Healer (16 page)

CHAPTER
4

Rusha spread his wings
in landing position, allowing a glimpse of creamy underside. The clearing was empty,
save for Chronicles and several clan members standing on the outskirts. The
White Wing leader spread his talons upon contacting ground, landing on all
fours in a thrash of flying dirt and grass. Rising to a standing position, he
turned with the grace of a skilled warrior in order to block an oncoming
attack.

From the corner of his
eye, he could see hand movements from the surrounding Healers. Knowing it was
they who controlled the illusionistic humans popping up from the ground, he
felt confident the exercise would help his people better handle humans in real
combat.

An explosion of dirt
thrust upward, taking shape as it rose on two legs. None of the excess dirt
thrown about had time to settle, for it quickly collected together to add form.
More of these dirt humans surrounded the leader. A wing sliced through as he
turned in a circle to decapitate from waist up. Dirt spewed everywhere, only to
rejoin and create another body. The
Lo-ans’rel
were
good, he realized.
Too good.

A pair of hands caught
and held his wings, halting a spin attack. Another grabbed his arms. When a
kick to the back of his knee forced him in a kneeling position, he began to
reconsider their strength in numbers. Individuals could be dealt with, but a
group could mean problems.

Rusha pursed his lips
together, letting a series of high-pitched whistles echo throughout the woods.
Though the Wing’s vocal chords were designed for intense, territorial calls, he
now used it to summon help.

It was the moment his
people had been waiting for. At his signal, they dived from the surrounding
treetops over the group of earthen figures. Unlike humans, harpies needed no
clothing. White feathers covered their tender areas, a protection against sharp
bark while climbing trees, and now in training. Though usually
dawning
a golden robe, Rusha had thrown it off earlier in
the heat of combat.

A slash of talons cut
through an arm holding him. With his wing free, he used it to knock another
from the opposite side before signaling for his kind back to the skies.

“Dive and fly!” had
been the plan, devised by Chronicles himself. The
Lo-ans’rel
leader held
Rusha’s garment patiently until the White Wing’s return to the outskirts. While
he still gave orders to his people in training, he took back the robe and slipped
it on.

“Would you like for me
to hold it during
real
combat?” Chronicles mused.

“If you’re so sure
humans will fight like this.”

“This is only
speculation.” Chronicles continued to watch the fray. He made a gesture that
turned a few of the earthen beings toward a wave of oncoming harpies. “Speed is
your ally. Be swift, and your attacks may garner no casualties. The key is
keeping human eyes to the sky. That way they don’t anticipate anything striking
from the ground.”

“Or up from it, at
least,” Rusha murmured. “I’m sure these could produce a fair amount of damage.”

Chronicles held back a
smile. “Don’t test me.” He leveled his hand, producing a javelin for one of the
earth figures to hurl.

“Watch it!” Rusha
called. He held his breath as the javelin hit a harpy square in the chest,
though it mostly broke apart rather than puncture. The surprised Wing lost
momentum in the attack, hurtling into some of the others. Tangled wings slammed
against ground, halting training until the group recovered and returned to the
sky.

“You want your people
to be prepared against any attack,” Chronicles warned, seeing a look of disgust
on the leader’s feathered face. “That’s the purpose of this.”

“My
purpose is to free my kind from human enslavement,”
Rusha said with sullen attitude. “That is the
only
reason I’m agreeing
to this.”

“And a second reason
would be your
other
son?”

Rusha bit his tongue.
He knew what the Healer meant by
other
. It had been some time since he
had last seen Corrigan. The Black Wing had left to find his captured mother
with the help of a human mage.

Why a human?

“It was foolish to
trust,” Chronicles commented on Rusha’s thoughts. “I wouldn’t be surprised if
he didn’t end up in slavery himself.”

“He came back once.” Rusha
sounded hopeful. “He may do so again.”

“To
what extent?
He never appreciated
being what he is, and you never admitted his blood-link to the clan. Most
likely, you never will. So if he dies in the human realms, there’s not much to
hide.”

Rusha looked away to
avoid that look of shame. He had never told Chanté he had a brother. On the
flip side, Corrigan knew
everything
about his family heritage.
Why
have I not told Chanté?

Chronicles signaled
for the group to take a break. As the dust settled, White Wings rested with
drooping wings and confident, but cheeky grins about the whole process. They
chatted amongst themselves over correcting mistakes and countering moves while
Rusha brought up the subject of the Healer’s own two sons still in the human
realms.

At first, Chronicles
made no comment.

“You haven’t heard
anything of Shy. How can you be so sure even Jangus will return?” Rusha
persisted.
 

“Because
unlike Shy, Jangus didn’t go in to interact with humans!
He went alone, so there wouldn’t be any distractions,
either.”

At this, Rusha’s
feathers puffed out with rising temper. Yet before he could say another word,
Chronicles interjected.

“You should be more
concerned about Chanté. You’ve already lost one son to a human, and he went in
specifically for interaction.”

Slowly, Rusha drew
back his feathers, though his wings still twitched in agitation. “He went in
looking for his mother. Perhaps once this is over, I’ll have answers for both.”

*****

A fresh breeze whipped
up the smell of salty ocean along the boardwalk. The thud of the prince’s ankle
boots across its wooden plank only added to the activity served by the sea. He
watched men toss fish from their morning sails onto the docks, then load into
wooden carts and wheel away to individual prospects. Fishing equipment jingled
together as they were cleaned, with tangled netting strewn about the way. It
was hard not to come across a lone hook or loose line left by boatmen still out
at sea. Keeping this in mind, Wisdom was careful where he stepped, as the docks
were still slick from earlier catches.

As he passed one of
these loaded carts, Wisdom temporarily held his breath. The stench of fish guts
was enough to churn anyone’s stomach. Yet the unfazed men pressed on,
preoccupying themselves until the next batch of fish could come in.

Up ahead, the tap of
hammers from a nearby smithy pinpointed the Phine’s family business. Eager to
clear the fishing docks and speak with Mr. Phine, the prince hastened his step.
The idea of introducing daily catches seemed appropriate to generate more
income for the harbor.

A fishing vessel,
docked a few yards from his destination, signaled for some extra hands. Wisdom
eyed a handsome marlin clear the deck. It smacked the dock, sliding his way
until finally stopping at his feet. Several gold stripes vertically marked its
side, with a snow-white underbelly that rivaled
his own
hair color.

Fine catch, indeed!
He nodded to the men as he passed. A
few laughing gulls pecked over severed fish parts, but cleared the prince’s
path when he came close. With his eye on the line of row houses and shops along
the docks, he envisioned their expansion to match the newly renovated town. So
engrossed in the thought, he nearly walked past his destination.

It was unusual not to
hear Josephine’s chipper greeting. The young man was always close by, but the
only greeting Wisdom received was a closed door and loud hammering coming from
inside the shop. Mr. Phine was hard at work and would not hear the prince’s
knock unless he either let himself in, or distracted the work in order to hear.
At present, neither
were
in his favor.

At the spread of his
fingers, a soft blue glow slipped under the door.

Wisdom waited for the
illusion spell to mask the mighty blows of the shipbuilder’s hammer. It did not
take long before the hammer stilled, soon replaced by a string of sailor’s
swearing. A shuffle of feet approached the door, which swung open on creaking
hinges.

“Ye’ve some way of
making yerself known!” Mr. Phine huffed, stepping outside to wash his hands in
a bucket of water. As he wiped them on his smithy apron, he continued, “Heard
you’d had some trouble a few days back.”

“Nothing
a little healing couldn’t cure.”
The prince lifted his arm to show where the breakage had occurred.

“Be glad you can, Healer.
I’ve seen breaks like that cripple grown men for months!” Mr. Phine glanced
toward the docks where the large marlin was being carted.
“Haven’t
seen one of those in a while.”

“That could be
marketable, don’t you think?”

“Aye.
Got yer message ‘bout that. But with Lexington’s port
up north, it’d be a real challenge getting more people to think about ours. We
haven’t the catch
they
bring in.” He wagged a finger at the prince. “And
if no one buys within the day, it’ll all go to waste! Think on it before you
start shelling out money on spoiled profit.”

“Perhaps not the big
ones, then,” Wisdom said. “But I could see the smaller ones in town.”

“Pah!” The old man
shuffled back inside the doorway, waving the comment aside. “Do what you
please!”

Wisdom grinned. “I
intend to. But I appreciate your advice.”

A
mumble.

“So where’s
Josephine?” Wisdom stayed outside while the old man rummaged around some of his
tool boxes near the window.

“Shirking his chores again!”
was the gruff response. The thud of heavy metal tools being swapped from
different boxes reverberated off the walls in the small space. There was a
moment’s pause before the shipbuilder stepped back in the doorway. “He went out
at sea on
The Merionaus
. One he’d been working on for a while. Wanted to
see how she faired, I suppose.”

“He built a ship?”
Wisdom’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “He always said that’s what he wanted.”

“Na!
Older ship.
Needed work.
She’d been practically rotting all these years!
But Joseph...
He has the hands of a master craftsman.
He can do good work.” There was a hint of pride in the man’s voice before
changing tone on the last few words. “If he’d put his mind to things!”

Wisdom chuckled. “Tell
him I stopped by?”

“Aye, then listen to
him go on and on ‘bout that!”

About to take his
leave, a call from the docks turned both their attentions to a few men
scrambling to the water’s edge.

“Catch something?”
Wisdom tried to see around the group to what they heaved on land. A snip of
deep red briefly caught his eye between gathering onlookers. A sudden splash of
tentacle curled over the dock. “Is that..?” But Mr. Phine was already ahead of
him.

“Oy!”
The shipbuilder scrambled to the docks. “Not here, ya
louts
!”

“What is that?” Wisdom
followed suit. For an old man, Mr. Phine could pick up speed when he wanted.
They were soon with the group, which moved aside to let them through. A long,
oblong-shaped head resembled that of warped jellyfish. Yet it retained
tentacles of an octopus, complete with suction cups that kept sucking on the
planks. Every pull produced a loud creak.

“Kha’lari,”
Mr. Phine grumbled.
“A yung-un in
comparison.”
He slapped at a hand that dared to touch one of the
stinging tentacles.
“Ye daft, son?
Get stung by that thing,
it’d be no better than gettin’ struck by lightning!” He pointed to the long
strands of red wavering in the water. Part of
a fishing
net had been partially wrapped around some of the body. “Ye’ll have to drag it
back out and cut the lines!” He stamped a foot over a tentacle attempting to
wind around his leg. “Take it all the way out! Last thing we want is one of
these lurking where our food comes from.”

The men started
heaving the large head back into the water, mindful of the rest that continued
to squirm and stick to the boards. They tried to secure more lines around it,
but its suction-plated tentacles ripped it from the men’s hands.

“Allow me.” Wisdom
stepped forward to call upon his magic.