Story 11 – Abraxas – Comfort the Child
Faint sunlight peeked through a window in Illoc’s apothecary. Somewhere out there, Valeria would be leading a search party for Nestor, who seemed to have vanished while doing his morning chores.
But Abraxas was inside, busying himself with tonics and tinctures, prepping the various medicines that had started to run low. Only a day had passed since the fire and already they were running low on burn ointments. He would have to gather more lavender and coneflower. He started whistling to himself, but stopped when he decided he didn’t like the sound of it. His hand knocked against a glass vial, causing it to topple over, almost falling towards the ground. But he caught it just in time.
Abraxas looked outside; the height of the sun had barely changed. He stared at it for far too long.
He wanted to go home.
It had been far too long since he had seen his family. He tried to count the days since he had last visited Dordel, and found that he couldn’t. It had been a whole month since he had last heard anything from them. He wondered if any of them were dead.
How long had it been since he had first visited Verdant, since he had first taken up his apprenticeship? Was it six years? Longer? And still he was an apprentice. Even if they took care of the aberrations, even if he helped Valeria shine like he knew she would, he would remain stuck.
His fingers tightened around the glass bottle that he still held. And then it shattered. Cool tincture spilled over his hands, dribbling down to his arm before dripping to the floor. This, finally, broke him out of his reverie. A thin red line of blood welled up from the space between his thumb and forefinger.
Abraxas cursed under his breath. He was in the habit of not swearing loudly; too often he worked with children.
He moved quicker, soon cleaning his wound and bandaging it up. From there he found a broom and dustpan, sweeping up all of the stray glass and debris.
“Abraxas, how are the tinctures coming?” Illoc’s voice rang through the back room.
Abraxas paused, the broom mid-sweep. He stared down at the shattered glass that still glitter amidst the dusty apothecary floor. Of course Illoc would call for him now.
“They’re coming,” was his noncommittal answer.
It was true, at least. Even if his efforts had been forestalled by the shattering glass, he still had started the tinctures. If there was one aspect of being an apothecary where he wasn’t a disappointment, it would certainly be his herbalism.
The door pushed open, and he saw Illoc standing there.
Abraxas glanced back down at the splintered shards of glass.
His master’s voice cut through the stifled air. “Abraxas?”
“Yes?”
“Is there something wrong?” His mind tacked the words ‘with you’ onto the end of her statement.
“Not particularly. I just dropped a bottle. My hand slipped.”
Illoc grunted. “Again?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, finish cleaning up. Then help me with a boy who burned his feet. I’ll need those remedies posthaste”
“I will.”
“Good.” She turned to go, then stopped. “Oh—and Gurt will be assisting you.”
“Gurt?”
“Because Halda left him here. He said she told him she had ‘urgent duties,’ which probably means chasing that miserable farmhand around the south paddocks. He came to me, and, well, I thought it would be good for you to look after him.”
“Oh, I see.” He did, but only partially.
“I’m going to head out and deliver some of our medicine to the burn victims. Have Gurt help you prepare the tinctures and have them ready by the time I’m back.”
Illoc turned and left. But not before Gurt entered the back room. The young boy looked more fragile and timid than usual, as though little pieces of him had shattered.
“Hey there, Gurt,” Abraxas said, doing his best to soften his tone. “C’mon in. I’ll show you what we’re working on.”
The boy nodded and shuffled closer, eyes wide and shining. He smelled faintly of ash and dirt. Abraxas gestured toward the bench beside the mortar and pestle. “You ever ground coneflower before?”
“No ‘Braxas.” Gurt looked up at him
“Here, let me teach you. I want you to take this pestle, and crush up these coneflower heads. Like this, see?” Abraxas demonstrated the motion for Gurt before allowing the boy to make his attempt. It was a passable one. But Gurt seemed to enjoy crushing up the plant and with some guidance from Abraxas, he improved.
They were finishing up a tincture when Abraxas caught Gurt starting out the window, the boy’s motions stalling.
“Don’t worry,” Abraxas said, a soft hand on the boy’s shoulder, “your dad is going to be alright.”
“I know, Valeria is going to look for him, right? She always saves the day.” The way Gurt said this made it almost seem like a question.
“That’s right, and Emily too. Just wait until they get back and have all these amazing stories to tell you.”
This seemed to mollify Gurt somewhat, but only somewhat. There was still a nervous jitter to the boy’s posture. “… I hope they get back soon.”
Abraxas put a hand on his shoulder. “I know, I know. You know, I miss my siblings too. It’s been forever since I saw mine.”
Gurt sat up a tad straighter and leaned in. “Oh. Where are they?”
Abraxas did his best to keep a somber note out of his voice. He didn’t want to add to the boy’s anxieties. “They’re over in Dordel, way to the south of here. When things get better, maybe I’ll introduce you to them. You’d love my sister.” Absent-mindedly, his fingers found their way around the handle of his gun.
There was a knock at the door then.
A second passed.
“Wait here, Gurt. I should get that.” Abraxas said, rising and moving towards the front room.
The apothecary creaked around him—the smell of mint and wine, the faint sound of Gurt shifting on the stool behind.
When he got there, he found the front door already open, and that the person had already stepped inside.
Nova stood at the threshold. Her clothes were as they always were, covered in soot stains and burn-holes.
“I’m not here for anything serious,” she said before he could say anything. “But I was hoping for some burn ointment if you had any left.”
Abraxas blinked once, momentarily surprised. But then his eyes darted towards her left arm. She held it back, away from his sight. The blacksmith’s movements looked far more stiff than they usually did, and he noticed the slightest suppressed flinch as her arm brushed past the doorway.
“Let me see your arm.” Abraxas said.
Nova rolled her eyes. “I told you, it’s not—”
“I need to see it,” His insistence surprised even him. But there was something gnawing at his mind when he saw her. “Please, step inside.”
She didn’t argue further. But she glared at him as she stepped further into the Apothecary. The look she shot him when he reached for her sleeve almost caused him to flinch.
What he saw when he uncovered her arm stopped Abraxas cold. The burn spread from her wrist to just below her shoulder. It was red, angry, and festering. In the center, yellow pus oozed around blackened skin.
Then he knelt beside her again, examining the wound more carefully now, counting the length of it in handspans, mentally mapping the areas to cut, the ones to spare. Some of it might need to be cauterized. Abraxas tried not to imagine the smell of burning flesh.
He could barely keep the grimace off his face.
Nova glanced at him. “I know it looks bad, but it’s not killing me. It doesn’t even hurt that much.”
“This one— this one might kill you.” he said, quietly. “It is really bad; we’re going to need to operate on it.”
Illoc’s footsteps clicked sharply on the wood as she entered behind them. Her gaze swept over Nova’s arm. Abraxas had spent enough time with the woman to notice a twinge of surprise ripple over it before it transformed back into a mask of calm.
“Nova, that’s a severe burn,” Illoc said. “You should have come to us sooner. I don’t want you to undertake any kind of physical activity for a good while, and certainly not before we operate on it.”
“I didn’t hurt too badly.”
“That isn’t a good sign, actually.” Illoc turned her gaze then towards her pupil. “Abraxas, can you tell her what that means?”
“It means that it killed a lot of your skin.” Abraxas didn’t look at Nova as he spoke, his fingers playing with the cuff of his sleeve. “If we don’t intervene, it is going to start to rot and you might lose your limb.”
“Abraxas, does she need to worry?” There was a pointed quality to these words.
Abraxas looked up then, and turned to Nova. “No, you don’t. Illoc and I will prepare everything then we should be able to excise the dead skin. It may be sore for a few days afterwards and it will hurt like the end times, but we’ll get you through it. I promise.”
“That’s right, Nova,” Illoc said, “we’ll have everything under control.”
“When should I be back?” Nova’s shoulders heaved as she spoke, and her voice was tinged with notes of resignation. Very few people defied Illoc.
“An hour before sunset. Don’t do anything strenuous before then.”
“I see.”
“We’ll try to have everything ready shortly. Abraxas come with me.”
And the two departed for the back room.
As soon as the door shut behind them, the heaviness of responsibility settled like a weight between Abraxas’s shoulders. The burn was real, festering, and it would fall to him to cut it out.
Illoc exhaled slowly before turning to Abraxas. “This will need cleaning and debridement. You know what that means.”
Abraxas nodded slowly. “I do. We’ll need to set everything up. With all the burns we’ve been dealing with, we’ll need to stock back up. I’ll need to gather supplies for some poultices. We’ll need more wine.”
“And we’ll need to make sure to boil extra knives.”
“Of course.”
“Good.” Illoc’s arms were already crossed. “Get started on all of the prep work. With luck I should be there for the operation. If I am not, begin an hour before sunset.”
Abraxas hesitated. “Where will you be going?”
“There’s an infection breaking out among the refugees— too many warm bodies too close together. And the Magistrate wants me on standby in case they find Nestor.”
“I’m sure they’ll find him soon. Valeria is overseeing the search, isn’t she?”
“Focus on the operation.”
Abraxas swallowed and thought back to Nova’s wound. The idea of cutting into her made him fidget with his sleeve. It was not his favorite part of his apprenticeship; perhaps that was why he still was one. But Illoc’s gaze was steel behind him, and he knew better than to contradict her.
He nodded once. “This afternoon, I’ll take Gurt out to get some wine. I’ll prepare everything. And I’ll… start the operation.”
“Try to do it in six hours,” Illoc said. “Less if possible, but you’ll need time to steep the wine and boil the blades.”
Abraxas packed quietly and methodically. He wanted to do this right so he took just a bit more care than he usually did, checking everything over again twice. His hands shook as he did so, his nerves getting the better of him. Abraxas took a moment to steel himself before he stood, making sure his hands had ceased their trembling; it would not do for his hands to shake during the surgery.
And so, with a satchel slung over one shoulder, and a list of supplies clutched in one hand, Abraxas was ready.
“You coming, Gurt?” Abraxas said, his hand on the door.
The young boy nodded but said nothing, scampering after Abraxas. The boy had barely spoken since Illoc left, and Abraxas didn’t have it in him to pry.
They stepped outside and the apothecary door creaked shut behind them with a weighty finality.
Abraxas had not been outside much since the fires, having started working on mixing the poultices and tinctures as soon as the embers had cooled. Now, outside, he saw that Verdant’s streets were still dusty from the fires, still hushed in a way towns ought not to be. Some buildings were blackened and charred, though most were still standing. That, at least, was something he could be grateful for.
And, despite everything, there were still people walking the streets. They were more worn than they had been previously, more soot-stained. But they still were there, and that was reason enough for Abraxas to smile.
“Gurt, wrong direction.”
Abraxas had slowed, finding a small market stall filled with a pungent aroma. But Gurt had continued onwards, inexorably pulled towards the palisade and the forest beyond.
Abraxas watched as it took a moment for Gurt to pull himself away and return to Abraxas’ side, feet still dragging and his eyes still lingering.
Abraxas put his hand on the boy’s shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner because that was what he felt people were supposed to do in situations like this.
And then he turned his eyes back towards the woman in front of him. An infuriating smirk rested on her face and her periwinkle blue eyes shone like a knife’s edge. “So Abraxas,” she said, both hands resting on the counter, “What can I do for you today. I promise that I can get you anything you need. You won’t find a greater florist in all of Verdant.”
“Give it a rest, Mila. I’m only here because I need some supplies quickly. I’m more than capable of collecting all of this myself.”
“Of course,” Mila said brightly. “Now hand me that list. I’ll give you a discount if there’s anything you need that I don’t have.”
Wordlessly, Abraxas passed her the list. Her smirk didn’t drop as she began to gather everything he had asked for. She did, of course, have everything that he needed. It would have been folly to expect anything else from the florist.
“Next time you need help from a real expert, don’t hesitate to call on me,” she said as she placed the bundles of herbs into a small bag. “And you can tell Illoc that I’m still here in case she’s forgotten about me.”
“I’m sure she hasn’t.” Abraxas said, taking the satchel and doing a mental inventory.
“When I’m pressed for time and can’t find someone more accomplished, I’ll make sure to be here.”
He turned, hoping to end the conversation.
“What is this for anyway?”
“Nova got badly hurt in the fire. We need to operate on her.” Abraxas twisted the satchel string in his hands.
“Oh,” and here Mila’s voice dropped a little. “Well, I’m sure Illoc will fix her right up.”
“I’m sure she will.” Abraxas said, his voice almost cracking. “Until next time.”
“Until next time.”
Abraxas didn’t have to look back to know her smirk had slipped. He was sure it would be back the next time he saw her.
Gurt looked up at Abraxas with questioning eyes as they approached the next shop. “What was all of that?”
“Don’t worry too much about Mila. She enjoys being difficult.” There was more, perhaps, that Abraxas could have said, but none of it would have been of any use.
And, in any case, that answer seemed good enough for Gurt because already he moved to change the subject. “Do you think Valeria found him yet?” His voice was quiet, almost pleading.
Abraxas slowed his pace, checking the list of supplies as though it would be able to give him some kind of answer. “She’s smart and capable. I’m sure she’ll find your father soon. There is no one I trust more.”
Gurt nodded absently, but his jaw was clenched. “I could help, you know. I should be out there, with mom, with Emily.”
“I need you here.” Abraxas said, leading the boy toward the vintner’s shack. “I couldn’t make these medicines without you. Don’t you want to be able to tell your father about how you helped save Nova?”
Abraxas watched the boy’s eyes drift towards the edge of Verdant, towards the palisade and towards the woods where his father likely was. Gurt looked ready to run.
“He’ll be back soon. Promise. You aren’t doubting Valeria, are you?”
“No. I guess not.”
They stepped inside the vintner’s shack, where a squat man named Brendle lounged behind a counter.
“Ah, the herbalist returns,” Brendle grinned, showing a mouth with far fewer than the requisite number of teeth. “The state of things has driven even you to drink, has it?”
Abraxas offered a thin smile. “Just some wine, Brendle, nothing fancy. We’ll be using it medicinally.”
“That’s what they all say.” Brendle winked before vanishing into the back of his shack. He returned with a jug of pale white wine. “This should do it. Without any of the junk some people like in it.”
“Perfect.” Abraxas glanced at it and nodded. “How much?”
Brendle made a show of scratching his chin before offering a number. Abraxas paid, tucked the jug beneath his arm, and turned to go—then paused.
“Do you have anything sweet?”
“Sweet?” Brendle blinked. “Like… Mead?”
“I was thinking of a candied fruit, maybe? Or a… honeybread?”
Brendle gestured toward a wicker basket near the side. “Day-old pear twists. Still good.”
Abraxas dug into his pouch and handed over two more dinrow. He took one twist and knelt again beside Gurt, who had been watching the transaction.
“Here,” Abraxas said, holding it out. “For helping me. And for being patient.”
Gurt took it in a grubby hand. He sniffed the pastry before biting into it, his teeth crunching through the hardened glaze. A bit of sugar dusted his chin, but his eyes lit up as he chewed.
“It’s sweet,” he mumbled through his mouthful.
Abraxas chuckled. “That is usually how sweets work.” He adjusted the jug of wine under his arm. “Don’t tell Illoc I bought that for you, though. She’ll say it’s a waste of time.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
And then Abraxas caught a glimpse of someone trudging through the streets of Verdant beyond.
“Can you wait here for a moment, Gurt? I need to check on something.”
Gurt’s mouth was full of pastry as he mumbled something that sounded like assent.
“Look after the boy, Brendle, and don’t give him any mead.”
Abraxas left Brendle’s shack, moving towards the figure he saw on the street. It seemed Valeria was back, and he did not know whether the news would be good or ill
Abraxas called out to her before she spotted him. “Valeria, what are you doing here? Did you find Nestor?”
Valeria turned towards him, her face ashen. “Oh, Abraxas. No, we didn’t. Everyone else is still out searching for him.”
“Why are…?”
“The Magistrate told me that it would be better if I stayed behind. Apparently I’ve had ‘a problematic track record.’” She seemed either on the verge of tears, or else hysterical laughter. Abraxas had never seen her so uncomposed.
“Problematic track record?” It was probably best not to repeat this criticism of Valeria back at her, but Abraxas was too stunned to think of anything more intelligent to say. Valeria was, if she was anything, the best of them. He could not conceive of someone more adept.
“Well,” Valeria said, once again finding her voice and studying herself. “When I set out to find Hill and only found some deer. I set out for Willowbrook and ended up needing to evacuate it. And then I led the expedition to Penomier which ended in… ended in…”
Abraxas took her hand in his, making a point to look right at her instead of avoiding her gaze as he usually did. “I know, I was there too, for all of it. And I know that none of it was your fault.”
“It- The Magistrate said something similar. He just said that I needed a break… to compose myself.” Valeria drew in a sharp breath and a modicum of calm seemed to surround her.
“Oh. Maybe that’s a good thing?” Only after the words had left his mouth did he rethink them.
Abraxas gestured for Valeria to sit down on a nearby bench. “Look, when I was with Gurt, the one thing he asked me was whether or not you would be on the team searching for his dad. He adores you. He sees what I see, what everybody else sees: that you’re amazing.”
“But I am here. And his father is still missing.”
“That’s true,” Abraxas said, searching for some way to assuage her doubts. “But I need you to know that you have nothing left to prove to us.”
“Crescent and Malik are still out searching for them. They are trusted. They haven’t messed up like I have.”
“Look, I have known you for some seven-odd years. In that time, whenever anyone has needed anything, you’ve been there. If you can’t do something it is because it cannot be done. We need you to rest, to take care of yourself. I can come by with some teas and remedies for you later. I’m sure we will need you later, and so we will want you to be at full strength. If that means your resting now, so be it.”
Valeria looked at him with an emotion Abraxas could not fully describe. “Do you really think all that?”
“Yes.”
“Well, alright then.” She turned to go. “I should be leaving then. My parents say they don’t get to see me enough.”
Abraxas called out to her one final time as she left down the street towards her home. “Remember Valeria, if you ever need any help, I’ll be there.”
He couldn’t tell if she nodded as she left.
Abraxas returned to Brendle’s shack, his spirits somewhat dampened.
“Thanks for watching him, Brendle,” he said, picking up the jar of wine. “Alright, Gurt, you finished with the pear twist? Let’s get back to the apothecary so we can prepare everything.”
Abraxas turned to leave, but Gurt stayed put. “Is my father back?”
“Oh, you saw me talking to Valeria, didn’t you?”
“Is he back?”
“No… not yet. They’re still looking for him.”
“Why is Valeria here then?” Gurt looked up at him, his eyes as cold as steel.
Abraxas took a step backwards. “We needed her for something back here.”
“You said she would find him. She was supposed to bring him home.”
“Gurt—” But Abraxas’s words were left unfinished as the boy dashed out of the shack.
Mumbling a curse, Abraxas laid down the jar of wine before running after his charge.
Abraxas wasn’t even a half minute behind Gurt, but already the boy was a considerable distance away, his small body moving lithely through the crowd— hurtling towards the palisade. He chased after Gurt, his footfalls making heavy sounds against the cobblestone streets, his satchel slapping against his waist. Abraxas hoped that nothing had fallen out, but there was no time to think about that.
Gurt disappeared around a corner, darting into a back alleyway.
Abraxas nearly slipped as he rounded the corner, heart hammering against his ribs. The alley was narrow, boxed in by scorched brick walls and heaps of discarded rubble. For a moment, he couldn’t see Gurt at all..
“Gurt!” Abraxas called, voice hoarse. “Stop, please”
The boy didn’t answer. Abraxas caught a glimpse of him darting between two broken carts, small enough to slip through gaps where Abraxas could barely fit. He shoved his way forwards, scraping his shoulder against splintered wood, snagging his sleeve and cutting his arm on a jagged nail.
Even as the blood trickled down his arm, he ran through the herbs that would be necessary to prevent infection, his mind retreading over familiar steps.
He hoped that Gurt would be fine.
And then he turned the corner and found the boy. Gurt was there, near the base of the palisade. He was no longer running. Instead Gurt stood there, frozen. A mask of fear contorted his face, his eyes bulging in their sockets. But the frightened boy made no motions. His fingers did not twitch and his legs did not tremble.
And before him, was a snake.
It was not a large thing, not some towering beast that could swallow the boy whole. But its scales shone violet and its teeth gleamed white. There before them stood one of the abominations. Abraxas knew, without hesitation, that the snake was the cause of Gurt’s ceased movements.
He took a step forwards, not daring even to breathe.
And Gurt did not answer; there was nary a twitch of his muscle.
There was a moment when Abraxas felt like he was drowning. There was another snake nearby, with the same violet patterning. It didn’t seem to have seen him yet, and for that he was grateful. He thought, though only briefly, about going to Valeria. She would be more capable than he was. She would know what to do, be able to complete it effortlessly.
He didn’t want to be the reason Gurt died.
But he didn’t know where Valeria was, and he remembered the broken look upon her face when last he saw her. She would not be able to help him now. The snake slithered closer to Gurt.
Abraxas drew in a sharp breath, feeling nothing inside him.
His hand went to the grip of his gun, fingers tightening around the worn handle. The leather felt slick beneath his palm, and he realized that he was still bleeding from the earlier cut on his arm.
The serpent swayed, violet scales catching what little light filtered through the alley’s haze. Its head tilted, tongue flickering as if tasting Gurt’s fear. The boy remained rooted, his wide eyes reflecting the creature’s gleam.
Abraxas drew in a slow breath, steadying the tremor in his hands. If his fingers shook now, Gurt would die.
He cast his gaze toward the second serpent lurking in the shadows. It lay there, coiled, unmoving.
The gun rose, iron whispering against its holster. For a moment, all sound seemed to vanish—the clamor of Verdant’s streets, the sound of footsteps against cobblestones, even the ragged breath in his throat. All that remained was the serpent and the boy.
And the gun.
Abraxas aimed at the snake, his heartbeat slowing ‘till it stopped. He hoped he was doing right. And he thought back to Valeria, and her strength, and her courage.
His finger curled around the trigger.
There was a resounding bang that rang out through the empty block. The snake rose, violet patterns flashing, before it fell limp and lifeless. Of greater concern was Gurt. With the death of the snake, whatever had held him spellbound vanished and he fell forwards sprawling across the dirt.
The moment shattered. Abraxas’ heart resumed beating. And he was at the child’s side.
“Are you all right?”
Gurt looked dazed, eyes staring off into a distance. A half-sound came from his mouth but no words formed.
Abraxas crouched beside him, and steadied the boy’s shoulders. Gurt’s skin was clammy, his breaths quick and shallow.
“You’re safe now,” Abraxas said, keeping his tone as calm as he could manage. “It’s gone.”
The boy didn’t answer, only let out a weak whimper. Abraxas checked him quickly—searching the boy’s body for anything that might be amiss. There were no bite marks, no blood, no broken bones. Gurt’s pulse was fast but steady, not fading. It seemed that the daze was shock, nothing more.
But Abraxas remembered what the fox had done to Valeria. He did not know what strange powers the aberrations might possess. He did not know if this was out of his hands. So much was beyond him.
But there was no time for that then. Training took over. Abraxas loosened the boy’s tunic ties so that his chest could rise more freely, then eased him down to sit against the palisade. From his satchel, he drew out a small flask of water. “Here, Gurt. Just a little.” He touched the rim to the boy’s lips until Gurt swallowed once, twice.
The child coughed, then blinked as though some fog had begun to lift.
“That’s it,” Abraxas murmured, keeping one hand on the boy’s shoulder to steady him. “Breathe slow. In—out. No rush.”
Gurt’s breathing steadied, and it seemed as though life drew back within him. “I- I-”
“You don’t need to speak Gurt. Let’s just see if we can get you to sit up. There we go, let’s put your hands on top of your head; it will help with your breathing. Just like that.”
Gurt sat there in silence before rising to shaky feet.
Abraxas rose with him, one steadying hand still resting on the boy’s back. His own breath came heavier than he would have liked; the echo of the gunshot still rattled in his ears, mingling with the copper tang of powder smoke.
“Abraxas?” Gurt’s voice was small, frayed.
“I’m here.” Abraxas kept his eyes on the rubble a moment longer, placing a hand on Gurt’s shoulders “You’re safe. But we need to move. Let’s get out of here and then we can prepare everything for the surgery.”
He stepped forwards, taking the lead with Gurt now behind him. He wanted to protect the small child. And then Abraxas caught a glimpse of something in a darkened corner. Something purple gleamed in reflected sunlight.
The snake turned to look at him.
Abraxas felt himself freeze. Each of his muscles, which had previously been his to command, stopped. He no longer felt them. It was just him, looking out, unable to move, unable to scream, unable to do anything. He felt powerless. Not only was he incapable, as he always knew deep down that he was, not only had he failed, but there was nothing that he could do, nothing that he could desperately attempt. He could not move.
This was it. If he had still felt himself able to breathe he would have let out a long trail of air. This was his lot, his comeuppance.
He only hoped that Gurt had run away. If Gurt was safe, perhaps that would be enough.
And then Abraxas felt the sensation of hands on him, and then the sensation of his body meeting the dirt.
Gurt stood beside him, looking down upon him fear darkening his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Abraxas looked out, trying to discern the form of the serpent. But he could not see it. Perhaps it had slithered away. Hopefully far away.
It took him a moment to rise. Perhaps it was because he was older than Gurt, or perhaps because he had seen what had happened to the boy. But he was able to stand, though still he shook.
Abraxas turned to the boy. “No, thank you. You did good. I wouldn’t have been broken out of it if it weren’t for you.” He paused for a second, gazing off into the distance. “We really do need to get back now. There isn’t that much time before the surgery is about to begin.”
Without further diversions, they gathered their supplies from the ever-cheerful Brendle and arrived back at the apothecary.
Illoc wasn’t there when he returned. Abraxas knew that he shouldn’t have dared hope to be lucky enough to have her bail him out but he still felt disappointed.
Still, there was nothing else to be done except get to work.
“Alright, you ready to help,” he said as he turned to Gurt
The boy nodded his head vigorously.
“Good. Wash your hands,” Abraxas said, his voice gentler than it might have been on another day. “Use the basin. Scrub them well. We will want everything clean in order to prevent rot. In a moment we’ll begin preparations.”
As Gurt darted off to wash his hands Abraxas busied himself with cleaning and bandaging the thin cut on his arm. It would not do to contaminate any of his supplies. Worse would be if Nova’s rot contaminated him. He wrapped the gauze tight around his forearm.
Gurt came back, hands clean and his face shining. “What can I do?”
Abraxas smiled. The work would be good for the boy. It would probably be good for him as well. “See the hearth fire? Collect water from the spout outside in a pot and set it over the flame. Come to me if you need help with it.”
Abraxas then began the work of sorting the herbs and preparing the remedies. The surgery would be nasty work. He would need to have things ready to ease Nova’s pain, to prevent infection… to clot the blood. He kept his hands busy—laying out poultice cloths, grinding herbs into paste, mixing tinctures. Everything needed to go right.
His hands still trembled.
He clenched them into fists until his knuckles went white, then released. He wasn’t trembling; he couldn’t be trembling. He was capable.
“Abraxas?”
The boy’s voice startled him. Gurt beside him now, staring up at him. Abraxas glanced towards the fire where a pot hung above the hearth. It was just as he had asked. “Yes, Gurt?”
“Will Nova be alright?”
“Of course she will be.”
“Now, come help me boil these knives. We’ve only got a little while before sunset.”
The purple light of evening peeked through the apothecary windows and the sun began to dip low in the sky. The sun was no longer held in place. The knives gleamed, boiled clean, their edges honed to cruel precision. The poultices waited, damp and fragrant. The wine and washcloths were prepared.
And still, his hands wanted to shake. He did not let them.
There was a knock at the door.
He closed his eyes, drew a long breath and stepped into the front room. Nova stood there, already having let herself inside. Her jaw was set, her eyes hollow but steady.
“Is it time?” she asked.
Abraxas nodded. “It is.”
He gestured toward the back room, and Nova followed without protest. Her boots thudded against the wood, heavier than they should have been.
While Nova sat on the patient’s cot, Abraxas poured her a cup of willow-bark tea. “Drink this. Slowly. It won’t take the pain away, but it will dull it.”
She took the cup in her good hand and downed half in a single swallow. Her throat worked as she forced the rest down, then she wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Do what you need to.”
Abraxas nodded. No fear shone on his face. He turned to Gurt. “I’m going to need to operate on her now, and I don’t want you to have to see that. You have been such a big help so far. Do you think you can sit in the front room?”
It took a moment before Gurt nodded.
“Thank you. Your dad is going to be so proud of you when you tell him all of this.”
There was the tiny ghost of a smile on Gurt’s face as he departed. Abraxas thought he could trust the boy not to run off again.
Abraxas then met Nova’s eyes.
Abraxas picked up the first knife from the table beside him. His pulse beat heavy in his throat.
“You’ll feel it,” he said, voice low. “But I’ll be quick. We’ll just do a short surgery and then, we’ll wash it and apply a poultice.”
“Enough talking. Let us be done with this.” The strength in Nova’s voice wavered.
“Yes, let’s.” Abraxas turned and grabbed a strip of leather which he handed to the woman. “Bite down on this. It should help with the pain.”
And Nova did so.
It was time for the surgery. And there was no one there to help him.
There was no more time to prepare, no more time to steady himself, no one left to fall back upon.
Abraxas turned Nova, and drew back her sleeve, exposing the black, necrotic wound before him. The sight of oozing yellow pus and cracked skin made him shudder internally. But he did not think it was as bad as it could have been
He took a damp cloth, soaked in clean water and red wine, and ran it across Nova’s injury. He pressed down, scouring the wound. Out the corner of his eye he could see Nova bite the strip of leather as her jaw began to clench. But there was no time to pay attention to that. She would be in greater pain later, and it would be much worse if he did not focus.
He set the cloth aside and then made to touch the wound. He would need to know what was dead and what was yet living. So, gently, he pressed down on her skin, noting where it gave and where it did not. Some of it was healthy and pink. Much was black. Some was bone white. Most of the pus had been washed away by his cleaning, but some of it still oozed from her skin. Abraxas tried not to touch it.
Fumbling, he thought he found the edges where the dead met the living.
It was time to cut.
The knife dug into black, rotting flesh. His touch was light, skimming the surface of the injury. He did not want to make the mistake of cutting into anything still living. Dark flakes of diseased skin peeled away, like skin from an apple.
Abraxas dug deeper, still gentle, still careful, trying to excise all that was rot. When strands of dead skin cluttered the wound, such that he could no longer move his knife with finesse, he set down his weapon and dipped a new cloth in water and wine.
That which could not be washed away would be plucked out with pliers.
Nova, for her part, remained quite still even as her jaw clenched tighter around the strip of leather.
And he returned to his work, deftly cutting with his knife. Everything seemed to still as he worked. He did not even know if he was breathing.
Soon the wound was picked raw. There was no more rotting flesh. All the pus was washed away. All that was left was pink and exposed. It all looked moist and tender.
Thin droplets of blood welled up from the new flesh, shining scarlet. It was less than ideal, but not as bad as it could have been. Had he sliced into living flesh there would have been much more blood and cauterization would have been inevitable. Abraxas was glad to avoid that at least.
But his work was not yet done. He washed the wound again, this time he took the cask of wine and poured it over the place where the injury had been. Hopefully this would help prevent any kind of corruption and infection. There were some things he knew were entirely beyond either his or Illoc’s powers.
He took his poultice, a wet mound of herbs and honey, and spread it across Nova’s skin. The yarrow and comfrey had a pleasant scent, one that temporarily dispelled the scent of dead and rotting flesh. He did not even know how bad it had been until it was gone.
Carefully, he wrapped gauze and bandages around the remnants of Nova’s wound, wrapping the cloth until it bulged out across her arm.
“You can take the leather out now, if you want.” He said to his patient.
And she did so. Abraxas expected some quip or comment about the taste but Nova just looked at him and said “Thank you for tending to me. I’m- I’m glad that’s over. You did good.”
Abraxas let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. His work, or at le
“Well,” he began, “there’s no more surgery and you don’t have to worry about that. But I do want you to change your bandages every day and to come back for new poultices. I don’t want there to be any infection or further rot. And, I’d ask you to try and keep your labor to a minimum. Don’t strain that arm. Please.”
“We’ll see.”
Abraxas knew it was unlikely to occur. One couldn’t stop the sun from shining just as one could not stop Nova from working.
“Well, do you want to sit here, or do you want me to walk you back to your forge?”
“I would like to try and head back to the forge. I feel more comfortable there and will rest easier.”
“Then so be it.”
Abraxas helped her up, noticing how she leaned on him as she walked. Nova was still in pain, still much more tired and fragile than she usually was.
“Easy,” he said. “Let’s take one step at a time.”
Nova grunted in reply, her jaw still tight.
When they reached the doorway of the apothecary, Gurt was waiting, perched on a stool, his eyes wide and his knee bouncing. He shot up at the sight of Nova, his words tumbling over each other. “Is she okay? How was the surgery?”
“She’s going to be just fine, Gurt. I cut away the bad skin, and it’s over now. She’ll heal, as long as she listens and doesn’t strain herself.” He cast a glance towards Nova
Nova grumbled. “I’m not made of glass, boy.”
Gurt nodded his expression, wavering between awe and apprehension.
Nova and Abraxas started again towards the door when it opened for them. Nestor was there, looking somewhat ragged. Dirt and grime covered his body. Some of his clothes were ripped and torn. Abraxas noticed a bandage wrapped around his knee. But Nestor was smiling as he always did.
He turned to his son. “Hey Gurt, I wanted to tell you I was doing alright. How have you been holding up?”
Gurt didn’t respond, instead running to his father and embracing him. The sound of muffled sobbing could be heard.
Abraxas turned his gaze away, not wanting to intrude on the private moment.
Out the window, he caught sight of Crescent and Malik standing. Crescent’s face was much more grim than Nestor’s and Malik’s skin was a seething gray.
Leaving the reunited family to their embrace, Abraxas quietly escorted Nova out of the building.
“Abraxas, good to see you,” Crescent said. “It’s been a moment. Fancy meeting us at the Magistrate’s house?”
“What for?”
“Oh, see, Nestor was out in the forest hiding from some deer. Remember the ones we saw earlier? Well, there are a lot more of them. And they’re all coming this way.”
Life seemed to drain from Abraxas. “Oh. How long do we have?”
“Two days at most, probably less.”
“Go,” Nova said. “I’ll be fine here or I’ll find someone else to help me back to the forge.”
Abraxas nodded and was already walking towards the Magistrate’s house.
