The Lesser Kindred

  The first that I fed him, on the ship, saved Marik’s life; the second that I fed him, after we reached Corlí, 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 lan 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, but 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 lan 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.”

  What? A formal challenge? Here?

  In those few seconds of surprise he had summoned his power. He glowed bright blue with it, painful to look at. While I was still struggling to call in what strength I had left, he struck. No warning, no mercy, and precious little of Healing about it. It seemed to me, in the instant before I lost consciousness, that the Healer’s blue aura that struck me was shot with black.

  When I woke the next morning it was to a changed world, and I the most violently changed of all.

  The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the face of Berys close to mine. He smiled. I realised then what a good smile he had, open and honest, and wondered at myself for having harboured such dark thoughts about him.

  “So, Maikel, you are with us again. How are you feeling?” he asked. His voice was soothing, and I saw now why he had been so successful at Verfaren. His very presence made people feel better.

  “I am well enough, Magister,” I replied. My voice was weaker than I would have expected and I was more than a little hazy as to why I should be in bed and under Berys’s care. Why was he here?

  He sat back. “I fear that I owe you an apology, my young friend. I was so weary and so concerned about my old friend Marik that I was far too abrupt with you when I arrived last night. I only asked you to let me see him, and when you refused I fear I lost my temper and challenged you. I do beg your pardon. If you would like me to leave him in your care, I will gladly do so.”

  “Why should I deny your right to serve him, Magister?” I asked, even more confused. “I confess I do not remember aught of last night. You say I would not let you see him? What reason did I give?”

  “Nothing very coherent, I fear.” He took my wrist to check the progress of my heart and smiled. “Strong again. Good.” He looked at me. “I must say, though, it’s just as well I have come. As it is I had to work long on you to draw you back from the fever that beset you.”

  “Fever?” I asked, putting my hand to my forehead. It felt normal.

  “No longer, I am glad to say,” he said, smiling. “I can only assume that it already had you in its grip when I arrived, else why should you deny me the right to see an old friend who needed my help?”

  “Why indeed? I must beg your pardon, Magister.” I smiled ruefully. “You say you challenged me? And I accepted? I must have been feverish, I’d never do such a thing in my right mind. I have the greatest respect for your abilities.” I tried to reach back for the memory, but there was nothing the
re. I shook my head, smiling. “I must have fallen like an autumn leaf, I remember nothing about it.”

  “You were swaying when I had done no more than summon my power to me,” he replied. “I barely touched you and suddenly there you were in a heap on the floor.” He laughed softly. “You had your revenge in that moment, though. I feared I’d killed you. Never mind, all’s well now and the harvest in, as they say. Do you feel well enough to rise?”

  I essayed it and found I could stand, though I felt a bit dizzy. I saw that I was in my own hambers—presumably the servants had brought me here when I fell. Berys led me to the table he had placed in my anteroom and he joined me in a light breakfast, as recommended for those who are convalescing from a fever. Now that I was more myself—like most Healers, I make a terrible patient—I could see that he looked better than ever he had before. He glowed with health and looked years younger than he had when last I had seen him.

  When I mentioned it, he smiled. “Ah, it is obvious now! Yes, I thank you, I am very well indeed. I have been experimenting with the lansip I acquired from my late venture with the House of Gundar.” He leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Do you know, I had heard that old tale about an elixir made from the leaves that would bestow youth to the aged, and I thought that since I now had both the need and the wherewithal I would attempt it.” He sat back and shook his head slightly. “Alas,” he resumed in his normal voice, “the claims were exaggerated, but I certainly feel vastly better than I have in many a year. If it is making a difference to the eye of the beholder, so much the better! I have not been aging gracefully, I fear, and any delay in the process must therefore be a good thing.”

  He looked at me with his Healer’s sight then and seemed content. “You looked recovered. Will you come with me to see our patient?” His eyes twinkled. “Or must I challenge you again?”

  We both laughed. “Not until I’m feverish again, if you please,” I replied. “I’d prefer to keep as many of my few wits about me as I may, I thank you. Let us see what we may do together for my poor master.”

  Marik slept lightly in the morning, but he did not wake until I spoke his name. When he was himself he had risen every day before the sun. Even now he seemed to wish to do so but could not. Whether some obscure fear kept him asleep or whether his body was simply trying to heal his mind as it rested, I did not know.

  Magister Berys asked me to recount all that had happened to bring Marik to this state. He said he had heard rumors but wanted to hear directly from me all that was known, as I had accompanied Marik. I told him all that I could—all that I had gathered from the mysterious Varien on the journey home—but he seemed none the wiser. I had not been present when Marik was stricken. I was only summoned after the fact to find his mind wandering in some far field where I could not follow.

  “Was he injured physically?” asked Berys, gazing at my master. “Had he any wounds, large or small, when you saw him?”

  I sighed. “There was a small puncture wound on the middle finger of his left hand, and a number of ragged scratches on his chest. They were all infected, whatever caused them, and grew worse almost as I watched. I managed to make a poultice of lansip leaves to stop the infection spreading. After that I used my own strength, day after day, and fed him on the lan-fruit he had found. At first it did no more than keep him alive, but even that was more than I could have done on my own. I did as much as I might on the journey, but it was not until I returned with him here to Elimar that I could put forth all my strength. And as you see, that has only healed his body. I fear his mind is still adrift.”

  Berys summoned his power about him and used his Healer’s sight to look at Marik. I knew what he was seeing. I had not spoken of it, lest I cloud the Magister’s sight with my own interpretation, but the vision haunted my sleep and my waking.

  Where a normal mind was full of colour and movement to the healer’s sight—bright with pain, or dancing with golden joy, or even shimmering grey with fear—Marik’s was a field of dry earth: barren, cracked with heat, hard as bone, brittle, and scorched by a blazing, merciless sun.

  We are taught to attempt the healing of the mind (it is far harder than healing the body) by countering the vision with its natural opposite as we open a way for the healing power. A mind full of darkness is to be gently, gently introduced to the dawn—nothing sudden, no flaming sunrise that would overwhelm, just a first slight suggestion of growing light that heralds the morning. Often the suggestion is not even noticed by the patient, but with time and talk and much hard work, this kind of healing can take place. While we are working, it is as if we are “there,” inside the metaphor, and can feel the results of our own work.

  I had tried to heal Marik with visions of morning mist, of low soaking cloud, even (in desperation) with a gentle rain—in each case the “water” of my healing disappeared instantly when I ceased putting forth my power, as if something was drinking it, and the broken brown dust of the vision remained untouched. It was as if he were drinking in all that I could offer but was still dying of thirst, even though I could feel myself getting soaked through as I was working.

  This time I drew my power about me—and feeble it looked indeed beside the pulsing blue of Berys’s healing mantle—and watched, for we can “see” what is happening even when another Healer is working. The two Healers might not see the same metaphor of the patient’s mind, but the effects are mirrored in both.

  I was there again, standing on the hard cracked ground of Marik’s mind, barren of all life and of all promise of life. I felt Berys stretch forth his strength—and there, a cloud was coming over the sun, and a breeze sprang up. I drew in a deep breath and I swear it smelled of rain.

  If you have ever been proud of a small skill, one you have worked long and hard for, and then seen a master of the craft surpass your very best work without the slightest effort, you will know how I felt. Over three full moons of work I had managed several times to put an image of gentle dampness in Marik’s mind that stayed with him for an hour or so. Berys had called up a thunderstorm upon the instant.

  Deep inside myself, I was uneasy—surely this was too sudden, too rough. A broken mind needs to be brought back gently if it is to regain its wholeness, or so I was taught. However, I could hardly argue with the Archimage of Verfaren. I stood and watched, felt a cold wet wind blow lazily through my cloak, chilling me, and heard thunder far off. The first large drops fell, raising dust as they hit. I could feel them on my skin, cold, heavy, even painful when they struck. They did not immediately change the dryness below my feet, though I could see a few patches of dampness that lasted for an instant before they too fell away.

  However, I knew from the feel of the air that this could not last. The drops came faster, heavier—and I was standing in the midst of a downpour, like a bucket being emptied from the clouds. It felt dangerous. I found that I was terrified even as I was fascinated. I suspect I was drenched in the first instant, but I never noticed—all my attention was riveted on the ground.

  For ground it was becoming. Nothing could stand against that much water, and even as I watched the cracks filled with dark liquid, the edges softened, and that barren land crumbled into mud. Soon it was a pool filled with more rain than it could hold. I began to fear for Marik and called out, “Lord Berys, enough, surely that is sufficient for now!”

  There was no reply, but the rain did not stop and the air grew even heavier. Something began to emerge from the pool.

  It was a creature of nightmare, a dragon the size of a mountain. The falling water fizzed and disappeared as it touched the gleaming black skin, but still the rain fell in sheets. The creature stood on its back legs and roared, terrifying—and there was an answering roar of thunder from the heavens, and a spear of lightning split the sky, stabbed down at the dragon and struck it between the eyes.

  I was blinded, there in the realm of the mind. I shook myself, drew deep breaths, returned to the waking world, and saw a miracle.

  Marik was sitti
ng up, his eyes focused on Berys, and though he was trembling his voice was surprisingly sure.

  “What took you so damned long?”

  I had grown since I left him, both in body and in spirit. I had walked in the deep woods by moonlight, drinking its rays like water, feeling the currents in the ground beneath my feet like living things. I had flown, one hot summer night, high and far, rising and circling on air strong as stone beneath my wings. I had seen many like him, two-legged, walking like him but fearful in the shadows under the trees, and some like me, four-legged, winged and tailed and scaled and taloned.

  There were more of his kind than of mine.

  Even when I was very young I knew we were different. As I grew I wondered when I would lose my wings and stand upright and whether it would hurt. I knew he was older than I and wiser and looked and smelled so strange, but I also felt love sure and strong. I never questioned, until one bright morning I leaned over to drink and saw my face in a pool, the colour of an autumn sunset, and knew in my blood that my great shield of a face would never go soft or be covered with fur like his. it did not make me love him less, but I knew then that I must go from him and seek my own.

  I sought, I found, I made my life with my own kind, but I did not and could not forget that loved face and form. And now that there was a great change coming over us all, a deep desire arose in me to be with him again. Long I wavered between stay and go, long my fears kept me from doing either, but in the end I chose to leave my safety and seek him. I will never know why I so chose, or how I found the courage; but I did, and the world changed.