The vilge was on the edge of a zy shallow river with a thick border of trees on each bank. It reminded me of Quailbrook, the first settlement I’d been to with Serru, which felt like it had happened years ago.
On the other hand, that had been just the two of us, and now we had two more humans, a felid, a cat, a jotun, and a pair of ornithians, plus a rge bck felid who always kept a bit of distance from the rest of us. Also, I was in a centaur-form I had not had then, carrying Terenei, who was much better for rest and food and one of our dwindling supply of Recovery potions, but still not exactly his usual bright self. He’d argued only briefly that he could walk, and caved when challenged to offer a sensible reason why he should when he had an alternative.
Serru, with a sigh of relief, left us with the ornithians and made directly for the general store.
“Problem?” I asked Zanshe.
“Even though we packed more of everything than we expected,” Zanshe said, “a lot of things happened. We’re worryingly low on essentials and that makes her nervous. She’ll feel better once she knows we have enough. This is a small pce and we’re going to be setting up your house or sleeping in tents, because the tavern is just not going to have room.”
“Gotcha. But still inside the vilge, right?”
“They’ll find somewhere.”
We were definitely attracting attention, but then, it was unlikely that they often had groups like this stroll in—and not even along the road, just along the narrow and inconsistent track from the Goat Bridge. Peace and Cheer alone would have had an audience, most likely, let alone the rest of us. There were lots of humans around us, a handful of centaurs, one felid because apparently they went everywhere, and a couple of people who had scales across most of their skin but they were smaller than dragon-me and cked wings, which I thought I remembered were saurids.
One centaur stepped past a small mixed group and made directly for us. His horse body was a dark reddish-brown, and he was more generally slender than me, without feathery feet; his skin was a slightly paler shade of the same, and tail and hair were both bck. The white triangles of a warden showed very clearly on his equine hindquarters and on the pendant dangling from a chevron-shaped silver choker, left bare by the low neck of his sleeveless pale-green tunic.
“Hi,” he said, tone and body nguage all friendliness. “Need a hand?”
“Just a general store to restock camping supplies,” Zanshe said. “And a tavern where we can get a good meal and a cold drink. And a pce to rest and sleep. And a safe pce for our ornithian friends to have the same.”
“We can help with all of those things. I hope you don’t need a healer. Our resident paramedic is off on leave with his great-grandmother. Our doctor travels between three vilges, and there’ve been mosslings sighted in the area so she’s staying where she is for the moment.”
“No, we’ve got our own paramedic, and...” She gnced at me. “I think anyone who’s waiting on your doctor for urgent issues could ask her for help, once we get our very tired friend into a comfortable chair somewhere.”
The centaur warden nodded; possibly there was a hint of appreciation there as he looked at me. Were people here just really flexible about what was considered attractive, or had the Quincunx given me forms that tended to register that way? Either way, I had to admit that he was easy on the eyes—but I could not get my head around the idea of centaur sex, let alone right now!
“There’s nothing life-threatening, but we’re overdue for the next delivery of basic potions—the mossling sightings, of course—so if you’re any good with lizard bites...”
“Oh no,” Terenei said.
“Oh, no no, we don’t have an epidemic. But we did, a couple of months ago, and we went through a lot of Panaceas, and rebuilding always takes time. Which means that right now we have one teenager who was bitten and his father in self-imposed quarantine until they can be cured one way or another. A friend mailed us a box with a couple of road kits of both kinds, but it hasn’t arrived yet.”
“I can definitely help with that,” I said. “Hey!” That st was as Terenei slid off my back.
“Go help,” he said firmly. “I’m all right. I’m going to see how many Panaceas I have on me so we can leave at least a couple just in case.”
The warden gnced around. “Ortora, do you have room on the farm in the empty pasture for an unusual pair of guests?” A coral-haired human woman nodded immediately. “Good, grab someone to help and go get them settled, please. Sylsar, could you arrange for berries and leafy greens for them?”
“Plenty of both coming right away,” said one of the scaly people.
“Jyn? Could you show the others where the tavern is? Tell Zaereth I said no charge, we’ll settle it ter.”
The one felid, a wiry grey tabby with a blue-and-gold ring-bracelet on his left, nodded. “Will do. This way.”
Heket rummaged around in her bag for one of the communicator boxes, and tossed me a bright orange metal band. “In case you need us for anything.” She handed Terenei one when he held out a hand, and put one on herself. “I wish Serru had one. Our other friend. She’s already in the general store.” Zanshe and Aryennos, meanwhile, stripped off the harnesses, leaving the two ornithians only with their bridles.
“We’ll be right beside that,” the grey felid said helpfully, taking Heket’s mecha.
“Good.”
I slipped the communicator in pce and fastened it. “This shouldn’t take long. Order something good for me.” I fell into step beside the centaur warden, matching strides as we took a different direction. Behind us, I heard Terenei ask hopefully whether the post office was also near the tavern, but I missed the answer. I saw our bck felid companion watching with no expression, but he turned and followed my friends.
They’d be safe here in a vilge, right? He’d promised no zombie nonsense, and Zanshe’s ability to read people and the truthfulness and completeness of what they were saying was probably reliable even for him.
“That was an... unexpected direction to arrive from,” the centaur warden said, a casual and non-accusatory but rather transparent request for information.
“Avoiding mosslings,” I said honestly. “We came across the Goat Bridge. Other than that, it’s a long story. You can ask my felid friend—the white one—she’s a storyteller and if she’s not too tired she might be willing.”
“There is obviously a story. A bird dropped a message in the middle of town. It was signed by the Moss Queen and commanded us to refuse shelter to a mixed-species group that included a healer.”
I stopped in my tracks.
“We do not take orders from her,” he said, pausing and looking over his shoulder at me. “We are certainly not going to turn away anyone who needs shelter from her.”
Slowly, I started walking again. “What did she say?”
“She dropped the same message in every settlement and farm in this region, and not one person will obey. She referred to you as her great enemy and therefore the great enemy of everyone who loves harmony and prosperity, which is essentially the opposite of how anyone but her sees that equation. And it isn’t a major leap from there to the Purification potion that we’re exploring testing options for, since it’s hard to imagine anyone she’d consider a greater enemy than the source of that. I’m sure the whole vilge would love to hear your storyteller friend’s version, but only if she’s feeling up to it.”
There was just no hiding anything from these people. They put pieces together with no trouble at all.
“Right here,” he added, indicating a house with a painted image of horses trotting around the cob walls. A bright red length of cloth had been tied to the door-handle. He knocked, then opened it. “Shyess?”
“You already brought supplies, st night,” a tired androgynous voice said from inside.
“I brought you something better. A healer.” He pushed the door all the way open, and gestured an invitation to me to enter.
I squashed an immediate instinct to refuse to approach a quarantine situation without, at a minimum, mask and gloves, and stepped past.
The furnishings and general scale were human-like, although possibly those chairs were shaped that way to accommodate a tail, with a scoop out of the back of the seat and out of the lower back. It looked comfortable and cozy, a kitchen area to one side and a living room area on the other, with a hallway and stairs behind.
In the kitchen area one of those scaled folks looked up from a teapot. I wasn’t familiar enough with them to know whether they had visible gendered characteristics, but the warden had mentioned a father, and I was comfortably sure I was looking at an adult. Human height, he had a tail simir to my dragon one, and scales across a considerable amount of skin—areas most exposed to the sun, in fact. The base colour was a deep goldenrod, with markings that were both lighter and darker in a regur pattern, and occasional fshes of a startling blue.
I had no baseline to judge his condition, beyond the way he was gripping the table in front of him, possibly to stay upright.
“Hi,” I said gently. “Can I help?”
“I’d be grateful,” he said wearily. “Neighbours are doing what they can but...”
“Yeah. I get it. It’s tough when you’re isoted and all others can do is drop off what you need outside the door. When you’re sick and trying to help someone who’s even more sick, there’s no one else to take over so you can have a break. It’s exhausting, physically and emotionally. If you’ll give me permission, I can use my own abilities, not potions, to diagnose for certain what’s wrong and cure any illness and... we’ll see after that what else might help.”
He nodded and closed his eyes. “You have it.”
I stepped closer and used Diagnosis, verifying that it was strictly lizard-bite illness and fatigue and nothing else—although his vitals came up fshing orange for his temperature and with a warning of mild dehydration secondary to nausea.
Okay, so lizard-bite illness caused a fever and nausea and maybe some maise.
I followed that up with Panacea and then Quickheal, and watched in satisfaction as he grew less unsteady, the colour of his skin still golden but with less of a flush beneath it.
“That’s better. And your son?”
“In his bedroom. I can go get him, the stairs will be...”
There was absolutely no point to secrecy.
I switched forms—I was aiming for dragon, but missed and tapped aquian instead. Close enough. “Stairs are fine, as long as I can fit in the room itself centaur-form.”
He looked at me wide-eyed. “Am I still feverish and hallucinating?”
“You are not,” the centaur warden said from the door. “It’s all right, I promise.”
“This... this way.” He beckoned to me, leading me towards the stairs. They took us to a wooden nding, with three doors off it, and he indicated one. “Orys? Are you awake?”
“Yes.” That voice sounded younger, higher, and dispirited.
“We have a healer visiting.”
“Really? But it’s not safe for Hyrana...”
“Not Hyrana.”
I wasn’t going to get into the room in centaur form, so I was going to have to change in full view.
My younger patient, lying on the bed, had rather more yellowish tones to his scales, and they were brighter, with fshes of green instead of blue, but the pattern was simir. I recognized the position, the bonelessness of it: that wasn’t someone rexing, that was someone too tired to support themselves at all. The book fallen on the floor was more evidence of that; he had a sound pyer instead, which would of course take less energy while offering distraction.
Saurids were clearly one more fascinating species that I was completely unfamiliar with.
“Don’t jump,” I said, “but I’m only a healer when I’m a centaur.” I switched accordingly. “Is it okay with you if I get you fixed right up?”
Eyes huge, he nodded weakly.
Diagnosis: lizard-bite illness, an even worse temperature, more severe dehydration from nausea and diarrhea. Hm. Did the effects weaken with age? Did subsequent exposures have less virulence? So many questions! There was also a bite on one ankle, but it had been cleaned and bandaged, and its major barrier to healing was the havoc otherwise being wreaked on his system.
Panacea and Quickheal.
There was nothing else I could do directly, so I switched back to aquian so I could leave them alone.
Then I saw the pitcher of water on the desk in the corner, space made for it by haphazardly piling books and notebooks out of the way. There was a cup on a windowsill, in easy reach.
I checked the pitcher, and found it better than half full.
“One more thing I can do for you,” I said. “Sit up? You need to drink this.” I cupped both hands around the neck of the pitcher. I’d gotten really good at this one in the caves. The water started to glow with swirls of pale colour, and I brought it over to fill the cup, then hand it to him. “It’s a Recovery potion, but it’ll go back to being water pretty quickly if you don’t drink it fast. I’ll do another one for your father downstairs. That should help while your body sorts itself out.”
He obediently took a swallow, and then just kept drinking, as his body reacted to its own condition by demanding more. When he lowered it, he nodded. “I’ll finish it. Thank you. It’s been... pretty bad, waiting for Hyrana.”
Which was probably my fault. “I’m sorry that happened. But it should be over now.”
Downstairs, I asked for another pitcher of water, and charged it as well.
“It won’t st long,” I repeated. “Drink it quickly. But it should still help.”
“I already feel better than I have in a few days. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“I’ll take care of expressions of gratitude,” the centaur warden said. “You concentrate on yourself and Orys, all right? I’ll ask Zaereth to send over some fresh hot soup, maybe via someone who can stay for a little while and make sure you’re both okay, and I’ll check in on you soon.”
“Ah... I can’t change back to centaur yet,” I said. “If I do, the Recovery water will go back to being regur water immediately. I don’t actually know how long it will take it to do what it does.”
The warden nodded. “That’s a good reason, even if people will be rather surprised. Nothing else in town is worse than a minor kitchen burn and a twisted ankle from running on uneven ground.”
“I can fix those too. Once I can get back to my centaur form.” I raised a hand to my communicator. “Hey, Terenei? How long does Recovery usually take to work?”
“They’re very fast,” he said. “They’re meant to be. A quarter of an hour? Is everything okay? You changed form.”
“Is my voice that different? Yeah, needed to get up some stairs, and did a Recovery water thing. I need to give it time before I change back to help a couple more people.”
“Probably about the same quarter hour, I’d think. Doesn’t it go back to water by then anyway?”
“Yeah, I think so. Thank you. I think we’re coming to the tavern.”
“Should we ask them to switch your meal to an aquian one? It will be a while. They didn’t expect anyone but locals tonight and we’re complicated.”
“No, I’ll switch back. Don’t make it harder for them.”
“All right. See you when you get here.”
“About a quarter of an hour should be enough,” I said. “Then I’ll change to centaur and do what I can for anyone with anything at all wrong. And please don’t make a fuss about gratitude, when the reason your own doctor and supplies aren’t here is because of me. I already feel guilty about that.”
“Mm... because of the Moss Queen, rather. You can at least be certain that I’ll be making sure you and your friends don’t pay for anything at the tavern, and I am not taking responsibility for what the other half of the family you just helped might choose to do—Orys’ mother and sister have been staying with friends to keep them from also falling ill.”
I thought of what Zanshe had said, about the inherent superiority of dismissing something as trivial that someone else had been unable to do and wanted to show appreciation for. “The Quincunx gave me abilities that I’m happy to use to help, which makes me feel less like it’s anything I personally deserve credit for, but I think I’d be afraid for my family too and want to show it somehow.”
