The Medica

Gala looked around in awe. The market plaza was huge. Tents and carts were laid out in neat rows. Merchants stood behind their counters, or in front of their stalls, shouting the efficacy of one product, or the price of another. The sheer humanity threatened to overwhelm Gala. She loved it.

Buildings lined the square, and though they were far from regal, they were whole. White-washed walls framed painted doors, that stood like guards against the winter air. Windows sat unbroken in every frame. Smoke rose steadily into the dark sky from every chimney, marching every upward. The sight brought up a swell of emotion to Gala, like the rising tide. This has always been here? She thought, exhilarated and confused all at once. Robyn never mentioned how stunning the market was, how filled with humanity, with joy and activity it was.

The thought of Robyn, alone and dying, brought Gala back to reality. The starkness of it, like a punch to the gut, made her mind reel. She steadied herself against a wooden stall, trying not to throw up. Medica, she thought. Where is the Medica?

She knew the symbol of the Healers Guild. A single eye, inlaid with gold, above an immaculate goblet adorned in enamel and silver. Every guildhouse, called a Medica, bore the symbol as proof of their membership. She only needed to find the sign.

She walked the market aimlessly for several minutes, ignoring vendors and patrons alike. She checked each sign she passed. None of them bore the symbol she sought. Seconds passed into minutes, and frustration started to mellow into despair. She stumbled out of the thicket of stalls, into the open air of winter, and directly into what she needed.

Before her stood a squat, red-brick building. Candlelight pooled out of the windows onto the icy ground at her feet. A clean, wooden sign hung from two shiny chains. It bore the symbol of the Healer’s Guild in stark, painted detail. Relief flooded Gala. Her knees nearly buckled, but she resolved herself, then knocked on the door. Several seconds passed. Gala raised her hand to knock again, when a leathery face pressed against the inside of the window, peering out. The old man looked surprised, then opened the door and hustled her inside.

“Oh dear, oh dear, you must be freezing,” he said. The old man was almost as short as Gala. His hair, what there was of it, was wispy and thin. His face was covered in liver spots, and his teeth were in awful condition. “What can I do for you young lady?”

Ruddy flames illuminated the eclectic decoration in the shop. A human skull sat on the countertop, polished until it gleamed in the firelight. Several stuffed chairs sat in one corner, accompanied by a small bookshelf. On the opposite wall, a diagram of the human body hung crookedly from a single nail at the top. A myriad of sharp scents swirled in the air: allspice, cinnamon, cloves.

“Ma’am?” The old man asked again.

“Oh. Oh sorry,” Gala apologized. “I have never been in a Medica before.”

“Ahhhh yes. Many have the same reaction you do. I assure you, I am no warlock. Just a simple man trying to make a living.”

“No, no that’s not it. I was just admiring your skull.” Gala lied. Truth be told, she had wondered if the man were a warlock of some ilk. “I am here for medicine.”

“Well, that much was obvious,” he said, a small smile on his lips. “What are you after, then?”

“My—mother—is very ill. She fell down the stairs at home. I think she has a broken jaw.”

“Oh no, that is just awful.” He said, concern evident on his kind face. “When you say she fell—well, let us be frank. Was it an accident, or did someone make her fall?”

Confusion painted Gala’s features for a brief moment, but she hid it quickly. “Accident, sir. Took a mighty tumble carrying laundry.”

The old man did not seem convinced. His lips tightened into a thin frown, but he said nothing more about it. “For a broken jaw, one would typically need a setting. There are medicines I could give to speed the growing process, but those must be administered here.” He said.

“Why can I not take them to her? What is a setting?” Gala asked, trying to keep up with what he said.

The man shook his head absentmindedly. “In addition, I do not believe you could pay my fee regardless.”

Gala’s hopes sank like a ship taking on water. Her shoulder slumped, and her eyes fell to the floor, clouding with tears.

“Let me give you some free advice, child.” He said. “Go home, give your mother plenty of clean water, and keep her warm. It will not be perfect, but eventually her jaw will heal all on its own.”

Gala quivered. Heavy tears fell down her cheeks. Robyn was going to die, after all that she went through, after promising she would take care of everything.

The old man froze. Gala looked up at him, her vision blurred. “I hate you.” She whispered. He took a step back, shock plain on his face. “I hate you, and I hope you die.” She screamed. Anger spread across his expression.

“Leave.” He said coldly.

*****

Gala rocked back and forth, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her back to a cold stone wall. The market square around her was silent. All of the stalls were empty. Snow accumulated on the bare cobblestones in the absence of shuffling feet. The candlelight in the Medica flickered unevenly. She stared at the window, waiting.

She did not have the courage to go back to the cellar, to face her dying mentor. Though her tears had long since dried, the emotion swirling inside her begged for release. She squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and let it out in a quiet rush.

One candle in the Medica flickered, then went dead. The pools of warm light that gathered outside the windows slowly shrank as more candles were extinguished. Gala took in another deep breath, and held it, waiting. When the last candle went out, darkness enclosed the building.

Gala climbed to her feet languidly, and shook the fuzziness from her brain. Her body ached, her head pounded, but she resolved herself to the task at hand. This is the last thing I must do, and then I can rest, she told herself, trying to force her body into compliance.

A warm tingle ran through her, counteracting the chilliness of the air. Her mind cleared in a whoosh, like fog blown by strong wind. She felt lighter on her feet. Though her muscles still burned from the previous days’ exertion, she willed herself to ignore it. The pain gradually subsided, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

She strode across the road, her bare feet slapping quietly against the paving stones. She pressed her ear to the dense wooden door, listening for any signs of life. She waited for what seemed like hours, until she was sure the man had gone to bed, then she turned the knob on the door gently. She pushed lightly, then harder, but it did not budge. She silently cursed her bad luck, and then stalked to the window. She pressed her hands against it, trying to get leverage. She dug her nails into the small gap between the window and the frame, and pulled upward with all her strength. The window moved a fraction of an inch, but it was enough for Gala to slip her fingers inside, and then open it all the way. She sighed with relief, and then slipped through the window, careful not to make any noise.

Gala picked up many things from Robyn over the years. She learned to walk and run silently, to pick a pocket, and to cut a purse. She had never broken into a building before, but she had watched Robyn do so hundreds of times, the ever-present lookout on many heists.

Gala stalked around the room quietly, looking at all of the glass jars and wooden crates filled with plants. In the darkness, the previously eclectic room took on a twisted and depraved look. Everything seemed to be waiting in the shadows, ready to jump out at her should she get too close. She circled around a large table set in the middle of the space, and then finally came to stand in front of a section of jars which sat in neat rows on a series of shelves.

Each container bore a small white strip of paper, inscribed with neat, flowing handwriting. Gala assumed that they described what kind of medicine was in each of them, but the words meant nothing to her. She could not read, and had never felt the need to learn. Until now.

The powders were of varying hues, ranging from deep greens to pale reds. She knew that most of them would likely be poisonous to anyone not suffering from whatever ailment they were designed to treat, but beyond that she was clueless as to their natures.

She knew what she was looking for only by description, and she prayed to the Architect that she would be able to find it. Her eyes came to rest on a tiny jar situated on a shelf, on the opposite wall. Inside was a fine powder of a greyish-white, which reflected the faint trickle of pallid moonlight. She quickly scanned the room, confirming it was the only jar with that shade of powder, and then bustled over to the shelf, collecting the item. She made a quick scan of the room, eager to leave, but aware that she needed more supplies. She spotted a waterskin on the counter, and grabbed it, along with some bandages from a basket by the table. Satisfied that she had gotten everything she needed, she quietly unbarred the door, and bolted from the building, leaving the door swinging wide.

*****

Gala hefted the decaying wooden hatch, careful not to make any noise. Puffs of white escaped her mouth in short bursts, and intermingled in the pale moonlight. Eos bathed the basement staircase in soft blue. Gingerly, she made her way down, wary of making any sound that might wake Robyn. The stairs protested her weight softly. Something stirred in the darkness below, but Gala continued on.

Robyn lay motionless, curled up in the same position Gala left her in. Her breathing was erratic, and a dangerous crackling rattled in her chest with every exhale. Despite the frigid air, sweat clung to her naked frame. Gala could see thin white scars criss-crossing her entire body. Enamored, she stared for several long seconds, studying the pale lines under the dim moonlight. Robyn coughed raggedly, and Gala jerked back to herself.

She placed the medicine on the ground at her feet, then closed her eyes. What first? What first? What first? The thought repeated over and over in her mind. She knew that administering medicine was a delicate task, as likely to kill a patient as save them if done incorrectly. What did she show me about this. Come on, remember damn you.

It came back to her, not in a rush of flooding thought, but in a controlled trickle. Medicine first, mix with water. But how much? That much she did not know. I’ll have to guess then. Eos help me.

Gala wrestled with the lid of the glass jar until it opened with a tiny pop. Carefully, she tipped the jar over and dumped a small portion of the grey powder into the waterskin she held. She swirled it around, watching the powder dissolve, turning the liquid vaguely silver. Satisfied, she scooted to where Robyn lay.

This is going to work, it has to work. She lifted Robyn’s head gently, and rested it on her knee. The woman groaned softly in her sleep. Worry, deep and aching, gripped Gala’s heart. It has to work.

She tilted Robyn’s head back slightly. The woman looked awful. Her skin was bloodless, save for the deep red pockets around her eyes. Her breathing came shallowly, interrupted by coughing fits. Gala squeezed her eyes shut, trying to compose herself, then took a deep breath. I have to do this. If I don’t, she will die. Gingerly, she parted Robyns lip’s with the end of the waterskin, and poured a trickle of the faintly shimmering liquid into her mouth. Nothing happened at first, then Robyn coughed violently, splattering saliva and medicine across Gala’s face.

Patiently, Gala coaxed her mentor back down. She ran the fingers of one hand through her hair in a calming motion, and spoke to her quietly. “It’s alright.” She said in a low, soothing voice. “I am here. Drink your medicine, and then sleep.”

Robyn opened one eye blearily, then nodded. Gala slowly drained the waterskin, speaking in that same gentle voice, repeating the same phrase. “It is alright, I am right here.”

Gala leaned back against the cold wall, determined not to fall asleep. She wanted to be awake whenever Robyn woke. Nerves shot, she twiddled her thumbs and tried to still her swirling thoughts.