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B5—Chapter 47: A Club to the Head and a Step Forward
🕑 Added 2025-02-11 14:42:34 +0000 UTCLady Almatai had taken a big step in releasing her emotions, but I figured I could give her another push in that direction. The first time I broke down flashed through my mind—back on Earth, before I even started my journey. I remembered the way mana surged from my diaphragm, amplifying the catharsis, forcing it to the surface like steam bursting from a fissure. This was the perfect opportunity to guide her toward the same release.
But this time, I approached it differently.
The first time I wielded free-form mana, sheer stubbornness, and will had driven me to heal the dying rider. I had my medical knowledge as a bridge then. Now, that bridge didn’t exist. But I had picked up a thing or two from the wizard books along the way. Overly complex, convoluted, and filled with enough pretentious vocabulary to choke a scholar, they did one thing really, really well: they honed visualization.
So, I gave their method a try.
I stepped behind her and pressed my palm against her back, right over her power orb.
She jolted, spine going rigid. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you.”
She let out a sharp breath. “Your help is as gentle as a club to the head.”
“Maybe, but sometimes you need a club.”
Her shoulders lifted with a deep inhale, then dropped as she exhaled. She gave a short nod.
I connected to the wind and nudged her to take us higher, to glide above the fields and orchards. Then, I shut my eyes and let the images form. A grotesque, festering boil surfaced in my mind’s eye—bloated and seething, packed tight with shrieking faces. Terror contorted their features. Rage twisted their mouths. Bodies dangled from castle walls. Fists swung. Monsters lunged. Every fragment of horror pulled from her story condensed into one festering wound.
I held the image steady, splitting my mind a third time as I trickled mana into her power orb. Slow and careful. No need to repeat the infamous goat incident.
A healing wave joined my mind’s construct, washing over the boil and cleansing it. Water magic resonated with the imagery, clicking into place and fusing into the mana wave.
Lady Almatai trembled beneath my touch. Her breath hitched, then crumpled into sobs. Each one shook her frame harder than the last until she sagged beneath the weight of grief. We hovered there for half an hour, her body wracked with sobs that gradually softened to quiet crying. Her shoulders still shook beneath my palm, but the raw, gut-wrenching wails had faded.
A whisper broke the silence. “My cousin—my uncle’s daughter—still lives in the city with us.” Her voice was raw, thick with pain. “She hates me.”
I stayed silent, letting her speak.
“She was my best friend growing up. Then my husband killed her father. She blamed me and cut all ties. Later, when my husband agreed to take them in only as servants, her anger turned to resentment. When the rebellion started, she and her brother joined the rebels, but shortly after, they killed him, suspecting him of being a spy. She escaped, but by then, she hated me with the intensity of a thunderstorm.
“She lives in my city. Eats our food. Refuses to contribute. And all she does is spread vicious rumors—that I’m cold, heartless, training fighters to take back Almatai, that I’m using and abusing everyone. And I can’t stop her. I don’t want to stop her. Because she’s right. I share the guilt for her father’s death, and she—”
I cut her off. “Why do you think you share the guilt?”
“I should have stopped Lother.”
“Didn’t you try?”
“No,” she admitted, voice hoarse. “I didn’t know about it.”
“So, how could you have stopped it?”
“I don’t know!” The words ripped out of her, raw and furious. “But I should have found a way.”
I exhaled. “Listen to your words objectively. Tell me if they make any sense.”
She cried harder. “I know they sound illogical,” she choked out. “But I should have found a way.”
I let the argument go. Instead, I focused on the steady stream of mana I channeled into her. My red light started blinking, but I ignored it. Cleansing took priority.
Her breath shuddered as she spoke again. “I miss my children so much.”
Her voice cracked.
“They were innocent,” she whispered. “My son, Lother the Young, loved alchemy. He was always mixing concoctions, trying new things. Some of his experiments exploded. Some stank up the entire castle. I didn’t care. The smile on his face made every bit of suffering worth it.
“My daughter, Lothira, was a rainbow.” A watery laugh mixed with the tears in her voice. “She was so full of life. Singing, reading, riding. She was only fourteen when that traitor Pamash took her. I have nightmares about what she endured. And when I wake up, I feel relief that she died. Then comes the guilt. How can a mother feel relief that her child is dead?”
She sobbed again, harder this time.
I said nothing. I just let her grieve.
Minutes stretched. Ten. Fifteen. Maybe more.
Finally, the tears stopped. She stood there, hands gripping the basket rim, head bowed, looking utterly drained.
I cut off the mana flow and stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
She leaned into me, resting her forehead against my shoulder. Neither of us spoke. The wind carried us forward, silent witnesses to the aftermath of sorrow.
The guards stole glances at us, their eyes filled with confusion. We ignored them.
Lady Almatai sighed. “I hate you for this,” she said. “But I’m also grateful. I understand why. But I didn’t want to revisit the past. I just want to forget.”
“I know,” I said. “But to heal, you must go through this and come out stronger on the other side. Not just to raise your mana levels, but for your own sanity.”
She swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. “I know. But knowing something doesn’t make it easier to bear.”
We continued gliding over the fields, the land stretching endlessly beneath us. After a while, she spoke again. “All of this belonged to my family. Not my husband's—but to House Myrtus. We were the largest suppliers of food in the kingdom and one of the biggest exporters. You were right that we should relocate, and this is the perfect place for it. I knew that from the start.” Her breath hitched. “But coming here was too painful—too steeped in memories and loss.”
She shook her head. “How could I let my people suffer death and abuse just because I was afraid to face my grief? What kind of leader does that?”
She turned to me, searching my face, eyes heavy with doubt.
I met her gaze. “What kind of leader?” I repeated. “A good one.”
She scoffed, shaking her head. “And what exactly is good about my actions?”
“You’re human like the rest of us. Cut yourself some slack.”
She blinked at me, uncomprehending.
I sighed. “Do not be so hard on yourself,” I amended.
I really needed to watch my slang.
It was time to return. I cast Clean on Lady Almatai, wiping away the traces of tears, then followed with Healing Touch to soothe the redness in her eyes. With a silent request to the wind, I asked her to take us back. The balloon dipped slightly, losing altitude, so I channeled Heat into the envelope, feeding it just enough warmth to give us a steady lift.
The journey back was quiet; the only sounds were the gentle rush of wind and the occasional creak of the balloon’s rigging. The guards still looked uneasy, shifting in place and throwing wary glances my way, but at least they’d stopped glaring like they wanted to toss me overboard.
Time stretched as the landscape rolled beneath us, fields and orchards bathed in the glow of the noon sun. Then, after nearly an hour of silence, warmth pressed against my side.
Lady Almatai wrapped her arms around my waist and kissed my cheek. “Thank you,” she said, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it.
I hesitated for only a moment before returning the embrace, feeling the tension in her body finally ease.
She pulled back with a quiet chuckle, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Your methods are a club to the head, but I needed that club. Without it, I might have stayed stuck, unable to move forward. So… thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She studied me for a long moment, something thoughtful in her eyes. Then, with a small nod, she said, “Call me Roda from now on. You’ve earned that right, as well as my friendship.”
I met her gaze and gave a small nod of my own. “Alright, Roda.”
The rest of the journey passed in silence, but this time, the guards met my gaze with smiles and nods of acknowledgment.
As we neared the settlement, just a few hundred meters out, a large crowd came into view, clustered around the house I used as a clinic. Something about their stance, the tense way they shifted and gestured, set me on edge. Their body language spoke of agitation.
“Something happened,” I said, my eyes narrowing.
Roda turned to me. “What?”
“I don’t know yet, but there are a lot of people near the healing house, and they look restless.”
The three of them squinted, trying to make out the scene.
Toman shot me a doubtful look. “How can you see that from here?”
“Good eyesight.”
No time to explain further. I called on the wind, urging her to push us forward and bring us down faster. The balloon surged ahead, cutting through the sky at double speed, then dropped toward the ground in a controlled but urgent descent. The moment the basket touched down, I barely waited for it to settle. With a last command to the wind, the envelope deflated behind me as I ran.
I burst into the clinic, my pulse hammering. The sharp scent of blood clung to the air, mixing with the faint tang of potions and antiseptic. A man lay on the treatment table, unconscious, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Two more men lay on mattresses on the floor, their faces pale and bodies still.
Mahya, Al, and Rima sat around the table, their expressions grim. Rue stood by the far wall. Patches of dark red stained his fur.
Heart lurching, I strode straight to him and cast Diagnose. A wave of relief washed over me—he was fine.
Rue’s ears twitched, and he met my gaze. “John no worry. This is not Rue blood.”
Exhaling sharply, I pressed a hand to my chest, steadying my breath. “Good.” No time to linger—I turned and hurried to the injured men.
Al stood as I approached. “We stabilized them with potions,” he said, his voice even but tight. “But you need to cut out the bullets.”
My jaw clenched. “What happened?”
Rue stepped forward. “Bad men come to broken city. They ride bad dogs. Bad men shout run to good people.” His ears flattened, and he bared his teeth. “Rue was smart. Cast mana shield. Rue protect good people. Bad people shoot guns on Rue. Before mana shield broken, Rue hide behind house.” His tail gave a small flick, his expression turning fierce. “Rue attack bad men from behind. Kill two bad men.” He snorted. “Three bad men and all bad dogs escape.”
My hands curled into fists. “And the wounded?”
Rue thumped his tail against the floor. “Rue speak to good people. Say to put hurt people on Rue. Rue bring hurt people to Al for potions.” He lifted his head proudly. “Everybody wait for John to come back.”
I looked over the patients, my mind already shifting to work mode. “Then let’s get to it.”
I worked as quickly as possible, my hands steady despite the urgency: Diagnose, locate the bullets, cut them out, Healing Touch. My mana flowed with each step, sealing wounds and knitting flesh. My speed allowed me to finish in under ten minutes.
The moment I healed the last patient, I straightened and sent a telepathic message to Mahya and Al. “Cover for me.”
Before they could respond, I turned and bolted into the next room, my boots barely making a sound on the wooden floor. I turned invisible and shot out the window, the air cool against my skin as I soared.
Behind me, Mahya’s voice rang in my mind. “Where are you going?”
I didn’t slow. “To get some payback.”
Two roads led out of the ruined city: one to Almatai and the other to Almadris. I took a gamble and followed the road toward Almatai.
My gut feeling paid off.
Less than twenty minutes later, three riders came into view, riding fast. Two more dogs trailed behind them, their reins tied to the riders’ saddles, forced to keep pace.
I slipped behind a tree, turned visible just long enough to draw my crossbow, then vanished again.
Hovering in front of them, I took aim. Bullseye. Or human’s eye.
The first rider jerked backward and toppled from his mount.
I shot straight up.
Gunfire cracked below, but they aimed at nothing—I was already gone.
The two remaining riders pressed closer together, sweeping their guns in frantic arcs, searching.
I shifted to their right and lined up another shot. Bullseye.
The second rider slammed into his companion, nearly knocking him from the saddle.
That scared him.
He yanked on the reins and spurred his dog forward, breaking into a desperate gallop. At the same time, he fumbled with the ties, freeing the extra mounts.
It didn’t help.
One last shot. Bullseye.
And it was over.
I landed and let myself become visible.
The dogs immediately surrounded me, growling, hackles raised.
I gave them my best death glare. For some inexplicable reason, it didn’t work. They kept growling.
The front dog lunged.
I punched it square in the snout.
It yelped, flew back a couple of meters, tumbled twice, and skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust.
The other dogs whined, ears flattening, tails tucked between their legs.
Good.
Now, I had a dilemma. The settlement could sure use extra working dogs. But how the hell was I supposed to explain catching up to the riders so fast? I shook my head. Not my problem. I didn’t owe anyone an explanation. Let them make up their own stories.
I rifled through the fallen riders’ belongings, collecting guns, bullets, and anything else useful. Then I turned to the dog I’d punched—its jaw was dislocated. With a sigh, I crouched and cast Healing Touch.
The dog flinched, then whined softly, licking its muzzle.
“Yeah, yeah. You’ll live.”
I gathered the reins, tying them into one manageable lead, and took off, flying just above the ground at a pace the dogs could manage.
The trip back took over an hour, but it was worth it.
I had to cast Healing Touch and Fortify Life Force a few times to keep them going. Their tongues were lolling, and their paws kicked up dust as they pushed through the relentless pace. But in the end, we made it to the ruined city.
I spotted people in the distance and touched down, switching to a sprint instead, matching my pace to the dogs as we closed the gap.
The group ahead was busy dismantling a building, stacking stones onto carts with the steady rhythm of practiced labor. “Demolition workers,” for lack of a better term.
As soon as I was within earshot, I called out, “Here are some more dogs. I’m sure you can use them.”
They froze. A few gawked. Two of them took a step back, eyes wide.
I sighed. “Don’t look so frightened. I’m the healer working in your city, not some wandering menace. I heal people, not hurt them.”
That seemed to help. Shoulders relaxed, nervous glances faded. One of them, a wiry man covered in dust, spoke up. “Where did you get the dogs?”
“They belonged to the group that attacked today.”
That got their attention. Murmurs rippled through them, excitement sparking in their eyes. The same man pressed on, “What happened to the hunters?”
“Dead.”
Silence.
They stared again. And just like that, the fear was back.
I didn’t have the patience or the time for this. Not right now. Without another word, I shoved the reins into the hands of the guy with all the questions, spun on my heel, and sprinted straight for the settlement.
In the clinic, the three patients sat around the table, eating. Al and Roda stood by the window, deep in conversation.
“Where are Rima and Mahya?” I asked Al.
“Rima went to change—she was covered in blood. Mahya went to get her balloon.” He smirked. “You will pay for dropping her baby like a piece of trash—her words, not mine.”
I waved him off. She didn’t scare me. Much.
“Where did you go?” Roda asked, her gaze sharp, arms crossing over her chest.
“The attackers are dead,” I said evenly.
Her breath hitched, and her fingers tightened around the fabric of her sleeve. “That was inadvisable. They will send more to punish us.”
I shook my head. “No, they won’t. Don’t worry.”
Al and I exchanged a glance. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod.
Roda’s eyes narrowed. She caught it. “What are you planning?”
Al straightened, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from his sleeve. “We have not formulated a plan. Yet.”
She looked between us, lips pressing into a thin line. After a moment, she sighed and shook her head. “I suspect it’s better if I don’t know.”
Al inclined his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You are smart.”
Mahya stormed back in, her glare locked onto me like a heat-seeking missile. “You’re never getting my baby again.”
I held up my hands. “The balloon was fine—the wind deflated it. I knew something was off, and people needed help. That was more important than the balloon.”
She huffed, arms crossed, nostrils flaring, but didn’t argue. That was as close to a concession as I was going to get.
Switching to English, I said, “Let’s go home. We have an operation to plan.”
Comments
Angela Roberts
Yes!!
