Joan identified the most serious problems that plagued the stranger's body. 

 

He had an extensive gaping wound that started from the left side of his abdomen and reached up to his ribcage. His right knee had a deep gouge in it; she could only speculate about what had caused it. His arms were covered in deep scratches; that was most likely self inflicted to alleviate the symptoms from his other diseases. And, an inordinate amount of burst blisters and boils were pocked across his skin. As well as several holes in the soles of his feet.

 

"How are you even still alive?" Joan somberly muttered to herself. 

 

Joan tied her hair back, washed her hands and turned on her stove. She placed her needles into the fire for a few moments, then removed them. She poured two bowls of alcohol and placed some clothes, the needles and the string into each of them. Then, she returned to his side and placed the bowls on a nearby chair. 

 

"I'm going to start on the most serious problems. This is only until the priest gets here. I don't want you to die on my table before he arrives, alright?

 

The salve should have numbed most of the pain for now. But, just in case, I'm going to give you a draught to put you under. You don't need to experience any of this. You've been through enough pain."

 

Joan walked back into the proper area of her store and rummaged through her shelves for the vial that she needed. Typically, she administered this as a potent sleeping draught for insomniacs. But, it would have to do for now. 

 

She just hoped it would be strong enough to keep him unconscious through the process. 

 

She walked back into her dining room and gently lifted his head. She uncorked the bottle with her mouth and poured the liquid into his throat. 

 

The dying man sputtered and coughed, but he swallowed down most of it. 

 

"Good man", Joan muttered. "Now, sleep. I'll take care of you."

 

Joan began to clean the wound of the salve with her disinfected clothes. After it was thoroughly cleansed, she worked on the inside of the wound again. Any additional infection would probably just kill the man outright in his condition. 

 

The man moaned weakly, but he was beginning to slip under the effect of the draught. A few moments passed and he fell asleep completely. 

 

Joan bit her lip anxiously. This would fucking hurt if he was awake. 

 

She threaded her needle with some thick thread and pressed the lower end of the wound together with her free hand. She pushed hard against his skin with her needle. After a split second of resistance, it pushed through. And, she began her process of stitching him shut in earnest. 

 

As she was finishing the major laceration, she heard an urgent knock on her door.

 

"It's unlocked! Come in!" Joan yelled to the front. She quickly hopped over to the sink and rinsed her hands free of the grime, the blood and gore.

 

"A young boy came and told me that you had a man in need of healing?" A middle aged voice emanated from the front of the store. 

 

"Yes! We're in the back.", Joan rushed to the front. She breathed a sigh of relief as she caught the first glimpse of his clerical robes. "I'm glad the boy found you. I was getting worried."

 

"We're happy to serve." The priest said with a weary smile. He held a long staff in his hand. "My name is Jonas. Can you tell me anything about the man in question?"

 

"I only know that he showed on my doorstep practically fucking dead."

 

"That's it? Truly? You have no connection to him at all?"

 

"None at all."

 

"And, his ailment?"

 

"Ailments. Plural. He has so many fucking problems that I have no fucking clue how he is still alive. Which is why I called you, there's only so much that I can do with my ability in the alchemical arts."

 

"Indeed. The science and medicine of lowly plants are merely the realm of the uneducated, unenlightened hedge witch in comparison to the healing glory of the gods."

 

Joan's eyes twitched in annoyance. But, wisely chose to say nothing to the oblivious provocation. If it wasn't for the dying man, she would've thrown him out with the latrine water. "I'll lead you to him. He's in the back."

 

They walked forward a few places to her dining room in blessed silence. The priest drank in the surroundings and took note of everything that he saw within the shop. 

 

"No doubt searching for heretical practices." Joan thought to herself. "Bastard. There's a dying man, not five paces from him, and he'd rather play fucking inquisitor."

 

The priest recoiled and nearly stumbled onto his arse as he stepped into the room with the man. He retched and held his arm over his nose in horror and disgust. He immediately stepped away from the room and addressed Joan

 

"Good gods, you're certain that he needs a priest? From the smell alone, I'd call an undertaker."

 

Joan rubbed the bridge of her nose. Her forehead wrinkled in frustration. "Of all the fucking priests…"

 

"He's alive. Barely. 

 

He's covered in boils and sores. There are many recesses and pools of dead flesh. He's missing both of his eyes, his tongue, and many of his teeth. He had several major wounds and cuts across his body. And, his blood itself seems to have stagnated and mixed with the poison that spread through his veins. 

 

And, while I'm not certain, I believe that there is some sort of parasite that is alive inside of him."

 

Jonas nodded in acknowledgement and pulled out a handkerchief that he held over his nose. "It's quite miraculous that he even breathes. I suppose that… I'll have to have a closer look then."

 

He steeled his nerves and walked back into the room. He nearly lost his stomach as his eyes surveyed the damage wrought to the flesh. 

 

All that the woman had told him was true. And, it was worse than he could possibly imagine. 

 

He didn't dare touch the man. He could feel the disease seep underneath his skin merely by being present with him. He shuddered and reached out with his staff. 

 

Jonas poked and prodded at the misfortune riddled gasping corpse. His investigation was thorough, even in spite of his pompous attitude and distant inspection. He muttered underneath his breath and swore to his gods for protection. And, he prayed and begged for deliverance.

 

He turned to Joan. 

 

"It is much worse than we feared. He is on the brink of death. And, I'm not certain why he has not stepped off the precipice."

 

"I already told you that…" Joan sighed in her mind. "Is there anything that can be done for him?"

 

The priest looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, turned back to the man.

 

"I… do not have the ability to remove this blight. I could heal his living flesh. And, perhaps even bolster his ability to regenerate. But, I'm afraid that without removing the disease… it'll only buy him some time."

 

Joan nodded impatiently. "Fucking do it then."

 

Jonas jolted at the coarse language directed toward him. But, ultimately, decided that it may have been warranted. The woman had been placed under tremendous pressure and strain from this entire ordeal. A curse, while not preferred, was understandable in her situation. 

 

He kneeled onto the ground and clasped his hands together in fervent prayer. "Pray for a miracle, my child, for it is this wayward soul's only hope."

 

Joan grunted and rolled her eyes. "I'm not your child. But, I'll hope for a miracle. Maybe the gods will fucking do something for me for once."

 

The priest whispered and weaved his hands through the air in intricate patterns and holy signs. He wept and pleaded for the lost soul before him. Until, at last, a radiant glow filled the room and bathed them all in a warm light.

 

The sores, boils, recesses, rot, and gouges receded from his skin. His body collected itself and repaired the damage that it had endured.  It gradually cleared and closed.  And, the stranger finally began to breathe a little easier in relief. 

 

But, then, even as the last of the filth fell from him, the man let out a terrible guttural scream. The skin and flesh writhed and roiled unnaturally from within. It split and cracked, spattering a viscous spray of blood and viscera across the room from the violent tumult. 

 

"Witchcraft!" Jonas shouted in dismay.

 

The divine light turned hazy and red, umspared by the stain of corruption. And, Jonas flew back, launched by some unseen force, into the wall across the room. 

 

The light faded. 

 

The dying man still breathed. His condition was not any better than it had been before they had begun. He was not covered in boils and sores. But, his flesh had been rent and torn apart. And, his arms and legs twisted and bent at odd angles.

 

Jonas shakily stood on his feet. He was unharmed, safe except for a few bruises and battered ego. 

 

Joan stared at the scene with wide eyes. "What in damnation was that?"

 

"I don't-" Jonas started to speak as he massaged his back. But, then, the divine light returned. Pure and untainted as it was before, and enveloped Jonas in his entirety. 

 

Joan had to avert her eyes from the blinding light. It had lost the warmth that it had. It was harsh, awe-inspiring, beautiful, yet also deadly in affect to her mortal senses. 

 

It dimmed and dispersed, not a moment later, leaving Jonas behind. His face was pale and drawn. His eyes white and blinded by the intense glory of the gods. His legs quivered and shook. 

 

"I-... I have to go."

 

He took an uncertain step toward the door. Then, another, easier than the last. Till he practically sprinted toward the front of the shop. He ignored Joan as he ran off into the night.

 

Joan hurried after him, desperate to catch his attention and learn what had happened.

"Wait! Wait! Fucking come back! You can't just leave! Wait, you bastard!"

 

But, he kept running, as though the very font of evil itself nipped at his heels. He didn't stop. And, he never looked back.