The Wandering Inn_Volume 1, page 297
The bloody head of the arrow came up, crimson with Clara’s blood. Geneva stared at it grimly and cast it aside.
“Good!”
Thriss exclaimed and uncorked the potion as soon as he saw the arrowhead. But Geneva stopped him and shook her head.
“I need to disinfect the wound first. Reboil that water.”
It was a popular myth that alcohol would disinfect wounds. While that was true, it would also inflame the injury. Alcohol was good for sterilizing equipment; but in this case the hot water Geneva used to wash the injury and blood was adequate.
Clara screamed into the rag Fortum had given her to bite with, but in a few seconds Geneva was pouring the healing potion over the wound. She did it slowly; Geneva the person wanted to heal the wound as fast as possible, but Geneva the surgeon wanted to observe the potion’s effects. What she saw fascinated her.
The healing potion was clearly some kind of agent that accelerated the body’s natural processes. It did not create new skin; rather, it made the existing tissue close up at an extremely accelerated rate. Even as Geneva watched the skin close together and the angry red color of the flesh returned to its normal state, she wondered how the potion would work on another kind of injury.
They would probably do nothing for more advanced breaks, unless the bones were set properly. Even then, they would have limits—these potions couldn’t heal severed limbs, and indeed they would inhibit reattachment if used incorrectly—even if that was possible to do with just potions.
Did the potions age the skin? Would they cause cancerous growths or tumors in the long run if they continued to accelerate the reproduction of cells? What would their effect be on such an affliction?
Thoughtfully, Geneva corked the potion and handed it back to Thriss. He looked surprised, but she’d only used up half of the bottle. Despite the invasive surgery, she hadn’t cut that deep into Clara for the arrowhead.
“Only a bit of healing potion. That’s good work.”
Geneva just nodded. Clara was feeling her arm and sitting up, shuddering. Tears had streaked through the blood and grime on her face, but her skin was whole and unscarred now. She hugged Fortum as the soldier gripped her shoulder.
It was hard to meet her eyes. Geneva stood up and looked at Thriss. He was looking at her too, different than before. There was a newfound respect in his eyes.
“Not many [Healers] could remove an arrowhead from a screaming person like that. I guess [Doctors] are stronger, eh?”
“Some are. But I don’t have even a quarter of the equipment I need for proper surgery. If Clara wasn’t the only one injured, or if the arrow had hit her in the gut—”
Thriss shook his head.
“Bad business. Those Centaur bastards are good shots. Your friend was lucky she only got stuck once; I’ve seen them hit a soldier three times in as many seconds.”
He pointed at the other bodies lying on the ground. Their eyes had been closed, but Geneva could see the arrows that had struck them around the heart or in the necks and faces.
“If you can save more lives, I’ll see to getting you what you need. What things do you want? A sharp dagger, we can give you.”
“I need more than that. I need things to open skin and hold flesh. Tweezers, a digging instrument—”
Thriss’ face changed as Geneva described the tools. He shook his head.
“Talk to the [Quartermaster]. I’ll see to it you can take what’s needed.”
“I also need something to clean my tools. Not just water, although I’ll need a fire to boil water. But I need alcohol—a strong spirit.”
Disinfectants. Could she make some kind of iodine? She desperately needed an antibiotic, but what?
Thriss made a troubled face.
“We have an alcohol ration. I suppose I can have the quartermaster give you some. But if I see soldiers drinking—”
“If they’re drinking, it’s because I need them to stop screaming.”
“True enough. Well then, you do what’s needed. But it was good you were here. Damned good. I’ve seen too many friends cutting a shoulder open and rooting for the damn arrowhead, or pouring a potion on top and having the wound fester.”
He nodded to Geneva and left her. Slowly, the disturbed line of soldiers began to regroup, and in ten more minutes they were marching again. But this time they walked in silence, and Geneva stood alone. She’d washed the blood off her clothes and hands, but the other soldiers stayed away from her.
Apparently, it was one thing to kill your enemy, and another to hurt your friends, even if that was to help them. Geneva didn’t care at the moment. When they finally made camp she just fell into bed after a quick meal. She was exhausted.
But a voice spoke in her ears before she slept.
[Doctor Level 4!]
[Skill – Hygienic Hands obtained!]
[Skill – Lesser Resistance: Infection obtained!]
—-
She didn’t understand Skills that well. Well she did—it wasn’t a hard concept to grasp. But Geneva didn’t precisely understand what her Skills did, and that bothered her greatly.
As she woke up and felt a night’s worth of bug bites start to itch, Geneva wondered what [Hygenic Hands] did. Did that mean she didn’t have to wash her hands? Surely not. She had a bit of grime on them even now.
Or—was there some kind of effect on them that would nullify any bacteria on her hands? If she touched something—like feces, for example—was she cleansing the object or would it return to being filthy the moment it left her hands? Did the effect apply to the tools she used, or was it just her hands?
For that matter, how much resistance was ‘Lesser Resistance’, anyways? Was her immune system simply stronger, or would she slowly develop an immunity or would the virus or infection not affect her as badly as someone without this Skill?
She wished she had a microscope. That would answer so many questions, and besides which, this world was a veritable treasure trove of new information. Geneva would have given anything to study how the Lizardfolk and Dullahan’s internal biology worked or even what effect magic had on the particles in the air when it was cast. She had so many questions.
But as she walked to breakfast where a silent Dullahan was serving bowls of soup and chunks of dry bread to the soldiers, Geneva’s thoughts made way for a more pressing issue.
How would the others respond to her now that they’d seen her performing surgery? Moreover, how would Clara react?
She needn’t have worried. True, Lim hesitated, but he still moved over as Geneva sat with Fortum and the other Human soldiers from this morning, and Fortum grunted at her in a friendly sounding way. The others chatted or blinked in bleary silence as was their preference, but none looked at Geneva too oddly.
Except for Lim, that was. He still looked uneasy when he met Geneva’s eyes, but Clara gave her a one-armed hug the instant she saw her in the morning.
“Looks like a [Doctor]’s more use’n I thought, isn’t that right? You cut that arrow out of my arm in a thrice, and it doesn’t feel the slightest bit bad now!”
“I’m sorry I didn’t have anything to stop the pain.”
Fortum shook his head.
“You were faster than anyone I’d ever seen, girl. Don’t you worry. Clara knows you had to get that arrowhead out.”
“It was worth me screaming and bleeding for that.”
Clara nodded seriously. She tapped her arm.
“I’ve heard stories of folks who used a potion without pulling the arrowhead out. They rot from the inside and die screaming. No amount of potion’ll fix that.”
“You were so calm.”
Lim burst out at last. He looked at Geneva, wide-eyed.
“How did you know how to get the arrow out? Do all [Doctors] have a skill? What level do you learn to do all that?”
Geneva frowned. She hadn’t learned that from her class, but the idea that someone could learn something like surgery from just leveling up a few times was…concerning. Fortum scowled and cuffed Lim lightly.
“It’s rude to ask her level, boy.”
Even asking about Classes was considered somewhat rude unless the information was volunteered first. It was a personal question and an important one; knowing someone’s exact levels and classes meant you could tell how powerful or useful they were. Geneva only shrugged.
“I’m not a high level [Doctor], but I’ve been trained to do surgery and other types of medicine.”
“Surgery? You mean cutting someone open like yesterday…?”
Lim looked uneasy, and another soldier smacked him on the shoulder.
“We’re eating, boy.”
Geneva nodded. She had no issues swallowing her food.
“If I have to. But I normally have a lot more tools. I was working with what I could scrounge, but next time…do you know where I can get tweezers? Even wooden ones would do.”
“Someone’ll have them. But if you want some, there’s bound to be someone with a wood working Skill in this crowd.”
Fortum pointed this out, and Geneva latched on to the suggestion.
“Do you think I could pay them or get them to make me a few tools?”
Metal would be far better, but anything was better than nothing. The Old Man nodded as he chewed at his bread slowly, breaking it down with saliva and soup so his few teeth could do the rest of the job.
“I reckon they’ll do it for free, even if the sergeant don’t insist. After today, everyone’s going to want to give you as much help as they can in case they’re the ones with a hole in their gut.”
“Can you fix that, too?”
Geneva smiled wryly, but her stomach twisted.
“Let’s not find out right now, okay?”
Everyone laughed, and soon the soldiers were roused by Thriss shouting and back on the march. But the [Sergeant] found Geneva as she was walking with the others.
“A word.”
He led her away from the others, and then pressed a small key into her hands. It was made of iron and sturdy. Geneva blinked at it.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a key. To the chest of healing potions in the supply wagon.”
Thriss stared seriously at Geneva.
“You’re new, but after yesterday, me and the other officers agreed you should have it. Mark me, though. If any potions are missing or you don’t lock up, there will be hell to pay.”
She met his eyes.
“Don’t worry. I won’t steal.”
“Good! I just want you to know how important what you’ve got is. Don’t lose it, or if you do—tell me at once. We can’t lose that key.”
Geneva nodded again and Thriss clapped her on the shoulder with one hand. Geneva stared at the supply wagon as she pushed the key deep into her pockets. It was an important thing to be entrusted with. The potion chest was probably the most valuable thing this battalion of mercenaries was carrying.
It sat at the center of the line of troops, in a wagon that was guarded by veterans. All the precious supplies were held there, but the potions had the double protection of the chest. Geneva could see why. Even a magical sword wasn’t as valuable as the hundred plus bottles of magical liquid.
The others made no comment as she rejoined them on their march, although Fortum did eye Geneva speculatively. But none of them looked like thieves, and so Geneva found the time to talk to some other soldiers and ask about fashioning some wooden tools.
They were all friendly, even the Lizardfolk. The few Dullahans and Centaurs were somewhat aloof, but Geneva’s [Doctor] status seemed to make her special.
No one seemed to really know what a [Doctor] was. Oh, they were familiar with [Healers] and regarded [Doctors] as a version of that class, but Geneva felt like she was being treated like a witchdoctor or some kind of medicine woman or midwife.
This world didn’t need [Doctors]. Not like her world. That knowledge made Geneva’s chest hurt and loosen at the same time. Was she useless?
No—no, Clara had still needed her help to remove the arrowhead. And things like plagues and infection might not be curable with magic alone. She had a place. And on this battlefield, at least Geneva could hand out potions.
The thought of going into battle was another worry that made Geneva’s stomach twist. But again, she’d had no choice. And at least here she could learn if she could still save lives or if all her skills were obsolete.
But to Geneva’s surprise, she found her expertise was needed before violence occurred again. As the soldiers had taken another break from marching and the sun was overhead, Thriss sought her out again.
“Geneva. A Dullahan wants to see you. He says it’s important.”
Curious, Geneva stood up and walked over to find a tall, dark-skinned man wearing armor that looked like bark was waiting for her. There was nothing visibly wrong with him, but for some reason the air smelled foul around him.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“No. Hurt.”
Without preamble, the Dullahan pulled off his arm. Geneva gasped, but Thriss didn’t seem shocked.
“Never seem a Dullahan do that? It’s not just heads.”
The Dullahan’s arm had come off smoothly, without any resistance. Geneva stared into the dark socket of his armor, but saw only purple light and a mist coming from the hole. Did they even have organs?
The Dullahan held the arm with one hand, and pulled a panel of the armor off. Geneva found her question answered and her stomach roiled as the horrible, rotting smell intensified and she saw what was causing it.
Underneath the Dullahan’s wooden armor—and now that Geneva saw what it was, she realized it was actually skin—his internal organs were clearly visible. Muscle and tendons were clearly visible; it was as if a normal Human had lost all their dermal layers but left their organs intact.
Dullahans were like crustaceans! They had shells – or perhaps they were more like insects, with exoskeletons they could remove. But what caught Geneva’s eye and made Thriss step back in disgust was the source of the smell.
It wasn’t a blood-filled injury like Clara’s. No, this was an infection. Pus and yellow liquid ran from the Dullahan’s arm as he held the wooden panel open, and Geneva saw the tissue and muscles around the yellow substance were raw and inflamed.
“Dead gods, that’s awful.”
Thriss wiped at his mouth with the back of his head and spat. Geneva looked at the arm. Clearly, it was a long-term infection that hadn’t been treated. Her stomach tried to revolt, but Geneva held it firm. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d seen. Granted, it was up there in terms of disgusting, but she was a doctor. She was already thinking of how to treat the wound without any antibiotics.
“May I?”
To her surprise, the Dullahan handed Geneva his arm. She gently held it in her hands, noting the weight—it was quite heavy. She wrinkled her nose at the injury. What she wouldn’t give for gloves.
The wound was pus-filled and stank. Geneva stared at the Dullahan.
“Why didn’t you get this treated earlier?”
He shook his head.
“No one who can help with this. Healing potions no good. No [Healer] knows how to treat Dullahans.”
“But you think I can help?”
“[Doctor] is different. May help. Must help. Arm is bad.”
It was. Geneva noted the deterioration of tissue—the area had already begun to break down. She came to a quick decision.
“I’ll need more boiled water, and clean towels. In fact, I’ll need to boil the towels in the water first.”
Thriss eyed Geneva.
“Will this take long?”
“Not too long. Less than thirty minutes if I can get what I need. But I need to clean the wound now.”
He grunted.
“Good. Do it. And do it away from camp.”
Geneva led the Dullahan to a place where the soldiers couldn’t see—or smell—his injury and got to work. He followed her quietly, and silently. He was a very still figure, and his head didn’t exhibit many facial expressions. The infected wound had to hurt, but he was stoic. Was that a Dullahan trait?
To begin with, Geneva tried to figure out how the infection had started. But when she asked when he’d noticed the infection, the Dullahan only shook his head. He tapped the arm plate.
“Armor broke. Bad thing got in.”
Something like a bug or dirt? No wonder Dullahans tried to upgrade their armor. It was their skin, and any holes would expose them to all kinds of dangers. Geneva did her best with the wound. She would have done anything for antibiotics, but without them—
First she boiled water and cleaned two towels as best she could. Then, she requested and received some salt. She added it to another pot of water and boiled that. When the water was no longer scalding, she used it and the towels to clean the wound.
The Dullahan sat through it all, only wincing slightly which impressed Geneva again. She was touching his internal structure however lightly, and that had to be painful. But his only motion was to shoo away the insects that were attracted to his rotting flesh.
Soon, Geneva had cleared away the injury and she could see no traces of dirt or other containments. She gave the entire area one last dose of the saline solution—knowing it was a poor substitute for a proper antiseptic—and wished one last time for antibiotics.
“Is it done?”
The Dullahan looked at Geneva as she cleaned his armor plate. There was some…fleshlike substance on the back, and she tried to be as gentle with that was possible as well. How was he able to detach it from his arm? There was clearly still bloodflow. Was it just magic? Some kind of portal system?
She shook her head as she handed him the plate and he reattached it to his arm.
“No. Your infection is bad. Very bad. I have to clean it every few hours and let the pus drain. It will take time, you understand? But it must be cleaned, and the wound must breathe for a while.”
He nodded.
“It will heal?”
“You have a good chance.”
Geneva didn’t want to lie, but neither did she want to speak her mind. She needed antibiotics, somehow. But this wasn’t the place to find any. She hesitated. Could healing potions be of any help? Maybe…
