Common House Magazine

The light shone obliquely through the heavy clouds overhead. The grey overcast was as gloomy now as ever. A soft drizzle fell upon her. It was much more akin to a blanket than a shower as it pressed her with a relentless weariness; her thin shawl did little to prevent the rain from soaking through her mantle to her skin. The dark, faded greens of the flora glistened with the faint droplets of rain that had managed to pierce the upper canopy. Her horse slowly stepped forward at a pace slower than a walk through the wet mud of the path as it weaved around the tall trees that surrounded it. It was a hairy old palfrey with a spotted brown coat. It sported a mane of black hair and was blind in one eye, which caused it to wander off course from time to time. It would have been perhaps more economical to sell the horse or to simply leave it behind, but she couldn’t stomach doing something so heartless. Rhythmically, she rose and fell as the tired old beast plodded along the narrow, unused game trail. Covered in a film of water, she looked for a shelter of some sort along the forested pathway so that she could at last find some rest for both herself and her tired mount. She was used to the long days of travel, but today she felt especially worn down by the weather, which had slowed progress to a crawl and soaked her to her bones.

As she rounded a sharp turn along a bend in the trail, she spotted a purplish hue buried deep within the green of a thicket of bushes. Descending off the path, it became much clearer as to what she was looking at: it was an unnatural, purple blight, which she had become all too aware of in recent times. It had started off as an insignificant alteration to the flora in random locations, but its effects had worsened. What began as an unnatural growth would spread and spread until it eventually uprooted entire ecosystems. Many farmers had had their harvests destroyed because of this new disease, so she felt obligated to do her part and cut it out. 

She dismounted and approached the bush that held the blight. It was a dark shade of purple, evidently having been afflicted for a while despite the normalcy of the surroundings. The leaves of the plant were relatively unchanged while the flowers of the plant secreted a thin yellow fluid which seemed acidic to the touch. The disease imposed the feeling that something was alive within the plant, the way it seemed to pulse and twitch. Using a particularly sharp dagger, she stuck her arm deep within and cut at the afflicted branches. It took her a few tries of ineffectually scraping against the rocky bark before eventually she managed to slice the disease from the bush. Carefully removing her arm so as to not make contact with other surrounding flora, she put her knife into the pack on the back of her horse and found an open clearing devoid of any overhanging trees to lay the severed branch out. She had heard from many of the people affected by the blight that the only way to truly get rid of it was with fire. It was said that unless you smoked it out, it would only come back stronger. Fire was the only way. So, she took no risks. Grabbing her staff, she loosed a concentrated beam of flames onto the withered branch. Where the blight had previously been was now a scorched patch of earth. A thin pillar of smoke sizzled from the remains as the soft rain fell from above; seeing only charred dirt reassured her that she had destroyed any and all traces of the disease. Satisfied with the situation, she turned and mounted to restart on the path once more. 

“Hey!” called out a voice from behind her. 

Slowly turning towards the voice, she bowed her head slightly as way of greeting the man who had called out. He took this as his queue and began to approach her. 

“What’s your purpose?” he yelled out over the rain, though he could not have been more than a dozen or so feet away by now. “You get lost?” 

“I’m a travelling physician. I think I’ve strayed a bit from the road,” she replied honestly. “Is there a town nearby?” 

“Not for another dozen leagues!” he called out heartily, as if suddenly keen on something. 

“Any caves or particularly large trees then?” she asked with a distinctly sarcastic tone that could be gathered despite their distance. 

There was a brief pause. “I got a snug cabin not a few minutes from here. You could stay the night.” 

She was a bit put off by his immediate offer of hospitality, so she held her tongue. As silence reigned, he finally drew close enough for her to get a good look at him. He was a broad-chested man with a long brown beard and a crown of hair that did not reach the shining top of his head. He had a wide-set pair of blue eyes and defined laugh lines framing his wide gap-toothed yet smiling mouth. His most prominent feature was his large nose, which was swollen an odd shade of red. He wore a relatively dry set of linen clothes which, to her, somewhat confirmed his claim to live nearby. In his hands, he clutched a lumber axe that looked tiny and frankly fit to snap within the grasp of his massive hands. He appeared brutish and simple, but not dishonest. 

Noticing her scrutinising glare, he awkwardly spoke up again. 

“I saw the smoke nearby and left home to investigate, little missy. You oughta be safe about what’s near home.” He now spoke with a sudden defensive, clarifying kind of tone. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to decline,” she said. Although she couldn’t sniff out any mal-intent, she was hesitant to consent from experience. 

“It’s open forest for miles. I ain’t got much to give, but I’ve got food enough for three,” 

“Three?” 

“I’ve got a sickly son at home, could you see him?” 

Now there was a motive behind his hasty invitation: it gave her a strange sort of reassurance. This was something she could not overlook so easily; besides, seeing a sickly boy was far preferable to the prospect of sleeping outdoors. She spoke up, and after a few more minutes of conversation she assented to his offer of shelter. 

“Sorry for doubting you. Over the years, I’ve found people aren’t usually so quick to be kind,” she said with a thin smile. 

They made their way around thickly pressed trees for a while before arriving at the modestly sized stone cabin. As she stepped inside, she was met with a musty smell of wood that dominated the structure. It was a handsome little place, furnished with various furs the father had no doubt won from game hunted in the woods. Upon their entry, the man immediately went about drawing a bath and lighting a fire for his unexpected visitor. As he began, she bowed deeply in thanks and accepted his hospitality without a word.

They spent the rest of the night sharing casual conversation over drinks, spending much time glossing over stories of their youth. “A beautiful lady in a castle,” he recalled, had lived near his village during his youth, and he had taken every effort to win her over. He spent years harbouring his love until finally asking her to run away with him. As a purportedly charismatic and charming young man, he was able to secure her compliance, eventually stealing away in the dead of night and travelling into another country to start a family. She had died a few years before, giving birth to their only child. It was her last miracle, he said, that the boy lived at all. 

After their talk, she felt a bit more secure in her estimation of his character, and divulged some knowledge from the annals of her long life. She had done nothing of particular note, but he seemed endlessly intrigued by the long-winded stories she told. 

As the night drew on, she felt a pang of curiosity about the son whom the man loved to regale stories of. “Isn’t he here?” she asked. 

“The boy is sick,” he said, grimacing with an apprehensive expression. After a moment of silence, a thought occurred to him, which caused the gears to slowly turn within his head. He remembered why he invited her to his home to begin with. 

The recollection lit up his face with hope. “Could you see him, doctor?” he spoke with a nervous quaver and a strong emphasis on the final word. 

With the goodwill they had built that night, there was no way she could refuse. She was quietly led into the room of the sleeping boy. As she entered, she immediately caught sight of him. Approaching, she could see the boy was flushed red, hot with sweat, and unusually thin. Quickly uncovering the blankets to get a clearer look at him, she froze in terror. 

It was a rocky purple tumour on the side of his torso, no smaller than the size of a fist. The way it grew and shrunk with the boy’s breathing gave it a pulse; the veins were swollen and prominent, and leaking from the orifices of his pores was a thick, yellowish pus that seemed like it boiled the way it bubbled out of the body. It was revolting. It seemed like the already fragile body was being drained of its remaining nutrients; the unconscious boy croaked as the parasitic mass swelled and sent tremors through him. He was fighting with everything he had. 

The worst part is that she knew what it was. In its years of its existence, the possibility of the blight spreading to humankind had only been hearsay and myth – likely because those who had seen people affected had not lived to tell of it. Before her was the truth of it. She knew that facing this disease would risk not only her life but the man’s too; and that there was next to no hope of saving the boy. It was horrifying to watch. 

With a sideways glance, she spotted the man lurch forward towards the boy. With a flash of speed, she got between the man and the boy, who was groaning in immense pain. 

“Move,” the man said with a restrained anger that still showed clearly on his face. 

“I can’t.” 

The veins on his neck became more and more defined as he was choked by frenzy. He forced himself forward, and it took all of her strength to hold him back from the bed. His violent fervour grew with each second. He clamped his grip around her arm with a shaking hand, seeking to push her to the ground, but she wouldn’t budge. 

“He needs me,” he cried. “Look at my boy, he needs me! He’s dying!” 

“And what can you do to help?” she yelled with a temper that rose to match his. The disease had evidently gotten far worse in a short time – he was unstable at the sight. 

His fury was not quelled. His digging nails stung terribly as they pressed more tightly around her. “Move!” he boomed with staggering intensity. “He’s my only son!” he said in a heart-wrenching cry that turned into a choked sob as he continued, “Please!” 

As his rage turned into a desperate appeal, his grip slowly loosened. 

“He needs a doctor.” She spoke with an icy sanctity that silenced the room, save for the laboured breathing of the dying boy. “Let me do my work.” 

The man stood trembling, frozen in place. Deep anguish was carved into his features. Overwhelmed by the sudden swirl of despair and anger, he slowly fell to his knees. After a pause, which could have only lasted a few seconds, he finally softly spoke the words, “Save him,” in a hoarse, pleading whisper that was laden with an almost devout reverence.

It was all he could do to hold himself together. 

With a curt nod, she softly retired outside to retrieve her medical equipment, seeking to cut out the parasite or halt its progress, if at all possible. The man remained completely still. Before she could really put her mind into function, she was once more at the bedside of the boy. She bent over the boy and began her task. As she worked, she repeatedly attempted to get the man to leave the room; it took nearly until evening before he could be convinced to wait outside. 

She worked her spells and herbs over the next few days but to no avail. She would cut out pieces of tissue, drain blood from the body, apply ointments and antidotes, and cast magic, but nothing would do. She was able to slow down the process, but nothing would stop it. The blight continued to spread, unheeding her will. The boy’s body was now disfigured beyond recognition. Several body parts were bulbous and swollen purple, seeming like they would burst. Other areas were hard as stone, with mountains of rock giving way to streams of fluid that began dissolving the bedsheets he lay upon. All the while, it seemed like his muscles were being stretched and dislocated, the sinew clinging to bone by a thread: one of his arms reached down to his feet and the rest of his body was bent and contorted painfully. It must have been agony for him. Yet she could do nothing.

Leaving the room that day, she found the man once again waiting outside the door. She had banned his entry to prevent him from likewise acquiring the blight, but still he stayed as close as possible to the boy – mumbling prayers and desperate entreaties in order to somehow assist in the process of his healing. He had been like this for days now. She had not seen him move, but he had eaten the food she had brought for him and would fall asleep in his own turn; she figured it was hopeless to say anything anyways so she had taken to simply holding her tongue. She was doing all she could. 

That day, as she silently slipped by him, she looked down to see the great man hunched in a ball, peering up at her with beseeching eyes. He wanted to know how his son was. Taking a seat across from him, she looked him in the eyes with all of the solemness she could summon. 

“He won’t make it.” 

His entire body twitched at the remark, but he answered by looking down to the floor, apparently unresponsive. 

“He has maybe another day.” 

Saying this, she stood back up and slowly treaded towards the guest room she had been provided. It was another night without much sleep. She rolled in her bed, but, figuring that laying down wouldn’t do her any good, she decided to quietly step outside to cool down. As she left her room, she quickly noticed the man was no longer in the hall. Frightened, she opened the boy’s door, but to her surprise the man was nowhere to be found. After a brief search of the house, she stepped outside as originally intended to find the man silently staring at the sky. Approaching him with a sense of hesitant remorse, she spoke. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything,” 

There was a long silence that was answered only by the chill breeze of the midnight air. The man turned to her with a look of remote reproach. 

“You’re speaking like he’s already dead,” he said in a stifled chuckle, hoarse with a sardonic rage. 

A long silence ensued. 

“It’s within my powers to wake him up one last time,” she said, trying to make amends for her broken trust. “To say your final farewells.” 

The silence continued. 

“Come to his room before dusk tomorrow if you want to. It’d be too late after that – he’d be too far gone.” Saying such, she left the man alone in the darkness. 

The next day was more of the same. The decay only progressed: it was all she could do now to keep him alive until the man was ready to say his farewells. This was not the first patient she lost, but it most pronounced her weakness. It was proof she was not even capable of keeping a hold of something right in front of her. Someone who desperately clung to life – she let slip through her hands once more. 

After some time, she heard a weak knock at the door, after which he entered and meekly stood at a distance from the bedside. With a nod, she administered a magic remedy capable of bringing a dying patient to consciousness no matter the situation. The man was murmuring with worry as the boy’s groans slowly turned into coughs and his breathing became more irregular with the intensity of waking. She slowly backed out of the room, making sure to depart with an “I’ll be going now” to assure the man of his privacy. 

It was only a gesture however, and she continued to monitor the situation from the hallway. 

The boy slowly roused from his deep slumber. “Papa...” he said in a frail voice, which seemed like glass that could shatter at a touch. 

That one word was enough for the man to break into tears, but he did not move at all – likely remembering the words she had told him. 

“Yes, my boy?” he said with an affecting quiver to his tone. 

“I... I’m scared,” the boy managed to utter through heaving breaths. 

“Don’t worry – papa is here. You’ll be okay.” 

The boy tried desperately to raise his arm to reach for the touch of his father, but he lacked the strength to do so. He was quickly losing any semblance of consciousness he had remaining as he strained for the loving arms of his father. 

“Can you hug me, papa? It hurts. I’m scared.” 

The man, as if possessed, lost all hint of caution and went to the bedside of his child, grasping his hand and bringing him into a tight embrace. 

“Papa is right here,” he said, tears streaming down his face. “I love you. It’ll be okay.” 

As the man shook with emotion, she could see the acid already burning into his skin where his arms wrapped around the boy’s gnarled body. There was nothing more she could do. 

Silently, she withdrew. She paced from the hallway and out of the small wooden cabin with a sure stride that did not betray her intent. She would not let a hint of it show. It would be clean. She could make sure of that much at least. Grabbing the reins of her horse, she slowly moved away into the little pathway that led to the house. Once assured of the distance, she removed a tall staff which hung on the side of the worn saddle that hung by the side of the old palfrey. She stepped forward a few paces and readied herself. Holding the staff upwards, she recalled the words she had been told. Fire was the only way. Raising the staff towards the house, she closed her eyes as a mass of light coalesced around its tip. This was mercy. It gathered, filling the surroundings with a faint heat which grew until it burned the ground beneath it. With a sharp exhalation, she opened her eyes and released it. 

In a moment the wooden cabin was gone. Not even the stones of the foundation remained — all that was left was scorched earth. She remained still, holding the staff towards the ruins with a faint, unceasing tremor. Another failure. Slowly, she let the tip of the staff fall to the earth as her strength failed her. The sky was a bright azure blue. It shone with an intense passion that hadn’t been seen for a few days. Stepping through deep puddles of mud, she loaded her horse once more and mounted. Forgetting her purpose for travelling in the first place, she arbitrarily set off eastward. As she weaved her way through trees in search of another dirt trail, she stopped to look down at her hand, which had begun to ache with an unfamiliar dull throb. Gripping the reins, she noticed a faint purple swelling in her left hand.