Bloodletting Part 2

by Peter J. Wacks

  Halli focused on the healing, tucking away what Gnarrl had told her for later.

  Darkness surrounded the Bearoak caves as Halli knelt beside another group of injured. She placed her hands on a Harvester’s chest without thinking. The spirit did not bend to her will so easily now and for some time she had been forced to touch those she sought to heal. Muddled thoughts traveled sluggishly through her brain. Eyes began to lose focus. The sudden rumbling in her stomach was quickly followed by severe hunger pains. The Harvester’s eyes opened as the wound in her side stitched itself closed.

  Halli stood again, almost mechanically, and moved toward the next wounded oroc on unsteady legs. A crowd of orocs encircled her at a distance, following along with quiet reverence, some picking up the healing where she left off after repairing mortal wounds. Dropping to her knees, Halli crawled the last few feet and placed her hands on the wounded oroc’s chest. She gasped from the pain caused by the use of her affinity. The skin missing from the poor oroc’s face repaired itself, but he would never look the same again. It took all of her strength to rise once more to her feet. Black filled her vision as she tried to take a step and failed.

  She found herself in Gnarrl’s arms and realized she had collapsed.

  “Why,” Gnarrl asked as he looked down upon her. “Why do you risk your own death to save us, after all that has been done?” The orocs around them crowded in closer, some murmuring prayers, some even going to their knees.

  Words came from Halli’s mouth, though they sounded far away, and the dry, rasping voice couldn’t be hers. “The balance must be restored. Orocs know better than any … all healing must begin somewhere.”

  ***

  Chapter Eleven

  Malec Haldenfeld

  Malec had grown weary of cleaning up after the Admired. To be fair to what he had been feeling, he had started out sick of the group of bragging brigands. But now … it had been at least a month since they arrived at the camp, and Sibyl hadn’t done or said a thing further about her promise to help free the other children from the orocs. She sent a few men out from time to time, claiming they were scouts, but more often than not they returned with fresh boar or deer rather than any useful information about the oroc camp. None of it sat right with Malec; the whole situation made him suspicious.

  The two Jaegen boys had been given a small lean-to shelter in one corner of the clearing and they joined the Admired for most meals. Someone had scrounged up ill-fitting leathers and clothes for Pavil, and even a pair of old boots—but it all came at the cost of backbreaking labor.

  Malec understood they had to earn their keep. It was only fair. But when they had to move stones that any Tecton could’ve shifted in a minute, or cut down and haul branches a Vorten might’ve felled with a strong gust, it felt ridiculous. Malec suspected they were seen as an amusement.

  It upset Malec that Pavil was so blind to it. He was working nonstop to get small favors, doing backbreaking labor that even a farmer, mid-harvest, would say was too much. But Pavil was so excited to be amongst people again, with the prospect of help rescuing the others, that he was blind to the reality of the situation. Pavil was also younger, easier to manipulate, and just more caught up in the excitement.

  Even when they worked on chopping firewood, hauling water, or preparing a meal, the Admired lounging nearby would interrupt and divert them to meaningless tasks.

  Not all of them acted so moronic. In fact, the majority ignored them, and Sibyl or Jaimson would even step in and tell any troublemakers to leave the boys be. But they weren’t always around, and what seemed like harmless hazing grew worse by the day. Riktos, Sibyl’s third-in-command—after Jaimson—and his tagalongs, Pax and Cleor, were the worst. Today was a good day though. He didn’t have to deal with them.

  Malec paused in his chores, using his forearm to wipe sweat from his brow. His musings interrupted, he glanced around the glade. Luckily, Riktos and his lackeys had gone hunting and weren’t due back for another day or two. It was a lot easier to get things done and not feel bullied when they were gone.

  Malec and Pavil had been set to clean up the butchered mess left from the last successful hunt. The bandit’s hunters had once taken care with the carcasses, placing everything in containers to be easily disposed of. Now, with the boys to do the cleaning, the messes grew worse every time.

  The bandits hunted the various Roc species of animals in the forest. It was like everything in this forest grew to be twice the size it normally would. Stags, boars, even rochares grew to be a couple feet tall at the shoulder. Malec wondered idly what would happen if humans settled in the Rocmire. Would babies grow up to be ten and twelve feet tall, making the orocs that lived here seem tiny? Malec giggled a little despite his serious musings as the image formed in his mind of a giant human patting an oroc on the head.

  Malec lifted a pile of entrails on the end of a large forked stick, still lost in his own world, and dumped them in the wooden barrel next to him. Once they filled the barrel, he and Pavil would roll it down to the river and dump it. He looked over at his friend and saw that Pavil looked as disgusted as Malec felt.

  As he went back to work, two Admired trudged past them to the shrine in the middle of the camp. There, they swapped out with two who’d been inside. When asked, Sibyl had explained that two people, a Tecton and a Geist always sat there, praying to Trocus and Azaria to keep them protected from other forest inhabitants. He assumed it involved something more, but she’d seemed annoyed by his questions, so he left the rest unasked. It seemed pretty obvious to him that it wasn’t just other forest inhabitants, since orocs were both Tectons and Geists.

  Pavil brought over a load of refuse and dropped it into the barrel, topping it off. Malec fetched the lid and hammered it down tight.

  “Voids, that stinks.” Pavil scrunched his nose. “What’s so hard about putting it in the barrel in the first place?”

  “Why bother when you have two slaves to do it for you?” Malec replied flatly. “Let’s just get to the river. Might as well clean ourselves up while we’re down there.”

  Pavil shrugged, not as upset with their situation as Malec, and helped him tip the barrel over to roll it. Not far away, a tributary fed into the larger river they’d crossed to get to the camp the first time. They were able to roll the barrel downhill most of the way, fortunately. They just had to make sure it didn’t get away from them and pop open. Once had been enough to learn that lesson.

  The smells of an early spring suffused the air, making the rather closer odor a little more tolerable. Outside the protection of the Admired’s camp, patches of wildgrass poked through the melting snow and the forest trembled with returning life. Even with their hard labors, Malec enjoyed their time in the woods. When he was in the woods he remembered that he was alive, free, and that spring was here. Most days he found himself feeling that the only thing that had actually changed was that their captors were now human and they lived in a tree instead of a cave. Shaking that feeling felt good.

  After reaching the river and disposing of the barrel contents, they went upstream to scrub their clothes. Jaimson had shown them a plant called soapwort which grew next to streams and in damp groves. When crushed and rubbed with water it created a pleasant-smelling lather. They set their cloths aside to dry and proceeded to wash themselves. The frigid mountain runoff still had ice floating in it and their lips had gone blue by the time they emerged. Neither of them cared. Besides the obvious benefit of being clean, the warm day made the cold washing easily bearable.

  Donning their undergarments, the boys stared at the barrel, then each other. Unspoken agreement flickered between them, and they grabbed the barrel, jumping back into the stream. Letting the current clear the dirt from the cask, they dragged it back out. Both of them fell back onto the ground, letting the sun dry them, remaining silent. Malec glanced at his friend.

  Pavil was staring at him. He pushed up onto his elbow, then spoke. “I can feel it, Malec. You’re upset and scared. But you don’
t have to be. When we were lost in the forest I trusted you. You are the Magnus. Trust me here. I’m the Pathos. I’ll watch our backs.”

  “What are you talking about? You constantly whined at me.”

  Pavil grinned. “Yeah, ’cause we were stuck. But I still trusted. I’m just saying you should trust me, too. I won’t let us get hurt here.”

  Malec looked back up at the sky and tucked his hands behind his head. “Dunno what you’re talking about anyway. I’m not scared. I’m just angry at how they’re treating us.”

  “That’s not true. I know you’re scared. Not, like, scared of them, but scared for me, scared for our friends, stuff like that. But I’d know if they meant us harm. They’re a bit mean, but not in a bad way. More in a stupid way.” Pavil fought to find words that weren’t in his vocabulary. “I dunno. They don’t want to hurt us, and a few care about us. If that changes, I’ll warn you.”

  Malec nodded. They got up and rolled the barrel back to the camp so they could dry their clothing and warm themselves by a fire. The day was warm, but not the sort of warm that helped you not freeze, not the type of heat that got into your bones and made you sweat.

  As they shoved through the thick ring of trees surrounding the main camp, a pair of hushed voices reached their ears. Malec grabbed Pavil’s arm and pulled him down to the ground near a trunk.

  “What are they doing back? I thought—” Pavil stopped when Malec poised finger over his lips. The whispering continued

  “You’re sure?” someone asked. It sounded like Riktos.

  “Burned to a crisp, every last one of them,” the other man answered.

  “Heh, serves ’em right,” Riktos said. “Did you see who did it?”

  “No. We didn’t stick around long. Didn’t want to be there when they were found by their kin.”

  “What are they talking about?” Pavil said, lips almost touching Malec’s ear.

  “Not sure,” Malec said. “Can’t you get a hint?”

  “That’s a Psion. Pathos affinities don’t work the same way.”

  “Well … try to get them to say more, maybe?” Malec peeked out around the trunk.

  Pavil sighed, but the skin around his eyes crinkled in concentration. After a moment, the man with Riktos started talking again, voice heavy with sorrow.

  “It was awful. Most of them were children.”

  “Yeah, we can only hope,” Cleaning the grit from his fingernails was taking up most of his attention, but Riktos could spare just enough attention to glance up from his grubby hands in annoyance every few seconds.

  “How—how can you say that? Can you imagine dying like that? You heartless bast—”

  The corner of Riktos’ lip jerked as he sneered, and he backhanded the reporting guard. The other man’s eyes went wide and he grunted.

  “Get ahold of yourself, Greym,” The voices faded as the men moved away.

  Malec waited until it was clear, then grabbed Pavil and stood back up. “Good job! How’d you—”

  Then Sibyl spoke behind them. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The boys spun guiltily around. She was staring past them at the retreating forms of the two men, an expression of wariness on her face.

  “We were just …” Malec waved at the barrel and their damp clothes “… returning to camp?” he finished lamely.

  She sniffed as she glared at them both. “Use your affinities again, without permission, and you’ll find yourselves back in the forest, lost and alone. Get caught using your affinities on Riktos and you’ll likely end up with a dagger in your belly.”

  “But, they were talking about—” Pavil began.

  “I heard them,” her jaw was set and her eyes were narrowed as she stared at them. “Get back to your work.”

  Malec’s stomach twisted. Their saviors seemed less like heroes every day. How could they hope to save their friends if there was hidden tension here in the camp? And were the other kids from Jaegen even living still? The scout’s words sat heavily in his heart. Children burned alive.

  ***

  Chapter Twelve

  Halli Bicks

  Orocs lay haphazardly about the settlement, some even lying on the paths. Low-pitched snores filled the air as the golden rays of sunrise penetrated the forest canopy. The heat vents set in the ground kept the air in the forest village warm and balmy, a stark contrast to the desperate air of concentration, tinged with desperation, that hung over the settlement. After an entire day of nonstop healing, many of them had collapsed where they stood, too exhausted to care about bedding or homes. After collapsing the night before, she had woken ravenously hungry. Halli continued healing once she had eaten—though more cautiously—along with a handful of the orocs strongest Geists, through the night and forward until dawn. By then, she again felt ready to topple, despite the energy she was borrowing from the forest.

  As hard as they tried, they still failed to save all the wounded. Most who died did so soon after returning to the camp, while a few lingered, only to perish just before the healers got to them. Their bodies disappeared, buried in the same soil or stone they’d expired upon.

  Halli returned to the cave after day broke, finally done. No one was critical; those that could survive had been seen to, and every muscle and bone in her body had been pushed beyond exhaustion. Despite wanting to reassure the younger girls, she found herself in a daze, ignoring their many questions. Mumbling as she stumbled to her bed, she tried to tell them that she was too tired. The second she was down, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Her exhaustion was complete and encompassed the whole of her being.

  She woke ravenously hungry. Smells of a fresh-cooked breakfast filled the cave and her stomach cramped. The other girls sat around, feasting on an assortment of vegetables, fruit, and cooked meats, a far cry from their usual mash.

  Laney smiled at her as she woke. “I don’t think anything’s ever tasted so good,” she said through a mouthful.

  “What’s going on?” Halli looked around in confusion, rubbing at her eyes. “Where did this come from?”

  “They brought it just a little while ago,” Laney said, reaching for a steaming tuber. “No explanation. Not that I really understand anything they say still. So, yeah … they said a bunch of stuff I didn’t get. But it’s sooooo good.”

  Yawning and stretching, she stared at Laney. Her thoughts refused to come together. “How long was I asleep?”

  Crumbs dropped from Laney’s mouth as she tried to talk and eat at the same time. “Only a couple of hours. The way you looked when you walked in, we all thought you would sleep for a week.”

  Halli’s stomach grumbled loudly in response and she felt her cheeks start to burn in embarrassment. Her mouth watered.

  “Geist Walker.” Gnarrl stood in the tunnel, holding another laden platter. Smiling at Laney, she patted the younger girl on the shoulder then stood. She walked to Gnarrl, who offered the meal, bowing.

  She looked confused but accepted the food. Her stomach growled, but she fought her belly and handed the tray back. “Give it to the boys. You have kept them penned up, without the freedoms we have. Please give them this kindness.”

  Gnarrl gently pushed the tray towards her, careful to not tip it from her hand. “We have already given them the same fare as you. We keep them locked up, but we do not mistreat them.”

  Halli frowned. “Okay. Thank you,” she started eating before she even sat. Flavor exploded in her mouth, and she had to agree with Laney. Food fit for the Aspects.

  Gnarrl sat beside her, just outside the entrance, her just inside. She squatted down while shoveling the food into her mouth. After watching her eat for a while, he said, “You healed me.”

  She nodded and kept eating.

  “Why?”

  She hesitated, not having had time to think her actions through. “You’ve protected me,” she said at last. “And you didn’t deserve to die.”

  “You healed many more.”

  She set the platter aside, forci
ng herself to slow down before she stuffed herself sick. Her late mother’s words came to her, “A true Geist heals those who need it, regardless of the person, their position, or their purpose. Judgment and justice lay beyond a healer’s ability to decide.”

  “Because I couldn’t not heal them. They were hurting.” She chose the words carefully. “… Because I had to. No one deserves to die if they can be saved. I don’t decide the … balance?” She picked the plate of food back up, continuing her meal.

  Gnarrl nodded. Of course he would understand. All orocs would, since they were all healers. He stared at her intensely as she ate, making her uncomfortable. But not so uncomfortable that she stopped. Maybe he was surprised to hear a human echoing one of the values his people cherished.

  After she ate the last of the delicious food, he took the platter back. He sat for a moment longer, staring at the empty dish. Then he huffed. “Argant, the ancient of ancients, has decided we must move Bearoak deeper into the Rocmire. It is not safe here.”

  It took her a second to digest this. “Will we be freed before you go?” she asked, still fighting sleepiness. The food wasn’t helping, and it was a fight to keep her eyes open.

  Gnarrl looked away, face twisted in shame. “No.”

  Halli looked away from him. The hope and bond she felt was dangerously close to being crushed. It really hadn’t been that long since she had thought about stepping into the river. And what had really changed about their situation since then? Nothing. Not really. “Why not?”

  “Argant says the clan needs you saplings to protect us from other humans.” He paused. “In case they take revenge.”

  Halli looked over to the other girls, who continued to enjoy their unexpected feast. She was grateful that Gnarrl was speaking Rocmirian and that the others couldn’t understand. “So you’re going to use us as shields. Human shields.”

  He cast his gaze to the ground. His fingers dug into the earth. “Human shields, yes. I am sorry.”