Solo Of Healing and Harm

[Tarn Alrenson]

The late afternoon sun blazed down from the sky, causing sweat to bead on Tarn’s forehead and stinging his eyes. The bright light reignited Tarn’s pounding headache, the one that had been with him on and off since his fight with a Daggerhand a few nights ago. Tarn raised his hand in a gesture of goodbye to the other Dragoons he had been patrolling with as they scattered, all going their separate ways. He took a brief moment to rub out his sore legs. He hadn’t done any particularly strenuous activities today, but he had been walking practically the length of the city on patrol since dawn, and sometimes exhaustion hit you harder than others. Gently massaging his temples, Tarn ambled his way back to the barracks. Reaching his assigned cot, Tarn set down his spear and stripped off his armor down to clothes that hopefully wouldn’t roast him alive like the thick studded leather of the Dragoon “uniform.” There was one other thing Tarn wanted to do today, but with any luck he would be able to find a place out of the sun to do it. With is uninjured hand, Tarn slung his bag onto his back. He frowned. It seemed far too light, like it was empty. Had his possessions been stolen? Tarn hurriedly took off the bag and opened it, reaching inside. His hand closed on the cool stone of the Tanroa idol, and he let out a sigh of relief. However, he couldn’t feel the other item he had placed in there. Carefully, Tarn took out the statuette and placed it on the cot next to him, reaching back into the bag. His fingers fell onto the lacquered leather cover of a thick tome—a medical textbook—that he had placed in there. He took it out and frowned at the bag. Between the two items, the bag should have felt full, or at least a little heavy. With a shrug, he returned the book and Tanroa idol to the bag. It must carry the weight well, he thought. He was lucky to have come across such a well-made bag. Dressed down from his combat gear into just his normal clothes and pack, Tarn left the barracks, making his way towards Nightfall tower. Once there, he showed the guards his Sun’s Birth mark as proof of his allegiance and made a beeline for the entrance to the Tunnels. Carved out by ancient miners, and later by curious townsfolk, the tunnels were a sprawling network stretching out under the city. Tarn wasn’t quite sure how far they extended, outwards or downwards, but he wasn’t too keen on finding out himself. Here, near the entrance, most of the tunnels were occupied by storerooms or housing areas for the gang members so inclined to live underground. Sticking to the lit portions of the Tunnels, Tarn eventually found a storeroom dusty enough to be fairly secluded. Deciding it would work for his purposes, Tarn swung the pack off his back and set it onto the rough stone floor. He noticed again its weight, but quickly moved on to other thoughts as he removed the idol and book. Word Count: 528

[Tarn Alrenson]

Tarn placed the Tanroa idol on the floor and set the book beside it. He glanced behind him briefly, to verify he was alone, and knelt to pray. He prayed to Tanroa, as the statuette had actually taught him. When the prayer was completed, he opened his eyes to see the form of a graceful, silver-haired woman, now animated. A serene smile crossed her face. “Hello Tarn,” she said, “I trust you have done well since the last time we spoke?” “Well enough,” he replied, sitting back on his heels and rubbing his temple. The statue cast her eyes briefly around the room, noting their surroundings. Her eyes fell on the book by her side, and that smile touched her lips again. She laid one of her small, delicate hands on the cover, running her fingers across the universal symbol of medicine emblazoned there. “Perhaps you are willing to take your continued well-being into your own hands,” she said in her smooth voice, “if I have interpreted your possession of this tome correctly.” “You have,” Tarn answered. She nodded approvingly. “That is good. You have chosen to follow the path of violence, and I cannot dissuade you from that at this time. If you are to continue to put yourself in harm’s way, some knowledge of the healing arts would not go amiss.” “My thoughts exactly.” Tarn replied, half mumbling. The figurine cocked her head, locking her eyes with Tarn’s. “What is your dilemma?” she asked. Tarn scratched his head, somewhat sheepish. After a moment’s paus he spoke, reluctantly saying, “Well, the thing is— the reason I woke you… I can’t exactly read. Not by myself.” The figurine raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” she said. Tarn nodded. “Well then, we will have to solve that, won’t we?” “I guess so,” Tarn replied, “but I was wondering—if you can read, that is—if you would read it to me, perhaps…” He trailed off nervously at the end of his statement. The idol dipped her head to him, nodding in affirmation. “Yes, and yes. I can read, and I will read the contents of this tome to you if you wish.” Tarn sighed in relief, but the Tanroa idol raised a finger, giving him pause. “However, this is a temporary solution for an issue I wish to rectify as soon as possible.” “But—” Tarn began but was cut off by the statuette. “You can never learn a craft from just hearing someone tell you how to do it. Mastery will take practice, and your own personal study. I cannot always be at hand to interpret the written word for you, however much both of us might wish that to be the case.” Tarn sat for almost a minute without talking, and it seemed the little statue was more than content to let the silence hold. After some time, Tarn agreed. “Fine,” he said. “Fantastic,” she replied, smiling. “I must know though, how much of reading do you know already?” “I know my letters,” Tarn said, a little defensive, “and my father taught me to sign my name.” The statuette nodded as he spoke. Word Count: 524

[Tarn Alrenson]

“Good,” she said, “a better start than many people have, at least.” “Can we go over that later?” Tarn asked, wincing and raising a hand to his temple as a spike of pain shot through his head. “I’d like to go over the medicine today, please.” The statue tilted her head, her gaze turned to him like an auger. “You wish to find the cause, and perhaps a cure, for some of your current ailments, yes?” she asked. “Yes.” “Alright then, I will be happy to read for you, although the manipulation of the book itself must be done by you, I am not exactly suited to doing so.” Tarn nodded, opening the book and sitting back against the wall. The statuette climbed over and stood just next to his arm so she could see the contents of the tome. Slowly, Tarn opened the cover and gazed at the first page. “What does it say?” he asked. “It is an explanation of what this book is about, as well as who wrote it.” “Alright…” Tarn flipped to the next page. “And this one?” The statuette took a few moments to scan the open pages. “This is the foreword. Keep going. If you wish to learn about your own injuries, I suggest finding the table of contents.” “If I’m going to learn this, shouldn’t I know what the author wanted me to know first? Isn’t that why it’s in the beginning of the book?” Tarn replied. “You will learn all of this with time—so long as you choose to continue along this path—but for now we should set you aright. I will tell you when we have reached the portion I am looking for.” Tarn looked at the little idol curiously and shrugged. He began turning pages. He could not have passed more than a dozen before the Tanroa statue called for him to stop. “This is the table of contents,” she explained, “it is a directory for the information in this book.” She scanned the open page, then made him flip to the next one. There, she found what she was looking for. “Head injuries. In your condition, that would be a good section to check out, wouldn’t you agree?” At the mention of his pain, it seemed to worsen. Tarn briefly massaged his temples, hissing through his teeth. “Yes,” he affirmed. “That would be a good thing to check out. The page in question was near the end of the tome, so Tarn and the statue worked from there until they found the right spot. “Stop,” the statue cried. She read the page quickly, reading it back to him. It contained a brief warning about the severity of head injuries, and the care one was to take when dealing with them. On the next page, the statuette read the header, “Diagnosing head injuries.” “There,” Tarn said, “that’s what we need. The idol read the section, which described several common cranial injuries and their associated symptoms. Tarn compared the pains and enduring effects of the blow he had taken, dismissing each in turn before he came to one that sounded right. “That one! That’s it. What was it called again?” “A concussion,” she answered, “one of the most common injuries of the head, concussions often are the result of strikes to the skull, or extremely abrupt jostling or changes of direction.” Word count: 563