The Strange Doctor
The doctor, seated at a desk in his office—where, it turned out, my rescuer’s portal had opened—jumped in alarm at the sight of the man carrying me in his arms. He leapt to his feet, then dropped to his knees, bowing low to the ground and pleading:
“Lord Volard, have mercy, don’t punish me! I’ve long understood my mistakes!”
The man grimaced, silently crossed the room, and set me down in a chair.
“Semiu, I’m not here on state business,” Volard snapped, irritation and authority lacing his tone. “This is, you could say, a personal matter. This girl needs help. And note—she’s mute. Keep that in mind.”
He gestured toward me.
“Report to me later on her condition.”
And with that, my protector vanished through the portal. Just like that. I was left in an unfamiliar place with a stranger, but even so, it felt safer than being back at the castle of the chief royal advisor.
The doctor got to his feet and eyed me with unsettling curiosity.
“So, you’re under Lord Volard’s protection? What happened to you?”
He stepped closer, inspecting my swollen face.
“Did he do this to you?”
I shook my head no, lowering my gaze. I hated being stared at so closely, face-to-face, especially with that unhealthy gleam in his eyes. It didn’t feel like a doctor’s concern at all.
“Hmm,” Mr. Semiu mused thoughtfully. “Very interesting. And quite timely.”
He paced the room, tapping his chin with his fingers as if deep in thought.
“I’ll need a portrait of you to determine the specifics of your treatment,” he suddenly announced.
He darted to a shelf, grabbed a large imaging device, and before I could even blink, a detailed sketch emerged from the lens. It showed my battered face—swollen eye and cheek, bloodied nose, and a cut on my upper lip. Likely, the advisor’s son had a ring on his finger that tore my skin when he struck me.
I watched the doctor’s actions in bewilderment. Was this some new trend in the capital, taking portraits before starting treatment?
The doctor examined the image and seemed thoroughly pleased.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” he tossed over his shoulder before leaving the room.
Soon, I heard his voice from beyond the door, speaking to someone. I sprang up, tiptoed to the door, cracked it open slightly, and what I overheard stunned me.
“Yes, yes,” he was saying, likely through a magical mirror since I couldn’t hear the other party. “Completely battered. I’ve made a portrait. It’s a perfect chance to hit him where it hurts.”
I froze. He was clearly talking about me, but who was on the other end?
“I’m not sure if it’s wise. Though he’ll definitely know it’s me, and all the consequences will fall on my head... I’ve got nothing to lose. Fine, if you guarantee my protection, I’m in.”
I dove back into the chair just in time. The doctor reentered the room, humming to himself, and said:
“My colleagues will be here shortly. We’ve decided to hold a consultation to determine the best course for your treatment. Bear with us a little longer. It must hurt, right? Would you like something to drink?”
I shook my head, declining. Something about this place felt off. His voice dripped with false sympathy.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and two people stood in the doorway—a woman in a striking red dress and a man in a black cloak.
“Is this our patient?” the woman asked, her smile unnaturally wide and insincere. “Poor thing! Did Volard do this to you? What a cruel, dishonorable man! We’ll get to the bottom of this!”
I neither confirmed nor denied, sitting still as a statue. I could sense something was happening here that I didn’t understand, and no one was likely to explain it to me. I had to get out. Danger was closing in fast, I could feel it.
“Sweetheart, what’s your name? We’re here to help. Volard’s vile actions must be punished! Beating a defenseless woman—what a despicable act!”
While the woman tried to sweet-talk me, the man with her aimed his own imaging device at me and snapped another portrait. I shrank into the chair. I had no idea where I was or where to run, but staying here was not an option.
The door was still open. Everyone was crowded around my chair.
My only advantage was the element of surprise. No one expected me to bolt. I leapt up and dashed for the door, bursting into a long corridor. I ran as fast as I could, turned a corner, slipped through another doorway, and spotted a wide staircase leading down. Voices shouted behind me—they were gaining. I raced down the stairs and saw a large door leading outside, to the street! Thank the heavens!
Once outside, I quickly got my bearings and dove into one of several large trash bins nearby. They were like oversized urns, half-filled with rubbish. If I crouched low, they might not spot me.
“Where is she?” I heard the woman’s agitated voice. “She couldn’t have gone far.”
“I don’t know,” the doctor replied. “I’ll check the bins.”
“So much for escaping,” I thought grimly. Then I curled up at the bottom of the urn, imagining I wasn’t there, that I was invisible, wrapped in an unseen cocoon. It was all I could do—pray to the gods to make me invisible, to keep me hidden. The doctor walked past the bins, likely peering into each one. He stopped by mine, staring right at me... and didn’t see me! He turned away and moved on.
“She’s nowhere,” he said, disappointed.
“Blast it, just our luck,” the woman cursed in frustration. “Oh well, what we’ve got will do. This will be a sensation!”
They headed back into the building. I stayed in that filthy urn for a long while, smeared with grime, before cautiously climbing out and running off. I oriented myself by the spire of the royal castle, the tallest structure in the capital. Somewhere nearby, in one of the alleys, my troupe would be staying at the Proud Cargo Inn, run by old Gord, a former rogue and swindler who claimed to have gone “law-abiding” by opening a legitimate hotel business.
Why hadn’t the doctor seen me? What did those people want? These questions gnawed at me the entire way to the inn. And in my distraction, I completely forgot about the Hour of Northern Lightning!
Donum
Our country, Fulguria*, lies at the edge of a vast continent, practically at the edge of the world itself. Beyond the horizon stretches only the Great Sea. Many an explorer captain has sailed deep into those waters on sturdy, well-equipped ships, and those who returned spoke of fierce storms and an endless expanse of ocean with no land in sight. The capital, Montes, is shielded from the sea by towering cliffs, battered by waves for thousands of years. But every month, from the north, across the Great Sea, come the lightning storms. In ancient times, before people understood this natural phenomenon, countless lives were lost to the sky’s deadly bolts. Later, after scientists studied the pattern, they created a detailed annual calendar marking the exact days and times of the storms. These periods became known as the Hour of Northern Lightning.
A single, massive black cloud—always the same one, as scientists later determined—would race toward the city at incredible speed. It churned and boiled, shimmering with various hues of light, before dissipating into thin air. From it, lightning would rain down chaotically, striking everything in its path. The storm could last an hour or several; its duration was impossible to predict. Thus, by royal decree, it was forbidden to be outdoors during the Hour of Northern Lightning. The king cared for the safety of his subjects, but that wasn’t the only reason for the strict rule. While the lightning could kill, start fires, or cause destruction—dangers the city had learned to mitigate with countless lightning rods—the capital was a veritable forest of them. Thousands dotted the skyline! From a bird’s-eye view, Montes must look like a giant porcupine bristling with spines. Lightning rods were even part of the city’s crest, and their metal shafts were sometimes crafted as works of art.
But that’s not the point. Alongside the lightning came the donums**, or “gifts,” as the common folk called them. These tiny creatures fed on the magical energy radiated by the storm. The black cloud itself was of mysterious magical origin, a concentration of immense arcane power that poured directly onto our capital. Some say it’s a punishment from the gods for sins of the past, crimes committed by Fulguria’s first king. I don’t know the truth of it, but the donums that arrived with the cloud could only survive in a magical tempest. They were reservoirs of near-infinite magical energy. Anyone who possessed a donum became an extraordinarily powerful mage, with access to an eternal source of magic. Capturing these elusive creatures was incredibly difficult, and they were considered property of the crown and king. Special royal hunters, trained for the task, were tasked with catching them. Volunteers who joined these squads knew they risked death by lightning at any moment, yet there was no shortage of eager recruits. Each dreamed of fame and the glory of capturing a donum. Of course, there were also black-market hunters who illegally trapped these creatures, and the royal guard hunted them down ruthlessly.
I hadn’t even made it halfway to the central square, where the royal palace spire loomed, when I saw the massive black cloud overhead. The first bolts of lightning were already striking the city’s outskirts. Frantically looking around, I searched for shelter. The residents had all barricaded themselves in their homes to wait out the magical storm. Knocking on doors now would be pointless. And with my current appearance—a dirty, battered vagrant—no one would let me in anyway.
Nearby was a wide bridge spanning the river from the left bank to the right. I decided to hide under its first massive support pillar. At least I’d have some cover. I hadn’t even reached it when the rain poured down, and lightning flashed all around, illuminating the darkened buildings, the churning river, and the trees and bushes bent by the wind along the shore.
I ducked under the bridge, already soaked to the bone.
For the first time in my life, I found myself caught in a magical storm without proper shelter. We always hid in the wagon, near which Dominic carefully set up several portable lightning rods he carried with us.
I was terrified and awestruck at the same time. Huddled under the bridge, I crouched by the pillar, hugging my knees for a bit of warmth. Hundreds of lightning bolts struck the rods, thunder roared in a continuous rumble, and the white flashes were blinding. I closed my eyes, but even through my lids, I could see the flickering light.
Suddenly, I heard shouts cutting through the deafening thunder. Yellow and red sparks rained into the river from the bridge above me. Someone was firing magical arrows. I peered into the white, flash-lit sky, crisscrossed with the strikes of mages on the bridge, but saw nothing clearly. They must have been hunters chasing donums. If they spotted me, I’d be detained—being outside during the Hour of Northern Lightning carried hefty fines. I crawled deeper behind the pillar, into the bushes, hoping no one would notice me.
“I definitely hit one!” I heard a voice say, alarmingly close.
One of the hunters must have descended under the bridge just as I hid in the bushes.
“Doesn’t look like you hit much!” another voice chuckled. “Come on, let’s go. There’s nothing here.”
The first man lingered near the pillar, possibly peering into the bushes where I hid, but seeing nothing suspicious, he eventually walked away. I sat there, barely breathing, half-dead with fear. It seemed I’d gotten away with it. I let out a relieved sigh but didn’t dare leave the bushes. Fine, I’d stay here until the storm passed.
Soon, it ended. The magical cloud, which had blackened the entire sky, dissolved rapidly, and the sun shone through again. It was late afternoon, the sun dipping behind the buildings and the bristling rods of lightning conductors.
I crawled out of my hiding spot and looked around. I needed to cross the bridge to the other side of the river—I’d be close to the inn then.
“Pee-pee,” I suddenly heard a faint whimpering sound.
What was that? A dog, maybe? Had it been hiding under the bridge like me? I followed the sound, which came from near my pillar.
“Pee-pee,” it echoed from the bushes.
I parted the branches and saw... a tiny donum. It lay on the ground, staring at me with large, round eyes, whimpering softly. One of its wings was singed and injured.
Donums are small creatures, comparable to tiny bats if you had to liken them to something. But they’re a shimmering blue, with thin, almost transparent wings. Their tails are long and slender, and their faces are more endearing than frightening. Images of donums often appear in newspapers, which Dominic sometimes buys to check the back page for advertisements of other theater troupes. That way, he knows where our competitors are performing, avoiding towns where audiences are already entertained. It’s better to go where you’re the only show in town, right?
The donum whimpered and looked at me with what seemed like a pitiful, pleading gaze. I bent down and scooped it up in my hands.
It fit perfectly in my palm, so small it must have been a fledgling, barely out of the nest. What was I supposed to do with it?
“Pee-pee,” it squeaked.
If anyone saw me with a donum, I’d be in deep trouble. They’d fine me, and since I have no money, I’d end up in jail. But I couldn’t just leave an injured creature to fend for itself! I sighed and tucked it into the large pocket of my dress. It fit snugly and settled down quietly. I could only hope it stayed silent—otherwise, I was taking a huge risk. They’d confiscate the donum, and I’d be in serious trouble! With that, I set off again, hoping to reach the inn before sunset.
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*Fulgur (from Latin) – lightning.
**Donum - (from Latin) - gift, present.