45. Playing Doctor (Patreon)

That night he paid another visit to Kaya, a slab of prime Vordor meat in tow. She greeted him with a sullen look but brightened a bit at the gift. She chewed on it in silence. She didn’t look in the mood to talk. She didn’t look in the mood to exist. She was a human airtight safe.

So naturally he tried prying her open. Largely to no avail. The conversation went something like—

“—so I made a batch of Pepper-up Elixir today…”

“Mhm.”

“—thinks they’re bringing live drakes to the Festival!”

“Sure.”

“—almost blew up my hand!”

“Mhm.”

It was like talking to a rock.

“Did you know crushed xinha leaf makes for a great spice? Everyone at the feast loved it!”

A pause.

“So you’re a chef now too, huh,” she spat. “Figures.”

He froze. “What?”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “It’s just—I dunno.”

She bit her lip. “For years you were always my wimpy lil’ bro. Now lightning’s struck and you’re leaving me behind! The Bone? The alchemy? The fighting?”

She looked away. “Hells. It’ll take some getting used to, okay?”

He feigned a crestfallen look. “You’re—you’re not happy for me?”

Startled, she glanced up. “Of course I am!” Her mouth formed a [moue]. “I’m…this isn’t me. Sorry. I’m… stressed, I guess. You didn’t deserve that.”

Frowning, he leaned forward and caught her gaze. “Why’re you stressed?”

“It’s the Festival,” she sighed. “It’s the biggest event all year. And I’m going to miss it. Because I’m like this.”

She waggled her limp limbs and sighed again. Her eyes sealed shut. Unspoken, hanging in the air between them, was the accusation: because of you.

In times like these, less was more. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes welling up. Before she could react he leaned in for a tight hug.

“Bah. I’ll be fine,” she said. “Tch.” She spat at the sand, then reached up to ruffle his hair. “Listen. I’m a fighter. It’s all I’m good for. Now I’m sitting here staring at the dunes all day. It’s like… what am I even doing? Y’know?”

Funnily, I do. More than you’ll ever know. “Mhm.”

“Now I gotta watch you morons fight? While I can’t move a lick?” Her hands curled to fists.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling away so that their eyes met again. “It’s not fair. You’re right. I—“

He stopped himself. He was about to launch into an extended speech to cheer her up, but he was still Io the tribes boy, not Dorian the Godking. Io wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that. It was these little tendencies he had to keep in check; thesesubtle places were always where cracks in a facade wormed in.

So he settled on a lame, “I’m sorry…”

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped, and grinned weakly to show she meant it half-playfully. Then her eyes found the horizon again, unfocusing into the distance. “Tuketu made me a Hunter, y’know.”

“Really? When?”

“Last night. And I can’t do a thing with it. Pisses me off.”

The thing to do here was to keep asking. To get her talking, digging into the emotions. To play the role of the understanding listener, just as the world-weary barkeep took on the woes of embittered patrons, until it was all out in the open. To speak her rage was to let it out, after all; it’d be the best thing for her.

Yet again he was held back by his numbskull identity. Io wouldn’t do that; Io would sit here, lengthening the awkward silence until she was forced to break it. Once more he lamented this form. He’d need to cultivate a new identity as soon as he was free of this godforsaken place.

The silence was turning stale. “Well,” he mumbled, clambering up, “Bless you, sis. It’s getting late. I’ll keep you updated—“

“Hold on.”

He stilled. He sensed something in her voice. An edge, a tension. “Yeah?”

“Heal me. Get me on my feet.” As he turned, she lay into him with her eyes. They were so intense they seemed to shine in the dim light.

He blinked. “I’m trying, sis. But the elixirs take time.”

“Then try harder. You’re some sort of Alchemy prodigy, aren’t you? Don’t healings usually take a day? How come lil’ ol’ me has you tripped up?” With a massive effort, she crossed her arms.

“‘Cause this isn’t just any wound, sis.” He scratched the back of his head absently. “This has still got some echoes of [Profound] qi in ‘em. Elixirs of minor healing can only do so much.”

“So?” She raised her chin, defiant. “Why’s that stopping you? If those don’t work, make new ones!”

“That’s… not how it works….” He gave her a weird look to hammer it home. “I’m an Alchemy apprentice, not a miracle worker.”

She gave him a side-eyed glance in return. “Isn’t your whole thing making new elixirs?”

“Well… healing elixirs are more complex,” he hedged. “They change you at a physical level. The ones I’ve given you so far only speed up the body’s natural healing processes. To do more would get into experimental territory...”

At her cocked head, he blushed. “At least, that’s what Alchemist Hu tells me.”

“So experiment.” She shrugged.

“Sis,” he said, his tone dipping into warning. “This is experimenting on you.”

“And?” One brow arched.

“Whaddaya mean?” said Dorian, matching her frown with his own. “What if I screw something up? It’s your body that’ll pay the price!”

“Don’t care,” she said. Her gaze was fevered. “This is the biggest Festival in decades, right? If I miss it I’ll never forgive myself.”

She stared him down like a hawk homing in on a mouse. “So? What’ll it be?”

He considered it. If he went with his fullest capacities he doubted she’d be injured seriously by anything experimental he made. She was essentially offering herself up as a test dummy. Interesting.

It was beyond strange to experiment on one’s own sister, but perhaps they could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement after all.

He nodded slowly. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

***

By the time he returned to camp it was nearing midnight and a cool languor drifted over the camp. People were sleeping or moving to sleep, growing slower, more labored. Everything was winding down. Soon it’d all ground to a halt. If ever the Desert neared peace it was in these liminal hours, straddling this day and the next.

He settled down to cycle some before drifting off.

Not five minutes in, however, he sensed something outside. A presence—muted, but at the least at the high end of the Origin Realm. He frowned. At this time of night? It was moving closer, and fast; more concerning, it was trying to hide its approach.

He bolted up. A dollop of qi filled his palms. Standing in increments, straining not to alert his would-be attacker, he stood. He kept cycling as though he’d noticed nothing. His stance, on the other hand, was primed for immediate violence.

The presence had now made it to a step outside his tent. It stood there, hesitant. Gathering an attack, perhaps? Planning infiltration?

Whatever it was, he wouldn’t give it a chance. He struck first.

He burst out of his tent in a blur, ramming straight into the trespasser. It—she?—was tall, human, and fell easily with a high-pitched shriek. In half a second he had her grounded, his qi shackling her utterly.

Then, belatedly, he saw it wasn’t a she at all. He palmed his face, groaning. “What are you doing here, at this hour? You’re aware my sis isn’t here, right?”

Hento Rust stared up at him. His face was pale and brittle as paper. Dorian sniffed. There was a pungent scent coming off of Hento that had him backing off the boy instantly. Sweat and—was that bodily fluids? “What’s that smell?”

“Don’t you judge me!” yelped Hento, wiping himself off. “Some people eat when under duress. I… make love. It’s a coping mechanism.”

Dorian closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, systematically erased the disturbing mental imagery, opened his eyes, and smiled. “Have you come to rob me?”

“What?! No!” Hento shook his head silkily. “On the contrary, I’ve come to learn.”

“What?” said Dorian, baffled.

It was the first time he could recall seeing Hento embarrassed. His cheeks were blooming roses. “It’s the night before the Festival. I don’t feel, how might one say it, ah, in a fit state to make the most of it.”

“…Meaning?”

“Meaning,” said Hento, rubbing the back of his neck. “Meaning—it’s not worth addressing much, really, a lowly instinct, to be sure, a mean, base trick of the mind—“

“Spit it out.”

Hento took a deep breath. “I would like to be brave,” he said, chewing on his cheek. “Like you. Will you teach me, please?” He looked at Dorian with big doe eyes.

Why was everyone coming to him with their personal drudgery today? Dorian rolled his eyes. What could he say that’d get him out of this conversation as fast as possible? Some nonsense wrapped in platitudes. A notion came to him.

“Brave?” He said, blinking. “I’m not brave! I’m scared all the time!”

“You… are?” It was Hento’s turn to blink at him in confusion. “That can’t be! Then—how do you run at Beasts headfirst? How do you fight like you do, without a care?”

“Oh, that?” Dorian grinned. “That’s easy! Cause if I don’t fight like that I let myself down. I let my Tribe down—maybe I let my sis or my friends get killed because of it! I’m more scared of that than I am of any beast.”

Stepping up, he pressed a finger to Hento’s chest. “I guess if that’s what you call bravery…the first step is to find out what you’re most afraid of?”

“What I’m most afraid of…” Poor Hento seemed more baffled than when he’d come.

“That’s all I’ve got to give!” He turned the Young Master around and gave him a helpful shove in the opposite direction. “A pleasure speaking with you, senior Hento! Goodbye and good night!”

He pulled his tent-flaps shut.

****

The next day, the whole tribe rose as one before the sun rose. At the Chief’s signal, they began one last, short march.

Today was a special day. They could all feel it in the air. As Dorian cycled, qi assimilated at nearly twice the usual rate; the closer they got to the Festival’s grounds the more it felt like walking through a dense swamp. For the next two weeks, this place would become a cultivator’s paradise.

After an hour’s worth of marching, Dorian saw movement in the distance. Fires. A smattering of dots that could only be tents. Then, more intriguing, an array of multicolored lights. Pulses of qi, still points far off but drawing closer fast.

They weren’t the first to arrive. One of the most momentous days of this run started now.