The dusty road connecting the Holy City of Santa Maria to the provincial capital, White Sand, presented a peculiar scene. A pristine white carriage, adorned with golden details that shimmered under the harsh sun, advanced slowly. Inside, wrapped in her immaculate white robe, was none other than the Papess Paula herself. While her pastoral visits were common, what truly drew attention and elicited sighs of confusion from the merchants and travelers crossing her path were the animals pulling the sacred vehicle: three sick cows, their flanks marked by sores and their udders covered in lesions and pustules.

  "Look at that… Cows? And those kinds?" whispered a muleteer to his companion, the strong smell of horse sweat mixing with the dry scent of the beaten earth.

  "Indeed, friend. Why would the Saint need those dying creatures?" retorted the other, scratching his beard. "With the power she has, she could buy the purest milk in the entire Northeast."

  Their glances met, full of doubt, but faith always spoke louder. In each of their hearts, a justification formed: she, such a kind woman, surely had a divine plan. Those cows, in some mysterious way, would save lives. And in that, popular intuition was not wrong.

  Inside the carriage, the rhythmic sway of the wheels was the background sound for the Papess's studies. Her slender, careful fingers traced the yellowed pages of the book "Vaccines: The Invention That Saved the Most Lives in Human History." The air inside the compartment smelled of vellum and the beeswax used to polish the wood.

  I hope this is correct, she thought, rereading for the tenth time the passage about cowpox. If it is… millions of lives will be spared. A promotion? Perhaps. I might be recommended for a larger city, but… I'd rather stay here. Here I have power, I'm far from the prying eyes of the church headquarters, and I can conduct my experiments with the Divine Books in peace.

  Back in the Holy City, the cows were taken to an isolated pen, far from the horses and other animals. The next day, Paula gathered a group of brave priests and nuns who had volunteered. With sharp instruments that gleamed in the candlelight, she collected, with extreme precision, the fluid from the pustules on the animals' udders. The sweet, fetid smell of infection filled the air. One by one, she made a small scratch on each volunteer's skin and rubbed the fluid into the wound.

  "Your Holiness, wouldn't it be more prudent…" an older priest began to question, his voice a mix of concern and fear.

  She interrupted without looking up from her work. "Faith requires courage, Brother. Trust in me."

  They vehemently opposed the idea of her serving as her own test subject, and this time, Paula relented. After all, she needed to be alive and well to oversee the process.

  Days later, small blisters appeared at the incision site on the volunteers, evolving into pus-filled pustules. All, without exception, developed a low fever and malaise, but within a few days they recovered, left with only a discreet scar. A fate infinitely better than the death or blindness brought by human smallpox.

  "It worked," whispered a nun, relieved, touching her own mark with reverence.

  "It worked, yes," confirmed the Papess with a restrained smile. "But the final test is yet to come."

  She then remembered the merchant ship that had docked a week prior, arriving from the south. The news that the entire crew was infected with smallpox had prompted her to order an immediate quarantine.

  "Those men…" she explained to her assistants, the distant sound of geese squawking in the courtyard echoing in the background, "will be the final proof of our 'vaccine's' efficacy."

  With extreme care, Paula went to the isolated ship. The salty air mixed with the heavy odor of disease. She collected the fluid from the pustules of one of the sickest sailors and, back at the cathedral, applied it to a priest in her absolute confidence. Days of an agonizing quarantine passed, but… nothing happened. She tested it on another, and another. None fell ill.

  In her office, enveloped by the tranquil smell of ink and paper, Paula looked over her notes. The candlelight danced across her precise handwriting.

  It really works… I've found the cure for one of humanity's greatest plagues. I should be euphoric, and yet… a shadow of sadness envelops me. If we had this knowledge before, my parents… But it doesn't matter. The past is stone; the future, clay. I will mold it.

  And to think that everything we knew was wrong, her thoughts continued as the pen traced letters on a new sheet. It's not miasma, nor an imbalance of the humors, much less a curse. It's a 'virus.' Something so small and so lethal. A pity these Divine Books don't go into more depth. I need others. I need more.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  The letter she wrote to the church headquarters reported the success of the procedure but prudently omitted the true source of the knowledge.

  The next day, the order was given: all the faithful were to be vaccinated. The explanation, delivered from pulpits and in squares, was clear and direct. No one refused. Living in a port city, everyone knew someone who had succumbed to smallpox.

  The mass vaccination began. The poor cows couldn't produce enough fluid for everyone, but they soon discovered they could harvest material from the pustules of the first vaccinated individuals. The campaign was a success, bolstered by the Papess's own image, who often appeared to apply the vaccine personally and was the first to receive it publicly. Any lingering doubt dissipated upon seeing her.

  Despite the success, a subtle melancholy persisted in Paula's heart.

  If we had this knowledge before… But I can't change the past. I can, however, change the future. I've already sent the letters for many holy cities… But I need more books. I've scoured all the ones we have here, and none speak further about diseases. I need to speak with Francisco. I ignored his visits during these experiments. He went to sell artifacts to that slave… Perhaps… just perhaps, that slave knows something. It's unlikely, but I only got to where I am by believing in the unlikely.

  As if answering a call, a cardinal appeared at the office door.

  "Your Holiness, the merchant Francisco is at the stable. Do you wish to see him?"

  "Take me to him!" ordered Paula, rising in a swift movement.

  The cardinal hesitated, confused by the urgency, but obeyed. Soon, they were in the stable, where the strong smell of manure, hay, and animal sweat dominated the air. Francisco was unloading his cart, surprised to see the city's highest authority in that place.

  "It's a pleasure to see you, Francisco!" said the Papess, her white robe brutally contrasting with the filth of the location. "I think God sent you to me. I was just thinking about you. Tell me, brother, what brings you? Did you, by chance, bring books?"

  The merchant, stunned, choked for a moment before answering. Her informality always shocked him.

  "Good afternoon, Your Holiness. I… well, I was also looking for you. I have much to tell. And I've already heard about your new discovery. The 'Vaccine' of Saint Paula, is it not?"

  Paula maintained a serene smile, but a spark of impatience shone in her eyes.

  "Thanks be to God, yes. A way to prevent suffering. I acquired this knowledge through one of the Devil's Books you sold me. By the way, we should stop calling them 'devil's books.' They are divine messages, Francisco. Gifts from God to ease our burden."

  The accompanying cardinal's eyes widened in shock. Francisco was also astounded. She never spoke of those things so openly.

  Paula, however, looked directly at the cardinal and continued, her voice clear and deliberate: "Thanks to this knowledge, I restored children's limbs and now I prevent thousands from dying. If it is evil knowledge, why does it save so many lives? I think the church was wrong to ban these books. Some, yes, are blasphemous and should be burned. But others… others are divine charity itself materialized."

  And they allowed me to become who I truly am, she thought, adding internally. But some miracles are better left unexplained.

  The cardinal fell silent for a long moment, his initially surprised face transforming into a pensive and, finally, serene expression. Paula smiled inwardly.

  Exactly as I imagined. I am the Papess, the woman who performs miracles. Who will the people follow? Some distant old men who only know how to burn heretics, or the woman who saves their children? I need these books, and the church will not stop me. What will they do? Excommunicate me? After all this? Let them try. It will take months for the news to reach headquarters, and I doubt many here are willing to betray me.

  Francisco, regaining his breath, stammered: "Unfortunately, Your Holiness, this trip was fruitless… I didn't acquire any books. However, I have an interesting story about the slave who knew about the artifacts."

  Disappointment was visible on Paula's face, but it was quickly replaced by interest as she heard the whole story of what happened in the sugar mill.

  "So that slave went to the Jabuticaba Quilombo? And invited you to visit him? I think that's an excellent idea. You could take a letter from me. Even though he's a slave, if he managed to understand the artifacts through the divine books, he must know how to read. Perhaps he has more knowledge that could help us."

  Francisco felt a chill run down his spine. Quilombo? It was a place of terrifying legends.

  "Your Holiness, the Quilombo… the reports are not good. They say it's dangerous…"

  The Papess tilted her head, a slight and dangerously sweet smile playing on her lips.

  "I was just remembering… someone sold forbidden artifacts. Illegally. A heretic, no? In the future, perhaps such trade will be permitted… for selected merchants, with certain tax exemptions…" she made a dramatic pause, her gaze piercing. "Or, perhaps, I should simply follow the doctrine and burn the heretics involved in that trade. So many difficult choices, don't you think?"

  There was no holiness in that smile. It was pure, calculated malice.

  Francisco felt cold sweat trickle down his temples. The choice, in reality, did not exist.

  "I… accept your proposal, Your Holiness."

  The Papess raised her arms in an almost celestial gesture.

  "What proposal?" she said with feigned innocence. "Regardless, I'm glad. I'll write the letter right now!"

  And, with her white robe becoming slightly stained with dust and straw, she left the stable, leaving behind a terrified merchant and a cardinal with a new universe of questions simmering in his mind.