by Pirateaba
Slowly, the young woman glanced around. She was standing in a tent; not an airtight one, just canvas walls and a dirt floor. Her ‘operating table’ was a piece of hardwood. Her surgical tools were a sharpened dagger, a curved sewing needle and inferior thread, and some wooden instruments that were already covered in blood. The men and one woman who assisted her weren’t trained; they weren’t even clean. They were covered in blood and grime.
And she had let another man die in front of her. Geneva still heard his screams. She’d already forgotten his face, but she remembered him begging to her as they’d carried me in. He’d asked her to save his life.
And she had failed.
He was the fifth person she’d seen die in front of her eyes. But she could hear shouting, and in the distance, screams. She knew that she would see more corpses before the end of the day. Geneva prayed they wouldn’t be because of her.
—-
Nearly a week ago, Geneva had walked into a city built onto the side of a lake. She’d stared around at the tall buildings, the interconnected bridges that ran overhead, and most especially at the walking lizard-people and the Centaurs that walked around next to Humans. But she hadn’t stared too long. Instead, Geneva had walked further into the city, until she could hear people shouting and the rat-tat-tat of someone banging on a drum.
The enlisters for the local mercenary groups and larger companies were already hard at work despite the heat of the day. Humans wearing light leather armor stood at small booths next to Centaurs who were practically unarmored save for a padded cloth vest or two, and Dullahans, strange, humanoid creatures who wore armor over their entire bodies and raised their heads up as they shouted at potential recruits.
Fighting men and—no, warriors of every species were talking to these recruiters and debating which group to join amongst themselves. Geneva stared at a Minotaur holding a huge spike club and shuddered as she imagined what would happen if it hit her. She prayed she wasn’t making a mistake. But she had no choice. Her stomach was empty, and even the smell of sweat and various body odors was making her hungry.
“You there! Join the Raverian Fighters!”
A tall man wearing plate armor called out to Geneva across the square. She walked over to him, noting how sweat stood out on his brow. He must have been cooking in the heat, but he made an impression among the more lightly-armed warriors.
“My name is Thriss. I am a [Sergeant] enlisted in the 4th Battalion of the Raverian Fighter’s Company. If you’ve got the grit to fight with me, we’ll offer you eight silver coins for each day you see combat, and one for each day you don’t. Stick with us and you’ll have a hot meal each night, trustworthy comrades at your back, and all the loot you can walk off with!”
Geneva had heard every recruiter giving the same speech, but she listened intently even so. Thriss looked her up and down as he shouted to her and the crowd in general. He had an amazingly loud voice—perhaps it was a Skill?
“We specialize in close-combat fighting, but we’ll hire anyone with a decent class.”
He eyed her skeptically.
“You don’t look like a [Warrior]. Are you a [Mage] of some kind? I’d have to ask for a list of your available spells. And we’ll provide you with armor and a weapon, unless that inhibits your spellcasting.”
She had to shake her head because the hubbub was so overwhelming. Geneva stepped forwards and shouted to Thriss as he stepped off the stool he stood on to hear her.
“I’m a Doctor! I treat the wounded! Would you hire me?”
“A [Doctor]?”
He’d spoken the words like they were special. Geneva knew he thought she had a class, although she didn’t actually have one. But he looked her up and down and shrugged.
“Anyone can pull out an arrow or pour a healing potion over a wound, but sometimes a healing potion isn’t good enough. Someone who can save a few wounded—or cut the limb off without too much blood—would be useful. If you’ve got a mark, put it on this paper.”
She was surprised. Geneva had thought she’d have to talk to countless recruiters and make her case before they hired her.
“Just like that?”
Thriss shrugged his broad shoulders at her.
“It’s an odd sort that would lie about having a [Doctor] class. We’ve got no magical items that can see your class and no one who has the [Appraise] Skill, but you didn’t claim a level. And that sort of thing gets found out right quick. If you can carry your own weight and aren’t a troublemaker we’ll make use of you even if you have to clean dishes most of the time. If you can’t fight, well, you’ll learn quick.”
He eyed her intently.
“But I’ve heard of the [Doctor] class, even if I haven’t seen one. Like a [Healer], aren’t you?”
“Something like that.”
Geneva lied. She’d never met a [Healer] in this world, but she hoped it was close to what she did. Thriss stared at her, and then nodded.
“If you’re lying to me, we’ll use you as an arrow shield. But if you’re not, we’ll put you to good work. Maybe you’ll even earn a few levels. Speak with the Lizardfolk behind me for instructions. Welcome to the Fighters.”
After that, Thriss had shown her where to sign and Geneva had been given a place to sleep in the campgrounds, a hot meal of grit-like food and boiled corn mixed with meat, and even a sword and dagger. Geneva had slept, uneasily wondering about her fate, until she’d woken in the middle of the night with a realization.
Thriss didn’t want a [Doctor]. Or rather, he was taking a risk on her. But what he really wanted were bodies. The Raverian Fighters were going to battle, and aside from the money spent on feeding her and equipping her, she was just another sword to hurl against the enemy.
Her heart pounded wildly, but then Geneva had gone back to sleep. She was so tired that she only woke one time more, to slap at the mosquitos trying to feast on her. Then she’d gone to sleep. She was so tired she’d completely forgotten to ask Thriss about surgical equipment.
—-
The next day, Geneva awoke to the sound of Thriss bellowing. It had roused her in a panic, and as she tumbled out of the rough blankets she saw soldiers all around her getting up as well.
Thriss the [Sergeant] had marched out with regular soldiers and officers and roused the hodgepodge collection of warriors he’d recruited yesterday. Geneva had stood awkwardly next to a Dullahan who held her head in her hands as they stared at Thriss. The man wasn’t one for speeches. He’d welcomed them briefly, and then told them they were going to practice fighting.
“My job is normally to whip you lot into shape before we have you fight with the rest of our forces. Trouble is, we’re already engaged to the southeast of here, so I’ve got a day to see what you’re made of before we go marching.”
So they were really mercenaries. Geneva had enlisted because she’d been desperate for food, but the reality only hit her now when Thriss told them they were heading into a battle a few days from now.
“We’re up against several groups this time. A local Centaur clan has allied with the Magehammer Company. They’ve sent two battalions and hired a few mercenary groups. We’re fighting them, supporting the Burning March Company. Don’t worry about the details; just know that we’re expecting you to fight your best. We’ll be fighting in the jungle; if any of you have terrain-based skills or knowledge of the local geography, tell me or one of the officers.”
Geneva heard a few groans, but the rest of the recruits seemed to accept this information as normal. Some of the people who’d signed up looked young—regardless of race, Geneva could recognize teenagers when she saw them. But others looked like veterans, such as the Minotaur with the spiked club who stood head and shoulders above everyone except the few Centaurs who’d enlisted.
“You lot, with me! We’re going to see what you’re made of, and if you don’t know how to fight, by the end of the day you’ll get your [Warrior] class, mark me!”
A tall Dullahan with a scar over he
r eye bellowed it at the recruits as she took a group of them away. Geneva hesitated. She wasn’t a soldier and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—fight. What should she do?
She found Thriss as the other officers began having the other warriors engage in practice fights. The [Sergeant] opened his mouth to bellow at her, until he remembered.
“You’re the [Doctor], aren’t you? What do you want?”
“I, um, need some supplies if I’m going to be performing surgery.”
Geneva explained her problem hesitantly. She know how these kinds of armies worked; you received pay after a month or two, and it would usually be late to prevent desertions. But she needed gear.
Thriss heard her out, and she was relieved he didn’t shout at her or order her to keep fighting.
“You need tools, eh? How do I know you won’t run off with the money?”
“I told you, I’m a [Doctor]. I need tools to stitch flesh together, and I don’t have any. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a doctor working?”
Geneva said the words with as much certainty as she could. Thriss shrugged.
“It’s rare enough. Most folks use healing potions, but I have seen healers stitch a wound closed. Why don’t you have what you need already, though?”
“I lost everything I had.”
That at least, was true. She’d lost everything when she’d walked down the hallway of her school and then turned and found green foliage all around her and dirt underneath her shoes instead of sterile tiles.
Thriss eyed her skeptically.
“Hm. Prove it.”
“How?”
He waved at the groups of soldiers being watched by officers.
“We always get a few injuries, even with blunt weapons. Let’s see if you can help with one of their injuries.”
Geneva’s stomach clenched up, but she nodded. But in her mind she was desperately going over her class notes and the hands-on lessons she’d had in medical school. She hadn’t graduated—she was only in her third year—! But it was too late to back out now.
Soon enough, Geneva had her chance. A young man—a redheaded teen with more confidence than actual ability—failed to raise the shield he’d been given in time. The other man fighting with him struck his shoulder and Geneva saw the young man fall to the ground and scream as his shoulder popped out of its socket.
“No one move! Back to your places!”
Thriss pushed through the circle of people and beckoned Geneva over. He stared at the writhing young man on the ground and looked at her.
“Practice blade must have broken something. Can you set the bone?”
Geneva shook her head automatically as she stared at the young man. He was trying to touch and not touch his injured arm at the same time.
“The bone isn’t broken. His shoulder is dislocated; he needs to have it set.”
Thriss’ eyes glinted and Geneva saw his lips twitch for a second. It had been a test, she was sure.
“Can you fix it?”
“I can if he doesn’t move.”
“You heard her! Hold still, lad! It’s just a dislocation; nothing to bawl about!”
Thriss slapped the young man and held him still as Geneva gingerly grabbed the arm. The young man’s skin was slippery with sweat and he was shaking, but she knew what to do. He screamed and whimpered, but Geneva had learned how to fix a dislocated shoulder. After one try she popped the arm back in place and the man stopped moaning and stared at his arm in disbelief.
“He’ll need a few weeks to recover.”
“No time for that. Here. Use this.”
Thriss pulled out a glass bottle filled with green sloshing liquid out of his belt. Geneva eyed it skeptically.
“It’s a weak potion, but it should do. Go on. Unless you’ve got a Skill or spell that will do better?”
Geneva didn’t, but she’d never seen a healing potion work before. She couldn’t let anyone know that, though, so she pulled out the cork. The smell the green liquid gave off was incredibly bad, but the young man was looking at it hopefully.
Gingerly, Geneva poured some of the green liquid on the shoulder, and watched in disbelief as the already swollen flesh receded and the man gasped in relief. The area still looked raw, though, so Geneva added a bit more of the potion until it looked completely normal.
“Good!”
Thriss accepted the two-thirds full potion from Geneva and stood up. He offered the young man a hand, and the youth took it as he stood, flexing his good arm and laughing as if nothing had happened.
“I wouldn’t waste a potion on you, but we’ve got a battle to get to, and you’re no use to us with one arm!”
Thriss’s voice echoed around the campsite and the other soldiers stopped practicing to listen.
“Mark my works, stick with us and you won’t be looking for potions when you’ve got an arrow in your stomach! We’ve got healing supplies that will take care of anything save having your head chopped off—unless you’re a Dullahan—and we’ve even got a [Doctor] in case the healing potions don’t work!”
He pointed to Geneva, and she felt eyes on her. Geneva blushed a bit, but she didn’t shy away from the attention. The rational, calm part of her was thinking, though. Thriss had had the healing potion ready, and he’d been expecting someone to get hurt. She looked at the soldier who’d been dueling the young man. He was a veteran, not a new recruit. They’d probably planned all of this out to bolster the recruit’s confidence, and testing Geneva’s involvement had only added to the charade.
Her suspicions were confirmed when Thriss took her back to his tent and he put the healing potion in a chest which he locked with a key. He looked at her as she fished around in the supplies and came up with a bag which he added some coins to.
“That was quick. I’ve seen men tear flesh trying to get the bone into place, but you did that in seconds.”
He thrust the bag at her and Geneva looked inside. A handful of silver pieces glittered at her.
“Take it and buy what you need. I’ll have one of the local boys show you around.”
So she wouldn’t run off with the money. Geneva accepted the small bag gratefully. Then she had to wait for Thriss to find a young Lizardboy to guide her. All the while she was still struggling with the unreality of it all.
Magical potions that could do several weeks’ worth of healing in a few seconds? Soldiers fighting with swords? Lizard people, Centaurs, and a race of people who could take their heads off like hats?
Just what had she gotten herself into?
—-
It took Geneva most of the day to gather what she needed, which was to say, a needle fit for doing any kind of surgery. In truth, she would have liked some antibiotics, general and local anesthesia, a supply of needles, disinfectant—
But she knew she was going to get none of that here. So Geneva got what she knew she could get, which was a needle, a curved one, the kind that she could use to sew flesh. Regular, straight needles just wouldn’t do.
Still, even finding that one instrument in the city was a challenge. It wasn’t as if this world—some kind of medieval world filled with magic—had anything like modern equipment. Geneva had to talk to three [Seamstresses] until one old lizard woman had what she was looking for.
“This is a needle I use to sew carpets, not flesh, Human.”
The old Lizardwoman with discolored scales eyed Geneva suspiciously, but sold her three curved needles in the end, along with the thread to match. It was dearly expensive, but Geneva still had enough left for some cloth and scissors. She needed bandages, and scissors were essential.
Thriss had eyed Geneva’s purchases and snorted when she returned. He’d taken the few coppers she had left.
“Bandages? Good if you’ve not a healing potion on hand, I suppose. But if you need cloth, we’ve got enough rags. Ask the quartermaster for the rest of what you need and get ready to march tomorrow. We’ll need to cover at least fifteen miles and you’ll have your own pack to carry.”
After that, Geneva sat with laughing males and females of various races as they ate before they slept. The air was hot and humid, as it had been every day Geneva had been here, and bugs tried to bite or drink from her. But the food on her plate was filling, and she could even smile and accept thanks from the young man whose arm she’d set.
And as the second night had come and the weary new recruits were bedding down, Geneva had curled up into her blankets and covered her head so no one could see her. That was the moment when she allowed herself to shake and choke on her fears.
What was she doing? She didn’t have any real equipment. She needed proper surgical gear, not sewing needles and bits of cloth. She needed forceps, a sterilized operating room, disinfectant, antibiotics, anesthesia—
“But I have no choice.”
Geneva whispered that to herself until the person sleeping next to her grunted in irritation. She shut up. She had no choice. She had to survive.
This was Baleros, and the jungles were filled with monsters and the species were constantly fighting one another. If she didn’t have work, she would starve or be killed. And there wasn’t much use for a [Doctor], not in a land filled with magic healing potions.
Geneva Scala stared at the needle and thread in her pack and the bandages, water bottle, and pot she’d asked the quartermaster for. Her hands trembled as she imagined trying to save anyone’s life with such limited supplies. She stared at the sword and remembered her Hippocratic Oath.
Not the ancient Grecian oath that forbade the use of a knife in medicine, but the one she’d sworn to herself. She’d adopted her namesake, the Declaration of Geneva and made her own oath.
She murmured it now, half in her mind, half out loud.
“I solemnly pledge to consecrate my life to the service of humanity. I will practice my profession with conscience and dignity; the health of my patient will be my first consideration; I will respect the secrets that are confided in me. I will not use my medical knowledge to violate human rights and civil liberties, even under threat…”