Larn looked at the hamlet of his birth. With every jolting revolution of the wagon's wheels, he was that little bit further away. One small, but insurmountable distance. His glorious return had been anything but glorious. His mother was still dead, his step mum still loathed the sight of him, his stepsister still looked at him with utter contempt, and as for his father? Well, he was still the failure of son. An embarrassment.
Things had not gone much better with Gabran's family. He had dutifully handed over Gabran's letter, written for him before the battle. It was still sealed. They had both paid for one of the more literate members of the squad to write the letters. Swore to deliver the other's if either should die, not contemplating the possibility of them both meeting the Gods.
He had handed over Gabran's to his mother. Received a stinging slap in return. She hadn't held back, that was for sure. His cheek still smarted.
Gabran's sister, Larn's childhood crush that in all his fantasy's, had swooned at his feet upon his return, had looked like she was about to black his other eye. He had retreated, tail between his legs.
There was no future here, that was obvious. He may as well have been dead to all those he had once loved. Well, with the exception of his stepmother and her daughter. He had made enquiries as to who would be leaving for Strangvar the soonest. No one had come running to stop him, so here he was. Doing the thing everyone said not to do. Looking back.
He had no plan. His plan had failed to survive contact with the enemy. Or in his case, the family. His new plan, was to find company for his leave, sow his seed, and then return to die in glorious, but utterly pointless battle. Hopefully quickly. Not screaming in the bloody mud, surrounded by his insides. Though given his current track record, that was probably going to be his fate. He leaned back, closed his eyes and slept.
A punch to the chest awoke him. They were at the gates to Strangvar. Larn paid the cartman and slipped off his cart, his muscles complaining from the run to the hamlet of his birth that morning.
He entered the city, not knowing what he was looking for, but he was sure he would know it when he saw it.
Larn found a cheap hostelry. The innkeeper took one look at him and the long blade at his hip and stated categorially, 'That he would have no trouble here'. As he climbed the cramped stair, Larn mused that it was probably the blacked eye more than his short sword. He stored his pack and his sword, keeping just his dagger for protection. Though he still had his magic, what little of it he had, to use if needed. Though it was generally frowned upon to do so in cities. Far too many timber buildings.
The narrow streets were crowded with evening traffic. People jostling between the carts and their horses, wary of an irate horse's bite or kick.
Larn had an unpleasant return to the memory of the melee.
The melee that had killed his friend. He quashed the memory and the train of thought that was leading from it.
What he needed was an affirmation of life. A brothel. A woman to show him a purpose, a point to living. Though, knowing his luck, all he was likely to get was the pox. There was a quiet spot in the chaos of the traffic and he stepped into it to savour his moment of dark humour.
Turns out, he had stepped into the frontage of a hospice. Which explained the space. No one wanted to get to close to a slum hospital. Unless you were being carried into it. There was a faded sign on the wall next to the door.
: Help wanted. Enquire within. :
"It's like a sign from the Gods themselves." He pushed open the door and entered. And was immediately assailed by the stench of impending death accompanied by a symphony of wailing and crying. He was back in the melee again.
Two women were standing at the end of the corridor, before a flight of stairs. This was a bad idea in a day of terrible ideas. Larn turned back to the still open door.
"Yes? Can I help you? That eye looks a little underwhelming for our services." One of the two women obviously had very good eyes of her own.
"I saw the sign, and I thought. Actually I don't know what I thought. I'll, er, just leave you to it."
"No you will not young man."
The woman set off in his direction with purpose akin to a charge of heavy horse. Not bad for someone who looked to be a foot and a half smaller than him. Steel fingers lanced into his arm and he found himself being led into a long room of many beds, all of them full.
"You can put those muscles to good use and start cleaning up the patients for an hour, then you can go. Whichever God you pray to, will see you right for your devotion."
"I really...."
"You can save your prayers for later."
"This is a..."
"Izzy will get you some water and fresh loin cloths. It's really quite simple. Roll them onto their sides, remove the soiled cloths, clean them, put a fresh one on, roll them back, move onto the next. I'll be back in an hour."
"I don't know how to clean..." Her hand whipped out and clouted him on his ear "Ow!"
"Don't be such a baby. You'll figure it out." She left the room as Izzy entered with a bucket of water and some linen.
"Loincloths." she said putting them carefully on the single stool in the room, before handing him another cloth. "To wash with." And then she was gone as well.
He wanted to throw up and then run. Or run and then throw up. Yet, part of him knew why he was here, why he had walked in. The same part of him that moved his feet. He had to start somewhere, so he might as well start with the first. An old man, one of his wrists loosely bound to the frame of the bed. He had a faraway look to his eyes and a small line of drool running out of the corner of his mouth.
The smell really did remind him of the battlefield. Mostly the aftermath.
Was there really no way to leave the mortal realm in a dignified manner? You appeared to leave it as you entered it. Screaming and covered in blood. Don't think about the smell.
He undid the man's loincloth.
Don't think about the smell.
Rolled him onto his bound side, cleaned him up, positioned the new loin cloth, rolled him back and reached under the bound side to find the loose end, pulling it out and tying the loincloth in place.
The next man had a festering wound that had resulted in delirium. Death would not be long.
He doubted it would be long for any in the room.
Larn cleaned him up as well, his eye catching the shelves of jars and neatly rolled bandages at the end of the dimly lit room. He wandered over to have a look.
They were all neatly labelled, but he couldn't read the words. Though he could guess at the contents of a few by the smell. He had all the ingredients to make simple poultices. So he did.
He thought back to the words of the surgeon. 'Only treat those that can be treated' Larn couldn't help the first, but he could help the second. He laid his hands on the man's chest and relaxed. He could sense the infection riddled through him. It was easy enough to treat. He didn't bother healing the wound. It would heal in its own time now the infection was stopped. He used a little of his ability to put the man in a deep restorative sleep. The poultice didn't need to be strong, it just needed to stop dirt and germs getting into the wound, so he made it deliberately weak, which would make the ingredients go further.
Most of the patients in the room were suffering stab wounds of various types and depth that had become infected. Izzy periodically dumped a fresh pail at the doorway and removed his soiled one, barely glancing in his direction. The woman reappeared just as he was healing the last man. A nasty gut wound that had torn open his belly.
It was taking a bit of work to heal to a stage he could leave it.
There had been a leather pouch on the shelf that had contained some bone needles and gut string. Larn had half the wound sewn closed when she had loomed over the patient. She didn't say anything and after a moment, checked over the silent others, checking their pallor and temperature. She walked back as he snipped the gut. It wasn't pretty, not by a long shot, but it would do.
"Why didn't you tell me that you were a hedge mage." she demanded as Larn joined the patient below him with the rest in deep recuperative slumber.
"You never asked."
Her hand lashed out, not to clout him on his already sore ear this time, but to pick it between the nails of her thumb and forefinger. The pain was surprisingly intense.
"Argh!"
She walked him out of the room like a very small farmer leading a bull via its nose ring. She climbed the stairs, Larn in pinched tow. The next floor had two rooms, more beds, more patients. The intense pain stopped as she let go and he straightened from the hunch he had been forced into.
A quick glance told him that all the ill upstairs were women, and he had been dragged to a cot that held one who looked to be already dead. He was just about to say that the dead were beyond him when the 'cadaver' took a shallow breath. The ill woman, girl now that he had a closer look, had a red stained cloth across her groin. There was a cot to the side of her, an obviously very recent new born asleep. Or at least, he hoped it was. The girl looked like she was...
"She's bleeding out. You need to stop the blood loss."
"I have no..." He managed to get out before another calloused palm collided with his ear. "Ow!"
"Less talk, more healing."
"I..."
"Do I have to slap you again?"
There was a very real danger that if he opened his mouth, he would indeed receive another clout. He kept his silence. Placing his palms on the girl's abdomen he tried to focus. The damage was bad, and things weren't where they should be, but then she wasn't male. And there was stuff he had never sensed before. He didn't know if it was supposed to be there or not.
"I need to see the wound." The woman's actions were decisive and swift as she removed the bloody cloth. "Umm."
"You've seen a vagina before haven't you. Do what needs to be done."
Do what needs to be done. Easier said than done.
The life under his hands was fading fast, that he could sense. He took the cloth, moped up the blood and slipped his thumbs in, pulling the flesh apart. He tried not to think of what he was doing, focusing instead on finding where the blood was coming from.
There it was.
He sealed the tear. Only the blood didn't stop. He used his elbows to push the girl's knees further apart and pulled on his thumbs, peering in deeper, spotting more tears. He sealed them as well.
"Have you got a..." A hand appeared in front of him with a fresh clean piece of cloth. "Thanks." Larn moped up the blood on the outside, relived to see that it wasn't replaced. He slipped his thumbs back in, replacing his right thumb with his left forefinger, as he carefully inserted his right forefinger with some clean cloth round it. Carefully he moved it about, cleaning up blood that wasn't replaced. He removed his blood stained fingers. "Have you.."
A bowl was placed on the bed next to him with a small piece of soap. He lathered up his hands and submerged them in the water.
She handed him a dry piece of cloth on which dry his hands.
He was exhausted and there was no light coming through the shutters, so it was dark outside. The woman, whose name he STILL didn't know, had taken far more of his time thanshe had any right too.
"That's enough. I'm done." He expected her to argue and she surprised him by not.
"Where are you staying?" She asked of him.
"Err, The Mended Plough."
"Pfttt..."
"What?"
"Nothing. If you don't mind sharing your bed with a thousand blood suckers. And if you eat anything out of that cess pit he calls a kitchen, well, I'll be seeing you downstairs soon enough."
"I'm sure it's not that bad..."
"Live here do you? You can stay with my husband and I."
"You're married? Oww!" He-rubbed his smarting ear.
"That one you deserved."
"I've already paid..."
"You get your stuff, I'll get your money. Now come on."
It was very dark outside. The light of the moon obstructed by the tall buildings either side. He had never seen so many two storey buildings before. Some were even three story! The only two story in the hamlet of his birth had been the inn, and that had mostly been to accommodate the horses.
She was quiet as they walked and she had a fair turn of speed for someone her size.
"Are you not afraid we'll be mugged?"
"Not at all. If we are, I'll just shout "Larn, don't give them our money!" and run in the opposite direction."
For Larn, the disturbing thing about that, was he didn't think she was joking.
They arrived at the Mended Plough without incident.
"Go get your stuff Laddie."
He was too tired to argue. In his room Everything appeared how he had left it. He hadn't unpacked his pack, so all he had to do was pick it up. The easiest way of carrying his breastplate, was to wear it. He loosely tightened the Buckles and slung his sword belt around his hips, before collecting his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
Downstairs, she handed him his coppers. The innkeeper scowling at them both.
The woman navigated the darkness with the surety of someone who had lived here all her life.
"I didn't have you down as the type." She said suddenly.
"I'm sorry? What type?"
"The murdering type."
"You were getting pretty close to finding out earlier."
They walked along for a bit in silence.
"But you're right. I'm not. I found that out the hard way."
"But you're going back to it." It was more statement than question.
"I don't have much choice till I serve my time."
"And after that?"
"I'm taking it one day at a time." He thought of Gabran. "Not much point in doing anything else."
"That's no way to live."
"It's the bed I made for myself."
"Change beds. Or at least, the sheets."
"I'm not sure I have the skill."
"You have the time."
"Do I?"
"We're here. Try not to make too much noise. Or knock anything over with your penis extension."
"Thank you for that image."
She opened a door and he followed her in. A single lamp was on a dresser in the hallway. She picked it up and turned up the flame from its faint glow, leading him into a simple kitchen where a single plate lay on the table covered with a clean piece of linen.
"Sit."
He dutifully sat as she pushed the plate over to him. Under the linen was some bread and cheese. The kitchen fire was banked for the night, a pot still hanging above it. The woman lifted two bowls out of a cupboard and filled them from the pot. A simple vegetable stew. It was tasty enough. He had eaten worse. A lot worse.
She pulled the end of a loaf out of a tin and cut herself a slice before joining him.
"You do this every day?" he asked her.
"Pretty much."
"Can I ask why?"
"You can. Because no one else wants to. Does there need to be another reason?"
"I suppose not." He finished the stew wiping his bowl clean with the bread.
"Mum, I thought I heard..." The new voice stopped with a gasp.
Larn turned round. A woman his age, if not slightly older stood in the doorway, dressed in just a thin nightshirt. She did not appear best pleased about that state of affairs.
"Imogen. My eldest daughter. Larn will be staying for a few nights. If you could go-get the bed ready in the spare room my dear."
Imogen just stared at him. He was pretty sure he had the same look on his face shortly before melee was joined.
"Before dawn if you will Imogen." That was a tone he had heard all too often today. Imogen departed with alacrity
.
"Takes after her father. Sadly."
"Has he, um, passed?"
"What? Oh no. Can't you hear him snoring upstairs?"
"Err, no."
"Lucky you." she took the dishes and washed them out. "You did well today."
"I don't know how. It's not as if I knew what I was doing."
"Nobody is born knowing. As long as you don't end the day the idiot you were in the morning, you are doing well."
"I'll try and remember that pearl of wisdom."
"Don't try too hard, or your head will explode."
"I'll also keep that in mind."
"The bed is made." Imogen spoke from the doorway. She had dressed in a thick robe that reached to the floor, hiding even her ankles.
"Off with you Larn. You are making my kitchen untidy."
Larn collected his possessions, followed Imogen.
"Your mother is quite the character." He tried. She didn't reply, her silence stonier than the road outside.
"You are in here."
"Thank you Imogen." He watched the formless robe depart, shrugged and entered. The room was bare, the bed simple with sheets plain and unadorned. The bed was more than comfortable enough, especially when you were used to sleeping on blanket covered ground.
He was asleep seconds after his head hit the pillow.
His stomach woke him. Or at least, he thought it was his stomach, as he could smell something pleasant. He stood, dressed and listened at the doorway. Voices downstairs. He made his way down.
The woman was there, along with Imogen, a girl of about ten summers and a man of the woman's age. Larn took him for the husband. He was dressed like a merchant. Imogen was dressed in a plain, functional dress, corseted with a neckline that ended at the throat and sleeves that ended at her wrists. She glowered at him and he tried not to remember the shadowy outlines that had lain under the thin sleep shift.
The younger girl was dressed in a simple dress common to girls her age and was already stained with breakfast. The woman was dressed as she had been yesterday. The husband stared at him intently, as though he was trying to flense the skin from Larn's bones.
"You sleep well Larn?" The woman asked.
"I did actually. Thank you."
"Don't just sit there girl! Get our guest something to eat."
Imogen looked daggers at him. He rose, intending to get his own food.
"I can…"
"Sit!" Larn sat.
"Larn, Grogor my husband. Emilia my youngest."
"Hi. Good morning."
A scathing scowl placed a plate in front of him along with a knife, fork and a tankard of ale.
"Thank you Imogen." There was no reply as she left the room. Larn shrugged and tucked into the food. It was simple, warm and tasty. Emilia didn't take her eyes off him, even when he looked up and met her gaze. The mother's gaze was elsewhere, lost in thought. The father was reading something on a thin something, Larn didn't know what, the husbands gaze often sliding to peer at Larn.
Larn finished the meal, drained the tankard. Emelia removed his cutlery and dish.
"Are you ready for the day ahead Larn?" asked the woman.
"Not really."
"That will do. Come on." She rose, as did Larn.
"Nice to meet you Grogor and you Emilia"
Emilia just giggled.
The streets were already busy as they left the house.
"It's the same as yesterday. All the days are the same, really."
"Lovely." Larn's thoughts slipped to all the bedpans and loincloths that would need changing.
"How much can you do, with your... ability."
"I don't really know. I didn't know I had it until recently." Even as the words left his mouth, he regretted saying them. She didn't reply. "Um. I don't think I ever caught your name."
"I didn't tell you it."
"Are you going to tell me it now?"
They were approaching a doorway Larn was pretty sure was going to be a feature of nightmares for years ahead. She pushed the door open.
"Navrinda."