1.42

The Young Griffon

I wondered what Sol was up to.

”I swear by the Physician, and all the gods and goddesses as my witnesses, that, according to my ability and judgement, I will keep this oath in this contract.“

I laid my hands in Anastasia’s, the backs of my hands pressing into her open palms. She stared into my eyes and I stared right back in hers. She was uncharacteristically serious, the somber glow of her caustic green eyes casting shadows on her black-haired features.

I recited the oath of the first physician, Hippocrates.

”To hold she who taught me this art equally dear to me as my parents, to be a partner in life with her, and to fulfill her needs when required; to look upon her offspring as equals to my own siblings, and to teach them this art, if they shall wish to learn it, without fee or contract; and that by the set rules, lectures, and every other mode of instruction, I will impart a knowledge of the art to my own sons, and those of my teachers, and to students bound by this contract and having sworn this Oath to the law of medicine, but to no others.”

As I spoke the words, I didn’t feel anything in particular. There was no rising tide of sensation or meaning within me, no profound heat where our hands met. Of course, I hadn’t expected it to be that easy. The worthwhile things in life never were.

“I will use those dietary regimens which will benefit my patients according to my greatest ability and judgement, and I will do no harm or injustice to them.”

As if I would do such a thing, regardless of an oath.

“I will not give a lethal drug to anyone if I am asked, nor will I advise such a plan; and similarly I will not give a woman a pessary to cause an abortion.”

Assassination via poison killed one man and cursed the world with a coward. Prescribing poison for suicide cursed the world with two. Another promise that I would have fulfilled anyway.

But now came an interesting line.

In purity and according to divine law will I carry out my life and my art, so said the oath of the physician.

“In justice will I carry out my life and my art,” I swore instead, and Anastasia‘s breath hitched. I smiled faintly and continued on before she could cut the oath short.

“I will not use the knife, even upon those suffering from stones, but I will leave this to those who are trained in this craft.

“Into whatever homes I go, I will enter them for the benefit of the sick, avoiding any voluntary act of impropriety or corruption, including the seduction of women or men, whether they are free men or slaves.”

I raised a suggestive eyebrow, and the caustic queen rolled her eyes, exasperated.

“Whatever I see or hear in the lives of my patients, whether in connection with my professional practice or not, which ought not to be spoken of outside, I will keep secret, as considering all such things to be private.

“So long as I maintain this Oath faithfully and without corruption, may it be granted to me to partake of life fully and the practice of my art, gaining the respect of all men for all time. However, should I transgress this Oath and violate it, may the opposite be my fate.”

There was no flickering of pneuma, no rattling of chains around my heart as the earth was sealed to my soul, but I suppose that the words were profound enough alone. And whether or not the Fates would bind me to them, it hardly mattered. I had given my word, and so I would keep it.

“I told you what to say,” Anastasia said accusingly, withdrawing her hands from mine.

I shrugged. ”I am who I am, as you are who you are. Medicine is an entity all its own separate from the physician, so what does it matter if I practice it through the lens of my virtue instead of his?” Instead of yours?

“We haven’t even begun our first lesson yet and already you defy me. How does Solus put up with you?”

“I’m incredibly charming,” I said modestly. She scoffed.

“Incredibly cheeky, more like. But fine. Are you comfortable with the theories I’ve taught you?”

The Hippocratic Oath was taken only at the precipice of a physician’s first work. Anastasia had warned me that she wouldn’t show me a single thing until she was satisfied with my grasp of the theory behind practical medicine, and so we had spent the last several weeks immersing ourselves in the conceptual side of human constitution.

Fortunately, my education as the young aristocrat of the Rosy Dawn had overlapped significantly with the contents. In a way, cultivation as it related to the body was simply a man practicing medicine upon himself. I knew the workings of the human physique better than most physicians in this world – if not from their particular perspective.

But Anastasia was my senior in both cultivation and medicine, and so, even if she was a coward, I would afford her the respect that the master was due. Given that I had demanded her time, it was the least she was due.

“Black bile, yellow bile, phlegm, and blood,” I recited dutifully. “The four humors that make up every liquid in the body. Their combinations and ratios determine a man’s health as they approach the perfect balance, eukrasia.”

“And the temperaments?”

“Four natures, which can show up wholly or fractionally in a man’s personality. Phlegmatic, choleric, melancholic, and sanguine. Each of them corresponds to one of the humors.”

“And which pairs to which?”

“The yellow bile forms a choleric temperament and breeds aggressive, viciously ambitious men.” I thought of Sol, and saw that thought reflected in her. “They are also notoriously short-tempered.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author’s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Anastasia rolled her wrist, urging me on.

“Black bile is the culprit for a melancholy nature, deep thinkers and deep feelers. Phlegm leads to a phlegmatic man, as inconsequential in his presence as the dominant humor in his body. Which leaves only one.”

I stood, stretching mightily and dragging fingers through my hair. “Blood, the domain of sanguine men. Charismatic, social, risk seeking-”

“Talkative,” Anastasia finished, rising to her feet. I chuckled.

“The correspondence between the temperaments and the humors is simple enough,” she said, “but if you had to place them each in a cultivator’s realm, how would you do it?”

I hummed, considering that as we progressed deeper into the wilderness that lay beyond the eastern walls of the Half-Step City. There was a thick, sprawling valley forest within a few hours of walking at a Citizen’s pace. We had set a light pace and covered it in half an hour before swearing my oath. Why the Heroine had chosen this as the site of my first practical, I couldn’t say. Perhaps an animal would be my first patient.

“In order from Civic to Tyrannic,” I eventually said, “phlegm would be the first.” Anastasia nodded, absently pressing branches and swaying vines out of our path, the limbs burning and withering away at her touch. It was an obvious first choice. The useless humor for the least of all realms.

“Next,” I mused. I gave it another moment of thought, crystallizing the order, and then nodded. “The philosopher’s yellow bile, the hero’s black bile, and the tyrant’s blood.”