Ravenshade

by C S Marks

  El-morah’s tears were silent ones, for he had called upon his long years of training and discipline, and now bore his pain in stony silence. Everyone in the Company shed tears for those good people, even Galador. Finally, after they had paid their respects, they left El-morah to rest. Yet Gaelen lingered for a few moments, as she wanted to speak with him alone.

  She approached him and looked into his eyes. “Orrion healed you. What, exactly, did he do?”

  El-morah shook his head. “I cannot say, for I do not truly know…I only know that I was lost and bewildered, and did not even remember my own name. Orrion drew me from darkness, and now I am here, among friends, and I am whole. He saved my life in the desert… that much I do remember. He gave me water, and tended me when I was ill.”

  “You sensed no darkness in him?” said Gaelen, her brow furrowed as she concentrated on her friend’s expression.

  “The only darkness I know of at this moment is the darkness I left behind me,” he said, his eyes misting over again.

  Gaelen regretted taxing him, but she pressed on. “Why did you come here? How did you even know to come here?” she asked, her voice taking on an insistent tone.

  At that moment, one of the healers bustled into the room, distracting El-morah and taking Gaelen by the arm. Her entire body galvanized, and she glared at the healer with fire in her eyes—one did not touch Gaelen without leave. She turned back to El-morah, her eyes gentle again. “Until another time,” she said, and left him.

  Outside the chamber, Orrion stood with his arms folded, glaring down at her.

  She glared right back at him. “You sent that man in to interrupt us, didn’t you? Why should you care if I speak with my friend?”

  “You were upsetting him—tearing into the fabric of his emotions like a fox tearing at its prey. You show no consideration. He needs time for scars to form…he has not had time yet to even grasp the enormity of his loss. Leave him in peace!”

  “What would he have said that might possibly have threatened you?” said Gaelen under her breath.

  “Why must you doubt me? I should think I might have earned at least some consideration from you for healing your friend.” Orrion’s face assumed an expression of genuine injury, as if wounded by her lack of faith.

  Gaelen was chastened as she looked into his eyes, for when she did so she truly wanted to trust him. How could she have doubted him? Why was she being so difficult? Could she not simply accept him, as everyone else appeared to have done? “I…I’m sorry. Of course, you’re right. I owe you a great debt of thanks, and I have failed to show proper respect. Please forgive me.” She dropped her gaze then.

  Orrion smiled at her, though the next words that came were very difficult for Gorgon to say. “There is nothing to forgive. I know that I would be wary of strangers were I in your place. I have been told that you are a hunter-scout, and they are trained to be mistrustful and vigilant. But you need not fear me. I do appreciate your respect…I trust I have now earned it?”

  Gaelen nodded. Then she thought for a moment. Let’s see how trustworthy you are…

  She extended her right hand as though in friendship. Orrion did not return the gesture, for Gorgon would not allow Gaelen to touch him despite Kotos’ screaming at him to do so. Instead he bowed, and then took his leave, to the surprise of several folk who stood in witness.

  Later, Gaelen sat once again upon the western wall. Her thoughts, and her course, were now clear. She knew that she had been beguiled again, and she was disgruntled with herself, as she could not imagine how she had allowed Orrion to do so a second time.

  From now on, she would play this game by his rules, and give the appearance that she had fallen into line with everyone else. She would share her suspicions only with the Company, and she would continue to keep a close watch on Orrion. There were too many odd occurrences, and too many things that did not make sense from Gaelen’s logical viewpoint. The hair on her neck stood erect again as she recalled the wounded, solicitous look in Orrion’s eyes. She would never trust anyone who would not take her hand.

  Well, Elfhunter, now you’ve done it. Why could you not simply take her hand when she offered it? You had the chance to reinforce a delicate, developing trust, and you threw it away. You had better not go against my advice again! Kotos was still fuming at Gorgon, and rightly so. That She-elf was trouble; she would waste no time in reporting everything she noticed to her friends, and she would notice a great deal.

  “Then you had better not ask me to do things I cannot,” Gorgon growled in reply. “I will never touch her again without a weapon in my hand! Since you are so wise, I would have thought you would know that there is a connection of some kind between the Vixen and me. If she touches me, she might just know me. Would that please you, O Great Lord?”

  Kotos thought for a moment before he replied. Very well, perhaps your fear is understandable, but it’s obvious that you still don’t realize the extent of my power. I would not have allowed her to know you! Now her suspicions are confirmed. If you had done as I asked, they would have been quelled. If there was any thought in her mind that you are Gorgon, those thoughts would have vanished. After all, Gorgon would never take her hand. You are mighty, and even intelligent, but you are very short-sighted at times.

  If Kotos could have done so, he would now have patted Gorgon’s head. It’s always better to not argue with me. I know what is best in every case. Remember it, or forget the sight of a thousand dead and dying Elves beneath your feet!

  That was a sight Gorgon very much wanted to see, and he spoke not another word of disagreement.

  Chapter 8

  ORRION’S GIFTS

  When the healers examined El-morah, they were amazed. Orrion had done in a few moments what they might not have done in a lifetime, and they greatly desired to question him and learn from him. Naturally, Kotos was not afraid of their examination. Orrion was conducted to a fascinating chamber full of glass vessels, paintings, and charts, where the senior healers were already seated around a long, dark table.

  Gorgon was mesmerized. Try not to stare so…as long as Orrion has dwelled in Alterra, he will have seen these things before, said Kotos.

  When Orrion entered the room, everyone stood and bowed as a gesture of respect. They waited until he was seated before taking their seats again, and Gorgon wondered about it.

  You have done a thing that is beyond them, despite all their learning and study. You have within you a power that they cannot comprehend. If they ever did learn the true nature of your abilities, it would terrify them, but as it is they hold you in the highest regard. Accept their admiration with grace. Revel in it! We are beginning to win them over. Feel free to accept any task that you are given.

  The senior healer, a kind, grey-haired woman named Zora, asked Orrion about the method employed with El-morah, and whether such method could be learned. Orrion shook his head, baffled for a moment. Speak my words, said Kotos. Always let me answer for you, and all will be well.

  Orrion appeared to consider for a moment longer. “I would not know not know how to teach such a thing, as it is a gift I have possessed always,” he said. “Afflictions of the mind have ever been my fascination…and my challenge. I was blessed with the ability to bring those afflictions to light, and then to banish them. I don’t know how I could impart that ability to another.”

  “Can you heal anyone with such an affliction?” asked Zora. “There are others who are suffering and have been beyond our aid. Will you try your hand?”

  “Of course, I will do what I can,” said Orrion in a tone of great concern. “Please, I am grateful for your hospitality. Allow me to repay you in my small way.”

  The quiet humility that Zora saw in the depths of his eyes touched her heart, and Kotos smiled, for he had placed it there.

  They led Orrion to a room with a heavy, locked door.

  “The soul locked within these walls is desperately ill,” said Zora. “He has not spoken a word to anyone other than himself in
many years. He does not know his family, and he hears voices in his head that tell him to do terrible things. He has already caused great injury to several people, and was nearly been thrown into prison until we realized he was ill. Nothing we have tried can reach him.”

  “Bring his family here,” said Orrion. “I must know everything of him that I can learn.”

  Zora brought the man’s mother, and also his wife, to speak with Orrion. Kotos learned that the man, whose name was Tamar, had been a stone-carver—a gentle family man who had lived in relative contentment until the voices came.

  Kotos asked many questions. Tamar had suffered terrible, blinding headaches with no apparent cause. He seemed to change in the wink of an eye from a kindly man to a savage brute and then back again. He would not remember what he had done—only the pain and the voices. They locked him up when he had attempted to bash his infant son against one of the stone blocks he had been carving.

  I think I know what afflicts him…I have seen it before. Tell them you’re ready to aid him.

  “I am ready,” said Orrion to Zora. “But first, you must bind him. This will be unpleasant, and he may turn violent, for these demons will be tricky to vanquish and they will not give in easily. Bind him fast, so that I may work on him without risk of injury to either of us.”

  “That will not be so difficult, for when he is not listening to the voices he is cooperative, though he will not speak,” said Zora. The healers put Tamar in strong restraints, sitting him down upon the stone bench along the wall. There was no wooden furniture in the room that could be broken apart and used as a weapon—Orrion would have to kneel before his patient.

  Before he began, Kotos instructed Gorgon. I shall be leaving you again. Say nothing until I return. Place both arms upon his shoulders, and take his head in your right hand as you did with the last one. And try to at least appear as though you understand what you’re doing this time, won’t you?

  Kotos knew that his task would be both delicate and difficult as he gently flowed forth into the mind of Tamar. Here was a man who had been isolated by walls of madness for years, and those walls would not come down easily. Yet Kotos knew that Tamar was still there, as he had once been, trapped within them. He called out, receiving no answer at first, and then the voices came.

  Tamar is not here, said one in an ugly, simpering, high-pitched whine.

  He is, and I would speak with him. I will brook no interference from you, said Kotos.

  Tamar is our friend, and we keep him from harm, said another, deeper voice.

  You have taken him from his life, his home, and his family, replied Kotos. Now your time has come, and you must leave him. I am here to banish you. There was demented, ill-natured laughter then, but Kotos was not fazed by it. Laugh if you will, I will banish you, he said. You have no chance against me, for my power is great and you are no match for it.

  Many voices joined in the laughter—Kotos counted at least six different ones. We will never leave Tamar, said the deep voice. And you cannot force us. We will kill him if you try! At these words, Tamar’s eyes grew wide and fearful, as if aware of what was being said. He struggled in his restraints, but Orrion held him fast.

  To kill Tamar is to kill yourselves, for you are all a part of him, said Kotos. Now return to the depths, and trouble him no more! I see the diseased part of him, the part that gave rise to all of you, and I can heal his pain. Begone, and trouble him no more!

  Tamar struggled violently, attempting to lash his head back and forth, growling and gnashing his teeth, Kotos perceived the dark, ominous grey mass in Tamar’s brain, and he turned his power on it, shriveling it into nothing. As he did so, the voices shrieked in agony, as did Tamar, who sent forth a high-pitched wail that fairly deafened Orrion. Tamar’s face was now dead white; his eyes went vacant and rolled back in his head as he went limp in Orrion’s grasp. Gorgon did not know what to do, so he kept his hold on Tamar as the healers rushed in to aid him.

  “Do not interfere!” he said in a voice that was not like any the healers had heard before.

  Kotos was not yet finished. He still had more walls to bring down. He could hear Tamar weeping, yet despite calling out repeatedly, he received no coherent answer. The voices had all gone silent. Kotos followed the sound of Tamar’s weeping, until at last he found what looked like a young man of perhaps thirty years, unmarked and undamaged save for the terror in his eyes. When he saw Kotos, he stopped weeping. Come no closer, he said in a trembling voice. Come no closer, or we are both dead.

  No, my friend, you are wrong, said Kotos. You will be dead, or might as well be, if you remain in this prison. The voices are gone, and they can neither help you nor hurt you again. It is safe now to come back into the light. The voices are gone…I have vanquished them.

  Not quite all of them, said the young Tamar as his face assumed an evil grin. I am the strongest of them all, and I am stronger than you. I will kill Tamar if you do not leave us in peace. He would rather die than live without me. Do you understand? This one was new to Kotos’ ears, a malevolent, hissing voice that was most unpleasant.

  I understand only that you cannot exist without Tamar, therefore you will not kill him, for you love yourself. Look into my eyes and tell me it is not so. Leave this man in peace, and go back to the darkness. You may return only if Tamar summons you. I assure you that he will not.

  No! I will not be ordered! said the voice, as Kotos drew nearer. There it was—the last remnant of disease. Kotos smiled, for he knew he could make short work of it.

  I grow weary of you, he said, reaching out with vaporous fingers toward the young man’s wavering image.

  As Orrion watched in fascination, Tamar began to take hitching, agonal breaths. Was he dying? That surely would not be a good thing, as the healers were expecting a happier result. Gorgon was becoming quite anxious as Tamar’s skin was now going bluish, and it seemed that he had little chance. Orrion had not been sent to kill Tamar, but it appeared as though that was exactly what he had done. Yet now, a shuddering breath came forth, and then another, and another. Tamar did not awaken, but his color was coming back.

  Orrion breathed a sigh of relief as the spirit of Kotos returned. Gorgon had not been at all comfortable through any of this. He wondered, looking at Tamar’s unconscious form, whether the errand had been successful.

  It has, said Kotos, though I do not as yet know what sort of state he will be in when he awakens. That will not happen for a while; he is completely drained of strength. I must say, I am weary as well. Tell the healers to care for him, and to summon you when he awakens.

  When a messenger came to fetch Orrion back to the Healing Halls, there was very good news. Soon the word that Tamar had been restored to sanity had spread throughout the City. Both Tamar’s mother and his wife had embraced Orrion, for their ordeal had been terrible and Orrion had ended it. And when Tamar first beheld the eyes of Kotos again, he wept, for he knew that this was the spirit that had come to him in a dream and driven forth the voices of his madness—the source of his unspeakable pain.

  Even as Orrion’s esteem grew in the hearts of the people of Dûn Arian, mistrust grew in the heart and mind of Gaelen Taldin. She knew that there was something sinister about Orrion, though she could not explain it, even to herself. Bint Raed was certain her measurements had been correct, and if they were, Orrion is not as he appears. The healings he is performing are…miraculous. Unprecedentedly so! How has such a miraculous healer remained unknown?

  Many questions turned in her mind now…too many questions. And of whom could she ask them? Rogond had already indicated that her thoughts might be considered irrational. Nelwyn, who had witnessed the healing of El-morah, had been so impressed and overjoyed at the result that she would hear no ill spoken of Orrion. Galador? Well…Galador was Galador.

  “Perhaps Fima will hear me. At least he has an imagination,” she muttered.

  She did some of her best thinking while on the back of a horse, and she went to fetch the grey horse
she had been working with. “Come, Young One, let’s go out under the moon and the stars, and clear our thoughts for a while.”

  The grey had shown some encouraging signs lately, as if settling down a little. Now, for example, he seemed to sense her disquiet, and for once he did not jostle her or attempt to snatch at her gear. He stood quietly as she swung onto his back, and he walked calmly through the empty streets of the City, the sound of his unshod feet muffled and regular.

  Once outside the walls there were hills and stones—and freedom. The grey horse fairly flew over the stones, and his powerful quarters were more than a match for the hills. Gaelen could not help but appreciate his strength and agility. If she could ever love him, they would be all but invincible.

  Finally she drew to a halt upon one of the highest hilltops surrounding the City. There she could see Dûn Arian glowing quietly like a dying ember in the light of a thousand torches. She could still hear the sea and smell the salt air, but out here the stars were brighter. The brightness of the stars was the only thing that she truly loved about the desert. She slid down, shaking her head in disapproval at the long drop to the ground from her too-tall mount. Then she settled herself among the stones, turning the grey horse loose to pick at the sparse grasses growing there.

  I don’t blame Rogond for his doubts…in fact I might have felt the same way myself were I in his position. I know how odd it must sound to draw any comparison between Orrion and Gorgon. Gorgon could never disguise himself so completely…Orrion does not resemble him physically in any way. Yet, I cannot shake off the feeling that we are being deceived. Why do my doubts vanish whenever he looks me in the eye? I saw the faces of the citizens as they spoke with him…as though he were the answer to some heartfelt prayer. Do I have that same look in my eyes? The healing of El-morah was miraculous, and no doubt of it. But Orrion had rescued El-morah and brought him to the City—why not heal him to begin with?