When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#617 - sick

As mid-September arrived, the cold autumn rain poured down as the mountain folk had predicted.

This intermittent rain and wind would last for a full week or two, and in such weather, all the mountain folk could do was drink, sleep, and beat their wives.

The rain pelted the thatched roof of the house like needles, making crisp popping sounds.

Amidst these sounds, surrounded by seven or eight mountain folk, Ansel, wearing a heavy hooded cloak, was already half-soaked as he vigorously knocked on the door of the small house.

"Lalor, it's me!" Ansel's voice cut through the rain, "It's Ansel, open the door."

Footsteps sounded through the rain, and then the wooden door was pulled open, Lalor peering out, his face full of weariness and fatigue.

He glanced at Ansel and asked in surprise, "Friar Ansel, what brings you here? The weather is terrible for traveling."

"What have you been doing these past few days? It's already September 14th, and you didn't come to the spinning payday yesterday. What's wrong?"

Lalor lowered his head, seemingly unwilling to answer, but seeing the seriousness on Ansel's face, he sighed helplessly and stepped aside to let him in. "Please, come in, Friar."

A mixture of damp earth and sour rot wafted out, causing Ansel to frown involuntarily.

The other mountain folk filed in and remained in the courtyard.

He hurried into the house, where only an oil lamp flickered weakly.

Ansel looked around and quickly spotted a figure lying on the wooden bed in the corner.

He approached and saw a little girl who looked only twelve or thirteen years old, her face sallow, her eyes sunken, and devoid of life.

He was about to speak when he heard Lalor shout harshly, kicking his crying young son out of the house, "Don't come in, get out!"

Ansel frowned at Lalor, "This is your…"

Lalor forcefully closed the courtyard door, walked up to Ansel, and said in a numb voice, "My eldest daughter, fifteen years old this year."

Only then did Ansel understand why Lalor hadn't been at the church for the past few days.

Taking a deep breath, he didn't say much, but squatted down by the bed, carefully examining the girl's condition.

Her arms were so thin that they were just skin and bones, her forehead was burning hot, and her lips were chapped and bleeding. After asking Lalor a couple of questions, Ansel realized it was dysentery.

Standing up, he frowned at Lalor, his tone already tinged with anger, "How long has this been going on? Why didn't you tell me?"

Lalor leaned against the wall, his eyes bloodshot, his voice hoarse, "Almost three days. She caught a cold spinning yarn all night, and she's passing nothing but bloody water. What good would telling you do?"

"Buy medicine, what else?" Ansel looked at him, incredulous, "If you're sick, you buy medicine and treat it."

Lalor was silent for a moment, then gave a bitter laugh, "We can barely afford to eat, where would we get the money for medicine?

Besides, buying medicine is fine for ordinary illnesses, but this is dysentery. Even with medicine, it might not be cured, unless the monks from the monastery use divine magic, but how can I afford that?

For us mountain folk, being sick is fate. We accept it."

"No, this is your daughter!" Ansel was dumbfounded by Lalor's words. People in Plain County naturally have family members who get sick, but they don't just give up.

Especially after the establishment of the Holy See of the Holy Machine Court, all monks and witch doctors are required to go to the countryside for rounds of medical treatment. How can you just stubbornly endure it?

The mountain folk who had followed him didn't dare to enter the house, but stood under the eaves, nodding in agreement.

Some even whispered, "It's not that we don't want to save her, but mountain people have lived like this for hundreds of years, birth, old age, sickness, and death, how can we force it."

"We're used to it, what's the use of struggling?" Another mountain man sighed, his eyes dim, "Children get sick, it happens every year. There are some things we can't change."

Ansel looked around, at their numb expressions, as if he was seeing them for the first time, "Don't you value family the most?"

No one answered him, only bitter smiles in response.

Some even muttered, "We can't let the whole family starve to death for one person, can we?"

For the mountain folk, death always accompanies them throughout their lives. When they're young, their father freezes to death and their mother starves to death. When they grow up, their wife dies in childbirth and their children die from illness. Going out to hunt wolves might mean being bitten to death by a monster.

The people of Plain County still have the black market and potions, but what do the mountain people have?

Even if they have money, they still can't afford medicine. As for the priests, there's no hope. They only promote divine magic, which costs 3 gold pounds per session.

Even armed farmers would go bankrupt after paying for one medical visit for their children or adults.

In Lalor's eyes, even if Ansel could arrange a 3 gold pound divine magic session, those monks wouldn't come to the mountains in such stormy weather.

Once a flash flood or mudslide blocks the road, even the monks wouldn't be favored by the Holy Lord.

"Hmph! Hmph! Hmph!" Ansel was so angry with the mountain folk that he sneered.

"You don't understand… the money for treating the illness is enough to buy a new wife…" A mountain man outside the courtyard was still arguing.

Ignoring these dissenting voices, Ansel stood up and turned to Bryson, "Go get some sugar, salt, and find some clean water."

Bryson was stunned and asked subconsciously, "What do you need sugar, salt, and water for?"

"At least it can relieve dehydration and stabilize her condition." Pulling the brazier closer, Ansel didn't care about anything else and continued to order, "Otherwise, she won't make it through the night."

Although helpless, Bryson could only nod and run out of the house, into the rain, and soon he took out a small bag of coarse sugar, a pinch of salt, and a bag of clear water from the saddlebag of the old horse.

Ansel quickly mixed the sugar and salt into the water, stirred it with a wooden spoon, and then carefully scooped up a spoonful and brought it to the girl's mouth.

"Drink it, don't be afraid," he said gently, "Brother will bring you medicine back soon."

Opening half an eye, the girl glanced at her father. Lalor was struck by this glance, and his whole body trembled like a sieve.

Staring blankly at the sugar and salt water in front of her, the girl struggled slightly, but finally took a small sip under Ansel's comforting words.

She wants to live! She still wants to live!

Lalor and the surrounding mountain folk stared blankly at this scene, no one spoke, just silently lowered their heads.

"Bryson, you and Lalor watch her, feed her sugar and salt water every once in a while." In the eyes of others, Ansel's orders were a futile struggle, but he still stubbornly issued orders in his own way.

"You stay here and don't move around. Don't let anyone go in and out of the courtyard. Except for the caregivers, don't have any physical contact with her. I'll go to the upper monastery to get medicine."

"Friar Ansel…" Bryson hesitated, "The rain is getting heavier and heavier. The mountain streams and springs might cause flash floods. It's too dangerous to go out at this time."

"The most dangerous time for me was when I jumped from the roof onto the knight's horse," Ansel said, putting on his cloak again, "What does this little danger matter?"

"Even if you get medicine from the country church, in her current state, she probably won't last until you get back," several old mountain folk advised.

But Ansel seemed not to hear, "Bryson, have someone bring my donkey."

If he had resigned himself to fate, Ansel would have starved to death outside the city of Jeanne d'Arc long ago.

If it hadn't been for His Majesty the Holy Grandson taking him in as a child soldier, he would have been a skeleton on the side of the road.

"I had dysentery back then, I was on the verge of death, how come I didn't die? Didn't the Holy Grandson save me back then?" Ansel stubbornly put on his poncho, "How the Holy Grandson saved me, that's how I'm going to save her!"

"But the road is not easy to travel, you…" Bryson wanted to persuade him again, but was interrupted by Ansel.

"Remember to feed her water every once in a while, don't give her random things to eat. If the sugar runs out, I still have some in my house."

Riding the little donkey that had been brought to the door, Ansel turned his head to look at the dilapidated thatched house, took a deep breath, and quickly disappeared into the rain.

Inside the house, everyone was silent for a long time, only an old mountain man whispered, "Is it worth it?"

Lalor didn't answer. He slowly walked to his daughter's bed and gently stroked her dry hair, "It's okay, it's okay…"

Bryson held the wooden bowl, not daring to answer, just staring out the door, the sound of the wind growing louder and louder in his ears.