“Yes, I’ve heard of Avarga,” Arik said. On the eastern coast of the Jade Realm, Avarga was a place where humans and yokai existed in harmony.
“That is where Master Kojiro is from.”
“Why does he stay here?”
A look of uncertainty appeared on Indra’s face. “I’ve asked him that many times, and he has never given me a clear answer. Some people are where they are because it is where they want to be.”
They came into the next room to find the tanuki standing in front of a stove, one that Arik noticed was much lower to the ground than he’d seen in other kitchens. A stew was boiling, the smell reaching him. He had been so focused on his task in the other room that he hadn’t realized just how hungry he was, and while the stew seemed potent now that he was closer to it, the odor of cauterized wounds had prevented its scent from reaching the other room.
“Sit, sit,” Master Kojiro said as he motioned to the ground, where there were cushions already placed on a wool carpet, bowls as well.
Soon, Arik was eating, and it was only once the stew hit his stomach that he realized just how hungry he was. As they ate, Master Kojiro offered Arik an appreciative nod.
“Many of those men would have suffered had you not been here today,” he said.
While Arik had the notion to bring up the fact that they would continue to suffer long after he’d left considering they were still slaves, he refrained from doing so. Mentioning something like this would be impolite.
“We have a few other patients, in the front room, citizens of Omoto, that could also use your help…”
“Gladly,” Arik said as he continued to shovel spoonfuls of stew into his mouth. The gauze that he used to disguise his face was now dangling from his neck as if it were a scarf. As he looked around for something to wipe his mouth, Indra suggested that he used the gauze.
“We have plenty.”
Once he did so, the tanuki and the nurse started to laugh. “I didn’t expect you to actually do that,” Master Kojiro said, baring his sharp little teeth as he smiled at Arik. “Get him something more appropriate, please, Indra.”
“Sorry.” Arik dropped the gauze and returned to his bowl of stew. “I’m… hungrier than I thought I would be.”
“I would be too after all the healing you’ve done, and that’s not to mention whatever else you got into today, before you joined the tournament.”
Arik stopped eating, recalling that he had murdered a man that morning.
Master Kojiro’s bushy eyebrows lifted off his face. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” Arik said quickly. “It’s just been a long day.”
“Yes, it has, made longer by the cursed sun.” Master Kojiro looked out a window that wasn’t there. “I’m more of a winter yokai, myself, which is why I stay in the infirmary as much as I can during the warm months. It is mostly underground, so it stays cool. But I digress…” The tanuki’s whiskers settled. “How long will you be joining us, disciple? I ask because we do have a place for you to stay, the summer is long and hot, and your help is greatly appreciated.”
“I am supposed to meet someone in a few days.”
“Oh? And what would be your plans from there?”
“I don’t yet know.” Arik wiped his mouth with the cloth that Indra had provided him.
“Have you thought about heading further south?”
“To the Crimson Realm? Why would I do that?”
“Are you familiar with the Double Sword Academy of Combat Arts?”
The dots connected in that instant, Arik recalling that this was where Combat Master Nankai, the man who taught him how to use a sword, had originated from. He hadn’t even considered going there up until this point.
Maybe I do know someone after all…
“There is a teacher there, Combat Master Altai Masamune, who hails from your country.”
“He’s a healer?” Arik asked the tanuki.
“No, nothing like you, but he is from your realm, and he may be sympathetic to your cause. Do you have a cause?”
“I… I don’t know,” Arik admitted.
“You’ve come all the way here to save a friend of yours who may be dead. I don’t sugarcoat anything around here, as Indra will tell you,” said the tanuki, his assistant offering a curt nod. “So you’d better have a cause, or a reason for continuing your travels. Otherwise, you might as well just stay here and help with the wounded. That is, after all, what you have dedicated your life to, and dealing with some of the wounds that we routinely handle would only augment your power. I know Omoto may seem rough on the surface, but there is beauty to be discovered here and…” Master Kojiro cleared his throat. “Lives to be saved.”
The sound of voices came to them from the infirmary, Indra quickly getting to her feet.
“You must hide,” Master Kojiro said as he motioned Arik toward the adjoining room, where the local patients stayed. “The next round of bodies has arrived. As soon as the guards are gone, you can check for your friend.”
****
As Arik hid in a medicine cabinet, seated, his arm wrapped around his knees, he thought about what Master Kojiro had said.
Up until this point, he hadn’t really come up with the reason for continuing forward other than to save Jinmo, who very well may be alive in the other room. The situation he had found himself in a few days back had been so sudden, so dire, that he hadn’t really thought much about what lay ahead, or what he would do if he was able to save Jinmo.
Even though he had heard it several times now, Arik didn’t yet believe that he was the only healer left on the continent. It seemed impossible, especially with the priests that were part of northern leader Merit Ashmore’s personal detail. Even if the Crimsonian warlord Nobunaga wanted to conquer the Onyx Realm, he would still benefit from the usage of priests and disciples. Why kill them? Why not keep them alive to capture and heal his forces?
Arik heard voices die down in the other room, signaling that the soldiers who had delivered the bodies had departed.
“You can come out now,” Indra said after a light tap on the medicine cabinet. Arik pushed the door open, but rather than find the woman there, she had already moved on, the nurse clearly overwhelmed with the wave of newly injured.
After hiding his features with the gauze strung around his neck, Arik entered the infirmary, where he found Master Kojiro standing on a stool and applying pressure to a man’s leg, which had been severed at the knee.
“Please,” Master Kojiro said, “I can deal with the wound, but he’s lost a lot of blood…”
Arik nodded, and rather than look for Jinmo, he quickly came to the tanuki’s side. He dropped his hand and placed it on the man’s shoulder, the wounded slave wide-eyed as he looked up at Arik, who must have appeared devious in some way with his face wrapped in gauze.
“Do not be alarmed,” Arik said as he began to cycle Revivaura into the man, his fingertips feeling as if they were pressing through the surface of a body of water. This would at least calm the patient long enough for Master Kojiro and Indra to deal with his severed leg, which looked mutilated to the point that cauterizing the wound was the only option.
There was little time to count the bodies that the soldiers had dropped off, Arik noticing that there weren't enough beds for the injured slaves, the ones that were clearly dead placed near the door.
It was then, in his glance around the room, that he saw Jinmo.
No… Arik thought, immediately going to his side. He didn’t need to check Jinmo’s pulse, nor would he be able to do anything at this point, now that Jinmo had officially died.
Arik hung his head, which had a strange way of forcing him down to his knees, his eyes clenched shut as he realized that not only had he failed in saving Jinmo, but that the former groundskeeper at the Academy had been the last person alive from his previous life.
He didn’t sob, nor did he say anything as he kept his head bowed before the man’s body, a strand of his black hair falling into
his face as he dipped his head even further.
Eventually, Arik felt a hand on his shoulder.
He looked up to find Indra, a distant look on her face as if the walls no longer existed, as if she were staring out over a great expanse. She didn’t tell him to get up, nor did she ask him if he needed anything. She simply introduced her presence, and this had a way of snapping Arik out of what he was feeling, his sense of total loss and futility alleviating to some degree.
He had found his reason, his cause, and while there was a side of him that was wary of the course of action he planned to take, it seemed to be the only way forward. Arik would move on soon, toward the Double Sword Academy of Combat Arts, where he would seek out Combat Master Nankai, and if he wasn’t there, the Onyxian combat master named Altai Masamune, who the tanuki said would be sympathetic to his plight.
You have to do this, Arik reminded himself as he got back to his feet and went to the next available patient, one that he recognized immediately. He recalled the mountain of an opponent back in the stadium, and how he had used his wound transfer power to bring him down.
He started up the healing process, only stepping back upon recognizing the brute’s bloodsoaked face, Arik’s hands naturally coming to his own cheek to make sure that his disguise was secure. He was surprised to hear the big man speak, especially as he still hadn’t made direct eye contact with Arik.
“Why… why did you have to do that?”
Arik swallowed hard. “Do what?”
“Heal…”
“I’m sorry—”
“Who are you?” The man finally shifted his head toward Arik and blinked his eyes open. He took in a slow, steady breath as he looked the disciple over.
“Let’s sedate you so you can heal,” Indra said, suddenly appearing at the bedside. She brought a liquid to the man’s lips; he kept his eyes on Arik as he drank it. Soon, his pupils began to twitch, his eyelids lowering as he fell into a medicated slumber.
The nursemaid moved away to the next bed, where she joined Master Kojiro. The tanuki was without his stool this time, this bed lower to the ground, the man on it spasming as Master Kojiro applied an anointment to abrasions on his legs and arms.
As soon as he approached Master Kojiro’s patient he began cycling his own power, Arik realizing that he had healed more random people over the course of that afternoon than he had in any given moment in his entire life, and that pushing his power to its limit came with a strange side effect, his head aching to some degree, Arik feeling more and more lethargic as the healing session pressed on.
By the time they’d healed the latest batch, Arik could barely stand. He wasn’t the only one, Indra slouched now, the auburn-haired woman with her hand on the wall as she took deep breaths. Master Kojiro looked haggard as well, his furry face a mask, even more blood on the sleeves of his white robes.
“Another day passes, and soon another day will begin. Let’s get some rest,” he said. “Expect a fresh wave tomorrow.”
While studying the Divine Branch of Regrowth, Arik had done stints at the hospital in Dornod, and spent a summer in one of the Onyx Realm’s largest hospitals in the capital city of Ezochi. Nothing he had done then compared to this, Arik coming to understand something about his craft and power that was new to him—not only was it much harder than he thought it would be even with his academic training, but there were limits he could push Revivaura to that he had never considered before. And sadly, especially with his last discovery, it still wouldn’t be enough.
After all, he couldn’t heal everyone.
Things blurred on the periphery as Arik was led up a flight of stairs, and from there to a space no larger than a broom closet with a bed wedged between two thick stone walls.
“I’ll be right back with a fresh change of robes,” Indra told him. “Is there anything else you need?”
Arik slowly looked up at her, a revelation coming to him: while Indra was unable to heal the same way that he could, the nursemaid had seen and done more in her life than he could have possibly imagined when it came to attending to the wounded.
“Well, disciple?” she asked, making a face that indicated she’d asked another question and he’d somehow missed it in his delirium.
“I’m sorry?”
“Is there anything else you need, Disciple Arik?”
“No, and thank you. Thanks for all you do. It’s just been…”
“An exhausting day. I understand.”
By the time Indra returned with fresh robes, Arik was asleep.
.Chapter Five.
First, a disciple will begin with the Faithful Branch of Common Restoration at the age of five. After a five-year program, they will graduate and enroll in the Devout Branch of Regrowth. After another five years, they will make the choice for their final secondary school of study choosing from either the Divine Branch of Arcane Healing, the Divine Branch of Soul Healing, the Divine Branch of Remote Healing, or the Divine Branch of Wound Transfer, which they will study for three to four years.
Once they have completed three branches, the disciple will enroll in the mastery school, after which they will be ordained a priest. In the mastery school they will either choose another Divine Branch, or study the Sacred Branch of Chi Healing, the Sacred Branch of Holy Voice, or the Sacred Branch of Disease Detection and Empathetic Healing. They may also take a hybrid course of study, combining a Divine and a Sacred Branch.
Upon completion of the mastery school, a newly ordained priest may enroll in the final branch of study, the Plenary Branch of Omni Healing. Only then will they be allowed to instruct others.
–The updated paths of a Revivaura disciple, written during the Reconstruction period of 801 to 813 by Master Murya Takane in his manual Revivaura: Healing Chi.
The two days that followed were a blur to Arik Dacre, one particular scenario sticking out in the end. It had been on the last night, Arik planning to leave the following morning to head south after meeting Meosa, when he heard Indra’s light tap on his door.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Disciple Arik,” she said as he came to the door. “A new patient was just dropped off, and he has stab wounds that shouldn’t be too troublesome for you to mend.”
“I thought the tournament was over for the day…”
“It is; he was dropped off at our front office.”
Arik nodded. “I will be right there.”
Not only had he been seeing enslaved combatants in the infirmary, but he had also started seeing local patients in the front office, Arik working even harder than he had over the first grueling day. Even with some of the more extreme trials he had gone through in his studies of the Faithful Branch of Common Restoration and the Devout Branch of Regrowth, Arik had never pushed himself so close to his limits.
And even more surprising, he felt stronger because of it, more capable, surer of his command over Revivaura than he had been just three days ago.
Once his disguise was in place, Arik headed down the steps to the main ward, where he found Indra doing her best to deal with the injured man’s stab wounds. Paying no attention to the man’s face, Arik went right to work, the lessons he had gained from his final years of schooling coming into play as he absorbed his patient’s wounds and internalized them, where Arik would be able to heal them overnight.
As usual, this came with a sense of ennui, but it was nothing that he couldn’t handle, it was just about the time that he was finishing up that the man spoke, Arik suddenly realizing who he was with one glance at his crooked teeth.
“Do I know you…?” the slaver named Sawtooth asked.
It can’t be, Arik thought as he took a step backward, his heart stopping for a moment. Sawtooth was the slaver who had first captured Arik, and while he hadn’t been as cruel as Konwa, he was a slaver nonetheless, and he had forced Arik to walk many grueling hours, treating him as cattle during the long trek south.
Arik lowered his hands, his fingers tingling.
“Is there a problem?” Indra aske
d, who stood nearby, wringing out bloody rags.
“Wh-what?” Sawtooth asked, squinting at Arik now.
“Here, here…” Indra went for some of the tonic that Master Kojiro made to put the patient to sleep. She brought it to Sawtooth’s lips, a confused look on his scarred face as he peered at Arik.
“Do I…?”
Soon, Sawtooth was out cold.
Arik found himself faced with the decision. He had absorbed the slaver’s wounds, and plenty of other wounds over the course of the day, enough that he would be able to kill Sawtooth in his sleep in an instant without Indra noticing. He was certain of this; and he was leaving in the morning anyway, perhaps never to see Indra or Master Kojiro again.
But Arik still felt guilt for what happened with Konwa, and he had taken an oath back when he had first been selected to join the Academy of Healing Arts. As a disciple, he had repeated the same oath every year since, and had the ceremony back at the Academy come to its natural conclusion, he would have repeated the oath yet again to signal his graduation from the Divine Branch of Wound Transfer.
Arik had said it so much that he knew the oath by heart:
I will strive to heal, regardless of the circumstances.
No matter how broken, I will repair.
These hands do not extinguish life, they prolong it.
I will remember this always.
“Is there a problem?” Indra asked him. “Are his wounds too deep to repair?”
“No,” Arik finally said as he continued the healing process, his hands once again over Sawtooth’s body, his fingers feeling as if they were pressing through the surface of a body of water. “It has just been a long day.”
****
Arik decided to leave early the next morning, hoping that he wouldn’t see Sawtooth on the way out, uncertain if he had done the right thing or not. He had stuck to the oath he had taken to become a disciple, but in doing so Arik had preserved the life of a slaver, someone who would simply go back to the trade. Oddly enough, his feelings were similar to the way he’d felt in healing the slave combatants, knowing that they would simply be sent to the slaughter again. What good had he actually done for the world? Could there have been a better solution?
Mask of the Fallen: A Cultivation/Progression Fantasy Series: (War Priest Book One) Page 9