Healer

by Bonnie Watson

  “That has to be Wisdom!” he thought aloud, cringing slightly when the gray bit deep into the white neck of its opponent. “What can I do?”

  A rustle of feathers releasing its hidden position jerked Chanté’s attention to his right. Dark wings withdrew from around a russet body, and he was met with a sharp grin.

  “We wait,” was a rugged reply.

  Chanté’s facial feathers puffed out in recognition. “Corrigan!” he chirped, but the Black Wing only held up a talon to be still. The young Wing, however, could hardly contain his joy, or welling questions concerning his father’s last wish.

  “Be ready. When that bastard’s back is turned—”

  “Is it true?” Chanté could not hold back any longer. “Are we really brothers?”

  Corrigan shot him a confused look before his expression softened. Relaxing his facial feathers, the ‘Keyarx let a crooked smile show.

  “So Rusha finally told you.” He let out a breath and focused back on the battle. “I never thought he would.”

  “He sent me to find you.” Chanté’s throat nearly closed in remembrance of that last moment. “He...” Then he could say no more.

  Corrigan’s amber gaze darkened. “What are you getting at?” His voice deepened in a threatening tone. “What happened?”

  Chanté could only point to the two wolves shifting back to their true forms. His other hand mimicked the final signals from their father.

  In a thrash of uncontrollable anger, Corrigan broke through branches in a rage that sent large chunks of bark and whole limbs raining down below. Eyes flashed gold as he climbed the air currents. There was only one focus, that of the Lo-ans’rel leader standing over his fallen son with raised staff.

  In a scream that resonated throughout the battlefield, his large wings held the splendor of any broad-shouldered Black Wing.

  Then, he dived.

  *****

  Wisdom pressed his fingers firmly over the neck wound. The wolf’s bite had been off-mark. A little more to the side and it would have hit a vital artery. He slid back on his rump where he had fallen, his own wolf form completely drained. Now, staring up at his father’s raised staff, he knew the game was at a close.

  When, Osha! There was no ignoring those agonized screams from a failing army. Numbers were short, and without the projected shields Simpletons provided they would have been wiped out at the very beginning. When!

  As he watched the blade slip from its hidden slot, the staff lowered in slow motion over his chest. Out of breath, out of time, Wisdom closed his eyes to the oncoming slice of pain.

  If I die, will your soul die as well?

  Patience, was the calm reply, even as the tip of blade grazed his shirt.

  A scream from above, enough time for Chronicles to glance to its source before a brown and black blur slammed into him. The staff was instantly lost, and landed some feet away like it had been planted firmly in the ground. For several yards, the two slid across ashen earth. When they at last came to a halt, it was Corrigan who pressed his talons against the Healer’s throat as he pinned Chronicles down. Unfurling wings reached out on either side, keeping others at bay. An angry ‘Keyarx was not something to mess with. Thus, the two were respectfully granted space, and time, as Corrigan curled his lip back to show a set of fangs.

  “You let Rusha die! Admit it!” However, Chronicles could only whimper as those pointed tips drew crimson beads of blood. “Call off this fight! Get your people under control, or breathe your last, Healer!”

  Chronicles closed his eyes. It was nearly impossible to concentrate with compressed lungs. Yet he managed to send his thoughts across the field to each of his clan members.

  Sounds of battle soon quieted.

  It was the lingering stillness that kept the men steadily darting their gazes around to be sure no attack was coming. When the last war cries and clanging steel finally faded, Wisdom pulled himself up. A hand to his shoulder made him glance behind to see Ashpin offering assistance. The prince accepted with a nod of thanks, and he was helped to his feet. He then drew his attention to the new center of activity.

  “Corrigan—”

  “Don’t try to reason. You know he deserves nothing less!”

  “It’s not him,” Wisdom said sharply. “He’s merely a puppet. You know this. You’ve seen it.” He could feel the pressure of all eyes upon him. Both Healers and humans followed his every move. Now was the time to show them the truth. If Jenario had shown himself sooner, we could have avoided so much!

  Gradually, Corrigan eased off the Healer’s throat, allowing Chronicles to suck in a breath. “Should’ve known he was just another tool.”

  “Who’s to say we all haven’t been?” Wisdom said. “You most of all. Remember?”

  Corrigan grimaced. How could he forget the way Jenario used him for spying? As he slid off Chronicle’s sprawled form, he kept an eye on the Healer.

  It took a moment for the leader to collect himself. When he did, he pulled himself up as smoothly as possible, then stepped away from that menacing amber stare.

  Wisdom glanced around the area. The Simpletons had not shown themselves yet. Good. Let them continue to believe everything’s burned. A few whispers at the back of his mind, and he knew the Simpletons had heard his thoughts.

  As Healers began collecting around their leader, Wisdom signaled to Alexander. He seemed in good condition, besides a few well-scraped places around the arms and legs. The Western Clan leader began assembling his men, helping the wounded limp back into relative safety. Those still on the field were either dead or dying, and Wisdom wished that he could go to them – even make his kind heal them. If trust were possible – yet healing required full concentration, and he dared not try when war was still at hand. Instead, he watched his father pull the staff from its upright position and motion for his people to wait.

  Thin trickles of blood drizzled down his neck. No doubt, he was exhausted by the way he leaned heavily on the staff. His gaze soon flicked to his son.

  “So now you have our attention,” Chronicles said in a stern, but tired tone. “I suggest you make use of it.”

  Before Wisdom could even get out a word, there came a loud caw. A raven swooped across the field, heading toward the prince. Thoughts rang to him in anger.

  You dare make a fool of us! Nearly upon his target, a swipe of white feathers knocked the bird to the ground. In surprise, Wisdom stepped aside for Chanté to land.

  Feathers fluffed in agitation. “I never liked him,” the harpy said as the bird shifted back to the raven-haired youth.

  Opal eyes angrily gazed up at them.

  “Jangus,” Wisdom heard his father call, but his focus had drifted to a hint of green sprouting from the ash. Had the Simpletons slipped? Jangus apparently never noticed even after sitting up from his crash-landing. As more color spread behind the youth, Wisdom’s chest tightened with fear.

  “It’s coming...” It was no more than a whisper. Yet his father’s ears perked in his direction. “Jangus, I suggest you move.”

  The young Healer brushed himself off as he got to his feet. “Since when do you give orders?” Oblivious, he continued to ignore the warning, even when his own kind began to recognize it.

  “Why isn’t that being covered?” Ashpin leaned in close to whisper.

  “Because it’s none of their doing,” Wisdom said quickly. “Jangus! You’re in Eúgliactmaent! Move!”

  “Yeah, right!”

  “Jangus, ci’vo!” Chronicles ordered.

  Confused, the young man turned.

  There was no holding back that gasp of surprise. Eyes widened fearfully, and in his haste he tripped over the fast-constricting vines. Several ensnared his legs and were already wrapping around his chest. As it grew, blossoming buds burst with five pointed petals on each, snow-white with yellow centers. A familiar honeysuckle scent filled the air. One bloom pushed its way toward the struggling Healer’s face.

  “Hold your breath, Jangus! Don’t breath i
t!” Wisdom warned, though he knew it was useless.

  Other Healers attempted to help, but the plants snaked upward and snapped at them. Even Alexander’s men attempted to hack at the vines. In moments, more replaced what was lost, and only thickened across the ground.

  The men moved back.

  “You built him up to be like you!” Wisdom said. “The least you could do is save him!”

  “Such is the price when you fail to listen,” his father replied without a hint of emotion. “Remind you of anyone?”

  “At least Shy was smart enough to know he was being used!”

  By now, Jangus’ body was a tangle of lime-green vines. There came a muffled scream, followed by a joking wheeze. Several blooms made a coughing motion. Their pointed petals jerked outward, spewing yellow pollen from its core.

  Immediately, Chronicles ordered his kind further back from the deadly particles. They drifted momentarily in the air before settling around the base of the plant. Soon a thin, yellow coating collected where Jangus had been engulfed. However, the vines themselves continued to gather. They entwined up the side of an ashen mound, building at the top like some great gate about to open.

  Wisdom held his breath.

  Your salvation has arrived, Healer, a rasping thought thundered between each individual. Then the vines pulled aside to allow its master through.

  Cloven hoofs kicked up bits of ash as it stepped forth. Each movement captured the power in its rippling chest of protruding veins populating a hairless coat. It was not the sleek appearance accustomed for a unicorn, but a mass of lumped muscles and tightly-stretched skin over a ribcage that seemed ready to tear. Up the curving neck, which dipped in greeting, one could only stare as its pupil-less eyes flicked over each person. Then the horn, or what looked like one, cracked and twisted like the vines that crawled over upon themselves, spiraled up from the forehead.

  Wisdom averted his gaze from the ghastly creature. He tried not to gag, but his stomach would not still itself. This was different from the last time he had seen it.

  No wonder it wants a new body! It’s dying!

  Beside him, he heard Ashpin suck in a sickened breath. Its hideous appearance could stop any war, and he hoped that now it would.

  Now they see who they should be fighting.

  Then, a scream.

  CHAPTER 5

  The memory of fire slammed Chronicles so hard he thought he would choke. It had been on his mind earlier. It had been what the fire built up around, trying to stop it from ravaging the land. It had been the reason his people had left Ettotu’s Glade.

  Not humans... Chronicles’ startling scream caught everyone off guard. “No! No! It’s not possible!”

  Wisdom forced himself to hold position when his father fell to his knees. He wanted to jump to his side, but a quick glance to the unicorn only confirmed a look of contentment.

  There came a hiss from Corrigan. From the corner of his eye, the prince could see the harpy’s feathers ripple in agitation.

  “What have you done?” Wisdom demanded.

  “I?” A chuckle. “He’s now realizing the error of his ways. Of course, I may have…influenced a few thoughts along that path. But it all comes down to his own course of action.”

  As the creature rasped on, Chronicles could only shake his head. Clasping both hands on either side of his temple, he kept saying, “What have I done? What have I done?”

  While the rest of the Healers seemed to pull from their own trances, Wisdom opened his thoughts to pick up any other clues. What he saw in those thoughts sent him reeling back in time.

  He saw images of his mother. They were fleeing the forest as their former leader Windchester issued an emergency. Fragments of burning trees mingled with concerns of half-breeds and human relationships. In that respect, Wisdom could understand his father’s growing dislike for humans at the time. But it was while trying to escape that his father encountered the dark unicorn. That was the moment his memories blanked.

  “Wisdom?” Ashpin’s voice drew the prince back into his own mind. He sucked in a breath and let his thoughts sift through pieces of imagery until the prince had a clear picture of what they were dealing with.

  “No wonder he’s acted this way.” Wisdom then lifted his voice for the rest to hear. “He’s seen it before, but it covered his mind so he couldn’t remember – just like it did my brother. He thought he was doing good eliminating humans because he thought humans had destroyed our homeland. But that wasn’t so, was it?” He pointed to the unicorn. “You destroyed it!”

  “More than likely another leader’s doing, one that went wrong,” was its answer.

  “But you can’t deny everything that’s happened is directly related to you. Everything from my past, to my father’s actions, to this war! You staged everything from the beginning! You have to! You’re a unicorn. That’s what they do!”

  “And you think my dear sister works any different than I?” It snorted. “What of her staging events? Are they any purer in reason other than to survive Nature’s own set of rules regarding the Purification process?”

  Between the unicorn’s excuses, and Chronicles’ repeating apologies, Wisdom felt the urge to choke one of them.

  “Now’s not the time to fall apart!” he shouted to his father and took a step toward the animal. “Fight it, Jenario! Don’t let it continue using you!”

  Queer laughter mixed with a throaty growl. As those crimson eyes burned with amusement, it bowed its head in mocking.

  “As if he could hear you. Jenario’s no more in control than you of Sapphire’s storm.” A quick glance off to the sidelines where Alexander’s men stood, “But since you insist.”

  A faint outline of crimson secured its form. As it warped into a human shape, Wisdom got the hint of what the horn intended.

  It wants Jenario to take the blame. To his left, Chronicles managed to get to his feet, although he avoided all eye contact. We can settle this later, he thought to his father. Let’s just worry about what’s in front of us.

  A nod. Chronicles then focused his attention back on the fading glow that uncovered the true form beneath the black monster – and gasped.

  “Jenario?” Wisdom heard over his own sudden intake of breath. The man’s haggard appearance revealed what the horn had done to him. That once warm, sly manner he carried was no more. Instead, he resembled someone drained of all energy, hallow-cheeked and dismal staring. His lean form slightly hunched forward in an overbearing, velvety robe. A good walking stick would have served him better. Now he just looked like a used-up worker still pretending to be the magic-user he was not.

  “Jenario.” The prince stepped closer, mindful of Eúgliactmaent vines still lingering. “Can you hear me?”

  Slowly, the alchemist’s gaze fell to the young Healer. Upon recognizing him, eyebrows lowered in sudden anger.

  “You...” he hissed. “Why couldn’t you just let me study? That’s all I ever wanted. To study something real! Not books! Real!”

  “Listen to yourself!” a new voice announced.

  All eyes switched to the young man who slipped through Alexander’s men and strode, unafraid, through the tangle of vines to where his father stood.

  Wisdom caught a slight smirk from Corrigan. The two must have have come together, for he heard the sarcastic thought, About time!

  Jenario remained silent as he watched his son approach.

  “Do you know who you sound like?” Abraham said. “That thing. You’ve carried it so long that it’s now made you into itself. Don’t you feel that?” He shook his head. “You’re not the same person I came to when I was looking for my father. When I was looking for inspiration. When I was looking...to do magic. Now I wish I didn’t have this…” He pulled the long robe, signifying a magic-user’s status, over his head and tossed it at the feet of his father. “Because I would hate to end up like you!”

  Jenario stared at his son’s simple tunic and gray pants before dropping his gaze to the crimson robe cr
umpled on the ground.

  “You would put yourself in a commoner’s position?”

  “Rather that than yours!” Abraham pointed to the crimson necklace. “Father, you’ve got to let that thing go! It’s killing you! It’s already killed the land surrounding Sapphire. But it’s not stopping. It wants more, and it’ll get more the longer you continue wearing it!”

  Abraham held out a hand, palm up, as if requesting his father’s piece of jewelry.

  “Please.” He stood with outstretched hand and waited.

  Wisdom held his breath.

  Silence persisted, and still Jenario did nothing.

  With a sigh, Abraham balled his hand into a fist. “Have it your way,” then slammed it into his father’s jaw. The punch sent Jenario tumbling over himself, over slithering vines, and down the mound’s side. He came to a sliding rest on his back, where he drunkenly gazed up into a darkening sky.

  Wisdom released the breath he had been holding. Where Jenario lay, his fingers fidgeted against blackened earth. There was no attempt to get up.

  “That went well.” The prince felt like Corrigan, sarcasm rolling from his tongue as he eyed the changing sky. “Stay here, Ashpin.” He strode through some of the groping vines, counting on Osha’s protection to keep them from pulling him under as it had Jangus.

  “Careful!” Alexander called from behind, in which Wisdom raised a hand to acknowledge the message.

  “I didn’t know what else to do.” Abraham slid down the side of the mound to where his father lay. “He acted like he’d lost all common sense!”

  “Well, he has! The horn took it. And just based on looks, it’s taken more than that.”