TravelingDreamer
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B5—Chapter 40: My First Apprentice
🕑 Added 2025-02-03 13:58:53 +0000 UTCAl waited for me by the gate, the two ducklings that followed him everywhere lingering beside him. The boy and girl—both around fourteen or fifteen, with olive skin and black hair—stood close together, their expressions always a mix of curiosity and determination. The moment they saw me, they waved and waddled off.
"Why don't you want to teach them alchemy?" I asked, stopping next to him.
His expression darkened. "I do not want anybody taking advantage of them."
"Why do you think that would happen?" I folded my arms, studying him. "They don’t have any alchemists here, but they need them. And if two people are eager to learn, why not teach them?"
Al let out a slow breath, gaze fixed on the road ahead. "I know you are right," he admitted. "But after everything we have seen… I am not sure I want to open them up to that risk."
I shook my head. "I think you're being too cautious. I talked with Lady Almatai today—oh, by the way, I gave her a big supply of the food we recently collected. They needed it. Anyway, I spoke with her, and she’s a good leader. She actually cares—I could feel it. I don’t think she’d take advantage of them."
Al still didn’t look convinced. His fingers tapped against his leg. "You heard what Mahya said, no?"
"I think Mahya’s wrong." I shrugged. "She collected information from people who all have their own perspectives. I’d rather trust my own gut—and my gut says she’s a good person, and they need help."
Al glanced at me. "What kind of help?"
"They don’t have enough food. Those fields aren’t far from here, and the herds out there could sustain them. But there’s a whole mess of flying snakes between them and those fields." I raised an eyebrow at him. "Teaching your two ducklings how to make anti-venom potions could make a huge difference."
"Ducklings?" Al turned to me with a deadpan stare.
I smirked. "Don’t you think they look like ducklings when they trail after you?"
His expression didn’t budge. "No. I do not."
"Right. Sure." I snorted. "Anyway, I think you should do it."
Al studied me for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Then he exhaled through his nose, arms crossing over his chest. "I will think about it."
I leaned slightly toward him. "While you're thinking, can you make a big supply of anti-venom potions?"
His expression eased, and he gave a small nod. "Yes, that I can do."
Rue and Mahya joined us, and we ran back to our section of the ruined city to open the house.
That evening, while cooking dinner, my mind kept circling back to the problem of heavy physical energy consumption during healing. There were still a few patients missing limbs—or parts of them—and I didn’t want them looking like walking skeletons when I was done.
Something nagged at the back of my mind. A memory. Back when I was buying cookbooks, I had skimmed past something about energy bars. Could be useful. After we ate, I went digging through my books. It took nearly an hour, but I finally found what I was looking for—a recipe for vegetarian pemmican made from nuts, honey, dates, and a bunch of other good stuff.
I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. Three hours later, I had a stockpile of pemmican ready. I even added whey protein to boost it up. Hopefully, it would help counteract the weight loss that came with intensive healing.
As I packed the pemmican away, I couldn’t help but feel relieved about all the nuts and honey we’d collected in that last edible dungeon. With the rich mana, the ingredients we’d gathered there were about to become a game-changer.
The next day, I was deep in the middle of treating a patient who had lost his foot and part of his calf when Lady Almatai walked into the treatment room. I caught sight of her and gave a quick nod to let her know I’d be with her shortly, then kept my focus on the patient, channeling mana into him.
She stepped closer but didn’t say anything, just watched, arms tucked behind her back in a rigid stance.
My mind was already split three ways—one part keeping up the Anesthesia, another controlling the blood flow, and the third casting Regrow Flesh. Splitting my mind yet again, I glanced at her and asked, "You need something?"
She gave a single shake of her head, her face unreadable.
Once I finished treating the patient and left him to sleep it off, I cast Clean on him and myself and walked over to the table. "So," I said, leaning against it, "do you need anything?"
"You have a lot of mana," she said, watching me closely.
I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
She hesitated for a beat, then asked, "Can you help me get more mana?"
I straightened. "What do you mean?"
Her hands curled into loose fists at her sides. "I don’t have enough. I need more. I was hoping you could help me."
I studied her for a moment, then tilted my head. "Can I examine you?"
Her brows drew together. "Why?"
"To know what I’m working with."
She regarded me for a long moment, then gave a curt nod.
Stepping closer, I placed my hands on her head and let mana flow into her, scanning her from the inside. Behind her diaphragm, I found a tiny orb—so small it was barely there.
I exhaled sharply. "Your mana is ridiculously low!"
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she looked away.
"You don’t need to be embarrassed," I said, softening my tone. "It’s fine. I was just surprised. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. Your power center is in your emotional orb. If you want to increase your mana, you need to develop emotionally."
She stared at me blankly, like I spoke in an entirely different language.
I sighed. "Okay, let me break it down. There are three potential power orbs in the body that control mana. One in the head, which is the mind center. One behind the diaphragm, like yours, which is the emotional center. And one in the abdomen, which is the physical center.
"Since your mana is in the emotional center, that means your mana won’t rise from training like a warrior or learning like a scholar. You have to progress emotionally. I can’t tell you exactly how to do that—I can only tell you how it worked for me."
I rubbed the back of my neck and closed my eyes for a second, the memory still causing a sharp twinge despite the years.
"A few years ago, I lost my wife."
She startled, her expression tightening for a fraction of a second before returning to its controlled mask. "But… you’re so young."
I gave a small, humorless chuckle. "I’m older than I look. It’s the Vitality trait—it keeps me looking young. Trust me, I’m older than you think."
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment before I continued.
"Anyway, back then, I was drowning in grief. But when I finally healed—when I let go of the pain—my mana rose. It was a huge emotional breakthrough that manifested in my mana levels." I met her gaze. "I don’t know what that breakthrough would look like for you. I don’t know your struggles. But if you figure out what would push you forward emotionally, work on it. Your mana will rise as a result."
She let out a long, measured breath. "That’s easy to say, but hard to do."
I gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. "I know, but you have to start somewhere."
She nodded once, her jaw tight as she fell into thought.
Remembering my conversation with Al, I added, "By the way, I spoke to my friend—he's going to make you a big supply of anti-venom potions."
A wave of intense relief came from her, so strong it was almost tangible, like a sudden shift in the air.
"Thank you," she said in a quiet voice, her posture still rigid despite the emotion in her tone. "You don't know how much this means to us. We really need this help."
I nodded, shifting my weight as I crossed my arms. "You told me why you don’t have alchemists, but why don’t you have any healers?"
Her shoulders stiffened slightly before she let out a controlled breath. "Two days before the rebellion, the rebels eliminated all the healers who supported us," she said, her voice clipped and even. "The only healers left in Almatai are the ones who sided with them."
I frowned. "But you've been here eight or nine years. How come you didn’t train new ones?"
Her jaw tightened. "We don’t have the knowledge. When the Fall came, people gained classes easily—they performed some action and earned a class. But when the fluctuations stopped, it became harder. Now, only those with real knowledge in a specific area can get a class, and they have to work hard for it." Her fingers twitched before she clasped her hands in her lap. "And sadly, we don’t have anyone with medical knowledge."
I rubbed my jaw, thinking. "So, how did you survive until now without alchemists or healers?"
She looked away for the first time, her shoulders drawing back as if bracing herself. "We lost a lot of people," she said, her voice quieter but just as firm.
Something in my chest tightened and I met her gaze. "I'll see what I can do."
Her head lifted, her expression sharpening back into control. "What do you want in exchange?"
I already had an idea simmering in the back of my mind, so I tested the waters. "Well, I don’t know if I’ll be able to convince my friend to teach alchemy and get you two new alchemists, but I’m sure he’ll give you the potions. As for healers… I’ll do my best to help raise at least one. I’m not sure how yet."
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling. "I only helped a girl once—gave her some medical knowledge and a spell, but I don’t have a scroll anymore, so that might be a problem. I’m also not sure if she actually got the class or not. I still need to figure this out. Maybe if I work with someone who wants to be a healer, we could find a solution."
I shook my head and waved a hand dismissively. "Never mind, I was just thinking out loud." Then I fixed her with a more serious look. "Er… anyway, if I do help you raise a healer, would you be willing to accept more people into your settlement?"
Her brow furrowed slightly, the only crack in her otherwise steady composure. "What people? From where?"
"A city not far from here has slaves, and I’m thinking of bringing them here. Would you be willing to accept them in exchange for my help in raising a healer?"
Her expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes—calculation, maybe. "What city? The only cities near here are Almatai and Almadris," she said, voice steady. "They don’t have slaves, and if you bring someone from there, they’ll be here in a day to take them back."
I shook my head. "No, not to the north—to the south."
Her shoulders squared as she regarded me. "I know about the slaver cities. They've kidnapped quite a few of our people," she said, folding her arms. "But they're far away. How are you planning to bring them here?"
"Don't worry about it—I have my ways," I said, keeping my tone even. "The question is, if I help you get a healer, will you be willing to accept them?"
She held my stare for a long moment before giving me a curt nod. “I’ve never turned anyone away—not the people who escaped from Almadris or Almatai, nor those who stumbled upon our settlement while fleeing from somewhere else. So yes, I’ll gladly accept them, even if you don’t help raise a healer."
She walked toward the window opening. “We need to rebuild our world, our society, and the only way to do that is with people." Her voice carried a quiet certainty, as though she had said this to herself a hundred times before. "Right now, things are difficult—we don’t have enough food—but I will never turn people away."
When she faced me again, her expression was resolute, the stern weight of leadership settling back over her features. "That’s what we need most—people."
The following morning, a woman waited for me outside the treatment house. She looked about thirty with messy hair and old clothes. The moment she saw me, she rushed over, her movements hesitant, uncertainty written all over her face. Her hands fluttered around aimlessly, as if she couldn’t decide what to do with them.
"Lady Almatai said that you will teach me to be a healer."
I studied her for a moment, taking in the nervous energy rolling off her. She was eager, but also unsure of herself, shifting from foot to foot like she wasn’t sure whether to bow, shake my hand, or just stand there.
"Alright," I said, motioning for her to follow me inside. "Before we start anything serious, I need to see if you’re even capable of becoming a healer."
She nodded quickly, pressing her lips together like she was afraid to say the wrong thing.
I paused, eyeing her for a moment. "What’s your name?"
"Rima," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Nice to meet you, Rima. I’m John," I said, giving her a brief nod before gesturing toward the table. "Alright, let’s get started."
She hesitated for a second before sitting down, her posture stiff. As I moved behind her, she tensed, then suddenly jerked her head back, wide-eyed and rigid, like a startled animal.
I lifted my hands slightly to show I meant no harm, then placed one gently on her shoulder. "Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything to you. I just need to check if you have mana."
Her breath hitched, but she nodded. "I have it," she said quickly.
"How do you know?"
"My head burned. Lady Almatai said it’s a sign my mana started working."
That tracked. I gave her a small nod, then pulled up a stool across from her and rested my arms on the table. "Alright, let’s start with something simple. Before you treat anyone, you need to know what’s wrong with them. That means checking their pulse, their temperature, and anything else that seems off. Your hands are your best tool for this. Eyes are good, sure, but your hands tell you what you can’t see."
I held out my wrist. "Here, feel for my pulse. You know how to do that?"
She hesitated, then reached out and pressed two fingers against my wrist, her touch light and unsure.
"A little to the side—yeah, right there," I said. "Now, what do you feel?"
She frowned in concentration. "It’s… beating?"
I snorted. "Good start. Now, feel how steady it is. A strong, even rhythm is what you want." I tapped my fingers against the table in a steady beat. "Try to match it."
Her lips moved silently as she focused, her brow furrowing. After a moment, she hesitated. "It feels… about the same?"
"Close enough. That’s a normal resting pulse," I said with a nod. "If someone’s pulse is too fast, they might have an infection, blood loss, or dehydration. Too slow, and it could mean shock, poisoning, or something messing with their heart." I tapped my temple. "You don’t need to memorize everything right away, but start paying attention to patterns. What’s normal, what’s not."
She nodded, eyes flicking to my wrist like she was committing it to memory.
"Next, temperature." I took her hand and placed it on my forehead. "If someone’s running hot, they’ve got a fever—could be an infection, could be heatstroke, could be something worse. If they’re too cold, that’s a problem too. Means their body isn’t getting enough blood, either from shock or something else messing with circulation."
She swallowed, nodding again.
I leaned back. "Alright. You’ll get the hang of it. Just practice on as many people as you can. Now, let’s get to work."
Our first patient of the day walked in, his arm ending just below the shoulder in a jagged, uneven stump where it had been roughly cauterized. Thick, angry scar tissue covered the wound, a mess of ridges and discoloration.
I led him to sit on the operating table and handed him a pemmican. "Eat."
He hesitated but took a bite. I waited, arms crossed, until he finished, then gave him another. And another. By the time he was chewing the third, his jaw worked slower, his stomach visibly tight beneath his tunic.
"One more?" I offered.
He groaned and shook his head. "No room."
"Good," I said, handing him a water bottle. "Now drink."
He managed to down the whole bottle, and I pushed him down on the table. "Alright," I said, rolling up my sleeves. "This is going to take a while. You watch, ask questions, and try not to pass out."
She nodded, looking pale but determined.
I put him under and sliced off the end of the stump, keeping an eye on her the whole time. She flinched, but otherwise held steady—handled it like a champ. Good sign.
Next, I placed my hands over the stump and let mana flow, starting with Clean to make sure nothing was festering. "First rule of healing: infections are your worst enemy. A wound that looks fine today can kill a man tomorrow if it gets infected. That’s why cleanliness is everything. Wash your hands, clean the wound, and if you’re not sure? Clean it again."
I moved on to Regrow Flesh, slowly reconstructing the muscle and tissue. "You can’t just slap healing magic on a wound and expect it to be fine. The body needs time to adjust. Healing too fast can be just as dangerous as leaving it untreated. Too much growth at once, and the tissue might not form right. If you ever see a healer rushing through a job like they’re mending clothes, run the other way."
She watched, eyes wide, her hands twitching at her sides like she wanted to do something but wasn’t sure what.
I nodded toward the man's other arm. "Check his pulse."
She blinked, then scrambled to follow the instructions. After a few seconds, she said, "It’s fast."
"Good. That’s expected. Pain, stress, blood loss—they all speed up the heart rate. But if it gets too fast, that’s when you need to worry about shock. Keep an eye on his breathing, too. If it gets too shallow, we’ve got a problem."
She nodded, absorbing the information.
I kept working, talking the whole time. "Healing isn’t just about fixing wounds—it’s about understanding the body. If you don’t know how something is supposed to work, how do you expect to fix it when it breaks? You don’t need to be a scholar, but you do need to pay attention. Every patient teaches you something."
She gave a small nod, but her focus stayed locked on my hands as I continued reconstructing the man's arm, little by little.
"Alright," I said after a while, wiping the sweat from my forehead. The stump now extended past his elbow, the new flesh still raw but whole, without scar tissue.
"That’s enough for now. He’ll need rest, plenty of food, and as much water as he can handle to recover properly. Healing takes energy, and if the body doesn’t have enough, it’ll start breaking itself down to compensate." I glanced at Rima. "That’s why you see people looking half-starved after major treatments."
I glanced at her. "Questions?"
She shook her head quickly.
I chuckled. "Give it time. You’ll have plenty."
She didn’t say anything, but the determined glint in her eyes told me she was already thinking hard about everything I’d said. Good. She’d need that if she wanted to be a healer. There was a lot I could teach, but in the end, a sharp mind and steady hands would matter more than anything.
Our patient kept sleeping, and I used the time to explain more to Rima. Some things were just theory for now—she’d need hands-on experience to truly understand, like feeling for a break or setting a dislocated joint—but I loaded her with as much basic knowledge as I could. How the body fought infections. What signs to look for before someone collapsed from exhaustion. When a fever was a good sign and when it was deadly. She listened, her expression tight with focus, occasionally nodding but never interrupting.
For the next two days, I continued regrowing the man’s arm while she watched, keeping a careful eye on his pulse and listening to his breathing. I had her check him regularly, making sure she got used to noticing minor changes. When his heartbeat slowed or his skin paled, I had her describe it before I explained what it meant. She was still nervous, still unsure, but she learned fast.
On the third day, they brought me a man with a broken leg after he’d fallen off a palisade. This time, I had Rima do the initial assessment. I guided her through the process, showing her how to diagnose the break by touch, feel for misalignment, and listen for signs of internal damage.
"Alright," I said, handing her two straight sticks. "You’re going to set it first, the old-fashioned way. He’ll be fine—I’m healing him after—but you need to know how to do it without magic, just in case."
Rima swallowed hard but nodded, gripping the sticks tighter as she knelt beside the injured man. She worked carefully, following my instructions without hesitation. I watched with a sense of pride—she was catching on fast. Before long, his leg was set, splinted, and secured.
Once I healed him and sent him on his way, I turned to her. "Go home and get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow, I’ll start teaching you spells."
She stared at me, eyes wide with shock. Then, without warning, she sprang forward and hugged me. The sudden force nearly knocked me off balance.
I patted her back, laughing. She was shy, uncertain, and hardly spoke, but there was no doubt about her enthusiasm. It felt good to teach someone so committed—someone who truly wanted to learn.
Comments
TravelingDreamer
Those were sixty seconds about body heat ... When I was a kid, there were short interludes on the radio that talked about various subjects. They always ended with: Those were sixty seconds about ... This reminded me of them and made me laugh.
JJB4345_80_815
So, I am one to argue that certain people with ICE COLD hands aren't suffering from poor blood circulation, but rather are circulating some sort of heat sink fluid along with their blood. I've had women suffering from such affliction grab my forearm and THEN I place my forearm on a room temperature table. If the hand is SIGNIFICANTLY colder than the room temperature item (& neither has been outside for several hours), then I can't believe anything other than the blood also circulating a FRION-like substance. Maybe it's a combination of less iron (a critical component of RBCs) with maybe White Blood Cells being natural heat sinks. (Women typically have a greater percentage of WBCs to RBCs than men). Anyway, that's my totally non scientific non peer reviewed take on "Poor Circulation." If someone dies and assumes "Room Temperature" and it's a Net Positive in Heat (aka they warm up), I have to believe that something else is occurring other than poor circulation. ;-)
barak zabari
few years from now this will be the center of civilization
TravelingDreamer
Yep
Angela Roberts
Is that the leader is so guarded she comes off as aloof and uncaring?
