CHAPTER 11: The Price of Past Sins - Part 2

  This village was just an ordinary small village. Nameless and unmarked on maps. He had only been a physician here for a few days but already knew all the residents by name. This was part of his dedication.

  There were no other physicians here, and that made him accepted right away when he said he wanted to open a practice. The village head even provided this small house.

  He tended to his patients, day after day, from when the robin sang until the seller of roast pork-with-apple and roast mutton-with-figs closed her shop.

  He rose from his chair with calculated movement due to his back pain, then took an ointment from the medicine chest. They came for ailments or injuries, no matter how minor. But he would not turn them away, for he did all this out of dedication.

  “Soak your knee in warm water. Apply this before sleep and wrap it with clean cloth.”

  The middle-aged woman thanked him and gave him fruits as payment. He escorted her to the door.

  Next to the clinic, the roast pork-with-apple seller had closed her shop. He then locked the door and slid the bolt. He removed the window shutters support one by one. Step by step, hindered by his back pain, he tidied the medicine bottles on the table, arranging them into the chest and locking it.

  “Hmm?”

  A black crevice split open beside him, and a face of a man emerged as if from a pool of ink.

  He was in his mid-thirties and wore a long black robe. His features and lines were rigid, as if carved from stone with the chisel of life's bitterness. His shoulder-length black hair matched his eyes which were as hollow and cold as a grave pit. His thin lips were tightly closed, as if hiding his tongue, the only thing that still bore a trace of gentleness.

  The physician was powerless as the man pulled him inside the black pool.

  ***

  From atop the hill, Varne ascertained that his village was intact. He exhaled and collapsed onto the grassy carpet. Even for a Prana Decima, covering a ten-day journey in four was no light feat.

  He crossed the village to his home on the edge of the forest. This village was too small for anything significant to occur. Even the incident forty years ago, when Toothless peeked at bathing girls, slipped and lost all his front teeth, was still talked about. He was now grateful for that fact.

  In his yard, an unfamiliar man was drawing water from the well. He was old, over fifty, his brown hair speckled with streaks of white.

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  “You are…?” Varne asked.

  The old man looked confused for a moment, but then his eyebrows lifted high on his forehead and repel each other, “Ah! You must be Master Varne! Master Lorn has told me much about you. Apologies, I forgot to introduce myself. I am the new village physician.”

  Near the physician's feet lay a wooden basin filled with blood-stained bandages.

  “Where’s father? What happened?”

  “Ah, Master Varne, actually… I am unsure where to start. That afternoon I….”

  Varne brushed past the physician and rushed into the house. Their house was tidy, unusually so. A coughing sound came from Lorn's room. Concern drove his hand to reach for the door handle and push it open.

  Lorn lay half sitting in bed, a pile of pillows supporting his body – body, without both arms and legs.

  “Father…?” Varne froze in the doorway.

  “Son, you're back.” Lorn looked ten years older to the point Varne did not recognize him at first glance. “How’s Dorian?”

  He approached the bedside, still disbelieving his eyes. Pain stung his chest when Lorn's condition brought to mind an image of a wheat sack with a head used as a target for children's wooden swords.

  “W–What is…? Wh–Who?”

  Lorn sighed. “Take that chair. I have something important to tell.”

  Someone knocked the door. Through tear-blurred eyes, Varne saw the physician enter with a tray. He grabbed his collar and pinned him against the wall. The tray fell to the floor, shattering the earthenware pot and glasses.

  “Varn! Stop! He's my savior!”

  His grip loosened. He knew. An old, frail man like him could not have done anything to his father. Lorn was strong, he had defeated six armed brigands with bare hands, lived by hunting monsters, and was chosen to protect this village.

  “Forgive my son,” Lorn said as the physician cleaned up the pottery shards. “Please fetch the content of the drawer beside me and give it to my son.”

  The bedside table drawer held a small mahogany box; the physician handed it to Varne. His fingers trembled so much he struggled to open the latch. Inside, he found only a worthless purple pearl.

  “Master physician, may we have a moment alone?”

  “Of course.” The physician took his tray and left, closing the door behind him.

  “That object in your hand is Sky Core.”

  Varne set the mahogany box back on the table and knelt beside the bed. “Father, who did this?” He wanted to grasp Lorn's hands with both of his, if only his father still had hands.

  “I wanted to protect you forever… I'm sorry I couldn't. The organization where I once was… they are called the Inquisitors–”

  “They're the ones who did this?” Varne stood up. “I'll kill them!”

  “NO! Varn, sit and listen!”

  Varne sat down, his breath expanding his chest and shoulders. Only after that did Lorn continue. “They are not the perpetrators, but if someone find out I’m here, the Inquisitors will soon too. Inquisitor is a name you must avoid. They are after you and the Sky Core.”

  “Then who did it, Father…?”

  “That's not important. Listen, you must leave this village. Run and hide. Never mention the Core, me, uncle Dorian, or seek the Inquisitors. Never stand out, avoid drawing attention under any circumstances.”

  “Who, Father…?”

  “If you ever find yourself cornered, offer the Sky Core in exchange for your safety. I don’t know why, but that object is precious to them.”

  “WHO, FATHER!”

  “IF I TELL YOU, YOU WILL PURSUE THEM! And the Inquisitors will know, and you will die….”

  Lorn's answer made him sit back down. “Father… if you won’t name the perpetrator, I will go to the Inquisitors and ask them.”

  “Varn…, if you go, who will care for me?”

  Lorn had just told him to leave and now asked him to stay. Yet, those words still managed to bind him.

  “I won’t name the perpetrator... because I want it all to end here. This matter... I also played a part in it. Take the Sky Core and the Arcanzite before you leave.”

  “Then I'll do as you say. But I want you to come with me.”

  “That's impossible.”

  “That's my condition, Father.”

  Lorn’s expression softened. He offered a faint smile. “Very well, Son…”