Old magic, new veterinarian

The situation at hamlet was not, in fact, better.

“Ooooh, my leeeeeg.” Svadil, one of the few labour horses of the hamlet, had decided to jump around to show off to Loki, one of the other few horses, a lady horse to be exact.

He had decided to do so by jumping above the high fences, used to make sure that horses, cows and donkeys didn’t, in fact, jump on them.

They were a good one meter and sixty!

“He ain’t looking good, Vic.” The dyrgja said, leaning on one of the lower rails, her red hair being mostly covered with a scarf due to the now chilly mountain air.

“He ain’t.” I confirmed, my hand moving the portion his leg on the height of his hoof, the, if I remember correctly , straight distal sesamoidean ligament.

It slid off too easily.

Broken.

“Doc, how is it looking? It’s looking good, right?” Svadil asked, his tone almost begging, his black hair matted with dirt and grass, while his mouth was open, his teeth grinding one against the other.

“He broke the ligament, he isn’t going to walk anymore without it. Surely he isn’t going to pull anything.” I said clinically, my mind trying to find a way to operate him here.

“Damn it!” Ingrid got up, and hit with one of her fists the fence, cracking it and then starting to walk back and forth.

“Walk no more?! Better kill me now-” Svadil grunted, his eyes dimming at the prospect as animals do, and he already leaned down, his will beaten by the surety of immobility.

“No!” A far off neigh came, and then the thundering of heavy hoves, a white and brown mare appeared, out of breath, and crashed against the fence, and this time it did crack in several parts, almost coming down.

Ingrid, who had been leaning against that same fence, tumbled down with a curse: “Hel’s bells, Laki! Calm down girl! Vic, what has gotten into her!?”

The dwarf young woman tried to pet and calm and stop the mare, but Laki, taller than Svadil by a good hand, continued to kick and jump and shout: “I forbid it! In the name of my ancestor, the great Bucephal, I forbid it!”

“Lady Laki, shouldn’t you be in the field with Erik?” Svadil asked weakly, rising his head and staring at the mare, his eyes rekindling ther spark.

“Laki, you thrice damned horse, you snapped the rope!” Came the far off, and loud, shout of Ingrid’s father Eric.

“It is of no importance, you fool! The important part is that you heal, like my ancestor’s master did, and live for long enough to give me foals!” The mare shouted, rising on her back legs, glaring at the fallen stallion.

Then she noticed I was there.

“Oh.” She immediately went down, and turned away, suddenly shy, dragging the ground with her front hoof.

“What did she just say, Vic?” Ingrid asked, staring at the one-eighty the horse had just done, but I was just thinking about how Mark would have called her.

Tsundere. A tsundere horse.

I bit my lip, I knew that she was that, but it was kind of amusing every time I saw it with my eyes.

Returning to the broken ligament, I assessed the situation.

At home, there was the possibility to make prothesis for such a situation, but it was done with special metals.

Titanium, for example, or alloys with cobalt.

Both weren’t available, for understandable reasons, such as there wasn’t a way to fuse those metals or to create the alloy necessary.

But this was not a normal world.

It was a world with magic, and magical species, and above all spirits.

I had done similar things, both to predators and preys, and twice to the inhabitants of this hamlet, so I knew what the spirits would want in this case.

“You have freshly slaughtered boars, do you not? I heard the crows speaking about you getting good preys two days ago. Bring bones, if you haven’t already boiled them. Also, bring your father’s silver knife and a pot with it, I think the Vedenvaki and the Iyesi are the best for this. Oh, and some garlic and burning wood as well.” I asked, turning towards Ingrid, her freckled face becoming surprised and then lightning up, a smile coming to her face, then she ran towards her house, her azure tunic flying behind her, with her red trousers getting muddied by  how fast she was running.

“So is he going back to running with me, listener?” Laki asked, having gone over her embarrassment, the concern wearing off, and I nodded at that.

“Will I be of use to Erik? I will not accept being a burden.” Svadil instead asked, making Laki turn and neigh disapprovingly, but I answered calmly, knowing how this one was: “Yes, at most in two months you will be back as new. It’s not like you will have much to do, winter is coming after all.”

The foolish horse went back down, a deep sigh coming from his nose, relaxing finally.

With a sigh of my own I went to my belt and, from my leather bag, I took out pestle, mortar, some willow bark and garlic cloves and, laying it out before me, I prepared to “spiritually” refine it with the help of fire and spirits, and good arrays, mayhaps the Nisse would like to help.

Those little buggers were always willing to be helpful for some milk, after all.

It took half a year to find this out, but it was a life saver to have something to break out fevers, or as an antibiotic by using garlic.

“Oi, tall boy, is the idiotic horse being a hassle with Davlin? I can bring her back to the stable, if necessary, to let you work best.” Erik, the long bearded dwarf asked, his red beard bright red under the afternoon’s sun, barely some spot of grey on it.

For a seventy year old dwarf, he kept himself well, I would say, but the forty odd dwarves out of the ninety people living here all looked better than the humans, so well.

“I may not understand the little one well, but I do know when I am insulted, little one.” The mare snorted imperiously, but did not act more than that.

“It’s not necessary, Erik. She is just concerned for Svadil.” I answered with a smile, making sure to not translate what she said, watching Ingrid arrive with what I asked.

Erik did as well, and snorted a puff of white air: “Ah, druidic magic tall boy? Whatever the spirit asks, I will pay back with interests, I swear on that. Svadil has been good for us, and I do not wish to lose him.”

I nodded at that, and sat down, starting to trace runes with my hand, the necessary hearing Ingrid’s slight breaths at the exertion, her quiet feet heavier than usual due to the big iron pot she had in her hands.

She slammed it in front of me, and it had the necessary.

Good.

‘Remember, you-who-listen-’

“Yeah, I need to use the fire to purify the objects to the purest quality I want them to have, by using the rune array you told me to use, and that I refined.” I muttered to myself, starting to work.

It would take all the daylight hours, me thinks, and Ingrid staring and smiling while I was doing so was not helping.

And I could not even order her to do much, I knew how she did anything connected with finesse!

I grumbled while putting the wood under the pot, and I knew the spirits would be annoyed that it was not silver.

It’s not silver.

Called it.

Since you are being chatty, what do you want?

Milk and honey!

Honey and milk!

I sighed, the fire becoming blue for a moment to show the amusement they were having, and it was amusement, before the air became calm.

The Sylphids were behaving well, letting the Iyesi do their work.

For pranking brats, they knew when to be calm.

“Erik, could you please take some milk and honey? That’s what these brats want.”

I heard an ethereal laughter for a moment, and Ingrid’s scarf was pulled by a very localized gust of wind, which made the dyrgja curse and starts running behind it, Erik’s laughter following her while he went to take what I asked.

I, instead of looking, and after I had put in the water and the Vedanvaki started their own work with their almost endearing seriousness, immerged the boar’s legs in, the Vedenvaki focused on connecting to the ligaments, while the Iyesi’s fire started to melt them into a paste.

Then, while the spirits worked, I turned towards Svadil and showed him the knife: “I will do a small cut;” I explained: “I need some of your blood to make sure your body doesn’t reject this.”

The horse stared at the knife, and then clenched his eyes shut and neighed: “Ready.”
I made a small prick where the broken ligament was, and one, just one, drop was taken by the blade, and it immediately went into the pot, turning the thickening liquid from a whitish broth into a red paste.

Not something natural in the slightest, but while the spirits did their work, and it took a good hour to reach the stage when it would not be rejected wholeheartedly after this ritual, I started to use the silver knife to make the runes on the ground necessary for this.

It was not something overly complex, just twelve runes that must be painstakingly carved, and while some mistakes can be forgiven, it would make them less precise.

And I would like to think that avoiding bones sprouting out from the wrong places is a good reason to be precise, if what the spirits had said was a good example.

That, and the pot blasting thirty metres away, scaring the crap out of Hugin and Mugin.

This passage took another half an hour.

After the runes had been dug, I gave the knife back to Ingrid, whose headscarf was stuck on the roof of the house, and lightly put Svadil’s wounded leg in the circle.

Those same runes lighted up, a purple glow, and the small hole I did opened slightly.

Then, like it was pulled from a straw, the red liquid I had been doing for the last hour and a half was pulled into that same hole, slowly.

This passage was another half an hour.

When the last drop of the red liquid disappeared from the pot, Ingrid, who had been there all the time, asked excitedly: “So, is it done?”

“Yes, listener, is Svadil well?” asked Laki, her poise broken by her tail.

I would have loved to say yes.

Instead, I looked at them with tiredness already present in my eyes: “I still need to make the potions against infections, and one for the fever.”

Which would be two more hours of work.

Damn it.

I could already hear the elemental brats that were the spirits laughing at my expense.