by Aldrea Alien
“Medical notes, mostly. A lot of that was a few generations before me time.”
Nodding distractedly, Darshan turned his focus on the tome dominating the table on the left side of the room. The yellowed pages were already opened to a section on the musculature that made up the forearm. Although age had faded the angular Ancient Domian script and constant use had darkened the page edges, the words were easy enough to make out. “I trust your people have a translated version?”
“Some sections have been—we keep those in the library downstairs. Most here still choose to work with the original text.”
“All these?” He waved a hand at the rows of books. Age had ravaged a handful of the leather spines, cracking the edges, but most looked no more than a century old. “Each one is Domian in origin?” It seemed impossible. The ancient empire had fallen centuries ago, but perhaps a pocket had survived. And if heretofore unknown knowledge rested within these walls, then maybe he could bargain for copies.
“Each one,” Caitlyn echoed, a small smile creasing her eyes.
So many. Only the royal library in Minamist boasted more than a half-dozen and here was thrice that all lined up in one spot. Strange to look upon them and know hands had crafted them almost two millennia ago, back before the Udynea Empire had been given a chance to properly form into an empire. “I never thought your people would possess this much knowledge on the inner workings of the body.”
“We’ve little else to turn our attention to.”
“Of course, my apologies.” Back home, the tales his tutors would tell of Tirglasian cloisters, of being confined to a place such as this. Those stories had always carried an undertone of dread, but how different was this place to the hermit towers of the priesthood? If these books were all as detailed as the ones used back home, then Tirglasian spellsters could very well be the most skilled healers in all the lands. Such a waste.
He carefully lifted a few pages. Much of the Domian text he had read about the body focused on one or two species, usually human and dwarf. It seemed the same here, both in the text and sketches. “Are these all human-based?”
“There are elven ones.” She pointed to the opposite side of the room where the mirrored layout of books and diagrams sat alongside the skeleton. He hadn’t even noticed them. From afar, little seemed different beyond a few less books and some additions to the diagrams. “I’ll warn you, they’re nae as detailed.”
They wouldn’t be. Elves were a relatively new arrival to the continent in regards to the time the various races had spent here, with only the dwarves being native to the lands. Seeing any evidence at all did date the information. Not much older than nineteen centuries. Elven bloodlines hadn’t yet been around for two millennia.
“We’d a few dwarven records, too. But—”
“Permit me to guess. The hedgewitches claimed them?” It wasn’t uncommon. After the wars that uprooted the vast majority of the dvärg clans, the Coven sent out their hedgewitches to acquire all and every mention of their ancestors. Domian had refused, as had Udynea when the empire was young.
Caitlyn nodded.
He gave a cursory glance to the papers on the table next to the tome. Half-completed translations and direct copies for the most part. One caught his eye. He picked it up, trying to identify the object inked on its surface.
It appeared to be a vaguely egg-shaped maze of some kind, with no discernible opening or end. That the page was here suggested it had to do with the body, but he’d never seen anything like this during his healing tuition. Turning the page around did nothing to help make sense of the image. “What is this meant to be?” He handed the page over, affecting his usual nonchalant expression. Maybe the woman would mistake it for being tested.
“That’s a brain.”
As soon as the word left her mouth, Darshan saw it. They had touched briefly on the subject back in his tutored years, but no healer worth his coin would dare to apply more than the weakest probing. Delicate organs were often left to themselves. He’d never seen an image of a brain that wasn’t stylised. Or symmetrical, as the current theory was on what the perfect specimen should resemble. “It seems rather…” He tapped his upper teeth with the tip his tongue, hunting for the right word. “…lifelike.”
“It’s probably from one of the specimens they jarred. The majority of the Domian studies done here were on the diseases plaguing complex organs. We’ve still got the jars. They’re kept in the secondary basement.”
“How gruesome,” he murmured, his thoughts elsewhere. Studies on brain disease. Never mind the ancient elven skeleton, he knew of several healers who’d give their right arm for a chance to peruse any studies involving the brain.
He would need to find out who was in charge and discuss the herbal remedies he had been given leave to use in the trade agreements. Although, if their texts were this detailed, then maybe…
Darshan shook himself and smiled at Caitlyn. “Can I see them?”
Shrugging, she beckoned him to follow as she vacated the room.
Their downward passage required retracing their steps through the same winding route, the stairs seemingly narrower and the corridors that little bit emptier. The time of day likely had a hand in the latter. His stomach certainly seemed to be of the opinion that a midday meal should be forthcoming.
They strode by the study where he had met Caitlyn. He peeked into the area, idly wondering if the woman’s two brothers lingered there. Alas, no.
Probably enjoying a nice lunch. He briefly considered suggesting to Caitlyn that they follow suit before dismissing the idea with barely a creak. Eyeballing antique organs on a full stomach likely wasn’t the best plan.
Caitlyn led the way out the cloister’s main entrance. He trotted down the stairs leading to the courtyard at her heel, casting an eye around the space in an effort to spot just where they would place something so fragile. But he caught no hint of anything he would class as a basement.
In contrast to the emptiness within the cloister, the courtyard practically bustled. Especially around the pulley. A good dozen men worked around the massive seven-levered capstan, their faces pulled tight with effort as they hoisted whatever goods the people below had loaded. The wooden beams groaned along with them.
Caitlyn slowed, her head tilted towards the mechanism. A distant look took her eye. She halted with a gasp, then raced towards the men. “Reverse the wheel! Lower the platform!”
The men hesitated only as long as it took to see who issued such an order. They hastened to follow her demands, shuffling around to unwind the capstan. More men rushed to the edge and yelled for those below to get clear before likewise fleeing the immediate area.
Darshan eyed the pulley, searching for whatever had spooked Caitlyn. The beams continued to groan and bend, but they didn’t show any sign of breaking anytime soon.
Through it all, Caitlyn hopped from one foot to the other. “Please,” she whispered. “Goddess, please let it hold out just a little long—”
Slowly, like the unfurling of a rose, the rope snapped.
Unthinking, Darshan lashed his magic towards the frayed end. His grasp held for but a moment before the rope slithered free, vanishing over the edge in a second that took an eternity.
A heart-stopping scream punctuated the crash of wood.
People rushed to the cliff edge, yelling down at those working there, struggling to get a cohesive answer. Above them, the beam continued to shudder, the vibration running the length of the pulley’s framework. But it seemed to be holding together.
Rather than attempt to forge a path through the press of bodies around the cliff edge, Darshan followed Caitlyn to the capstan. A handful of men sat nearby, clutching their chests. They smiled sheepishly up at Caitlyn, grimacing only slightly as she healed each one in turn.
“You have the gift of premonition?” Darshan enquired. There was no mistaking she’d been aware the rope would fray. If only it had come sooner. He pressed his lips together lest the wrong words escaped. H
opefully, her actions had reduced the fatality of any injuries. “It is a rare skill, even in Udynea.” There were plenty of old elven stories of how they had fled their homeland at the behest of their Oracles. Quite a few scholars insisted those Oracles must’ve had the same power, but no one had ever seen it manifest in any elf.
Caitlyn shrugged and moved on to the final injured man. “It’s nae like I see things all the time. I just ken certain dangerous things are going to happen. That’s how I sensed Hamish and me were in trouble all those years back.”
Trouble? Hamish had never mentioned having a spellster sibling, let alone getting into some sort of trouble with one.
“Rouse the spellsters!” a woman screamed before Darshan could enquire more from Caitlyn. She came rushing out of the crowd, her hair in utter disarray as she waved her hands about. “We’ve wounded coming up!”
Several of the younger men examining the pulley’s frame hopped down to race through the entrance. More people increasingly withdrew from the cliff edge to bustle around the pulley and help the recently-mended inside. A few greeted those exiting from the cloister’s main entrance to speak with priests and spellsters alike, the latter of which often had those same people scurrying off for supplies.
Not a single face was familiar.
He turned his attention to the stable entrance. Zurron stood amongst those staring at the pulley, although the look on his face was far removed from the shocked expressions of those around him.
Darshan strode to the elf’s side. Even from this new vantage point, he saw no sign of either Tirglasian prince. “Have you seen Gordon or Hamish recently?”
The man failed to answer his query, forcing Darshan to repeat himself.
“Nae since we arrived.” Zurron’s gaze barely left the pulley as he spoke. He shook his head. “I warned them. Why did they nae listen?” His dark gaze fastened onto Darshan. “Any word on the wounded?”
“Only that there are some on their way.”
“Any deaths?”
The ache in the elf’s eyes was almost enough to pull an instant ‘of course not’ from Darshan’s lips. Only in glancing away did he manage to regain his composure. “I cannot rightfully say.” Until the wounded arrived from below, all they could realistically do was hope Caitlyn’s warning had been soon enough to limit the chance.
The wait for those from below went by swiftly enough. The massive Tirglasian cart horses trotted through the gate, each one heaving and dark with sweat. Behind them, several makeshift litters dragged along the cobblestones. Other, more mobile, wounded persons sat atop the horses, some clinging to the riders to keep from falling.
Darshan hastened to lend a hand in the dismounting of the latter whilst others swarmed the litters.
“I told them,” Zurron muttered, seemingly to himself, as he aided Darshan in assisting a limping woman to a nearby bench. “I bloody told them.”
Darshan knelt before the woman, laying a hand on her knee and let his magic seek out the source of her pain. Fractured tibia. That explained her rather pallid appearance. Nothing beyond his capabilities and repaired within moments.
Issuing a few precautions at the woman, he scanned the courtyard in search of others who required his help. The men who’d been dragged here were still strapped to their makeshift litters and each one had at least a single spellster tending to them. He wove through the swarms, stopping beside Caitlyn.
She was bent over a man who bled from his chest. Already, her hands were dark with his blood. Unlike most of the others, little sound came from the man.
Darshan knelt at the injured man’s side. “Can I be of assistance?” Although she seemed to be struggling, it was potentially life-threatening for a spellster to assist another in healing without warning.
“I cannae stop the flow,” she mumbled. “Goddess, there’s so much blood. I try and… there’s something deeper. I…” She shook her head. “I cannae do this, nae without me diagrams.” Withdrawing her touch, Caitlyn stared longingly at the cloister entrance. “I need to—”
“Stay put,” Darshan snapped. He laid a finger on the man’s neck. There was a pulse. Weak, but there. “He cannot wait whilst you scan your notes.” All that knowledge. It sat in books and on walls… How could they be so reliant on them? Did the priests not let their charges study enough without conferring with old pages?
“But I dinnae ken how to mend this. We do bones, skin and muscles, nae—”
Darshan grabbed her hand, keeping her palm pressed hard against the man’s shoulder. “The body knows what it needs. You only have to aid it.”
Nodding, she closed her eyes. The strain of healing swiftly lined her face.
“You must push harder.” Even without trying, a tendril of his magic had seeped into the man through the finger Darshan kept on the man’s neck. As horrific as the gash in his chest was, mending such injuries was child’s play to an adept spellster. Something had to be underneath all that to reject Caitlyn’s attempts.
“I cannae do it!” She jerked her hand back. “It’s too much. We’re nae supposed to put ourselves into the effort. The Goddess’ claim to him is stronger than I.”
“What you are jabbering about? He—”
The heartbeat under his forefinger stuttered.
Without a thought, Darshan flooded the man’s body with his magic. The man’s very being seemed to latch onto the power, feeding off it like a leech.
The force of it tore a gasp from Darshan’s lungs.
Like a line-caught fish, he fought against the pull to no avail. His only chance laid in directing the flow of magic towards the injuries. Caitlyn had repaired a few, namely the broken rib, but a lung was still punctured. Not terribly, just enough to let blood in. He focused there first.
Sweat poured down his brow, blinding him. Still, he pressed on. Something else was feeding off his magic, something that the body required more than a mere lung.
There! Fluid seeped around the man’s heart, squeezing whenever Darshan tried to wrest his power back. He probed further and found a tear in the thin membrane surrounding the organ. Nothing seemed to be the likely cause of the wound.
He directed the fluid back through the tear to dissipate elsewhere. His head spun with the effort.
Sealing the membrane was a far easier task and done in an instant. And yet, the heart refused to stay at a reassuring rhythm. Don’t you dare die on me now. But what else could he do? What had the healing professors said on this?
There’d been that one case… It had been years ago. The old lectures little more than a wisp of a memory.
“Everyone stay back!” Darshan screamed. He crossed his hands atop the man’s chest. A tendril of lightning, barely more than a static spark, zipped from his palm. The man’s body leapt, causing Caitlyn to squeak in surprise. The man’s heart twitched, taking a few ungainly beats.
Another zap. A little more precisely aimed this time.
Finally, the man’s heart seemed to resume a steady beat. Darshan fumbled for a wrist, holding it close to his chest whilst measuring the pulse. Regular. Relief relaxed the constraint on his magic and it flowed through the man, mending the remaining minor injuries.
Darshan sagged, barely able to keep himself from falling to the flagstones. He thanked the gods for already being on his knees, for he certainly would’ve dropped to them.
People collected the litter, lifting the now completely healed man and carrying him through the crowd. Others who’d suffered lesser and similar injuries were also being escorted inside.
Drawing upon every ounce of his strength, Darshan hauled himself to his feet and followed the litter. His body cried out for sleep, for food. He couldn’t indulge in either yet. That wasn’t how Nanny Daama had raised him. He’d a duty to his patient first.
~~~
Hamish raced through the halls. He hadn’t heard the crash that’d been the pulley system failing, but the bustle around it stirred the whole cloister. Spellsters and priests poured from the entrance, rushing to aid
the wounded or assist in those who already were.
He trotted down the stairs, tailing his brother. The pulley was absent of people, but seemed strangely intact for something to have caused so much trouble. Especially when people lay groaning and bleeding like—
Darshan.
The Udynean knelt in the middle of the crowd, slumped over beside one of the makeshift litters. The sleeves and chest of his sherwani were stained with blood. His own? Had he been struck by the pulley? What had he been doing out here, anyway?
One of the litter bearers bumped him, jolting him into the realisation that he’d been standing on the steps like a statue.
He hastened through the crowd, forging a path to his lover.
The crowd closed in before Hamish could reach Darshan’s side. When it parted again and allowed him through, the man was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the litter.
A quick survey of his immediate surroundings also revealed a complete lack of the man. Where…? He wouldn’t have gone beyond the courtyard gates. But the cloister was big and he had looked injured. Would those carting the wounded inside care that his bloodstained attire wasn’t of this land?
What if Darshan mistook a healer’s attempts to aid him with danger? Would he fight them? How would the priests react to such an action? With his imprisonment? His death?
He whirled on the closest person, realising he had grabbed his sister only when her face was inches from his. “Darshan?” he blurted, clutching at her shoulders lest she also vanished. “Where is he? I saw him, but he’s gone.”
“He followed one of the workers inside.” She jerked a thumb up the stairs as if he hadn’t just descended them. “Said he was heading to the infirmary.”
