Dark Healer (An Empire Falls Book 1)

by Harry Leighton

  The men said her name.

  She struggled and thrashed with all her strength, trying to get to the knife.

  The men said her name again, more urgently this time.

  She managed to get to the knife, grabbed it, lashed out and suddenly … she was sat upright in bed, knife in hand.

  “Fuck,” Jonas said angrily, stepping back, hand pressed to his arm, red seeping through his fingers in the candlelight. “What’s wrong with you? Do you always sleep with a knife?”

  Alia dropped it. “What happened?”

  “You were having a nightmare.”

  “I don’t … it’s…” she stammered, trying to clear her head.

  “I don’t know what it was about but I woke when you started moaning. Then you started shouting, so I tried to wake you but all you did was shout and thrash. And then came the knife.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said earnestly. “I … there were these men, and I needed to defend myself.”

  “Easy girl,” Jonas said, more kindly but pain evident on his face. “It was just a dream.”

  “It was so real. And well, it started a bit like something that happened once.”

  “The worst ones do.”

  “How is your arm?” Alia said, concerned.

  “Bleeding. I’m going to have to stitch it.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “Get the kit.”

  Alia got out of bed and rummaged in the packs, pulling out a small pouch after a moment.

  “Needle and catgut,” Jonas said. “And a bandage as clean as you can find.”

  Alia brought the bits over to him.

  “Light the lamp,” Jonas said. “I need to see what I’m doing.”

  Alia used the candle to light the oil lamp and Jonas lifted his hand to study the wound in new brightness.

  Alia swore.

  “I’ve had worse,” Jonas said. “Thread the needle and get some water.”

  Alia did as she was told quickly.

  “Your blade clean?” Jonas said.

  “I look after it.”

  “Good.”

  “What is this obsession with clean?”

  “Knew a good sawbones once. One of the best. Swore by keeping things clean. He had an excellent record for keeping his patients alive so I’ve taken the lesson to heart.”

  Jonas washed the wound and started stitching, face stern and concentrated.

  Alia pulled a face as she watched.

  “You stay in this game long, you need to know how to do this,” Jonas said.

  “Doesn’t that hurt, sticking the needle in?”

  “Less than the wound.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “Just try not to do it again. Tell me about the dream.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “I’d rather you hadn’t cut me but we don’t all get what we want, do we?”

  “Okay, okay. Well, there were these men. And, well they wanted something I didn’t want to let them have.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s not it though.”

  “Oh?”

  “They were twins. And their eyes were glowing. And they had control of my knife. And I couldn’t move.” Alia shivered.

  “We’ve been talking about mages too much. Look, how old are you now?"

  "Twenty."

  "Really? Well in those twenty years you've travelled a lot, yes?"

  "Yes." Alia wasn't sure where this was going.

  "And precisely how many mages have you come across in all that time?

  “Um, none.”

  “And if I'd not said anything would you even have been thinking about them?”

  “Probably not,” she admitted.

  “Hold that in mind, I think you're safe. You're far more likely to get into trouble taking on more than you can handle in our day job.”

  Alia sighed. It was all very well being logical but that really wasn't how dreams worked. "Okay," she said.

  "You said that it was like something that happened to you once?" Jonas said as he finished sewing and knotted the end. "Put your finger here," he added, indicating the knot.

  "It started that way, but I'd rather not talk about it," Alia said, reluctantly putting her finger on the bloody mess. Jonas tugged sharply and the thread gave.

  "Done," he said. He flexed his arm, nodded and washed the blood off. He regarded her for a moment. "We'll talk about it again," he said firmly, then added, "Bandage."

  Alia handed it over silently.

  "No, you can do it," he said.

  "It's not something I'm much good at," she replied.

  Jonas sighed. "Watch what I do. And pay attention this time.”

  *****

  Marlen lit another lantern and positioned it at the other end of his desk from the one already glowing. It was important that he could see what he was doing for what was to come next. He laid the heavy book carefully in the middle of the desk. It was regrettable that he’d had to steal the book. Regrettable but necessary. The monks had hidden it away but they didn’t really know its true worth. On the face of it, it seemed to be nothing more than an old and unusual book on old local and often forgotten folktales, but he was coming to believe it might just be something more. The monks had no doubt hidden it away because it contained some slightly unflattering stories of the ancestors of one or two notables in the area. Probably not the sort of thing that the people in question would want made public, even after all these years, but that was not interesting to Marlen. He’d gone looking for information on the so-called ‘devil child’, and maybe he’d found it.

  One ‘telling’ in the book had suggested that the child was possessed by the spirit of a cat. Normally he’d have disregarded this as nonsense, but the extract had gone on to describe a sort of ‘physical’ possession too, where the child’s appearance had taken on some feline elements, such as claws and eyes with vertical pupils. Again, not much to be had there until the talk of how that had come to be. A ‘witch’ had cursed the family, stealing the baby along with their cat. Somehow the cat seemed to have been combined with the boy; his eyes, though bigger, still recognisably those of the cat.

  To most people this would just be the sort of tale to tell around a campfire among travelling companions, not something to put any store in. But Marlen was intrigued. The human body had many failings, or at least could be improved in a number of ways. While it did many things well, other things were done much better by animals. So many were stronger, faster, had better endurance. Could eat rotten foods without harm. Had better eyesight …

  Marlen’s vision was uncommonly good. He’d been able to stave off the usual degeneration that came with age, but he had to admit that his eyesight in the dark was poor. Oh, no worse than any other person’s, but since what he did often skated onto the wrong side of the law, he was regularly forced to operate at night. Better night vision would be something of a boon and potentially a serious aid to his work.

  He’d tried experiments with human–animal hybrids before, with very limited success. Whilst the principal seemed sound, in basically every case the human bodies rejected his enhancements, usually ending in a horrible death. He’d been able to stave off the rejection for a while in some cases but it had taken an unsustainably colossal amount of magic to do so, so he was always on the lookout for new methods and ideas. And maybe, just maybe, he’d come across one.

  It would be easy to say that the story was nonsense. More than likely it was. But there was an outside chance that there was a nugget of truth in it, and that had given him an idea for his next experiment. And it was going to be a risky one. He was going to try it on himself.

  He’d resisted this so far. Waiting to perfect his theories and techniques before trying anything on so valuable a subject as himself. But this time he wasn’t sure he had any choice. Over time his extensive and continued use of healing magic had built up a certain level of latent healing in himself. This healing had proven useful to him over the years, coming bac
k from injuries that would have easily killed someone else. It was also most likely the source of his renewed vigorAt the moment he appeared to be aging in reverse, growing younger in appearance with each passing year. In most ways, this was a good thing. He’d certainly taken advantage. But in other ways it could be an inconvenience. If he carried on the way he was for too much longer, it might be difficult for him to be taken seriously as a surgeon. Anyway. His latent healing might just be enough to tip the balance on a successful installation.

  Besides, if it all went wrong, he was starting small. The ‘devil child’ had supposedly been merged with a whole cat. While on the one hand that might suggest a certain level of compatibility between men and cats for this sort of a process, it was not something he was intending to replicate in full with himself. The cat had many desirable traits he supposed, but its attitude certainly was not one of them. He had absolutely no intention of tinkering with his brain. The potential fur and claws could also prove something of an inconvenience. No, this time, all he was focussing on was the eyes, or, to be more exact, one eye. Cats patently had better night vision than he did, but he was unsure of their ability to read. One eye would do for now. Something he could test, see if it worked out. Maybe later he might look at the other one.

  He considered the risks. In all likelihood, the worst he’d have to do was tear out the eye and focus his energies on growing a new one. Infection or disease were not a worry. He’d not been ill in any way for many years despite visiting many of the plague hotspots around the empire and beyond. He considered himself basically immune to these things. This meant that any likely damage would almost certainly be manageable. And, of course, the potential upside was huge. It was a risk worth taking.

  He opened the book to the relevant section again, though he’d already read it many times. There wasn’t much to go on, but perhaps overall there was enough. The description was of both a spiritual and physical binding. Taking the essence of one thing and putting it in another. Whilst description of the actual method was too much to hope for, it had been suggested that both subjects had been living at the time. In the past he’d had plenty of success transplanting organs from the dead into the living, but he’d had basically none when he’d crossed over to parts from animals. Perhaps that was the key. And that was what he was going to try.

  He looked at the jar full of eyes on the table. His instructions to look for suitable animals had been followed a bit too enthusiastically and he’d been brought all sorts of dead creatures. Most of them had been useless, too decayed or with undesirable traits but he’d managed to salvage a few useful components. One of which was their eyes. Normally these were one of the first things to decay but he’d come up with an effective medium to preserve them in.

  It was annoyingly difficult to manufacture though, and not wanting to waste the gathered materials, he’d ended up with a jar of mismatched eyes.

  He looked over at the door. Locked from the inside, and with his men guarding the outside, he should not be disturbed. The book had nothing more to give and he’d done as much research as was possible here. Now was as good a time as any to start. He reached into the bag and retrieved the comatose cat, laying it carefully on the table. Size would normally have been an issue here as clearly the cat’s eye was smaller than his own but he wasn’t looking for a direct replacement just a merging or absorption. Whilst he was tempted to try the process on one of his men first, he needed a professional report on the results and none of his present crew were really up to that sort of job.

  He opened the jar carefully and looked in, seeking a suitable organ for the procedure. A dozen eyes looked back at him. Settling on what looked to be the eye of a bobcat, he fished it out carefully, taking trouble not to squeeze the fragile orb. He positioned the eye in the tips of the fingers of his right hand and lifted it towards his face. He sent a flow of power both through his hand into the cat’s eye and into his own socket before pressing the two eyes together.

  A tingle. Then nothing.

  He pushed harder, feeding more magic into it from both sides, focussing on how he absorbed and assimilated disease.

  Another tingle.

  He pushed harder, forcing until suddenly something gave.

  The pain was unbearable, even for him. He instinctively clamped his hands to his face and tried in vain to switch off his ability to feel but he couldn’t muster the necessary concentration through the storm of agony. He sank to his knees, eye and socket on fire and fell backwards as the world went black.

  Minutes or perhaps hours later he came to, lying on his back. The lanterns were still lit but didn’t help him see that much. His vision was blurred and hazy. He looked at the light, trying to focus, but pain started to develop in his head. He closed his eyes and it eased a little.

  Interesting. What had he done?

  He opened his left eye and looked around carefully. It took desperate moments, but the room came into focus. The pain in his head remained static. He closed his left eye again and opened his right. The room was brighter than it had been. He closed the one eye again before opening both. Once again his vision blurred and the headache returned. He closed his eyes again before sitting up gingerly.

  Success?

  Mismatched eyes caused blurred vision and headaches. This he knew. One cat eye, one human eye would definitely be mismatched. Maybe it had worked then. To an extent anyway. Eyes still closed, he analysed the sensations coming from his right eye. It was sore, certainly, but something felt … different. In this instance, different was good. And he was sure he could allow for the differences, bring things into line with his magic. He opened both eyes again, focussing his energies on his right eye, trying to bring it into line. Pain built and he was forced to blink. When he opened his eyes again, his vision was exactly how it had been before he’d attempted the experiment.

  What?

  He stood up and cast around for something reflective, admonishing himself for not having the foresight to bring a mirror. The shiny sides of one of his blades would do. He drew out his largest knife and looked at himself. Aside from some redness around his right eye, he looked normal. Unchanged.

  Had he failed then?

  He closed his eyes, probing with his magic. Something was still a little different about his right eye. Concentrating on it, he opened his eyes again. Once again the room seemed bright through his right eye and his vision blurred. As best as he could, he studied himself in the knife blade. The pupil of his right eye was vertical.

  Interesting.

  *****

  Trimas and Zedek surveyed the camp. They had woken first, built up the fire, begun cooking the morning meal, and had held their faces in looks of perfect innocence as the other guards awoke, realised the travellers and their money were missing and looked at each other in shock. Trimas was bemused by the way they tried to hide their anger, the glances and the scowls, and no one held his eyes as they took their food.

  Then Slake was upon them.

  “Where’s your friend?”

  “We don’t know, he must have run away in the night.”

  “Just like those travellers?”

  “Well he always was a bit of a ladies man,” and somehow Trimas said it without laughing because that was his own position in the group.

  “A ladi…” Slake turned to Zedek, so close he could feel the man’s breath on his face, and then back to Trimas. “Running away costs him his pay. I’ve got my eye on you two. Any trouble, any at all, and you’re out.”

  “I understand sir,” and Trimas made it ring perfectly from his days as a young officer. There was anger in Slake’s eyes, and he snapped his head round and stormed off. Trimas scratched his head. “Well that went well.”

  “I suggest we do our own watches now,” Zedek said, “one on, one off.”

  “Agreed. But I think we’re safe. He’s angry, he’s not a psychopath.”

  “That’s us.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’m cultured.”

  “And w
hat a peaceful culture it is.”

  “Why did we teach you sarcasm again?”

  *****

  The city loomed up ahead of them, and all were happy to see it. They’d joined the main road several hours ago, and the colours of the city guard were in evidence moving up and down. A new curtain of protection had fallen on them. It was time to relax a bit.

  “Well, Slake,” Trimas said as he rode up next to the overseer, “a job well done.”

  Slake turned to see the man smiling at him, but couldn’t speak before Trimas did again.

  “Hundreds of leagues, two small-scale bandit attacks, one roast bear, the sounds of a hundred wolves, and we’re safely here.”

  “And one man missing…” Slake shot back, his frustration evident.

  “Ah, yes, shame about that. I hope he managed to get where he was going.”

  “Word of advice from someone who knows,” and Slake pulled himself up to his full height, “don’t travel with people who think only of women’s loins.”

  Trimas couldn’t readily think of an answer, so he nodded and they journeyed on. They were in the town by evening, the wagons were being unloaded at a warehouse, and Trimas and Zedek were walking through streets by torchlight.

  “So he definitely said the square with the centaur statue?” Trimas asked.

  “Yes,” Zedek confirmed. “But what exactly are we looking at? I’m not saying the sculptor was bad, but is that even a centaur?”

  “Centaurs aren’t real, sculptors can do what they want.”

  “Business for either of you gentlemen?”

  They looked for the source of this new voice, and found a woman waiting with a raised eyebrow.

  “We’re okay thanks,” Trimas said.

  “We’re looking for a man,” Zedek added, and the woman shook her head, said, “Typical,” and walked off.

  “Zedek she was a … never mind. There he is,” and Daeholf emerged from the crowd.

  “Not eaten by bears then,” Trimas said, as he clapped his friend on the shoulder.

  “If I have to spend one more night with that man moaning about bears I’ll go mad.”