The Unlikely Family Portrait

Viktor

In the days that followed the rather embarrassing game of hide-and-seek, Natalia’s conduct was, to his surprise, admirable. Viktor had kept his end of the bargain, ordering her heavy comforter and a steady supply of firewood to be returned to her chambers. In response, a tangible sense of relief and joy radiated from her, a warmth that filled the room more effectively than the hearth ever could. The old adage about attracting more flies with honey than with vinegar seemed to hold particularly true for Natalia. Acting on this observation, Viktor even instructed the servants to deliver a cozy, properly made bed for Jace, placing it within the relative comfort of Natalia’s room. For this gesture, she had hurried to him and, in a moment of unguarded gratitude, wrapped her arms around him in a quick, unexpected embrace.

Viktor would only admit it to himself, but he was actively trying to win her favor. It was a form of courtship, in a sense, though his motives were hardly romantic. He was wooing her primarily to ensure she would be more amenable when the time came to honor her promise. A king’s marriage was a monumental state affair in any country, and the entire process, both during the ceremony and in the days that followed, would proceed far more smoothly with a cooperative bride.

His long-term plan for the street rat, however, remained frustratingly unresolved. He held no genuine fondness for the boy and certainly did not want Jace residing in his personal chambers after the wedding, when Natalia would be moving in. The fact that the child had once slept in his bed was a concession that still irked him. For now, it seemed his strategy of calculated patience was yielding results, as Natalia grew more compliant with each passing day.

Perhaps, he mused, if he altered his tactics and reassured her of the rat’s safety in a designated room of his own, she would be less inclined to take the boy with her everywhere she went. It was a strategy worth considering.

Morgan

To say I was repulsed by how little had changed would be a profound understatement. I had finally, at long last, crossed the border into the neighboring kingdom of Ethon. The age-old saying that the poor will always be with us must be a universal truth. Even so, a desperate part of me had held onto the hope that things might be at least marginally better in this new nation. That perhaps, just perhaps, the streets would not be so choked with the sick, the filthy, and the starving.

Was that too much to ask? Apparently so. The hollow-eyed children tugged at my clothes, their small hands outstretched in silent pleas for coin, and I had to physically brace myself and avert my gaze. I could not afford to support a single child, let alone the throngs of ten or more that seemed to materialize around every newcomer.

Now that I was here, my priorities were stark and simple: find work and secure a place to live. But that, too, looked to be more difficult than I had anticipated, as there seemed to be no work to spare. The air was thick with a horribly oppressive heat, and I found myself wondering why no one was drinking from the large stone fountain that dominated the center of the town square. Drawn by the promise of cool water, I approached, ready to cup my hands and take a sip to soothe the unbearable heat, when a hand stopped me.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice cautioned. I looked up to see a young man about my age, with a cascade of blond hair and gentle brown eyes.

“Why?” I asked, my throat painfully dry. “Is there something wrong with the water? It looks fine to me.”

The young man raised his hands in a gesture of guileless warning. “Fine. Go ahead and drink, if you have a death wish.” I recoiled sharply from the fountain’s edge. So that was why it stood deserted on a day like this.

“Thanks,” I said with sincere gratitude. He seemed ready to depart, his good deed for the day complete, but a question surfaced in my mind and I stopped him. “Wait. Why don’t you filter and boil the water?” I asked. He gave me a look of utter bewilderment.

“Filter and boil the water?” he repeated, as though the words themselves were a foreign language.

“Yeah,” I said, gesturing with my hands to illustrate. “You take a container with a small hole in the bottom, like a pot, and fill it with a layer of sand, then a layer of small stones on top. You pour the contaminated water through it and collect the filtered water in another container below. Then you boil that water over a fire, and it’s safe to drink.”

By this point, a number of people were staring at me, their faces a mixture of incredulity and morbid curiosity. Most of them, it seemed, thought I was insane. Had they never heard of boiling water in this world? Back home, this was fundamental safety, taught to first-graders.

“Are you sure that would work?” an elderly woman asked, her face a mask of skepticism. I nodded with a confidence I didn't entirely feel but had to project.

“Of course, I’m positive. Test it, and I’ll drink the water myself.” This was an arrangement the villagers could agree to, as none of their own would be at risk if my plan failed. And so, they did just that. Thirty minutes later, a small crowd had gathered to watch me take a sip of the hot, purified water. It was warmer than I would have liked, but I gulped it down, grateful for anything to quench my raging thirst. For a full hour, their eyes remained fixed on me, bright with anticipation, as they spoke with me and monitored my condition. When the hour had passed and I hadn’t so much as swooned, a flurry of activity erupted. Men and women rushed about, eagerly constructing their own filters.

It was deeply embarrassing when they began to hail me as a miracle worker. “It has nothing to do with miracles,” I insisted, time and again. “It’s just basic science that you learn as a child.” My explanations, however, only made matters worse. They now seemed convinced that a goddess of mercy had visited me in my childhood dreams to impart divine knowledge. Fantastic. Just fantastic. They would probably expect me to cure their illnesses next.

“The blessed child must be taken to the sick-house!” one man exclaimed. What was it I had just been thinking? Before I could protest, they were guiding me toward a dilapidated building on the edge of town and ushering me inside. The conditions within were instantly appalling, and the stench that assaulted me was so foul it made my eyes water. The smell alone would have been enough for any sane health inspector to condemn the establishment, to say nothing of the filth that coated every available surface.

“What are you thinking, leaving your sick in a place like this?!” I roared, spinning to face the crowd. “This is a death trap! Once someone enters, they have no chance of leaving. It would take a real miracle for things to improve in here.” I moved to push up my sleeves, ready for a fight, only to blush as I remembered I had torn them off earlier to cope with the heat.

“Alright, let’s get started!” I shouted. “This place needs to be cleaned from top to bottom.” Regrettably, only two people stepped forward to volunteer. One was the blond man from the fountain. I learned his name was Saul.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked, his face serious. I gestured toward a pail of filthy water. One had to start somewhere.

“Filter that water while I start clearing out all this refuse,” I instructed. I then turned to the other volunteer, a burly man with a grim but determined expression. “And you are?”

“Jakob,” he said. I nodded.

“Alright, Jakob, I need you to find any surviving family members of these poor people and ask if they’re willing to help us clean the—what did you call this place again? The sick-house? Anyway, just see if their relatives will help.” With a nod, Jakob departed. My attention shifted to my new patients. I was no doctor, but Natalia had been so prone to illness that someone had always had to look after her when she stubbornly refused to see a physician.

I placed my hand on one man’s forehead; he was burning up. I checked him for any obvious injuries. Fire. A deep, angry gash on his leg was festering badly. It had to be infected. I needed some kind of antibiotic, but I severely doubted this world had anything like Neosporin or hydrogen peroxide. Think, Morgan, think! I scolded myself. They had talked about early, natural forms of antibiotics in science class. I hadn't paid close attention, never imagining I would need the information. Ha! It just proved you never knew what the future held. Think. One early form was a food, another was a flower.

That’s it! Garlic and echinacea!

Wait. This region was practically a desert. There was no way I’d find echinacea here, but… I looked down at the man, his face contorted in pain. The people here didn’t know how to purify water, let alone practice basic hygiene. They needed my help. I had to do something. This man’s life was now my responsibility. Could I live with myself if I simply let an innocent person die? My mind flashed back to the day the King had executed all those people because one woman wouldn’t come forward. No. I couldn't be like that. I refused to stand by while others suffered. Not again. Never again.

My resolve hardened. I stood and approached Saul. “Does anyone here have any garlic or echinacea?” I asked. His brow furrowed, clearly wondering what I was on about.

“We have garlic,” he said. “But I have never heard of… E-chi-nea,” he added, stumbling over the word.

“Echinacea,” I corrected him instinctively. After years of correcting Natalia’s pronunciation, it came to me effortlessly. “Then when Jakob returns, tell him we will need as much garlic as he can find. The lives of some of these people depend on it.”