Bears do not hesitate, not when they know what the right action is to take. Iorek had no tremble in his paw when he immediately brought the blade to the exact spot the witch had indicated and drew it into his friend's flesh.
Blood bubbled up immediately, quite a lot of it. A human surgeon would likely have been working to soak up the blood (or his assistant would) and then reached in to try and clamp and sew up the bleed before sewing up the cut he had made. The bear surgeon ignored the blood entirely but drew open the same box he had carefully taken earlier from the camp to the fire.
Inside was a bit of metal, still forgefire hot, for the box had properties that allowed it to hold the extreme heat inside. The metal was barely a sliver, still soft and malleable as clay, and how that was achieved in so little time was in part luck in finding a particularly hot spot in the dying blaze, and perhaps in part because witches were good at elements, mostly air rather than fire, but air blown the right way can fan an ember into an inferno. The bear had told them what was needed, and they helped.
Now he hooked the sliver of metal with the knife and immediately, before it had a chance to cool and harden (and this, he was aware, would happen fast now that it was out of the box, almost too fast), he put it inside the open wound. The skin sizzled under the heat, and the bear could of course not see clearly into the wound, there was far too much blood, but he had a nose and senses a human surgeon did not, and he felt for the place where the blood came from, and he knew when the burning metal had found it because he sensed the stop of the flow. With a surgeon's precision, with only the use of a knife to manipulate the sliver of metal, he managed to direct it to bend as he willed over the open bleed, never allowing the blade to touch and make things worse.
And then the metal was cooled, and unmoving, wielded over the wound as surely as one of the plates in the bears armor covered him, and the bear withdrew the knife and, with the aid of the witches, turned the man to allow gravity to help in draining the blood that had been oozing out of the wound beneath Lee Scoresby's skin.
There was a short, but concerning moment, when none knew for certain that the job was done correctly, that the metal fragment would not wash away in the flow of blood, tearing upon the recently cauterized hole, but neither bear nor witch sensed any such thing. The excess blood drained out, at first almost black, then red, and the patch held.
Lyra and Pan watched this happen, eyes wide and shocked, not understanding but trusting that this was a necessary thing.
"And now the bloodmoss," said Iorek, and it was packed into the wound, less than the bear would have liked for his store of it was almost entirely depleted by this adventure, but not much was needed, for the wound was remarkably small, barely more than the width of the knife which was the width of a bear claw. Then the wound was bound and it was done.
The stench of blood, and burnt skin, and illness was strong, and Lee Scoresby lay as pale as a ghost, glistening with ointments and sweat and blood, but he still breathed.
"Now we go to prepare our spell. Watch over him until we return," Serafina Pekkala announced, and the witches left them alone.
The first thing Iorek wanted to do was to move Lee Scoresby away from the mess of blood that his bed had become, and with this in mind he first went to the stream to wash his paws (not nearly as bloody as one would expect), and his knife (which was exactly as bloody as one would expect), and then rolled out a second sealskin. Only, as he prepared to delicately slide the man over, and then to move the new skin further still from the mess, he realized there was no way to also move Hester, still asleep against Lee's side, without touching her. Iorek knew well the hare would not be easy with being moved, but nor did he want to separate the two, even by a few feet. So instead he cleaned away the blood as well as he could, and pulled the blanket back over him.
Only now, when it was clear that everything was finished, did Lyra dare to distract the bear with her own questions.
"What did you do, with the burning metal? You left it inside him?"
"That was sky-iron, broken off of my own armor; it will not harm him as earth-iron might and it will hold the bleed closed even as it cauterized the wound. He will not bleed again." Not from that bleed anyway.
"A piece of your armor is inside him?" Lyra asked, eyes wide, for she understood what the bear's armor was to him.
"It was the only metal with the right properties for the task," the bear answered, and if the girl hadn't known better, she would have thought Iorek thought it no great matter, that he only used the best tool for the job and it had no more import than that. "It could burn hot and be molded but cool without losing its strength, and cool quickly enough to not do lasting damage if left inside the wound and, as I said, it will not poison him as other metals might."
"Oh, Iorek," said Lyra, who did know better and was not fooled by the bear's tone, "He will get better. He just has to, after…after you did that for him." And she gave Iorek a hug, which the bear allowed, even going so far as to gently place one of his great paws upon her shoulder.
Lee Scoresby was not yet cured though, for as the witch had said, he still burned with fever and now he lay utterly still and he did not stir. This worried Lyra, who was used to him restless in his fever, and it seemed a bad sign that now he was beyond even that. In fact, had she known, this had less to do with him slowly dying and more to do with the witches, who had previously convinced his body to relax into the deep sleep needed for the surgery to not rouse him into moving at an inopportune moment. The deep sleep was just what he needed most, and the longer he could sleep the better was his chance of healing and overcoming his host of injuries and infection.
Lyra did not know this, though, and to her it seemed like he was already half in the grave, and she wiped away the sweat that covered his face, and worried, and tried to turn her thoughts to lighter matters.
"It was funny, meeting a witch," she said as she sat, staring at Lee Scoresby's still form and wiping him with the damp cloth. She avoided the swollen bruises, which mostly left his forehead and the right half of his face, and his neck down to the first of his many bandages (Iorek had completely depleted that supply as well and then repurposed an old bit of cloth he had decided clean enough for the task). She was speaking to Pan rather than to Iorek, though the bear was still nearby, looming, rather as if he stood guard over the sleeping man and hare. Had Lyra been able to see with eyes beyond herself, she would have thought he seemed to be guarding her as well, but she could not and only thought he guarded his good friend, and loved him for it.
"She didn't have a daemon," said Pan, in answer to her witch comment and with a shudder, for the two of them knew of nothing more unnatural.
"She does," said Iorek, without looking at them. "All witches have birds for daemons, and they have the ability to travel far from their side."
"Don't they get lonely, being so far apart?" Lyra asked, hugging Pan to her all the tighter. Imagine her Pantalaimon wandering far from her side! It was too terrible to contemplate, but the witches did not look like they were in pain from it.
"No more than I get lonely, I would guess," answered the bear, who of course had armor and not a daemon. Whether he meant to say they did get lonely, or they did not, Lyra could not tell and did not like to ask because she did not like to think of Iorek as wandering around alone. It was good that he was a king again and had his people, and it was good that he had Lee Scoresby even when he was not a king. Lyra was glad Iorek had come with them.
"It was funny, though, wasn't it…what she said about me being like Mr. Scoresby." Lyra said next, still mostly to Pan but not minding if Iorek answered. She was looking for anything to think about that was not how still Mr. Scoresby still lay.
"He looks on you like a daughter," Iorek said, only repeating what he had told her the day before, still a shocking thing to hear, but the shape of those words were starting to fit inside Lyra's head, and even moreso in her heart.
"I was proud…so proud when I learned Lord Asriel was not only my uncle, but my father," Lyra whispered. "But…but Lord Asriel never…well, but it is not fair to not give him a chance, and of course we are going to him because he did want me, after all…but…if I could have a second father…it would be Mr. Scoresby."
She seemed more than ever to be speaking to Pan, or perhaps just to herself, and Iorek did not answer her this time. Pan did.
"Lord Asriel does not want us," the daemon said, his feelings far less confused on the matter as he bristled into a hedgehog. "Lee Scoresby does."
"It isn't like that, Pan," Lyra tried to explain, setting the daemon on the ground in front of her when he became to difficult to cuddle. "Our father is an important man, and…he has his work, and that is important."
"Lee Scoresby had his work, and he always made time for us anyway, no matter how many questions we asked while he was busy. He slowed down and let us help. And you know we made him go slower."
"We have to give Lord Asriel a chance, Pan, we just have to. He's…he's blood. We belong to him."
"He never protects us when it mattered. He told you to spy and then said he wouldn't protect you if you were caught. Lee Scoresby protects us, and when we get lost anyway, he comes after us."
"I can't just trade fathers, Pan, it just doesn't work like that. It en't right, if we don't at least give him a chance."
"And if we give him a chance, and he doesn't want us?"
"Well then…then…I guess we have someone who does."
"That I do," whispered a voice, rough and rasping, and Lyra, who had not quite been crying because she felt almost cried out, looked in surprise to see Lee Scoresby's eyes open.
"You're awake!" she exclaimed, surprised and relieved. She really should not have been as relieved as she was, because he had not rested as long or as deeply as his illness needed him to, but it had been two hours since the witches had drawn him down into slumber and their effects had worn away.
"You have bled a lot and need more fluids," Iorek said by way of greeting towards the newly awakened man. "Drink this now."
The bear helped the man to sit up slightly, giving him a rough, "let me do the work," when Lee tried to help and his face winced at the increase in pain from his many wounds, not least the most recent surgical cut in his side. He let the bear do the work, and let him pour water down his throat, slowly and carefully, remembering the way the last thing he had drunk had come back up.
"It's cold, en't it?" Lee murmured when he had enough, some of the cool water dribbling down his front, and he shivered, and when he was lain down he pulled at the blanket to more fully cover himself and Hester, who slept on.
"You have lost blood," said Iorek solemnly. "And you have a fever. That makes you feel cold."
"That your way of saying it en't cold?" Lee commented, sleepily, his eyes already closed. "You're a polar bear, Iorek; you'd feel warm if it were snowing."
"Do you need another blanket?" asked Lyra, who wanted to help.
"Please," said Lee Scoresby, who was still shivering, which in turn reminded him of the pains up and down his body. The bloodmoss helped to numb some of the pain but it could only do so much.
"No," said Iorek. Lyra looked at Mr. Scoresby, then at Iorek, and reluctantly let go of the blanket she had started to drag out.
Lee Scoresby did not protest or complain again, and for a moment he seemed to fall back asleep. It was clear, though, that this was not the same deep sleep as before, but a fitful sleep. Iorek frowned, bringing his nose down close to the man.
"His fever rises," he said.
"Don't fret," said Lee Scoresby, who was not quite as a sleep as he appeared. "Be fine. Ser-fina Pekk-la'll get me right as rain."
Serafina Pekkala certainly intended to try. It seemed a cruel joke if Lee Scoresby got away safe from a gunfight, survived an internal bleed, only to die of infection just before the spell that could have saved him was completed.
But Serafina Pekkala had intimate knowledge of how unfair the universe could be, and how imperfectly even a witch's spell could save a person dying of illness, and she readied herself for whatever outcome this day might lead to: death, salvation, or something in-between.
Defeating illness was harder to achieve than most any other healing spell, because it was essentially an attempt to strengthen one life while at the same time extinguishing another, and for one who is meant to hold all life as sacred, it takes an act of true sacrifice to create the spell, and even then it only aids the host in destroying the disease rather than going after the disease itself.
What few understood was what it truly meant to hold all life sacred, because clearly witches do kill; they enter battle and are deadly with their arrows and they are not vegetarians. They hold life sacred in the same way a gardener understands the necessity of pruning and weeding for the sake of his plants. What Serafina was about to do however, for Lee Scoresby's sake, was more akin to chopping down a fruit tree just as its fruits were on the verge of ripening than the pruning of dead branches for the health of the tree. There were few people she would make that sacrifice for; her son had been one and he had still died. Her son's father had been another, and he lived.
Lee Scoresby's life was in her hand, and she already knew that she could fail.
She asked her sisters to prepare the necessary herbs; that alone would take time and they must be fresh and never prepared ahead of time. Many spells worked in that manner, losing all potency beyond the natural healing powers of the herbs when not used fresh.
She herself went in search of an arctic hare. Most any animal would do, but for the spell to be its most potent, she needed an arctic hare, young and full of life and vitality. She called her daemon Kaisa to help her; he had been among those left to watch over the remains of the fire while the witches were busy seeing to Lee Scoresby, but now she needed his eyes because they were sharper than hers in watching for animals scurrying in the undergrowth.
Hares were not as thick on the ground here as further north, but nor were they unknown, and Kaisa found her three. Had they been hunting for food, Serafina Pekkala would have shot the hares without a thought or worry because it is natural for some animals to be prey. But they were hunting for a different reason, and she notched no arrows.
The first hare Kaisa spotted, the witch dived down to and scooped it up by its feet. Then she held it and calmed it, a thing she could do because she could share her lack of ill intent and the hare, sensing her nature, saw in her a friend.
"I ask of you the gift of your life," she said to it. Hares do not speak a language, exactly, but this one understood what was asked and said, in a way the witch understood but without words, "I have young ones on the way, I cannot sacrifice them." This the witch felt at once to be true, and, slightly embarrassed to have made such a mistake, let the hare go.
The second was male, but also unwilling. There lay the true difficulty of the spell; it required a sacrifice and that sacrifice must be willing and the one committing the sacrifice must be fully aware of the awful thing she does (no nameless victim, she must first know the one she kills, even if only briefly) and do it anyway.
The third hare…the third hare was young, so young the witch almost let it go unasked. But she held her in her hands, and the hare said, (without words, of course), "How wonderful you are! I did not know there was such wonder in the world! See us flying! See us in the trees like a bird!"
The hare had the very spirit of an aeronaut, and Serafina Pekkala had to choke back tears, because she knew at once that this was the hare, and she loved her, and wished with all her heart that there was no question to ask. It would be cruel to ask. It would mean Lee Scoresby's certain death if she didn't.
It was not that she loved Lee Scoresby more or less than the hare she now held; love does not work like that, not for witches, there are no degrees, just different bonds. She was a witch though, and witches understand the brevity of life, and witches are able to do what is hard without hesitation or guilt. Sorrow, yes, but not guilt, not so long as she behaved true.
"I ask of you the gift of your life." And the hare did baulk, as anyone would. She was young, at the start of her life, feeling the wonder of being alive.
"This is your wish?" asked the hare (without words). And the hare loved the witch. And the hare said yes. "If your hands will take my life, then that will be better than the wolf or fox or owl. I would die for someone I love and who I know loves me."
Serafina did not smile for the hare as she drew out her knife, because hares see smiles as bared teeth and not as joy, but she let the hare feel her joy as she slit the hare's throat. Then, when the life was gone, she broke it open and took the still heart, and laid the small corpse on the forest floor.
"Will you leave her?" asked Kaisa. "She wanted to go to you, not to another. And it could make a nourishing morsel for an ill man, perhaps more nourishing than any other."
And feeling rebuked, the witch took the hare's body back into her arms and took it with her when she returned to her sisters to complete the spell, her hands wet with the hare's blood, the heart held delicately in her palm.
The spell took half the day to fully prepare. Half a day was a long time, when the one it was prepared for was as weak as Lee Scoresby had become. Still, Lee Scoresby had been full of vitality and health before the onset of the illness (before the beating), and he had a strong will (strong reasons to live). Iorek had stopped the bleed that was weakening him beyond his strength, and even managed to get more broth into him after a time, some of which did not come up again.
In the late afternoon, Serafina Pekkala returned into the little camp, her hands still stained by the hare's blood, bringing with her a cup of something herbal and pink.
"Is that the spell?" asked Lyra, hopeful and excited, sure that now, now Lee Scoresby would be fine.
"It is. He must drink it all down."
Iorek frowned at that. "Lee Scoresby has had trouble keeping broth down," he said.
"Then we will have to help him, for if it does not stay down, the spell will be in vain."
"And…and you will have to start all over again from scratch?" Lyra asked, the idea of simply not trying again not even occurring to her, only the knowledge that it had taken such a long time in the first place.
"He will keep it down," was all the witch replied, not disabusing the girl of her notion.
Iorek helped Lee Scoresby sit up. This time, though he woke at being manhandled (or rather, bearhandled), Lee said nothing and made no move to try and help raise himself up. He felt weak as he never had in his life, like his body was not his to move. He drank without protest too, not even wrinkling his nose at the taste, which was sharply herbal and also a bit tinny, like drinking nails, and not altogether pleasant. It stayed down, and they lowered him back to his bed.
"Now I will prepare a nourishing broth while the spell does its work. His fever will likely rise, very quickly, but briefly. If he survives the burn, he will get well quickly after that."
"If?" asked Lyra, alarmed.
"Prepare more water, the cooler the better, and you may help him to fight," Serafina Pekkala said. And then she left, to prepare a broth as she said.