“Are you writing all this down?” he asked, unsure about being in such close confines with so terrible a stench, even though he had been subjected to his own fair share of appalling smells and dreadful sufferings down the many long centuries of his life.
“Of course!” she replied, horrified to imagine that such a situation might come her way and she be remiss enough not to document its entirety. “I might not yet be aware of who exactly would benefit from it, but I am not prepared to lose sight of the significance of this poor man’s injuries.” Arianne had never truly seen such a thing, even in her own long experiences, and she was still somewhat struggling to reconcile her patient’s tenacious desire to live, with the all consuming nature of what he had thus far endured.
Several times, during the worst moments, when no sedation had been able to keep him at ease or free him of pain, she had begged him go to God and end his torments, for he was indeed a man of the strongest faith. Yet he had refused, no matter the consequence to himself
It made her wonder who exactly he was punishing.
His reasons for being thrust into her care, were hard enough to understand for one not particularly well versed in the ways of either politics or current social thinking.
Not that she was a fool.
Not by any means.
She was simply a woman raised to mind her business, leave the ways of men to those who could maintain them – whatever their ills – and do as she had been chosen by the powers of providence to do.
She was a healer.
And from that she took great contentment.
The rest was of little concern.
Or so she’d imagined.
Until there before her, lay a corpse refusing to die.
Though at one point she had figured it rather generous to even think of him in corpse-like terms, when he was but a fraction of anything immediately resembling life.
That he bore her husband’s face, had itself been made all the more shocking by those who carried him into her home, as they too were quite clearly of the same kin.
Stubborn then indeed, was her husband’s blood.
It was he who had taught her reading and writing, for until the day he discovered her to be incapable of either, she had simply retained her learning in her head, carrying all she had experienced and come to understand, in the very same way her mother had, and her own mother before that, seeing no other need to instruct anyone else once her people forced her into the forest and left her there condemned as a witch, to perish at the vengeful hands of the winter’s cold.
Fate had destined her life to a different path than the one men once thought to grant, and whilst she’d thrived upon being left to her own devices, it had taken her Mate to finally unlock the strange mysteries of reading and writing for her, that she might eventually keep record of all that she knew, and then aid others in need of her medicines.
Poor Quintus had often been hard pressed to keep her well supplied with the necessary tools, and he had learned to make a great many writing implements for her, from stylus and pencil, to tablet and paper. For she recognized the virtue of her continued crafts, and the need to leave instruction for anyone who might think to follow her path some day.
“He will live?” Quintus asked, not especially shocked at whose face he found himself staring at the night her newest patient arrived, but the man was of red hair, and he already knew that those with such coloring were more naturally inclined to tolerate pains with ease.
Although they also tolerated fools with great temper.
“In his place, so too would you,” she replied.
For the first few weeks she had barely left the man’s side, and been eager to assure him when he woke, that he was never alone in any of his anguish.
As time had gone on, Quintus fashioned various means for preventing him from causing any further harm to his damaged parts, and had expressed a certain fascination with the healing processes he could see occurring.
“As a human, without the benefits of our extraordinary nature, there would be no returning,” he muttered, “but as he is, he is.”
“And he is remarkable,” Arianne admitted. “Worthy of your blood line, husband.”
“And your tears, woman. I have heard you grieve for him. I have felt it.” He put her left hand over his chest. “Would that I had you by my side when first I was myself returned from the dead.”
“You torture was but brief compared to his.”
Quintus nodded sagely. “Ay, there’s the truth of it.”
“You ask me daily if he will continue to fight, and I tell you daily, yes. His body and it’s workings already fill several of those books you brought me from the city. I will need a good deal more before we are done.”
“And you shall have them, of course. One day there will be those who find your work of highest value. I don’t doubt it for an instant.”
“One day,” she mused, “when men no longer value life the ounce and death by the pound.”
Quintus kissed the top of her head as she turned from him back to her patient. “One day,” he answered firmly. “One day.”
As always, I am amazed by the stories I have read. They have given me a break in my crazy days. Houston is rebuilding after Harvey and as I am employed by an engineer, we are very busy!
Thank you again for sharing! I am glad that such talented people have come together and created this wonderful world.
I have followed BJ Jones since I first found her and read her Supernatural stories, that led me to this world and I am so glad I found my way here!