Work Text:
Another doctor is gone. Most of them have left now, either by their own wits or the pitfalls of the desert. Soon there will be no one to protect him from the wicked doctor.
Abbas rubs at the tough scales on his arms. They've healed some, he's told, but he does not know if he believes it. It is the wicked doctor that tells him so, after all. Besides, the voice of God whispers to him, sings in his blood. He's much more inclined to believe God's words.
Maybe this is him getting better? It doesn't feel like it. The scales have stopped spreading over his body. Ibrahim tells him this is good, although he has no idea how such recovery has come to pass. But Abbas knows: it is the scalpel of the wicked doctor that has caused this. Even God revolts at the sight of him, an affront to life, to death, to His whims.
But Abbas dares not speak his name. Names have power, and if he were to say the wicked doctor's name, even in his mind, he might appear before him. And God reviles the sight of him, so Abbas has tried to avoid him as much as possible.
He does not know how much time has passed. It all seems to blur together these days. All the other patients are gone. God has taken them. He can almost see them sometimes—Avim, setting his vase up. Hakim, digging in the sugar bowl. All the other doctors are gone. The wicked doctor has surely taken them away. Abbas can see plain as day the ambition in his red eyes. He has plotted to get them here, alone. Why? Abbas knows. God tells him that this was designed to hurt Him. To draw Him out and kill Him.
Every time the wicked doctor needs him, it is to hurt him. To peel back his flesh with that scalpel, to force concoctions down his throat, to inject him with more of that glowing substances.
The treatment will save him, he is told. Abbas does not believe it. The only hand that saves is God's. The wicked doctor is the furthest thing from salvation. He would try and usurp God if he had the power.
Abbas knows he must escape. He must protect God. But under the watchful eye of the wicked doctor, where can he run?
He does not know if he will succeed if he tries to leave.
"God's voice guides me," he insists. "I heed His call. You must listen as well."
The wicked doctor hums in interest; makes another note on his parchment. "Tell me more about this god, then."
Even now, Abbas can feel the disrespect. Those evil red eyes would surely defile God if they were to lay eyes on him. But he must try. Must attempt to let him see the wondrous duty he now has, to be God's faithful worshiper, to spread His truth.
"You do not want to accept God," he says. "You reject Him."
"As I do all gods. I am a Heretic, after all."
Heretic. Yes, that is his name. Abbas wants to hiss, to leap backward in fright, in revulsion. How could anyone reject God, even if they had never heard Him speak?
He must leave this place. There will be no convincing of a Heretic.
The scales have disappeared by the time Abbas finally finds an escape.
He mourns the loss. This was God's divine punishment, and he has not been a good servant. God has been too merciful with him, healing him, yet still gracing him with His presence. But he cannot find his way out of this cavern. He escaped the wicked doctor, but he cannot escape the desert.
Patience, Abbas, knock harder. Don't be afraid…
If he only knocks harder on these walls, he can escape. But he is lowly, unworthy. Starving, having only the lizards in this cave for food. Still: even if God abandons him, he will serve.
Even a punishment from God is something from God. He will accept it all. God's voice will always guide him.
"I don't want to die," he says to God. "Forgive me. Punish me. Free me from this place."
God forgives all.
The last rocks crumble down. Bright, blinding sunlight. God.
He casts the hoe aside. He has no more need of it. The only one he needs is God, who has freed him from the cave, freed him from the scalpel of the wicked doctor. He is unworthy of such gifts, but if God has given him this chance then he must use it.
"Oh, God…" he mumbles. "You forgive all."
He limps off. The sun is setting. He is free.