DB Lazarus
patreon
45. An Old Woman's Advice
🕑 Added 2025-02-06 04:00:05 +0000 UTCShe opened the door with a “You’re late.“
At least she didn’t give me a severe frown. I let myself in, embracing the warmth of her small abode. The air outside had taken on a cold and crisp quality now that the sun had long set, but I had purposely left my sweater at home—one less layer for my bruised body to strip off for her daily sample.
I sat down on a stool and put my wrist out, holding back a wince at the unexpected flash of pain that shot down my arm. “I’m ready.”
Something flashed across her face. Concern? However, she said nothing, just nodded with approval at my outstretched hand. She picked up the metal blade she had already readied. “Good news. This will be the last one. After that, I’ll have all I need from you. I will still need to add a few finishing touches, but in a few more days, you will have your equipment.”
I nodded, then braced. With a quick strike, she cut my left wrist. My blood seeped up and spread in a long, thin, red line. I tilted my arm over the small bowl, counting seconds off in my head as blood dripped into the metal bowl. This had become routine. She no longer hovered over me. She attended to other things, leaving an uncapped potion for me to close the wound when I had filled the bowl with enough of my blood.
About thirty seconds later, I had filled the bowl with the amount she required. With a quick sweep of my finger and activation of my skill, the wound transformed into unblemished skin. I twisted my wrist back and forth and flexed it. I shook my head. Even after so many cuts, I still had no signs of scarring, no subtle loss in my range of motion.
I went to cap the potion, but she stopped me. “Why don’t you take a swig or two of that.“
She knew what [Enhance Medicinal] allowed me to do. For me, a swig equaled somewhere near the half vial for a normal person. Since I clearly didn’t need it to heal my wrist, that could only mean one thing.
“I look that bad?“
“I’ve seen worse. But that doesn’t say much for you right now.“
I sighed, then failed to suppress a cough. The events from earlier this evening still remained hazy, and I could see now that some of my decisions—taking a bath, for one—remained suspect. However, I couldn’t fault in my healing. I had healed the major things—my concussion, hairline fractures, internal organ damage. With more time and potion, I could have done more. However, I didn’t have that luxury.
Had I lost track of normal?
I had to forgo healing something—contusions and mild muscle microtears, mostly. I had no choice but to diminish the potion’s effect when working around my torso because of the infection. Perhaps I had underdone it. In my addled and beaten state, my control had been clumsy. I had erred on the side of avoiding exacerbating an infection. I had succeeded in keeping the potion away from my lungs, but that had left the ribs and intercostal underserved.
I took a deep breath, wincing at the dull ache it elicited throughout my chest.
I eyed the potion. It no longer carried the same risk now that I had recovered compared to earlier this evening. I could use it now with much more finesse. I gave her one last look, and when she nodded, I took measured sips to maximize the healing potential while minimizing the negative effects. With each sip, I focused on the infected lobes, layering dampening zones to weaken the potion’s potency and to discourage microbial growth. To strengthen the effect, I accelerated the potion’s action everywhere else. I sacrificed efficacy for speed, but it left little for the lungs. It took longer, but I had time, and my quiet presence did not bother the older woman. In the end, I mostly managed to isolate the infection from the potion.
When I finished, I stretched backward. I marveled at the lack of any aches or pains. Then I took a deep breath, and for the first time in days, I didn’t instantly need to cough. My mind also felt clearer.
Maybe I had been a bit stingy with my potion usage in the last week. Though, if I hadn’t, then would the amount the Volk forced down my throat suffice after that last beating?
“Thanks.” I reached the potion out to hand it back to her, but she waved it away.
“Keep it. I mean it.”
I hesitated, eying the stern old woman. We both knew this gift wasn’t out of pure generosity. It carried unsaid strings.
Her eyes narrowed, but I cut off any remark. “The cost of remaining independent has proven higher than anticipated.”
Her lips thinned. “What are you saying, boy?”
I kept my voice measured. “I’m fulfilling all that you have asked of me, but I think you have underestimated the difficulty.”
“Boy, I don’t respond well to threats.”
My ears popped as the pressure in the room spiked, then normalized. I caught the slight flicker of her eyes toward the bowl of my blood, the metal bowl with a blood-tinged knife lying on the table next to it. It had value. I may have leverage now, but later? I was playing a dangerous game, but I had her pegged.
I capped the potion and rolled it in my hand. “I find threats of limited utility, especially in my position. However, I am sure keeping me around and in one piece could have other benefits.”
“Oh?”
I gestured to the bowl. “If this project turns out as well as you expect it to—”
She scoffed. “It will.”
“Then I am sure a good, long-term relationship with the owner could prove advantageous, especially if said person was open to revealing personal details.”
Her eyebrow raised, and she couldn’t hide her interest. “Just how personal?”
The clothes should grow with me, which meant she would likely need what people here considered intimate details. “I would be an open book.”
“And if samples were needed?”
I frowned, and her eyes twinkled. I pushed, and she had me. “That seems reasonable—as long as it is within reason.”
“I know what you really want from me, and that is out of reach. However, I can help in other ways.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out another vial. She offered it to me, but when I tried to grab it, she pulled it from my fingers. “This is predicated on continuing our previous understanding.”
“Of course.”
She nodded and extended her hand once more. I didn’t hesitate, taking the two vials and tucking them into a pocket. I had pushed my position to the limit, and I would take the win.
“That’s a dear. Humans are so refreshing to work with, especially compared to Ættar and Volki. You understand there’s more to life than honor—as if one can live off it alone.”
I tapped my pocket with the vial, mulling over what I’d just gained—and what I still lacked. I was making progress, but the water problem hadn’t gone away. “Do you have any suggestions on how to avoid this situation in the future?”
“I would say get stronger or find some friends, but I know both of those are difficult at this time.“
An understatement if I heard one—especially the latter.
I also didn’t miss the unspoken implication: we weren’t friends. While I couldn’t quite make myself believe our interactions were purely business, I couldn’t count on her if things hit the fan. To her, I was nothing more than an interesting stray brought home by Dorian. Whatever that relationship was—something I needed to figure out—it took priority over everything else. But hey, at least we weren’t enemies.
While I couldn’t do much about my friends, perhaps I could do something about my power. The medical treatments I had performed had put me on the edge of my next level. I could feel it in my bones. I needed that next level—and the ones after that. Since life was cheap here, I needed to prove my worth. More levels should come with skills. While making friends with Ættir was an impossibility, neutrality might not be.
Rægnor’s disgusted face popped into my mind. I pushed down the anger and the fear that accompanied it. I focused on the previous interaction and the flickering hope it represented. I had helped another Ættar. Even if Rægnor gave up on me, I had proven my worth to another. Given the rate of injuries, more Ættar would come. They had to. The potion supply was too limited. I would just ignore the fact that my last patient hadn’t given me his name after I healed him.
Still, I wouldn’t rely on just one plan, not with my survival at stake. “I will have to work on it. In the meantime, do you have any suggestions for someone who could create a well or a water source for my longhouse?“
“Boy, I told you I can’t give you what you want, and we both know this isn’t about the water.”
I let my head hang. If it wasn’t the water, the Volki would find something else. “I know.”
“But I understand it might buy you some time. However, let me say it plainly. I could do it, but you can’t afford me.”
“No friend of a friend discount?”
She laughed at that one. “No. Sadly for you, I have a reputation to uphold. I can give you some other suggestions, but they would put you into a degree of debt that you will never escape from. Unfortunately for you, a [Water Mage]’s services are no longer cheap. You might have afforded it without too much debt if you had arrived before mining operations had matured. Now, time spent building a well isn’t worth it, not when they can collect on a cut of the mining yields in every area that they allow access to via draining or holding back sections of water.”
“I see.” As always, timing was everything. My luck had to improve at some point.
She came and collected my blood and the knife. “Still, I appreciate your circumstances, especially since I bear some responsibility for their making. I will ask around, but don’t get your hopes up.“
I sighed—not unexpected, but nothing here came easy. More importantly, she had promised help, an even greater return on my gamble. “I appreciate it. My mining group has been productive, so hopefully that would give me some surplus to work with. Should I drop by in a few days, or would you prefer to send someone? “
“I’ll have someone find you. No need to interrupt my work.”
“We wouldn’t want that.” I gave her a knowing smile, earning the expected scowl at my needling. However, she did not follow up with any scathing remarks about my impudence.
She may never admit it, but that woman likes sass.
I had also earned some respect after days of beatings and still refusing to ask Dorian for help. Despite her gruff exterior, I couldn’t help but like her. Her dry sense of humor, attention to detail, and matter-of-fact demeanor were familiar and almost nostalgic. If she had been in the medical profession, we would have been good colleagues.
“They can leave a note in my longhouse if they can’t find me in the mines. If you don’t need anything else, I’ll head back and get some sleep.”
She didn’t—she had already turned her full attention to another project. Without another word, I let myself out into the cool, crisp mountain air. Without a sweater, it had a bite, but with my body healed, I could shrug it off without breaking into a cough. In my pocket, I rolled the two vials in my hand. Not what I wanted, but a small treasure nonetheless. Without them, I had no chance to advance. With them? I would make it count.
Comments
tibbish
Going in a much better direction now, thanks author
Ruben B
Thank you for the chapter!
