A Doctor Without Borders [Healer | Slow-Burn | Medical Fantasy]

When I had the chance to examine them, I had once again experienced a skill's fallibility. [Sense Injury] had picked up the wounds and judged them equal, but they were anything but. While both penetrating wounds had caused localized hemorrhage, a cursory examination revealed wounds in two different classes.

The Ættar on the right had the more gruesome wounds: a shard had pierced his lower cheek and exited the other side, leaving a ragged gash. It was spilling blood, but he was spitting out what didn't fall out on its own. Ugly but good—he was protecting his airway. Even if I weren't here, he would be fine if he consumed a potion. He hadn't because a shard of stone had lodged itself in the center of his dominant hand, rendering it useless.

I made a cup with his uninjured hand and poured some of my potion into it. I pointed to his injured face. "Take a sip, but swish, don't swallow. Before it is fully healed, rip out the stone shard in your hand and spit what remains in the wound. I will finish up after I fix your brother."

He gave me a skeptical look, and if I didn't have [Suppress Growth], it would have been foolhardy. Hand infections were dangerous, but by the time the potion got to his hand, it would have lost most of its potency. When I got back to him to use [Suppress Growth], it would suffice to smother any bacteria that he had spat into his hand wound.

I stared the Ættar in the eyes. I didn't have time for a debate. This time, I consciously flexed [Physician's Presence]. My forehead grew cold, and something reached out to the injured man in front of me. "Just do it. I know what I am doing."

I didn't bother to check if he had followed my instructions. My other patient was starting to verge on a true emergency.

The Ættar on the left had a smattering of small puncture wounds and lacerations along his left arm and forearm, but they were distracting injuries. The large, dark stone shard protruding from just posterior to his right clavicle had all my attention. That shard had hit just the right angle to come near to striking the subclavian artery and brachial plexus.

I held back a curse as [Sense Injury] finally caught up to the true extent of his injuries. What I had feared when I first sensed the location of the injury had come true. The shard was sharp, and in moving him, they likely jostled it enough to nick the artery. Now it was starting to hemorrhage.

I knelt beside him. "Can you move your right fingers?"

He tried, and they moved, but without any of their usual grace. "Not well."

I could do more of a neuro exam, but I had seen what I needed. He had the greatest odds of hitting the middle and lower trunks of the plexus with the shard that close to the artery. He at least had lower trunk involvement; knowing anything more didn't change the situation. He had neurovascular compromise. If I were correct about my supposition about Energy channels following neural pathways, I'd be healing both his nerves and his channel.

"I'm going to need your potions. I gave mine to your brother." He started to move his head. "Stop. You will make it worse. He is fine. Potion."

He reached into his belt and handed me a vial with the iridescent liquid.

I took it and uncorked it. "Here is the plan. I am going to pull back and pour in the healing potion. You might feel it go back in. Don't worry about that. I need to do it this way to mend your artery, nerve, and, I think, channels." His eyes widened at that last part.

Note to self: when this is over, figure out how big a deal injury to channels is.

Not taking my eyes off his wounds, I said to the group, "Guys, I am going to have to focus here. I won't be able to pick up on any spiders." Then I refocused on my patient and gave him a small smile. "Here we—"

I pulled the stone, dislodging it as carefully as possible. Even without anesthesia, he didn't flinch. He also didn't move as I poured potion along the shard's smooth edge, just like I had planned with the spider leg. It flowed past my fingers down into the wound. It pooled a bit at the bottom, but I held back on healing. I pushed the shard back in with a squelch, forcing the healing potion upward to coat the majority of the wound surface.

I let my power flare, marveling at how easily I could fix such a devastating injury…well mostly.

The flesh, artery, and even nerves had healed. Each one required a progressively greater amount of focus, but in the end, I mended them all without issue. However, the potion struggled with his channels. This close, I could, with [Sense Injury], actually visualize the extent of the injury. Just like with nerves, the plexus was a nexus of Channels. They entered, wove together, and exited in different combinations to carry Energy to disparate locations along the arm. With a bit of effort, I could even perceive flows of something—Energy?

Under the potion's effect, the damaged sections had started knitting together, but just not appropriately. Some of the damaged segments of the channels had reached out to link to places that felt wrong. I couldn't put my finger on how I knew, but it had to be coming from [Sense Injury]. I could almost see the misconnections forming, creating permanent injuries.

If I let this happen, will it be fixable?

If they were anything like nerves, then I had an Earth-based surrogate for what was happening: aberrant regeneration. I had seen enough people in the ED and clinic with unilateral facial weakness from Bell's palsy to know that full recovery wasn't guaranteed. It wasn't at the same frequency as when my older attendings had done their residency, but that was the case with many illnesses. We just didn't see the full natural history of many disease processes because we were better at treating them, which meant the teaching cases had become rarer.

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My loss was my patients' gain, but unfortunately, poor outcomes still happened even though we had improved at catching it earlier and treating it with steroids and, debatably, anti-virals. However, telling a person it used to be worse was cold comfort, and I couldn't blame them. Who would want half their face blinking when they smiled or vice versa?

Still, the outcome was often just cosmetic, if an obvious and very bothersome one. What would happen if Energy were inappropriately channeled? Would skill functions? Could it cause damage?

I swallowed, trying to calm the roiling sensation in my gut. I could very well cripple the man if I screwed up—almost how I had…

That won't happen again, Daniel. You don't have a tremor to worry about.

I enhanced the potion effects, accelerating healing on those branches that were making proper connections and suppressing the growth of those extending down inappropriate pathways. I didn't have a mental map of this anatomy like I did with the Facial nerve. Healing the channels was guesswork, and I relied on far too many vague nudges and gut feelings. However, the channels almost wanted to correct themselves. With a bit of pushing with [Enhanced Medicinal] and pruning via [Suppress Growth] and frequent use of [Quicken Thoughts] to study their progression, I got the channels to mend properly. Hopefully.

Finally done, I let my senses expand beyond just the wound, only to be overwhelmed by the discordant cacophony of claws clattering on stone and frenzied screeches. I recovered in a heartbeat, but that was still too late. I had missed the familiar crawling down my neck. I called out that another spider was coming, but [Sense Injury] flared before I had finished.

My stomach twisted, but then released as I processed the information.

A puncture wound in the right arm. Deep, but thankfully, nothing vital.

Still, I cursed. I had warned them about my inability to watch for spiders, but had I waited for a response? I had gone right back to healing, dumping this responsibility on a group that apparently didn't have the Perception to reliably detect the invisible monstrosities. I had—

I activated [Quicken Thoughts].

The world around me slowed to a crawl, and I took a moment to ground myself. I was about to embark on a road I had been down far too many times. I needed to stop it now. I—we—had no time for recriminations. Mistakes happened—I may have just made one—but as much as I loathed screwing up, I wasn't fully to blame. I had done my best.

I took a moment, running through the facts, and I couldn't find an error in that statement. If a better way existed, no one had taught me it. Each way I cut the fact, any error came down to a lack of preparation, for which there was only one person to blame. The Verndari was accruing quite the debt.

Time returned to normal, and I yelled to whomever was injured, "Use a potion."

I let go of my patient's unblemished arm, the only clue of his injury blood-stained gash in his tunic. "Your arm and channels should be good now."

I switched my attention to my other patient before the Ættar in front of me could realize just how much hope laced my proclamation. However, I let out a small breath of relief when I caught, from the corner of my eye, his crimson-coated finger easily wiggling.

My first patient had followed my instructions. His injuries to his face and mouth had started healing, and I took back my potion to finish the job. I applied some to his hand. I had been spot on with my guess about bacterial growth. It was nothing that I couldn't easily handle with [Suppress Growth]. Swishing the potion had primarily healed the oral mucosa, leaving an exposed wound. I dabbed a trace amount on each cheek. No reason to leave a scar.

"You're good."

He didn't say anything, but I didn't miss the slight nod. I didn't get to savor the subtle sign of gratitude. I bolted upward as the back of my neck crawled. "Two more spiders coming at 10 o'clock and 2 o'clock."

"Where?" shouted Eiræk.

I cursed silently. Of course, they didn't have clocks here.

"Top left and top right of the tunnel. They've just crossed the ridge of the last deadfall."

I was getting better at this. I could now pick out the rippling shadow without having to focus. I pointed to them, which was all the hærlið needed. He grunted, and two more spiders died to targeted arcs of crimson.

I wanted to cheer, but then more rippling shadows appeared over the crest and along the walls of the tunnel.

"Guys…there are at least another four coming."

Dorian warned, "Don't you dare unleash Energy blades of that magnitude again."

Eiræk roared instead of responding.

A wave of power pushed against my mind. It had similarities to the displays made by Kyria Rhaptis, the Vísir, and, just recently, the Verndari, though it contained no trace of malevolence. It also lacked the strength. I debated resisting, but instead, I let it wash over me. With it, fatigue drained from my body, and the world grew sharper. I could make out the details of the tunnel with far greater accuracy, and it made my heart stop. Six more spiders rapidly approached.

What had we opened?

Before I could call out their locations, Dorian said, "I can catch the first three in a deadfall."

Dorian spoke with such confidence. I risked a glance to my side. Everyone around me seemed to have eyes on the threats. "Rægnor, can you see them too?"

"Yes."

"How?

"The hærlið's aura. It enhances all our Potentials. But, it will drain him."

Eiræk studied the oncoming dangers before dismissing the red coat on his pickaxe and calling for another retreat. We pulled back, and Dorian dropped the deadfall, catching three like he predicted. Eiræk stepped back to the center, and Rægnor took his spot. He and the other two Ættir finished off the other three spiders coming.

Our victory was again short-lived. More terrorvoles spilled out of the breach. Their numbers dwarfed the previous waves of them. We couldn't hold. We didn't try.

We pulled back, dropping what we could into pit traps while fending off swipes of razor-sharp claws. However, the danger from terrorvoles paled in comparison to the spiders. Even when visible, they managed to inflict damage. I patched up what I could, but I left my team with more wounds than I desired. I had to ration potions, and I didn't dare risk getting too absorbed with healing to prevent my surveillance of the surroundings. No one argued.

After one particularly brutal arc of crimson cut down a score of terrorvoles, Eiræk asked for a status. I was down to less than half of my potion. Most others were slightly better. He made the call. "Drop the last deadfall and pit trap. Then we pull back to the main cavern."

Dorian followed orders, and afterwards, we sprinted to the safety of the rest of the company. The Verndari had better not dare argue that we hadn't held a line. We had left enough blood on the floor, though I didn't doubt more would soon follow.