Nevin had Orris’ full attention. While the veteran soldier did not understand all of the words, he had seen many men deteriorate in the way Nevin described. From the certainty of Nevin’s demeanor, Orris felt sure that this man—the first so-called “sage” he had ever met—knew what he was talking about. The soldier steeled himself and responded directly to the tall stranger, hopeful he knew a way to save his life or limb. He asked, “What is needed, Sir Nevin? I have seen many men die from black metal cuts half as serious as this. Few survive as whole men, and fewer still ever return to duty. Just tell us what we need to do and it will be done.”
Nevin felt quite uncomfortable at this request, which did not disguise the soldier’s high expectations. While Nevin felt he understood biology and anatomy well enough, he was inexperienced at any medical practice other than first aid. Also, it was certain that there was no first aid kit, corner pharmacy, hospital emergency room or other modern conveniences available. Despite the limitations, this man needed more help than he had gotten so far.
Nevin settled himself. “All right, Orris. I’ll do what I can, but I make no promises. First, we need some clean, white cloth. Linen cloth will work if you don’t have cotton, but it must be white and clean. Boil it if necessary, and tear the cloth into strips about this wide,” he said, holding his thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. “And make them about as long as a man’s height. We should need about ten of these strips; I’ll use one now and save the rest for new dressings.”
By that time, everyone had gathered around to observe the examination of Orris’ injury. Cresten and one of the women immediately left the grotto and could be heard scurrying on the ground overhead. They returned in an hour with the cloth strips, still warm and damp from boiling. In the meantime, Nevin had moved Orris outside where he could clean the wound without spilling water on the room’s earthen floor. Everyone followed them, eager to see what this tall sage planned to do.
Nevin proceeded to tear the sleeve completely off the injured left arm, ignoring the soldier’s weak protest at spoiling his uniform. Next, Nevin sponged the wound with clean water heated over one of the oil lamps. After the wound was thoroughly clean and the cloth strips rung dry, Nevin reminded Orris and Anson that the gash should be stitched to promote its healing. He explained that the skin along the edges of the cut would develop necrosis, which would provide a “dandy nest for bacteria to breed infection.” Anson had anticipated this need and already arranged for the sewing utensils and strong thread.
Nevin was chary about stitching the skin flaps of Orris’ wound, but Anson said there was another experienced at stitching small cuts who was willing to do it. Thankful at being spared this task, Nevin directed the volunteer, a young woman who was evidently highly regarded for her tailoring skills, in boiling the thread and sterilizing the needle. Before allowing her to begin, he asked for some “strong spirits” to use as an antiseptic. “Beer doesn’t have enough alcohol; we need something stronger. Get the most potent spirits you have.”
The last request immediately caught Orris’ attention, who replied with a good-natured grin, “Ay, Sir Nevin, wherever soldiers are gathered there will be ‘strong spirits,’ as you call it. The only thing I want to know, Sir, is whether I get to apply an extra helping of the spirits to the inside of this injured body, if you get my meaning.” Someone produced a flagon, the contents of which went half on the wound and half to heal “the inside of the injured body.” Nevin politely refused to share the brew.
The seamstress was deft in sewing the cut and applied several stitches in no time at all. Nevin was sure the grain alcohol they used was effective as both anesthetic and antiseptic, since Orris barely flinched with the operation. After the stitching, Nevin prepared to dress the arm but surprised everyone with a most unusual request, “We need some sort of antibiotic before we put on a dressing.”
Seeing that no one understood, Nevin realized they could not provide what he requested. He pursed his lips, trying to think of some alternative. Maybe no one else there understood, but he knew that sterile dressing alone would not counter the infection already started. How could he approach this scientifically? What served as antibiotic treatment before there were corner drug stores? His face brightened. “I know what we can use. Anson, can somebody here get us some moldy bread? The moldier the better. No, wait! Moldy cheese would be better yet.” Everyone present stopped what they were doing to mull this strange request. Moldy read and cheese for a wound? Was he going to make Orris eat it?
Anson dutifully arranged for someone to return to the village to get the strange commodities. While they waited, Anson and Orris exchanged puzzled looks until Anson finally blurted out, “Sir Nevin. Please do not think me insolent, but it is confusing to us that you cleaned Orris’ wound so thoroughly yet you intend to cover it with moldy bread or cheese. Can you explain?”
“I suppose it must seem weird to you, but there is a sound basis for this treatment. A long time ago in my country, we had a lot of fighting similar to what is going on here. We called it our Civil War, and thousands of men died days after they were wounded. These deaths were caused by uncontrolled infection, like your soldiers get from sword lacerations. We had so many wounded men that the doctors ran out of cloth bandages and started using bread to dress wounds. They discovered, after a time, that the wounds treated with the moldiest bread recovered at a much better rate than those with cloth bandages. Later on, scientists examined the mold and discovered tiny substances that limit the infection, and that’s what we hope will happen for Orris. As I recall, the mold in cheese and fruit is even more potent.” Looks of disbelief and skepticism appeared on faces all around.
Orris and Anson shrugged their shoulders, the soldier giving a wince of pain. They knew they had little recourse but to trust Nevin, even if he wanted to do something as strange as treating a sword wound with moldy cheese.
A man arrived with several pieces of cheese and bread wrapped in a large cloth. Nevin sorted through them, selecting the most heavily encrusted. He proceeded to dress Orris’ wound, applying the moldy side facing the cut and covering all with clean cloth.
While Nevin attended to Orris, Anson arranged for a meal. It was nearly dusk and preparations had to be made for the newcomers to sleep in the underground room. Back in the grotto, there were blankets and straw for bedding with designated sleeping places. Orris, still feeling a little spirited from the antiseptic, assigned rotating guard duty to four of the men. Nevin advised Orris not to take guard duty himself, but to get as much sleep as he could. Orris resisted so that he would do his share, until rebuked by Anson for not following Nevin’s orders. It was becoming apparent that confidence was rising among those gathered. Not one to waste time with small talk, Orris asked what everyone wondered, “Anson, what is this plan you and Sir Nevin have to beseech King Lucan?”
“Yes, I’d like to know more about that myself,” Nevin added.
Anson explained his idea about meeting with Lucan to convince him that this war would have no winner, no matter who prevailed in the last battle. He described what he had learned about vaporous gas that preceded the Gilsum attack. He suspected that a man named Stryker, who had traversed from Nevin’s far off land, was advising Gilsum’s King Meire. If true, Meire had gained a decisive edge from the knowledge Stryker brought. A little later, after making certain that everyone else was asleep, Anson showed Orris the war pictures from the Hempstead College library.
Nevin’s initial reaction was irritation that Anson would deface library materials, but he caught himself. That reaction just did not make sense any longer. He knew Anson well enough by this time to understand he was a gentle, reverent man who would not have taken these pictures unless it was important. If Anson’s fears were true, as was now supported by convincing physical evidence, then it was time to help. Nevin drew a deep breath at this bit of introspection, reluctantly letting go of his disbelief of all the recent mystifying events. His intellectual objectivity was losing out to the sou
nds, smells, and sights of this experience.
Orris’ reaction to the pictures added more incentive for Nevin to join the cause. The grizzled Guardsman seemed awed by the dimension of devastation depicted in the pictures, even for a veteran soldier who had seen and probably caused much death himself. Orris turned very serious at the sights and quietly bade Anson and Nevin good night. He turned and added, “Aye, Anson, any good king would take serious this kind of harm, and we have a good King in Lucan.”
Upon standing to leave the table, Orris looked again at the pictures and then at Anson. He quietly agreed that Antrim’s future grew more uncertain by the day. He had seen signs everywhere that collapse was dangerously close at hand. The population of towns all over Antrim had diminished to their lowest numbers in memory. Grain fields were poorly managed. Farm stock was often untended and found wandering, a sign of neglect never seen before. Small groups of bandits had begun to appear, some former soldiers who were unable to continue in service for injury or other reasons. King Lucan needed to know this, so it was good that Anson had a plan to meet with him.
“Despite the uncertainty of the future,” Orris said. “I am glad to spend this night with friends: One old friend who returned for his love of the land and its people, and one new friend who comes with high knowledge to help those so sorely in need.”
The passion underlying these words persisted in Nevin’s thoughts as he struggled to sleep. He was thoroughly exhausted from the day’s ordeal, but still excited at experiencing something seemingly impossible. The newborn “sage”—and a High Sage at that, he smirked—wondered what these people would expect from him. He would certainly try to help them if he could, but what could a scholar offer, here, in a place where there was no apparent technology and the town library had three dozen shabby books. Tossing and turning restlessly, he tried applying a relaxation technique to help him get to sleep but had trouble remembering how to do it.
Chapter 13
Night visitor
Next morning, Nevin awoke to the stirring of people and the smells of a breakfast meal. It had not been a restful night. The straw bedding and ample blankets were adequately comfortable, but the combination of exhaustion and excitement made for a fitful night.
As the immediate environment came back into focus, Nevin saw that he was still in the cave grotto. Amid the tables and chairs, he recollected the faces of the men and women around him. Some were engaged in quiet conversation and others moved about with assigned tasks. A few acknowledged him to ask if he slept well. Cresten handed him a mug that contained some type of hot herbal brew that smelled pleasant and tasted even better.
As Nevin enjoyed his drink, Anson came over and said, “I would like to leave as soon as possible for Sartell, Sir Nevin. Are you willing to leave in haste?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Good. One of the local farmers, a man named Faldon, will transport us in his wagon. It is more than twenty leagues northwest to the First City of Sartell and it will probably be a five day journey.”
Traveling so many days by wagon gave Nevin some misgivings, but he supposed he had to get used to slower transportation. Orris joined them. The Antrim soldier had a very determined look, but seemed a little spryer than yesterday. If his arm wound was truly less troublesome, then this man must have great recuperative powers. Orris spoke right to the point, “I have given much thought to your plan for speaking with the King about a truce with Gilsum. A Captain of the King’s Armsmen can help your mission in many ways. I wish to join you. With a mage, a sage and one of the King’s most grisly soldiers, we would make a formidable alliance.” The soldier’s grim face slowly gave way to a sly smile. “What’ll it be? Are we three an alliance for Antrim?”
Anson laughed and slapped Orris on the back. The soldier winced a little, but heard what he wanted to hear. “Well, the mage says yes. What says the sage?”
“It’s fine by me,” Nevin said. “The more the merrier.”
Nevin’s spirits brightened at the prospect of keeping company with both of these likable characters. Besides, he could keep an eye on Orris’ arm and be sure the infection did not get out of control. When everyone had eaten a filling breakfast of grain cereal and milk, the trio left single file through the earthen corridor to the bright sunshine outside.
Once outside the cave opening, Nevin scrambled up the embankment and stopped abruptly as his head cleared the top. Standing several feet away in awed silence were about two hundred people—villagers from Huxley, all staring at him. Apparently, word had traveled quickly that Anson had returned with an unusual companion. Anson had heralded this stranger as “Nevin the Reasoner,” a man with great powers of the mind with vast knowledge, and it did not take long before that reputation started to grow.
As he completed his ascent up the gully, the gathering of villagers gave a collective gasp as they saw the rumor was indeed true. Their eyes beheld a fair-skinned man, truly six feet tall who must be the weight of two men. The crowd started to buzz excitedly that here was a fit champion for Huxley. Someone murmured he must be one of the legendary High Mages, and several nodded in agreement. A group of children started an argument whether he could slay fifty or hundred attackers with a single death spell; this grand estimate was corrected by a more sober adult who said only a score of men could be slain so.
Orris and Anson moved stood next to Nevin, which gave rise to more whispered remarks at the improved health and vitality Orris showed. Some pointed at the white cloth bandage on Orris’ left arm and their eyes grew wide at another rumor turned true. It was said that this strange visitor could heal a life-threatening sword wound with nothing more than white cloth, hot water and moldy cheese. What a tale for the ages! The story of this day would pass down from parent to child, though no one could imagine how the story might end. The excited murmur rose until Anson took a step forward and raised his hands to quiet the crowd.
“Friends of Huxley! I have returned from another land where things in many ways are very different. There, people have machines that allow them to fly as birds. In their homes they have glass boxes where you can see images and hear voices of people living far distances away. Though they have wondrous things in that land, it is a frightful place. They have suffered horrors from war beyond anything we have experienced. Their weapons and war machines are so terrible that the amount of death and destruction is unimaginable.”
Nevin blanched at this observation. At the truth of it, that is.
Anson continued, “I have learned from my journey that even though our war with Gilsum has been slow and gradual over years, we have just begun to see the worst. We will not survive as a nation or a village or even as families, if we do not find a way to end this conflict. I will try to counsel with King Lucan and King Meire. In this effort, I am allied with Orris, our Captain of the King’s guard, and with Sir Nevin the Reasoner. You have no doubt heard tales of Sir Nevin already, but I must take him now as our mission is urgent. We leave today for Sartell to first meet with Lucan.”
Innocent faces hung on his words, including many young widows, orphans, and others suffering from the privations of the escalating war. Anson’s voice rose, remarkably resonant for such a small man. “It is for you that we make this journey, and it is for you that we must succeed.”
Stunned by the emotion in Anson’s voice and the depth of love and commitment he expressed to these people, Nevin was more surprised by the reaction of the villagers. There was neither applause nor reverie. Most of the villagers just quietly walked forward, milling around the mage, the sage and the soldier. Men gave them pats on the back, women more gently touched their hands with quiet wishes of good luck. The children still stared at Nevin but remained quietly subdued, typically hanging on to a parent’s skirt or hand. It astounded Nevin how deeply these people seemed to understand what Anson had said in so few words. He shuddered to think how easily they became entirely dependent upon Anson’s meager little plan.
Faldon drove up with a wagon drawn by tw
o small draft horses. Anson waved to the crowd and climbed aboard, followed by Orris and Nevin. The children came to life and noisily ran alongside the wagon as it creaked westerly toward the Public Road. After a few bumps, Nevin was jolted by the fact they were on their way to Sartell, the First City of Antrim and King Lucan’s castle.
* * *
A few hours passed after reaching the Public Road. The road’s surface was well-trodden dirt but also lined with ruts, so it made for a bumpy wagon ride. The wagon itself was little more than a rectangular box set on an axle, clearly designed to haul cargo other than people. There was just enough room in the back of the wagon for the three members of the newfound “Alliance for Antrim,” but there was no comfortable position for Nevin. Anson and Orris made no complaints, one of the benefits of their smaller size and weight.
Nevin wished that someone had thought of loading the wagon with straw first. He eyed two parcels made up of blankets neatly tied with coarse twine; Orris said they contained spare clothing, food and other articles, but to Nevin they would pass for cushions. When his discomfort final exceeded the need for politeness, Nevin reached for the parcels without asking and positioned one under his legs and the other behind his back. This arrangement improved his comfort enough that he eventually dozed off.
After some time, Nevin awoke as the wagon came to a stop and voices rose in conversation. They had pulled alongside another group that was also traveling the road by wagon. There appeared to be about ten family members, the youngest children riding in the wagon nestled around their mother. The children took fearful notice of Nevin as he stretched out his arms and stood up in the wagon, which made him appear especially gigantic and threatening. Some of the children screamed, prompting the father and older boys to brandish wooden staffs and take defensive postures to protect their family from what might be some kind of ogre. Anson ordered Faldon to quickly stir the horses into motion and be off before they came to blows.
The Chronicles of Nevin Reasoner: The Complete Duology Page 10