked like a recently vacated guard post.
“That’ll… have to do,” Appo mumbled.
Appo walked to the fire pit, falling to his knees as he approached it. He reached for the fire poker, tugging it out of the pit with as much strength as he could muster. It was heavier than he was expecting, though he was also particularly weak. Examining the end, Appo saw the end of the poker radiating a dull light. He wouldn’t have long.
Appo positioned himself on the ground and tugged the shirt off his left forearm. The wound had tried to crust around the shirt, but blood was still pooling around his wrist. He grabbed the poker, blew on the sizzling end, and ignoring every warning his body was sending to him at that moment, pressed it into his wound.
This pain was a thousand times worse than losing the hand itself. Appo’s consciousness returned at full force. Appo shut his eyes and grimaced, and in horror he realized that he could smell his burning skin. It reminded him of old meat searing on charcoal.
Those twenty seconds passed as quickly as a month, and Appo let the poker fall to the ground. Half of the wound was completely seared, his skin as black as tar. The other half was still flesh-colored, with the ash of his own skin tinting it maroon. He would need to cauterize that side as well. This was proving to be a challenge, though. Now Appo knew how bad the pain was and his body was refusing to obey his commands. If the poker touched his skin again, he knew the pain would be even worse.
There was no other option though. He needed to stop the bleeding now or he was going to die.
Appo twisted his neck and bit into the fire poker. With his jaw balancing the poker with his hand, he once again pressed the poker into his wound. The pain returned in full force, and Appo bit down into the rod. He felt his molars crack but he bit down harder. He needed to suppress a scream until the pain died down. The awful smell of his own burning skin again crept into his nose.
This time the pain didn’t jolt him awake. This pain was too much. Appo’s eyes rolled upwards. He fell backward, losing consciousness as the pain overtook him.