Minotaurs were physically impressive creatures. Massive, strong, solid, all those terms tended to describe them from their infancy up to their old age. There were stories about how they could shrug off magic and wounds like they were spring rain.
It made it all the more impressive how something invisible like a disease could bring even these bulls and cows to their knees.
As fascinating as those idle thoughts were, if Willowbark didn’t have to help a fever-struck Donna Copper Horn expel more phlegm he would have been far happier.
He felt sweat stream down his eyebrows, the misted glass goggles of his heavy mask made seeing difficult, and his coat was matted under his cloak. It was a warm fall, and even the usually cold, spartan room of the minotaur felt like a furnace. All in all, it was a less than ideal situation in which to operate.
Not that there was an alternative.
"Now, it seems the plague has run its course in you, Donna Copper Horn. It will be unpleasant, but I think you are safe. Rest, sleep, and you will be up and about again in a few days." His voice was muffled, but the weak nodding on Donna Copper Horn's part seemed to indicate that he had been understood. He pulled an ember out of a small wooden box with tongs and dropped it in the incense burner. "Very well. I shall look after the others then."
He took the bowl and left, carefully closing the door behind himself. He reached under his coat and pulled out a small vial. A couple of drops into the bowl made the contents fizzle. A thread of orange smoke rose and soon dispersed.
Willowbark put the bowl down and removed his mask. The air of the arcade felt like a splash of fresh water. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Another week and it will be over, thank Harmony."
The singing of the birds fluttering around in the sky above the farm was a salve. When Willowbark looked up he could see swallows dance in the wind. The young ones had almost grown up completely, and soon they would start their travel down south. They were free, without responsibilities, without duties.
It was time to look at Garvino.
He sighed, then took the mask and put it on again. The bowl would have to be cleaned later, along with all the others. At least it seemed the bad influences had lessened, and he wouldn't need to stoke Fidelis’ furnace to dispose of them. Small blessings.
"Willowbark…" The voice was low and rough, the cadence uneven, a tale of sleep which didn't bring rest and of food which refused to stay down. And a prelude to him having to scold his own mother. Again.
When he turned around he saw exactly what he expected. Meadowsweet was standing in the door of his parent's room, bags under her eyes, a blanket over her shoulders. Her coat had lost its vibrancy, and even as she leaned against the door-frame he could see her legs trembling. Why did she have to be his worst patient? "Mother, go rest. You will be fine in a few days, but only if you stay in bed." He adjusted his mask. "We talked about it."
"Ho… How are th–" A coughing fit interrupted her. "–the others?"
He walked the short distance separating them and pushed her softly back in the room. "Sick, but they all survived the acute phase. Now they have just to rest. Like you should do." She leaned upon him as they went to the bed. Under a heap of blankets, he could see the sleeping form of Millet and, under a smaller mound, Radish.
With his help, she crawled back on the bed. "What was it?" He had to strain his ears to hear her. "It wasn't th… the usual."
"This time it had a magical component." He put a pillow under her head. "The apothecaries said they heard that Starswirl was chasing something in the east. It seems that this thing takes magic from a creature and leaves it sick and weak. Or the malady allows the magic to be taken, we are not sure which way around exactly it works. It will pass, though. I am just grateful that us apothecaries were protected and that we could help in your recovery. Now, do not worry about it anymore and sleep."
Meadowsweet pulled the blanket up to her muzzle. "Go to the field workers. Heal them, use all you need to help them. We will pay for it. The ledg–" Another round of coughing. "–the ledger says we can. And we have no alternative anyway."
"I have to keep an eye on you. I can't–"
"There's no alternative." For a moment, for just three words, there was strength and authority in Meadowsweet's voice. There was no room for discussion left. It was spoken like Absolute Truth. And then she broke again. What came next was a whisper. "The last harvest is upon us. If w… If we lose it, we will starve during the winter. Take whatever you need. Go out to them, help them."
He waited for a moment while his mother recovered, searching for words. "Somepony has to care for you. You are all too weak, and going through all the cabins means I will be away for three days. I can't leave you alone."
A ragged breath. Millet moved under the blankets. Then Meadowsweet said, "We won't be alone. Little Chryssi never caught the illness, right?"
Willowbark froze. The implication of those words hit him hard, and he felt fear close its cold claw around his heart. Dozens of objections ran through his mind. Horrible scenarios played out to their terrifying, and bloody, epilogues. And he knew with absolute certainty that not one of those would convince Meadowsweet. "Mother, she is just a… a… She's a foal. She can't care for you. We cannot risk that–"
"You said the malady had run its course, and now we had only to rest. Isn't that true?" Her voice was still a whisper. And yet it felt like he was facing a mountain. Nothing short of lying would move her.
He wouldn't lie. "That is true."
"Then she can bring us water and food. Please, you have to help our workers be well soon. The harvest won't wait, and no foal of mine, be it by flesh or by responsibility, shall ever hunger." Meadowsweet's eyelids slowly closed, too heavy from exertion to be kept up. "Please."
An apothecary had many duties, the well-being of his patients the most important. A son had a duty of obedience, even if his parents seemed to hold that in less regard than Willowbark himself. A Child of Harmony had to live according to its tenets, among which was the need to help others when one could.
There was no alternative.
Willowbark frowned under his heavy mask. A kiss on his sleeping mother's cheek seemed right at the moment, yet prudence and practice forbade him that.
"I will do it, mother." There was no response, just her breathing becoming more regular in the embrace of sleep.
"Now, if something goes very wrong, or you think that one may die, take this box into their room and open the lid. It will keep them safe until I return. But be careful with it, it takes almost ten years to make a box. Use it only if it is an emergency, alright?"
Chrysalis was looking up at Willowbark and biting her lip. A habit she seemed to have gotten from Celestia and Luna, it seemed. "Uhm."
Too much pressure. She was just a… filly would work for now. "Look, you shouldn't waste it, but if you are in doubt, use it. I prefer to lose a precious thing than anybody on the farm. Do you understand?"
She nodded. Good.
"Now, you also have to prepare the marsh mallow paste. I prepared the pulp but won't have time to make it. Master Sottile told me you made a lot of progress with reading, so I left the recipe in the kitchen on some bark. Are you with me on this?"
"Uhm…" She shifted from one hoof to the other. While he wasn't directly involved in the education of the fillies, he had learned some of the tells that things weren't alright.
"Please, if there's an issue tell me. It's really, really important, the well-being of your friends depends on it." He tried to smile reassuringly. Not that he was in any way menacing, but sometimes little foals were strange. "I can still set things right while I'm here."
More shifting, eyes looking around and avoiding him, a lip that was tortured without respite. Something was up.
He had to stay. They had to hope the farmhooves would get better in time for the tail of the harvest. The granary was decently stocked. They could make it with some attention. He had to–
Chrysalis mumbled something.
"Uh, what did you say?" He lowered his head and strained his ears. "Can you repeat, please?"
"I…" The filly's voice was slightly more audible this time around, despite her avoiding looking him in the eyes. "It's… I can't read very well. I… Uh…"
Willowbark sighed. That seemed a fairly minor issue. "Master Sottile said you made a lot of progress. I’m not accusing you of anything, but why are you telling me you can't read well?" Her shoulders shrank in. "Don't worry. You’ve only just started to learn, it's not a problem. Just tell me what the problem is. I promise I won't be angry or disappointed."
"I…" She took a deep breath, chitinous plates on her sides sliding one over the other. She looked up and said, "I learn it before reading to Master Sottile so I get it right."
At least one thing seemed to go according to plan. Willowbark stood up straight and smiled. "Then you are quite dedicated. You shouldn't do that, because Master Sottile needs to know where you stand, but that isn't such a problem now." He glanced toward the window, the sun was about to reach the zenith, which left him just another hour before he had to leave for the cabins. "Should I read it to you once? Would that make it easier for you?"
Chrysalis nodded so fast it seemed her head would fly off. She had straightened, and there was a new energy in her. The change had been quite surprising. As he turned around to go to the kitchen it dawned on him that maybe surprising was the wrong word. A mood making such a rapid turnaround tended to be surprising in adults. In little foals, it was par for the course, at least from what he observed from Celestia, Luna, and Radish. If he truly considered Chrysalis a filly, it would match her behavior.
Was that his problem? He treated her like a filly, but mostly because others did the same. Had he truly internalized the fact? Or did she behave like that because of how she was treated? Questions, so many questions whirring around in his mind.
It wasn't the time for those musings.
He shook his head and went back to mentally checking the contents of his bags. Once on the road, returning would take too much time, so he had to get it right the first time. There was a downside to the farm being so distant from the main fields.
"Uhm, if I stay here and care for the others, do I get a cape too?" Chrysalis' words pulled him from his thoughts. He looked down to his side, where the filly trotted to keep pace with him.
"What?" He seemed to say that a lot lately.
"The cape you have when you go into the other rooms and stuff. And the mask, and all that stuff." She looked to her side, away from him. "They are awesome. Will I get them too?"
Yes, indeed a filly. "If you become an apothecary. The cape and mask is our symbol. We wear it as protection for us and as a sign of comfort for those we care for. I cannot give you one. And aside from that, you don't need one. It has become quite clear that you are immune to the malady."
"Oh." She scrunched up her muzzle. "I liked it."
"If you listen well to my instructions, I will see what I can do."
Heavy weights held her limbs down. Iron rings around her wrists, still hot from the forge, burned her flesh. A heavy slate of stone laid on her chest, each and every one of her failings etched in the rock. It was titanic, and she could barely breathe under the compression. All around her stood ghosts, looking down at her, judging, and finding her lacking.
The air was dry, even arid. The infinite dunes of the desert surrounded her. Sand scraped on her skin, her short coat impotent against the grind.
Copper Horn knew she deserved it. She accepted it, and yet there was no peace in it. Despite everything, she longed for freedom from the past, for good air, for water.
A shiver ran down her back. She was cold now.
Her aching muscles screamed as she tried to roll on her stomach. The slate stopped her. It was like fighting against a mountain.
A click cracked the sky. The ghosts turned around, staring at something to her side. Stone walls came into being, and the glaring light became softer and softer. The clip-clop of small hooves was a thunder overcoming the howling of the wind.
With her last strength, Copper Horn turned her head. Her horn caught for a moment in the pillow, before she could adjust her position.
From the horizon stretching to the walls of her room, a wicker basket wobbled towards her.
It was… Copper Horn wasn't sure what she was seeing. The ghosts too seemed speechless under the cold penumbra of the sun. Their empty eyes followed the basket in silence as it came nearer and nearer. It swung to the side, then straightened while a tiny voice muttered things about sandstone. She knew the voice, somehow. The ghosts frowned. Then judged her. She should have done something about the voice. It was her duty. It would be another sin etched in the slab.
Copper Horn closed her eyes for an instant.
"Donna Copper Horn, wake up, you have to eat." The voice again.
When she opened her eyes there was a tiny, black face staring at her. Smooth shell, pointy fangs, big, green eyes. A tiny cap on the top of her head. Copper Horn blinked. The cap was new. Coarse, white fabric formed a rudimentary cylinder, kept together by a brooch made of two connected rings. It was the symbol of healing.
"What…" Copper Horn's throat closed.
"Willowbark said you were the worst and had to drink a lot and eat and sleep and…" The chattering stopped for an instant. "Were you sleeping? Did I wake you up? You should sleep, but also eat. Can you sleep and eat at the same time? I can, Tia tried, but then Master Sottile told me I should be careful with assim– assamp– with thinking everybody can do the same things. Should I feed you while you sleep?"
Copper Horn groaned. More of the mist surrounding her senses was dispelling, but the auditory assault she’d just weathered was too much to get it all. "Water…" she croaked.
"Right, drinking!" The little one – Chrysalis, that was her name – disappeared down past the edge of the bed. Earthware clanked, and then she emerged again holding a bowl and a corked bottle. "Willowbark prepared it. It's water with stuff in it. It's good for you."
There were still weights on her arms, but Copper Horn had to drink. And had to do it herself. The ghosts wouldn't accept anything else. If she had the strength for it, she would have gritted her teeth. Her hand rose from her side, hit the unbreakable prison of the bed sheet, then crawled upwards.
With a pop, Chrysalis uncorked the bottle using her teeth and filled the bowl. The sound of the liquid pouring down was the sweetest Copper Horn had heard in a long while. "This is good for your throat and for sleeping and stuff. Do you want me to lift it to your mouth?"
Contempt and hate came from the ghosts. Their traits were foggy, no features on their ethereal forms, and yet Copper Horn could almost feel their hostility. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she said, "No."
Chrysalis put the bottle down and held the bowl up. "Uh, well, alright. But you have to drink it all. Willowbark said so. And eat something too. He made some porridge and put a bit of fruit in there. It's cold because I should start the fire only this evening but it's still good. I think." She tilted her head to the side. "You should eat it all. Please."
The hand finally freed itself from the blankets. It was Copper Horn's, and yet it also felt like some separated entity. The weakness, her weakness, it was maddening. It would have been maddening if she had the strength to get angry. Slowly and carefully, she reached out for the bowl. Chrysalis held it up for her. The ghosts growled. It will endanger those you have to protect. It tricked them. Their blood will be on your hands. You will fail again. Their voices whispered, like a breeze blowing through crumbling ruins, carrying the smell of ash and…
Her fingers closed around the bowl. Chrysalis smiled and clapped her hooves together. "Good! Now drink, and then eat, and then rest, and then you will be well again."
The voices became a spike driven through her skull. Copper Horn winced, her hand trembled. "The ghosts," she whispered.
Water. She needed water. She had water. She brought the bowl to her lips, its contents spilling on her from the shivers. And yet enough landed in her mouth to alleviate the roughness of her throat. It felt like spring, new life washing over her, the dried remnants of winter sprouting soft blossoms. "More," she said holding out the bowl.
Chrysalis was looking around, flicking her weird, pointy tongue. She raised the bottle and half filled the bowl again. This time no liquid spilled as Copper Horn avidly drank.
The following minutes passed as if in a haze. Copper Horn drank, ate, and laid her head back on the pillow. She couldn't remember the details, just that the little one stood by her side the whole time, ready to fill the bowl or pass over food. And as she closed her eyes again, she barely noticed that the ghosts were gone.
Chryssi sputtered, retched, and finally passed her tongue on the rough stone wall in the arcade. The horrid taste wouldn't go away, and, for the first time ever, her stomach seemed upset.
She didn't like it.
Her guts churned, a cramp seized her tummy, and tears formed on the corners of her eyes. Something inside her began to move.
It had been the first time she had tried to bite off some of the things she had seen coming from the others. It had been unplanned, an action on the spur of the moment. It had been awful.
It had been necessary. Chryssi closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Poor Donna Copper Horn was already sick, she hadn't needed that horrible stuff too. Whatever it was.
She sat down on her haunches and opened her eyes again. It was still there, probably. She had bitten off only the top of it, and it would grow again. Chryssi wasn't sure how she knew that, but she was certain of her conclusions. Going through her memories, it seemed the source had always been there, but until now she had no idea what it was. She still didn't know, but it was ugly and disgusting and somehow etched deep inside the minotaur.
It was like the splinter Tia had in her hoof a while ago. Her meat had become all red and swollen around it. Well, not exactly like that. In Copper Horn it… it was just there, now that Chryssi thought of it. Maybe being sick made that all worse.
Maybe that was part of the sickness.
No, maybe not. Others didn't have it. Maybe.
Her nausea calmed down. It seemed she was getting used to the stuff. I could absorb and integrate it. She shook her head. those strange thoughts were at it again. Out of nowhere, ready to let her know things she had no idea she knew. But they made a good point. She had ripped that stuff from Donna Copper Horn, she had now to do something with it.
It was just… The idea of absorbing it, it… it didn't sit right with her. It made her queasy. It churned her stomach, but not really, just with a feeling.
That was new. Never before had she refused the idea itself of eating something.
She really, truly, absolutely didn't like it.
Store it and let it decay. That sounded better. Far better. She didn't want to have that stuff in her. With her next breath the feeling, the weight, the stench, it simply flowed away. It poured out, from inside her into… into somewhere else. Far from her.
She laid down and sighed. It was over.
Her eyes bulged. It was over for her. Donna Copper Horn still had it, there, deep inside her, ready to be all horrible again.
She took the cap from her head and looked at it. Willowbark had made it just for her from gauze and then kept it together with the symbol for healing. He had said that it was all pretty metapa–metalo–metapha– it was meaningful.
One day she would dominate that word.
She wasn't an apothecary. And she wasn't really a healer. Willowbark had said that to become such a thing, many, many years had to pass, many secrets had to be learned and kept, and that it was an honor and a duty. But the cap in her hooves meant that she was still responsible for keeping the others well, for helping them recover.
She should rip the splinter out. She had done it with the thing that poured out of it, and Donna Copper Horn had felt better. She should remove the source. Carve it out, devour it, let it decay in the absolute oblivion, remove it from existence so completely there were no words to express the concept. Nothing would remain of it. Nothing.
Chryssi put the cap back on her head and stood up. Her lips pulled back in a sneer, her shadow became thick around her hooves.
Donna Copper Horn would be well again.