Chapter 21: Strange Bedfellows - Bloody Shems

The town sped by, unreal from the back of a moving animal. Raviathan felt sick, knocked about by the horse’s odd gait. He had never so much as ridden in a wagon let alone atop any living creature. The horse’s rocking made the height worse, less stable. Buildings, though higher, were at least stable, a perch where he had more control, a better sense of balance and distance. This was chaos and thudding about.

The rider grunted when Raviathan slid and fell back hard. They didn’t slow as the rider manhandled him into a firm position on his lap, his arm so tight around Raviathan’s middle he could only manage shallow gasps. Between his lack of air and the frenzied ride, Raviathan felt like the world was starting to spin. His hands kept a death grip on the saddle. “Let me go!”

The rider ignored him.

Raviathan started squirming as best he could, pushing against the rider’s arm and kicking back ineffectually.

“Stop that! Fall, break your neck, and you won’t be a help to anyone.”

“Let me go!”

“Shut it.” The rider tightened his arm until Raviathan was sure he was going to be cut in two parts.

“You shems think you own everything, can do what you want. You’d take the sun and wind for your own if you could.”

“That’s right. Now shut up.”

Oh, what was the point, Raviathan thought. Instead of arguing, he tried to focus on the horizon as that seemed to settle his nausea. Not that he would mind throwing up on the rider, but he wasn’t at a good enough angle to manage that without further dirtying up his already mud drenched clothes.

Panic seized him when they headed straight toward a fence. Maker, no. Visions of the horse’s legs hitting the stone wall and the two of them catapulting over flashed into his mind. Broken bones and blood. The horse spinning from the impact, speed rushing the hundreds upon hundreds of pounds of horse on him, crushing. He felt the horse’s muscles bunch beneath him, the rider press forward squeezing him between horse and human. The horse leapt, a motion that left Raviathan’s stomach behind, and landed with an impact that jarred his teeth together. After that, Raviathan closed his eyes and willed his mind into oblivion.

The rider leaned back but did not lessen his grip around Raviathan’s waist in the slightest. They slowed enough for the horse to make his way down a ditch, the rider moving back to keep his balance, his grip forcing Raviathan to do the same. Though secondary to his panic from the horse and sickening ride, the indignity of having his ass pressed tight into the shem’s crotch mingled with his frustration.

All thought was left behind at the horse’s next jump out of the ditch, a hop that turned Raviathan’s stomach inside out. How much longer? The horse ran at a full gallop across the field, his labored breathing echoing off the near hills.

Anxiety could only freeze his thoughts for so long. Maker, how did he always seem to end up in these situations? What would Duncan think about what happened? Would Duncan be able to find him? The villagers and this shem were apparently on friendly terms. The villagers would most likely know where Raviathan was being taken, but that also meant they would be unlikely to help, too. What was the problem with shems? Every time he had been accosted, threatened, and now kidnapped, shems were always the source. True, he’d had run-ins with his fellows in the alienage, but never to the intensity he experienced when he was among shems.

His stomach clenched when the horse bunched beneath him yet again. The horse lurched up, and Raviathan was sure the horse’s neck would have slammed into his face if the shem’s grip hadn’t been so tight.

Curse these shems. He was going to be sick.

A low sprawling farmstead squatted on the rise over a swollen creek. The shem, William, slowed his horse to traverse the creek, the cold water chilling Raviathan’s feet. The cold felt good on his twisted ankle. As if Raviathan hadn’t hated the ride enough, the horse stumbled up the steep bank, hooves clanking against stone as the beast skittered and hauled the three of them up. Raviathan’s breath caught as he quickly chanted a prayer to the Maker when the horse slipped.

Head spinning, Raviathan breathed a limited sigh of relief when the ride finally ended at the farmstead door. The arm that had kept him so firmly ensconced during the ride now pulled him down. Raviathan twisted to try to land on his feet, but a stab of pain went through his ankle. He stumbled and fell backwards into a mud puddle.

All dignity gone, Raviathan tried to manage furious as he glared up at the shem. The horse had steam rising off his flanks. William was as moved by the glare as a rock would be.

“Inside you’ll find a man. If he’s still alive, you will treat him.”

The rider wheeled his horse around, and no amount of glaring changed anything about Raviathan’s situation. His butt wasn’t going to get less cold sitting in a puddle. Slapping his hand against the water in frustration, Raviathan struggled to his feet and limped to the house with as much resentment as he could muster. What kind of Grey Warden gets knocked out at his own wedding or gets kidnapped by a mob of shems in a strange town? Raviathan pushed his hair out of his face, mainly succeeding in getting his hair muddy. Why in the Maker’s name did Duncan have such faith in him?

A hearth fire burned on the other side of the door, adding warmth and light to the house. A middle-aged woman who had been tending the fire stared at him when he entered. She wore a simple homespun, brown dress over her white shift. Little tendrils of fine brown hair had escaped from her bun. Though of middle years, she had beautiful, unwrinkled skin for a shem.

“I’m a healer,” Raviathan said, unwilling to keep the irritation out of his voice. “I was told there is a man in need of attention.”

The woman put a hand to her chest. “You ... you’re a healer?”

“Yes,” Raviathan said, sharper than he intended. “Your name?”

“Molly.”

“I’m given to understand this is an emergency.”

Without another word, the woman led him to a room, casting a backwards glance his way. Raviathan could smell old blood and the onset of infection before he entered. The unconscious man laying in the bed had large arms, a thick neck, and a barrel chest, typical of a man who did heavy labor for his keep. The wiry red bristles of his beard stood out against his pale, sweaty skin.

“Bandits,” the woman said behind him, low so as not to disturb the sleeping patient. “Think they used poison on their blades.”

“Why do you think they used poison?”

“He’s feverish, sweaty. Can’t stay awake and is confused when I try to wake him. Doesn’t know where he is. When I gave him a healing potion, he threw up.”

Raviathan turned around then made shooing motions at the woman when she didn’t get out of the way.

“Wait,” she said with rising desperation, “you’re not going to leave?”

“I’m covered in mud. I need to clean up or I’m only going to make him worse. I need soap, strips of clean fabric, and boiling water.”

She froze for a moment as she contemplated his list then left with an abrupt turn. “Water is on the fire. Was going to make soup, but I haven’t added anything yet.”

“Then I’ll clean in that. Get me soap and another pot to boil. Cloth after that.”

She nodded absently and hurried away. Settling in front of the fire, Raviathan pulled out his instruments first to clean, the finely edged steel glinting bright in the fire, then he pulled off his ruined cloak and armor. His cloak was still salvageable, but it would need to be cleaned and re-oiled to be of use. Not going to happen in this rain. The week’s marching ahead promised to leave him soaking and cold.

The woman slapped a lump of soap in his hand before running off to complete the other tasks he’d set for her. Raviathan stripped down to his pants. He would have changed if he could, or gone down to his small clothes if he was at home. The thought of home sent a brief stab of pain, and he wondered how his family and friends were doing. They had no one to heal their wounds or care for them anymore. What would Valendrian or the orphan keeper Venri do now? What would any of them do?

Raviathan peeled off his boots last. If he didn’t take off his boot now, odds were good he wouldn’t be able to get it off later after his ankle swelled. Damn shems.

Instruments and thread cleaned, Raviathan washed himself as best he could in the hot water. When the woman returned with a freshly ripped bed sheet, Raviathan said, “I need as many candles as you can spare to light the room.” She nodded and hurried away. Sighing, he gathered his instruments and left to work on the shem.

Hours later, Raviathan walked out of the room to sit by the fire. He rotated his neck, then his shoulders in an effort to release the tension that had built up over the hours of working on his patient.

Molly shot to her feet when he entered. “How is he?”

“You’re his wife?”

She nodded.

“He’s lost a lot of blood.” Raviathan slumped in a chair next to the fire and rested his ankle on the stool to warm by the fire. “You’re right about the poison. I’ve done what I could for that, but he’ll need time before it works out of his system. Longer because of blood loss. And his wounds were infected. I’ll make an ointment for you to apply to the areas. His bandages need to be changed daily. Fresh, clean bandages. I’ve left a shunt to drain out his infection. You can take it out when fluid stops draining. About three or four days or so.”

“So ... will he heal?”

“I expect so. He’s strong and very healthy. It’ll take time, but he should be able to walk a bit in a few weeks. You might need to hire help in the spring for your farm because of the broken bones, but he’ll be right by harvest.”

The woman sat back down, her tears silent save for a few demure sniffles.

“He’ll be fine,” Raviathan said, quiet in deference to the woman’s relief. “A few new scars.”

Molly put her head down, her shoulders shaking in halting jerks as if she was embarrassed by her emotion. “Aye, ser.”

Raviathan blinked. That was the first time anyone had addressed him as ‘ser’. “He really will be fine.”

She nodded but said nothing, her head bowed. The fire let out a pop, but save for her tears and the rain, the room remained quiet and still.

Had they both been elves back in the alienage, Raviathan would have held her while she cried. Here, he just didn’t know what to do. Human rules and conduct baffled him. Had he been asked, he would have helped that man, would have argued with Duncan had his mentor tried to deny him, not that Raviathan thought Duncan would have tried to stop him. But grabbing him off the street? After trying to kill him. The whole situation was beyond strange.

Templars had always been the reason for hiding before. Raviathan hadn’t considered that humans would hunt him as a general rule. Perhaps Valendrian and his father’s experience with humans had been at play in keeping his skills a secret in the past. But then, how do shem healers cope? Were they constantly under attack too? That crone, Old Beth, had not been a target, though only a fool would attempt to make use of that one.

Did the villagers understand Old Beth was a charlatan? Old Beth thought she had them fooled. She had been poisoning them with superstition for years now, but maybe these people did know the difference. If so, they would be desperate for a healer. Enough to kidnap an elf off the street based on the scant evidence of a child’s word. The treatment of an ear infection to this man’s near fatal wounds were leagues apart, but if there were no other options available, Raviathan could understand these people’s desperation even if he didn’t care for their methods.

Not for the first time, Raviathan worried about the people he had left behind. With the filth, poor nutrition, sewage issues that resulted in dirty water and dysentery, and that was ignoring illnesses caused from exposure or neglect, his kinsmen were in for rough times. Even though he had practiced covertly, Raviathan had still been able to head off wide spread disease with a few careful words of caution.

Children like Zacky were such fragile little souls. Would he survive the winter? Now that Raviathan was gone, the rest of the children’s future became that much more precarious. In the past two years of practicing on his own, Raviathan had begun to understand Solyn’s distance from her fellows. She loved her kin in the alienage. That fact had always remained clear. Raviathan knew few who could match her compassion. However, there always remained an invisible barrier between herself and all others save for that of her immediate family. One wall of separation had disappeared between them when he was five. Without noticing, she had pulled him across that line between healer and patient, so the two of them stood together with their fellows on the other side. Shems were a world unto themselves.

Though lonely, the barriers were a necessity. He knew that. The first time he had to diagnose a patient on his own, not having his aunt’s experience to guide him from misstep, Raviathan knew what it was to be alone. There was no one to keep him from failing, no guiding hand who could take the brunt of consequence from him. When a patient got better or died, people looked at him. Whether they thanked the Maker for blessed health, blamed him for a death, or quietly accepted the fate of their loved one, whatever outside force they attributed to their health, he was the catalyst. Raviathan understood well enough the burden of another life.

Life.

For a moment, Raviathan’s mind went blank of conscious thought. Images of blood flowing like a river on stone, black smoke hovering above like a vulture to snatch the weak, Nola’s sightless grey eyes staring at her rapist—devoid of all the hate and pain that should be there. They had denied her even that. A splatter of blood on white legs. Not even allowed to feel our own pain. Not allowed to scream.

The door opened with a bang of wood against plaster. Raviathan tore his eyes away from the fire to find the shem who kidnapped him standing in the doorway. His eyes bore down on Raviathan. His gaze flicked down, taking in Raviathan’s half-clothed state, then turned to the crying woman.

“Well?” he addressed the room in general. The shem had a way of filling the doorway, making the room feel like half the size it had been a moment ago. Raviathan glared at him, his muscles tense, to run, fight, or both, he wasn’t sure.

The woman broke the growing tension. “Says he’ll live. Be hale by harvest.”

Relief relaxed his features for an instant. He shouted the news to whoever was outside then came into the home to flop into the closest chair. He stretched his legs out, his boots adding fresh mud to the otherwise clean floor. Eyes closed, he ignored the glaring elf with ease.

“Well?” Raviathan demanded in a tone he hoped sounded as authoritative as this shem, the obvious leader of this community, and not at all petulant.

“Get the men a drink,” William ordered. Raviathan’s brows knit as Molly hurried off.

Raviathan sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. He wished he could feel more annoyed than he did. He wished he could manage angry, especially at this shem’s disregard, but the hours of surgery for a person in grave need had robbed him of much of his temper. Especially after the flight that morning, Raviathan felt tired more than anything else. Still, a certain fight if for no other purpose than his pride was in order. “So, am I to be held for ransom or will you at least parley with me?”

The shem snorted. “Parley?” One dark eye silted open to gaze at him, the hint of a grin playing at his mouth. Raviathan got the impression he was being laughed at. The man grunted, the humor fading away. “Your ‘commander’ was rather irritated by your disappearance.”

“You mean kidnapping?”

“Don’t get so dramatic.”

The anger Raviathan had wanted started to boil. For the first time since he entered the room, he wondered what happened to his equipment. “Taken off the street against my protests ... Damn shems.” William raised his brows at the slur. “If you had asked, but no.”