Chapter 52: A Shortage of Winter-Brier

The sharp crack of iron against iron became a steady rhythm for most of the day. I brought the heavy pestle down hard.

The glowing root split open against the bottom of the mortar. Pale vapor immediately hissed into the air afterward.

Elise didn’t flinch. Her hands hovered over the bowl, glowing with a faint turquoise light. The magic caught the toxic vapor, dissolving it before it could rise past the rim.

"Perfect," I muttered, grinding the tough fibers down into a fine goop.

I scooped the finished batch into a large glass vat sitting on the table and reached for the next root. We had been at it for almost two hours, nonstop. My right shoulder burned, and my knuckles were cramped from gripping the handle.

I set the pestle down and rolled my shoulder, letting out a heavy breath.

"Do you need a break?" Elise asked, lowering her hands. The turquoise glow faded from her skin.

"Just a second," I said, stretching my arms. "You’re the one using magic nonstop. Are you holding up okay? That’s a lot of sustained mana... I think."

She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers, and giggled lightly. "I feel fine. It doesn’t drain me the way combat healing does. This is just... steady and comfortable."

She looked up at me. The hollow look she had carried around for the past month was completely gone. Her eyes were bright.

"I like this," she admitted quietly.

"Smashing toxic roots in a closet?" I joked, grabbing the pestle again.

Elise smiled. "Being useful. Not just being someone the rest of you have to protect. I’m actually helping people."

"You’ve always been helpful, Elise. But I get what you mean," I said. I pulled another root from the crate and set it in the bowl. "Ready?"

"Ready."

Her hands lit up again, and I brought the iron down.

We fell back into our rhythm. By the time we reached the bottom of the wooden crate, the glass vat was completely full of glowing, mint-scented paste.

I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm just as the heavy wooden door pushed open. The gray-haired nurse stepped into the cramped room. She looked down at the empty crate, then at the full glass vat. Her eyebrows shot up.

"You finished the entire batch," she said, her raspy voice full of surprise.

"Every last root," I confirmed, stepping back and gesturing to the table.

She walked over and inspected the paste. "No impurities. The air in here is clean. You two do good work together." She grabbed the handles of the heavy glass vat. "Grab that rolling cart in the corner and help me get this out front. We need to start dosing."

I grabbed the metal cart and wheeled it over. We loaded the vat and pushed it out into the main waiting room.

The situation out front had gotten worse. The rain pounded against the clinic windows. More coughing villagers had crowded inside while we were working. The single nurse on duty was running frantically between cots, trying to hand out damp cloths and cups of water.

"Listen up!" the older nurse shouted over the noise. "Guild help just processed a fresh batch of Brier. We are mixing the doses now."

She started ladling the paste into small wooden cups, mixing it with hot water to thin it out.

"I can help administer it," Elise offered, stepping up to the counter.

The nurse looked her up and down. "It tastes like dirt and burns going down. Most of these people have raw throats. They are going to fight you on drinking it."

"I can handle it," Elise said firmly.

The nurse nodded and handed her a tray of cups. Elise didn’t hesitate. She walked straight to the nearest cot. An older man was curled up on his side, hacking violently.

I stayed near the counter, helping the nurse mix the doses, but I kept my eyes on Elise.

She knelt beside the man’s cot. She didn’t just hand him the cup. She placed her free hand softly against his chest. A warm, green light radiated from her palm. The man’s violent coughing slowed down. His breathing eased.

"Drink this," Elise told him, her voice calm and commanding. "It won’t hurt going down now."

The man took the cup and drank the whole thing without wincing. He laid back down with a grateful nod.

Elise moved to the next cot, repeating the process. She used her magic to soothe their throats just enough to get the harsh medicine down.

She was fast, efficient, and completely in her element. The other clinic workers noticed. Within twenty minutes, the panicked rushing stopped. Elise had set a calm pace for the entire room.

I handed the older nurse another empty cup to fill. She scraped the bottom of the glass vat.

"Damn it," she muttered, dropping her ladle.

"What’s wrong?" I asked.

"We are running out." She pointed to the waiting room. "That was a massive batch, but the rain brought in twice as many sick as I had anticipated. This vat won’t cover the rest of them."

I looked at the wooden crate we had emptied. "Where do you keep the rest of the roots?"

"I don’t," the nurse said, crossing her arms. "That was my entire stock. I have a supplier who normally brings a cartload down every week, but the weather has been a nightmare. The mudslides on the eastern ridge have blocked the main paths. He hasn’t made it down in three days."

"What happens if they don’t get the medicine?" I asked.

The nurse looked out at the crowded room. "The brier breaks the congestion. Without it, the fluid builds up. In this cold? Half of them will drown in their own lungs by tomorrow night."

Elise walked up to the counter, setting down an empty tray. She looked between the two of us, sensing the tension. "Do we need to process more?"

"We are out of roots," I told her. "The supplier is stuck up on the eastern ridge because of the mudslides."

Elise looked back at the waiting room as a young girl coughed in the corner, holding her mother’s hand.

She turned back to the nurse, her posture perfectly straight. "Where exactly on the eastern ridge?"