Chương 21: Healer Merek

Joe did not ask Mike about the apprenticeship immediately. He spent several days making sure he had something useful to bring first. Fishing provided the easiest test. Every Hard Work Pays Off could not make fish enter his traps. It could not change the river or reward him with a catch simply because he had worked hard. What it could do was improve the parts that depended on Joe. Placement. Construction. Anchoring. Choosing where slower water met the edge of a current.

Recognizing when yesterday's good location had become poor because the river had fallen several inches. The differences accumulated quickly. One afternoon, Joe returned home carrying four usable fish on a cord. Lily noticed before he had finished removing his shoes.

"Four?"

"Yes." She took the largest and examined it.

"You didn't go farther downriver?"

"No."

"Near the main current?"

"No." Joe knew the questions by now. Lily looked at him for another moment before accepting the answer.

"We'll cook two. Clean the other two properly and I'll dry them." Pam looked up from the low table.

"Smoke them." Lily sighed.

"Mother."

"They keep better."

"They taste like the inside of the chimney when you do it."

"That means you smoked them badly."

"I was twelve."

"And apparently impatient." Joe took the fish outside before either woman asked for his opinion. Mary followed. She had Simon's old writing board tucked beneath one arm. Several oversized characters covered the surface, along with what she claimed was a chicken. Joe thought it had too many legs. He kept that opinion to himself.

"Can I clean one?"

"No."

"Why?"

"You'll cut yourself."

"I won't."

"You might." Mary frowned.

"You get to."

"I know how."

"So teach me." Joe stopped. That was better reasoning than he expected.

"Not today."

"Tomorrow?"

"When Mother agrees." Mary immediately lost interest.

"That means no." Probably. Two days later, Joe brought home five fish. Mike noticed this time. He was repairing part of a wooden rake near the house when Joe returned.

"You're getting good at that."

"Better." Mike looked at the catch.

"If this keeps up, we might preserve enough next year to send some toward Blackwood with the grain." Joe doubted their small traps would produce anything resembling a commercial supply, but the thought was useful. The fish had value. Not much. Enough. That evening, after dinner, Joe raised the real subject.

"I want to ask Healer Merek if I can learn from him." Mike stopped chewing. Lily looked over immediately. Simon did too. Pam simply nodded, as though Joe had announced something she had already expected. Mike swallowed.

"Medicine?"

"Yes."

"You already spend most of the day at the Hall."

"I'd go afterward when training ends early enough. Not every day." Lily's expression tightened slightly.

"You'll still have work here."

"I know."

"And you're not leaving the Hall tired, spending another five hours somewhere else and then crawling home half dead."

"I wasn't planning to."

"You plan many things." Joe decided not to argue with that. Mike looked more interested than worried.

"Why medicine?" Joe had already considered how much to say.

"Because martial training uses it constantly. We spent four silverlings on one package after Starlight. The paid canteen uses medicinal food. Older students buy recovery powders and other preparations. If it matters that much, learning how some of it works would be useful." Simon nodded.

"He's right." Pam turned toward him.

"Write down the date." Simon frowned.

"What?"

"You agreed with Joe immediately."

"I agree with him all the time." Nobody answered. Simon looked increasingly offended. Joe continued before the conversation wandered away.

"I can read already, and I learn quickly. I don't expect Merek to teach me expensive recipes. I can clean, carry things, sort materials and learn whatever he thinks an eight-year-old should start with." Mike leaned back.

"That sounds reasonable." Lily looked at him.

"You say that about every new opportunity."

"Not every one."

"Most." Mike ignored that.

"What would Merek want in return?" That was the important question. Joe had considered money and dismissed it first.

"If he wants a fee, we probably can't afford much."

"Probably?" Lily looked at him. Joe corrected himself.

"We can't."

"Better." Joseph had been quiet through most of the conversation. He was repairing a basket near the hearth, threading new strips through the damaged side. Now he spoke.

"Don't offer money first." Mike turned toward him.

"Why?" Joseph kept working.

"Merek has money." Everyone waited. Joseph looked up eventually.

"What?"

"You were explaining," Mike said.

"Oh." He returned his attention to the basket.

"People with a trade don't always want coin from children. If he wants payment, he'll say so. Better to ask what work he needs." Joe listened. That made sense. Merek's knowledge had value. Offering a few silverlings might not merely be insufficient. It could make the entire request sound as though Mike believed the knowledge had a simple price. Pam pointed toward the fish drying near the rear wall.

"Bring those." Lily immediately said, "Not all of them."

"I didn't say all." This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"I know you." Pam ignored that.

"A gift says you didn't walk there expecting something for nothing." Mike nodded slowly.

"Fish first. If he names a fee, we discuss it." Joe liked the solution. Simon had remained quiet unusually long. He finally spoke.

"Merek's shop does sell martial medicine." Joe looked over. Simon straightened slightly.

"Victor used one of his powders after hurting his shoulder. He said it helped. Not as much as the stronger medicine from the paid canteen, but enough that he bought it again."

"What kind?"

"I don't know." Simon became defensive before Joe could ask another question.

"I don't buy the medicine. I just know people who do."

"That's still useful." Simon relaxed.

"There are soaking packets too. Bruises, muscle pain, things like that. Some of the Skin trainees buy them. Thomas says Merek has stronger medicine he only sells to certain people."

"Does Thomas know?" Simon considered.

"He says he does." That was not the same thing. Joe understood. Pam nodded solemnly.

"There. Simon talked long enough and eventually something useful came out." Simon stared at her. Lily's mouth tightened.

"Mother."

"What? I said he was useful." Simon looked as though he would have preferred no compliment at all. Joe hid a smile. Lily turned back toward him.

"If Merek agrees, you can try. Hall comes first. If you start training badly because you're tired, you stop. When planting gets busy, the farm comes before your extra lessons." Joe nodded. That was fair. He had expected more resistance. Then again, everyone could see a different advantage. Mike saw another road that might become valuable. Lily saw a practical trade. Pam respected people who knew useful plants. Joseph understood guarded craft knowledge. Simon understood martial medicine.

Joe understood all of those reasons. He also knew something they did not. Every Hard Work Pays Off could make even basic apprenticeship work unusually valuable. The talent would not hand him Merek's knowledge. It could make sure he learned as much as possible from the work Merek actually allowed him to perform. That was enough. The next afternoon, Mike returned from the fields earlier than usual. Joe had prepared the gift. Twelve dried fish lay wrapped in clean cloth and tied with cord. Mike lifted the bundle.

"Twelve?"

"I caught them because I wanted something useful to bring."

"We could take six."

"Six looks like leftovers." Mike looked at him.

"You think about strange things for an eight-year-old." Joe did not answer. Mike eventually agreed.

"Twelve, then." Lily complained when she saw the bundle. Not enough to stop them. They left before she changed her mind. Merek's medicine shop stood on the northern side of Green Hollow, close to the road travellers used when heading toward Blackwood. Joe had passed it many times. He had rarely entered. From outside, the building looked larger than an ordinary house but far smaller than the Talent Hall. Dark wooden beams framed walls of packed clay.

The roof extended over the front far enough to shelter several drying racks, where tied bundles of brown stems and pale roots hung away from snow and rain. The smell reached Joe before the doorway did. Bitter. Earthy. Something sharp enough to catch at the back of his throat. Something sweeter underneath. The front room looked more organized than he expected. Shelves lined two walls. Paper packets sat in labeled rows.

Ceramic jars occupied the higher shelves, while bundles of dried plants hung from ceiling beams where customers could not easily touch them. A counter separated the shop from the rooms behind it. A young man of about seventeen stood there recording something on a narrow sheet of paper. He looked up.

"Uncle Mike." Mike nodded.

"If you're here for medicine," the young man continued, "tell me what happened before you unwrap whatever you brought."

"Nothing happened." The clerk looked toward Joe. Then toward the bundle.

"That is usually when someone says something happened." Mike continued before clerk made another assumption.

"We came to speak with Healer Merek."

"About?"

"Apprenticeship." The young man looked at Joe again.

"Him?"

"Yes."

"He's eight." The clerk questioned again.

"I thought both your boys were in the Talent Hall."

"They are. That is why we're asking." That finally concluded the interrogation.

"Wait." The young man disappeared behind a hanging cloth. A moment later, another apprentice emerged. He looked close to the same age as the clerk, but his clothing was different. His sleeves were rolled back. A short apron covered the front of his clothes, and fine brown powder clung to it.

"Master will see you." They followed him behind the counter. Mike glanced back toward the clerk.

"Does he apprentice here too?" The young man shook his head.

"Master's sister's grandson. He handles customers, money and records."

"And you?"

"Apprentice."

"How long?"

"Five years." Mike looked at him.

"Five?" The apprentice smiled as if he had heard the reaction before.

"Five years isn't very long in medicine." Joe remembered that. The corridor behind the shop was deeper than the building appeared from outside. Different smells escaped through every doorway. One room held long wooden racks covered in drying leaves. Another contained sealed jars and carefully separated bundles of roots. Steam escaped from beneath the lid of a ceramic pot in a third room, where another apprentice worked over a low stove. Joe slowed slightly.

This was not simply an old man keeping herbs beside his home. It was a business. A small one. Still organized. There was a front counter. Records. Inventory. Apprentices. Separate processing spaces. Stored materials. Prepared products. Someone had thought about workflow. The apprentice noticed him looking.

"Don't touch anything."

"I wasn't going to."

"The last boy who said that knocked over half a tray before he finished saying it." Joe kept his hands closer to his sides. At the end of the corridor, the apprentice knocked on a wooden door.

"Master. Mike is here with his son. They want to discuss apprenticeship." A calm voice answered.

"Bring them." The room beyond was smaller than the work areas. Quieter too. A shuttered window faced south, admitting pale winter sunlight across a low table. Shelves along one wall contained books and rolled notes rather than ordinary medicine jars. Several wooden boxes sat among them, each sealed carefully. A charcoal brazier warmed the room. An old man sat behind the table drinking tea. Joe had seen Healer Merek from a distance. Never this close. He had heard Merek was seventy-five.

That made him around fifteen years older than Pam and Joseph. The difference did not look that large. Merek's hair and short beard were almost completely white. Fine lines covered his narrow face, yet his back remained straight. The hand holding his tea showed little tremor. He was thin. Not frail. His charcoal-colored robe was clean, with both sleeves tied away from his wrists. Long fingers rested around the cup. Their tips carried faint stains of brown and green. His eyes were alert.

That was what Joe noticed most. Merek looked first at Mike. Then Joe. Then the fish. Joe felt an old uneasiness tighten somewhere in his stomach. He disliked the reaction. Merek had never harmed him. Still, Joe remembered what he had heard as a child. Bloodletting. Treatments built around explanations Joe strongly doubted. A basin once carried from the shop after a patient had been treated. His first-life medical knowledge was limited, but he knew enough to distrust some of those ideas.

Another observation competed with the discomfort. Merek looked remarkably healthy for seventy-five. Green Hollow had taught Joe what age did to people whose lives consisted of hard labor, inconsistent food and untreated injuries. Joseph and Pam already showed it. Merek was older. He carried his age differently. That could have a simple explanation. Better food. Less field labor. Knowledge of useful medicine. Luck. Joe did not need a stranger explanation simply because one was possible. He stored the observation.

Merek lowered his cup.

"What are the fish for?" Mike placed the bundle on the edge of the table.

"Courtesy. Joe caught most of them himself. We didn't want to arrive asking for something with empty hands." Merek looked at Mike for several seconds. Then at Joe.

"Courtesy offered before a request is payment wearing polite clothing." Mike shifted slightly. Merek pulled the bundle toward himself.

"Fish are useful enough that I won't complain. Tell me what you want." Joe liked him slightly more. Mike explained. He kept it simple. Joe had entered the Talent Hall. He could already read. He wanted to learn medicine, but Hall training occupied most of the day. They were asking whether Merek would consider allowing him to learn part-time when his schedule permitted. Merek listened without interruption. When Mike finished, he looked directly at Joe.

"Do you want to become a physician?" Joe considered the question.

"I want to learn medicine. Whether I eventually become a physician depends on how much I learn and whether I'm suited for it." Something changed slightly in Merek's expression.

"Better than saying yes because you think it sounds important." Joe waited.

"Why medicine?"

"Because I've already seen it matter."

"How?"

"Father bought recovery paste after Starlight. Simon and I both recovered better while we were using it. The Hall uses medicinal meals. Older trainees spend money on medicine. The more advanced the training becomes, the more often people talk about resources." Merek watched him. Joe continued.

"If I'm going to depend on something that much, I'd rather understand some of it." That was true. Not all of the truth. Enough. Merek looked toward Mike.

"What paste?" Mike named it. Merek nodded.

"Common recovery preparation." Mike looked relieved.

"Reliable?"

"If made properly." The relief remained.

"Four silverlings." It disappeared. Merek's mouth moved slightly.

"Then you paid too much." Mike stared at him.

"How much too much?"

"Enough that asking now will only annoy you." Joe looked toward the shelves. Anywhere except his father. Merek returned his attention to Joe.

"Medicine isn't cooking."

"I know."

"No. You think you know." Joe became quiet. Merek gestured toward the corridor outside.

"The part of the plant matters. Harvest time matters. Drying matters. Storage matters. Amount matters. Something useful for a healthy grown man can be wrong for a child. Two roots can look nearly identical while doing very different things." Joe listened. That sounded less like doctrine and more like accumulated practical failure. Merek continued.

"The packets outside look simple because somebody already did the difficult work before they reached the shelf. An apprentice starts with names. Identification. Harvesting. Drying. Storage. Preparation. Effects. Interactions." He lifted the tea again.

"Only much later does he make something another person will swallow without someone watching his hands."

"How much later?"

"Years." Joe looked toward the corridor. Merek followed his gaze.

"The boy who brought you here has been with me five."

"He said that."

"And he still asks before preparing anything dangerous." Joe nodded. That was useful to know. Merek leaned back.

"You're in the Talent Hall."

"Yes."

"Then you do not have time to become my apprentice." Mike started to speak. Joe answered first.

"I want to come after training when I can."

"Part-time."

"Yes." Merek's expression hardened.

"Medicine is not something you fit between martial practice and dinner because you want another skill." Joe did not answer immediately. That sentence deserved a better response than disagreement. Merek continued.

"My apprentices carry water. They scrub pots. Clean tables. Turn drying plants. Sort material. Grind roots until their hands hurt. If they become careless, I make them do it again." His voice remained calm.

"A poorly cleaned container can spoil medicine. A damp plant can ruin everything stored beside it. A careless apprentice does not only waste his own afternoon. Someone else may take what he prepared." Joe's old suspicion did not disappear. His respect increased anyway. Whatever Merek believed about disease, he clearly understood that cleanliness and preparation mattered because consequences followed when they were ignored. Joe nodded.

"I'll do the same work." Merek looked him over.

"You're eight."

"I know."

"That means half the things in my shop are too heavy for you."

"Then give me the other half." Mike turned slowly toward him. Joe realized the answer might have sounded too clever. Merek watched him. Then the corner of his mouth moved.

"Your mother finds you tiring." Mike laughed.

"Often." Joe remained silent. That seemed safest. Merek drank his tea.

"I don't need another formal apprentice. Two already create enough problems for me." Joe felt a brief disappointment. Merek continued before it settled.

"I can use another pair of hands." Joe looked up.

"One that can already read is more useful." Mike relaxed. Merek pointed a finger toward Joe.

"You come after Hall when training ends early enough. At first, you clean. Carry water you can actually lift. Sort simple materials. Learn the names I assign." Joe nodded.

"If Hall keeps you until you're exhausted, you go home. I don't want a tired child dropping jars because he thinks determination makes his fingers less tired."

"Understood."

"When planting or harvest requires you at home, your family gets you first." Mike nodded. Merek ignored him.

"If I give you five plants, you learn five. You do not ask for fifty because five were easy. You touch nothing you have not been told to touch. You do not taste anything because you became curious." Joe had not planned to. The specificity suggested someone had.

"And," Merek continued, "you do not decide that Talent Hall training makes ordinary work beneath you."

"It doesn't."

"We'll see." Mike finally asked, "So you'll take him?" Merek looked faintly annoyed.

"I'll let him work here. If he remains useful for longer than a month, you can decide what word you want to use." That was enough. Mike hesitated.

"What does it cost?"

"His work." Mike glanced toward the fish.

"And those?" Merek pulled the bundle a little closer.

"Courtesy." Mike smiled.

"Of course." The apprenticeship official started. But no contract appeared. No paper lit. No new mark formed beneath Joe's skin. The difference interested him. Theodere guarded his inheritance through a supernatural agreement. Merek guarded valuable medicinal knowledge through ordinary control of apprentices, recipes, books, materials and access. That did not prove magical contracts were rare. It did prove they were not required for every valuable profession. Joe preferred this arrangement.

One mysterious mark on his wrist was enough. The apprentice escorted them back through the workrooms. Joe looked more carefully on the return journey. In one room, the second apprentice was transferring thick dark paste from a ceramic pot into smaller sealed containers. The color reminded Joe of the medicine Mike had bought after Starlight. He kept walking. There would be time to ask later. In the front room, two customers had arrived. An elderly woman stood at the counter buying something for a cough.

Beside her, a boy Joe recognized from one of the outside Hall groups waited while the clerk arranged three folded packets.

"One after hard training," the clerk told him.

"Not two because you trained twice as badly. You'll upset your stomach and waste the medicine." The boy nodded. Joe watched only long enough to understand the important part. Merek's shop regularly supplied martial trainees. That made the apprenticeship more valuable. Not because Joe expected Merek to hand him advanced recipes. Because the shop sat exactly where two parts of his life met. Medicine. Martial training. They stepped outside. Cold air replaced the heavy medicinal smell immediately.

Mike adjusted his coat. Joe looked back at the building. Green Hollow held barely more than seventy households. It was poor. Small. Yet it had a smithy, communal grain storage, a Talent Hall, a healer's shop with multiple workers, trade links to Blackwood and enough specialized knowledge that people spent years learning individual crafts. Joe had once been too willing to translate everything into labels from his previous life. Primitive. Medieval. Backward. Those words were becoming less useful.

Green Hollow lacked many things Joe remembered. That did not mean it lacked complexity. Mike started walking. After several steps, he said, "You were scared of him." Joe looked over.

"Was it obvious?"

"To me." Joe considered denying it. There was no reason.

"A little."

"Why?"

"I heard stories when I was younger."

"About the bloodletting?" Joe nodded. Mike shrugged.

"People go to him because they get better often enough."

"That doesn't mean every treatment is right."

"No." Joe looked at his father. Mike continued walking.

"But you don't have to believe everything a man believes to learn something he knows." Joe became quiet. That was better advice than he expected. Mike glanced over.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You do that too much."

"I was thinking."

"I know." They walked the rest of the way home through the winter afternoon. Joe's first day with Merek would be tomorrow. He had gone looking for medicine because cultivation needed resources. He had found something broader. A profession with its own knowledge, discipline, mistakes, economics and years of accumulated practice. Every Hard Work Pays Off could make those years unusually valuable. It could not replace them. Joe was beginning to think that distinction might matter more than the talent itself.