by Matt Heppe
“You truly don’t want to do this alone,” he said.
“I’ve sworn my life to keeping people alive. That includes you.”
He wiped his arm across his brow. “For a healer, you sure can sing.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “That was almost like a compliment.”
“Almost.” He frowned. “What is that behind you?”
Telea turned. The cave only went a few strides before ending in a wooden door. “What in Helna’s name?” The simple wooden door of roughhewn planks looked very old and unused. They both stood and approached it. “How’s this possible up here?”
Mekeles took the door by its wooden latch handle and pulled it. It didn’t move at first, and then the wooden hinges gave way and the door fell off. Telea threw her hands up to keep it from falling on her.
Sunlight pierced the cave. It was rough, uncut stone. The first room they saw appeared to be someone’s living quarters. There was a rope bed, a rug on the floor, and a simple kitchen fireplace. The bed’s ropes had rotted through, and the straw mattress and tattered quilt that had covered it lay on the floor.
“It’s been this way for decades at least,” Telea said. “It goes further. She went into the cave, idly opening a couple of clay jars as she passed the kitchen. One had some ancient beans or peas in the bottom of it, while the others were empty.
A tapestry lay on the floor at the back of the cave. It looked to have hung as a doorway to a larger room. The room itself had once been some sort of temple. The high ceiling reached upwards into the darkness. She thought it part of the same crack they had followed their entire way down.
On the far wall was carved some type of altar. Lying prostrate in front of the altar was the skeleton of some long-dead person. In the dark, the original color of the person’s robes was impossible to determine.
“A hermit,” Mekeles said. “A religious hermit.”
“It looks like he died in prayer. I wonder who he prayed to?” A relief carved on the wall showed some thick limbed man-like figure.
“Is that Dromost?” Mekeles asked. “Could he have been a summoner?”
A chill went up Telea’s spine. She glanced up again, in fear that some long-bound demon might fall upon them from above. “I wonder how he got up here?” Despite her unease, she stepped closer to the man. It didn’t seem he had died a violent death. He seemed, if anything, to have been at peace. Did he know his death was upon him?
“There’s nothing that can help us here,” Mekeles said from behind her.
Telea turned and left the cave, followed by imagined demons that made the hair on her neck rise. Outside, in the reassuring sunlight, she searched the landing for some way down. Finally, on the right side of the cave, carved into the mountain, she spied a series of shallow handholds forming a ladder. It was hardly better than the crack they had been following, but it was a way down.
Mekeles joined her. “Gurdun,” he said.
Telea nodded. “You’re right. The spirit of stone. That’s who it was,” Telea said. “The Drinkers follow him. They say their hearts of stone are the reason the demons hold no sway over them.”
Mekeles shook his head. “That might be what their legends say. We know it’s their blood rituals. They’re little better than summoners.”
Telea glared at him. “They’re great warriors. Joda saved us from the winged demon.”
Mekeles shrugged. “I don’t like the Drinkers’ rites. Chanting and drinking blood go against the High Law.” He raised a hand to stop her objection. “They do love killing summoners and their demons. I’ll give them that. At least the people in your mother’s homeland are proper singers. We have a few in the Imperial Chorus.”
At the mention of her mother, Telea stared up toward the mountain pass high above. Will I ever see her again?
He walked to the edge of the shelf. “This is our way down, heh?”
“Better than we had it before.” She knelt down, but before she could start the descent, Mekeles took her shoulder and held her back.
“I’ll go first,” he said. “It’s still more likely that I’ll fall.” Before she could reply, he swung his legs over the edge and disappeared.
Telea leaned over and watched him. He moved faster than he had when he was following the crack. Perhaps they might make it down after all.
The height was still dizzying. A single slip…she closed her eyes and pushed the thought away. There’d be a lot of time to think about the fatal mistake after it was made.
She followed Mekeles onto the rock face. The handholds made things much easier, almost like climbing a ladder. Her muscles still ached, and she was weak for want of food and drink, but there was hope in her now.
Even better, they found there were resting places where they could shake the fatigue from their arms and stretch their aching backs. After two stops, there was more good news. From time to time she and Mekeles found stretches where there were stairs carved into the mountain. Steep stairs—so steep they had to face the mountain and use their arms, but still, much better than before.
“It must have been an important shrine, to put such an effort into this,” Telea said. “I wonder if an elementar did it.”
Mekeles stopped on a landing below her. “I’ll bet the old hermit did it himself. An elementar would have done grander work.” He looked over the edge. “We only have a few hundred feet to go. I can’t wait to drink from the river.”
Telea joined him. “The river doesn’t fill the entire gorge. There’s room to walk along the edge.”
“It won’t last.”
“Have you ever had a negative thought you didn’t say aloud?” Telea asked.
Mekeles shook his head. “Not that I can think of.” He started down the stairs, walking forward this time, despite their steepness.
“You should climb backwards,” Telea said. “It’s safer.”
“Who’s negative now?” he said, glancing over his shoulder. Telea considered arguing further, but what good would it do? He’d never listen to her.
And then, just five paces further, Mekeles slipped on some loose stones and stumbled. He called out a quick, “Shit!” as he threw himself backwards against the stairs and scrambled for a hold.
Telea, despite the risk, jumped down several steps and lunged for him. She was too slow. Mekeles clutched at a rock, but it gave way in his hands, and he tumbled over the edge.
For fifty feet he fell without touching the cliff, and then he hit hard, spinning like a rag doll as he was thrown out over the gorge. He didn’t strike again until he hit the river.
Mekeles disappeared under the water but then floated to the surface. She feared the worst, but then he moved, dragging himself to a rock where he lay still.
Ignoring her own warning, Telea raced down the stairs. She knew it was a foolish risk, but she was a healer, and her training screamed to her that she had to reach her patient. Sweat poured from her. It was warmer down in the gorge, and she managed to unbutton her quilted jacket as she half ran, half jumped down the stairs.
At last she reached the bottom and ran to the river. She saw that luck was on their side, and the river was more a lake here, where fallen boulders had managed to slow the rushing water.
She tossed her medicine bag on the ground and waded out to Mekeles, the cold water a shock as it penetrated her clothing. He lay unmoving. “Mekeles, can you hear me?” she said as she reached him. Only his left arm, shoulder, and head were out of the water.
Somewhere during the fall he had lost his felt hat. He was bald, she saw, and had a large gash on his scalp. There was nothing she could do for him, waist deep in the freezing water.
Mekeles moaned as Telea turned him on his back and dragged him to the rocky riverbank. She got him to the edge but was not strong enough to drag him all the way to dry land. She splashed into the river again to take his legs and lift them to shore when she saw the bone protruding from his thigh. Her blood went cold at the sight of it.
The bone must have b
roken when he struck the cliff. The force had been so terrible it had pushed the bone through flesh and cloth. White bone stood out starkly against the bright red blood pumping from his leg.
A compound fracture. This is a death wound.
There was only one choice. She would have to do a healing. A full healing.
Using what strength she still had, she lifted his legs and got them as far out of the water as possible. She thought of all the things she would need and laughed. What was she thinking? She had nothing. Well, she had her kyre knife.
“I’ll be right back,” she said to the unconscious Mekeles. She took her empty water bottle and went a dozen paces upstream, filled it, and then took a long drink. She’d have to chant and sing a great deal to pull off this healing.
I’m a fool. I’ll kill us both attempting this. I’ll lose control of this summoning and we’ll die horribly.
But what choice did she have? Let Mekeles die as he was? She couldn’t do it. She drank again and then returned to him.
Telea took out her knife and cut away his pant leg. There was blood everywhere. She’d seen her share of blood before. Although she’d never seen a compound fracture before, she knew what had to be done.
To heal the fracture, without first setting the bones in place, or very close, would require a summoning beyond her. She glanced up the gorge walls. Was there even a beast that could handle such a summoning here?
There was no time to waste. Telea took his leg below his knee in both hands, and after a deep breath, pulled his leg and drew the bone back into his flesh. He screamed out in pain and passed back into unconsciousness, but she didn’t release her hold. With one hand she felt his thigh, pushing and guiding the bone back into place.
It was there. Very close, at least. The healing would have to do the rest. Telea took off her jacket and laid it on the ground next to his thigh. Kneeling on it, she drew her knife and put it down next to her. She would need it soon enough.
Putting both hands on the wounded leg, she started to chant in the harsh tongue of the summoners. Magic coursed through her the moment the first words crossed her lips. Chanting had none of the subtlety of song—it was powerful, immediate magic.
This was not a dark summoning, though—one such as the summoners might attempt. This was a blessed summoning…a call for aid reaching out to a child of Helna. Please heed my call.
She feared the stark mountains held so little life that no beast might hear the call. It was a strong summoning, made necessary by the terrible wound Mekeles had suffered.
Still, she chanted on. It was Mekeles’s only hope. There was no chance some other person might come by. Even if they did, what hope did they have of getting Mekeles to safety?
She felt the tendrils of her magic touching life. Small creatures mostly—mice, a bird, and a rabbit she didn’t expect. None of them were sufficient for her need. And then she touched a mountain goat. It heard the call—and it was coming, entranced by the chant.
Telea prepared herself for what was to come even as she continued the monotone ritual. It was too dangerous—what she was about to attempt. A true healing called for a Seven, but it could be done with just a healer and a singer. To do it alone….
She pushed the thought away.
Telea heard the goat coming from behind her and turned her head. She almost gasped at the sight. The mountain goat walked down the sheer face of the cliff, impossibly walking upright, its hooves somehow clinging to tiny fissures she could never hope to use. Mesmerized, she somehow still managed to keep up her chant.
It was a big ram at least. Big enough for the task, she hoped. The animal leapt to the ground and walked to her, lowering its head as if in greeting.
Telea reached up and touched its muzzle, nodding her thanks to the beast. Helna would bless it for its actions…if they lived.
She put one hand directly over Mekeles’s wound, and with the other picked up her kyre knife and touched the ram’s neck. Everything she had done to this point could be undone. She could stop the chant and the ram would turn and go its way, thinking nothing of her and the spell she had put it under.
And there would be no healing.
She chanted longer, pulling the ram deeper and deeper into a trance. There could be no more delay. She pressed her knife to the ram’s throat and cut into its flesh.
Blood poured out, smoking and steaming. The goat swayed as a demon scream drowned out Telea’s chant. She dropped her knife and pressed her hand over the cut and lifted her voice into the Song of Light. She poured her heart into the song, for she had only moments to drive the demon back.
The blood-smoke writhed and danced as the ram swayed again. If the trance failed before she regained control, the goat would surely become a fell brute, and she didn’t know if she had the song strength to defeat it.
I sing a song of light, of shadows fell dispelled
I sing a song of light, of demon passions quelled
The smoke faded and then disappeared. The malevolent force cried and fell before her song. She sang a single line more and then went back to her chant.
The ram steadied as blood covered Telea’s hand. She halted the Chant of Summoning as the ram stilled and moved on to the Chant of Healing.
The ram’s blood covering her hand began to glow and then was absorbed into Telea’s skin, not as blood, but as life. As she chanted, the life force flowed down her arm and into her chest. She gasped as it reached her heart. She felt so alive she thought she might surely burst with the joy of it.
It wasn’t for her, though. She let the tendrils of life flow down her left arm, through her palm, and into Mekeles’s leg. He shuddered and moaned as the life force entered him, but calmed by her chanting, he held still.
For the moment, the greatest danger had passed—as long as no one disrupted the healing. Telea continued to chant. Through her magic she felt the bones in Mekeles’s leg shift into place, and then begin to knit. She moved the healing to his flesh, causing severed veins and arteries to rejoin, and closing torn flesh.
In most cases she would stop now, with the ram still hearty and strong, and Mekeles healed of his worst wounds. Time, rest, and mundane medicine would do the rest. But she couldn’t do that here. They still had to find their way out of the valley and into Salador. Mekeles had to be completely healed.
Telea focused on the wound, drawing more blood from the ram and completely knitting the bones together before focusing on his torn muscles. She frowned. Mekeles should have awakened by now. He should have been speaking to her by this point.
She stopped the flow of life, and instead let her magic probe his body for other wounds. He was bruised deeply in several places. His head. She’d forgotten the gash on his scalp. Telea shifted position and placed her left hand on Mekeles’s head. The healing flowed again, but the ram was weakening now. She needed more from it, though. Mekeles was heavily concussed. She didn’t seal the gash—instead focusing on the damage to his brain and to his skull.
The ram faltered. She’d taken too much blood. If she killed it, it would certainly call a sacrifice demon.
Mekeles’s eyes fluttered open. “What are you doing?” he said, his voice groggy. He blinked and his eyes opened in alarm. “Is this a healing?” She heard fear in his voice as he tried to pull back from her.
Telea halted the chant and sang the Song of Peace. She couldn’t have Mekeles disrupt the healing before it was done. He settled back, calmer, but still agitated.
She had to stop. Mekeles wasn’t completely healed, but the ram had given too much already. Telea took her hand from Mekeles’s head and placed it with the other on the ram’s neck. She switched back to the Chant of Healing and the cut on the ram’s neck closed.
They were safe. She drew a deep breath of relief and then recited the Chant of Dismissal. The ram turned and walked away. It didn’t go far, however, before it sat on the ground and lay its head down.
“I’m sorry,” Telea said. “I took too much from you.” Normally a summone
d beast would peacefully leave the area, blessed by Helna’s magic, safe from harm by any creature save man. It was another reason most healing was done by a Seven. One of the watchers would make certain that no one hurt the dismissed beast and bring some divine, or demonic, retribution.
“Why did you do that?” Mekeles asked. He tried to sit up, but could only do so with Telea’s help. He looked down at his leg. “What have you done to my trousers? Whose blood is this? God’s, why am I in this water?” He grimaced as he slid out of the shallows and onto dry land.
“You fell,” Telea said. “Don’t you remember?”
“I fell?” He stared up the cliff. “How far?”
“Two hundred paces, I imagine. Your leg was shattered and your head concussed. I had to do a healing or you would have died.”
“You did a summoning.”
Telea nodded. “It is part of the healing ritual. You would have died without it. Hold still.” She moved behind him and looked at his head. There’d been no chance to heal the deep cut there.
Taking her knife, she cut out part of the lining of her coat and used some cold water to wash out the wound.
“You could have called a demon,” he said, flinching away from her.
“And then, instead of just you dying, I would have died as well.” From her medicine pouch she pulled a folded parchment holding antiseptic powder of lavender and tea. She sprinkled it on his scalp and then bound the wound with another strip of fabric.
“Why did you risk it, then?” Mekeles asked.
She patted him on the shoulder. “Because I have a soft spot for you.”
He glowered. “That’s wonderful. And what do we do now?”
“We walk.” She held out her hand and helped him rise to his feet.
“I have one pant leg and no hat. We’re both soaked, and there’s no wood and no fire. And we have no food.” He glanced over at the ram.
Telea shook her head and cast him a dark glance. “At best you’d be cursed and at worst you’ll call a demon. That ram will be warded for some time.”
“Well, my dark-skinned, demon-summoning friend, I guess we walk out of here.”