I thought I was the only idiot stupid enough to throw away my sword, but when Varien heard those words he did just that. I heard what could only be called a hiss as his sword clattered on the ground, and he was inside the other's guard in the very instant, his hand drawn back to strike. I saw him put his whole body into the blow, direct to the face. There was a sickening crack as the man's neck snapped backwards and he dropped.
Varien roared, turning to the nearest foe, the one fighting Jamie. He struck him from behind, sending the man reeling forward full onto Jamie's sword. Then suddenly I wasn't watching anymore, because the last of them had turned from fighting Rella to seize me from behind. I felt a knife at my throat and heard him yell, "Move and she's dead!"
Everything stopped.
"Drop your swords!" ordered the voice. He stood directly behind me. Jamie and Rella threw their swords on the ground. Varien just watched, his eyes never moving from his prey.
"She's no good to your master dead, you know," said Jamie quietly.
"She's no good to you dead either. Keep back and she'll live," he growled, backing up and pulling me along.
And there I was, helpless again until he stumbled on a tree root and lost his balance. I pushed back and fell on top of him as hard as I could. I heard the breath go out of him all at once. He lost interest in holding the knife at my throat and I scrambled up, getting out of the way so that Jamie could grab him.
Except that Jamie was too slow.
In one movement Varien, growling, hauled the leader of the mercenaries upright by the front of his tunic and hit him full in the face with the heel of his hand. The man went limp instantly. Varien dropped him as if he hadn't existed and came to me. "Lanen," he said, taking my hand gently.
"Shia save us. How in the Hells did you know to do that?" breathed Jamie.
"I have no claws, but my arms have much of their old strength," said Varien. "It seemed to work, in any case."
Jamie
Rella and I moved the bodies deep into the woods. Even as I dragged away the poor dead mercs, even as my soul burned within me in the private darkness at having killed again, though it were only to save my own life, I clung to one solid rock in all the shifting sand of this cursed night. Lanen had not killed anyone. The worst she'd done was fall on to a man who held a knife at her throat.
Thank the Goddess for that.
Lanen hadn't killed.
Lanen
That was when it started, right after that terrible fight in the dark. I'd never been so near to death before, feeling it all around, knowing that only by harming others could you survive. It was awful.
Ah, now, speak truth, Lanen: it was awful after I realised Varien had killed the one who held a knife at my throat, and that he was the last. I had felt a fierce rush of joy when I saw him drop. You can't help but delight in a victory that means you're going to live, but death is death and when I saw four bodies that had but moments before been living men—well, my supper hadn't been much to keep down anyway.
It was late when we were all gathered again round the fire. Jamie insisted on setting a watch, just in case there were others we didn't know about. All of us who weren't on watch slept like stones, but with our weapons in our hands.
Exhaustion caught up with me as I lay thinking about the dead men away there in the woods. My last thought was that, dreadful as their deaths were, they had attacked us and would have killed us if they could. I slept better than I thought I would, but all night I kept thinking I heard voices.
I roused early, as you do sleeping rough, and if it was possible I think I was wearier on waking than I'd been on going to sleep. The voices murmuring in the back of my mind were a little easier to ignore now I was awake, but they hadn't stopped. I wasn't about to mention this to anyone. I thought at the time I was imagining the ghosts of the dead men cursing at us, so I resolved to ignore it.
I was also hungry enough to know that food was going to be the most difficult thing about this part of our journey, now that we did not need to fear immediate attack. We had brought some food with us but there was very little to spare, and we were a long way from the nearest market. Breakfast was oats cooked in water with a little salt. I had been chilled through from sleeping on the ground, and I felt gnawed with hunger, but still the heat I got from it was a damn sight better than the taste.
We left immediately after we ate, carefully avoiding the place where Rella and Jamie had taken the bodies. I was nearly sick again when I thought of them, but distance helped. We went vaguely south, for though we had still not decided where we should go, all of our destinations lay to the south of where we were.
We rode through the day, stopping only briefly for food at noon, but we made camp early in the afternoon for we were all weary, and I the worst. I was still shaking slightly, and though I kept it to myself I still thought I heard voices at the edge of hearing. Varien and I were told off to see what we could find in the way of small game. How we were meant to catch anything I can't imagine. I had a bow and I was usually decent with it, but I couldn't hit a thing that day. We spent much of our time searching in the slanting light for arrows that I'd sent into the undergrowth. At least the walking warmed us a little. Jamie had his bow and was out looking for something more substantial. He said he'd seen deer scat, and he was a much better shot than I.
Varien and I were coming back empty-handed to the camp when I heard the scream. It was like nothing I'd ever heard before—not human, but a living creature seeing its death and crying out in fear and pain as its life was torn from it. It brought me to my knees, retching, poor Varien beside me holding my head and wondering what was wrong. "What in the Hells was that?" I asked feebly, when I could speak.
"What ails thee?" asked Varien, deeply concerned. He could not keep his thoughts from reaching me. "What didst thou see/hear/what hath touched thee?"
I couldn't explain aloud, so I tried responding in true-speech. "It was a cry of pain, a creature meeting its end, I heard no words just pain and fear and the falling away of life. I am frightened it was so real so near, death so near, Goddess keep it from us all." Even truespeech was difficult. "Can you see it, hear the memory of it in my mind if I think of it?" I asked, and when he nodded I thought again of what I had felt and heard and tried to let him see it. It seemed to work, for he immediately stood upright, his hands on my shoulders.
"Lanen, kadreshi." His voice was deep with astonishment. "Truly the Wind of Change is blowing wild upon us, for surely you are being shaped even now." He raised me to my feet. The memory was fading a little, it was easier to stand, to think. Varien took my chin in his hand and turned me towards him. In the cold afternoon light his silver hair gleamed like frost, and his deep green eyes were solemn with realisation. "Lanen, what you heard was the death cry of a deer. Jamie must have found what he sought."
"That's ridiculous! Why on earth would I hear such a thing?" I cried, really frightened now. "Don't tell me deer have truespeech!"
"No, my heart, of course not. But it happens sometimes, when one of the Kantri grows old or infirm, that they begin to hear such things—the day-song of birds, the rush of sap through the heart of a tree, the death screech of small creatures in the long grass when owls are hunting. Dearling," he said gently, "do you hear anything else?"
"Oh Hells," I said, my eyes wide and filling with tears against my will. This was vastly worse than the attack in the night. I was filled with dread, fear like a pit opened bottomless before me. You can run from or fight with other living souls but your mind is with you always. "Varien—oh Hells. I've been hearing voices, just out of range—I mean, I know they are voices but I don't know what they are saying."
He closed his eyes, just for a second. "Lanen." Then, looking up, "I do not know how this can be. You have an affliction that falls only upon the Kantri. When did this start?"
"Last night." I swore. "Hells blast and damn it!"
There, that felt better. "Why do you ask?"
His eyes looked less haunted
immediately. "Then it cannot be the same. Are you well otherwise?"
At least that made me smile. In fact it made me laugh. "What, you mean apart from being exhausted and having been captured twice in five days and fighting for my life and watching my farm bum down around me and my husband kill men with his bare hands? Apart from that?"
"I do not jest, kadreshi."
"I'm sorry," I answered, recovering myself. "We do that sometimes, it's the only way to deal with things that are too hard to bear, we just have to laugh about it."
"I know. We do the same. Are you well otherwise?"
"As far as I can tell, yes. I'm weary to my bones and ravenously hungry, but aside from that I think I'm well enough. Why, Varien?"
"It usually affects us at the end of a long life, and only after a prolonged time without food." He was shaking his head. "Forgive me, deariing, I do not mean to worry you. I am wrong, I must be. Know you of any such illness among your own people?"
I managed to smile. "Only madness, my dear. And last I checked I was as sane as I ever have been."
He caught me to him, his arms strong about me as if he were holding me against one who sought to take me from him. "Come, my heart. Let us go back to the fire, this setting winter sun warms nothing. Perhaps I make more of this than is in it. You are cold and weary, it could be mere chance or imagination. Come."
But when we got there, Rella and Jamie had taken the deer's carcase a little way into the woods to clean.
It got worse from there.
To use words is misleading, for there were no words then. Only feelings, sharp as the light after a thunderstorm, and the unformed shapes of thoughts like shadows in a deep pool.
There was longing, for I had not seen him or heard his voice in many years. There was loneliness, for though I did not know where to go I knew that I needed to be with him, needed to know that he lived. I flew high many nights, searching, wondering, yet too full of fear to leave the home I had made for myself.
The thought of him was remembered joy, family, home—his absence a bitter wound that bled sorrow. I needed him, needed his presence. The world was changing, moving towards a place where no light shone. I could not be sure any longer even of my own kind. I had seen fighting among us and death that shocked me to my bones, made even hearts-fire cold.
Where there snould have been calm waters there were thorns, and a feeling in the blood of darkness like deep winter spreading over life and light. I needed him—teacher—friend—Father. I needed to hear the sounds he made, on the edge of understanding, so near, so near. .
VI Recovery
Maikel
The poor madman, my master, sat up in bed. He was still fast asleep but he was laughing this time, which was better than before. The last two mornings he had wakened screaming bloody murder, rousing not only his watchers but full half the household. When I went to release him from this dream he did not fight me as he had, but relaxed into my arms and slept again without waking. I almost had some hope that his cure had begun.
I had been a Healer in the House of Gundar since first I came into my power. He had been thirty-five then, and I in my early twenties. Over the last fourteen years I had watched the changes that had overtaken him and seen his association with Magister Berys of the College of Mages draw him into the worst of himself. I had willfully blinded myself for many years, but on that voyage to the Dragon Isle, Marik had revealed himself as a soul lost to the Rakshasa. I had planned to leave him when we returned, but then he had pitted the strength of his demon-centred power against the Lord of the Dragons. I did not know precisely what had happened; but when his guards carried him to the ship, mindless, helpless as a newborn, I knew I could not leave.
Without the Ian fruit we would have lost him. I had heard of such things, of course, and knew the theory, but I had thought it merely legend until I saw the miracle that one of those fruits had wrought on the Lady Lanen. Horrible burns, to the bone, burns that would have taken months to heal—if she had even lived—with the most skilled and constant care in all of Kolmar, had disappeared overnight. Arms that should have been hideously scarred for life had no more than a few traces of those ravages wrought by I knew not what fire. True, I saved her from the fever that raged within her, but for all my strength she would have died that night without the fruit from a lansip tree.
The first that I fed him, on the ship, saved Marik's life; the second that I fed him, after we reached Corli, had a more subtle effect. I had summoned the Healer's deep vision that I might watch as he ate; it was astounding to see his ravaged mind begin to knit before my eyes, see even the disturbance of minor ailments pass from him, and to observe the war between the virtue of the lansip and the years-long pain that he bore. When he had finished, that old wound was nearer healed than ever it had been before, and it did not grow worse again after the healing as had been the pattern for so many years. I did not imagine this could be a direct effect of the Ian fruit, however virtuous. Myself, I think that with his mind gone the evil creatures couldn't find him, though I presumed his old punishment could not be entirely revoked while he lived.
I half expected him to rise up from his bed as his old best self, fully recovered, but that fool's dream soon deserted me. After more than four long moons of work and healing, he no longer required the care of a babe in arms, but his mind was not restored. It was more as though a deep wound had finally stopped bleeding. It was not healed, but at least it was not getting any worse and healing might take place in time, though my hopes on that score were dwindling. He could understand simple words but he had not yet regained his speech.
I had managed as well to keep Magister Berys from him ever since we had returned from the Dragon Isle. Perhaps if I had kept him away longer my master might have recovered fully in time—but speculation is idle. Word had arrived some days since from Berys to let us know that he was coming. Despite my status as the Healer in charge of Marik, Berys was the head of the College of Mages in Verfaren, where Healers are trained.
When the Archimage is chosen, the choice is meant to be based on a combination of qualities, such as strength, integrity, honesty and compassion. In Berys's case it had been pure power. He had more of it than any other Mage alive at that time, more than most of the others combined. The faction supporting his election had put about a rumor that the presence of so powerful a Healer must be a sign that his power would be required for some great work in his lifetime. It had swayed many—though I was not among them, I am pleased to say—and he had risen to the highest position afforded any Healer in all the lands of Kolmar.
He made my flesh crawl.
And he was on his way, indeed, would most likely arrive in Elimar before nightfall. Why he had journeyed so far I could not imagine; at this time of year it was a good ten days' ride from Verfaren to Elimar, for the road was treacherous in this second moon of winter. In the meantime, I washed Marik and shaved him, and spoke to him as best I could. It was not rewarding. His stare was nearly as blank as it had been this month past. Even though I had been resting for some days and was able to put forth my full strength that morning, I got no further in healing his poor broken mind.
There are some who would say that his piteous condition was judgment for his wicked ways. However, until they can explain why those who live spotless lives are as likely to die young as those who scurry to destroy themselves and others, I will not believe such words. Am I to think that the Lady would so callously discard her son? True, he had gone down a dark road, but the only certainly irredeemable creature in this world is a dead one. I must confess that in my heart of hearts I had occasionally hoped that his body would grow weary of keeping the shell alive. Some nights I even begged the Lady, prayed, to the peril of my soul, that if he could not be restored to himself he might be allowed to die while at least he was doing no evil.
She did not have so gentle a fate in store for her errant son.
When Berys arrived at nightfall he demanded my report. He made a token effort at courtesy, bu
t it was clear that he had no time for the niceties. He listened carefully to my assessment of my patient and then informed me, not unkindly, that I had done well in difficult circumstances and that he was taking over.
I had expected as much. Indeed, had it been anyone apart from Berys I would have been delighted at his arrival, for surely no living Healer could be as great a help to my master as could the Archimage of Verfaren. As it was, my stomach churned at the thought of those hands touching my master.
In the end I surprised Magister Berys and astounded myself. As he moved to Marik's bedside I stood in his way, moving between him and my master. I had not taken a decision to do so. It was as if my body had moved of itself in response to my deepest instincts.
"Yes, Healer Maikel? What is it?" he asked briskly.
To my astonishment, I heard the words escaping my lips. "Your pardon, Magister, but I do not release him into your care. The patient must be consulted if the attending Healer does not accept the offer of assistance, and my patient is in no condition to consent."
Berys hardly glanced at me. "And why, Healer Maikel, do you choose not to accept my aid in this matter?" he asked as he continued his preparations.
"Magister, I have been the Healer of this House for fourteen years. Marik knows me and trusts me. In his current condition, trust is a very valuable and very fragile thing. I have sealed the breach in his mind, with the help of the Ian fruit, but that is only a first step. Fear is behind his every breath. He screams if any touches him beside myself. For the time being, I must insist that he remain in my care."
For the first time I had his attention. He looked full at me, his eyes narrowed. After what seemed forever, he shrugged. "Very well. I challenge thee, Maikel, in the name of the Powers, show that thou art more fitted to heal this man than I."