K

unsu meticulously dressed the boy’s wound, covered his burning body in cool, damp towels and gave him water to drink, but all of his caring efforts seemed to be in vain because the boy’s condition only worsened.  When consciousness suddenly returned to him, he cried out in pain.  It was clear that he was trying his best to remain calm and not exacerbate his condition, but the pain was simply too much.  His body was violently feverish; his breathing had become a gradually quickening sort of keening, like that of an injured animal.  His hands clenched the bedsheets tightly.

            He tried to speak.  His voice was weak.  “Help.”  he managed, his eyes closed and his head moving from side to side in his delirium.  “Help… me…..”

            Kunsu felt his heart constrict in his chest.  It ached for this... stranger.  Kunsu hated even the thought of someone suffering.  To behold this scene, so real, so immediate, so pitiful—right before his own eyes—was heartbreaking.

            He would not—could not—stand by and do nothing.  He wasn’t helpless.  There was a famous young healer who resided in Rho—Kunsu had heard of him during one of his weekly visits to the market.

            …But, to leave the boy alone?  What if—

            What choice did he have?  He could either go to Rho and bring back the healer, or he could stay here and watch the boy die.

            The latter was completely unacceptable.

            Kunsu put on a new hat and cloak, his belt and sword, and his good boots.  He would have to be as quick and as silent as possible—there were far worse creatures than werewolves in the woods at night.

            Normally, the trip to Rho took three hours on foot.  Kunsu was determined that with his strength and endurance, he could easily make it in a third of the time if he really tried.  Then, he and the healer could ride horses from Rho’s stables back to Kunsu’s house.

            He went into the kitchen and quickly prepared a natural painkiller and dissolved it in water to make it easier for the boy to take.

            Holding up his head with his hand, Kunsu brought the cup to his patient’s lips.  The boy made a good effort and downed all of the medicine.  Kunsu gently laid his head back down into the pillow and returned the kitchen.

            Before he left, he looked back at the boy.  The scene made his insides constrict again.  He walked up to the bed again and bent down so the boy could hear him speak.

            “Listen, I’m going to fetch a healer.  He will heal you and you will be alright, okay?  I will be back in two hours.  Please…”  He paused, swallowing a random lump that had risen in his throat.  “Just hold on, okay?  You can make it.  Just hold on.”  He patted the boy’s arm before he was on his way.

He came close.  I could smell him so keenly.  He was young, though older than me.  He smelled strongly of many different types of trees and plants.  Of dirt and clean sweat, and whatever hearty stew he had made for his supper.  He smelled of the earth.   Good, honest, and wholesome.

            No fear.  None.

            “Please hold on.”  he said.  His voice was strong, but gentle.  “Just… hold on.”

            I wanted to.  I would try to. 

            But there was little hope in my heart.

            I almost wished that he had stayed with me instead…

            …The thought of dying alone was terrifying.

Lay lit a candle and sat it on the table, where Arya had placed the map and key.

                “What do you think the map might do when opened?”  asked Wendy curiously.

                Lay stood over the table, examining the outside of the map from all angles.  “That’s what I don’t know.” he answered, finally.  “…Probably nothing.  But there is a chance that it could be enchanted somehow…even cursed.  That’s not a chance that you take lightly.  I’ve had some close calls with hexes.”

                “What difference does it make if we open it here?” continued Wendy.

                “I’ve had many counter-spells cast on my apartment, and as I said, I have experience with hexes.  I think we will be fine, regardless of what happens.”

                “You think.”  said Arya, sharpening the sword she had taken from the bandit’s remains.

                “Which in my case, means I know.”  said Lay indifferently.  Arya made a face at him, but remained silent as he completed his preliminary precautions.

                Just as they were about to proceed with opening the map, a frantic knock came to the door.

                “At this hour?” cried Lay; the knock had surprised him enough to make him spill the cup of water he was about to drink. 

                He hesitated to answer the door.  “Yes?”  he asked, without opening the door.  “...Who is it?”

                “My name is Kunsu.  I’m looking for the healer.”  was the simple answer.  His voice was hoarse from running and his breathing irregular.

                Lay opened the door.  The man was shortish with black hair down to his thick eyebrows, a round nose and eyes, and prominent lips.  The combination gave him a childlike appearance.  He looked exhausted.

                “How can I help you?” asked Lay.

                “I took in a stranger today, and he’s in critical condition.”  explained Kunsu, “He needs immediate medical attention.”

                “Alright, let’s go, then.”

                “We’ll need horses.”

                Lay stopped.  “…Horses?  Where did you come from?”

                “My house is at the edge of the forest.”

                “That far?  Did you run all the way here?”

                Kunsu nodded.  He was clearly getting anxious.

                Lay blinked at him in disbelief.  “Well—“

                “Look, I’ll pay you whatever it costs.  Just please—“

                “I’m not interested in your money.”  said Lay, taking out his wallet and retrieving two bronze pieces.  He handed the coins to Kunsu.  “Hurry; rent two horses from the stables.  I’ll meet up with you in a few minutes.”  The woodsman obeyed right away.

                Lay took the map and its key off of the table and put it into a chest.  He took a key from his pocket and locked the chest, muttering some sort of spell simultaneously.  Turning to Arya, he placed the key in her palm.  “Arya, do not open that map without me.”

                “Yes, mom.”  said Arya, putting the key into her own pocket.  She picked up her sword.  “I’m coming with you.”

                “No, you’re not.”

                “It’s late and you’ve been drinking.  You’ll need the extra help, trust me.”

                He shook his head.  “I only had one beer, remember?  I’m fine.  You just got back.  You need to rest.”

                “But—“

                “Rest.  We’ll be fine.”

                Arya opened her lips again, but Lay’s unusually intense gaze silenced her. 

                “Do you doubt me?”  he asked.

                “No.”  she said, without hesitation.

                He smiled.  “Then stay here and sleep.  You and Wendy make yourselves at home, alright?  If all goes well, I’ll be back before dawn.”

                And if it doesn’t go well?  Arya thought, but refrained from saying it.  She just nodded, leaning her sword against the hutch again.

                “And Arya, promise me that you will wait for me to open the map.”

                She rolled her eyes, but she nodded.  “Promise.”

                Lay smiled again, diminutively.  “Okay, see you tomorrow.  Goodnight.”

                “Goodnight.  And...good luck.”

                Then he was gone.

Arya was beyond frustrated.  She was weary from travel, but had distracted herself from it with the thought of opening the map.  Its contents held everything that she needed to know about finding what could be the world’s greatest treasure.   She had been looking forward to opening it ever since it came into her possession, and she had promised to wait yet again.   On top of all that, now she had to worry about Lay, too.

                She paused her slow pacing to kick the door jamb.

                Wendy, meanwhile, was well aware that Arya was having one of her moments, so she kept mostly quiet and to herself. 

                Arya thought of her and Wendy’s early encounter with the werewolves, and those thoughts sobered her to where she calmed down enough to say some prayers.  She refrained from telling Lay about that encounter, and aptly avoided telling him about any of the other fights and dangerous situations she and Wendy had gotten themselves into while searching for the map.  He didn’t need to know all those details.   She was an adept adventurer and more than capable of handling matters.

                But she was well aware that it wasn’t all of her own doing.  Whether it was blessing or luck, she sure had a lot of it.  When would providence allow an obstacle to fall on her straight and narrow path?  Would she be ready to face it with the same level of confidence and skill?

                These dark thoughts seemed to be coming to her mind a lot more these days.  She felt that something was changing, and she knew not what it was.  During her travels, she heard things.  She saw things.  She experienced things.  Things that she didn’t understand.  Things that she couldn’t explain. 

                There was so much about the world that she still didn’t know.

                Arya sighed and tried to avert her thoughts.  It was odd, she considered, to be in Lay’s apartment when he wasn’t there.  She had occupied herself with idly perusing the contents of his many bookshelves.  Wendy had made herself comfortable on the only sofa in the room, and without even changing her clothes, had already fallen asleep.

                Eventually, Arya went over and spread a blanket over her friend.  She opened the window behind her so she wouldn’t roast during the night.  Besides, the room was stuffy and smelled of old books and weird plants.  The night air was brisk, which was unusual for this time of the year.  It was barely August.  Still summer.

                “We have a long way to go yet.”  Arya whispered, to no one in particular.  Wendy, perhaps, or maybe her father, who was somewhere up in the sky.  “…I’m sorry.”

Kunsu was silent as he and Lay rode to the forest.  Lay found it beautiful and admirable that he cared so intensely (it was obvious in his otherwise stoic expression) for someone he hadn’t previously even known existed.

            Lay was also a bit anxious.  It had been some time since he had treated someone in “critical” condition, and that had only been two times before.  Usually he just healed minor wounds, mended breaks and fractures, or banished viruses.  He had even delivered a baby once.

            The two times he had treated critical patients were successful, but only barely.   Lay hoped that he had improved a great deal since then.

            They made good time.  Kunsu leapt from his mount and rushed to his house.  Lay swiftly dismounted and tied the horses to a post.

            “Healer!  Hurry!” shouted Kunsu from inside.  Lay fumbled with the ropes and managed a good knot.  He took off his cloak and gloves as he entered the warm house and went directly to where the boy lay in bed.  He froze, however, when he saw the distinctive black markings around the boy’s left arm and shoulder.

            The brand of a lycan pack.

            “What are you waiting for?” demanded Kunsu.  The boy held fast onto his arm, clinging tightly enough to where tears had smarted in the woodsman’s eyes.

            “Sir, that boy is a werewolf.”

            The words stung Kunsu’s heart.  The tears escaped his eyes as stared down at the boy’s pitiful face.  All of his insides pinched painfully; his stomach threatened to rise into his throat.  How could he not have noticed?

            He's a werewolf.

            Like the ones that murdered your loved ones, Kunsu.

            A werewolf.  He’s one of...

            Them.

            Kunsu swallowed and tried to regain his composure.  He the boy’s hair from his drenched forehead.  “Do you want me to help you?”  he asked him, gently, blinking away the tears.  “...Should I help you, when your kind devoured my family?”  The boy hadn’t the strength to answer, but his lips trembled as he started to cry.  He leaned his head against Kunsu, sobbing softly.

            A sudden memory sprang to the woodsman’s mind.

            Years ago, he had been in a strikingly familiar situation, except the werewolf boy suffering in his arms was his older brother.  He had been lacerated by them--the werewolves.  For a ten year old boy to hold his violently dying brother in his arms.....

            He died in his arms, and that was far worse than his parents and younger sister who had been killed by the lycans elsewhere.

            Kunsu looked back at Lay, who still stood in the same spot with a neutral expression.

            “Look at him.”  said the woodsman.  “Should I just let him die? ...Would you let him die?”

            Lay swallowed once and blinked.  He didn’t have the time to weigh the morality of the situation, so he approached the bed and began to work.  The boy whimpered as the healer carefully removed his bandages.

            Lay made an inscrutable face when he saw the wound.  “Infection.”  he said.  He held his bare hands against the wound; the boy arched his body in pain.  Kunsu did his best from that point to keep him still, which wasn’t too difficult on account of his curious strength.

            He watched the healer work.  Lay was very still and silent, though his lips moved.  He kept his eyes fixed on his hands, which emitted the faint white light of his magic.  Sweat beaded along his temples, but his face otherwise showed no signs of exertion.  His expression was taut but calm.

            After what seemed like an hour but was really only a few minutes, the boy’s body began to relax.  He let out heavy, shaky breaths as