Caymus nodded, so she stood and hurried out through the room's open doorway, leaving him with a crying Heron and his own thoughts. He again surveyed the room. Despite the noise, the other occupants were either still asleep or, more likely, trying not to notice the sounds his new charge was making. There were at least a dozen of them, occupying perhaps of a third of the available cots and blankets on the floor. In many of the other spaces, there were dark stains where someone had tried to scrub away bloodstains. Caymus wondered briefly how many of those patients had survived and thought to check his own spot on the ground for blood, but when he turned to look, the movement of his hands only served to send Heron into greater fits of pain.
He found he had a good deal of respect for Gwenna, or, for that matter, anyone else who could handle being in a room like this one. Death and pain didn't frighten him so much, but this place was dark and cheerless, oppressive and cold. Caymus found himself thinking that sickness could be far more terrifying than death itself. The thought unnerved him.
Just beyond the screaming, Caymus heard someone approaching, and was glad for it. The footsteps turned out to belong to Rill and Milo, who both jogged over to the bedside, seeming at once to be glad to see Caymus and concerned about Heron. "What happened?" said Rill. "We saw Gwenna running out and heard the noise."
"I'd say someone's started leaking again," said Milo, assessing the bloody cloth. "She went to get Be'Var, I take it?"
Caymus nodded. "Yes."
"Then I guess we're stuck waiting," said Milo. "While we do, though, perhaps you," he looked at Rill, "could help me keep him still so he doesn't make things any worse thrashing about?"
Rill nodded, and together they set about holding Heron down. As he changed positions, Rill managed a quick smile for his friend. "Good to see you're up and about, finally," he said.
"Yeah," said Milo. "You gave us a bit of a scare, back there. I suppose it's too much to ask you not to do it again?"
Caymus smiled, despite himself. It was good to see Milo was still the same. Here he was, holding down a boy who might be bleeding to death, and he was being funny. "I make no promises," he replied.
Rill looked back and forth between the two of them and shook his head.
A few minutes later, Gwenna came back, Be'Var in tow. The master looked tired. Caymus briefly wondered just how late it was as the old man stooped, quickly assessed the situation, then knelt down next to his patient. "You're going to want to hold him tighter than that," he said to Rill and Milo, then he deftly moved Caymus’s hands aside and set to removing the dressing. The others obeyed and Caymus, relieved of his duty, shifted over to help keep their patient still.
Once the bandage was gone, Caymus winced slightly, seeing the place where Heron’s leg had been severed. It was a clean slice, and he was forced to wonder if the injury had actually happened that way, or if a surgeon’s knife had been used to make it so tidy. The wound was bleeding slightly, expending a steady trickle of red. Caymus couldn’t tell where exactly the blood was coming from, but Be’Var took the ruined appendage confidently between his hands and then closed his eyes.
As the master went to work, Caymus reached out with his own mind, trying to get a grasp on what was going on. He'd been the recipient of Be'Var's healing before, the result of bad falls and rough-housing with his friends, but he'd never had the benefit of his recent training to help gain more than a surface understanding of the process. When he got a feel for the area around the wound, it seemed at first chaotic and uncontrolled, as though slices of energy were ripping through space in every direction. After a minute or so had passed, however, he realized that just the opposite was true.
Be'Var's mind was moving rapidly, first reaching out to the various blood vessels and capillaries, checking them for bleeds, and then quickly adding heat to those that weren't sealed, cauterizing the wounds. What had seemed like random energy was actually the result of the speed with which he was moving from vessel to vessel. He was working on two or three at a time, almost as if he was searching with one part of his mind while he left another part to deal with actually tending to the bleeds.
In less than two minutes, it was over. Heron stopped thrashing about and fell into a fitful sleep. Caymus looked up from the leg to see Be'Var's eyes on him, a questioning look on his face. Then, the master stood up and bent backwards, popping a few vertebrae as he stretched. “That's the third time I've had to stitch him back up,” he said. “Something's not right about it.” He furrowed his brow, considering, then shook his head. “Nothing for it. Keep an eye on him, Gwenna, and let me know if it happens again.” He then turned to Caymus. “You're out of bed, I see. Feeling well enough to stay that way?”
Caymus shrugged. “I'll live.”
“Good,” said Be'Var. “When you're done here, come and see me in my chambers.” He gave a nod to the group, turned, and walked out of the room. “Don't take all night,” he said as he did so.
“Skies above, that was neat!” said Milo, a huge grin plastered all over his face. “Can all of you do that?”
The priest's good nature was infectious, and everyone smiled back at him. “Afraid not,” said Caymus. He shifted his weight gingerly from foot to foot as he spoke, testing out his heel. It felt like he should be able to walk on it, though he'd definitely limp a little for a day or two. “Healing is a specialty of his. Never seen anybody better.”
“I thought he was a blacksmith?” said Milo. “Last couple days, I've been watching him make new metal bands for the broken doors.”
“That, too,” said Rill. “It's all the same Aspect.”
“Aspect?”
“Pulling,” said Rill.
Milo's expression showed he clearly didn't understand.
Caymus explained, “It's like a special kind of talent or ability. Pulling is how we describe the ability to heat things up. It's what the masters teach us here.”
“Some of us,” Rill said with a frown.
“So, he's not a healer or a blacksmith, but one of these puller things?”
Gwenna, who had by now moved off to check on another patient, gave an exasperated sigh. “He's not a 'puller', that's just what he's good at. If you happened to be good at running, you might be a courier or a scout. You wouldn't call yourself a 'runner' unless you were actually running messages for somebody.”
“Ah,” said Milo. “So there are other fire things you can be good at, besides pulling? Other...Aspects? He just happens to be good at this pulling thing?”
“Yes,” said Caymus, “and he's learned to apply it specifically to closing wounds and heating metal. Some people are good at adding heat to things. Some are good at taking it away. There are a couple of masters here that can make fire into different colors.”
“There's a healer, somewhere in Kepren,” said Gwenna, “who heals by removing the heat. He calls it venting. I've never seen him actually do it, but I've heard he's just as good as Master Be'Var.”
Milo shook his head. “You fire-lovers are so stodgy about everything.”
“What do you mean?” said Rill.
“Well, we've got kind of the same thing,” said Milo. “There are different things you can do with air. I'm good at doing things with wind, for instance, but we don't call them 'Aspects' or try to put ourselves in this category or that. We're all just differently talented, and that's that.” He looked at the walls around them. “Everything's so formal here. Even this building. You wouldn't catch an air priest staying inside like this, all day, every day. Too many rules. Too many people telling you what to do.”
Caymus shrugged. “It's that or just throw your education to the wind.”
His companions shook their heads. Rill looked pointedly at him. “Don't be funny, Caymus. You're not good at it.” Even a couple of the patients laughed at this, and a lot of the room's tension and gloom seemed to melt away.
“Well, whatever your talent is,” said Milo, “I guess it's working. That was a pretty impressive display the other night. Speaking of
which,” he continued, “I'm going up to the roof to see if there's any more news to report. See you all in the morning.” He gave a little bow, and jogged out of the room through the same entrance Be'Var had used.
“He's a strange one,” said Rill, “but I have to admit, it's hard not to like him.”
“He seems to be getting along with everyone pretty well,” said Caymus. “I'm glad. I wasn't sure he'd be all that welcome here.”
“Wasn't at first,” said Rill. “But he's helped out so much in the last couple of days that it kind of feels like he lives here now. We lost so many people, too. I don't think anybody minded having a new face around to cheer them up a bit.”
“If you boys don't mind,” said Gwenna, walking up to them and wiping her hands on a cloth, “not that I mind the company, but some of my guests are trying to sleep." She offered them a tired smile. "If you're going to stand around talking, could you do it somewhere else?”
They nodded. “Of course,” said Caymus. “I need to go see Be'Var, anyway.” He looked at the darkness outside again. “Is it early or late?”
“Late,” said Gwenna. “About an hour after ninth bell.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Rill, you coming?”
As the two walked out together, Rill turned to Caymus. “It really is good to see you awake," he said. "Everyone heard the sounds you were making that night, on the roof. Then, when I got to the Conduit and saw you on the ground..." He didn't finish the thought. "What exactly did you do up there, Caymus?”
Caymus shrugged. “Helped, I guess, then blacked out. Why?”
“All I know is, one of those things—a smaller one— was starting to make its way up the wall. It must have seen you and Milo and decided it could climb up, too. We were scared to death it was going to get us. Then, suddenly, it turns red hot and starts smoking and popping. It practically exploded when it hit the ground. Then, we could all hear you screaming and then you and the masters all collapsed at once. We didn't know if any of you were going to make it. The masters all got right back up, but you...” He shook his head. “We couldn't wake you up. Be'Var said you'd done something to start the bugs burning, something they couldn't. He said your body must be resting from the exertion and we should let you sleep. Seemed pretty sure you'd get up, but he kept checking on you all the time, like he didn't know.” He chuckled at a thought. "I don't think he quite knows what you did, either. I'm given to wonder if he's been more concerned about your well-being or about getting answers out of you, as soon as possible."
Caymus considered this. He didn't remember much of what he'd done up on the roof of the Temple three nights ago. That is, he remembered everything he'd done in vivid detail, but it was all instinctual to him, natural reactions to stimuli. One may as well ask what he remembered about ducking under a particular branch in the woods. He was interested to learn that Be'Var was so curious, though. Based on what he'd just seen in the infirmary, he didn't think it possible that the man could be surprised by anything.
“How are they handling what happened, the masters?” he asked.
“Same as everyone else, I guess,” said Rill. “At first, people were either sobbing or getting about doing things in a kind of stone-faced way. Be'Var was one of the stone-faced ones; afraid I was one of the sobbers.” Rill sighed. “After a day or two, though, I guess we all got used to the idea that nothing was right or ever would be again. As far as the masters go, they've been sick with the idea that there wouldn't be enough third-circles around to keep the Temple going, so they've been letting students take their trials early.”
“Really?” Caymus was shocked at the idea.
“Yeah,” said Rill, and his eyes became sad and distant. “Sannet's Third Circle now. So's Marvek and Talis.” He sighed again, making a long, heavy-sounding noise. “They were the lucky ones, though.”
“Lucky?”
“They passed.”
Caymus understood. The trial that took you from Second Circle disciple to Third Circle was the most treacherous moment in any Conflagrationist's life. Success meant training in the Aspects of the Conflagration. Failure was no less than a death sentence. “How many?” he asked.
“Two.” said Rill. “Gorrik and Felwig. After Felwig, people stopped asking to be tried. It's weird,” he said. “Somehow, those two deaths felt worse than everybody we lost that night.”
They had reached the stairwell that led up to the masters' offices, and they paused there. “I suppose,” said Caymus, after a brief silence, “it's because they chose to take the risk, even after so many people got killed.” Rill was looking away. “It's like the Temple's broken, and everyone's trying to fix it, then these people just go and break it some more before you're even done picking up the other pieces.”
Rill dropped his head. “Maybe,” he said. After a few seconds, he continued. “I don't know what I'm going to do, Caymus.”
“What do you mean?”
His friend lifted his head, looked him in the eyes. He wore a haunted expression, as though all the memories of the past few days were coming back to him at once. “I'm never going to be a master,” he said. “Everyone stopped trying after Felwig, but it didn't take two deaths to convince me. Both of them were better at this than I'll ever be. If they couldn't survive the trial, then I've got no hope.”
“You’ve just got to—“
“No!” Rill interrupted loudly, then lowered his voice. “No,” he said again. “Caymus, I appreciate your confidence in me, I really do, but we both know I don’t have the talent for any of this.” He leaned back against the stone wall. “I’ve been just going through the motions, treading water, for a long time. But it’s all so immediate now and there’s no more sitting in the back row, hoping I won’t be called on. It’s time I made a decision,” he said, and for a moment his gaze lingered on the far wall, “and that decision is that I can’t do this anymore.”
Caymus didn't know what to say. They'd both spent so much time at the Temple that it was hard for him to imagine a world that didn’t involve his best friend. Rill wasn’t a fool; in fact, at times, he was quite brilliant. He was always the fastest at solving any of the puzzles or riddles that the masters put in front of them, and he was quick-witted enough that he could talk himself out of almost any amount of trouble. Caymus had always believed that his friend’s failures to grasp the Temple’s teachings had been a question of motivation, rather than lack of ability.
Still, Rill was his friend, and his friend deserved his respect and support, as much now as any time before. “If not the Temple, then what?” he said.
“Don't know,” said Rill, then he smiled a little. “Don't worry, I'll figure something out, I'm sure. Maybe go home and work with my father. We'll see. Anyway,” he said, hitting Caymus on the arm. “Don't keep ol' Be'Var waiting. I'll see you back in the room.”
Caymus watched his friend go and then started up the stairs. During the three days he’d slept, his whole world seemed to have changed. As he ascended, he wondered what other surprises might be in store for him.
***
Be'Var sat quietly in his study, writing messages intended for other far away priests of the flame—not only Conflagrationists, but members of other religious sects he'd encountered over the years as well. He had been fortunate indeed that that friend of Caymus's had shown up when he had. Be'Var shook his head in wonder at that thought. Under normal circumstances, he would have avoided dealings with one of those flitty, gallivanting air worshipers like he avoided a poke in the ribs, but the young man's ability to communicate with his fellows over great distances was proving very useful. Whispering, he called it. Be'Var didn't care. Whatever it was, it was helping him send and receive, in hours, messages which would normally have traveled for weeks.
In fact, it seemed that air priests were coming out of the woodwork since that awful night. From what Milo had been telling him, there had been more than just the one attack on the Temple that evening. Those insect creatures had ravaged several populated areas and
places of worship. Tens of thousands had been slaughtered, and there were entire cities that nobody had heard from. Then, seemingly overnight, air priests from all around had started talking to each other about it and, within two days, had established a network of communication that was allowing various leaders and representatives of cities and churches to discuss the events, and to try to figure out what steps to take next.
Be'Var was penning his notes for Milo quickly. He'd known a few air worshipers in his time and he was certain this network wasn't going to last. There was no way they could keep their attention from wandering for very long.
His hand was cramping. He put the quill down for a moment and rubbed his knuckles while he used his abilities to infuse the muscles and tendons with warmth, letting them relax.
So much had changed in a single, dark hour. Some new, unknown enemy had reared its head and delivered a massive, surprise attack against what seemed to be the entire known world. All across the land, rumors were flying about what the creatures were, where they'd come from, why they'd attacked. Be'Var was trying to quash those rumors and replace them with knowledge. Not that he knew exactly who the enemy was, but he knew its nature, knew history, and that was enough. People wouldn't believe him, of course, but it didn't matter. He had to get the word out so that, when the truth became so obvious that it couldn't be denied, at least nobody would be caught off-guard.
Then there was the boy, that nagging itch in his mind that he tried so hard not to scratch. He didn't want to set an expectation, but he had a hunch, and once he had a hunch about something it was nearly impossible for him to let that something develop on its own without his interference.
As if summoned by his thoughts, there was a knock at the door, and then Caymus's voice called out. “Master Be'Var?”
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