17 An Old Flame

He was as good as dead when the man fished him out of Peolei where Tristan had somehow came floating in. Bedona wasn't as surprised by how he appeared or how he was alive, but by the lack of taint in him. She remembered Tristan, she remembered everyone in the village had the taint that was impossible to cure or remove once contracted.

She watched the man fascinated as he worked on Tristan, with the expert precision of a healer, someone who excelled in that particular field. She made a small fire nearby even though the man hadn't asked her to. Healing wasn't her area of studies, she knew how to stitch a small wound and apply bandage on it, recognized few commonly useful herbs and some of their mixtures. That's where her knowledge ended, but she recognized a master of their craft when she saw one and this man, he was one.

Tristan was pale, except his dark hair that made him almost monochrome. He had a large cut near his shoulder, almost on his neck where he bled profusely from; there were many other smaller wounds on him but that one was the biggest. But luckily for him it had stopped. The man kneeled near him and produced a small bottle from underneath his clothes, just like he had done a moment ago with the needle and thread. He poured the dirty yellow liquid on Tristan's legs, from his thighs to ankle. Hal Oil, she recognized it from the smell. The man rubbed it on Tristan's legs and then lifted them one by one and moved their joints, like working a machine for the first time, seeing if the cogs worked like intended.

"I can help, if you tell me what to do."

Bedona suggested as she knelt on the other side of Tristan's body and knelt. She didn't feel particularly about the boy, but being in the good graces of a master was always profitable; it had nothing to do with her guilt about leaving Tristan to die alone in the woods.

The man looked up from his work, surprised. She would be too in his situation. She could practically read his face asking 'are you sure' to her. He reached out his long hands holding that small yellow bottle of disgusting oil right in front of her face. The smell burned her eyes and she teared. She smiled despite her disgust and took it in her hand.

The man's mouth hung open as she poured some oil in her hand and rubbed them on her palm.

"Here, rub it on his arms like I am doing." He managed to say in his bafflement. But that was all, as soon as she was doing what was being told he went back to concentrating on the boy.

"What are we doing?" Bedona asked not being able to take the silence any longer. The man didn't answer her right away, he was slowly massaging the muscles on Tristan's calves, tracing it up to his ankles and back.

"He is too stiff from the cold. I need to relax his muscles before I can heal him."

Bedona's eyes followed Tristan's legs to his crotch.

"That is not what I meant."

The man's voice rang and she felt mortified. Really, she had no such curiosity or interest in the boy.

"No-I know. I didn't mean-" She grimaced at the fumble and sighed, she didn't want to act fool in front of him. "Are you a healer sir…and what may I call you?"

She let her question hang in the air. The man had switched legs and appeared to be in some thought. Seeing as he might not have heard her she was about to repeat her question but he sighed, and she stopped.

"I… am Moswen." He uttered the name like a curse, lips pursed like he had tasted something sour. "Yes, I do…healing."

Moswen, a name somehow odd yet familiar. The crazy old Nowsem came to her mind and Bedona looked at Tristan, she ought to know more. The names were stupidly similar, she didn't ask about it though. She was more interested in why Moswen didn't seem happy admitting that he was a healer, seemed to hate it even. Strange, as healers were one of the most proud people she'd met, annoyingly so most of the time, for the demands for their services were endless. And although not one herself she had worked with enough to know how they worked.

Many thought the power of healing was miraculous, able to close any wound and cure a sickness with nothing but touch or a chant. Bedona thought so at first as well. Healing a body with magic that was not prepared beforehand led to magic poisoning. Not a well-known fact but amateur healers killed more than the wounds they treated, only because the wounds were too serious that no one realized the cause. Magic only helped the body do what it already was doing, just at a much faster rate. It put the body in much strain. For a smaller wound it wouldn't be a problem but for bigger injuries, especially a life threatening one when the body did everything it could to be alive using magic to overwork it even more, nothing good came out of it. Tristan needed stabilizing before Magic could be used on him.

"Thank you."

Moswen's voice was filled with genuine gratitude as he thanked her. Maybe it was the voice or the man himself was like that. Bedona didn't feel any sarcasm in it. She let her smile at the man and nodded back.