Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was careful, so very careful! It rationed the book like a starving creature rations food, taking a chapter at a time, making it last. It worried the words and concepts around in its head - that, at least, it could take with it wherever it liked. Even the elders hadn't yet figured out how to look into someone's thoughts.

------------(The irony did not escape far-away Malodore; a faint chuckle intruded on the memory for an instant.)

But it returned whenever it could, whenever it judged itself safe; it did not allow its enthusiasm to make it reckless. If nothing else, it would never finish the book if it got caught! So it crept carefully through the halls again and again, eyes bright with anticipation, hungry for another intellectual feast.

It was doing just that one evening, shuffling down the tilted bit of its path to the tower, moving slowly so as not to lose its footing and slip, when it heard the distant sound of Armida's crow-voice. Loreto's beak opened in a smile, and it sped up just a little bit, eager to rendezvous with its mentor.

"Zia Armida!" it called out, moving into a run as soon as it was safe to do so. "I'm here-"

Its hooves sounded against the stone of the tower landing, and it stopped dead. Armida was there, her coracle drawn up to the bottom of the tower as it often was - but there was another figure there too, coat tied back indecently high, up to its knees in the swamp. Close enough to Armida to touch beak to beak, if Armida had had one, and-

The sudden flutter of black feathers made Loreto stumble back with a startled cry. Odilia and Ligeia cawed at it angrily, their voices wholly their own at the moment, beating at it with their wings. The blows hurt, though they weren't enough to actually damage the young plague doctor at all.

Then, in unision, the two crows stopped their attack and pulled back, spiraling downward to settle on Armida's shoulders, giving Loreto baleful looks. The strange figure had shrunk down but not actually moved, and Loreto realized the figure's claws were intertwined with Armida's own.

"Loreto," came Armida's crow-voice, her tone sharp. "Come down here, wicked child."

Loreto swallowed and obeyed, hands shaking slightly as it clung to the wall for balance. It descended the spiral staircase slowly, keeping its head down until it reached the packed-earth 'beach' below. Only then did it look up and see...

"Zia Celeste!"

It clapped its beak shut, eyes wide behind the lenses; it hadn't meant to cry out like that, truly, but the sight of its teacher crouched in the swamp water, hands tightly clutching Armida's own... that was the last thing it had expected. Painful anxiety rose as it remembered when Zia Celeste had come to Ettore's cellar, bringing her warning. Was this it? Was she here again to break its dream, too?

Zia Celeste straightened, pulling her hands away; she whispered something to Armida that Loreto couldn't hear, then turned and walked towards it, sloshing through the lily pads. "So," she said, her tone weary. "The inevitable."

Loreto looked from her to Armida and back again. "I... you know each other?" was all it could manage, stupidly.

Armida snorted; Zia Celeste sighed. "What do you think?" Her voice was still a bit raspy at the edges, never quite healed from Ettore's outburst.

"We are well and truly caught, I see - enough foolish dancing around the subject, Celeste," Armida said; water splashed lightly as she moved to sit down in the coracle. "Sit down and talk to the plagueling. Sit, Loreto." It obeyed, sitting down in the dirt with a thump, still staring at the two of them. The crows took wing, flying from Armida's shoulders to land on the edge of the staircase, looking down at all three plague doctors. After a moment, Zia Celeste sat as well, sweeping up her now sodden coat to perch on the second stair.

"Now." Armida's crow-voice, naturally, came from above them. "I dislike shallow pleasantries-"

"No, Armida," Zia Celeste interrupted, raising her voice. "I can say this. You needn't always be the strong one." Her tone softened slightly, but the look she gave Loreto was still cool and distant. "Armida is mine. This tower is mine - ours. We have loved each other longer than you've been in existence." Loreto's eyes somehow managed to widen still further, but Zia Celeste didn't seem to notice; she continued on stubbornly, deliberately. "She was - is - like you. Unwilling to bend, no matter the consequences. There were a dozen exiled that year, Armida among them. But she survived. So did most of the others. We've met here ever since. It was ours first. It will always be ours!"

Her voice trailed off into a confused hiss - there was anger there, and frustration, and the answer to so many questions. "That's why you took care of Ettore and me, after... and why you turned us in at first, and why you warned him - you knew I was here too, didn't you?" Loreto blurted out.

"Of course I know you were here! How could I not?" she said, bitterly. "I thought about turning you in too, just to make you go away - but then you were in that room too, with Ettore, and I didn't have to. Two birds with one stone. But you both cried just like all the rest. Just like my Armida." Her voice grew rough with tears, and she turned away. "And I couldn't... I couldn't. Not on my hands. Never. Ettore was a fool. I tried, Armida," she whispered, turning to look at the plague doctor on the coracle, as if Loreto wasn't there at all. "I tried so hard!"

"I know," Armida said, her crow-voice gentler than Loreto had ever heard it; it felt vaguely embarrassed for being there, for intruding and hearing this private thing. "I know, my dear. But he is mine now, remember? Mine and safe." Movement caught Loreto's eyes, and it looked up to see Odilia looking directly at it. "It was inevitable that you discover this, wicked Loreto-child," Armida continued, that private tenderness fading from her tone. "And inevitable that I meet you - how could I not, here of all places in this corpse of a Casa? My Celeste has always done her best, but it was bound to happen. Just as someday she is bound to join me in the swamp's heart."

"Not yet," Zia Celeste rasped. "Not yet. I can still save more. How many impressionable plaguelings have I turned back to the accepted craft? How many little dreams have I chewed up to keep them safe? I have not seen an unmasking in so many years..."

"Until this Casa dies, there will always be little dreamers, and I will always welcome them home," Armida said, chuckling. The hissing sound came from her actual body, not from Ligeia's throat, startling Loreto. "As I will welcome you home, my dear... and as I will welcome my wicked Loreto-child. The Casa will bleed its dreamers from every orifice until all that remains are rust and bones. There is no purpose in your remaining... either of you."

"No," Zia Celeste said, before Loreto could respond. She was shaking, her backblades chiming dissonantly against each other. "I can't. I won't. You can't make me, Armida."

"They'll never give you your wings, Celeste," Armida replied, that gentleness creeping back, but this time there was a sadness wound about her words. Loreto swallowed back a sudden lump in its throat, distantly wondering how the crow-voice was even capable of infusing such emotional subtleties into her speech. "No matter how many decades you pour into their service. You were too close to heresy."

"I have the bloodmetal they gave me long ago. They never took it away from me. Someday... oh, someday, Armida..." Then Zia Celeste shook her head and glared at Loreto, as if remembering that it was there. "I will continue on. Until I can no longer do so."

Armida shook her head. "Stubborn, always stubborn, you and I. All three of us, really. Sinners and heretics all." The two crows abruptly tipped off of their perches, gliding back to rest on Armida's shoulders as she stood. "I believe that explanation is more than sufficient. Don't you agree, Loreto?"

Loreto jumped, startled at being addressed. "Ah... yes, yes." It got to its own feet, then bowed deeply to them both, hands clasped. "I am so sorry for intruding - I never meant any harm to you. I can move somewhere else-"

"No," Armida said, immediately; Celeste's tail swished behind her once, but she remained silent. "Here is safe. You are a careful creature, even if you are wicked. This tower has protected us this far. It shall continue to do so as long as it can."

Loreto bowed again. "Thank you, Zia Armida... Zia Celeste." It could not meet its teacher's gaze - it was too raw, too painful to look at her. Armida's impassive white mask was much easier to face. "I... I will return later. Farewell."

It turned and hurried up the stairs, not stopping to look back - but, as it vanished back into the Casa, it heard the distant sound of voices in the tower.

The young plague doctors stood in a neat line before the double doors that led into the treatment rooms; they stood in respectful silence, their backblades chiming lightly as they waited. Zia Celeste waited to one side, her hands folded as she watched them. Loreto tried to catch her gaze whenever she looked its way, but it never quite managed to do so.

Their class had been shown through the treatment areas before, of course; they had to learn where things were at the very least. But that had just been an orientation. This was different.

Today, they would become apprentices in the craft.

The double doors creaked; a dozen young plague doctors jumped, then stood at attention. Light spilled out into the hallway as the doors opened, revealing a small group of winged figures standing just beyond. Some of the elders, naturally; all events of importance were marked in ritual, and all ritual was conducted by the elders. But Loreto was unprepared for the surge of bile that rose in its throat at the sight of Durante, the Eldest - the one who had taken, and destroyed, Ettore's mask.

But Loreto had learned self-control, and it swallowed that bile as the elder plague doctor walked forward, moving down the lines of apprentice-hopefuls with a stately tread, accompanied by the constant chime of wingfeathers. It carried a cane, though it did not seem to be using it for support. "So a new brood is ready to leave the nest, is it?" Durante rasped. For all that it moved slowly and spoke with a voice that betrayed its true age, the Eldest Cirurgien's eyes were still bright and calculating behind its lenses. "Answer me!"

"Yes," the class chorused, not quite in unison; a few voices quavered on the edges.

Durante snorted. "Barely grown, you are. So young, so new." The Eldest stopped walking when it reached the end of the line; it pivoted to face them once more, glaring at them all. "Yet I am given to understand you have learned all the classroom can teach."

Zia Celeste inclined her head respectfully. "So they have, Elder."

"Hrm. We shall see." Durante shifted, staring at them all, one plague doctor at a time; when the Eldest's iron gaze met Loreto's own, the younger plague doctor quailed internally. But Loreto kept its head up and held the Eldest's gaze. Its shoulders sagged with relief when Durante moved to focus on the next luckless plague doctor down the line.

Finally, scrutiny completed, Durante brought its cane down to thump against the floor. The sound echoed against the stone vaulting overhead. "Listen, plaguelings!" Its voice boomed, and a few of the younger plague doctors took a step back. The reaction seemed to please the Eldest, and it opened its beak in a smile before continuing to speak. "Listen well. Our kind was born in disease and death, in festering pits of miasma. We walked the streets unearthly, distant and inhuman creatures capable of speaking life or death with a word. Indeed, we are arbiters of life and death, while being beholden to neither!" It lifted its head proudly, wings flaring behind it. "We are the Cirurgien. The noble craft is in our very essence, written in our name!"

Durante paused, then lifted its cane to indicate the open doors. "Beyond these doors lies the true heart of this Casa. Our craft has been practiced here for centuries, perfect and changeless, an eternal and flawless rite. When you enter, you become the face of the Cirurgien to all who come to us for healing. You sustain them, and thus sustain this Casa. This noble house was built and fortified through the grateful gifts of those who honored our skill - these walls, the wards within them, and even the bloodmetal in your bodies were all born in the touch of our hands on their flesh!" The Eldest plague doctor swept its gaze across them all. "Our patients are our vocation and our fascination. They come to us bearing the great mysteries of disease and damage, our true elements. It is only just that we take those mysteries back into ourselves and send them naked into the world once more. Such beautiful living puzzles they are. Solve them, and be worthy of the name we share... apprentices."

It stepped aside, silence ringing in its wake. Nobody moved.

"Go inside!" Zia Celeste hissed at them, and the first few plague doctors stumbled forward. Slowly the lines began to shuffle through the doorway; Durante and the other elders accompanying it stood on either side, scrutinizing the new apprentices once more as they passed. Loreto kept its gaze straight ahead, first out of nervousness, and then out of curiosity... for the double doors entered not directly into the treatment rooms but into a vaulted hall, warm and dry and bright, and on the ceiling overhead was a riot of color.

One by one, beaks tilted as the new apprentices looked upwards. It was... it was a fresco, Loreto realized, a painted hymn to the glory of the Cirurgien. Shining-winged plague doctors soared and worked, up to their elbows in innards, FEAR glittering in their claws along with scalpels and needles. Along the edges, patients went from death to life and back again.

"A gift, long ago, for the saving of a demon prince's daughter," Durante rasped from the doorway. "Look well on the glory of our Casa, apprentices..."

It was impossible not to feel a fierce pride after that speech, looking up at the exalted figures high above, rendered in tender detail. Yet, even as Loreto stared, the very brushstrokes reminded it of Ettore... and it saw the cracks in the paint, the fading pigments, the way some of the plaster had tumbled off and been replaced badly, because of course none of them knew how to paint, because they threw all the ones who did into the swamp.

It's all dead inside, you know. The light and warmth are all lies. Soon they will fade, and all that remains will be dust and bones.

Armida's crow-cackle echoed in its mind, warring with that instinctual pride - that pride in family taught to them all from their first days, before they were even pulled from the long void and given their masks. Cynicism sank its claws into pride and dragged it down, leaving Loreto with an abruptly empty heart and a bad taste against its tongue. It would have been so much easier to believe in the glory and not pay attention to the cracks...

But that wouldn't make the cracks disappear. They were there, and the whole ceiling would come down eventually.

Loreto sighed, very quietly, and lowered its head once more.

All the apprentices were kept very, very busy. For all that the beds in Salvio's ward were never fully occupied, there were enough patients - and more than enough busywork - to occupy nearly all of the apprentices' time. Despite what Zia Celeste had said, and despite its own feelings on the matter, Loreto was simply too busy to even think about visiting the tower, let alone its own experiments.

As time wore on and the apprentices settled in, they grew more accustomed to their new roles. Salvio was not shy about adding new responsibilities, either. Each apprentice was called in turn to help with various procedures, learning how what they'd learned from books related to the realities of patient care. Reapers were so living, so vibrant, so filled with unfamiliar rhythms of breath and pulse, and their blood was so shockingly red when freshly drawn or spilled.

Still, most of the tasks the apprentices were set to involved working with the patients in the open ward; while there were a few private rooms, most of them weren't in use, and the one occupied room was off-limits for reasons that weren't explained. The apprentices speculated as to why, with theories ranging from hideous terminal diseases to some sort of foul personal experiment of Salvio's that he wanted to keep under wraps. Thus, it was a bit of a shock when Salvio pulled Loreto aside one day, then led it directly to the forbidden private room.

"I've been watching your work over the past few months," the lead doctor said, turning to look back at Loreto. One of his hands rested on the closed door. "It has been... acceptable, I suppose. I believe you are capable of assisting in this matter."

Loreto leaned forward slightly as Salvio pushed open the door. Their theories had been so wild that it wasn't sure what to expect... but the door opened onto a surprisingly mundane room exactly like all the other private chambers. The room was clean and well-lit, its single large window open to let in a cool breeze. There was a bed by the window, linens immaculate, cradling a small and pale figure.

... A winged figure, Loreto realized with a shock. A young girl with wide blue eyes, who pulled up her bedsheets at the sight of an unfamiliar plague doctor, cowering behind the fabric.

"Relax, my child," Salvio said, speaking in the common tongue. "This is Loreto, one of my apprentices. It will be assisting you in your healing. Loreto, this is Brynhild."

She stared at it. "H'lo," she said, after a moment.

Salvio nodded as if satisfied, then turned to Loreto. "She's a valkyrie," he said, switching back to Italian. "We've been treating her for a very long time. She is afflicted with a rare ailment, the Void's Rot. It requires regular FEAR-infusions and purification of the blood. I have judged you sufficient to the task. From now on, you will administer her evening treatment. Tonina will be glad to be off the roster for a while."

Loreto bowed, glancing at the girl. From here, she seemed relatively normal, if pale. "As you wish, doctor. What are the specifics of her treatment?"

"I shall demonstrate." Salvio strode over to Brynhild's bedside; she evidently knew him, as she sat up straighter and dropped the protective bedsheets. "I will show Loreto how to care for you," he said in the common tongue as Loreto came up behind him.

The girl seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded shyly. She was pale, nearly as white as the linens on which she rested - though, of course, many creatures had such pale flesh naturally. Still, from close range, Loreto could see an odd pattern visible under her skin, a faint branching tracery.

Salvio reached out and swept the bedsheets aside.

Underneath the sheets, Brynhild was clad only as base Reaper modesty required. Her belly was visible, and Loreto jerked back, startled. The pale skin was marred by a sharp black, livid as a fresh wound, radiating outwards from a sharp slash across her midriff. The branches of discoloration were starkly visible here, growing paler the further they went from the blackened scar, and Loreto realized the discoloration was following the path of her blood vessels.

"Read about the Void's Rot when you're released from your duties tonight," Salvio said, apparently unconcerned by the ruin of Brynhild's flesh. "It sets only into untreated wounds; Brynhild here fledged and fell and didn't tell anyone about it, the little fool. It is not a FEAR-infection, but it does eat at the victim's FEAR, encouraging the body to lose cohesion. As you can see, it spreads through the blood. The appropriate treatment is two rounds of leeches: one to remove the tainted blood, and a second with a FEAR-infusion to purify her system. The degradation is constant. Were it not for this treatment, she would be long dead. Do you understand?"

Loreto looked down at the valkyrie; she looked back up, apparently unafraid now, even a little defiant. "Perfectly, doctor."

"Good. She speaks the common tongue, though she's been here long enough to pick up some of our speech. Her family is one of our most faithful patrons, so tend her well. Treat her now; tomorrow you will begin tending her every day at second-to-last bell."

Loreto bowed once more. "Thank you, doctor. I will not fail you." It was an honor to be given such a task, truly; for all that it was a repetitive task, it was also a measure of Salvio's trust.

"See that you don't." Salvio nodded to Brynhild, then swept out of the room, leaving Loreto and the girl alone. Instantly, Brynhild pulled the bedsheets back over herself.

"Ah... please don't do that, I need to help you," Loreto said, awkwardly. "I need to help you feel better, yes?"

She stared up at it. For a moment, it seemed she might rebel further, but then she sighed and slumped back, shoving the bedsheets aside once more. "Okay," she mumbled, in Italian.

Loreto chuckled. "Thank you." It leaned over to examine the wound more closely; the blackness was no mere color, but vibrant and slick, as if it were a living and malevolent creature. Yet, when it gently touched the afflicted area, it felt no different from ordinary skin. Brynhild didn't flinch away, either. "Is it very painful?"

"It hurts," she said, making a face. "But it always hurts. I don't remember when it didn't hurt."

It wondered how long she'd been here, closed up in this room. "Did you fly?" it asked, making idle conversation as it reached for one of the leech-bottles.

"Kinda." Her wings rustled uneasily; they fit awkwardly in the bed, flight feathers clipped so the feathers wouldn't snap against the mattress. "Not for a long time." She turned her head as Loreto brought out the first leech, staring fixedly out the window. "I don't remember that very well either."

The area around the wound was pockmarked with the sign of many leech mouths - those markings were nothing compared to the searing darkness of the rot on her flesh, but it was still rather depressing to see. Loreto carefully placed the leeches along the wound, prodding each one to encourage it to latch on and begin feeding.

Brynhild remained quiet until the last leech was placed, then sighed when Loreto straightened again. "They feel weird. And cold," she complained.

"I know. I'm sorry," it apologized. "They will pull the sickness from you."

"Your name is Loreto," she said, thoughtfully, surprising it. "Tell me about you? The only people I get to talk to are the doctors. And my mommy and daddy, when they come visit me. Sometimes my nana too, but..."

She was lonely, Loreto realized. Of course she was. "Ah... I'm a plague doctor," it began, awkwardly, but she shook her head.

"I know that! You're all doctors, silly! You're all so serious... and you all say the same things." She looked crestfallen. "Maybe you're all really the same doctor, over and over?"

"I'm not Salvio," was all Loreto could think to say in response.

"I know that, too. You were in here with him, so you can't be the same one." Brynhild stuck her tongue out at it. All the shyness she'd exhibited at first was completely gone now. "You're not all grown up yet, right? What do you want to be when you're all grown up?"

Loreto's first thought, naturally, was 'be a doctor'... but it had a feeling Brynhild had heard that one before. Poor little creature. She was trapped in the Casa as surely as Loreto itself was, really. It felt an odd pang of sympathy. They weren't meant to get attached to their patients, of course, and it had seen so many in such short order that it had been impossible to do so before now... but it would be tending to Brynhild for a long, long time, or so it seemed.

"... I want to fly," it said, honestly. A part-truth, really, but it couldn't speak to her of its real desires, the desires that currently lay moldering in that far-away tower. It hadn't gone there in over a month. "If we're very good, we get wings when we grow up, you see, and..."

A wide smile spread across her face. "Me too! That's what I want to do, too!" Her clipped wings wriggled slightly, making the bed shake. "You're interesting. I like you."

"I, ah... I like you, too," Loreto replied, flustered... yet, somehow, pleased.

This wouldn't be so bad after all.

It happened one afternoon, while Loreto was on bedpan duty. It looked up sharply as the door leading to Brynhild's room abruptly slammed open, the plague doctor that had been attending her walking briskly across the ward towards Salvio's office. There was no emotion visible on that doctor's face, of course, but the occurrence was strange enough to make Loreto worry - especially when the doctor returned with Salvio in tow, the two of them vanishing back into Brynhild's room and closing the door tightly behind them.

Loreto dared not intrude and ask what was happening - it had other duties to perform, and if something serious was happening its interference would not be welcome. But it couldn't help but feel uneasy, and it kept casting worried looks back at the door whenever it was near enough to do so. At least it would be able to find out something that night, when it attended Brynhild as usual.

Thus burdened, the afternoon seemed to crawl by, even the simplest tasks taking small eternities to complete. Second-to-last bell felt years, centuries away... but, fortunately (or perhaps not), it didn't have to wait that long. Salvio pulled it aside midway through its examination of a grumpy witch with gout, apologizing profusely to the elderly Reaper even as he tugged Loreto out into the hallway outside the examination room.

"It's Brynhild," he said, bluntly. "The rot has worsened. We had suspected it for some time now, but now there can be no doubt. It has outstripped our ability to cure, and the damage has multiplied. She will soon be beyond our help. Only a miracle could save her now."

It took Loreto a moment. "You mean... she's dying?!"

It made as if to run to Brynhild's room right then, but Salvio grabbed its wrist. "No, Loreto. I know you care for the girl, folly though it may be, but she must not be disturbed. You can see her tonight, as usual. It will not take her that quickly."

"How quickly?" It forced the words out.

"Tomorrow, perhaps. Her family will arrive then. Reapers know what it is to guide a soul to its rest."

Loreto took a step back and leaned against the wall as if stunned; its backblades rasped against the plaster. "Remember how this feels, next time you consider getting... emotional... about a patient," Salvio added. There was no malice in his tone, only regret - for Loreto, not for Brynhild. "It makes things difficult."

Every response that sprang to mind seemed like a very, very bad idea. Loreto simply kept its beak tightly shut and shook its head.

"Very well, then. You may attend her as usual; the treatment will not stop the disease's advancement, but it will relieve her pain somewhat. At second-to-last bell. Not before, mind." Salvio gave Loreto a stern look. "You have other responsibilities until then."

"Yes, doctor," it managed. Somehow.

"Good. Now, go and apologize thoroughly to Baba Aglaya." Salvio opened the door to the examination room and nudged Loreto towards it. "And remember what I said. For next time."

"Yes, doctor," it repeated, and half-stumbled through the door to make its apologies.

........


Waiting until second-to-last bell was sheerest agony - yet at last the chime came, and Loreto dropped what it was doing and practically ran to Brynhild's door. It stood there for one moment, suddenly afraid. What would it find when it opened the door? Would the Brynhild it knew even be there?

It took a deep breath, for the calming effect, and opened the door.

"Loreto," came an eager but quavering and ragged voice. It entered the room quickly, letting the door close behind it, and hurried to her bedside. Brynhild was holding one hand out to it; it took it eagerly between both of its own. "It hurts, Loreto..."

Her hand was streaked with black, her fingertips entirely dark, as if someone had burned them. As Loreto watched, one of said fingertips evaporated before its eyes, dissipating silently into motes of FEAR. Brynhild let out a small cry. "I'm scared-"

"Shh, shh, I'm here," Loreto said, heart aching. It drew the bedclothes aside; as it feared, the darkness was all over her torso, as if the Void's Rot were a rapidly-growing vine consuming her small form. The tips of her toes were eroding too, not to mention her ears, feathers, even her hair. It would only get worse from here, impossibly so. "I can help you. Here, let me get up-"

Her grip was surprisingly strong, considering. "I'm scared," she wailed, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I don't want to die!"

"I'll help you," it insisted, extracting itself as gently as it possibly could. The leech bottles had both been refilled as if nothing were out of the ordinary, and it practically threw the first round of leeches down onto the blackness, willing them to suck up all of the void into their own slick bodies. It stared at them as they began to feed.

"Loreto?"

Her voice was so shaky. It held out one hand to her again, and she wrapped her blackened fingers around its own. "I will ease your pain," was all it could think to say.

"I'm scared," she repeated, and it had no response to that. It couldn't lie to her, but it also couldn't tell her that she was going to die, and there was nothing it could do to stop it. Nothing at all...

... nothing ...

The idea kindled in its mind like a flame. Perhaps there was something it could do. It could use its own healing technique, the one that used no leeches but raw FEAR, directly applied to her system. How many frogs had it saved from various maladies using that method? Dozens, surely, maybe hundreds over the years? True, it had never used it on a patient, but... she was dying. She would, quite possibly, be dead by this time tomorrow.

Surely trying couldn't harm her worse than that... and if it could possibly save her life...

It took another deep breath. They were expecting it to use FEAR tonight; with any luck, no one would realize what it was doing until it was done. "Brynhild. I'm going to... try a different treatment tonight. Okay?"

She looked up at it with wide, frightened eyes. "What kind of treatment?"

"Something new. Something no other plague doctor can do. Just me. I'm not... I'm not sure it will help. But it might." It squeezed her fingers ever so gently. "Can I try, Brynhild?"

"O-okay. I trust Loreto," she said in Italian, very slowly. Then she smiled. "I'll be brave."

"Good girl," it whispered, then started pulling the leeches off of her, squeezing them to make them release their holds in a hurry. It would have to do this quickly yet carefully. Once all the leeches were off, it carefully cleaned away the blood left where they had been, then spread its hands over her as it had always done - but this time, there were no leeches between it and her.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," she said, again in Italian. She steeled herself visibly and closed her eyes. "Ready."

"Here I go," it said. And it opened every conduit it had and poured FEAR out through its fingertips.

It was... not at all like healing a frog. Her FEAR was weakened by the disease but still potent; Loreto had to struggle to maintain control, to force its own FEAR through her blood like a cleansing flood. Brynhild let out a mewling cry, then gritted her teeth, her hands gripping at the bedclothes. Yet it was working, it was working; Loreto could feel the disease dying in front of it, pursued and run down and destroyed by its own ability. Its own experiment, its own power, its own victory-

And then it was gone. Loreto staggered, breaking off contact, and opened its eyes. It had a glimpse of Brynhild prone in the bed, chest heaving for breath - but her skin was milk-white, unmarred, every bit of her clean and healthy and free of taint.

The door burst open behind it. "What have you done?!" Salvio's scream was instant, echoing, furious. Two other plague doctors shoved past it, coming between it and Brynhild's bed, bending over her with anxious cries.

"A miracle," Loreto managed, and fainted.

Loreto couldn't stop shaking - no matter how hard it tried, no matter what it tried to tell itself, the tremors would not leave it. Its backblades grated dissonantly against each other, a constant chorus.

The elders had deposited it into the cold, windowless cell in absolute silence - the same cell it had been in before, the first time it had had its mask removed. The first time - the thought made it shudder again, its beak clattering unbidden. First declared the coming of a second, and there would be no return from the long void this time. Loreto stared ahead, refusing to close its eyes, hungrily hoarding every second of sight left to it - yet still, images of Ettore's unmasking superimposed themselves over the stone walls. Soon, it too would be cast out before the eyes of all the Casa, mask torn away, thrown into the swamp...

... and then, in theory, Armida would pull it out and take it home to her promised rebirth. The thought had been vaguely comforting in the past, but now the concept only made its stomach twist. Was it truly kinder to be saved? Perhaps it would be easier just to fall under the water's surface until true death found it. Cleaner, perhaps, without the threat of madness, of living every day left to it with the constant ache of one's loss.

Loreto leaned back against one wall, wincing as the movement shot a fresh stab of pain through its dislocated arm. It knew how to treat such things, how to work the bone back into the socket, but it had always been told that the pain was such that patients often blacked out. The thought of giving up even an instant of its final masked hours to darkness was horrifying to it. It was impossible to truly tell time here, anyway; at any moment the Judgement Bell might begin to ring, and then they would be back, and-

Somewhere nearby, a door slowly creaked open. A wave of near-hysterical fear crashed through Loreto's mind, and it shrank back into the corner like a frightened animal. The sound of slowly approaching footsteps only made things worse. It couldn't think; even when it had been unmasked before, the fear had been nothing like this, so overwhelming and primal-

"Loreto."

Its name was spoken with an odd, familiar bitterness, so unexpected that the young plague doctor froze in place, not daring to move or speak. A key worked in the lock, and after a moment the cell door opened to reveal Zia Celeste. She strode across the cell deliberately, her beak clenched tightly shut.

"Get up."

Slowly, Loreto obeyed, using the wall for support. It stared at her. "What... what are you doing here?" it managed, after a moment.

"Giving you a gift, stupid plagueling. Be silent and follow me. Quickly!" She glared at it, then turned sharply and walked out of the cell. Loreto followed, numbly, stumbling a bit; as soon as it was out of the cell, Zia Celeste closed and locked the door once more, tucking the keys away in one sleeve. "Follow," she hissed, sweeping past it.

It followed.

She led Loreto through the dim, quiet halls of the Casa, avoiding every lighted corridor or distant echo of voices. Even though plague doctors didn't have to sleep, they did keep to active and passive hours for the sake of maintaining some structure, and at this time of night most of the Casa's residents were in their chambers. Still, Zia Celeste's route dipped into the unused parts of the Casa as much as possible, and they moved in complete silence until they entered a long, tilted hallway lit by a single lantern. Loreto shied away, but Zia Celeste marched down the hall and stopped in the pool of light.

"Come here."

Exhausted, Loreto shuffled up to her, holding its dislocated arm tightly to its side. She gave it a long, cold look. "Here," she said, her whisper harsh and rasping. There was a bundle of something on the ground, Loreto realized, and as it approached the bundle moved. A small, orange-striped form emerged and clung to the front of its coat, scrambling up to its shoulder with eager, anxious squeaking.

"Parassiti!" Loreto tilted its head towards the scrags, and the tiny creature rubbed herself against its cheek. That small gesture of affection, so soft and unexpected, dissolved the sense of unreal tension that had held Loreto in its clutches ever since it had been thrown into that cell. It took a deep breath, for the calming effect, then looked at Zia Celeste. "Where are we going?" it said, carefully.

"Out," she spat. "Armida saw your sentencing."

"She sent you?"

Zia Celeste gave it a look of supreme disgust. "No. She is patient. She would have waited for you to fly into the swamp just as she did. Just like all of them."

That thought hurt, unexpectedly, but Loreto took another deep breath and made itself meet Zia Celeste's gaze head-on. "Then... then why?"

"Because. Because I always told myself... I couldn't save all of you little fools, though Jack knows I've tried. Most of you come to your senses and give up, but some... some are too stupid. Too stubborn. Like my Armida was." That old bitterness crept into her tone as she spoke. "No, I cannot save you all, damn you - but perhaps I can save one." She hurled the word at it angrily, as if it were an insult, her hands clenched at her sides, backblades singing with tension. "So get out - out, and save me from having to watch this idiot's charade again and and again! No matter how many times it happens, the one sent to die is always her! Her face always shatters against the stone! Never again!"

Tears overflowed, cascading down her bone cheeks. For a moment, Loreto could only stare as Zia Celeste crumpled before it, the grief of years finally breaking free of the anger that had held it so tightly. "I should have saved her," she gasped, voice nearly strangled by sobs, "not you, damn you-"

Then she took a deep, shuddering breath and straightened, wiping angrily at her face with one sleeve. Her eyes were bright with emotion when she looked up again, grief and bitterness and old, old anger. "Get out," she repeated, voice shaking. "I gave you the open door and the pathway here, and your damn pet. Get out."

"I... thank you..." Loreto stammered; she made a single angry gesture.

"Save your thanks for the deserving, if you ever find someone that is," she hissed. "Get out, and leave me my pathetic redemption."

Loreto bowed as low as it could manage. "Thank you," it repeated, quietly.

She turned away, silent and cold as stone.

Loreto woke slowly, rising out of unconsciousness into a rather poor semblance of awareness. It had been knocked out twice in as many days, badly drained its FEAR, been beaten and very nearly lost its mask. Staying asleep was an attractive proposition at this point. But a soft cawing sound forced its attention, and the world gradually swam into focus.

When it opened its eyes, the first thing it saw was a crow - the room was only dimly lit, but the thing was perched directly overhead, staring straight at it with a disconcerting intensity. Loreto tensed instinctively, then regretted it as a dull throb of pain rolled through its injured arm and shoulder. The crow clacked its beak and cawed again, the sound somehow mocking. "Hush," Loreto told it sourly, then focused on sitting up.

Despite the ache in its arm, it was easier to move than Loreto had expected. Its injured arm had been immobilized and bound up in a sling, and it could smell the faint medicinal tang of soothing ointments. Someone had even wrapped it in clean bandages and dressed in fresh clothes before tucking it into bed. It wasn't sure whether to be relieved or vaguely embarrassed. Other than the crow overhead, it was alone in a small room with walls of gray-brown wood. The only furniture it could see was a bedside table made out of the same sort of wood; the lamp atop it was unlit. The single wide window was curtained, allowing in only the faintest glow of wisplight from outside.

The faint clop of footsteps drew its attention, and it turned just as the door swung open to reveal Armida, her crows perched on her shoulders as always. The crow that had been watching Loreto cawed once. "Good morning, wicked Loreto-child," Armida said, taking the few steps from doorway to bedside. At her approach, the bedside lamp lit itself, soft wisplight rising to brighten the room. "I trust you are feeling well?"

"Ah... y-yes, better than I was," Loreto replied, awkwardly. "Did you take care of my arm?"

"I did, along with some others of my family. We are used to welcoming newcomers with medicines and cleansing baths. You were fortunate - most others arrive far more damaged. The journey from cell to swamp is unkind."

The journey it had not endured, of course. Every mention of that fact, no matter how oblique, was also vaguely embarrassing. "I, ah... quite... um. Is, ah, is Parassiti here?"

Armida snorted. "When I put your arm back in place, your little rat seemed to think I was attacking you. She did her best to return the favor, and only ceased when Odilia pulled her off by her tail. She is well, but she is sleeping now, under the influence of a strong draught. She was entirely hysterical with fear."

"My apologies," Loreto mumbled. "She's never been out of the Casa."

"Nor have you," she pointed out, and Odilia fixed Loreto with a knowing look. "Are you afraid?"

"No," it began, but the crow's gaze seemed to sharpen, and it looked away. "Perhaps."

"Hah. A wise admission. The world is so wide when not constrained by walls, Loreto-child. It is well to be afraid, though not to be hysterical." Armida had no face to smile with, but it got the distinct sense that she was smiling all the same. "You will learn. Come, now. If you are well enough to rise, I suggest you do so. Ettore has asked after you."

"Ettore?" Loreto stared at her. It had entirely forgotten that its old friend would be here. The thought of seeing him again was simultaneously exciting and terrifying. "Y-yes, Zia Armida." It opened its beak in a small, nervous smile, then shifted.

It got out of bed slowly, grimacing at the vague aches that made themselves known with every movement. Armida made no move to assist it, much to its relief; even if it hurt, it felt that it had been coddled long enough. Still, once it was standing, Armida tilted her head to one side in a familiar, inquiring movement. "What is it?"

"Hmm. That coat suits you, but something is missing." Armida walked to the end of the bed and knelt; belatedly, Loreto realized there was a small trunk at the foot. Odilia leaned down as Armida opened the trunk, spreading her wings for balance as she peered within the trunk for her mistress. "Hm. Not that, not that... ah. Yes." To Loreto's surprise, she came up with a red hat in her hands. "There, now," she said with satisfaction as she placed the hat on its head. "Plague doctors look a bit odd without some sort of head covering, don't you think?"

"Ah... yes, a bit," Loreto replied, bemused. One hand went up to touch the brim of the hat. Its own hat had been lost somewhere between Brynhild's room and the elders' towers; strange, how having that familiar weight atop its head made it feel just a little bit better. "Thank you."

"Hah. Come, now." She strode briskly towards the door and opened it wide; the crow that had been perched above Loreto's bed cawed and took wing. Armida let the crow exit first, then beckoned for Loreto to follow.

It had been expecting the door to open onto a hallway, for its small room to be part of a much larger structure. Instead, the door led directly outside, revealing a long, curving path that followed the top of a massive root. Loreto paused for a long moment, trying to process this.

"Hah! It isn't the Casa, is it?" Armida cackled, clearly amused by its reaction. "The only walls we have are the ones we build; our corridors are root and branch, our roof the canopy and the sky! This is how the world should be, wicked child!" There was a fierce pride in her words. "Walk with me, and see my home."

She took its good arm, automatically slipping into a peculiar stance, one that kept it close and guided it forward. Odilia shifted, climbing atop Armida's head so as not to get in Loreto's way. "I walk this path with every swamp-birthed child," Armida said as she began to walk, gently pulling Loreto along with her. "They learn the way of root and branch by touch, so that they need not wait for their crow-eyes to open." Indeed, the path was lightly scored, as if with a blade; the feel of it underfoot was distinct, recognizable.

Loreto allowed itself to be guided, sorely aware of how this scene was supposed to play out - as if there were another Armida and another Loreto, this one maskless and blinded, walking in their shadows. "How, ah.... how long does it take? For the, ah, the crow-eyes?"

"Some months. We take them in the egg, melding our FEAR with theirs. The bond is there at hatching, but it must mature. When the birds fledge, eyes and beak open once more." Ligeia and Odilia cawed and ruffled their feathers; Armida chuckled under her mask. "Proud creatures, they are, and worthy of our trust."

"Indeed so... oh..." Loreto's words trailed off as they rounded a corner. Until this point, the root-path had passed through foliage, very much like a corridor, yet at the bend the surrounding branches vanished, presenting a dramatic view. Loreto stopped dead in its tracks; after a moment, Armida did as well.

The swamp's heart-tree was a living wall to one side, a great gnarled pillar reaching upwards; though the tree's face was not visible from this side, Loreto could still feel the ancient strength contained in the wood. The root-path had come out about twenty feet up the tree's trunk; below them, a peaceful lagoon lay surrounded by still more massive roots, and along the roots was a village. Tiny huts blazed with golden wisp-light, the structures so integrated into the root system that village and tree seemed like a united whole. Small boats were tethered along the water's edge, and here and there figures moved along the roots, following their paths. A small flock of crows swooped low over the water, cawing to each other raucously before wheeling upwards to the canopy of the heart-tree. The sky was not visible here; the lagoon was entirely covered by a living roof of leaves and old, old branches.

"Corvilla, we named it," Armida said, after a long moment. "Our crows are sight, speech, and name to us. Many of my family take Corvi as their surname."

"Not you?" Loreto asked.

Armida began walking forward again; it followed. "Not I, no. The tradition is recent, and I have grown used to being Armida alone."

She fell silent again, then, a silence that Loreto was loathe to break. They followed the path as it descended and joined with others; Loreto felt the shift in the feel of each path underfoot, felt its blinded shadow-self understand how to travel its new home. As they began to pass other huts, Loreto ducked its head. It could see crows in the windows, on the eaves, and on branches. Their gazes prickled, and they felt like an unspoken accusation. How dare it come here masked, it alone possessing what the others had so cruelly lost? What made it deserving of such an honor? It stared at the path, guilty.

If Armida noticed, she did not react; she kept her silence until she stopped in front of one particular hut. "There. This is Ettore's studio; when you are done, return to me. I will leave a guide for you, here." She released Loreto's arm, then reached out and tapped at a small root that curved upwards. Loreto could see the marks of crow talons in the bark. "Please do not wander - my family will not harm you, but you are not easy for them."

As always, Armida spoke without malice, but also without blunting her words. It did not fit in here, and never would; a single glance would be enough to brand it outsider. Yet Armida herself had accepted it with ease. Perhaps she was wrong about the rest? It could only hope - and Ettore was its first and best chance.

Loreto took a deep breath, for the calming effect, and walked forward on its own. It felt strange, after so long walking with Armida; it could feel her phantom at its side, holding the arm of its shadow-self, guiding it still.

When it glanced back just before knocking, she was gone.

Loreto woke once again to the sound of cawing; irritated, it sat up, ignoring the remaining painful twinges from its injured arm. The curtain over the window had been shoved to one side, and a crow was perched on the sill - a different one this time, larger, with slightly tattered wingfeathers. "What?" it hissed at the bird. It was still angry, still hurting, and it wasn't in the mood for visitors of any kind. Not even crows.

The crow cocked its head to one side, then opened its beak. "You ought not to have struck Floriana, wicked Loreto-child. That was ill-done."

Armida. And Floriana would be... the crow-guide. "I didn't... I didn't think. Sorry," it mumbled.

"Hm." The crow clacked its beak shut. There was a long, awkward pause. "I apologize for the pain of that meeting. We allow freedom here, even when that freedom leads to unfortunate consequences... and Ettore was most determined to try. He did not intend to hurt you. Nor do I."

"Why don't you come up here yourself?" The words came out more childishly spiteful than Loreto had intended.

The crow's gaze was bright, implacable. "I have many duties, Loreto-child. Even now, I look through more eyes than these. Doing such things and moving at the same time is quite impossible; even speaking to you fractures my concentration."

Loreto looked away, guilty. "I... I see. I'm sorry."

"So many apologies fill the air today. Some warranted, some not. But I would not leave you entirely alone, without solace or succor. What do you require?"

"Ah... um. Parassiti. I want my rat." Its voice wavered on the last word, and it hurried on quickly before the catch in its throat could turn into something more. "Please. And... and a pen and some paper. For a letter."

"Very well. Wait, and they will be brought to you." The crow turned on its perch, then tilted forward out the window.


..........


It had taken some time, but the crow had returned, along with two others that carried a closed basket slung between them. The basket contained some paper, a pen and inkpot, and Parassiti, who pressed herself against Loreto's ribs and shuddered. Loreto held her for a while, running its fingers down her tiny spine, feeling her warmth and the beat of her heart, trying valiantly not to cry. After she fell asleep, it tucked her into the crook of its injured arm, cradled by the sling, and tried to write.



Loreto stopped writing and stared at the page. It didn't know where to send the letter. It didn't have any idea where Hasuko was, other than in a river somewhere. Tears threatened once more, but it brushed them away angrily and pressed the pen to paper so hard that the nib nearly tore through.



The paper ripped sharply; the pen shook in Loreto's claws, then fell. It pushed paper, pen, and inkwell away, then slammed its head down on the bedside table, wincing as the impact pressed its mask hard against the flesh below.

Home. I don't have a home.

It claws twitched, sketching out words, pulling them out of the puddle of ink that was slowly spreading over the table's surface.



Finally, its claws stilled. Loreto was silent for a moment, unmoving.

And then it began to laugh. A harsh laugh, with no joy in it, but laughter nonetheless; the sound filled the little hut. It pictured Hasuko, in some far away river, getting a table delivered, the thing slung between two huge crows; it imagined itself trying to sleep in a kappa-pond with a massive swamp lily for a blanket. It saw itself going back to the Casa, bursting through the doors and healing all the patients at once in one glorious moment; it saw itself slashing at Durante's belly with its tail-blade, opening the elder up, beak to bone.

Ridiculous, all of it so ridiculous... and yet somehow so freeing, to see and embrace the ridiculousness of it. Loreto closed its beak, letting the laughter fade. Some of the ink spilled off the tabletop and ran down its neck. It had no choices? False.

It had every choice. Like the choice it had made in the Casa, so recent yet so far away... and now it saw Byrnhild, happy, healed, and free to fly.

No, it was worth it. No matter what happens now, it was all worth it. I chose... and now I choose again. Loreto took a deep breath and sat up.

The crow perched on the windowsill cawed once and flew away.