“Who bound your wound?” said Urquor.
“I did,” whispered Padaver.
“It is excellent work.”
Urquor spoke, trying to distract him, all the while, cutting away the bandages with a small knife. Padaver grunted as the monk pulled back the padding. The wound began to seep blood anew. One of the monks used the initiative to hold a clean dressing over the wound.
Another monk opened a chest and extracted a large copper bowl filled with surgical instruments. He placed it on a small table beside the bed.
Padaver’s eyes widened. “No!”
He began to flail at the monks around him.
“Hold him,” Urquor ordered.
They pinned his limbs down, restraining him completely.
Urquor picked up a small phial and poured a few drops onto a clean cloth.
“You are some damnable cult!” said Padaver.
He thrashed his head laterally to avoid the descending cloth. Urquor held it in place over his face, forcing him to breath in the vapours. Padaver’s thrashing slowed, then ceased, replaced with deep breathing.
Uquor rounded on the monk who got out the surgical instruments.
“You should not have got those until I sedated him. Is it any wonder he thought we were about to torture him?”
The monk bowed his head. “I am sorry, brother.”
Urquor sighed, checking the wound. “He bleeds again. His wound is infected, making for a fevour, but that is the least of his worries. He has lost much blood, and so he will need more.”
Lytica watched the coming test with interest. Brother Urquor maintained that “every person had a different blood type.” The entire monastery had been tested to determine theirs.
Urquor dabbed Padaver’s wound with a fresh cloth, then sprinkled powder onto the bloody smear. It would change colour, depending on the blood type of the donor. Moments later, it turned blue.
“Blue; that is rare,” said Urquor. “He will need some of yours Lytica. I want Brother Zibei to assist me, the rest, leave the surgery, but please pray for this man’s recovery.”
They began to file back up the corridor.
“Brother Lytica, there is a pail of water by the wall. Go to the balcony outside Abbot Manfry’s chamber to bathe quickly.”
Lytica snatched up the pail and pushed open the side door. The abbot’s room, along with the surgery, were the two rearmost rooms in the monastery. He stepped inside the private chamber, consisting only of a bed and wardrobe. Pushing open another set of doors, he made his way onto the stone balcony. Little wonder the brotherhood reserved this chamber for their most honoured member. It jutted out from the side of the cliff, giving an uninterrupted view of the bushland to the horizon from east to west.
He stripped off his robe and loin cloth, draping them over the stone rail, before tipping water onto himself.