Bronze Magic

by Jennifer Ealey

  Waterstone stared at him, white faced. “Are you ordering me to leave?”

  Much to the two antagonists’ surprise, Stormaway intervened, “Now hold it right there. This is getting out of hand. I don’t want either of you to do irreparable damage to what is clearly a strong friendship.” Woodman and prince turned to stare at him. “Tarkyn, beware of your feelings riding your actions. Waterstone, the prince has given you the choice because he cares about you and doesn’t want to force you to stay in a difficult situation. Don’t force him to make your choice for you. If you do, he may send you away for your sake so that you don’t have to make the decision to leave him.” He frowned ferociously at them “And one more thing, Tarkyn. I’ve told you this before but listen again. For heaven’s sake, give people the right to feel resentful sometimes, without taking it too personally, especially if you are looking for honesty from them.”

  The prince let out a deep breath and relaxed. He ran his hand through his hair. “Thank you, Stormaway,” he said quietly. He turned back to his friend. “In answer to your question… no. I wasn’t ordering you to leave….and I don’t think I was going to, before Stormaway spoke. I have not been in the habit of ordering you around and I am not about to start now. I did note what you said though, that you wouldn’t be allowed to be frightened off. That’s why I gave you the permission to go. At least then, you can have choice about that.”

  Waterstone eyed him uncertainly, battling against a wellspring of previously concealed resentment. He put his hands on his hips and stood there looking at the prince silently for a few moments. Then in a sudden rush, he swung his arm up and around and punched Tarkyn hard on the jaw. Unprepared, the prince staggered backwards. A shimmering green wall flashed up between them. Any relief the woodman may have gained by lashing out at the prince was replaced by irritation at finding himself cut off.

  “Remove your shield,” Tarkyn snapped at the wizard. Rubbing his jaw, the prince glanced around at the trees. Not a leaf had moved. He returned his attention to the tense woodman who stood confronting him. “Come on then,” he invited, with a sparkle in his eyes. “Clearly my permission still stands. Finish what you’ve started.” He did not demean himself by offering assurances that he wouldn’t use magic and Waterstone did not need them.

  The woodman rushed at him low and hard. As he fell onto his back, Tarkyn brought his arms up before him, grabbed Waterstone by his shirt and hurled the woodman over his head. Waterstone rolled easily and turned in a crouch to rush at him again. Tarkyn twisted himself around and threw himself upwards from prone into a crouching position and put his arm across his chest as a barrier against the impending force of Waterstone’s next attack. Just before the woodman reached him in his headlong rush, the sorcerer twisted sideways, then swung his arm around to thump Waterstone’s back as he passed. The woodman went flying, driven by his own impetus with the added force of Tarkyn’s thrust. Waterstone lay still where he had landed.

  After a long moment, Tarkyn stood up and walked over to where the woodman lay unmoving. As he bent over him, a fist shot up and caught him between the eyes. Tarkyn went down like a stone and shook his head to find Waterstone laughing and sitting on top of him.

  Seeing a spark of anger in the prince’s eye, Waterstone shook his head. “Enough! Don’t go hurling me off into space again. I concede.” He laughed as he felt the prince’s muscles reluctantly relax under him. “I know it was a dirty trick but you’re bigger than me.”

  Tarkyn frowned up at the woodman, “I don’t see why you’re conceding, when you have me pinned down.”

  Waterstone smiled, “I’m not fool enough to think that I have you helpless, but I don’t want to fight any more. You fight pretty hard and so do I. One of us might get badly hurt and I don’t want that.” He climbed off and stood up before offering his hand to help Tarkyn up.

  The prince’s face was sporting two bruises and a cut on his eyebrow dripped blood down his front. Waterstone had come off relatively unscathed, with a graze down one side of his face and a slight limp. They stood there looking at each other, breathing hard. Then a grin split Tarkyn’s face and they descended into relieved laughter.

  “Well,” gasped Tarkyn between breaths, “That made a change. I haven’t had a good wrestle for ages, even if it was short-lived.”

  Waterstone chuckled, “You’re a skilful fighter, aren’t you? No wonder you won this tournament of yours. I was being flung all over the place and you didn’t seem to be putting in much effort at all.”

  “You pack a pretty hefty punch and you’re devious, but I’ll remember that next time.” He pressed his arm around his ribcage. “Oh, my aching ribs,” gasped Tarkyn. “Remember the ribs? I don’t know how much good it did them, having you sit on me.”

  “Of course I remembered the ribs,” chortled Waterstone. “I’d never have tackled you otherwise… Laughing is probably still quite difficult with your sore ribs, is it?” he asked with spurious sympathy.

  “Yes, it is,” said Tarkyn grinning hard and trying not to laugh any more.

  “At least I gave them a good workout.”

  “Yes. Thanks for that,” replied the prince dryly. Tarkyn looked at Stormaway and smiled warmly. “Thank you for not intervening. I suspect that may have cost you quite an effort.”

  Stormaway gave a reluctant smile. “Except for the fact that we are in the middle of a complex operation and you will need your strength for other things, I would say it probably did you both a power of good. Unorthodox behaviour for a prince to spar with a commoner but I suppose there is no one else.”

  “Not so unorthodox. I have often trained with men at arms.” The prince glanced at the woodman, “Besides which, Waterstone assures me that all woodfolk are noblemen and women.” The prince entertained himself watching Waterstone do a double take while the wizard frowned in disapproval. Before Stormaway had time to remonstrate with him or the woodman, Tarkyn added fuel to the fire by adding silkily, “And I don’t think I would describe it as sparring really, would you, Waterstone?”

  “Uh, no. I’m afraid not. If we had been sparring, we could have kept going for longer.” There was a tiny pause. Then Waterstone cleared his throat self-consciously. “And Tarkyn, thanks.”

  At this juncture Thunder Storm, Autumn Leaves and six other woodfolk wearing backpacks swung down out of the trees. Thunder Storm took one look at the prince and asked around for some bandaging. While Stormaway directed the woodfolk to the excavation site, Waterstone and Thunder Storm sat the prince down and set about tidying up his face.

  “So, my lord, you finally had to wear it, did you?” said Thunder Storm noncommittally as he dabbed at Tarkyn’s split eyebrow. “I’m surprised at you, Waterstone. You’re not usually one to hold a grudge like that. Not once you’ve calmed down.”

  “Old permission. New argument.” said Waterstone shortly.

  Thunder Storm nodded slowly. “That’s interesting. I wonder if your permission stays in place until you revoke it or until it’s used?”

  The prince shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t think of a safe way of finding out either. For the meantime, I’ll just re-iterate it so we at least know where we stand.” He winced as Thunderstorm gave his cut a final wipe. “So Waterstone, you still have my permission to hit me if you have to. Actually, that goes for Thunder Storm and Autumn Leaves too. Just don’t do it too often.”

  Waterstone looked at him strangely. “We would also know where we stand if you revoked it.”

  The prince gave his head a little shake. “Would we? Yes. I suppose we would. I’m not thinking too straight at the moment. Let’s leave it how it is for now. Thanks Thunder Storm,” he said as he stood up. As he straightened, his face went white and he grunted with pain. He doubled back over and stood clutching his side. “I think I’ll sit back down for a minute,” he gasped between gritted teeth.

  “Stay there!” rumbled Thunder Storm as he went out of focus, “I’ll get Stormaway and Summer Rain.”

  A few minutes
later, Stormaway arrived with Autumn Leaves and Summer Rain in tow, all of them looking anxious. Tarkyn waved a dismissive hand at them. “Don’t worry. It’s not hurting while I’m sitting down. At least not as much. I’m having a bit of trouble catching my breath though. It’s probably because I haven’t done much strenuous exercise until now.” He coughed suddenly and everyone was horrified to see a fleck of blood appear at the side of his mouth. Now he was beginning to wheeze. He coughed again, bringing up more blood.

  “I think we had better lie you down, even of it hurts you to straighten.” said Stormaway.

  “Wait. I have to plant the trees over the hole first,” protested Tarkyn feebly as he was manhandled down onto the ground.

  “You have to be alive to do it. Let’s get that bit sorted first.” Stormaway knelt beside him and felt gently around the prince’s chest. “Where did it hurt when you stood up?”

  Tarkyn indicated a point halfway down on his left side. He was struggling for breath and each exhalation brought up further flecks of blood.

  Stormaway looked into his eyes. “Tarkyn. Focus on me. You have a punctured lung. One of your broken ribs has pierced the wall of your lung and your lung is filling with blood. That is why you can’t get enough air. Do you understand so far?”

  Tarkyn nodded.

  “It is beyond the normal practice of medicine to repair it and you are in danger of drowning in your own blood. But Tarkyn, you are a forest guardian and you possess the power of healing. I will guide you to heal yourself.”

  Tarkyn was fighting for breath and fear flickered in his eyes but he nodded and kept his focus on the wizard.

  “Now, you will have to close your eyes but you must not let yourself lose consciousness…Think down inside yourself. Go to the source of the pain. Look at what is happening. You will have to straighten the rib back into position so that it is no longer piercing your lung.”

  Tarkyn’s eyebrows twitched, then drew together. His face grimaced with pain but he kept his eyes closed. His breath was gurgling now but he maintained his focus. He coughed again and a small gush of blood burst forth between his lips. He dragged in a slow, wheezing breath.

  Stormaway kept his voice steady and low. “Don’t concern yourself with repairing the rib for now. Just make sure it is clear of the lung.” He waited until he saw a minute nod from the prince. “Now, move your attention to the wound in your lung. Can you see it?” Another tiny nod. “Focus your will on the wound. Use the same power you used to grow the sapling from the staff. Draw on your life source, your esse, and knit together the damaged blood vessels. If you can, use the blood that is in your lungs as material for the repairs.”

  Tarkyn’s chest rose and fell in great heaving motions. He was struggling to get any breath at all. Each breath brought fresh blood. Still he kept his focus, but he was already living on borrowed time. Stormaway looked around at Waterstone, Thunder Storm, Autumn Leaves and the newly arrived Summer Rain who were gathered ashen faced around the prince who was slowly but surely losing his battle to live.

  “He’s going to need our help. Put your hands on my shoulders. Now focus inside yourselves. Find your life force and let it flow through your hands into me. Do not fear that you will lose it all but you may lose some. However, like blood, it replenishes itself.” They nodded and did as he had asked. “Tarkyn, keep going. Keep focussing on repairing the damage. The woodfolk and I are going to join our esse to yours to give you the strength you need.”

  Tarkyn felt a soft infusion of strength but by now he was struggling to focus on anything but drawing his next breath. A soft green glow swirled around the small group huddled over the prince. Drawn by the spectacle, the other woodfolk left their digging and came over to watch. Summer Rain sent a brief mind message, explaining what was happening, then re-focussed her attention. The other woodfolk, as one, placed their hands on the shoulders of those already in place. The green mist spiralled lazily, growing in density, the centre of it swirling down the vortex of the whirlpool into the prostrate figure on the ground.

  An uncanny silence descended. With a start, the woodfolk realised that they could no longer hear the gurgling and wheezing of the prince’s laboured breath. His chest was still. A sense of dread crept over them. They redoubled their efforts to channel their combined life force into the prince.

  Inside a private hell, Tarkyn had given up the fight to breath. He was using what energy he had left to focus on drawing together the tear in his lung. He knew he was failing but he kept fighting. A ponderous, rolling wave of strength washed into him and he drew on it desperately to create new fibres to weave closed the puncture in his lung. Suddenly, in the far distance he heard a voice that he thought he knew calling out to him. The voice became so strident and insistent that Tarkyn finally decided he should leave his task and listen to it.

  “Breathe, Tarkyn. Breathe. Come on. Listen to me. Change your focus. For pity’s sake, breathe!”

  Shocked, Tarkyn realised he had forgotten all about breathing. It had been such a relief to stop trying. He steeled himself and forced himself to drag in a breath. Immediately, he started coughing and his chest seared with pain. Tarkyn opened his eyes and hands propped him up while he coughed over and over again as blood and sputum forced their way up out of his lungs. Finally, the coughing stopped and he lay back exhausted, but with his airways clear. He heard cheering in the background and wondered vaguely what it was for. Then Tarkyn finally gave in to the terrible tiredness he had been fighting against and slipped into unconsciousness.

  Stormaway looked up, grey faced, from the prince to all those gathered around him. “I thank you all. Without the strength from all of you, he would surely have died.” He stood up wearily. “I am afraid we are going to have to change our plans. The prince’s rib is still hanging broken and sharp right next to his lung. Until he has the energy to repair it, he can only be moved with extreme care. I don’t know when he will be well enough to grow plants on your excavation. I think you’ll have to disguise it as best you can without him for now.” He looked at Thunder Storm. “How long do you estimate we have left before the next attack?”

  “Still a while. About nine or ten hours. Assuming the gap is the same as last time, of course.”

  Stormaway shook his head. “There is no way Tarkyn will be able to walk to the road. I’ll have to do it on my own. I need a rest first. Things have been rather busy here one way and another since we arrived. Any chance of a cup of tea and something to eat?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find something for you.” Summer Rain frowned at him in concern. “You look close to exhaustion yourself.”

  Stormaway sat down on the log next to Tarkyn’s unconscious form and nodded. “I am, but I’ll recover in a while.” He looked at the woodwoman, “I think it was fear that drained me the most. I’ve never done anything like that before. I have never worked on anyone who has the gift of healing to draw on. I think it was desperation more than anything that guided me through it.”

  “Thank you for saving our forest guardian. I was very impressed. I should have asked you to attend to the prince earlier.”

  “I didn’t realise he was a forest guardian before and it wasn’t desperate enough to try something so different.” Stormaway considered her thoughtfully for a moment, “Did the welfare of the forest not cross your mind?”

  Summer Rain looked startled then angry. Before she could speak, Stormaway put up a hand. “No, sorry. Don’t answer that. It was an unworthy of me to say that, after all you have done. I apologize.”

  She considered him silently for a moment, obviously debating whether to take issue or to let it drop. Finally, she said merely, “I’ll get you some tea and some food,” and left.

  Stormaway looked around, “Waterstone? Where are you?”

  “I’m here,” came the woodman’s tight voice from just behind him.

  “Come around and sit next to me.”

  Waterstone sat down and put his head in his hands. “Go on,” he said in a muff
led voice. “You won’t say anything I haven’t thought of myself.”

  Surprisingly, Stormaway wasn’t full of recriminations. “Waterstone, I have seen enough of your dealings with Tarkyn to know that you would not want to hurt him like that. I was there when you stopped the fight for that very reason. None of us knew the damage had already been done. He is as much to blame as you are for fighting like that before he was properly healed.”

  The woodman lifted a tear stained face. “That’s not strictly true. He’s only young and he would never have refused because he knew it mattered to me. I was the only one who could have prevented it and I didn’t.” He shook his head. “I didn’t realised he was still so injured. He covers it up a lot, you know.”

  The wizard put his hand on the distressed woodman’s knee. “Waterstone, I too allowed the fight to continue. Let us not dwell on what could have been and instead focus on repairing what now is. Tarkyn needs your help. You are closest to him and he trusts you. I want you to sit beside him, keep your hand on his shoulder and join your life force, your esse to his. Don’t give it to him and don’t drain yourself. He will need you strong when he wakes. Just join your esse with his. Can you do that?”

  Waterstone frowned, “I’ll try. I’m new at this. Do I just do the same as we all did before?”

  Stormaway nodded, “Yes, more or less. I want you to do something else as well.”

  “Anything. Whatever it takes.”

  The wizard considered the woodman. “No, Waterstone. You can’t make extravagant promises like that. You have a daughter. But I am not asking you to do anything excessive. You can send images to Tarkyn, can’t you?”

  “Yes, but not words.”

  The wizard nodded, “Images will do. Can you send him an image of everyone linked, helping him with their strength and waiting for him to come back? Once he has understood that, send him an image of you waiting for him and calling him back. Something like that. Can you do that? I know he’s exhausted but I don’t want him to stay unconscious for too long. I want to make sure he’s all right.”