Nature's Master (The Nature Mage Series Book 4)

by Duncan Pile

  …

  “I hope it’s good news,” Hephistole said as he and Voltan strode up the path to the infirmary. Irvine had sent for them, and the two men were hurrying through the campus as fast as dignity would allow.

  “Me too,” Voltan said, but he sounded doubtful. Privately, Hephistole felt the same way. It was hard to imagine that the Darkman’s poison could be entirely countered, but then again, stranger things had happened. The demon was dead after all, and though Sabu had languished in great pain since being wounded, he had not yet lost the battle for his life. The healers had tried everything, but even the most powerful among them had only been able to slow, rather than halt, the spread of the poison.

  They entered the infirmary and walked along the broad, pristine corridors until they reached the chief healer’s office. Hephistole knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” a voice called from within, and the two men entered the room. Irvine stood up and gave each of them a firm handshake. He was a well-built man with a strong nose and thick black hair.

  “You sent for us Irvine,” Hephistole said.

  “Yes, thank you for coming.”

  “How is he?”

  “It’s easier if I show you,” Irvine said. He rose to his feet and opened the door, leading Hephistole and Voltan through the infirmary with an energetic bounce in his step. Irvine’s manner gave Hephistole hope; the chief healer was a sensitive man, and unlikely to deliver bad news with such aplomb. Irvine came to a stop outside Sabu’s room. “Go on in,” he said, opening the door with a flourish. The blade-master was sitting on the end of his bed, rolling his shoulders experimentally.

  “Sabu!” Voltan said, rushing past Hephistole and grasping the blade-master by the hand.

  “It’s good to see you too Voltan,” Sabu said, smiling from ear to ear. His dark skin still had a grey tinge to it, but healthy pink spots were showing on his cheeks.

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you up and about,” Hephistole said.

  “You have the healers to thank for that.”

  “How did you do this Irvine?” Hephistole asked. Sabu had been on the brink of death for days, with no sign of improvement.

  “It wasn’t me,” Irvine said with an apologetic grimace. “It was a junior healer called Balli who came up with the solution.”

  “Which was?” Voltan asked.

  “She’s been talking with young Emea, who seems to find solace in her company. After hearing about the Temple of El-Amyari, Balli asked if she could borrow a fragment of the altar. Suffice it to say that she discovered a way to help Sabu.”

  “That’s incredible!” Hephistole said. Since returning from Pell, they’d been trying to unlock the power of the altar fragments, but without success. The quest had been undertaken in the hope of securing a powerful weapon against demon-kind, but so far the artifacts had resisted all their attempts at scrutiny. There was a magical signature there for sure, but it was locked away somehow, far beyond their reach.

  “What did she do with it?” Hephistole asked.

  “Balli reasoned that the magic might be reactive, in which case it would only manifest in the presence of a hostile force. Such power is not at our beck and call. It cannot be used to heal – only to destroy that which is evil.”

  “But Sabu has been healed.”

  “No, he hasn’t. The fragment is simply resisting the evil of the Darkman’s poison, keeping it from spreading. His body is healing naturally in the absence of the toxin.”

  Hephistole took a step nearer to Sabu and looked at him closely. “Does this mean the poison hasn’t been eradicated?”

  Sabu pulled his robe aside to display his right shoulder, which was heavily bandaged. Black seepage stained the material, spreading out from a single point in the hollow of his shoulder. “I feel it within me as a dark force, battering the fragment’s resistance.”

  “The wound won’t heal,” Hephistole murmured.

  “It festers continually,” Irvine said. “The skin heals, only to break again. It must be very painful.”

  “It’s fine,” Sabu said, pulling his robe back over the befouled bandage. “I almost have full movement back in my arm. I can wield my swords,” he concluded, and for him that was clearly the end of the matter.

  “Can the poison be kept at bay indefinitely?” Hephistole asked.

  “We don’t know for sure,” Irvine responded. “According to the laws of enchantment, the fragment’s strength ought to dwindle as it is used, but its power is divine in origin so who can say if that will hold true?”

  Hephistole fell silent, considering Irvine’s words.

  “Where is the fragment?” Voltan asked.

  “Grafted into Sabu’s bone at the point of the wound.” Irvine said.

  Voltan opened his mouth to speak again but Irvine raised a hand. “Exhausting him with questions won’t help his recovery,” Irvine chided, as if bringing them to the room had been their idea instead of his. “Time to go, gentlemen.”

  “Right you are,” Hephistole said with an amused smile. “It is very good to see you up and about Sabu.”

  “Indeed it is,” Voltan echoed. “Get yourself better.”

  “We still have enemies to fight,” Sabu responded with a tight smile. “I’ll be seeing you very soon.”

  Two

  Gaspi looked at the collection of cards in his hand: a nine, a seven, and two fives – a mediocre hand in Thrust or Parry. He decided to take a risk. “Thrust,” he said, placing on of the fives face down on the table and waiting for Emmy to pass him another card. If she gave him anything between one and four, it would worsen his score, but he was hoping for better. She peeled one off and held it out. Gaspi took it and slid it into his hand, seeing that he’d drawn another seven.

  “Parry,” he said, which meant he wasn’t going to draw any more cards. He’d had one more turn than Emmy, so she could thrust again if she wanted to, but she chose to parry and laid her cards face up on the bed: an eight, a six, a five and a four. Gaspi showed his winning hand and frowned. “Why didn’t you thrust? You’d have won if you’d drawn a six or higher.”

  Emmy shrugged and leaned back against her pillow. Lilly, who was lying across her lap, looked wearily into Emmy’s face and dropped her head again. “I don’t want to play anymore,” she said, gazing blankly out of the window. Gaspi watched her with concern. Hephistole’s teas had made a difference, drawing her back from the brink of despair, but that was as far as the improvement went, and she’d remained listless and disengaged ever since. Gaspi struggled to get through to her, and whenever they were alone together she seemed to be…absent. He was desperate to help her but he didn’t have the faintest clue where to start. All he could do was come back day after day and hold to hope.

  …

  Gaspi walked slowly around the battlements on Helioport’s outer wall, accompanying Taurnil on his rounds. Taurnil kept his eyes on the horizon as they talked, as if expecting an enemy army to materialise at any moment.

  “She’s not getting any better Taurn,” Gaspi said.

  “She’s better than she was when we first got back from the temple.”

  “Yeah, but she was in a seriously bad way. Hephistole’s tea brought her back from the brink but she hasn’t got any better since. She’s like a ghost.”

  Taurnil walked on in thoughtful silence. “Remember what Lydia was like after the fire spirit died?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well that was similar right? She was lost too, and there was nothing we could do except be there for her. She came out of it in her own time, so maybe Emmy will too.”

  “If I remember rightly, we ran off on a quest without her. Emmy says Lydia only came around because she was furious with you.”

  Taurnil laughed. “That sounds about right, but seriously, isn’t this the same kind of thing?”

  “I don’t know. Lydia was like that because the bond was severed with the fire spirit, and Emmy was hurt when she used healing as a weapon against the
Darkman. Who knows how the two things compare?”

  Taurnil fell silent for a moment. “I dunno Gasp. How are you handling all this? It must be rough.”

  “I don’t care what it’s like for me,” Gaspi said, shaking his head wearily. “It’s Emmy I’m worried about.”

  Taurnil briefly clasped his shoulder. “We’ll get through this. All of us.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Gaspi said, and they carried on walking in silence.

  …

  Gaspi let out a long breath and opened his eyes. His days were filled with stress and worry, and the only time he felt peaceful was during his morning meditations. It wasn’t that he stopped caring in those moments, or that his problems were resolved, but by connecting with the deeper, slow-moving currents of his being, he found relief from worry. Sometimes he found himself swamped by a profound sense of love, and when that happened, all of the difficulties he faced – including the threat of attack from Sestin’s demonic forces, and even the Dark God himself – faded into the background.

  Meditation did more than provide relief from his troubles; it helped him think things through calmly. Ideas came to him, unhindered by the clamour of his busy mind. That morning, inspiration had come to him; a thought had popped into his head, which might just enable him to help Emmy.

  Keen to act on it, Gaspi rose to his feet and called Loreill, who shot out from among the tree tops – a blur of glimmering green light – and zipped around Gaspi’s neck. Gaspi smiled and set off through the garden. The moment he passed through the gate, the weight of Loreill’s body settled onto his shoulders.

  Loreill’s furry face popped up, obstructing Gaspi’s view.

  Gaspi laughed and came to a stop. “I can’t see where I’m going,” he said, and the elemental withdrew his head with an apologetic chitter.

  Gaspi could feel Loreill’s curiosity through the bond; the elemental wanted to know what had got him so excited.

  “I’m going to help Emmy,” he said.

  Loreill’s curiosity was undimmed.

  “It’s hard to explain – just wait a bit and you’ll find out.”

  Loreill chittered once more and the sense of curiosity diminished, replaced by a wash of approval. Gaspi smiled to himself, remembering that, in his own way, Loreill cared for Emmy as much as any of her friends did. Elementals didn’t exactly share human emotions, but Gaspi was his bond-mate, and anyone who mattered to him also mattered to Loreill. Emmy’s bond with Lilly doubled the connection, strengthening the ties between them.

  “Alright Loreill, gerroff!” he said nudging the elemental, who uncoiled himself and clambered down to the ground. It was far too hot a day to carry Loreill’s warm, furry body on his shoulders.

  Gaspi walked briskly through the campus, heading for the tower, Loreill scampering at his feet. Emmy had been released from the infirmary the previous day, returning to her room in the Warren. Her condition hadn’t improved, but the healers had determined that she was capable of looking after herself, and hoped that a return to normality might stimulate her recovery.

  Gaspi reached the tower and crossed the Atrium to the fourth transporter plinth. He stepped on, waiting for Loreill to flop across his feet before speaking the word of command. “The Warren,” he said, and moments later they rematerialized on the fourth floor.

  He rushed through the Warren, heading towards Emmy’s room. A couple of people called out to him as he passed, but he didn’t stop to talk and quickly reached Emmy’s door. He knocked a couple of times, only to be greeted by silence, and was about to knock again when he heard the sound of movement within. Footsteps shuffled towards the door, which swung open to reveal Emmy, dressed in her nightgown.

  “Gaspi,” she said, smiling faintly. He gave her a kiss and, taking her hand, led her back into the room. The door swung shut behind them. Loreill scooted across the floor, scrambled up onto the bed and joined Lilly in the warm hollow Emmy had left behind. He nosed her affectionately, but Lilly’s response was lacklustre. The bond between Emmy and Lilly was very close – at least as close as that between Gaspi and Loreill – and the water spirit had been badly affected by Emmy’s malaise. Gaspi looked at the listless elemental and frowned, knowing she wouldn’t get better until Emmy did.

  “How’re you feeling?” Gaspi said.

  “Oh you know…pretty much the same,” Emmy said quietly. She always spoke quietly these days, as if lacking the energy to raise her voice above a murmur. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” Gaspi said, brushing the question aside. “Emmy, I think I can help you.”

  She peered at him with a befuddled expression. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I want to try and help you feel better.”

  Emmy frowned, as if what Gaspi had said was confusing. “I don’t know,” she said, sounding infinitely weary.

  “But I do,” Gaspi said. “It came to me while meditating – like a thought I didn’t think. Please let me try?”

  For the briefest moment, a flash of something vital glimmered behind Emmy’s eyes. “Okay, whatever you think is best, but you’ll have to do all the work. I can’t seem to focus my thoughts.”

  “You’ve got it,” Gaspi said, sitting down on the bed and patting the spot next to him.

  “What, right now?”

  “No time like the present,” Gaspi said, reaching out his hand.

  Emmy took his hand and sat down beside him. “So what are we doing?”

  “We’re going to meditate together. I’ll talk you through it – just do your best to follow, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Now close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing…”

  …

  Emmy closed her eyes and tried to concentrate, but privately she didn’t see how this was going to help. In her day-to-day life, she caught an occasional glimpse of happiness – the faintest sparkle of good feeling that was gone the moment she tried to capture it. The rest of the time she was aching and numb, and it was difficult to make the effort to please her visitors, who were plainly desperate for some sign of improvement. Emelda had visited her several times, telling her to be patient and that time would heal her wounds, but as far as Emmy could tell she wasn’t making any progress at all. Week after long week had left her dejected and cynical, and she struggled to believe that anything Gaspi did was going to help her. Still, she owed it to him to give it a try.

  Gaspi started speaking, leading her through the first stages of a meditation. “See yourself at the top of a flight of stairs. There are ten steps in all, descending before you.” Emmy summoned the image easily enough. It was one of the first exercises Emelda had taught them soon after they’d joined the college, and was as familiar as a pair of old boots.

  “In a moment, you’re going to slowly and deliberately descend the stairs, counting down from ten to one as you go. When you reach the bottom, you’ll find yourself feeling relaxed. Ready?”

  Emmy nodded.

  “Ten. Take the first step, affirming to yourself that you already feel more at ease.”

  Emmy took the step in her mind. She didn’t feel any different, but sometimes it took a while to get into it.

  “Nine, feeling more like yourself…”

  “Eight, feeling the tension drain from your shoulders…”

  Gaspi talked her all the way down to one and to her surprise, Emmy did feel a little more relaxed. It wasn’t a vast improvement, but it was something.

  “You’re carrying a large pile of objects,” Gaspi continued. “They’re cumbersome and are digging into your arms.”

  This was a new one for Emmy, but it was easy enough to follow.

  “You’ve been holding on very tightly and your arms are tired and bruised. Loosen your grip little by little until one of the objects falls to the floor.”

  Emmy could almost feel the sharp edges of objects digging into the muscles of her upper arms and pressing against her stomach, the ache in her shoulders and forearms, weary from holding on. Sh
e imagined relaxing her grip and felt the pile loosen in her arms until something fell free and tumbled away.

  “As you continue to relax your grip, more objects drop to the floor. These are your pains and cares, carried for far too long. As each one falls from your arms, feel your heart and mind lighten.”

  Emmy followed his lead, seeing object after object fall away until she was left unencumbered, her burden gone.

  “Draw in a deep breath, knowing as you do so that you are being filled with peace.”

  Emmy breathed deeply, feeling relaxation flood through her. As she exhaled, tension fled on her breath.

  “Rest there for a moment, allowing peace to refresh you.”

  Emmy nodded, drawing in another deep breath and releasing it in a slow, steady exhalation. Gaspi was right – she hadn’t felt this good in ages, and needed to draw from it while she could.

  All too soon, Gaspi spoke again. “Allow your focus to sharpen, and turn your gaze inwards.”

  Emmy felt suddenly nervous, though she couldn’t have said exactly why.

  “Search with your senses, looking for an area of damage, just like you do when treating a patient. It might be bruised, or cut. You’ll know when you see it.”

  Emmy peered intently into the depths of her soul, unsure of what to expect, but there it was – a large patch of what looked like damaged flesh. Surrounded by pink, healthy tissue, it stood out like a sore thumb. It was ragged and torn and the flesh was blackened, as if charred. For a moment, Emmy despaired – how could flesh that had been destroyed so completely ever be healed?

  “Do you see anything yet?” Gaspi asked.

  Emmy nodded.

  “What does it look like?”

  “Black and burned, like it’s dead.”

  “Move closer,” Gaspi said. “Familiarise yourself with the wound. Go beyond the surface. If you look hard enough, things may not be as bad as they seem.”

  Emmy drew near to the damaged tissue, repulsed by its blackened, lifeless appearance. Surely it was beyond healing. Suddenly, she caught her breath. Between the folds of blackened flesh, she caught a glimpse of something pink, something living. Drawing closer, Emmy looked beyond the burned surface and found that it only went so deep. Beneath the wound her flesh was healing. Soon it would shed the blackened surface altogether and she would be whole.