I awoke before sunlight pierced the bedroom window; it was probably around four o'clock. I had barely slept at all, the excitement and anxiety of my first day working at the Heath Health Clinic overwhelming me.
I lay on the floor and stared at the ceiling for a moment, my mind overrun with thoughts. I tended to overthink things, and right now, I was replaying everything I had done over the past week, making sure I hadn't forgotten anything.
Eventually, I got up and dressed in a pair of clean white scrubs from my sack. Before leaving the bedroom, I felt Zela's forehead to confirm she wasn't running a fever.
Moving down the hall, I made my way to the reception desk and took a seat. Now, we waited. With the clinic being on the outskirts of Ultsar, I knew customers wouldn't be lining up at the door. I just hoped for one patient today.
With all the chores done and no patients to attend to, I could immerse myself in the writings of my grandfather. Right now, I was reading a book titled Physical Therapy of Wartime Amputees. I had been focusing all my free time researching a way to fix Zela's leg. It was the main thing holding her back, and I knew it was what she wanted to heal the most.
Just as I was about to dive into the book, the door burst open. I flinched and instinctively stood. "Hello?" a woman called out desperately. She moved through the door frame and into the lantern light. She was on the shorter side and carrying a young boy in her arms.
I quickly moved from the reception desk to the waiting room. "Yes, ma'am, how can I help you?" She was breathing raggedly, her eyes darting around in panic.
"My son. Please," she said, moving closer and letting me get a better look at the boy. The feverish child had his eyes tightly shut. He was damp with sweat, and the collar of his shirt was stained a different color than the rest. A few possibilities about his condition raced through my mind.
"Come back here," I said, leading the woman to the first operating room. I set the boy down on the hard table and began running vital tests.
"What happened?" I asked the mother while listening to the boy's labored breathing.
The woman had tears streaming down her face, but she quickly composed herself and shared their story. "We were on our way to Ultsar from Preis and stopped an hour or two outside the city. But then my boy started getting sick. So, I ran the rest of the way to Ultsar and came to the first clinic I saw." I nodded, understanding what had happened. Traveling was always a major risk. If someone got sick and you were far from a major city, they were as good as gone.
"I see. What was your source of water on the journey?" Water was the most vital resource while traveling and was the main reason travelers died. They would see a stream or a lake and assume it was safe to drink, not realizing bacteria and parasites thrived in those waters.
"We prepared some water, which I carried in my bag, but we quickly ran out. I miscalculated how long it would take to get here, so we started relying on streams we came across to fill our canteens." I nodded. Exactly what I had suspected.
"Did the boy complain of any pain?" The woman nodded.
"He said his head hurt, and I told him to sleep it off, but his condition quickly worsened."
"Understood. He'll be okay." The woman's face washed over with relief after hearing that.
"Really?" she asked, looking at me skeptically.
"Yes, he will. From what you've told me, it seems the boy has an infection from drinking the water. This'll do the trick." I pulled out a small flask from my sack—the trusty healing tonic. The same one I'd given Zela.
With the boy's symptoms, he could have legionnaires' disease, cholera, dysentery, or any other common infection. All of which could be treated by the tonic. There was a small chance it was a parasitic infection, which would require more work, but for now, we'd try this.
"What's the boy's name?" I asked, removing the cork from the flask.
"Noah." I nodded.
"Noah, can you sit up for me?" Noah squinted his eyes and looked up at me. He tried to push himself up, but his arms were trembling. Seeing his struggle, I supported him until he was sitting upright.
"Drink this. It will help bring down your fever." I moved the flask to his lips and helped him drink, taking it slow to avoid choking him.
He took several short gulps and eventually emptied the flask. The tonic worked fast. I laid the boy back down on the operating table and turned to his mother.
"I didn't get your name either." The woman looked at Noah in surprise—his breathing was already back to normal.
"Ophelia." I nodded and removed a clipboard and paper from my sack. Seeing the use of my magic, the woman's eyes widened. She probably had a similar reaction earlier.
I jotted down the woman and the boy's names and wrote a quick description and potential diagnosis. I handed the paper to Ophelia, who sat with a confused expression on her face.
"With a little rest, Noah should be healed." Ophelia glanced from the paper to me, her mouth agape. "Also, take one of these just in case," I said, pulling out another tonic.
"How?" Ophelia asked, examining the tonic I had given her. She turned the flask in her hand. Everyone knew magic existed, though very few understood its power or how to harness it. Many medical professionals disapproved of such magic, calling it "the devil's medicine." This might have been her first time seeing it in action.
"It's just a simple tonic with healing and nurturing properties."
"…Okay," Ophelia eventually said. It was understandable to be skeptical. "Thank you," she continued.
Tears streamed down her cheeks once more. "Thank you!" Ophelia shouted, standing and embracing me. "I was so scared for him! Thank you!" I returned her embrace and stood there for a moment until she was ready to let go.
"I-I'm sorry," she said, backing away, embarrassed by her display.
"No problem. It happens all the time." A lie, but a good one.
"How much do I owe you for such service?" Ophelia asked, reaching into her bag. Considering the tonic only cost a few coppers to make and the treatment took only a few minutes, a silver coin would suffice.
However, Ophelia pulled out a handful of gold coins. She clearly wasn't struggling for money. Greed took over me. "For the entire treatment, one gold coin should be plenty." The woman's eyes widened.
"Wow! So cheap!" she exclaimed. One gold, cheap? I almost scoffed at her. She gladly handed me a gold coin, which I pocketed. Just then, Noah sat up. Sweat was still visible on his skin, but the redness on his face had disappeared, and his breathing was normal.
"What happened?" he asked, not remembering the whole ordeal.
"The water we drank made you sick. I'm sorry, Noah!" Ophelia rushed over and hugged her son, smothering him in her chest.
"I get it! I can't breathe, Mom!" Noah's scream was muffled, his arms flailing in panic.
"Oh, I'm sorry, hun." I watched the whole scene with an awkward smile on my face.
"Thank you, doc!" Ophelia shouted as she exited the door. I stood in a daze in the waiting room. What a character. How did she have so much money? I shrugged. It had nothing to do with me. I had helped someone and was one gold coin richer.
As I was about to move back to the reception desk, a knock came from the door Ophelia and Noah had just exited. Who could that be?
I opened the door, expecting to see Noah and Ophelia, but instead, I was met by a different person. They wore a hood that obscured their gender and facial features, though the robust chest and clothes beneath the cloak suggested it was a woman.
"Can I help you?" The girl nodded.
"I don't feel good," was all she said, though she sounded completely fine. I was cautious but accepted her inside.
"Alright, follow me. When did you start feeling this way?" I asked, trying to maneuver to where I could see her eyes. But she kept her head down and continued walking.
"Yesterday," came a cold, uninformative response.
"Okay, what are you feeling?" I asked, opening the door to the first operating room and walking inside. But as I stepped through the door frame, a knife was immediately at my neck. The moment I took my eyes off her, she struck.
I swallowed, my Adam's apple pressing against the blade of the knife. I could practically smell the murderous intent.
"What do you want?" I asked, sweat forming on my forehead. I was frozen, unable to move any of my limbs—though that was probably a good thing.
The girl tightened her grip on me. "Where is she? Where is Zela?"