The Tales of the Wanderer Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 4) Garrett Robinson (poetry books to read TXT) 📖

“All seems well here. Your shirt, please.”

Albern nodded and began to peel his tunic away from his body. It was stained with sweat and with much travel, but Dawan did not flinch as she helped him lift it off and hung it on a hook by the door like a fine garment.

“Where was it?” she asked, peering at his chest.

“Here,” said Albern, pointing. It was awkward, for the spot was under his left arm, but he had no right arm to make the motion with.

“All right,” said Dawan. She did not use her magic at first, but poked and prodded at his torso like any healer Sun had seen. Albern took her ministrations without comment, his gaze wandering idly about the room. Once he met Sun’s eyes and gave her a gentle smile, which Sun returned with some embarrassment.

“You do not have to remain if you do not wish to,” he said.

“I am all right,” said Sun.

Albern nodded and said no more. When Dawan had finished looking him over, she again placed her hands on his body, her eyes filling with magelight as she touched him first in one place, and then another. It took considerably longer than Sun would have expected. She thought that alchemists could see straight through something in just a heartbeat, but that seemed not to be the case.

Dawan finished at last and stepped back with a sigh. There was a second chair nearby, and she sat down in it, seemingly fatigued for a moment.

“I can see it,” she said. “It does not appear to be from your wending, which is a good thing. And I do not think it is an illness, either. It looks to be the remnant of some old injury, likely from a battle.”

Albern pursed his lips. “It has never troubled me before.”

“You are old,” said Dawan flatly, though she softened the words with a smile. “Medicas can do much with the body, but they can do nothing about such injuries, nor about age itself.”

“Well, then,” said Albern, nodding. “That is the best news I could have expected, and I am glad to hear it.”

“It would not be so agitated if you settled down and led a quiet life,” said Dawan.

Albern smiled. “Mayhap one day.”

“Days run short, my friend,” said Dawan quietly. “For both of us.”

He shrugged. “Who knows what the future holds?”

“Only one thing is certain,” said Dawan. “But come. These thoughts are too gloomy. Let us finish your inspection.” She turned to Sun. “You may remain, as before, but I will ask that you avert your eyes.”

“Oh, I … of course.” Sun felt her cheeks flame as she looked away. She was vaguely aware of some activity between Dawan and Albern on the other side of the room, but she busied herself studying the grain of the wood floor beneath her.

“Have you suffered any pains?” said Dawan after a bit.

“As you have said, I live a hard life.”

“Aside from the usual, of course,” said Dawan, her voice betraying only a hint of annoyance.

“No,” said Albern.

“Good,” said Dawan. There was more activity just beyond the edge of Sun’s vision. “All right, girl. We are done.”

Sun looked back. Albern was fully clothed again and smiling at the medica. Dawan had gone to a table beside her bed, where a small bowl of perfumed water stood. She dipped her hands in it, wiping them gently before drying them on a cloth. When she finished, she fixed her gaze on Sun, and there was a keen interest in her eyes.

“Have you ever seen a medica at work on an ander person before?”

“No,” said Sun quietly. “I have known ander people, of course, but this is … new. I have always been somewhat curious about it.”

“Well, you will rarely have a better chance to ask questions,” said Dawan, spreading her hands. “What do you wish to know?”

Sun leaned forwards, flattening her hands against each other before her chin. “I have seen medicas heal wounds, but then I have heard that they do not truly heal wounds.”

“That is true,” said Dawan. “In the case of grievous injury, the best we can do is a sort of … a sealing. It holds the wound shut so that our charge does not bleed to death. True healing must come from within. Our seal will wear away after a time, and there can be aftereffects.”

“Why?” said Sun. “Why can you not truly heal the wound? And why is a wending different? The changes an ander person goes through do not wear away.”

Dawan licked her lips slowly, shaking her head as though frustrated. “And there you have asked the greatest question of our art. The answer is that no one knows. A therianthrope can heal their own wounds, but though a transmuter’s power is a mirror of that branch, yet we cannot heal others. And no one knows why.”

Sun blinked, confused. Albern saw it, and he smiled. “Therianthropy is what wizards call weremagic, and transmutation is alchemy.”

“Ah,” said Sun. “Thank you.”

Dawan smiled and shook her head at them. “In any case, to understand why it is this way, we would have to know why bodies grow the way they do in the first place, and that is a mystery beyond anyone. All I can tell you is that we consult with our charges for a long time, making sure the patient knows exactly the way they wish their body to be, and that they have put that picture in our mind in as much detail as they possibly can. It is easier the younger they are, but then, most who are ander know it from an early age. But only once this picture is clear can we use our magic to realize it. If our job is done well, the body accepts the changes very naturally.”

“With no … no changing back to the way it was before,” said Sun.

“Correct. It is called reversion, in our craft.” Dawan paused, considering. “This is not part of our training, but … in