by Frank Morin
She rotated to face him, still upside down, but apparently unaffected by her orientation. Her eyes glittered, full or brilliant oranges and reds, as if they contained the final moment of a glorious sunset.
She spoke calmly, but her voice held echoes like a flock of a hundred sparrows. “To fly, a baby bird must cast itself out of the nest. Sometimes early lessons are painful.”
“You sound like Earth,” he said a bit grumpily. He hurt too much to decipher air-speech.
“He’s not the only one who speaks deeper truths through imagery,” she said brightly, rotating face-up and starting to float slowly around him.
“Usually I don’t mind. I’m just not feeling too well,” he explained, happy she hadn’t taken offense. Air was responding to him better than ever. He’d marveled at how easily he’d flown with her after they landed the Hawk at the main landing field and decided to fly directly to Jean’s balcony.
Air had seemed giddy to have someone able to fly so well with her. She’d complained that the queen never wanted to chat when she flew, and Air enjoyed talking about the many spectacular sights she saw flying around the world. In their short flight up to Jean’s tower, Air had hinted that she could tell him about the many lands she knew.
She’d crossed them all, from the vast oceans to endless prairies to giant mountains that put the Maclachlans to shame, and every other possible landscape. She knew hundreds of countries, full of people so varied she doubted he could comprehend them. Connor was looking forward to learning more about them.
Water stepped into view in Connor’s mindscape. He’d downed a soapstone mixture earlier, but was not actively tapping it. The fact that the elementals could initiate contact with him still surprised him. There was so much he needed to learn. She wore a long gown of deep blue satin, with a train that rippled behind her along the gray expanse that served as the floor. Her long, dark tresses were worked into a complex braid, and her eyes were perfectly clear, like the Lower Wick on a summer evening.
“You have already grown much since your ascension,” she said approvingly. “But you lack much understanding.”
“No better way to learn than by doing, right?” he asked. Water’s presence always helped reassure him. She was so dependable.
Her lips turned up in the beginning of a smile. “You have healed. Are you enjoying the consequences?”
“I’m willing to pay the price for my friend,” he assured her.
“But what if you didn’t have to pay that price?” she asked.
“There’s a way to avoid it?” That was great news.
Her smile widened. “That’s why I am here. You have much to learn and very little time.”
“Wow. I hadn’t realized you were interested in teaching me more so soon,” he admitted.
“You must progress in order to survive. Your survival is important to us.”
“Really?” He liked the elementals, loved that he could communicate with them, but hearing her say she cared made him feel really good.
Air laughed, the sound like the wind rushing through tall grasses. “Of course, you silly boy. You can’t help us without proper training.”
“How can I help you?” Connor asked.
“Don’t jump ahead,” Water told Air. She sounded like a school teacher warning a student to stick to the lesson material. Air shrugged, waved to Connor, and shot up through the gray of the mindscape and out of sight.
“What did she mean?” Connor asked.
Water made a dismissive gesture and smiled reassuringly. “You cannot understand everything today, but I can show you how to release the weakness you suffer as consequence of your healing.”
“I’d love that,” Connor said. He was eager to learn how he could repay the elements for all their help, but was willing to wait until they shared more.
“Are you all right?” Jean asked, leaning forward in her chair, brows furrowed. She couldn’t hear his mental conversation, and conversing with the elements seemed to take only a fraction of the time it would take to talk with someone not standing inside his head, but something in his expression must have looked weird.
“Just figuring a couple things out,” he said, tapping the side of his head.
His eyes clouded and the view of Jean’s luxurious quarters faded away, replaced by a strange, empty landscape. Connor stood with Water on the center of a simple rope bridge with wooden plank treads, connecting two cliffs about fifty feet apart. The empty space under the bridge roiled with gray fog. The land behind her was rocky and bare, ending in a sheer cliff that looked like it was made out of white soapstone. The distant sound of crashing waves echoed out of the darkness far below.
She gestured behind him. “Your last ascension allowed you to cross to this point, which is why we can finally speak together. This is the farthest I can tread into the domain of your mind. Your journey to reach this point has crossed all of those bridges.”
At her gesture, he rose into the air and turned to see the landscape spreading wide behind him. Stranger things had happened in his mind so he did not stress over it.
The land that connected his bridge to the soapstone cliff was but a small island, barely ten paces across, with several other bridges connected to it. Other small islands drifted in the gray abyss nearby, each linked by more bridges. All of the islands were eventually connected back to a larger mainland that appeared hazy and indistinct.
Connor drifted over to the nearest island and touched each of the bridges connecting to it, finally understanding what they meant. That island represented his tertiary affinity with water. It was constructed of fine soapstone blocks, and anchored the end of the bridge where Water stood.
Four other small islands hovered in the gray fog to either side, roughly parallel to the one where he stood. He recognized the stones used in their construction. Marble, Slate, Quartzite, and Serpentinite. Those were his other tertiary affinities.
Each of those islands were connected by bridges back to a group of four more floating islands that had to be his secondary affinities. They were in turn connected to another row of islands closest to the mainland, which would be the primaries.
So fascinating. Connor floated over to the islands representing his secondary affinities, studying them with a growing sense of wonder. Huge brown sandstone blocks formed one island, while softly glowing green limestone formed another. The strangely metallic hue of blind coal made up a third, while flint-like gray chert seemed to whisper to him from its spot in the distance.
“This is amazing,” he grinned as he studied the visual representation of his affinity connections. As he slowly spun in the still air above limestone, he noticed for the first time that each of his affinity islands was built with three tiers of stones, like steps in really short pyramids. The bridges connecting to them were actually made up of three tiers too, each bridge connecting to a different tier.
He floated closer to the bridges linking limestone to soapstone and landed beside the reinforced foundation that secured the end of the topmost bridge at the topmost tier of the island. Connecting bridges to the corresponding tier on the opposite island made sense, but Connor wondered why he had three bridges for each connection. They were built directly above each other, making it possible to traverse only the topmost bridge between the topmost tiers.
Stranger still, he noticed that his tertiary affinity islands were taller than the rest, but the top tiers of slate and quartzite were shorter than soapstone and marble. Seemed a waste of effort to construct tiers of bridges like that. Was there more purpose behind that construction, or was it a flaw in Water’s attempt to translate the concepts for him? Or maybe it was a weird twist his own mind created in the vision.
Water had remained standing in the center of the final bridge from soapstone while Connor explored his islands and bridges. She called, “Traverse your bridges back to your mainland. There you will see the final bridge, and the key to today’s lesson.”
“Don’t you want to come?”
“I cannot cross to your side of this bridge yet,” she said, a hint of longing in her voice.
It seemed unfair that she couldn’t come closer even when he invited her. “Is that how I can help you, by inviting you across these bridges?” Connor guessed.
“That is part of the assistance we hope you can offer,” she admitted, her expression turning eager, one foot raising as if to take another step, but she lowered it again.
“How can I do that?” he asked. If his connection to the elements was so strong when they could only cross halfway, how much more power could he unlock if he could invite them all the way in?
“By studying and practicing, and by obeying my counsel to return to your mainland.”
Connor floated along the bridges of his affinities back to the expansive mainland that anchored them all. He might have gotten there faster by floating out over the roiling gray abyss, but something about that empty space made him nervous, so he followed the zigzag course between the islands to reach the mainland.
As soon as he stepped down on the mainland, it sharpened into focus, and he smiled with instant recognition.
Alasdair.
He stood at the top of the switchback road near the lochs, overlooking the beautiful expanse of Alasdair valley as it still existed in his dreams. Lord Gavin’s manor stood on the plateau below, with the Wick flowing past on the other side. The township was just visible, peeking around the curve of the mountain to his right. He grinned, feeling a sense of homecoming. Behind him, the gray abyss obscured most of Wick Torr and Lookout Rock, which meant his affinity islands and bridges stretched back toward the quarry. That felt right.
As he studied the cherished vista, a new bridge materialized. It was a single-layer bridge, not triple-stacked like the ones spanning his affinities. It anchored to the top of the cliff right next to where the switchback road began its steep descent, and extended in a long, graceful arc down toward Alasdair. It too was made of wooden planks, but they were attached to solid, white granite trusses. Slender rails, also made of Alasdair White held aloft a polished wooden handrail. He sensed the far side of the bridge anchored in the living room of his home. It was the only bridge that formed more of a ramp, and he bet if he coated it with ice he could get fantastic speed sliding down its long length.
Water’s voice reached him clearly from where she waited on her bridge. “Focus on the pain and weakness you suffered from your healing and cast them upon this final bridge. It will take the weight of those consequences for you.”
“Really?” The idea seemed somehow wrong.
Then he chided himself. He needed to show more flexibility. If this bridge anchored to Alasdair, it most likely represented the security and support of his family and community. They would definitely help ease any burdens they could.
So Connor focused on the phantom pains he felt in his face, eye, leg, and arm. As soon as he did, they seemed to flare, and he groaned. His right leg suddenly felt weak. He hobbled over to where the bridge was anchored and leaned on the rail for support. That did seem to help. Good thing, because suddenly his right eye grew dim, his vision fading to black, and his right arm lost strength, feeling suddenly deadened and useless, just like when he slept on it wrong and cut off the blood flow, only he couldn’t get it working again by shaking it back and forth.
“Cast the pains upon the bridge and be healed,” Water urged, her voice intense. She was really motivated to help him recover. He appreciated that.
Connor drew all that pain and weakness together like he did his affinities when preparing to purge them, then drove it all out through his chest. The pain intensified, and he gasped, clutching at his heart. The flash of pain passed quickly and he cast it all away onto that long bridge to Alasdair like an indistinct ball of shadows.
Instantly he felt better, the pain gone, his weakness evaporating as if it had never been. He laughed and shouted, “It worked!”
“Well done. You have taken an important step forward in your journey,” she said, sounding very pleased.
His happiness faded when he noticed that the ball of shadowy pain had splashed down onto the bridge and flowed across it. He had expected it to evaporate, but instead it seeped into the wood, leaving a black stain, like early rot. The left side rail of that bridge, right where he had gripped it for support, also looked worn.
He leaned closer to study it, his frown deepening. Before the granite of that first rail support had gleamed with the healthy shine of polished Alasdair White. Now it looked dull and cankered, as if it had aged a century. The first six inches of the wooden railing also looked worn and cracked.
“What happened here?” he asked softly.
Water said, “As you told your friend, miraculous healing comes with a price. The cost was paid by your body until it could replenish itself. Now you have transferred that cost to this final bridge.”
“Can I fix it?” he asked, feeling a strange sense of loss to see the bridge disfigured by his pain.
“You don’t have time to worry about such trivialities. That bridge is long and secure. It can withstand many more transferals. You have more important matters to worry about, such as mastering other new aspects to your affinities.”
That made sense, and he did love the feeling of renewed health he was enjoying. He rose and began traversing the topmost layer of bridges toward Water. He traced his fingers along the rails of each one, sensing their power, which helped restore his good humor. He’d only caused a tiny bit of damage to that bridge, which wasn’t even real. It was just an image in his mind. Water was right. He needed to focus on more important things.
When he returned to her he asked, “Is this how Queen Dreokt manages her healing too?”
“We will not speak of her today,” Water said with a scowl. “Return to your friends and practice your healing. We will begin your next lesson soon.”
The mindscape vision of his bridges faded, and Connor blinked, returning to Jean’s study. She had risen and was crossing toward him, looking concerned. When their eyes met, she asked, “What happened? You sort of faded out for a moment.”
“I’m all right,” he assured her with a wide smile. “Like I said, I was figuring out some things. I was having trouble with the healing because I didn’t understand how to do it right, but I’m good now.”
She didn’t look convinced, so he jumped to his feet and lifted his arms to show everything was all right.
Hamish looked surprised. “How did you do that?”
“You expected him to be affected, didn’t you?” Jean demanded. “And you let him heal me anyway.”
“Of course,” Hamish said simply. He took her hands in his and looked deep into her eyes. “We would both suffer a lot more than temporary discomfort to heal you, Jean.”
“He’s right. I was more than willing to pay the price, but turns out it was a shorter price than I’d feared.”
She sighed with relief and smiled that radiant smile that seemed to light up the room. She gripped one of each of their hands, her expression turning excited. “Then what are we waiting for? I have some more people for you to heal!”
Hamish sighed. “I knew we’d miss dinner.”
65
Everything Has a Price
Hamish was right. They completely missed dinner. Jean kept them busy, rushing from one sickbed to another, and from there to visit everyone she knew with any type of handicap.
She seemed to know everyone.
Connor was thrilled to share his remarkable new abilities with so many, particularly with the patients in the long-term rehabilitation building on the hospital campus. It was obvious that Jean visited often. She and her medical teams were already working with many of them to provide replacement limbs that were almost as advanced as the earthen arm she had worn.
Most of the patients exclaimed in wonder at seeing Jean with a restored eye, face free of lingering scars, arm regrown, and leg restored to strength. They loved her and celebrated her miraculous healing with her. Of course they
also eagerly asked how they could get healed too. Jean promised Connor could help them all, and set aside a semi-private area in the common room for him to visit with each patient and heal them.
Connor was acutely aware of the attention, the heavy weight of responsibility, and the desperate hope the patients clung to as they each visited him. He still felt uncomfortable with the solution Water had shared with him for side-stepping the consequences of using his higher healing powers, but he could not deny the need of those patients.
Even if he was tempted to, he could never deny Jean. She’d already done everything in her power for those people. He could tell many of them were already dealing with their disabilities with courage, even when the hope of full healing was impossible. He read Jean’s influence in every face. That she could accomplish so much without a single affinity or special power awed him. The amazing efforts she expended for those people meant he could do nothing less than his best to help.
Besides, Water had said he needed to practice, and he loved exploring new abilities. His new healing power amazed him. He scarce believed he was the one accomplishing so much. Good thing he had Verena, Hamish, and Jean around to help keep him humble. He could see why the queen and even Harley had developed such bloated heads and overdeveloped senses of their own importance. His ability with sandstone was now nothing short of miraculous.
The first nervously eager patient was a middle-aged woman who said she was a baker until her hands were crushed under a falling oven. They hadn’t been amputated, but she could barely move them. They looked like skeletal claws more than human hands. Connor held them in his own, and the fact that he didn’t cringe at her touch moved her nearly to tears, even before he began healing her.
Again Connor’s enhanced healing powers helped him see how the bones, sinews, and joints needed to be formed, and what was wrong with them. His experience healing over the past few months, training with old Marcus and then with Aifric, had given him a strong foundation, but his new healing abilities eclipsed all of that.