I stayed out of the way, keeping myself in the other room as Cyrus worked with the poor girl with the oozing cut down her leg. But that didn’t mean that I didn’t peek inside every now and then.

Pride welled through me as I listened to Cyrus work.

Despite everything, here he was, doing good. Working wonders.

She couldn’t pay him in anything more than a sack of grain and four eggs.

None of them ever could.

But he helped them in whatever way he was able.

Every night, after coming home from the fields, he would either continue his study, or help those who came to see him.

Some nights he dragged bodies home, taking them out back behind the house. Carefully, meticulously, he would examine their insides. He would press here and poke there. He took notes on scrolls.

Other nights, he would lead home a pig. And they served as both a meal and research.

Dogs.

Chickens.

A bat.

A wolf.

It was not just their anatomy he studied, but what gave them their particular strength, their advantage.

No one understood life like Cyrus did.

No one helped him. No one taught him. He did it all on his own.

He worked tirelessly, his curiosity like an insatiable hunger.

He would never confess it to me, but he did turn to his roots. I would see him rub his hands with dirt and offer up a silent prayer before working on someone who needed his help. I would see him look up to the stars before he cut a deceased vagrant open.

Cyrus was a believer in science and magic. Even if he would never admit it, even to himself.

He worked so tirelessly. Long days that began before the sun rose and only ended hours after it had set.

But every night, he would crawl into bed beside me. Every night he would hold me and whisper about his day, make sure mine had been wonderful. Each night he pulled me in close and whispered promises of a wonderful life.

Every night was ours.

Every night was filled with whispers of love and commitment.

We lived in a hovel on the outskirts of a new town. Alone, with no family and no friends.

But we were building a life. Together.

And it was all I needed.

---

One year later, a brand new town. So far from where we had begun, no one knew anything about the man named Cyrus or his wife who walked away from a life of comfort.

We began anew.

Cyrus had learned so much. Had helped so many people. He understood the human body. Could seem to predict ailments, would try things no one else would think of.

After only a few weeks in our new city, Cyrus proved himself. Within a few more weeks, everyone came to see him when they fell ill.

We bought a real home. We had a real bed.

Cyrus bought me beautiful dresses. He could afford new shoes for himself.

More and more people trusted Cyrus to help them get better. But there was also a hint of fear in their eyes, and they whispered the name sorcerer.

But no matter their fear and awe, as long as he helped them live.

I couldn’t blame them for their whispers.

Cyrus’ practices were, at times, peculiar.

He continued to study animals. With the money people were now willing to pay him, he purchased dead animals.

Not just cows or chickens or dogs.

Exotic things.

An eagle.

A tiger.

A leopard.

These creatures were imported to him from far countries. They arrived in varying states of decay. Some fresh, some so far decomposed when they arrived that I had to turn and empty my stomach outside Cyrus’ shop.

But he studied them all. Memorized their organs. Extracted their teeth. Drew vial after vial of their blood.

“What is it you’re looking for?” I asked him one night as I sat next to the fire in his shop.

Cyrus stood hunched over a dead cheetah, the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. It had come all the way from a land called Africa. I’d never heard of it before.

“Hmm?” he said absentmindedly as he removed what I was fairly certain was the animal’s heart.

“You’ve never expressed an interest in treating animals,” I said, watching the black blood drip down his hands. “Why do you keep studying them? What is it you’re looking for?”

Cyrus set the heart on the stone table. Placing his hands on either side of it, he looked up at me. There it was, as always: that intensity. Like he’s searching for something, excited, exhilarated. But it’s the hunt that spoke to him as well.

“They’re all so different,” he said. His eyes rose to the wall where there were several long shelves. They all held glass jars, each containing the blood or heart of a different kind of creature. “They all have their different strengths and abilities. I just want to understand…” he trailed off. His eyes were unfocused, as if searching for the words. “I just need to know more. I want to understand it all.”

“All of what?” I asked.

His eyes came to mine, and in them, I saw such an excitement, such spark. “Life,” he said breathily as a smile began growing on his face.