To Save a Life
Stars pulsed their cold and distant light upon the city, reminding Galsir of the eyes of the living and how they twinkle with their own inner shine, but when death snatches it away they become lifeless orbs in a cold waxen face.
Galsir Salpwelta paused before the threshold of the tavern called The Claw and Beak. It's sign dangled above the door which emanated laughter and music. He clutched his bag until his knuckles shown white. He was about to face his Uncle, the first time since that fateful day. He shook his head then pushed the door open.
The room was aglow with numerous Fire Bur braziers mounted into the walls casting the dozen tables below in rhythmic pulsing light and shadows. Men and women from varying places in Miligar sat or stood around the room, their simple or exotic clothing reminding Galsir of the birds that flew over his house back home in the mountains.
Serving women in simple gowns and hair pulled back into a braid weaved through the mass of people unloading their burden of food and drinks onto tables. A flamboyant woman and man sat to the side of the room playing a hurdy gurdy and a drum. Their droning and rhythmic thumping seemed to seep through the low conversations that floated through the air.
A stocky man in a rumpled shirt and trousers approached Galsir. Uncle Lybur had a wide grin on his wrinkled face.
He had a bulbous nose and shoulder length brown hair speckled with gray. Lybur stopped in front of Galsir then spread his arms out wide. “Welcome to Phydala!” the man exclaimed in a deep rolling voice. Galsir grinned, the tension from seeing his Uncle melted away. “Thank you, I thought I would never find this place.”
Lybur chuckled then waved Galsir to a table in the back near the door that led to the kitchen. Serving maids flowed in and out like fish in a river. They sat down. Lybur waved a young woman with wide eyes over and ordered a meal for both of them along with the tavern's best Apple Cider, then turned to Galsir as he set his bag on the floor.
“I didn't expect you to want to come here to study for your last two years. What changed your mind?” Lybur asked leaning back into his chair which let out a low groan.
Galsir pursed his lips then folded his hands onto the table, “ Giobraham institute is honestly a worthy place to learn the art of Restoring but, their lack of care for the cadavers was quite disturbing at times.”
“Ah, I've heard of that. It's sad how the Code of the Healer and Body Molders has fallen out of use.”
“Yes, Uncle, it is.” Honor the living; great and low. Preserve the dead; so that the living may prosper.
Galsir tried his best to live by that code.
Since Mareish's accident, he had too. Many thought it mere words but to him they were more then words; they were a creed, pushing him to heal and save lives. Lybur shook his head. “I can hardly remember it now. In my line of work we only follow the latter!” He chuckled then in a more serious tone, saying “Harvesting is not a business for the faint of heart. Do you intend to work the Harvesting field?”
The server appeared with two bowls of beef stew, bread, apples and two steaming mugs. She set them down. Lybur thanked, her rubbing his hands together. Galsir shook his head spooning up some stew. He took a bite. The rich and creamy substance tasted wonderful. He hadn't enjoyed a decent meal in weeks since he'd been on the road.
Someone yelled, then stormed out of the building, most likely losing some Gilds at a game. The music continued in the background along with the chatter.
“No, I intend to open a shop after my two years under you. I should know enough by then to assemble a double amputee and give him a lung as well!” He paused. “Uncle, I was informed by one of my Teachers that some kind of plague is spreading through the city?”
Lybur ripped a hunk of bread and began to dip it into his bowl. He grimaced then shoved the food into his mouth speaking around it, “ it's been about six months since it started. I'm not sure how many died, but by all the chatter I've heard from other Harvesting facilities, it's been quite a few.” He swallowed, then washed it down with the drink.
“But that doesn't make sense. If it's so severe, why hasn't anyone left or done something about it?”
Galsir stared with wide eyes. He had been warned of its dangers; Cacennoma was an illness of the skin and muscles causing lesions, fever, spasms, cramps and eventually death.
“It's strange the way it's spreading.” Lybur said. He looked around then slowly met Galsir's eyes, lowering his voice. “This doesn't leave the Harvesting Facility but, this sickness seems to only affect the healthy. Don't give me that look, I'm not a full Restorer, I just disassemble! All the patients we received were young and healthy mere days before they died.” He fell silent.
They finished their meal, neither uttering another word. When they scraped the last few morsels out of their bowls and drank all their cider, Lybur left a few Qinzer Gilds on the table then they left the establishment.
The cool air seemed to envelope them as they stepped out of the warm cozy tavern. Lybur walked across the road then entered a relatively clean alley. When they emerged from the other side a massive warehouse loomed before them. It appeared to sit in a spacious valley as most of the buildings seemed to shy away from it. The structure was rectangular with light brown plastered walls and a red tiled roof. The sign above the door in bold black letters read, Carez Harvesting Facility. Lybur led him past the building to a smaller rectangular building on the south side. It was identical except it had no sign above the door and windows were spaced along the side. A single brazier sat between the buildings giving enough light for Galsir to see by.
They stopped on the door step of the smaller building. Lybur withdrew a key, then opened the door. It swung inward on silent hinges. A few fire Bur Braziers pulsed dimly down the long corridor. They stepped in.
Lybur continued down the hall quietly pointing out the dining room and kitchen then listing off the hours when each meal was served. Then he led Galsir to his bedroom.
“The healer who was employed before you left a few weeks back. Stated he couldn't handle the impending doom.” Lybur chuckled morbidly as he withdrew another key stepping up to the last door on the ground level.
Galsir took slow deep breathes. He hadn't believed his teacher at first but after all the stories that flooded into the school in the last few months he couldn't help but accept the facts. Nevertheless he couldn't let fear drown out his drive to become a Restorer and his Uncle was one of the best body disassemblers in the business.
Once he'd received a letter from his Uncle explaining the job opening for a Restorer, he couldn't refuse.
The sound of the soft click of the key unlocking the door followed by his Uncle pushing the door open brought Galsir's attention to his new living quarters.
It was dark except for the faint light of the moon shining through the window at the far end of the room, making the furniture appear like dark lumps. Lybur fumbled to a corner of the room. Galsir stepped in then set his bag on what appeared to be the bed. He heard the sound of a drawer opening then the strike and flash of a match. Lybur lit a candle which was mounted in a simple holder, blew the match out and set the stick on the lip of the candle holder tray.
“You are located next to the Restorers room -” he motioned with his free hand to the right. “- if anyone is injured you will perform your work in there.
"It was fully stocked this morning. Also, you will accompany me on my runs, to inspect the patients than help assist in dissembling them. We have an early start tomorrow so you better get some sleep. Goodnight.”
Lybur handed him the candle and key, smiled, then walked out the door, closing it softly.
The next morning Galsir woke before the sun fully crested the city, bathing it in a cool light that reminded him of something fresh and new. Birds chirped outside his window as he quickly slipped on loose black trousers, a fitted white shirt with a black vest over it, then pulled on his simple black shoes and grabbed his coat. He quickly left the room, locked it then dashed out the door. He couldn't think about eating. His nerves got the better of him and he mostly stared at his plate.
When he stepped outside, a handful of men stood a distance away chatting to each other. Galsir rubbed his hands together, his breath coming out in white puffs as he darted to the front doors of the Harvesting Facility. He took a deep breath then grabbed the doorknob and pushed it open.
He entered a rather spacious room lined with chairs. It reminded him of Mrs. Delgith's sitting room back home, with minimal decorations and plenty of sitting space.
A door on the opposite side of the room opened then an Élunnon man stepped through. His black hair was pulled back into a long braid, his face was boxy with dark almond shaped eyes and his skin was a dark tan that seemed to have been sucked dry and stretched across his face.
He wore a long dark tunic that extended to his mid calf and tight trousers beneath. His heavy boots thumped on the wood floor as he strode towards Galsir, a bored look on his face.
“Are you the new Restorer?” The man demanded stopping in front of Galsir.
Galsir nodded “Yes, I am. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Rodin”
The Élunnon man looked Galsir up and down. “Next time enter through the back door. Customers do not need to see you or anyone else who works in the back.” Mr. Rodin sniffed, then shoved past the young Restorer. Galsir stumbled back watching Mr. Rodin walk out the main door.
Not wanting another confrontation, Galsir followed the man out the door then rounded the building. There were three doors; two connecting to the dissembling rooms and one to the supply room. He tried the closest door with the words 'disassembling' above. It was locked. He moved to the last one at the furthest corner.
The sun's rays penetrated the city now, providing a touch of warmth to the Autumn- chilled day. He opened the door, stepping into a medical office. A large heavy table stood in the center of the room with shelves lining most of the wall space. Another door in the right corner of the room led most likely to the storage space in the center of the building where all the remains were stored. Galsir slowly stepped in closing the door behind him. A sweet delicate scent wafted through the room. He stopped next to the table then, as he noticed something moving out of the corner of his eye, he turned. Lybur crouched in the corner mumbling to himself. Galsir leaned against the table.
“Good morning.”
Lybur jerked in surprise, dropping something that made a heavy thumb. He turned.
“Oh lad, you will send me to my death sneaking like that!” he scolded, though a playful grin spread across his wrinkled face. “Help me count these jars.”
Galsir joined him. “I met Mr. Rodin. Friendly fellow,” Galsir stated shifting the jars around. Lybur let out a rumbling sigh that almost sounded like a bear.
“Yes. I don't understand why he still owns the place. Best you keep out of his path and mind your work.”
The rest of the hour Lybur showed Galsir the equipment and different Burs they had in stock. Lybur opened the door to the storage room when a young boy of eleven scurried in. His cheeks were rosy and his breath came in puffs. He wore simple work clothes and his long hair was plastered to his sweaty face. Lybur took a step back, a frown on his face. “Master Barlish, what news do you bring?”
Galsir casually placed his hands behind his back. The boy – Barlish- must be one of the Facility's errand boys. Most Harvesting facilities had three or even five boys to dash about the city gathering supplies or running ahead of family members who would bring a loved one to be processed.
The boy straightened.
“ Baron Nal Hélchez's third son has died. He needs your assistance.” Barlish replied, then told them the address and dashed out again. Lybur cursed under his breath.
He looked at Galsir with a most disturbed stare. “The illness most likely has struck again. Come along, we must gather our supplies.”
In moments they each had a black bag filled with vials of various liquid Burs that aided in comforting the living and cleansing and embalming the body of the dead.
There was a stable yard further back from the main building with three wagons and a half dozen horses. Lybur harnessed two of them and led them to the wagon while Galsir placed the bags in the bed along with blankets and a wooden stretcher. Once everything was in place, Galsir climbed into the passenger seat and Lybur got the horses and wagon into motion.
Galsir sat quietly watching the city move around him. People going about their day, buying and selling, preparing food and eating it. Most of them were unaware of the pains and sorrows others had to bear or how life was so fragile. He looked up just as two men casually walked across the road. Lybur yanked on the reins forcing the horses to stop, sending both men and their gear jolting forward. A dull crack sounded from the back of the wagon. Lybur shook his fist at the two young men who continued on their way, oblivious to Lyburs complaints.
Galsir watched the men as they disappeared into the crowd. They both wore heavy black coats with a single red circle sewn into the center of the back. Lybur flicked the reins,encouraging the horses to continue.
“Lybur, did you notice the men's coats?” Galsir turned towards his Uncle. Lybur nodded.
“Yeah, they are a part of Creedik's blood. A ruthless organization that deals a lot of their goods in the black markets and sells illegal Burs at half the price they're worth.”
He glanced at Galsir then shook his head mumbling under his breath. Galsir glanced back into the crowd where the men were. Creedik's Blood was an old legend about a hero who slayed a beast then drank its blood to gain its strength and power. Of course it was only a story, no such fact was true. He heard many stories in the school of men who tried drinking the blood of certain animals who gained Bur abilities; they usually died from a strange toxin in their body.
The rest of the ride was in silence until they reached the location. It was in a district closer to the palace. The streets were wider and less packed. Men and women in gowns of brighter hues strolled down the street. Lybur stopped the wagon then they hopped off. Lybur went up to the gate telling the guard who they were. Galsir climbed into the wagon's bed and checked on the bags. His bag's vials were all mostly smashed, the liquids mingling and creating a foul-smelling concoction.
He scowled. His first day was quickly going down hill. Lybur returned. Galsir explained the situation, the older man sighed once again then motioned for Galsir to grab the remaining bag and follow him.
The walk inside the courtyard was as if they had entered a lavish countryside cottage with flowers of varying hues, most kept alive and thriving by a mixture of Bur infused dirt causing the plants to grow taller and their scent to permeate the air with a strong fragrance. A servant in black and purple livery opened the door before they stepped onto the porch.
He led them through a series of corridors and sitting rooms decorated with gold and silver wall panels and other lavish decorations, and Galsir couldn't help but wonder at the price of it all.
They turned a corner and the sound of weeping drifted down the hall, bringing a memory back to Galsir's mind of when Mareish was laid upon his bed, mangled and dead, his parents and siblings weeping over him.
He quickly banished it from his mind. When they finally stepped into the room, Galsir couldn't help but gasp.
It was as lavishly decorated as the rest of the house, with a dresser, wash table, and writing desk on one side and a massive bed with a canopy of red velvet drawn up, accentuating the bloodless face of a young man. His eyes were closed and his skin was covered in purplish blue lesions. The rest of his body was covered by a deep maroon blanket. He looked like Mareish, the resemblance was striking.
A group of men and women of varying ages stood by the bed, each of them comforting one another or themselves, their eyes haunted and sorrowful.
Lybur gave a curt bow towards a tall man who stood at the foot of the bed. Baron Nal Hélchez was a large stocky man with light brown hair beginning to gray and a proud straight nose. It appeared he had slept in his clothing.
Baron Nal turned towards them, his eyes were red and swollen. “Master Lybur. Thank you, for coming. Please.” He spoke in a halting, quiet voice, motioning for him and Galsir to position themselves around the bed. A young woman stepped out from the small crowd, kneeling at the bedside.
She looked even worse, her dark hair lay limp about her shoulders and she wore a robe which she constantly pulled tight around her neck as if hiding herself.
She looked at Galsir, tears beginning to stream down her face. He quickly looked away. The Baron snapped his fingers and said as servants entered, “Forgive my daughter-in-law. My son, Mazin, and she were just married a few weeks back.” He then motioned for the servants to escort the dozen family members out of the room, along with Mazin's distraught wife who began to moan and sob.
Galsir and Lybur exchanged looks then Galsir moved to the other side of the bed where the woman knelt just moments before while Lybur began to examine the body.
“Just like I thought. Cacennoma.” Lybur sighed. Galsir set the bag beside the body then Lybur quietly asked for him to retrieve the stretcher and blankets.
A few moments later he returned with the items. They quickly went to work under the watchful eyes of the Baron who stood like a sentry, silent and cold.
They stripped and rubbed him down with sweet-smelling Finlish Bur, to mask the growing odor. Then they rubbed him down with preserving oil Burs to help keep the body from breaking down too quickly. With gentle guidance, Lybur and Galsir wrapped the body in the cloth then laid it on the stretcher.
Lybur wiped his hands with a clean cloth then extracted a bottle with a lavender-hued liquid inside. He slowly approached Nal Hélchez who peered at him from the corner of his eye.
“We will take our leave now my lord. An errand boy will stop by tomorrow to let you know when you can visit the facility and pick up his ashes, or any other item to remember him by. Here is a small token of our condolences. Selvish Bur. Rub it beneath the nose and the pleasant scent will help calm the nerves.” Lybur gave a deep bow extending the bottle towards the nobleman. Nal vaguely nodded, taking the bottle then let his eyes slip back to staring at the now empty spot on the bed.
They quickly moved through the house. Thankfully, a servant appeared and guided them back to the front doors. Galsir could still hear the distant sobs of the young nobleman's wife.
Honor the living; great and low. Preserve the dead; so that the living may prosper, Galsir thought to himself. He found an almost comfort in reciting the Restorers and Body Molding Code when facing straining moments in his field. Back at the school, he had volunteered to assist in bringing cadavers to the study hall for class or gathering equipment, making sure to respect the bodies, knowing they once were living, breathing people.
He halted a moment, seeing the young woman standing in a doorway. He respectfully inclined his head in her direction. She swallowed, wiping tears from her cheeks. Galsir then returned his focus to the stretcher as Lybur grunted for Galsir to keep up.
The sun was almost above them when they reached the facility. The large square was bustling with people carrying supplies, wagons pulling into the back of Carez Harvesting Facility dropping off bodies, or picking up orders. Lybur drove the wagon to the back door.
The stable hands quickly took the horses and wagon away once Galsir and Lybur took the body from the back leaving the rest of the supplies from the wagon beside the door. Once they set the stretcher on the table Lybur retrieved the rest of the items.
“Lad,” Lybur said, closing the door and setting the one bag with the intact vials on a shelf. “You may proceed in assessing Lord Mazin while I clean out the bag.” He walked to the door leading into the building, then paused. “He looks so much like your younger brother,” then he stepped out and closed the door softly.
Galsir let out a breath. He'd never performed an assessing on his own before. Staring into Mazin's pale face he couldn't help but feel disturbed. How would he feel if it was his brother and he had to slice him open?
He smoothed his mustache then rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands in a washbasin in the corner. He returned to the table, then gingerly pulled the sheet off and laid it to the side. He began to check Mazin's external features.
His eyes looked fine along with his nails, and teeth, but his skin was deemed unusable with the lesions and sores. Galsir took a deep breath then slowly let it out, wiping his sweaty hands on his pant legs. Lybur returned. “I see you are about to inspect the internal organs.” He hesitated, “I can do it, if you don't want to,” Lybur finally said. Galsir shook his head, then asked where the tools were.
The older man showed him where the incision knives, trays, and storage boxes were then they gathered the items needed and set them on the table beside the corpse's head.
“The patients that had this illness tended to have healthy organs. It will probably be the same with him.” Lybur stated matter-of-factly, slipping a heavy canvas apron on. He handed Galsir one. Once Galsir had his tied on, he picked up a thin knife. Galsir glanced at Lybur who motioned for him to proceed. He laid the blade on the top of the sternum, then glanced at the dead man's closed eyes.
They twitched.
Galsir recoiled, dropping the blade. It clattered on the dark wood floor. Lybur blinked, staring at Galsir.
“What's the matter?”
“I-” Galsir licked his lips, blinking. “I saw his eyes twitch!”
“That's odd. His body should have gone through the body spasms a while back.” He suddenly looked at Galsir, eyes narrowing. “Don't tell me this is connected to your brother. Galsir, you need to let go of that! As my assistant and a Restorer, you need to put personal matters aside.” Lybur sharply exclaimed pressing his lips into a thin line.
Galsir averted his gaze feeling his cheeks flush. He knew there was nothing he could have done; no one could have saved him. Then why did he feel like he'd failed?
Lybur looked back at the body, then peered into the man's face. His eyes twitched again.
Lybur mumbled something. Galsir forced himself to breathe slowly, his heart pounding against his ribs. He shook his head, feeling foolish.
Of course, the body went through body spasms a few hours after death. He bent over and picked up the knife, then froze. The dead man's fingers began to twitch, almost rhythmically. Galsir reached out and checked his pulse. He knew there wasn't any point because Mazin was dead. Galsir's face suddenly felt cold.
A faint yet strong pulse pushed at his touch as if demanding attention. Galsir's breath caught in his throat.
Lybur looked at him, noticing his motions. He opened his mouth then closed it. He checked the pulse as well, then cursed softly.
“Oh, by Melcrik's bow!” Lybur took a step back, letting his hands drop to his sides.
Galsir's mind began to race. How was this possible. They knew he was dead, his family heard his breathe leave his body. Unless.
“Uncle, I need you to fetch me an errand boy, quickly!” Lybur nodded then dashed out the room. A moment later he returned with Barlish.
“Barlish, go to the closest Bur shop and buy six ounces of Nji powder. Quickly!” Galsir demanded taking off his Gild belt and thrusting a few of the coins into his hand. Barlish ran out the back door. Lybur looked sharply at Galsir, a dark expression forming across his face while Galsir replaced the belt around his waist.
“Nji powder? That counteracts illusion Burs.”
“Exactly.”
Lybur swore again, planting his hands on his hips. One of the classes Galsir took, Death and the process that follows, explained in one topic the clues and evidence of body thieves. If desperate, they would use illusion Burs to kidnap victims, then kill them.
Galsir stood by the table, blade in hand while Lybur paced the room, his expression pained. Galsir watched him. How many others could have been like Lord Mazin. Assumed dead because all the proper signs of a lifeless body were evident. His stomach clenched at the thought.
The boy soon returned puffing again with a small brown sack tied at the top. Galsir thanked him then explained to not tell anyone as he shooed the boy out closing the door. Lybur stopped pacing and looked at Galsir as the young Restorer grabbed a bowl, filled it with water then grabbed a spoon and dumped the greenish-yellow powder into the liquid. He stirred until it was blended.
Galsir leaned over the unconscious form, pried his mouth open then poured the sickly smelling contents down the man's throat. Lybur walked over. Mazin didn't react as some of the liquid dribbled down the corners of his mouth. Galsir grabbed a clean cloth and wiped his face.
“Best move him to your office. People will begin to ask questions if they see him.” Lybur said quietly positioning himself at Mazin's head. Galsir gave a sharp nod. He quickly set the used bowl and spoon beside the washbasin, grabbed the rough cloth that had covered Mazin before and draped it over his body leaving his head exposed, then moved to the other handles.
They were able to get to the backdoor of Galsir's office with no trouble. Thankfully, the few people around didn't pay attention to them. When they got inside, they quickly set the stretcher on the wooden floor, then lifted Mazin onto the exam table. The room was roughly the same size as the Disassembling room, the walls plastered and painted a dark green. A decent size fireplace sat in the far wall and a shelf identical in the previous room took up one wall with vials, jars, and books. Three chairs lined the remaining wall.
Galsir scrubbed his hand over his cropped head. He was doing everything he could to stay calm.
“Uncle. We need to report this.”
“I know, I know!” Lybur raised his hands in exasperation. He dropped into a chair sitting along the wall. “Lad, do you know what this means?
"Half the Restorers who work in Harvesting Facilities will be charged with murder, possibly given the charge of body thieving and hung.”
He rubbed his face with his hand. Galsir felt his heart drop. Body thieves were common closer to cities where Harvesting Facilities were more numerous. They tended to sell body parts at a knock-off price to Body Molders. It was a vile practice of which he was thoroughly warned at School.
The door stood ajar, letting in a cool breeze. Galsir realized how dark the room was without any windows. He started a fire in the hearth, then shut the door. “We must keep him warm. The body tends to lose heat when in this state.”
Galsir opened a cabinet at the bottom of the bookshelf, looking for a blanket.
“How long before he will wake up?” Lybur said. The sound of a chair groaning, then feet scraping on the floor followed. “Whoever wanted him is probably going to be searching for him by now.” The older man stopped next to Galsir just as he found a gray blanket. It was thin, but it would do.
“It will take a few hours at most.” Galsir suddenly felt exhausted and drained. He placed the blanket over the other cloth. Strangely enough, his stomach grumbled. He decided to get something to eat since he had nothing else to do at the moment so he headed to the kitchen where rolls and a spicy soup were being served. He grabbed two bowls and two rolls then returned to the room.
Barlish stood in the doorway that led outside, his body rigid as he stared at Mazin, now visibly breathing, his chest falling and rising. Lybur stood by the boy, talking quietly. He turned and left once Galsir stepped into the room and set Lybur's bowl and roll on one of the vacant chairs. “What did he say?”
Lybur stood there a moment looking outside, his back towards Galsir, then he yanked the door closed and turned, his expression darker than before. “The boy says that someone put a payment down for Mazin's remains. All of it.”
Galsir clenched his jaw. He now knew for a fact that body thieves were heavily involved. “Uncle, do you know frequent purchasers from certain Body Molding shops?”
“No, Rodin doesn't show me the ledgers. I'm a disassembler, remember?” Lybur snapped rubbing the back of his neck. He paused.
“Actually, another old man like me, who works for Rodin in the front office told me that a facility in the North-Western sector of the city was making purchases. The only facility in that section of the city is Copperlils facility. It's not a savory part of town, if you know what I mean.”
Galsir nodded absentmindedly, gesturing to Lybur about the food. Lybur thanked him and began to eat. As soon as he was done he, left saying the buyer would probably ask when it would be delivered. He had to make up some excuse until they knew what to do. Body Molders were not a bad lot; larger populations meant higher need for Body Molding, especially in high risk work such as Bur harvesting, Smithies and the military. Restorers and Body Molders were respected, even though the former tended to help the body heal and not take away or add better parts while the latter's primary focus was on enhancing the body with Bur infused parts or providing a much needed body part like a missing limb or failing organ. He ate his food, eyes fixed on the young Nobleman.
Would he be able to save him?
When he was done eating he set his bowl aside then checked on Mazin. His breathing was stable,and his temperature was slightly higher, which in this case meant he was slowly reaching the normal body warmth. The lesions and boils on his skin looked slightly fainter. The amount of illusion Bur he was given wasn't a strong enough dosage to keep him out for long.
The back door burst open. Lybur stumbled in followed by Mr. Rodin, and close on his heels were half a dozen men in dark loose clothing who looked ready for a fight. Galsir took a step forward. “Excuse me, Mr. Rodin, I'm with a patient.”
The last word came after a hesitation. Mazin started off as a corpse and now he was alive. Not the usual patient, indeed. He shook the thought out of his head. Lybur moved to stand beside the row of chairs, scowling at Mr. Rodin who looked around the room. When his eyes fell on the table with the young Nobleman on it, his eyes widened. They snapped up towards Galsir, then to Lybur. “Is this your doing, Mr. Lybur? Am I running a house of fools?”
A perplexed expression washed over Lybur's wrinkled face.
“Sir?”
“I looked in our ledgers this morning and Mazin Hélchez is DEAD!”
“But, Sir, he breathes!” Lybur gestured, moving toward the table.
Galsir watched placing his hands behind his back. The men fanned out in the room, eyes on Lybur and Galsir like vultures waiting for their chance to move in. Rodin gave Lybur a blank expression.
“We are a Harvesting Facility, not some Body Molder trying to bring a corpse back to life. Leave that to them. Men, take the body to your facility. I'm sorry for any trouble this has caused you.”
The men moved in snatching the stretcher from the floor and roughly moving Mazin onto it. Galsir watched dumbfounded. He rushed around the table. “Wait!” he cried, “This man lives! Can't you see that. HE LIVES!”
Galsir shouted the last words, grabbing one of the men by the shoulders. He turned and back handed Galsir. Lights exploded across his vision as he stumbled into the table, smacking his hip against it. A jab of numbing pain flashed through his hip and down his leg. Rodin turned toward Galsir, pointing an accusing finger at him. “If you try something like this again, I will remove you from the property myself!” Rodin glared at him a moment then spun, his long dark braid seeming to cut through the air. Then he marched out, leaving the men to finish their work. When they left, Lybur dropped into a chair letting his head sag into his hands.
Galsir braced himself against the table, one hand to his cheek and the other clutching the table, his hip dully throbbing. Honor the living; great and low. Preserve the dead; so that the living may prosper. That was the Code he vowed to follow. Before his eyes he saw it all shatter, for what? A quick Gild to spend? A life was more then that. He couldn't save his brother, but he could save this man.
He squared his shoulders, pushing away from the table, his hand still clutching his stinging cheek. “I'm going after them. Contact Baron Hélchez, he will put a stop to this.” Galsir looked at Lybur who was slumped forward. “Why? Why should we save him, when countless others were not saved?” Lybur's voice was thick with grief. He sniffed. Galsir stood still a moment, staring at his Uncle.
Growing up, Lybur would visit his family in Salcá, where he grew up. He was cheerful and stood by what was right.
“Uncle, everyone told me that day, the day Mareish died, that I couldn't save him. There was no point in saving him.” He approached, then stood near Lybur who was staring at the floor. Lybur looked up, a haunted look glistened in his eyes as he let the tears flow.
“I did everything I could, EVERYTHING to save that boy who was attacked by a mountain cat, but he lost too much blood. His body was too mangled, but I tried because he was my brother! In school, I learned that Restorers and Body Molders value life; they see it's worth fighting for!” Galsir whispered, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. In the winter it was going to be six years since the wild cat killed his brother in the mountains. Six years since he vowed to become a Restorer.
“Lad, I'm truly sorry for what happened to your brother, but people will kill for what they want. They don't easily let go.”
“Fine, but I won't let go, either.” Galsir stated. He turned then marched outside leaving Lybur sitting in the chair.
He took a horse then inquired of the stablemen where the previous group went with the body. They silently indicated their answer with a gesture, then Galsir climbed onto the horse and heeled it into a gallop. The grounds were crowded with people, forcing him to slow down or shout for them to move. Many glared at him as they leaped out of the way while others shouted rude remarks. He followed the main thoroughfare. After a few turns, he saw a wagon with six men in it. He knew it must be them!
He pursued the bouncing cart as it turned down streets lined with fabric shops and then others lined with numerous other wares. The sun hovered above his head but the warmth barely reached as the cooler weather resisted, stealing any reminders of summer away. The wind tugged at his mustache and clothing, his exposed fingers and nose became red and numb.
The city sat on a flat open plain, making it impossible to get a better vantage point unless you climbed onto a roof, which Galsir had no time for.
He continued to follow the wagon, barely getting a glimpse before it disappeared around a corner. He rounded the next bend then pulled the reins hard forcing the horse to rear up.
They were in a square similar to the one at Carez Harvesting Facility, but it was smaller with heaps of trash scattered about and ragged people huddled around fires in a distant corner. Galsir turned the horse around and dismounted at a tavern, tying the reins to a hitching post. He then slipped back into the square, staying close to the perimeter. All Harvesting Facilities were set up the same way; large blockish building with the reception rooms up front, the body storage in the center, then the supply and dissembling rooms in the back. The front entrance was obvious, facing the main street entrance and exit, the rest of the square had narrow alley ways possibly leading back to a road, or a dead end.
He slowly made his way to the back, stepping around trash piles that reeked and people who snarled at him if he got too close, all the while trying to keep his eyes on the men who unloaded the wagon and hurried Mazin's body through a back door. As soon as they disappeared, he rushed over. The stable behind the facility was just as rundown and ragged as the main building with tiles missing and large chunks of plaster flaking off the walls.
He approached the center door where he saw them enter, then tentatively opened it. It was dim inside. He slipped, in then closed the door, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Once they did, he saw he stood in a short hallway that led to a single room ahead. He quietly inhaled, then let it out.
There was no going back now.
He crept forward. The distinct sound of low conversation and rustling fabric caused him to quicken his pace.He slowed when he approached the opening, pressing himself into the wall, hiding in the shadows.
The space was large with two sturdy tables at either end. The room was more decent then the exterior, the floor, and surfaces were clean, and the shelves similar to Carez's facility. Mazin lay on the table to the left side of the room. Two men in dark clothing and aprons stood near the table, their backs towards Galsir. They both were around the same height, but the one standing near Mazin's head had dark brown hair that grew to the nape of his neck, while the other man had a firm cap on his head, tufts of light brown hair curling around the brim.
“Looks like someone gave him an antidote.” The dark-haired man tisked, folding his arms. The light-haired man turned towards him, exposing a plain, weak-chinned face. His eyebrows were scrunched together with concern. “Really? My. This isn't good.” His voice was jittery. Galsir shifted.
“I will prepare another batch.”
“There's no time.” the dark-haired man sighed. “ I received word that there was an accident on Picish street. A fire and building collapse.
“Three patients are being transferred to my office with severe burns to their arms and face; and one most likely will have to have an arm amputated.”
“But Rappuda, we have other parts. Can't we use those?”
“No, I checked the inventory. We mostly have females, but not enough men.” The man named Rappuda turned.
He had striking green eyes and a face like a rock, cold and unyielding. He stormed across the room, then ripped off the apron and threw it on the other table. The man with the cap turned, watching Rapuda as he gathered the disassembling tools and explained. “This will be messy so gather more towels and catch pails to cover the floor. Don't give me that look! You know the price it takes to care for the less fortunate; If we are to help the poor we must take from the rich what we can, and if that means taking their sons and daughters to save ours, then it must be done.” He slammed down the container that held knives and other metal items, which clanged loudly against the wooden counter. The light-haired man started, then practically fled the room, saying he would get more towels. Rapuda looked at Mazin, then stormed out, slamming the door shut.
Now was his chance.
Galsir dashed to the table. Mazin was slightly rolling his head back and forth, like a man having a bad dream. His skin had faint purple blotches, the illusion on his skin was almost gone. Galsir grabbed Mazin's arm and sat him up. He was stark naked. He would draw more attention that way than his blotchy looking skin would.
Galsir rummaged through the room until he found a box of discarded clothing. Most of them were elegant gowns and nobleman's garb. He felt his stomach turn.
These people were purposely killing noblemen. He grabbed a pair of trousers and a simple blouse. There were no shoes. He knew he was running out of time, the men could return any moment now.
He yanked the clothing over Mazin then pulled his arm over his shoulder and slid him off the table. He almost collapsed under the limp weight.
He half carried, half dragged the listless man into the tunnel. He made it to the back door when he heard a cry of alarm. Without looking back, he stepped through into the sunlit day then slammed the door shut. He dropped Mazin to the ground, cringing, then he gathered a few loose stones and wedged them under the door kicking them into place. Moments later someone slammed into it. They cursed, banging against it, the sound echoing off the buildings like distant thunder.
Without hesitating, he hefted Mazin up and dragged him across the square. A ragged group of people huddled around their fire watching him with indifferent eyes through the dirt and grime. Galsir clenched his teeth, breath coming out in white puffs. He knew he wouldn't make it to the horse in time. A loud crash echoed off the buildings then men shouted. Galsir glanced at the homeless group. “Hey!” He strained. Sweat dripping off his nose. “Do you want to earn a few Qinzers?”
An older woman in the group stood up. “What do we have to do?” She sniffed, placing her hands on her hips.
“Keep those men from catching up to us.”
The woman exchanged looks with the others in her group who were made up of mostly men and another woman.
“I'll pay you each fifteen Qinzers!” Galsir gasped hearing the men rapidly approaching.
“Done.” She said in a matter-of-fact tone as if performing a business deal. “Come along men.” She picked up a handful of ash then strolled over to the charging men. Galsir didn't look back but the sound of surprised shouts then screams of pain and outrage followed.
Galsir shambled along, panting and determined until he rounded the corner and was greeted by his borrowed horse who was contently sniffing the ground looking for grass.
Arms fatigued, he struggled to push Mazin onto the horse. After a few attempts, he succeeded. He untied the rope then stepped and swung into the saddle just as the first man charged around the corner. His face was smeared with ash and rage. He practically snarled when he and Galsir's eyes locked. He heeled the beast, letting it dash down the road, its hooves clopping loudly down the cobblestone street.
Galsir took a deep breath then let it out, his knuckles white from gripping the reins. He glanced down at the nobleman draped behind the pommel of the saddle. He couldn't go back to the facility, Mr. Rodin would be furious. His mind zipped in all different directions. This was proof that the illness was made up, a hoax for Copperlils facility to gain more healthy bodies to sell.
He let the horse lead him. People glanced after him, then went back to their business. It wasn't common to see a man unconscious draped across a horse like a sack of flour. He knew that it would make him easily remembered. He decided to head to the Claw and Beak. They seemed like a good establishment.
He found the place easily since it was near the facility. He climbed off noticing a cramped stable yard around the corner. He lead the horse back. A young stable boy ran out then slowed, seeing Mazin flopped over the horse and a quizzical look spread on the stable boys youthful face. Galsir paid little attention to the boy's reaction as he pulled Mazin off, then let the boy lead the horse away. He practically dragged the man inside.
He walked down a narrow hall. Steam, smoke and the scent of onions curled out of the kitchen to the right. He quickly walked past entering the main room. It looked like it did last night though without the large crowd of people. A drunk sat in the middle of the room cackling to himself and a woman fiddling with a lute sat in the corner. Neither of them glanced his direction. Galsir made his way to the bar where a thin young man with flaming red hair polished a mug. He looked up at their approach.
He looked at Mazin, then Galsir. “What is it you want?” He set the mug on a shelf throwing the towel over his shoulder, then he turned and leaned against the counter. Galsir blinked as sweat dripped into his eyes. “I need a room. My friend is ill. We should only be here about an hour or two.”
The Inn keeper's gaze shifted from Galsir to Mazin whose head was draped forward, his dark hair masking his face.
"Fine. The first door on the left. You can pay me when you both are ready to leave.”
Galsir thanked him, then lurched towards the staircase which was on the far left side of the bar. He just barely made it up the stairs and to the door; it was unlocked and slightly ajar. Too exhausted to care, he stumbled inside then dropped the young nobleman on the bed. He collapsed into a chair.
Wet, chilled,and exhausted, he let his head swivel around the room.
It was simply adorned with sparse furnishings. He looked back at Mazin who looked like a man who had fallen asleep. From this angle, Galsir couldn't see any purple lesions on his face.
He didn't know how long he sat there, eyes drifting closed,the room slightly chilled making him feel as if every move he made was laborious. He finally sat up. Mazin stirred, mumbling something. Galsir sprang to his feet, suddenly becoming alert. His cheeks flushed, realizing he left the door open. What if someone from the other facility came in looking for them? He closed the door, then turned and knelt by Mazin. The young man shifted, uttering no verbal words. Galsir reached out then gently shook him.
Mazin's eyes shot open. He jerked away arching his back then inhaling sharply. Galsir stumbled onto the floor falling on his rump. The young lord then collapsed again. After a moment he sluggishly rolled over then sat up. He had a slight frown on his face, his hair wild. He slowly looked around. When his pale green eyes settled on Galsir, his frown deepened.
“Who are you?”
“I am Galsir Salpwelta. I work at Carez Harvesting Facility.”
The young man's expression turned into a confused scowl. “Am I dead? - wait, I wouldn't be talking to you if I was. The last thing I remember was feeling terribly sick.” He pressed his hands to his head. “That's what I get for drinking Shyfuzz Rum and demanding a duel,” Mazin grumbled.
It was Galsir's turn to frown. “My Lord, you are in grave danger. We need to get you to your Father's -”
“My Father's? He probably won't believe you.” Mazin stood then straightened to his full height, wincing and dropping back to the bed, clutching his feet. They were covered in scrapes, nicks,and bruises. Mazin glared at Glasir. “I don't know what's going on here, but you better explain quickly.” Galsir grimaced. In all his hurry, he forgot Mazin's exposed feet.
Galsir explained everything, sharing with Mazin the details of his presumed death, the realization and the recent escape from Copperlils Harvesting facility. Mazin sat quietly listening to it all. When Galsir finished, Mazin sat on the bed, nursing his bloody feet and staring at the door. He finally spoke. “I lost six friends to this illness. They probably were like me.” Mazin choked on the last words. He scrubbed at his face a moment. Galsir watched him. He was a few years younger then Galsir and, probably wasn't used to such carnage. Who was? He took a deep breath.
“I'll get some freshwater and bandages for your feet. After that, we must discuss where to take you.”
Mazin slowly nodded, head still turned away. Galsir left the room and returned to the bar, requesting the supplies. The Innkeeper ordered a serving girl to bring the items to the room. Moments later he returned, closing the door. “Are there any other Lords who will help? Maybe expose this Rapuda man?”
Mazin met his eyes. “Yes, I know a few Barons, possibly Viscount Falmin.” He paused. “Why do you think they chose me?” Mazin asked, his voice low and trembling. Galsir hesitated next to his chair. “I don't know.”
A knock sounded at the door.
“That will be the bandages and water.” Galsir moved to the door, his shoes thumping on the wood floor.
He opened it. The same young serving girl from last night stood before him, eyes even wider, basin and rags clutched in her hands as a man loomed behind her.
Rapuda smiled, shoving the girl aside. She disappeared from view letting out a pathetic squeak, water splashing all over the floor. Two other men stood close behind; they were the thugs Galsir encountered earlier. The others were possibly outside.
Rapuda gave a grim grin at seeing Mazin. The young nobleman visibly blanched still nursing his feet. Rapuda gestured for Galsir to step aside. He did, too dumbfounded to speak. They quickly entered the room. One of the thugs, a man with a shaved head, closed the door, then stood in front of it, blocking any chance of escape.
Rapuda spread his hands out wide. “Gentlemen, it grieves me to have to see you both in such a state.” He turned towards Galsir. “You must be young Galsir Selpwelta, the new Restorer at Carez.”
Galsir started. How did he know his name? Galsir took a step forward, ignoring the other thug who wore a floppy hat, give a disapproving scowl.
“Who are you?”
Rapuda smiled, letting his arms drop to his sides. He looked relaxed and calm, like a cat who finally caught its mouse.
“I am Rapuda, leader of Creedik's Blood.”
“How dare you! You foul loathsome. . .” Mazin began to snarl when the man with the floppy hat rushed towards him then placed a rag over his mouth. Mazin thrashed around a moment, then fell limp.
“What did you do?” Galsir cried with alarm, hurrying to Mazin's side. The man was breathing steadily. Rapuda chuckled, turning toward him, a smug smile on his face. “Don't worry, it's only Fiklen Bur. He'll sleep soundly while we chat.” He began to walk around the room, talking in a casual tone, as if holding a conversation with a friend. “You see, Bur is a wonderful substance; allowing anyone to purchase it at their own whim, if they have Gilds and a Bur license of course. Body molding though.” He clicked his tongue. “That's a different matter. Only the rich and noble can afford to enhance their limbs or replace a damaged organ.” He stopped walking, sitting in the chair that Galsir sat in but moments before.
Galsir stared at him warily. Not all Burs were affordable, either.
Yes, the dust substance fell on large swaths of land, but those lands were quickly purchased or conquered by Warlords, Kings and Nobles so that they could make a profit in selling the enhanced plant, animal and mineral matter within those regions they owned.
“What do you want, Rapuda.” Galsir demanded. Rapuda settled back in the chair.
“I want the suffering of some people to end. For so long the nobles have looked over us, used us to gain what they want. Like the hero in Creedik's Blood, I want the poor to drink the blood of Nobles, in a sense; to gain their bodies so that we may have the strength to continue to support our families, be there for the ones we love.”
His voice rose until it cracked with emotion. He then fell silent, leaning forward, a contemplative look passing over his face. He finally spoke, looking up at Galsir who stared at him with wide uncertain eyes.
“You seem like a good Restorer. Mr. Rodin will inform me in time, if you choose to stay.” The dark haired man gave a wicked smile. Galsir's eyes almost popped out of his head. His boss worked for him! Did his Uncle work for Rapuda as well?
“Don't worry about today. I'll overlook your actions. As Creedik's Blood, we strive to save those who are less fortunate. I see your care for people, that's a good thing. I have urgent matters that need attending to and that young man is a part of it.” Rapuda pointed a finger at Mazin. He stood, adjusted his coat, then motioned to the thugs.
The shaved one opened the door while the one with the hat scooped Mazin up like a child.
“Either you work alongside us, or you end up like him.” Rapuda grinned, bid him good day then they filed, out leaving Galsir alone.
He swayed slightly feeling a numbing coldness spreading in his stomach.
What was he to do? Rapuda may have wanted to help the less fortunate but he was causing far greater damage then he could ever know. Innocent lives were being snatched, away all for the sake of the poor and destitute.
Galsir took a deep breath. He couldn't save all the other lives being taken away, but he could save one. Even if he had to give up his.
He charged out the door, then rushed down the stairs
“Hey! That'll be ten Qinzers.” The Inn Keeper bellowed after him. Galsir ripped the Gilds belt from around his waist and flung a few at a nearby table. He continued out the door. He looked up the road. A cart with six men rumbled away, going at a quick steady pace. Galsir yelled after them, running. The driver stopped at Rapuda's command. Panting he stopped beside one of the horses. “Take me with you.” He panted, his gaze locking with Rapuda's. The other man stared at him with cold calculating eyes. They were like that a moment then Rapuda motioned for Galsir to climb in the back. When he did, they continued forward.
The ride was silent, the chilly air seeped into Galsir's bones as his clothing was still damp from his earlier excursion. Soon they arrived at the other facility.
Once inside, Rapuda turned toward Galsir as Mazin was laid on a table. Galsir licked his lips and smoothed his mustache down. Then he finally spoke. “Let me take his place.” His voice sounded small and distant.
Rapuda paused. “Are you sure? We could use a man like you.”
“Yes, I'm sure.” Galsir suddenly felt weak. He reached out and braced himself against one of the counters which lined the walls.
Honor the living; great and low. Preserve the dead; so that the living may prosper.
He didn't know any other way. Hopefully, Mazin would warn his family so that others may be spared.
“Alright. Such a pity.” Rapuda whispered, looking him up and down with disappointment and disdain. Galsir swallowed. Was he doing the right thing? Would his family forgive him, would his Uncle?
He was led to the other table. He climbed onto it then lay down. The man with the weak chin suddenly appeared above him. He looked sick as he constantly licked his lips, mumbling, “My. This isn't good. This isn't good at all!”
Rapuda appeared on the other side. A strange look on his face. “You are doing a brave thing, giving your life. Sadly, I can't keep to your word on letting Mazin go. So many lives could be saved because of you, and him.” He patted Galsir on the shoulder.
Galsir stared at him a moment then pushed himself up. Someone behind him grabbed his shoulders roughly and forced him down while another pinned his legs.
“Gently, we don't want to bruise the produce.” Rapuda quietly scolded. The weak- chinned man lifted a cloth and and poured liquid contents on it.
“Stop, I thought-” Galsir's words tumbled out of his mouth. He was going to die. He was foolish to think they would value Mazin's life since Galsir was sacrificing his. He was terribly wrong.
The cloth was draped across his mouth and nose. He tried not to breathe deeply but he soon took gulping breaths as the fabric pressed onto his face, making breathing difficult.
“That's it, relax,” Rapuda soothed as Galsir's resisting became weaker and weaker. The ground became hazy and his ears felt stuffed with wool. The world began to tilt, his body vibrate, as Rapuda continued his deranged soothing.
A yell shattered everything.
The room flew into a mad scramble. Galsir faintly heard people yelling or screaming in the distance and the sound of feet scuffling, metal clinging, loud bangs. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision. He was too weak to move, to bat it away. The cloth was yanked from his face. Sweet fresh air flooded his mouth and nostrils. He inhaled sharply then coughed, blinking. Lybur stood above him, brow drawn together. He looked relieved as Galsir continued to breathe and cough.
The clink of metal filled the room. Galsir rolled his head to see what caused the noise.
Baron Hélchez was leaning over his son and soldiers with the Hélchez crest on their breast plates stood around the room holding short swords in their gloved hands. Galsir looked back at Lybur. “How, did you find us?” He rasped, surprised he could even speak.
“I contacted Baron Hélchez, like you said. Good thing, too, we almost lost you both.” Lybur said quietly. “I'm sorry. What I said in your office earlier, it was. . .”
Galsir weakly raised his hand silencing the older man. “It's alright, Uncle.” Galsir grinned. Lybur smiled, then turned away.
“Commander, I want all these men rounded up and taken to my prison. I need to inform Duke Álrez about this detestable business that has been going on.” Baron Hélchez said. A Restorer, most likely the Baron's personal physician, was rubbing a deep orange cream under Mazin's nose. In moments he woke up, trying to fight his way off the table.
His Father was able to reassure him that everything was fine. Mazin gingerly sat up, looking around. When his eyes settled on Galsir, his face split into a wide grin. “You saved me. I am deeply indebted to you. Tell me, what can I do for you? Anything you ask.”
Galsir slowly sat up. “For starters, you could pay the group of vagrants outside fifteen Qinzers each.”
Mazin and his Father exchanged looks, then a soldier was sent out to follow the command.
The rest of the evening, Mazin and Galsir recovered in their own establishments while soldiers and city guards scoured the city looking for straggling Creedik's Blood gang members and Copperlils Harvesting facility employees who escaped during the bust.
Lybur explained to Galsir as he sat in his bed nursing a large mug of tea that Mr. Rodin had vanished along with a few members of their own facility. Galsir was surprised by the news at first then relieved, mainly to know that his Uncle was completely unaware of what was going on. He wouldn't want to encounter that man again in his life if he could help it.
“So,” Lybur said. “Looks like I'll be staying a little while longer to help keep the new ones in line.”
Galsir took a sip. His room was dim, a bowl of pulsing reddish orange Fire Bur stones sat on his nightstand, casting half his Uncle's face in shadow. He seemed relaxed and at ease. Outside the room, the muffled sounds of other personnel walking the halls and heading to their rooms drifted through the door. Some of them wanted a chance to see Galsir, the Restorer who discovered the cure. He inwardly chuckled at that; they would soon find out how shocking the cure was once word spread as to who was behind it all. Lybur chose to share as little as possible, at least until tomorrow.
“My bones can work a little longer, until I find the right place to settle down and grow old.” Lybur looked at Galsir then let out a low sigh. “Have you put your brother to rest. Have you finally let him go?”
Galsir looked out the window. Stars twinkled outside and a distant shimmering haze indicated that a Bur fall was slowly sweeping across certain sections of the land. The stars seemed more vibrate and alive. He looked back at his uncle, a twinkle in his eye.“Yes, Uncle. I have.”
Honor the living; great and low. Preserve the dead; so that the living may prosper.
He felt like he could truly live by that code now.
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