“So you are feeling better now.”
No, I surely wasn't.
“But my head still hurts, I want to sleep some more,” I put down the cup of muddy water that he had brought for me to drink and tried to find a comfortable position in the stinky bed.
He patted my head while smiling.
“Ain't no worry. Sick folks oughta sleep a lot.”
Walking to the door he waved his hand before closing it carefully. He probably meant it to be silent, but it just made the rusty sound last longer. I counted five minutes to make sure he wasn't going to come back claiming to have forgotten something before getting up again.
Being cared for by a stranger is all fine and dandy, but I wasn't about to trust someone who lets a child drink this unholy water.
Now that I was alone I could start sorting out the overwhelming memories of the little boy that my consciousness was inhabiting.
They were not funny.
Dara was born in an agricultural village in the middle of god knows where, his parents were dead, he was weak and sickly, and his body was way too small for someone his age. In small villages like these the inhabitants are very compassionate and supportive of each other, considering that they spent their entire lives together, but not even here he was able to live a community life. In these places, the fear of epidemic diseases was deeply rooted, so he was sent to the mill on the outskirts of the village to die.
Luckily enough, the miller didn't actually believe in transmissive diseases, so he accepted Dara in his place.
As a sick six-year-old in the middle of nowhere, Dara had the accumulated knowledge of a bag of potatoes. He seldom left the house, and the miller was the only person he remembered the face of, even if he didn't know his name.
His memories were composed fundamentally of wriggling around in bed feeling pain and coughing nonstop.
That's a lot of exposition all right. I thought to myself after reminiscing on the less-than-ideal conditions of life of the poor boy.
And now, I was inheriting his body. It is a good thing that no one would get startled by my sudden personality change, even if that was only because no one paid enough attention for that to be a concern.
“But wait… If the body is the same, should I also be worried about this weird disease?”
Now that I thought about it, I was actually in a considerable amount of pain right now. Maybe I just didn't realize it sooner because my head was preoccupied, almost bursting.
“This is stupid! Did you send me here to die?!” I asked the ceiling, but unfortunately, the ceiling didn't talk back.
I could try to use my knowledge to identify and cure the disease. The only thing stopping me from doing so is the fact that I don't have the slightest idea of how the hell to do that.
An ordinary person is expected to have ordinary knowledge, but I never got to learn this kind of stuff. I'd rather learn about radioactive treatments or something like that. Sure, in the modern world, I could recognize a tumor on a CT scan and suggest a likely treatment, but I'd be clueless when it comes to identifying a common cold. This might as well be the flu and I wouldn't know how to cure it. And even if I knew what it was, the only medicine that I'd be able to concoct is some herbal tea.
Shouldn't I be able to know whatever I want? Was god waiting for me to meet some conditions? I thought back on my past actions. I'm pretty sure I didn't offend them in any way—Oh, wait! Don't tell me…
“I'm sorry for calling you a god, alright? You're a God!” I wasn't sure if it was even possible to think in capital letters, but if that was what was stopping me from receiving my request, then I wasn't going to be the one to complain. “Okay? A G-O-D!”
After my outburst, the room grew silent waiting for any answers. One minute had gone by, then two, then three, but I didn't feel any godly knowledge heading my way. They weren't expecting me to start praying or anything, were they?
“Upon closer consideration, only monotheistic people use the word God in uppercase…” Thinking of unimportant things is in the basics of being a human. However, I didn't have the time to throw away pondering on the better way to address someone who may or may not be listening. If the kid died from whichever disease this is, the body isn't going to last a whole lot longer.
In that case, the only option would be to improve the general health of the body by exercising and eating healthy foods.
Slowly I got out of bed, taking care to not disturb the gigantic spider that caught my eye in the corner of the room. The dirty floor didn't have any kind of special treatment, the owner opted for the easy and handy hard earth. It at least made it hard to see any footprints left by my shoeless feet.
I approached the door and pressed my ear against it, attempting to discern any sound from the other side. However, the door wasn't strong enough to support the weight of my head. It opened faster than any rusty hinges had the right to, sending me sprawling face-first onto the floor.
“Augh!” I exclaimed, clutching my nose in frustration as I cursed my luck in silence. I braced myself, expecting to be found out. “...There's nobody home.”
Well, that wasn't quite right. The sight in front of me painted a very clear image of the world that I was sent to. Is always the Middle Ages style. Huh.
In front of me, there was another room. The bed, placed against the wall next to my door, was as poor-looking as mine. Two large and unfinished-looking chests were positioned on the side. In the middle of the room, the remnants of a fireplace with a cauldron hanging over it presented themselves. On the opposite side, a table was nearly hidden under the wooden bows that covered it. Right beside it were two entrances, one through which my companion—a cow—could be seen.
I opted to leave the cow for later and instead headed towards the remaining door.
This time, it was a bona fide, operational door. No matter how hard I pushed, it wouldn't open. I was quite certain it wasn't locked, though, because the wooden bar that would be used to lock it was conveniently lying next to my foot. Besides, locking it from the outside with this wouldn't make much sense anyway—unless someone wanted to keep me as a prisoner.
“Change of plans. The cow it is!”
“Well, I did say that, but now that I'm here, I'm actually not sure of what to do next,” I admitted. The entirely white cow regarded me with complete apathy, its large eyes not even sparing me a glance as it vigorously licked its nose.
The heaps of fresh dung scattered in the dry straw surprisingly lacked the stinky smell I had come to associate with such scenes. Perhaps, I mused, I was lucky that the fact that I was already smelling like a homeless drug addict had adapted my nose to pungent odors.
Behind the cow, there stood an entrance just large enough for it, blocked only by a makeshift fence designed to prevent its exit. For the first time in a couple of months, I found myself gazing up at the sky.
The afternoon sun, on the verge of setting, cast a chilly light around, elongating the shadows from the trees just outside the house. This likely explained the reason for the cow being inside. Not that I was well-versed in the intricacies of bovine daily routines.
The fence stood at just enough height to discourage the cow from attempting a leap, and the wooden beams were spaced wide enough for my chibi body to slip through effortlessly.
At the back of the house, I found the river, the culprit behind the persistent, rushing water sound I had been hearing. Next to the river, I saw what I assumed was the mill. Its outside looked no different from a regular house, with the same wooden frames filled in with wattle and daub and thatch roof as the place I had just left. The mill was just ten steps away, and its outer front had large bags of flour placed next to the door.
“Okay! The three most important things for survival are water, food, and shelter,” the shelter was just behind me, and it even had a bed, not that it was comfortable, but it was a bed nonetheless. There were also some bowls of water inside the house, but I certainly wasn't about to drink from those, so this was my most urgent concern.
I had read somewhere that people in the Middle Ages already knew about boiling water before drinking, even if they didn't know exactly why. It's not like I'd die if I drank water with some dirt—I hope. But my emotional health is also important.
So that was that. I went back and forth between the house and the ‘backyard’ to gather everything I speculated to be even remotely useful in my drinking water tirade.
I think it's better to boil the water anyway, just to make sure. With that in mind, I gripped the cauldron in the middle of the house. While I had entertained the idea of boiling it inside, the risk of being found out grew exponentially. Confidently I attempted to lift the cauldron with arms that could barely embrace half of its girth. Contrary to my expectations, it didn't budge a single inch.
“Is this made of Osmium1You probably already know this: Osmium is the chemical element with the symbol Os and atomic number 76. It’s also known for having one of the highest densities (or weight, if you will) among naturally occurring elements.
or something?!” I gasped, completely out of breath. “Is it even possible for something to weigh this much?!”
Sitting on the ground to recover from the strenuous labor, I racked my brain for another idea.
I could risk it and just start the fire inside. It's not like the guy would do anything if he found me. But explaining what I was doing with the water would be a massive pain in the ass. That only left me with one option that I could think of off the top of my head.
Making my way to the river I carried the two biggest bowls that my body could lift.
It was quite disappointing.
But it fit enough water to last until the next day—probably.
Starting the fire would be the hardest part, but the flint stone I had found lying on the table came in handy. After a few attempts, the sticks I had gathered were burning beautifully. I tossed the most basalt-looking well-sized pebbles into the fire and filled the bowls with water. Then, I took a piece I had cut from the blanket and started cleaning it diligently in the river water.
I fashioned two nice sticks into a makeshift set of long, two-handed chopsticks and placed the pebbles inside the bowls filled with water. The blanket piece in one of them.
Now I just had to wait a little bit.
With time passing and the occasional rotation of the pebbles, the water began to bubble and steam, signaling it was ready.
Crafting a filter with the materials I had gathered turned out to be surprisingly straightforward.
Beginning with the boiled blanket piece, I placed some moss in the center, layering it with useful filter components such as small rocks, sand, and bits of charcoal I gathered from the remains of the house fireplace.
I grabbed some large leaves and arranged them in a funnel-ish shape. The ball made with the blanket and the other stuff fitted right inside.
Setting up the filtering process was equally simple. I placed an empty bowl on the ground, positioned the filter in the middle, and poured the boiled water over it.
Since some time had passed, the water was already at drinking temperature, so I went right to business. I lifted the bowl to my mouth and slowly, started to drink.
Oh! Is there anything in the world that tastes better than water in moments of thirst? Here's to the unsung hero—the humble bowl of water! It's not just a drink; it's solace, simplicity, its…
“Pretty good I'd say.”
