The Infinite Bk. 01 Ch. 04

Medicine

The spring rains were dramatic, passionate, the lifeblood of Mother Nature as she fully awoke from her winter slumber and prepared for summer. Yet at the moment, the fury with which the enlarged drops fell was not appreciated, for they numbed Noah's fingers as he gripped his sword and made him shiver as his clothes became worthless from the damp. It was also difficult to see, splashing against his face and blurring his vision, but he kept his gaze focused on his enemies.

He was out in the forest, Tin having retreated as per his orders. Before him, a trio of bandits, all with weapons raised. Noah was armed with his short sword, unable to wield his main blade, due to an arrow stuck in his shoulder. When he was first struck from behind, he had hoped it was simply a hunter's honest mistake, but the bloodthirsty looks on the men's faces told him that he was their real target. They probably robbed and killed adventurers for a living, and he couldn't imagine their female victims dying quickly.

Should he just turn invisible and dispatch them before they could retaliate? No, there was something he wanted to try, and a human opponent would be the perfect test subject. He raised his free hand towards his face, breaking the stalemate with one of the bandits firing his loaded arrow. Noah deflected it with his shield, the most he could do with his wounded shoulder. He swept his hand across his eyes as if trying to clear his vision, activating both of his spells. However, rather than splitting from his illusionary clone, he wore it, syncing his movements with the bandits not even noticing a difference.

One of the archer's cohorts, this one armed with a large battle axe, charged towards him. Noah had his clone take a defensive stance, while he pulled away, stepping ahead and stabbing the man through the heart before he could make his swing. The archer shot another arrow as Noah stepped back into his illusion, but he again blocked with his shield. Noah, with his movements concealed, drew several small knives from his belt and hurled them at the archer. His mana clung to the blades, rendering them invisible as the buried themselves in the archer, taking him out of the game.

All that was left was a swordsman, and he knew that something was going on. Two of his cohorts were dead, but he didn't understand how. He pushed his confusion aside and charged towards Noah. Noah blocked and parried his attacks with his sword, wanting to take his time and savor the fight. He was so used to fighting monsters, he wanted to make sure his skills in killing other humans hadn't gone dull, to refamiliarize himself with their unique movements and techniques.

He was allowing the bandit to push him back, though there was little he could do to stop it. His opponent was armed with a two-handed sword, so he could deliver more force than Noah could muster with his short blade. He strung the bandit along, using repetitive, easy movements, laying a fake trail as to what his next move would be. He made a wide swing from the side, and the bandit automatically blocked, however, the blade never came, it was only Noah's illusionary arm. His real arm swung from the opposite side, slashing the bandit across the stomach.

He staggered back, cursing in pain and trying to understand what happened. Noah closed in and the bandit tried to open some space with a powerful cleave. Noah blocked with his sword, at least, that's what the bandit saw. In truth, he had blocked with his shield, allowing him to slash the bandit across the wrist without him even seeing the attack coming. Blood poured freely, the man's hand now useless. He released a cry of exertion and tried a one-handed swing. The sword sliced through Noah's neck, just as the man had aimed for, but he knew something was wrong when no severed head fell, and what's more, he hadn't felt anything when he made the slash. It was like he had hit nothing but air. He raised his sword to block a swing from Noah, but in reality, it was a stab, with Noah's sword piercing his chest. Noah confirmed all three deaths and then called out to Tin.

"Do me a favor and pull this arrow out."

"I'm afraid it'll hurt."

"I can handle it."

She was nervous, but she grabbed and arrow and ripped it out without issue, making Noah grimace in pain. She pulled out a red potion from her bag and poured it on the wound. In seconds, it scabbed over, with the tissue within stitching itself back together. These health potions were a real life-saver, miracles in a bottle.

"Thanks."

Noah once more checked the bodies, but their faces didn't match any wanted posters, meaning there was no bounty that he could collect with their heads. Tin went to work, stripping the bodies of everything useful. They were so used to this routine that he rarely needed to give her orders.

"I think we should call it a day. I don't think this rain is going to stop anytime."

"I agree," Tin said.

They set off back towards the town, fantasizing of removing their soaked clothes and warming themselves beside a fire. They had plenty to carry, and the rain made everything heavier, with the added cold sapping their strength. By the time they reached the inn, even Noah was on his last legs, and felt weak. The sun hadn't fully set yet, but the clouds were so thick that it was almost pitch black out.

It was a relief to finally get inside and out of the rain, but Noah knew something was off. He felt woozy, his thoughts getting hazy.

"Don't tell me you two were out in that rain all day!" the innkeeper said when she saw them.

"We're going to stay in our room tonight. Can you have someone bring our meals up to us, along with extra firewood?"

"Sure thing, dearie."

They proceeded up the stairs, but Noah had to stop halfway up. He was out of breath, and it felt like the room was spinning.

"Master, is something wrong?"

"I think I'm coming down with something. Help me up the stairs."

She lent him her shoulder and they made their way up to their room. Before they even closed the door, Noah dumped his pack and weapons and began pulling off his clothes. Tin locked the door and started a fire in the hearth. Once free of his wet clothes, Noah collapsed on the bed. The mattress was lumpy straw, the sheets were rough like sandpaper, and the blanket smelled like wet dog no matter how many times it was cleaned, but Noah was grateful for them.

As the fire started to burn and fill the room with light and warmth, there was a knock on the door. Two chambermaids stood outside, the innkeeper's daughters, though they were younger than Tin. One of them held two trays of food, and the other held an exceptionally large bundle of firewood. Noah hid himself beneath the blanket and Tin answered. As Noah had taught her, she kept the door open just enough to take the food and firewood, and didn't allow them inside.

Tin brought him his meal and felt his forehead. "Master, you're burning up."

"I'll be fine. Take off your clothes and warm yourself by the fire before you end up like me."

He watched her undress and the two of them sat on the bed, wrapped in blankets as they ate their dinner. It was hot stew, the perfect comfort food. Unfortunately, Noah was starting to find it difficult to swallow. By the time he finished, his breathing was becoming labored and his heart was beating irregularly. Noah was hoping it was just a cold, but this was starting to feel much more intense and was coming on too quickly. Perhaps a disease native to this world?

Tin could see his condition worsening. "Master, you should get some sleep."

She took his tray and gently pushed him onto his back. Truth be told, as soon as his head hit the pillow, he lost the strength to move. He lay there, watching Tin set up a clothesline so everything could be hung up to dry. Once she was done, she added some more wood to the fire and slid under the blankets. Her naked body met his and she curled up against him.

Noah closed his eyes, but while sleep was quick to come, it was unpleasant. Nightmares assailed him, a burning heat ravaging him both physically and mentally. He remembered tossing and turning throughout the night, when the pain in his body outweighed his fatigue. All of his muscles ached and spasmed almost nonstop, his stomach felt like it was full of oil, and he couldn't escape his fever.

He finally awoke the next morning to the sight of rain pelting the window. His mouth was as dry as ashes and he felt like he was going to die of thirst, just like he had a few times in the past. The rain, it had gotten him into this mess, but now he so desperately wanted it. He wanted to go out and vent the heat that clung to him like a monkey on his back.

"Tin," he murmured. His voice was faint, as it felt like his tongue and throat would crack like clay. "Tin," he said again, putting all of his strength into it.

"Master?"

He saw her in his peripheral vision, but he didn't have the strength to turn to her.

"Water." It was all he could say.

She brought him a cup of water, and in his impatience, he tried to pull it from her hands, if only to get it to his mouth a nanosecond sooner. His clumsy reach was ignored and she helped him turn on his back so that he could drink. It was some of the best water he had ever tasted, and he felt some life return to him, if only a little.

"More."

She brought over the pitcher to refill the cup, but he simply snatched it and drank the whole thing.

"How do you feel?"

"Everything hurts, I feel like I'm on fire. I think I'm gonna... gonna..." He covered his mouth and frantically pointed to the chamber pot in the corner of the room. He had detested the presence of such an unsanitary thing since he first arrived at this inn, but finally, he was grateful to have it. Tin brought the pot over and he vomited everything he drank, plus last night's dinner. He fell back on the bed, with his stomach feeling even worse. He had gotten a nasty flu a few years ago, but even that wasn't as bad as this. This was like malaria combined with detox. "Ugh... fuck. In every lifetime, getting sick sucks ass."

"I'll go get the innkeeper. She may know what's wrong."

"No. Me being sick leaves us vulnerable, and the more people know about it, the greater the danger. If I can't fight, we're easy prey. If I'm still in this condition by tomorrow, then you can get help."

"What can I do?"

There were plants that could help with cold and flu symptoms, but his mind was too hazy to remember them. "Pine needle tea, like I made by the river, and see if someone in the kitchen will make me some hot oatmeal."

Tin was hesitant, not wanting to leave his side, but she obeyed. With her gone, Noah tried to fall back to sleep, but could only get a pale imitation that was nowhere near as restful. For Noah, it felt like his brain was being fed on by ants. He spent the rest of the day in bed, passing in and out of consciousness. Tin remained with him whenever possible. She used damp rags to keep his fever in check, and hung a kettle over the fire, making tea for him whenever he asked, though his thirst was unquenchable.

Noon came around, and Noah sat up to eat his lunch, though it was a bowl of soup. Normally, people ate whatever the house special was at the time, but by paying extra, guests of the inn could order particular foods, at least, within reason. The broth went down easy, but the meat and vegetables felt like cacti rolling down his throat. As he ate, Tin helped wipe the sweat from his body. His spot on the bed would need some time to dry out. When he had finished eating, he simply sat with his head in his hands, taking deep breaths and trying to ignore the throbbing pain.

Tin leaned against his back. "Please, what can I do to help?"

"You're doing plenty for me already."

"There must be more that I can do."

"Well it hurts me to say this, but I'll need your help using that chamber pot."

--------

"Aye, this is springburn all right." Noah opened his eyes, finding the innkeeper examining him, with Tin standing in back. The woman was holding a handkerchief over her nose and mouth, and not touching him directly, instead with one of the rags Tin used.

"That's really bad, isn't it?" Tin asked.

"It's not good. I know four others in town who have it and they are suffering as well. It always manages to kill a few people each year. My oldest once had it and he nearly died."

Noah saw it, Tin's shoulders trembling. "What can I do to help him?"

"Exactly what you've been doing. I know of some teas that will help him feel a bit better. He'll either make it or he won't, though I think his chances are good."

"How much time would I have if it were to be fatal? How long does this last?" Noah asked.

"Three days. After that, you're in the clear." She got to her feet and returned to the door. "I'm confining you both to this room until this blows over. The last thing I need is for everyone in the inn to get sick." She left the room and locked the door behind her.

"It would be better for her to just throw us out," said Noah, "rather than simply isolate us and risk everyone. She must like us a bit, or at least want to protect her reputation. I told you to wait a day before calling her."

"But I did. Don't you remember? You told me that yesterday."

"Ah, withdrawn, my apologies. The pouch under the floorboards, can you get it for me, please?"

Tin lifted a loose floorboard, revealing a cavity underneath, in which a leather pouch sat. She presented it to Noah and he opened it up to reveal his phone and wallet. While they were mostly useless in this new world, he held onto them in the hopes that he could at least use them for parts and kept the phone off to save its energy. If he ever needed to start an emergency fire, that lithium battery could come in handy. Luckily, he had his earbuds with him, so he could at least enjoy one piece of his old life. Tin stared at the device, possessed by curiosity. She had only seen it once or twice, the metallic case, the light it produced. Was it some kind of magic tool? She wanted to ask what it was, but when Noah put in the ear buds, she assumed it was something that would help him get better.

He set his playlist to random and lied back down, hoping that the music would distract him. He drifted once more into the rift between being asleep and awake, cursed with his fever even in his dreams. During his waking moments, he was either drinking water or throwing up. The only reason why nature wasn't calling was because he was sweating so profusely. The music didn't distract him as he had hoped, so much as permeate his unconscious mind. One song in particular came up, "House of the Rising Sun", and as that opening guitar strung out, a memory was pulled from the depths of his mind, another time he had heard that song.

It was before dawn, he had been driving out in the Nevada desert, out of the sight of Vegas. Noah was in his thirties at the time, lamenting all the dust the Cadillac was kicking up, so much of it sticking to the exterior. He'd have to clean it up later, as his employers wouldn't be happy if he returned the company car in a disgraceful condition. The eastern clouds were pinkening as he pulled to a stop at the edge of a ravine.

He got out of the car and circled back to the trunk, from which he removed a man with bound wrists and a bag over his head. He stumbled on his feet, and Noah pulled him to the edge of the ravine and removed the bag over his face. The man's face was streaked with dried blood, some of which also stained his dress shirt. He was perhaps in his fifties, a senior in the company.

"You fucking retard," he spat. Noah ignored him and turned up the radio so he could hear the rest of the song. The exterior of the car was an antique 70's model, worth its weight in gold, but the interior had been upgraded into the modern age. When he returned to the man, it was with a gun in his hand. "Killing me will just fuck up your life and whoever threw me under the bus. You really think Alejandro can take power? Once this gets out, the streets will become bloodbaths and your head will end up stuck on a pike."

"In all likelihood," said Noah, "but it'll be fun to watch."

"You're willing to start a war just because it'll be fun?"

"Whatever happens is the fault of whoever hired me. That doesn't mean I don't like it, though. It's the little things that matter. You need to enjoy the special little gifts like this." He flicked his gun towards the car, where the song was still playing. "I once heard someone say that this is the best song for driving with someone in the trunk of your car. It is certainly a delicious coincidence."

"The irony of your ilk: people like you do great in our business because you have no morals, no hesitation, but it gets you killed so quickly. It's the people who actually believe in something that make it, that have a line they never cross, no matter how bloody their hands get."

"That's what's nice about my way of life, I feel no need to stick around. But even I believe in a bit of something."

The man laughed and spat on the ground. "What could you believe in?"

"Mercy. I'm letting you enjoy the sunrise, after all."

The sun broke free of the horizon, and as its light was soaked up by the land, a gunshot rang out across the desert.

--------

Once Noah had fallen asleep, Tin sat beside him and freshened the damp rags that were opposing his fever. It was all she knew how to do when someone was ill, and it came from memories of when she the victim, though kindness was rare to come to her in those vulnerable times. It pained her to be so useless, to not know how to help. Most of everything she had done was just obeying his instructions.

As she wiped away his sweat, her eyes fell to his exposed manhood, and lust fluttered through her, a feeling that Noah had introduced her to. Their routine had been disturbed by this sickness, as yesterday was the day she was supposed to help him train his mana. She cherished those days, when she could finally help him in the way she knew best, when she got to experience euphoria.

Women would always flock to her master, flirting with him, trying to invite themselves into one of his "workouts". It terrified her, that she might be discarded for someone else, having lost her value. When she and Noah met those female adventurers, she saw everything she could not do in Mira, and everything she could do in Beth, rendering her obsolete.

She lowered her head and began performing felatio, slurping up the salt from his sweat. She did it often when he slept, compelled by her lust but also hoping that it was helping him feel good, each climax forming a shield against the pain of his fever. It was something she could do for him. If Noah was aware of it, he wasn't saying anything.

As her head bobbed up and down over his lap, Noah was sinking farther and farther into his mind, while being pursued by the music from his phone. Once more, a lone guitar was playing, and what little awareness his mind still had tried to remember what it was from. Ah, the lyrics, yeah, this was Pink Floyd, "Wish You Were Here". It was his wife's favorite, one of his past wives, that is. He played it at their wedding and her funeral. He could remember the sunny sky overhead when they cut the cake, and the somber clouds that matched the color of her casket as it was lowered into the ground. He remembered the food served at both occasions. But what was her name? They danced to this song, but he couldn't remember her face. She loved the oldies, always playing them while she worked in the garden. Didn't they have a son together? No, that was someone else.

Noah's mind continued to slip through time, each song conjuring up a memory. He remembered studying at MIT while listening to Two Steps From Hell. He remembered the stereo blaring Metallica when his convoy was blown up in Syria. He remembered Mozart playing in the hospital as he died from pancreatic cancer. He wasn't aware of the mutterings escaping his lips, recalling conversations from across time and space.