Silent Song

Chapter 1: Every Day

The pipes squeaked as I twisted off the water. I grabbed a towel and quickly dried off, tossing it into the laundry hamper as soon as I was done. Then, I stepped out of the shower, onto the mat I had placed there to prevent slipping. The mirror to my right was fogged up from the hot water I had used while showering, causing the image to be distorted. I rubbed a bare hand across it and looked at my reflection. Waist-length chestnut hair clung my neck, dripping wet. Blue eyes stared back at me, fringed with thick lashes. And on my throat... a scar ran across the width of it. I looked away from it by instinct. It was from my own stupidity; my punishment for what I had done. Yet, it was the same old image I saw every day.

I got dressed, tied a bandanna over my neck to cover the scar, and towel-dried my hair. I braided it loosely while descending downstairs, into my kitchen. My house had two stories, not counting the attic and the basement. My room and the bathroom were upstairs, along with another bedroom and a study. One-half of the downstairs area of my house had the kitchen, dining room, and a half bath. A door in the kitchen led to the basement, which I rarely used.

I made an easy breakfast for myself, and gulped it down. I then prepared breakfast for all the patients. It was laborious work; the season brought in a wave of diseases. The sand from the desert had caused many people to contract bronchitis. It had gotten into people's lungs and infected them. It was easily treatable, but I kept the ones that could develop pneumonia in the house, so I could keep an eye on their condition.

Just about all the rooms were occupied with bronchitis patient, so I had to make a large amount food and tea, which helped clear the lungs. It took me three trips to give them the food, switching between my kitchen and the clinic. After I was done handing out the food, I checked all the patients and gave them their medication.

The first patient was a little girl named Lanna. She had been a sickly child ever since she was born, so I was naturally worried about her. I lifted her arms, signaling her to stand up out of the bed. When I exaggerated my breathing, she got the hint and inhaled deeply. I pressed a stethoscope to her bare back, lifting her shirt to listen to her breathing. It was sounding better than yesterday, but they were still causing me worry. I made a coughing sound, and she did the same. Just as I thought, she still had a wet cough. I pulled down her shirt and put on a pair of medical gloves, before turning back to face her. I tapped on her mouth, telling her to open it. Pointing to my throat and dragging it upwards, I signaled for her to make an "ahhhhhh" sound, so I could examine her throat. She did what she was told and I found that her throat was still inflamed. As I moved away to measure out her medicine, Lanna mumbled, "How long do I have to stay here?"

I smiled at her and held my fingers an inch apart. She sighed, but took the medicine I held out to her, drinking it in one gulp. She made a disgusted face, causing me to laugh inwardly, though more out of nostalgia than it actually being funny. I tucked her into the bed, and then walked out the room to check on the other patients.

Most of the others were in a similar condition, getting better but still causing me worry. I wrote what I thought down on the notebook I always carried with me and ripped out the page, which I handed to the patients. Because Lanna couldn't read yet, I had skipped that step. I knew also sign language; my parents taught it to me, but only a few other villagers knew it as well. I got along well with the ones who did, but the others were all used to my silence, so they took it without much question.

It was the final patient was the one that worried me. He was an older man, around fifty-five or so, named Mark. Though men his age were supposed to be able to defend against something like that, as well as the fact that he was native here, he was turning for the worse. It may have been for the fact that he was a heavy smoker, or just that he had a weaker immune system. As I inspected him, I noticed that he had more trouble breathing than the day before. When I listened to his lungs, they sounded like they were blocked. Mark's cough was extremely bad, shaking his body each time. Yet, he cheerfully struck up a conversation with me after the examination.

"So, Lark, you're sixteen now, right?"

Actually, I was bordering seventeen, but I still nodded my head as I thought about switching his medication. Perhaps I should try to clear the lungs first?

"My youngest son, Alex, is eighteen. That's close. He's a real man, just like his father," Every time he came here, Mark tried to set me up with Alex. I knew Alex: I was the town's only doctor, so I had to know everyone. Alex was a nice person and we played together when we were younger, but I wasn't interested. Getting into a relationship would only distract me. The town's health was my first priority. "You two should see each other more. After all, you are old friends."

I pretended to think about it, just to humor the man, and then shook my head. I walked toward the door and held up a finger, asking Mark to wait for me, while I got his medicine. He, looking slightly disgruntled, waved his hand, only to be interrupted by a series of coughs. The bed shook underneath him each time a cough racked his body. I entered the hallway, wincing when I heard him again. As I walked toward the storage room where I kept the medication, I mentally calculated and measured out the ingredients for Mark's new formula. It wasn't too hard, considering I had used it before.

I worked as the doctor in the town, so I had converted the large house into a pseudo-hospital. The entrance, the house's actual front door, led into a place was like a waiting room. There was furniture in it, so it also doubled as my living room. The hallway was lined with rooms where patients were kept, and at the end of the hall was the door to my actual house, which I kept locked. The room closest to it was where I kept the medicine and equipment. Because I lived in a rural town, there wasn't much equipment, so I used it to dry the medicinal plants and mix the ingredients together to make the medicine. For emergencies, I also had a cabinet in the waiting room stocked with pre-made medicine, gauze, and other medical supplies.

I had an extensive knowledge on plants, and all biological things in general. Before my parents' death, they had taught my sister and I many things. I had taken the medical exam to become a doctor and passed it with flying colors, thanks to my parents' teachings. However, the exam was never "officially taken", meaning that they had somehow acquired the official test without registering. I hadn't questioned it at the time, but now I knew better.

Anyway, I was smart enough to be able pass college by the time of my parents' death, so I was able to continue the business they had started. Everything I knew was taught by my parents, or from books and information I gathered. It was my parents who had converted the house into a healing facility before I was born. The townspeople hadn't questioned my taking over. I was already treating the patients before, so they trusted me.

I quickly and carefully crushed the herbs together, then adding some chemicals that would help as well. When I was done, I had created a bitter potion that had to be taken twice a day for about a week to get rid of phlegm, soothe the inflamed throat, and ward off other bacteria. I wrote down the instructions on a piece of paper and returned to Mark's room.

He had been waiting patiently for me, relaxing when I handed him the potion and the note. He finished reading it, then asked, "Is this contagious?"

I shook my head. He looked relieved. "So my family can come to visit me."

I gave him a smile, jerked my thumb toward the waiting room, and then pointed at the floor with my forefinger, like to say, "They're probably here right now." I wasn't lying. I really could hear people chatting in the waiting room.

After making sure Mark drank the potion, I made my way to the waiting room. Most of the patients' family and friends were there, so I gave them slips of paper I had prepared earlier that had the room number on them. The atmosphere was filled with soft chatter, making the house livelier. I was the only one working there, and the patients got lonely. Their visitors always made their stay easier, hence why I allowed them.

I let out a contented puff of air, and continued to my everyday activities.

Two people walked through the desert, one in a suit of armor, the other a short blond teenager with a gaudy red cloak. Edward and Alphonse Elric had just come out of Liore after experiencing the world's biggest letdown.

"I thought we finally had a lead on the Philosopher's Stone!" Edward was still complaining about the events that had happened in Liore. They had traveled all the way from Central due to a rumor they had heard that the small desert town was experiencing strange miracles. The brothers had assumed it was alchemy, after all, it was a desert; it wasn't supposed to be so prosperous. They had gone there to find out more.

"Brother, we did kind of get a lead." Alphonse said, surprising his brother.

"And what is that, Al? All priests are fakes?" Ed snorted sarcastically.

"No, the fake Stone did have some qualities of the real one. So, what if we found the person who made it and asked them about it?"

Edward straightened up, but then slouched again. "Oh yeah, you weren't there for the rebound."

"Rebound?"

"When he tried to transmute a gun, the fake Stone rebounded on him and ended up transforming his entire arm into one," Edward explained, shuddering a bit from the vivid memory. "His arm was messed up. There was metal and wires coming out of it. Probably really painful. That stupid Cornello deserved it."

"Oh." Alphonse managed to look disappointed even though he was wearing armor. It was always strange to Ed how his little brother could display so many emotions through the mask of metal.

The brothers continued walking, heading to the nearest town, a small while away from Liore. It was a small rural place, located at the edge of the desert, an oasis of sorts. They needed a place to stay after all that had happened. Overthrowing priests was hard work.

A small sign, with the words: "Welcome to Percole" told the brothers they had arrived at their destination. It was, in fact, an oasis compared to the rest of the desert. There was grass growing through the cracks of the cobble-stoned streets. The townspeople were lively, children running around. It looked quite healthy and prosperous.

Ed was feeling hungry, so he walked to the nearest place that served food, a place called, "Oasis". It was located outdoors, much like bar in Liore. However, it was bigger. Not only did it have stools lining the counter-top, it also had separate tables with chairs. He and Al sat down at one of the tables, and one of the waitresses handed them each a menu. As Edward scrolled through the list, a man walked into town and headed for Oasis. Some men at the bar recognized him, approaching the man with loud greetings.

Edward and Alphonse stiffened when they heard the men ask the newcomer, "How's Liore, Harold? Your priest still performing miracles?"

Harold angrily replied, "That damned bastard was a fake. He was tricking us all along. Now he's left us, and the town's going to crumble again. We would have been better off if he wasn't found out," He quickly downed a couple of shots, before slamming his fist on the counter top. "How in hell will I find a way to help Claire now?!"

"Calm down," one of the man's friends stepped forward. He spoke in a soothing voice, as if talking to a toddler throwing a fit. "If your daughter's that sick, we can take her to Percole's doctor."

"How do you know he's not a fake?" Harold muttered darkly.

"She," another man responded. "Has lived here for her entire life. Her parents were the doctors before her." Ed was confused. In such a small town, there were actual doctors?

"Fine," Harold stood up, obviously drunk. His words were slurred and his gait was unsteady. "Let's see how your little miracle worker is."

He turned around, and caught Ed staring at him. "What're you lookin' at?" The drunken man's eyes widened. "You're the one who ruined everything!"

Before anyone else could move, Harold had smashed a bottle and stalked toward the young man. He shook it at the blond, his hands trembling with anger. "We would have been fine without you coming! We needed him! He was our only hope!"

Everyone around the area stopped what they were doing to spectate. Completely oblivious, he lunged at Edward, who was just standing up. Ed was caught by surprise and didn't have time to react, only staring at the man with wide eyes.

"BROTHER!" Alphonse cried as the older man stabbed his brother in the stomach with the bottle. The man's friends tackled Harold to the ground.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?" one of them yelled.

"He's the reason Claire's dying! He took our hope!" Harold roared, struggling under his friends' holds.

Ed fell to the ground, blood trickling onto the dirt. He was dead to the world, barely realizing that he had been stabbed. He just eyed the scarlet liquid coming out of his body, like a child hypnotized by bright lights. Unable to rouse his brother, Alphonse picked him up and looked around.

"Where's that doctor you were talking about?!" That questioned was directed toward the man who hadn't restrained his friend. He was standing by the side, pale and unmoving. "Hey! Where is she?!"

The poor man was startled, seeming like he woke up from dream. He glanced at Edward's limp body, then at the suit of armor talking to him. Realizing what he had to do, the older man took off toward the doctor's house with a yell of: "Follow me!"

Al darted after him, clutching his bleeding brother.

This is my first fan fiction I've actually published. It will probably be long, so stay tuned for more. Favorite, review, follow! Let me know if I did anything wrong.