Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Blinking, I pause. “You…you know that’s not a thing, right?”
“Everyone knows that a plucked chicken arse will suck the plague right out of a sore,” Metta scoffs at me. “That’s why you tie the chicken on. When it breathes in, it can’t help but pull out all the foul poison.”
I resist the urge to rub my forehead, because ignorance is why I wanted to do this, right? I wanted to help them take care of themselves when it came to medicine. I just didn’t realize exactly what I’d be dealing with and how bad it was. “That’s not how chickens work.”
“My mother’s mother used her favorite hen to cure plague,” Metta tells me in a haughty voice as I step forward again. I reach for the chicken, and she slaps at my hands. “Let Lord Kalos strike me down, but I won’t let you kill Borja with your interfering!”
“I can assure you, your granny did not cure anyone of plague with a live chicken.” I ignore her slapping hands and try to wrestle the poor bird out of Borja’s grasp. Somehow they’ve managed to tie the thing’s neck to her upper arm and the feet are tied down, too. How on Earth did they manage this? I get my belt-knife out and start to cut the leather straps, and Borja begins wailing. Metta tries to break my grip, and the chicken pecks at my hands as if I’m the problem.
Frustrated, I turn to Kalos. His fingers are pressed to his lips, and he looks as if he’s trying very hard not to laugh. “Do something.”
He clears his throat. “Metta,” he says in a very calm voice. “If you harm my Anchor, I really will send plague down on this sad excuse for a village.”
Her hands drop immediately, and I’m finally able to cut the chicken loose. I cradle it in my arms as Borja scratches at her armpit, still weeping. The poor chicken trembles in my grasp and I stroke it, then want to groan aloud as I realize what they’ve done. “Why is the chicken’s butt naked?”
“That way it can breathe easier,” Metta says sullenly. “Makes it better to suck the poison out.”
“Chickens don’t breathe through their asses.” I’m truly amazed I’m not screaming the words aloud. I’m even more amazed someone believes that nonsense. I hold the chicken out. “Look at his fucking beak! What are those little dots next to it? Hm?”
“Nostrils?” Borja asks between sniffles.
“And how do humans breathe?”
“But that’s not a human. That’s a chicken.” Metta shoots me a smug look.
“Yes, it’s a chicken,” I growl. “You want to talk about something that isn’t what you think it is?” I point at Borja’s now exposed armpit and the pink, upraised mark there. “That’s not a plague boil. That’s a fucking bug bite.”
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Kalos says in a low, amused voice. “So very fun.”
Once everything has settled down and Borja’s arm is untied, Metta finds me a seat. I hand the chicken off to Kalos—no way am I giving that poor abused animal back to either of those women—and pull out my new notebook. I dip the feather in ink and make a few test scratches. A quill pen is trickier than I expected, but I’ll figure it out. “We’re going to make a list of ailments that trouble the people in this village and how you currently address the issue.”
Kalos pets the chicken, who is calm in his lap. “Plague seems to call for chickens. Write that down.”
“You’re not helping,” I tell him, and focus on Metta. When she narrows her eyes at me, I gesture with my pen. “Let’s start with bug bites. How would you treat one of those?”
“You mean plague?” Metta accuses.
I bite back a sharp retort and decide to try a different tactic. Something else, then. “How about stomach pains? If someone comes to you with complaints about their stomach, what do you do? How do you diagnose?”
Metta doesn’t even pause to consider. “Stomach pain? You bleed ’em.”
Borja nods wisely.
“No bleeding,” I say. I seem to recall something about medieval people doing that in one of my history classes at university, so I’m unsurprised.
She scoffs as if I’m the ignorant one. “If we aren’t bleeding them, how do we get rid of the demons?”
“There’s no such thing as demons,” I say, only to have her scoff loudly again. I turn to Kalos, who’s stroking the chicken lovingly. “Stomach demons? Are they a thing?”
“They are not,” he replies.
I turn back to Metta. “See?”
She’s unconvinced. “Of course he’s going to say that. He doesn’t want you to find them and let them out. He’s a god of illness.”
I purse my lips and write down “stomach pain = bleeding the patient.” I can’t judge them for their ignorance if this is the very thing I’m determined to try and help with. “Okay then. What about a headache?”