Healer (15 page)

“What about him?” the
prince’s voice dropped in a low, throaty growl.

Catching himself, Shy
simply shook his head.
“Nothing.
I’m just – you’re
right. Give it a couple of days. It’ll heal.”

*****

From the shadows of
overhanging boughs and thick foliage, Peter listened to the harpy scene unfold.
He had staked out a spot where the back entrance to the clan could be seen.
Still, he was able to detect movement through the flower gardens and trees just
ahead of him. He heard the winged creature’s screams, drawing some of the
servants away from the doorway. They left it open, diving into flight while a
few others ran behind.

A
yelp of pain.

The
prince?
Peter made a dash for
the back door.
Doesn’t matter.
He deserves
it! Every last one of them deserves it.

He jumped a narrow row
of yellow flaxen, planted as a starting point into the garden. Fully seasoned
roses grew around the base of the trees. The salmon colored petals were a nice
touch to the ordinary red, though Peter was beyond admiration. He trampled a
low bud just as quick and stepped up to the threshold.

While taking a peek
behind him to be sure he had gone unnoticed, the slam of door nearly sent him
diving for a hiding spot. A voice from inside, and Peter scrambled for some
low-cut hedges alongside of the building. Digging his fingers into the soft
earth, he slithered his way under until he was sure no one could see him.
 

Great.
Peter grit
his teeth and spit out some mud splattered across his lip.

Conversation from the
garden drew near.

Peter reconsidered his
options.
Maybe I should wait.
Stupid to try this in
daylight, anyhow.

Between prickly leaves
poking his sides now covered with dirt, he could just make out the prince
alongside his servants. A thin smile spread as he noticed Wisdom holding his
right arm.

Whatever that thing
did, I wish it’d do more!

As soon as the click
of door confirmed them all inside, Peter crawled out from under the bushes. He
shook his mud-coated pants with a disgruntled look,
then
slunk back over to the trampled rose bud and yellow flaxen. He took his time,
knowing the servants were more concerned for their prince’s well-being, and
kicked some of the roses from their beds.

A tumbling branch
startled him from above, and he jumped the row of flowers just as it hit
ground. He glared at the spot, then up into the trees. A squirrel’s angry
chatter soon followed.

“Stupid.” He ditched
the garden for the comfort of shadowed forest. There, he could wait until dark
before trying back again.
I’ll have that mirror tonight!

*****

Wisdom held back a
smile at the servants fussing over his broken arm. As news quickly spread to
the other clans via Eclipse’s mental communication, it was not long before his
parlor was filled with inquiring realm members. While Shy kept Glory occupied,
he being red-faced after receiving a well-placed slap, the two drew part of the
crowd away. Things only calmed down after Nickademis tromped in and ordered
everyone out in a gruff voice.

“How do you expect him
to heal with
all this
ruckus?” The doctor shooed some
of the harpies out into the hallway.
“Out!
Give him
room to breathe!”

The act reminded the
prince of Mr. Phine in his usual respectful manner, and Wisdom wondered how the
ship builder was fairing along the harbor.

Bet he could clear
the room twice as fast, and not say anything!
That caused a chuckle.

“Think this is funny?”
Nickademis asked once the room was emptied of its last guest. “You’re lucky
your head is still attached!”

“Only
an accident.”
Wisdom flinched when
the doctor attempted to lift his right arm. A low growl slipped out with his
ears laid back in wait for the pain to come.

“Hold still. It has to
be set.” The doctor focused on his task. With nimble fingers, he felt along the
arm. A quick snap set the bone back in place, but not without a tooth-gritting
moan from the prince. Then the arm was gently swabbed with herbal ointment and
wrapped tight. Its sweet aromas soon soothed back the sting, allowing the
prince to relax into the cushioned chair while the doctor fashioned a sling
over one shoulder.

“You know I’ll heal,
Nick.”

“Not overnight, you
won’t. And not if you don’t set it correctly.” Washing his hands in a bowl of
water, Nickademis sighed. “So where is this new
bird
of yours?”

“With
the others.
Name’s Ertho, so I was
told. He was being pursued by some masters from the north and flew into that
storm.
Thought it might stop them.”

Nickademis grunted.
“Sure, it did. Who’d be foolish enough to follow?”

“Apparently, some
Black Wings did.”

The doctor only shook
his head. “Don’t know what the wait is, but I hope you know how to handle it
when the time comes.”

Wisdom clenched his fist.
The last time he had checked, the scar revealed a full circle. The time of
Purification
would be soon. Yet the details of it still remained to be seen.

“I should be good for
now.” He carefully rose from his seat, laying his good hand over the sling to
steady it while he crossed over to his adjoining bedroom. “Thank you for taking
care of this.”

“You should rotate
with new vegetation every few hours,” the doctor suggested as he packed up his
things. “I’ll see to it the servants get what you need,
and
leave you to
rest. You’ll need the strength to heal again.”

Wisdom could still
hear the Mystic clan member carrying on with those lingering in the hallway
even after his departure. Sure that he was offering suggestions on what
not
to do, Wisdom shifted his attention to the outdoors. He let the connecting
parlor door shut and relished the solitude.

Opened balcony doors
allowed a cool breeze to rustle the curtains around his canopied bed. It was
not long before exhaustion swayed the prince to his rocker. Though he felt the
need to sleep, the slight throb of his arm prompted an upright position.

Nonetheless, sleep
found him.

It was late evening by
the time he awoke. Gathering clouds quickly hid the remains of daylight. On the
mantle, someone had lit a candle. Its flickering glow reflected off
silver-capped dishes holding a warm meal. He took a whiff and recognized the
smell of rosemary.

Irene, the kitchen
is indeed your element.
Slow-rising
from his chair, he arched his back in a stretch before checking on dinner. He
had just lifted the plate-cover to soak in its brilliant fragrance when the
snap of breaking vines drew his attention to the balcony.

Wisdom stepped outside
to hear quick footsteps tripping over foliage in attempts to flee. His focus
was not as acute as he would have liked, and only managed to glimpse the
backside of a figure slipping into the nearby woods.

“He would make any
Black Wing parent proud,” the voice of Everest startled the prince, who turned
to find her gracefully preening a few feathers.

“You know, for only
having half wings, you get around.” Wisdom grinned. He jerked his thumb in the
direction of the fleeing suspect. “I take it that was Peter?”

“Seems
he’s taken quite an interest in your clan today.”
Her hips swayed in a seductive manner as she came
close. When she reached the wall, she looked out over the yard to the last
location Peter was seen. “He must
really
want something.”

Wisdom patted his
sling. “He must have heard about this.”

“Desperate
move.”
Folding her wings in a
fade, she added, “I’ve been…delaying his progress throughout the day.”

A
sigh.
“I’ll have to warn the
others to be on the lookout for him. The last thing I need right now is for the
clans to think I’m not holding my agreement about the Schevolsky situation.”

“Speaking of
agreements, what of ours?”

The prince shook his
head. “Corrigan is alive and well, as far as I’ve been told. Abraham is
learning magic now. From that, he may be able to break the spell holding your
son.”

Everest cast her gaze
elsewhere with a heavy sigh. “I won’t hold it against you should anything
befall him. It was a reckless decision on Rusha’s part to let him join with a
human magic-user!”

Wisdom did not try to
make eye contact with the Black Wing mistress as she moved behind him. Instead,
he tuned his ears to the rustle of her wings. When she made no other attempt at
conversation, he stole a glance over his shoulder to find only deepening
shadows of approaching night spreading across the balcony.

CHAPTER
3

“Enunciate!” Jenario
repeated, as yet again another failed attempt at spell casting landed Abraham
on his back against the far wall. Note paper and books scattered in ripped
shreds of crinkled paper, some of the edges even singed.

Coughing from the dust
still settling around him, the young man rolled over to pull himself up using a
toppled chair. After righting the furniture, he continued picking up what was
left of his notes.

“You neglected to tell
me there was another syllable in that one.”

“Syllables have
nothing to do with it.” Jenario grabbed a paper still curling over itself in
midair and slapped it down impatiently on the table. “Most of them are silent
when cast properly.”

Abraham kept his gaze
down, searching for smaller pieces. They had been at it all day. Jenario taught
while his son listened and practiced. Yet practice was quickly becoming a
drill, one that required detailed attention, more so for the whereabouts of the
horn rather than magical outbursts.

With a sigh, Abraham
tried straightening out his notes as best he could. Every now and then his nose
twitched at the smell of burnt cloth and parchment.

“You’ve a warm spot on
your robe,”
came
the surprisingly calm tone of his
father.

Abraham checked the
hem of his dark, wine robe. He nearly fell over himself at a hint of smoke
beginning to curl from underneath. Dropping the paper, he jerked the fabric up
so he could smother it out.

From behind, there
came a dry chuckle.

“All
that
from one word?”
Abraham could tell his father was not amused. He brushed a few ashy spots from
his clothing while Jenario thumbed through a few pages of a spell book.

“You have to learn how
to properly pronounce these things,” he heard his father say.
 
“If you don’t, you’ll end up with curses –
like an old friend of mine.”

“You know, I’d go with
that if I knew what the outcome would be.” Abraham reached down to collect his
notes yet again. He examined the mixed and somewhat tarnished information. “I
don’t suppose there’s a way to undo this, is there?”

Jenario raised a dark
eyebrow flecked with gray. “For that mishap, you’re lucky. Spell casting can be
very rewarding, and
very
misleading.” He gestured to the opened book.
“For the magic-user, there’s the ability to recognize words of power, and then
there’s the ability to cast them. I like to call it
Intake
and
Release
.”

“I take it I have the
Release?”

Jenario held up his
index finger. “Ever heard of the slave owner Shafari?”

A
nod.

“He was once a
companion, and first pupil of mine. It was I who came up with the spells that
he
misused, turning them into curses to run a slave compound!”

The
same compound that Wisdom shut down?
Abraham wanted to question, but instead asked, “Whatever happened to
him?” He slid a chair up to join his father at the table and sat the notes
between them.

“Eventually, the use
of curses wore down his talent. Now he’s about as useless as a street magician
–
illusion
. Nowadays, it doesn’t amount to much but a few copper thrown
at your feet.”

Abraham sat for a
moment, thinking back to the days when he only knew illusion. He remembered his
chance meeting with the albino Healer, whose words came to him in sudden
realization.

“Illusion
can
be useful,” he said.

“Illusion is weak!”
Jenario slid the book toward his son “You’re better than that! Yes, you have
the
Release
– the ability to use magic. Why settle for something lesser
when you can do so much more?”

To emphasis his words,
Jenario held up the necklace containing his crimson stone. Its reflective
surface captured his son’s inquisitive stare in the candlelight. Beneath the
reflective ripples of crystal rested a piece of dark horn.

“How do you think I
managed to obtain this? Not
with illusion.”

As he waved a hand
toward the pile of paper his son had stacked on the table, the necklace began to
glow. The stronger the glow, the more the paper moved until they had lined
themselves across the tabletop so their missing corners matched.

Abraham stared in awe
as the ends meshed back together. When complete, the papers stacked on top of
each other in the exact position they had originally been placed. Hesitantly,
the young man picked up a whole sheet and read the top line of his notes.

“But you’re not using
your own magic for this,” Abraham said softly.

Jenario released the
stone with a hint of anger in his expression. The stone swung over his breast a
few times before settling squarely in Abraham’s view.

“There’s a balance to
everything,” Jenario said.
“Even magic.
But many who
use it don’t understand this.
As for me?
I started as
an alchemist; therefore, I knew the properties of magic long before anyone
else.” He rose from his seat, sweeping a hand around the room to carry his
point. “An alchemist’s job is to deconstruct, to weight truths, to learn how
Nature balances.” He tapped the side of his head, then the stone. “I learned
that balance and used it to gain the magic I have now. What difference does it
make if it isn’t my own? It’s the same with staves, rings, or any other magical
device. How do you think they were created? Not by magic-users, I assure you.
By alchemists! We are few in number, but powerful in what we create.”

“I haven’t heard of
any other alchemists, even while in Lexington,” Abraham admitted.

“More likely they dealt
with medicine versus understanding magic. In that respect, I would be the only
one. I alone have the
Intake,
you see.”

While his father
rambled on, pointing to various books he had written over time, Abraham could
do little more than listen. With a sigh, he scanned over the opened page from
the book in front of him,
then
flipped to different
sections to see what else it contained. Yet growing boredom soon muddled his
attention. Instead of researching, he sat flipping the pages to pass time.

His father was still
speaking, back turned to him, when he let the pages fall open as they willed
and sat back with arms crossed. With sullen attitude, Abraham let his mind
wander. He stared, unfocused, at the page before him. Thoughts dated back to
different points in his life, to the meeting of the Healer and Black Wing. The
last time he had attempted to visit, Corrigan had managed to speak.

The spell must be
weakening.
Abraham glanced to Jenario
and shook his head. He was still in deep conversation about the possibilities
of being a magic-user.
Might as well tune back in.
Another
sigh,
and he looked to see what page lay
before him.

Abraham nearly choked
on his own breath. Blinking several times, he leaned closer to read the spell’s
requirements. At the top of the page it read,
Living Sleep
. At the
bottom was the spell itself and pronunciation guide.

This is it!
Excitement welled within as he scanned over the
different sleeping patterns and how to wake someone by the way the word was
pronounced. At last, he had found a way to free Corrigan!

He snapped his
attention back to his father. Still in deep conversation, Abraham began prying
the page carefully and quickly from its bindings. He kept the page in line with
the rest, for every now and then Jenario would check over his shoulder to see
if he was still listening.

“Tell me more,”
Abraham had to prompt when he thought his father was nearly done. It was just
enough to rip the bottom clean, then fold and slip in a pocket. With a turn of
the page, nothing seemed out of place.

That’s when a chuckle
came. It was a deep, raspy tone, marking the beginning of the horn’s presence.

Abraham froze with a
hand still on his pocket when it spoke.

 
“You think you’re so ready to undo what I’ve
done?”
Jenario turned, but the red
eyes marked the horn’s full attention.
“You’ve barely just begun to
understand the basics, and already you’re looking into casting spells more
powerful than you know how to pronounce!”

Abraham remained
silent as the horn circled him at a slow, but scolding pace. It was all the
young man could do to keep a blank expression when his father came back around
to face him.

“Your
pocket will
more likely burn with that spell hidden there,
or did you not think I knew?”

Abraham swallowed
nervously.
He could read my thoughts all along!

“Quite,”
the horn said without much enthusiasm.
“Your
thoughts were so loud it nearly drowned out Jenario’s nonsense. Though...even
his
knowledge will end up saving you the grief of self-destruction.”
It stepped
back to the spot where Jenario last spoke.
“Learn it well.”

Then it was gone,
leaving Jenario to pick up the conversation where he had last left off. He
turned to check on his son.

“Any
questions?”

He doesn’t even
know the horn spoke!
Abraham shook
his head in response. “But...maybe a few more test spells wouldn’t hurt.” He
nodded toward the door with a grin. “I think I smell spirits.”

Jenario’s shoulders
drooped at the hint of using his wasted assassin as target practice.

“Very
well.”
Folding his hands together
inside his sleeves, he watched his son make haste toward the door. “Least he’s
improving.”

“He’d improve more
by ridding you of that fool drunkard!”
the
horn snapped.

“True. I asked him to
keep watch over Abraham
in return
for liquor. Now, if Abraham doesn’t
use the sober spell on him, drinking is all he does.”

“He’s dying. Even
sober, Nathaniel’s skills wouldn’t outlast mere swordplay. His body has about
breached its own limits, soon to be the responsibility of someone else’s
clean-up.”

“I’m assuming you have
something in mind?” A thin smile spread across Jenario’s face.

“Don’t
I
always.”