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

"Now come with me. We will need to discuss expectations if I am to be your Master."

Master?

Esper walked through the doorway before I could respond.

I had no choice but to hurry after her. As soon as I entered, she pointed to a chair. "Sit and tell me your level and skills."

I froze mid-step. That was personal, though I hadn't nailed down the degree. Definitely more than asking about your income, probably more than your sexual history, and most likely less than any skeletons in your closet. Dorian had implied that some lovers and even some spouses remained in the dark about certain details. My level was low, but my class seemed unique, at least in these parts.

She scowled. "How do you expect me to teach you if I don't know your class and skills?" When I didn't immediately respond, she let out a grunt of annoyance. She waved toward the door to the back room. "Take a look."

I frowned, but seeing no reason not to, I walked to the entrance and looked in.

Empty.

"There is no one there. Why—oh."

"So, you have some wit. To be clear, I asked my Master to leave so you could have privacy. Do you know what that took?"

I pursed my lips. I didn't, not exactly, but I could hazard a good guess. That sacrifice implied that she intended to take her teaching role seriously.

I stared at my new "master." Just thinking that word left a foul taste in my mouth. I had already experienced enough abuse at the hands of others, and the connotations…

Was my disgust a holdover from a culture far removed from the realities of this world? Maybe…but I couldn't bring myself to enter into a relationship with such a power imbalance. It was ripe for trouble, especially as a Human in this land. And she should know better than anyone else here.

Having worked with the Ættir, I could now easily pick out signs of her mixed Human and Ættarsk heritage. Her face was softer and less angular; the epicanthic folds of her eyes, far less prominent. Her skin tone was a lighter green than any Ættar I had seen. Her ears were probably less pointed if I could see them, but I couldn't. She had her hair long and in a loosely bound ponytail below her nape, quite the departure from the favored style of men with long hair and of the Vísir.

They preferred a tight braid or braids, which would just happen to make it impossible to hide her ears. Telling? I had no comparison—no other female Ættar of her age lived here. But could she be feeling deep shame over who she was? Not much of a stretch there. It didn't take a doctor to realize that she straddled two worlds. A tough situation to be in.

Does she just happen to know anyone else in that boat…?

I slammed on my mental brakes. She had been doing it since birth, and I…well, I had enough privilege from where I came from. This apprenticeship—working with a Human—would cost her, at a bare minimum, time but probably also reputation. She had more than pride on the line. Yet, mixed messages also got old.

"I'm sure it took a lot, and I appreciate it. But, I am not about to enter into a relationship that is as poisonous as what you have with your Master."

She flinched, and flecks of vivid green started to manifest in her irises. The air took on a weight to match her words. "You would shame me and spit in the face of the Sæmdarskati? Does your arrogance know no bounds?"

Not even a decade ago, I would have caved, but I had worked until I could barely stand and been berated for a simple mistake or, God forbid, asked a "dumb" question. It never stopped until you drew a line.

"I came here yesterday to make amends, but it seems like nothing was forgiven."

Her eyes flashed, and an invisible force scraped against every exposed bit of my skin. "Now you dare insult my honor! You're lucky I have so much. Otherwise, you would be on the ground screaming in pain. You insulted me as you left. You freed yourself from the potential service a day before you entered my tutelage. And now you speak to me as if we are equals. If we were anywhere else, I would have had the right to refuse your apprenticeship, but here, the Sæmdarskati's word is law. So I have to take on a Human!"

Human. It all came back to that.

I couldn't ask about her past, what she had endured because of her heritage. Not now, maybe never. It also wouldn't change anything. I had my pride, but I needed this deal—the knowledge she had. It, more than anything else, was my ticket to freedom. Even if she pushed me to the brink, it would be worth it. I had survived residency. With time, maybe we could even find a way to build something better. Her hatred couldn't run as deep as with the Vísir. After all, she kept saving me when she didn't have to.

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I took a deep breath and tried to compromise. "I am sorry for the position you are in. I promise, I didn't know about this arrangement when I came. If that cheapened my apology, then I want to make it up to you."

She stood silent for far too long. Yet, her muscles stopped trembling, and the tension in the air diminished.

Her voice was thick when she finally spoke. "You knew nothing about this arrangement?"

"I came here expecting that I would be working with the Vísir." I gestured to the front door. "You saw Rægnor's surprise. He thought it too. I came yesterday to make amends because I didn't want to leave things unsaid between us. It wasn't even the first time I came by. Every other time, you were 'unavailable.' You being my teacher had nothing to do with it."

"Master," she corrected. I kept my mouth shut. We'd find another term, but we needed common ground first. "Sending you away when I was here is something my Master would do."

"I'm not some opportunist. I'm just a Human, one who wanted—wants—to make amends." I shook my head. "You know what the Vísir thinks of Human, but I still returned and practically forced my way in to get an audience with you."

I let out a long breath. "I also get it. My humanity means I shouldn't be trusted. But I am going to tell you the same thing I've told everyone else. I am not from around here. I just want to help. And ask around; I've done that. I've helped my company, an Ættarsk company, in every way possible. I have earned their respect. Look, you don't have to like me, but please, be better than your Master. Give me the benefit of the doubt."

Common enemy, common ground.

I ignored the twisting in my gut. I had added more animosity to a world by playing on her detestation of her Master. Doctors shouldn't do that, yet I did. For the greater good? I could help so many more people with her knowledge. My stomach turned at the white lie. If only. I did it to save myself. Justified now, but for how long can I continue to use that excuse?

She held my gaze, eyes unblinking. Then she broke eye contact and shook her head. "If it were only so simple," she muttered under her breath. The words were quiet, but the pain was not. Her face slipped back into an emotionless mask, and she motioned to the chair. "Now, have a seat. You still need to tell me your skills."

I stared at her in disbelief. All that anger had evaporated, leaving cold indifference. The speed and skill with which she locked down her emotions…wasn't healthy. That rage had to remain simmering under the surface, but her control held. If it allowed for a tenable working relationship, it would do for now.

I walked over and took a seat. "What do you need to know about my skills?"

She remained standing, looking down at me. "At the bare minimum, your class, level, and your healing-related skills. Many share more, including their Potentials." She paused before adding, "And since you might not know this, it would be a breach of my honor to divulge your class, level, or skill to another. However, it is commonly allowed to discuss tier."

"And if your Master asked?"

"If she asked you directly, it would be within your right to keep it from her, though that may not be wise. She may use that as an excuse to end the relationship, though it may tarnish her honor to appear that petty. If she asked me, I would be obligated to tell her."

Dorian's warning about how Ættir might treat a gifted Human echoed in my head. I trusted her honor, but even if I knew my Potentials, I wasn't going to divulge them. Better to have deniability.

I took a deep breath. I need to build trust.

"My class is [Physician], which seems unique in these parts." As expected, she didn't contradict me. "Despite what everyone seems to think, I am not a [Healer] in the traditional sense. My class focuses on the use of medicinal items instead of magical healing."

"Magical?"

"That's my term. It is whatever you call the type of healing you do."

"What a strange way to use the term magical. It is just healing. To call it magical is repetitive."

The disdain grated, but I ignored it. "Well, I can't do it. And please don't go pulling out a knife to prove it. I don't know who thought masochism made for a good training method."

She clicked her tongue. "The practice originated with the [Spearweavers]. They must heal in the heat of battle. Wounds cannot stop them. [Shamans] stand behind the front lines, but in the ways of healing, [Shamans] set the standard. It would be shameful for a [Spearweaver] to do what we—they—cannot."

Not evidence-based. Not at all.

It still tracked with what I knew of their culture, and people probably did need to practice healing with the concentration frayed. However, not a chance in hell would that practice become part of my learning process.

Her fingers lowered to tap the handle of the small blade strapped to her belt, as though still contemplating testing me, but she pulled them away. "If what you say is true, then you really can't be considered a [Healer]."

"I know. It's why I never claimed to be one, and if my Projection means anything, I will never be one." I tried and failed to hide my bitterness.

Her eyes narrowed, but she waited for me to continue. When I didn't provide my Projection, she scowled. "Then how are you here wasting my time?"

"Because I can heal if I use a potion as a conduit. I enhance them and, apparently, create results that rival what you can do."

"Doubtful," she snapped. Still, she sat back, digesting what I had said. "Your methods would have a time limit, too. Out of curiosity, how would your methods handle festering?"

"I see your concern, but my skill [Suppress Growth] helps with that."

"How would suppressing growth help with festering?"

Did they heal without actually knowing the underlying pathophysiology?

"Perhaps I can teach you a few things, too. I think our approaches to healing utilize very distinct methods."

She found little amusement in that. She pulled out her knife and pointed its handle toward me. "Perhaps it would be good for me to get a demonstration." She flipped open a pouch and pulled out a vial containing a healing potion. "Make it deep."