Once done
collecting items, Emil turned to face Remy. The man had been silently
waiting for the priest to speak, trailing the doctor's actions with
glassy eyes. Emil gestured to the dark fluid,
“Drink up, it may not taste great. Just to warn you.” Remy picked up
the bottle, swirling the contents before uncorking it and bringing it
to his dry lips. He took a long sip, grimacing at the horrid taste,
“Eugh, what is this? Tastes like death!” the doctor chuckled,
entertained by the sick man’s complaints.
“Vinegar, I warned you that it would taste bad, but you did not
listen.” Emil drew out the last word in a singsong voice. Remy
grumbled under his breath, taking another gulp of the foul liquid,
staring grumpily at Emil. The priest took the garlic from the cot,
slicing the bulb in two with a dull knife. He fiddled with half of the
root, dropping the other side onto the counter as he asked,
“Could you pull your shirt down? I noticed some boils on your throat
that need tending.” Remy scratched at the lumps, lightly pulling his
tunic to expose a cluster of dark welts. Emil leaned forward,
examining the enlarged pustrils before poking at one.
“Ow, geez! Warn a guy!” The man yelped, jumping away from him.
“Goodness, sorry! I was trying to see if I could pop it? That one
looks quite swollen. sorry.” Emil apologized profusely, looking down
at the boils. Remy grumbled, tilting his head to the side to expose
his bump covered nape to the doctor.
“Right,” Remy grunted, “just try to make it a little less painful, Less poking.”
“Alright then,” Emil nodded, silently taking the garlic half to Remy’s
skin, holding it just above the welts before adding,
“This will hurt quite a bit, so be aware.” Emil proceeded to press the
plant onto one of the clusters, earning a hiss of pain from Remy. He
slowly rubbed the half over his neck, occasionally uttering words
under his breath.
“So, Uhm, how’s the life?” Remy asked. Emil glanced up at the
questioning man’s eyes before looking back at the corrupted skin of
his neck,
“Oh, it is alright. Same thing every day, just an endless cycle of
treating people,” as Emil spoke, his voice grew distant,
“I have seen too many people die, some even family members. It can be
hard to go on knowing you couldn't save them.” Remy chuckled,
“God does that to you sometimes, tossing you about. I don't even know
what I did to get this sickness.” Emil smiled at him with pity, gaze
resting on Remy’s lidded eyes.
“I am not sure, but as a follower of the lord, it is my duty to help
you fix what your sins have done.” Remy nodded, ending the
conversation.
Minutes pass of Emil smoothing the onion over various welts,
occasionally asking Remy to move his cloak or to shift in the small
bed. With one last welt, he finally put down the bulb, picking up a
menacing blade
“Are you quite alright, Remy?” Emil quizzed, “you seem to have gone
pale.” Remy became white as a sheet upon seeing the blade, eyes blown
wide. He gulped, lightly nodding his head. The priest sat down on the
cot, bringing a cloth and a bowl to his lap. He tugged at Remy’s arm
enough to expose his boney wrist, laden with sweat and lumps from the
disease. Slowly, Emil brought the blade to his alabaster skin, digging
the sharp edge into the vain to produce a small trickle of blood.
Digging deeper, the blood started to flow like a ribbon into the bowl,
little streams coming from the crimson wound. Remy winced with each
movement of the knife, gritting his teeth to stop him from screaming
in pain. Emil frowned,
“Would you like me to stop? I am almost done.” The panicked man nodded,
“Yeah, that would be great!” He forced through clenched teeth, cheeks
ablaze from the effort put into the task of not making noise. Emil
took the knife out of his shaking arm, tying a rag around his forearm
to stop the bleeding.
Part 3 out soon
