Flashback Ravaged

[Verena Lorak]

Ravaged
80th of Winter, 511 AV

The banging on her door nearly made her jump right out of her seat. Verena ripped her attention away from the journal on her desk. She had been sitting in her room since she was awoken in the middle of the night, occasionally gazing out into the dark skies. Despite the absence of warmth, she wasn’t all too bothered by the cold piercing through her thin chemise. The cool was welcome, for it numbed the throbbing in her head. She was tempted to simply ignore the knock, but this time it was harder and almost panicked. Sighing, Verena stood up gingerly, tying a silk robe around her body and hurried to open the door.

One of the servants stood in front of her room, his eyes still drooping with sleep. He was probably just got dragged out of his bed to get her. “The head of the guards asks for you immediately, mistress. Please follow me.” Bowing to her once, the servant hurried on his way, not even letting her any chance to question him.

Hastily, Verena glided down the stairs, wondering what had happened. Most of the halls were dark, its candles extinguished for the night. That means that not everyone was bothered to deal with . . . this. Anything that came up in the middle of the night can’t be good - especially if it made someone desperate enough to wake her up.

Excitement sent her senses tingling with anticipation, making her alert. She wasn’t sure what to expect, really. To her surprise, instead of leading her to the family room, the servant kept going down until they had reached the basement. Eyes narrowing, she could not help feeling a bit suspicious. Finally, she understood that he was guiding her to the medical wing, where Loraks do their experiments.

Apparently, Verena was not the first to arrive. Luca and a few of his guards formed a tight ring around a bed, concealing whatever it was from her line of sight. They were all talking with each other rather sharply, at least until Luca told them to shut up. Zorane was already there too, dressed wearing only a worn pair of cotton pants, probably on the haste of getting here. A few slaves stood pressed on the wall, barely taking any space at all.

The fireplace was burning and the assortments of candles gave the room a decent lighting. Three beds were placed strategically, beside them were shelves filled with various herbs and poultices and books. She eventually got a glimpse of the legs of whoever it was on the bed. The young Lorak practically ran to him, her eyes immediately noticing the gashing wound on his abdomen.

“Who is this? What happened to him?” Verena’s voice rang loudly in the room, turning every head towards her. Her hands worked to pressure the wound, slowing the bleeding. Were they mad? Letting this man bleed out, just like that?

Zorane shook his head weakly. “I have no idea. I heard the commotion from the garden room.” He ran his fingers through his hair in an agitated gesture. “All I know is the guards carried him here for some reason.”

Her brother had barely finished his sentence when Luca broke away from his guards and turned to the siblings. “A few freeborns came in brought him here. Saying that they found him not far from our plantation. Unsure where else to go, they figured they might as well dump this dying man into our care.” He gestured at the scene behind him, his men finally backing away from the stranger. “We figured we should get you, Lady Verena. You are a proficient doctor.”

Her eyebrow went up at the statement. There were a lot of proficient doctors in her family. “Where is Lorana? She is better at this than I am.” As proud as she was with her skill, Verena admitted she wasn’t as proficient as her older sister. And looking at the man, she knew he needed someone who knew what she was doing.

“The Head is not here, Lady Verena. She’s off doing some . . . business. We do not know who else to seek out,” Luca explained rather briefly. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a gesture he did a lot. His eyes kept darting to the limp figure for some reason, almost like he expected for him to come alive all of the sudden. It made no sense to her, but Verena was barely bothered.

Her attention was drawn back to the bloody figure, her clinical eye cataloging every injury she was able to see. His face was bruised badly, his features almost indiscernible. The slight twitch in his jaw and eyelid told her that he was conscious, barely. Similar bruises painted his torso and she tried to speculate what befell this man. Most looked fresh, like it only happened a few bells earlier. He was lucky, he was found so soon.

Her fingers rested on his chest, applying pressure in various spots, checking for a fractured rib. Just as she reached the few inches below his heart, he jerked roughly, a soft groan escaping his lips. The guards around her jumped closer, afraid that this stranger might attack the young doctor. Not the least disturbed, her dark violet eyes grazed down the patient, noting the deep lacerations on his arms and chest. Almost like he was attacked savagely - by a wild animal perhaps? Yet, some of the cuts were to clean, too symmetrical to have come from claws.

With a deep breath, the young woman focused her djed, the magic flowing into her senses. She could feel the sharp pain the man was experiencing, the torn anguish. The air around him glowed in a pale color, too weak and dim for her to tell anything significant. Except that he was dying. His aura flickered with each wheezing breath his lungs took. He was dying. And he would be dead if she didn’t do anything soon.

She lifted a hand, gesturing for one of the guards to come forward and pressure the wound. Thankfully, he seemed to know what he was doing. Momentarily free to move, she rushed to the washbasin that had been filled with cold water. “Get Uncle Doromer,” Verena said calmly, dipping her bloody hands into the washbasin, scrubbing it thoroughly.

Luca’s eyes widened. “But, it is in the middle of the-”

Verena turned her head, eyes locking into the guard’s brown ones. He couldn’t be possibly questioning her after he had specifically wanted her to deal with this. And in order for her to do just that, she would need some help. “You heard me. Get him here right now.”

Shaking his head in dismay, the man bowed deeply and left with one of his guards. Luca was not eager to disturb the former Head’s brother and no one could truly blame him. Zorane, thankfully, unlike her sister, noticed the problem. There was no telling what their uncle would do if they had caught him in the wrong mood. “Perhaps, it’ll be better if I go with them,” the blonde-haired young man declared. It was actually a good idea. Dormer had always been less hostile to both of Yvenna’s children for some reason.

But Verena was not paying any attention to him, having to stand on the side of the bed already. The guard who had been pressuring the wound on the stranger’s stomach stepped away, giving her the space needed. Gingerly, she laid down her hand on top of the deepest wound. Almost immediately, the mark between her collarbones glowed softly. Deep inside of her, she could feel a connection, like the caress of the goddess touching her soul. Djed, or whatever it was, flowed into her. Something ethereal, something that was not her own. Sending her body buzzing with power. The Lorak was merely a decent healer, all she could do was keep the blood from flowing and the wound clean. She could not heal it, not truly.

She needed help. And she needed it from her mad uncle.

[Verena Lorak]

She knew for a fact that Uncle Doromer will not arrive in a flash. His greenhouse was located some distance away from the main house, even further than the slave barracks. And Rak’keli knows how long it would take for Zorane to persuade the older man. He rarely leaves his haven, not even for meals. Verena had hoped that he would be sentient enough to help her out.

It means Verena couldn’t count on him. The least she could do was deal with the less fatal wounds. Yet, if there wasn’t anyone someone more skilled available, she feared that the stranger might be doomed. What if his organs were wounded? What should she do? What can she do? She was not prepared for anything like this, not yet. All her life she had been groomed for this very moment, but she was caught off guard. All her previous practices had been done under the watchful eyes of someone more experienced.

Deep breaths, Verena told herself. She couldn’t do any good if she wasn’t thinking straight. Uncle Doromer told her it was important to prioritize and right now, that gaping wound on his left abdomen scared her most. I will have to do something about it, or he may bleed to death. His skin deadly pale and clammy, reminding her that she had no time to waste.

Clear as day, Verena realized what she had to do. I need to stitch him up. The realization came with a sense of dread. She had never actually tried using sutures on an actual patient. Also, she had no idea if he suffered from internal bleeding and closing it up could cause complications. “I can’t do this.”

As if in answer, the man coughed and spluttered, his body jerking up.

“Milady,” a guard said carefully, like he was afraid to spook her. “He’s dying.”

“I am well aware!” she snapped back. Of course she knew that. She got her hands on a wound that kept bleeding. “I must suture it,” her voice announced to anyone nearby. Her family’s guards were familiar enough with their practices that they would know what she needed.

Her instincts told her that she had to close him up, so that was what she had to do. As soon as the needle rested between her fingers, Verena pierced the edge of the wound. All she could see was the red for a brief moment – on the man’s skin, gloving her hands. She breathed in deeply. Her hands moved jerkily as she sewed the wound shut. She tried to imagine that this wasn’t any different from the cloth she used to practice. But it was. The man’s skin was warm and Verena swore she could hear his weak heartbeat. Verena finished it off hastily, knotting the silk securely. It was sloppy and messy – the work of an amateur – but at least the bleeding stopped.

Sighing in relief, the Lorak sagged against the bed. Her hands covered the injury once more. Not done yet. Beads of sweat rolled down her face as she struggled to keep the djed flowing. The stranger’s injury was far above her healing power, yet she pushed herself near the limit, her head pounding with effort to force his tissues to knit together. A part of her knew it wasn’t possible – that her blessing can only do so much – but she hoped that maybe, maybe if he was indeed suffering from some kind of internal wound that the healing would reach it. Even though it didn’t work, it almost gave her a peace of mind.

Verena felt like it had been bells until Uncle Doromer and Zorane arrived, when really it had been mere chimes. She could barely feel being pulled away by her older brother, his hands guiding hers and cleaning it from all the blood. Doromer took her place, commanding the room and started working on the stranger. For a moment, she thought that he looked like his old self – the confident, ingenious doctor – before he became a recluse. His hands moved in an experienced motion, sure and firm and graceful. Verena thought it looked beautiful. Like watching an artist painting a masterpiece. She settled herself on the next bed, watching.

By the time Doromer was finished, the patient was bandaged up and his breathing was stronger. He didn’t look so pale anymore and Verena knew that he was going to live.

Her uncle sat next to her, his hands already cleaned. “You were lucky. He didn’t suffer any internal wounds. You did the right thing. It’s awfully crude and he’s going to have a dreadful scar, but you saved his life. You learned well.”

She nodded, her eyes still not leaving the young man lying on the table. “I shall be more proficient.”

“Good. He’s your first in seventeen years, but there will a lot more from now on,” he replied as he left for the door. Verena thought it had sounded like a promise and she wondered what her uncle had in mind.

Inexplicably, Verena felt herself move toward the man, reaching for his hand. It was soothing, feeling his warmth and knowing that blood was rushing through his vessel. She had helped save his life. She had intervened fate and saved him. A wave of exhilaration washed over her and Verena knew this was what she was meant to do. It was not logical that she could feel so strongly about something like this, but she did.

For the first time since her betrothal, Verena didn’t feel quite so lost.

She turned her head toward the doorway. Most of the guards had left earlier, but a pair still stood by watching, in case the stranger turned violent. “Bring me an armchair. And later, send my breakfast here.”

[Verena Lorak]

“It has been what? Almost two days now?” Zorane asked as he sauntered into the room. His hair was wet and his cheeks flushed, like he had just come from a long bath. In his hands were balanced a tray of food. “You just missed a most interesting lunch, dear sister. You should go up, take a walk of some kind. I can bet it’s not really healthy being cooped in here for so long. It’s not like he can suddenly disappear.” Her brother gestured at the man.

Verena had never left the medical wing since the man was found, except for a bath and grabbing a book or two to pass the time. She didn’t mind. Every a few bells she would check for his pulse, making sure he was alright.

So far, he had not woken up. His pulse was strong and his skin was back to its healthy, tanned color, but he hadn’t opened his eyes once. Occasionally, he mumbled something in a language she couldn’t understand, but that was about as conscious as he gets. It worried her. He had not gotten the nutrition his body needs for quite a while now. “No, not really. Two days being in a closed space doesn’t affect a human’s health.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll just lay it out for you,” Zorane replied sharply as he placed the food on her lap. “Everyone thinks you’re obsessed with this dead man.”

“He is not dead.”

“I know, but he may as well be.” Her brother rested his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “At least he looked much better.”

It was true. Verena had spent most of her time here treating his face. Healing bruises were no difficult task for her and it was the least she could do. After the swelling had gone down, the young man’s features were visible and it would seem that he was quite attractive. It was surprising, considering how awful he had looked when he first came in. It had been one of the most intense healing she had ever done.

Zorane grabbed one of the two apples from her tray, tossing it into the air before catching it again. “Let us just say he woke up soon. Then what? He had nothing on him so he couldn’t possibly pay for further medical services.”

“I can treat him here,” Verena replied simply, as she said it the Lorak realized that was precisely what she would do. She would see this man get back to his full health, no matter what.

Her blond-haired brother shook his head with a sad smile. “So we are going to house an unknown foreigner right here? We know nothing about him. He could be a spy, a killer, a thief. Anything really. Lorana will never let him stay.”

“He’s gravely injured. Expelling him will kill him.”

The older Lorak sighed. He wanted to make his sister look at his eyes and understand how things are. The slaves, the guards will start talking and soon the rest of Kenash would hear about that Lorana’s sister was cooped up in the house, treating some mysterious man who wasn’t even conscious. But then, she would start asking him why it mattered. Even if she did understand, she’ll still refuse to leave this man. Verena was a healer and she wouldn’t be able to let anyone suffer in her knowledge. “If he stays, he’ll be a slave.”

“No, he will not. He has not done anything wrong.”

“I can guarantee you, Ver, that most of our slaves never did any single thing wrong. But they are still our slaves. Your man can’t do anything for a while and he’s of no use to anyone here. Either he better leave the city soon or he’ll be enslaved. You know that as well as I do.”

Verena had nothing to say to that, because she knew it was true. The concept of slavery had always been disturbing for her. She knew nothing else all of her life, but it always felt off. Wrong. To force others to work for them. Verena was not completely clueless about the treatments the slaves were receiving, but she knew she was shielded from most of it. She saw house slaves all the time, but the guards never let her get near those who worked in the fields.

Zorane automatically understood her sister’s silence. She was stubborn, if not anything. “I shall leave you to it then. Don't say that I didn't warn you.”

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It was about five bells later that the man stirred. Her supper was finished and a book replaced its place on her lap. Verena nearly dropped it in surprise. She stood up only to see his eyes fluttering open. He had the most striking eyes, a luminous shade between blue and green. The young man glanced around fervently, then propped himself up on his elbows.

Verena surged forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You are wounded. You should not make any sudden movements.” She grabbed a couple more pillows before helping him sit up. The pillows should prop him up well enough. The young man sighed as he settled back.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice hoarse enough that the girl rushed to offer him a glass of water. “Where the petch am I?”

“You suffered an injury and some travelers brought you into Kenash.”

He narrowed his eyes as if he couldn’t quite understand what she was talking about. His eyes flicked back and forth from her to the bandage around his body. Suddenly, he started talking rapidly in a language she didn’t recognize and when he realized it, he switched back to Common. “Kenash? Kenash in the Cyphrus, correct?” For the first time, Verena noticed that he had a deep accent, something foreign and exotic.

As she nodded, a soft rumbling caught her ears. It took her a moment to realize the sound had came from the wounded stranger. “You’re hungry,” she pointed out.

He smiled weakly. “Famished.”

The Lorak called out to one of the younger slaves, sending her to fetch a bowl of broth and a glass of water. The child bowed and scurried away after looking between the two.

“You have servants,” the young man pointed out. He scanned her up and down, the features on his face shifting. He took in everything about his savior, from her rich clothing to her spotless features. “You are clearly very wealthy.” When she didn’t really answer, he asked, “What is your name?”

“Verena.”

He smiled bitterly, looking down at his hands. “Nice name. I would offer you mine had I remember it.”

The Lorak’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t remember your name?”

It took him a while to answer, but Verena waited patiently. When he finally looked up, his eyes were bright with fear. “No. I don’t remember anything.”