by Lynn Hardy
“One: Captain Youngmen received a blow from the same jarovegi that wounded your brother,” the physician answers. “Nothing we’ve tried seems to aid his recovery. I doubt he will survive more than a few marks.” I feel despair threaten to engulf the professional before he pushes the emotion aside.
“Archmage Reba, are you and your men up to another healing?” After my affirmative nod, he continues. “Tupper, this is Master Healer Jamison. He wields sorcery in healing. Bring the patient to him.” The physicians spring into action.
The front door opens. The squire manages a small bow, even loaded down with empty wineskins. “Your Highness, I brought as many as could be gathered quickly.”
“You did fine, Harold. Set them by the tub.” I take down my cowl as Szames turns to address me. Gasps and whispers spread like wildfire through the crowded room. I long for a mirror as the prince asks, “Will these be sufficient for your needs?”
Though the prince has addressed me, Allinon replies, “Those will be satisfactory. I will break down the contents of the tub while Jamison handles the patient.”
When the elf leaves, I ask, “If you don’t mind, I would like to perform a simple enchantment to make the wineskins more suitable for holding the potion Allinon is creating?” Seeing Merithin’s interest, I include him in my offer. “You are welcome to observe if you wish.”
The crowd of men part as I follow Squire Harold to the tub, where Allinon is breaking down the raw material for a new batch of healing potion.
I reach for one of the wineskins. Covered in some kind of animal hide with a wooden cork, it looks as if it will hold water, if just barely. As important as the potion is going to be, I’d feel a lot better if these were Rubbermaid. Inspired, I mumble.
“Containers, your construction is lacking.
Now you’ll be clear plastic, never cracking.
With a hourglass shape, easier to grip,
A screw-off cap whose threads won’t strip.”
With inquisitiveness a cat would envy, questions tumble forth from Merithin seconds after the transformation is complete. “What a beautiful glass bottle. Such delicate lines. Is it watertight? How does it open?”
“Water won’t escape even if the container turns upside down. The stopper twists off, like this.” I take off the cap.
With a flip of my wrist, I toss the bottle to Merithin. The elder doesn’t react quite fast enough. I wait, my stomach clenched in expectation as the sorcerer juggles the canteen from one hand to the next. Prince Szames rescues the fumbling object with a skillful catch, putting an end to my hope of a dramatic demonstration of its durability.
“It is much lighter than one would expect.” Turning it over in his massive hands, he taps the side of the bottle. “This does not sound like glass. Is it some type of material prevalent in your world? Or is it purely magical in construction? Is it similar to glass in anything but looks?” A fraction of a smile turns the edge of his lips as, without preamble, Prince Szames tosses the canteen in my direction.
I take a step back so it is clear I intend to let the bottle fall to the ground. It bounces with a loud, hollow clack. Stunned amazement radiates from both prince and sorcerer. Reaching down to grab the canteen after the second bounce, I explain the properties of synthetic polymers.
“This material is called plastic. It is rather common on my world. It doesn’t occur spontaneously in nature, but is made somewhat like glass. Other than the method of manufacturing and its translucency, plastic doesn’t share many other properties with glass. This container’s biggest weakness is heat. It will hold boiling liquid, but you cannot heat something by placing this bottle over a fire. Its melting point is much lower than glass.”
Handing the canteen to Merithin for a closer inspection, I continue, “As you can see, a solid drop will not break or even harm it. The more common material in my world will eventually become brittle with time. I used a preservative incantation. This will remain forever as it is now.” Glancing around, I notice the patient—Youngmen, wasn’t it?—is being brought in.
Two men carry the wounded man on a stretcher. As instructed, they place him on the table in the center of the room. I get a glimpse of Youngmen’s injuries as Jamison removes the bandage wound around his upper leg. Ugh! What a mess! A cavernous gash has shredded the flesh of his outer thigh from the hip to the knee. Is that white stuff part of the hipbone? Good thing it was his outer thigh. If the wound was any closer to the groin area, the femoral artery could’ve been hit. He wouldn’t have survived the blood loss. Glad to have something to take my mind off the gore, I turn my attention back to Szames and Merithin.
“You call this ‘pla-stick’? Does the name hold any magical significance?” Merithin hands the canteen back to me. I shake my head and he continues. “I would love to take a closer look at a world where such marvels are manmade and require no enchantments.”
I share a tight smile with Merithin, glancing at the bathtub, which now holds a shimmering liquid. I don’t have time to transform each. Maybe I can use a duplication spell. One way to find out…
“With magic you were made from a common substance,
At your touch they’ll share your properties in abundance.”
I toss the bottle onto the pile of wineskins with the completion of the couplet. A smile cracks my lips as light surrounds the entire stack. I suck in a capacious breath against the pleasure-laced pain cascading through me. I squeeze my eyes shut. Clattering echoes throughout the room. More than a dozen canteens come to rest on the ground. As the pain settles into a rhythmic pounding, I open my eyes.
Wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, Allinon bends to pick up a translucent container resting near his foot. “Hmph, plastic. And with a screw-on cap.” The elf fills the canteen without even so much as a simple “thanks.”
He turns to Prince Szames. “They are ready for us now. I will handle the AV this time.” Allinon attempts a grin but manages only to look as if he is suffering from constipation. The slender giant hands the newly filled bottle to Merithin. “This should be poured over the wound as Jamison performs the healing.”
“Gladly.” Merithin bends at the waist, delighted to get a better view of the procedure.
The master healer stands midway down Youngmen’s torso with Princess Szeanne Rose beside him. There is a space to Jamison’s right, directly in front of the leg wound, obviously intended for Merithin. Better him than me. In this world blood doesn’t make me swoon, but I would rather not have a ringside seat. I stumble to my position. Allinon assumes his place beside the princess.
Without a clear view of the actual healing, I must use empathy and my new corporeal magic to discern what is transpiring. I squeeze my eyes shut against the pain as I sense the breakdown of the AV proceeding without a hitch. I’m glad Allinon can handle the virus; I am not sure my stomach is ready for a full day of visiting wounded men.
“Youngmen’s aura is still weak. If he survives the night, with time, he will make a full recovery.” Jamison lets out an audible sigh. “Princess Szeanne Rose, were you able to follow the procedure?”
“Yes. Using ‘the sight,’ I saw you connect my energy to yours. Then the combined forces surrounded the wound, penetrating the injury. Now that I have witnessed the process, I believe I will be able to access my gift. But I am still unsure how to make it respond and do what I wish.” The silent room erupts into a flurry of questions, each shouted louder than the last.
“Enough!” Prince Szames does not raise his voice much, but the tone of absolute authority gets immediate results. The pain in my skull has abated enough that the volume doesn’t cause me to scream, just wince.
“Tupper, please see that your men make Captain Youngmen comfortable and the table is put back into place.” Men jump to carry out Prince Szames’s commands.
“Archmage Reba believes several of you may possess the gift of healing Jamison has demonstrated. It lies inside you, camouflaged like a deer in the brush, waiting for the right t
ouch to set it free. In fact, the archmage has already released the gift within Princess Szeanne Rose. She was able to join with Jamison and follow the entire process. Are there any among you who do not wish to have the gift awoken if you possess it?” Complete silence greets his question. “Archmage Reba, I believe you and your men have made a favorable demonstration of the importance of the healing gift. Are there any here who possess it?”
“Yes, Prince Szames, most of the men have the gift to some degree. Whether or not I can activate the gift is another matter. Before I attempt an awakening of their gifts, I ask that you allow Jamison to lead these men in an oath.” I turn, tilting my chin to meet the eyes of Prince Szames. Please… please don’t fight me on this… “In my world our healers make a covenant, pledging to use their knowledge and skills to the betterment of mankind. Considering the depth of what we are about to do, I feel a similar oath-taking is in order.”
With a twinkle in his eyes, Prince Szames begins, “Our physicians also have an oath they take when they begin their training. I agree. The gravity of this situation demands another vow be made with the bestowing of the newly discovered gift. Archmage Reba, if you have something commonly used in your world, I feel it will be a perfect counterpart to the awakening of the gifts you have uncovered.”
“I will verify who has received this gift,” Allinon insists.
“Follow my lead, elf. I’m using empathy to make sure we activate good people with the right intentions.” Allinon’s eyes widen. I feel anger boiling inside, assumedly because he wasn’t included in this decision. Before I step forward to begin, I add, “If you’ve got the herbs to relieve a headache, I may need it before we are done.”
“Tupper, if you will have your physicians line up in three rows, I must perform an incantation for each individual. You must be completely relaxed. Open yourself to magic if you wish the awakening to be successful. Jamison will lead you in the healer’s oath.” I whisper out the side of my mouth to him in English, “Have them repeat the words in their minds.”
Jamison gives a fraction of an inclination with his head before he begins. “Raise your right hand and repeat after me: I swear, by the god I hold sacred, that I will from this day forth, serve my king and kingdom in their best interest…”
I close my eyes. My lips part as I take a steadying breath. Concentrating on my empathetic ability, I stretch out my senses. The emotion in the room becomes almost palpable.
The chant continues. “I shall not refuse my services to one in need nor will I use my powers to harm human or beast…”
Excitement, joy, enthusiasm… nothing more than expected. Wait a minute. What’s this? Disgruntled fear seeps into my awareness. I direct my focus to the left corner of the room, concentrating on that area.
The mantra continues. “I shall keep in confidence anything disclosed to me by my patients or obtained through the use of my gift…”
Almost there. Hate… “I’ll show them I know what is best. My gift will be superior. Then they will be sorry. All of them. They’ll all be sorry.” A rogue physician’s thoughts come through as if the man is whispering in my ear.
Jamison concludes, “Unless it directly endangers the life of others, or the sovereignty of the kingdom of Cuthburan.”
I open my eyes. I have no problem finding the individual transmitting such heart-rending cruelty. Droopy eyes; thinning, mousy brown hair; and a thick middle houses the destructive emotions I have eavesdropped on. I whisper, “Sight,” as the last few words of the healer’s oath are repeated.
I miss the rest of Jamison’s instructions as I approach the master physician to begin my part of the ceremony. After being submerged in the foul animosity of the mysterious dissenter, Tupper’s emotions wash over me like a refreshing spring shower. Such hope, compassion, and joy. No wonder he is a master physician.
“Magic is within you; I feel its power.
We need its force in this desperate hour.
It’ll respond to you after my touch
Unless it will cause you harm or such.”
My tingling fingers graze his forehead. I give a push, releasing the power of my gift. With magesight still active, I see a blue radiance surround the center of his power before energy swells past the broken barrier.
I give an affirmative nod to his questioning look. His chocolate eyes sparkle with unshed moisture as I move on to the next physician. Although Tupper’s aura is not the strongest among those here, I will lay odds that he gets more done with his power. I bet he’s incapable of putting less than one hundred and ten percent into every patient.
Each spell makes the throb in my head a little bigger as I work my way down the aisle. I pass by two who possess not even a trace of the gift. One such is an elderly gentleman. I meet his eyes and shake my head. When tears gather in the pair of matched ovals, he blinks to rein them in. I sense kindness and compassion ebbing off the senior in gentle waves. My eyelids flutter to keep my own emotions from overflowing.
My eyes widen with surprise as the physician reaches out with one gnarled hand, grasping my fingers. “It’s all right child. Andskoti has bestowed many blessings upon me; one more or one less makes my life no less joyous.”
I give a determined bob of my head, hurrying on before the sorrow glistening in my eyes overwhelms my composure. I glance over my shoulder at Allinon, whispering in our native tongue, “You know an Elven song to open membranes in the head?”
“After a big Ren binge, I wrote a hangover filk.” My brows crinkle in puzzlement. Allinon sighs, “I drank too much at a Renaissance Faire and wrote a parody song about the hangover. If I translate it into Elvish, it may work.”
In English I mutter, “Now would be a good time to find out.”
Allinon’s soft soprano eases into the room. The chords weave about me. My teeth unclench. The migraine begins to ebb. Blocking the sound from my mind, I begin the next awakening.
After working my way down the row, I stand before the source of all the negative vibes. The plain, middle-aged man with mud brown eyes isn’t any taller than I am. A smug sucker, but he certainly doesn’t look dangerous or deranged. Could I have been wrong?
I open my senses once more. Anger is bound so tightly inside the man, I am surprised his hands aren’t trembling. A memory flashes through the healer:
***
Though the white hair is now red, the eyes of the kind elder remain the same. His voice takes on a hard edge. “You should know better than this by now. A dose of this size could harm an adult or even kill a child. I’m afraid I cannot pass you to the next level. Perhaps next year…”
***
The vision wavers as a red haze clouds all thoughts. Malice, so strong it borders on murderous intent, rises up with indignation.
Yeah, that’s him.
Uttering the words of the enchantment, I never reach for the power lying within my being. I touch his forehead. Meeting his eyes, I murmur, “I’m sorry. Your gift is beyond even my reach.”
The wolf in sheep’s clothing casts his eyes to the floor, giving a show of acceptance. I feel palpable disappointment, crushing frustration, and hatred laced with overwhelming resentment in his soul. Who knew such a meek exterior could house the destructive nature of an atom bomb?
Completing the last row with greater speed, I turn to find Allinon hovering behind me. His voice stills as I give an affirmative nod to his raised brows. My leader saunters down the center of the aisle of men, forcing me to remain behind him.
This time Allinon manages to wait for the prince’s acknowledgment before giving his report. “Out of seventeen there were only two who possess no affinity for healing magic. There was also one whose gift was snared beyond the reach of recovery: the brown-haired, middle-aged gentleman on the left end of the second row.”
“That would be Malegur.” Tupper supplies the name.
“There seems to be a common strength, at least among those gathered.” He shares the rest of what he learned with his druid abilities. “Tupper
, you’re at that average level. There is one or two who are above average. Jamison and Princess Szeanne Rose seem to be on a level all their own.”
The outer door bangs open as a gust of wind hurls the wood into the wall. Harold, the page, enters, carrying a large tray of food. The other squire, Robert, and several servants follow, loaded down with more trays of food, several pitchers, and a few dozen wooden plates and cups. They make their way to the table in the back as Jamison joins us.
“Thank you, Druid Allinon, for your report.” Dismissing the elf, Prince Szames turns to me. “Archmage Reba, Merithin has informed me that one of the main requirements for a speedy recovery from any magical working is plenty of food and drink. I hope you and your men have found our cuisine palatable.”
First the cloaks and now the food. Are all here on this world so thoughtful? Or is it princely manners? “Thank you, Your Highness. That is very considerate of you—” I begin.
Allinon clears his throat. “I think I can speak for the entire group when I say that, although your food is somewhat different from our common fare, we find it very palatable.”
Turning to the others gathered off to the left, the elf continues. “Jerik, Charles, would you like to sample more of their unique repast?”
“I think my stomach might be able to hold a little something,” Jerik replies in his deep voice.
Prince Szames extends his hand, motioning for me to lead. I make my way over to the table with Princess Szeanne Rose. Merithin and the rest of the group fall in behind. With four trays of food, it is more like a buffet than a meal. There are several types of meat cut into thick slices. Most look like a dark roast of some sort and several legs of a fowl. Deciding that bird is the safer choice, I select one of the latter, along with one of every type of fruit and vegetable. That snack couldn’t have been more than an hour ago. Noticing the tart apples we sampled earlier, my stomach rumbles.