Raisse
Raisse wrapped the Frostfern around the little boy's arm. He winced as steam rose from his burnt flesh.
"Does it hurt?"
He shook his head. But Raisse knew better. He was trying to act brave. Before she applied the treatment, she had warned it would sting and it was okay for him to scream or cry. She even offered him a clean cloth he could bite on.
He frowned at that. "My father says crying is for girls," he said, voice low, like repeating something dangerous. "And girls get laughed at."
The tent reeked with vomit and blood, the pleasant scent of Frostfern too thin to mask it. Her stomach turned. She swallowed hard, forcing whatever was rising back down. Her eyes started to water, the stench getting stronger. No, not now. She whispered. Why was it now of all times that her symptoms started to show themselves?
"I'm almost done. The next thing is for me to—"
The little boy—Belzar, she would later learn—started to wail. His cry cut through the tent, sharper than the clink of metal bowls or the low murmur of physicians outside. "It hurts. It hurts so bad." He tried to pull the leaf away but it was stuck to his arm. Until the burn was fully drawn out, the Frostfern would not release its hold. One of the many wonders of Iskarra's herbs.
"There. There. It's okay. I'm here." She drew him close, her voice soft and steady. The panic ebbed, replaced by a fragile calm.
"Here," Raisse said, pressing a clay cup into the boy's hands. "Birch Water. Sip it slowly."
The boy gulped it at once, then blinked as the sweetness spread through him—not just in mouth, but in his veins. Instantly, the pain ceased. The dark patch on his skin brightened. Color returned to his cheeks.
He hugged Raisse once more, and darted happily, joining the other kids to play outside.
"You're wonderful with kids." Vespera said. "It's so sad you don't work at this tent. Children can be difficult—the constant crying, the fear, the way they cling to you like you're all they have."
"Remember I have four siblings. I've been taking care of them my whole life. This is nothing," Raisse said. "When I was a new recruit, I enjoyed most of my time in the children's ward. It was my favorite."
Tall, thin and quick-witted, Vespera Clingheart was one of the new recruits that had joined since last winter.
Caregivers mostly did assistant work, cleaning wounds, holding patients down during procedures, and managing the aftermath once the physicians moved on.
And by the medical law, caregivers were required to work in every ward during their first year before being assigned to a permanent ward. The children's ward was her last.
Though Raisse, the Head of the Apothecary, was officially assigned elsewhere, she'd been spending more time in the children's ward than anywhere else.
"Well, it's my least favorite. I prefer the women's ward. I hope I'm assigned there after my internship. Well, you did say you would put in a good word for me…" Vespera said, observing Raisse attend to the last patient at the tent. "The other physicians mentioned you've been going from tent to tent looking for patients to treat. This is the last one from my tent. There's no more. You can go home."
"What makes you think I'm running from home?"
Vespera noticed Raisse hesitate, her hands lingering longer than necessary as she finished dressing the wound. "Well for starters, you're not supposed to be here. You're literally doing my job. What if someone sees you? They'll think I'm lazy or ineffective at my job." She whined.
"Then I'll tell them I'm just helping; you worry too much." She paused for a second as if thinking of something, then chuckled. "Of course, you do. It's part of the job requirement to worry."
"Give me the towels. I should at least wash that." Vespera placed the bloodied towels into one of the baskets. "Also, before you leave, don't forget to change out of this; there's blood all over."
Raisse confessed. "My mother, as lovely as she is, keeps disturbing me about the wedding plans. She doesn't approve of the choices I make. What gives her the right to intrude into my life? I'd rather spend most of my time here than deal with her shenanigans back at home." Although that was a half-truth. There was another reason.
Another physician entered the tent. She was wearing the same uniform as Raisse, a thick, fur-lined coat pulled tight at the waist, the sleeves darkened from years of work. A faded red scarf sat high at her throat, tucked beneath her coat. The scarf was an accessory, a gift from her grandmother. She wore it as a good luck charm. Her eyes scanned the room till she found what she was looking for.
"Everyone is gone, so soon?"
Vespera bowed, then announced she was leaving. Her shift was over. She'd promised to continue the conversation with Raisse the next day.
The physician hummed in approval, pulled the flap closed behind her, and hurried to the supply closet, snatching a bottle of Birch Water from one of the shelves.
"Yeah, right. Wait till tomorrow. You'd see kids crawling here with all manner of complaints." Raisse accepted the cup from Tallara. "Don't tell me you sneaked here just for this?"
Tallara's smile was quick and unapologetic. It was a small, reckless habit of theirs—one that had become a ritual.
She settled onto the cot beside Raisse. The narrow bed creaked and sank under their combined weight. It was built for children, and the wooden frame protested their presence with a low groan.
"We're like drug addicts. This is embarrassing. We're adults, we should be drinking with our mates at the Shack and we're having what, medicine for kids?"
Raisse almost choked on her drink. "Yeah, right. You're only doing this because of my condition."
Tallara looked at her soon to be sister-in-law's stomach. "Oh, yeah. Does he know?"
"Not yet. I haven't found the right time. With the wedding preparations and Wren's memorial service nearing, news like this is just going to disrupt everything."
"Speaking of Wren, don't tell me you're still holding on to that theory?"
Raisse stared down at her frail hands. Tiny as it was, it had mended countless bodies. Sharp when they needed to be, gentle when they must—always knowing the right touch for the moment. Other physicians had joked calling it miracle hands. Yet on that day, her so-called miracle hands had failed her.
"What do you expect from me? I watched him die in my arms." The bitter memories flooded her soul, pulling her further into the darkness that'd plagued her for months.
"That's your third cup. I think that's enough." Tallara took the cup away from her. Raisse pouted, clamoring for more. "Nope. I think that's enough. This drink is rejuvenating but any more and you'd get high on its sugar."
"Will you escort me home? And please have dinner with us?"
"Yes, I will escort you home. You poor helpless child," Tallara teased. "And no, I won't have dinner with your wonderful family. I have a date with Rimefrost. Jareth Rimefrost." She squealed.
"Oh, good. He's a handsome one. I definitely approve. Now, help me get up so we can go home. I'm about to pass out from the stench."
**************
The warmth of the house hit Nirvana like a physical embrace, a stark contrast to the biting wind outside. The air was thick with the rich scent of simmering stew and the sound of laughter. Her younger siblings—all three of them—were a whirlwind of movement, chasing each other around the central hearth, their shouts echoing off the brick walls.
Nirvana dropped her bag by the door, immediately being swarmed. "Nira! Nira! Where have you been? I missed you." Her four year old brother asked, tugging on her parka.
"I went to visit some friends after school. That's why you didn't see me," she said, ruffling his dark hair. But her eyes were already scanning the room, looking for the one person who mattered most: her eldest sister.
She found her in the kitchen. Isna, was stirring the pot, a serene smile on her face. But Raisse… Raisse stood stiffly beside the woman, her arms crossed. She still wore her medic's robes, and there was a tiredness in her eyes that a good night's sleep couldn't fix. She was staring at their mother, her jaw set in a hard line.
"...I'm not inviting the whole town, Mother," Raisse said hotly. "We've been over this so many times."
Isna sighed. "Fine. Fifty guests it is. Thirty from our family and twenty from the groom's side."
Raisse paused mid-chop, the knife hovering over the onions. "Why is the number so… disproportionate?" she asked, though her voice was already wavering.
Isna didn't look up. She cracked a crab shell with practiced ease and dropped the meat into the simmering stew. "We know a lot of people."
Raisse sniffed. Her eyes burned, tears slipping down her cheeks as she resumed chopping.
"This is the first wedding in this family," Isna continued, stirring the pot. "I can't believe we don't get to invite a lot of people. For my wedding, we invited half of the town."
"Mother," Raisse said, wiping at her face with the back of her wrist, smearing onion tears across her skin, "you're the last-born—and apparently your parents' favourite. There's no way they wouldn't go all out for you."
Isna clicked her tongue, adding more crab to the stew anyway, as if the argument needed seasoning.
"Is there anything you need help with?" Nirvana asked, coming to stand beside them, hoping to lighten the mood. "Or do you want some milk?"
The look Raisse gave her was not one of annoyance, but of profound, heartbreaking sorrow. It was a look that made Nirvana feel like a foolish child.
"Go and play with the others, Nirvana," Raisse said softly, the anger gone, replaced by a deep exhaustion. "We're almost done."
The door opened, and Aubin stepped inside, brushing snow from his shoulders. He smiled at the sight of his fiancée. Raisse hurried over, laughter escaping her as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He bent and kissed her softly.
"Hey," he said, his voice gentle. "I heard it was a difficult day."
"It's nothing to worry about." She led him to a chair. "Here, sit. Would you like some milk or anything?"
Right. Now she asks, Nirvana rolls her eyes.
Aubin asked for water instead.
"Nirvana. Milk, now." Raisse ordered.
"Where's your dad?" Aubin asked when Nirvana brought a tray with four glasses of milk and a glass of cool water. Her siblings snatched the milk at once, and competed for who'd be the first to finish theirs.
Nirvana took the last glass and held it for a moment. She pointed at the door that led to the study room. Aubin immediately understood.
"Why'd you call him dad?" the nine-year-old chimed in.
Aubin swept her into his arms. "Because he'll be my dad, too, once I marry your sister." He tapped her nose playfully, and she pretended to bite his finger. Catching Raisse's eye, he feigned a whine as she laughed at him.
"He's not going to come out." Isna announced the food was ready and invited everyone to the dining table.
**************
Later that night, Aubin and Raisse sat outside talking for hours, moving from work to their wedding plans, until the conversation turned, as it often did, back to Wren.
"I'm not ready for the memorial," Raisse confessed, his voice tight. "How do I face him? I promised I'd solve this in a year, and I have nothing. Absolutely nothing."
"Maybe it's time to let it go."
"You think I'm crazy. I know you do. But I was there, Aubin. I was on the team. I saw it."
"Okay," he said softly, choosing his words with care. "Walk me through it again. Wren dies exactly one year from now. You believe the attack was about something more. And you vowed to have answers before his memorial." He paused, searching her face in the dim light. "Where does this end, Raisse? Where is this going?"
"Why wasn't I able to treat him?" Raisse's voice broke. "I've been a physician for years. I'm supposed to be one of the best, to have miracle hands. What went wrong? Why don't we have a cure for something like that? That's why I have to work harder. To create new treatments… so in case… in case I ever face something like it again, I'll be prepared. It's the only way I can honor him."
Her words echoed in the night, and to Aubin, they sounded painfully familiar. First, Nirvana had vowed to become the hunter Wren dreamed she could be. Now Raisse was pledging to find a cure for a wound she'd never even seen, a wound that took her brother.
Although she claimed it was more than a wound. Snow fox attacks in the mountains were not uncommon; Wren had faced them before. Yet what followed his last fight was different. It was less a physical injury and more like a creeping infection, a poison that defied every known treatment. The physicians could not explain it. It was the first of its kind.
It was striking, how the two sisters had each chosen a different path forward. Nirvana sought answers in action, in becoming a weapon against the kind of darkness that had taken him. Raisse sought answers in knowledge, in becoming a shield against the unseen illness that had stolen him away. Two halves of the same vow, two ways of keeping him alive.
"But the responsibilities," Raisse countered, her practical nature surfacing through the emotion. "We're starting a family. Where would I find the time?"
"Just like we agreed," Aubin reassured her, his thumb stroking her knuckles. "I'll spend less time hunting, and hold things down here. My sisters have taught me a thing or two about running a home. I've also spoken to the crew."
A flicker of guilt crossed Raisse's face. "How did Nira take it?"
Aubin's expression tightened slightly. "Not good."
"Oh," Reissa sighed, the sound full of regret. "I feel terrible. I haven't been there for her, not as a sister should. I'll make it up to her. After the rite, we'll celebrate. I'll throw her the biggest feast."
"She understands you're busy," Aubin said, though his tone suggested Nira's understanding had its limits.
Raisse studied him for a moment, a new thought dawning. "Have you thought about who's going to take up your captain role?"
Aubin's posture straightened, a flash of his old, proud self returning. "Hey!" he protested, a genuine smile finally touching his lips. "I said I'd lay back, not retire."
They spoke for some time before they called it a day. When Raisse went to her room upstairs she saw Nirvana sitting by the window, staring outside like she was waiting for someone.
"Oi! Nira! What are you doing over there?," She tapped her bed. "Come tell me about your day."
Nirvana landed softly on the floor and bounced onto the bed beside her sister. This was the room they had shared their whole lives; the walls, once bright, were now softly faded.
She talked quickly, her words running together as she poured out her nervous excitement about the rite. One moment she was giddy, the next genuinely afraid. Then, lowering her voice, she finally admitted how she felt about Cai, the one friend of hers that Raisse could never quite understand.
Nirvana stopped talking. She finally saw that Raisse was asleep. Her excitement faded, replaced by a lonely disappointment. Without another word, she climbed up to her top bunk and lay down in the dark, staring at the ceiling her sister couldn't see.
Why didn't Cai come?
Cai hardly ever slept at home anymore. Instead, he took turns staying with his friends.
At first, he switched between staying at Boreas's house and Edur's house. He would sometimes spend a night at his own home. But lately, he was almost never there. It all started after the incident.
Nirvana, with help from Boreas, finally talked Cai into staying at her place.
Since it was his first time, she worked hard to clean out the attic. It was packed with junk: forgotten toys, dusty books, her father's failed inventions, and her mother's old clothes.
She set up a soft, feathery mattress on top of a straw mat. It took her two whole days to get everything ready.
Did he really hate her this much?