Healer (26 page)

Extending a hand, he released a burst of
energy. One harpy was instantly crushed against the wall. The incident raised
feathered eyebrows from those surrounding the halls.
A Healer
fighting against them?
 

Shy scattered a few more when he commanded
plants from hanging baskets along the windows to stretch their vines and catch
hold of their wings. While temporarily held, the guards were able to finish
them off. 

A shrill whistle finally announced the
rest to fall back. A human magic-user would have been one thing, but a
Lo-ans’rel
on the humans’ side was
confusing. 

“I
didn’t come to aid you,”
Shy
whispered in the language of
Lo-ans’rel
.
A young fledging got the point after staring around at its fallen comrades. It
quickly departed through the window. 

When the hallways were clear of fleeing
harpies, Shy approached Glory’s father. He held a hand over the necklace to
shield the view from those inside,
then
knelt beside
the body. 

There was little he could do except close
those glassy eyes, the whites a disturbing blood-red now. 

I’m
sorry,
he thought to Glory. He then
glanced over to Roland’s men, who bowed heads in silent prayer. 

No words could express the grief Shy knew
Glory felt, or for the men. It was not long before he stood and faced the armed
doorway. 

“Who else is inside?”

One of the guards stepped forward and
saluted him. “The Lady Pena, Master Roland’s wife, Sir.”

“I need to take her to be with Roland’s
daughter in the Realm of Trully,” Shy stated in a stern voice. “It’s no longer
safe here for the Elite family.”

“Understood.”

“I would also suggest that you take refuge
yourselves.” Shy motioned to the rest. “More will be coming, some of those my
own kind.” He lowered his voice. “And there will be
no
mercy when that happens.”

*****

Rusha’s
wing dangled uselessly by his side.
The other was a tangled mess of briars, leaves, and loose plumage
–
and
it was stuck. His fall from above had landed him in a thick bramble. It was all
he could do to keep from screaming out his rage every time broken bones grated
together. He needed to get out, and quick! His lifeblood was emptying. It was
only a matter of time before his strength played out as well. 

He wiped damp lips. Red
stained the pallid feathers along his wrist. A futile attempt to wrestle his
good wing loose came to a standstill. Not far from Central Valley Clan’s main
entrance had entitled him to hear the battle between his people and the clan’s
guards. When those sounds died, it was not long before something else took its
place. 

Hoofbeats.

Painfully, Rusha
stilled his breath. All around, white feathers littered the forest floor, mixed
with blood and even a bit of flesh. With the fear that he was not far from the roadside,
he prayed none of the travelers were looking for stray harpies. 

A slew of horses
galloped past, some slower than others. Rusha could not be sure how many were
in the group, but he guessed they were heading for the city to help in
battle. 

A shrill whistle
announced its engagement with the group. Rusha could hear horses whinnying in
the confusion of screeching and men shouting commands. Steel clanged against
talon. He heard the shred of feathers and bone as wings failed to take flight
in time. The shout of men taking their own flights when thrown about in midair
horrified Rusha as one man was tossed through the trees in his general
direction. 

The noise allowed
Rusha a brief moment to dislodge his wing long enough to clear the bramble. It
took a good yanking to get it out, causing more feathers to shred down one
side. He barely registered the twin sets of pain in his wings, and began to
wonder if he had broken something in the other. Though glad to be free, the
effort left little strength for climbing to safety. And now he could not even
fade his wings from view. 

A click of bolt gave
little time to react before it was released from its crossbow. The strike
brought the leader stumbling to his knees, causing a scream of new pain.
Instinctively, he reached for the protruding bolt from his leg. 

There came another
click, briefly distracting the agony in his limb to the human sprawled on his
back not far away. Having survived a crash-landing through the trees, the man
retaliated by firing a second bolt at Rusha’s chest. 

It was a dead-on shot.

Rusha listened to the
wheezing breath forcing its way through his lungs. What he should have felt, he
speculated shock had replaced. His body lay facing up. Wings sprawled in
who-knew-what direction. Yet there was no fixing it. Rusha understood the
moment the bolt had punctured his snowy breast.

Now as he lay, gasping
certain last breaths, he sensed a presence and flicked his weary gaze to the
shadow looming above. Relief washed over him, and he tried to say something.

At the hint that he
was needed, the Healer approached. A hand reached down as if to touch the
broken wings. Only magic could heal them now, though that hand paused a
finger-length away from the soothing healing that was sure to come. A gesture
from the second hand, and he heard choking gasps from the human. Thankful at
the last minute save, Rusha waited.

“How noble this would
be,” Chronicles bent so Rusha could hear, “if the others thought you had taken
a hit meant for me.”

Rusha stared. He had
always known the Healer to be snide.
But this?
He
tried to understand, even as the cold feeling of death began stealing his
remaining life-force. The White Wing held his breath – still no healing.

“I cannot thank you
enough for your...usefulness to me.” Chronicles lifted his hand away. “Just as
you would never let humans enslave your kind, I would never let humans attack
mine as they’ve done in the past. No. Instead, I used you. You take the blow
while we take the land. And for that...I’ll leave you in peace.”

Rusha’s fading breath
released a word, but by then the Healer had moved silently away. The dying
‘Keyarx
stared after, his thoughts at last relaxing on the one thing he cared about
most, the one thing he should have tried to protect more, against humans,
against his kind.

And
now...the
Lo-ans’rel
.

If I could only
tell Chanté…Corrigan’s his brother.

CHAPTER 3

The smell of burning grass stirred on the wind.
While the borders of Trully were ablaze, Wisdom helped direct it by raking dirt
through the tall, grassy fields. Several others accompanied his efforts as they
contained it just enough to clear the ground of foliage. Now and then Wisdom
tested the strength of Nature’s connection. With each passing hour it weakened
until he could barely feel anything.

Several hours of churning ash and burning
grassy stems expanded well past the border. It was not until the crunch of
charred foliage under his boots and all around as members worked that he
finally put his tools aside for an aerial view. A quick
shift,
and a sparrow form took him above the blackened fields to gaze upon the amount
of coverage.

Smoke billowing into the wind reminded him
of the fog created from the darkening storm that ever threatened his home. He
could hear it rumbling in the distance. Like the fields below, the sky matched.
From this altitude, he could see it over Sapphire, a massage storm cloud of
flickering lightning and constant thunder.

I’ll be glad when this is over!

He made his way back down and returned to
his true self near a fire pit. It was here he found the Western Prince stoking
the flames by sticking different swords in a center ring of stacked wood. Just
high enough, it provided fuel for the flames to build while giving the metal
something to lean against. It was not long before each piece was smoldering
hot.

“Don’t forget to add your shields,” Wisdom
said.

Alexander pointed over his shoulder.
“Back at the smithy.”

“Good. You’ll need all you can.”

“How’re the fields coming?”

“It should be large enough. Mididus and
his clan will project their mental images where it doesn’t cover.”

“Illusion mixed with real?” Alexander
shook his head.
“Should be an interesting battle.
I
don’t care to wonder what might happen should they discover the truth.”

“I trust the Simpletons with this task.”
Wisdom picked up a sword from a pile. The cold metal was quickly thrust in the
smoldering pit. “They’re very strong.”

“Stronger even than your
own kind?”

Wisdom plopped another sword into the
fire. “It’s all just a diversion, Alex. My
kind don’t
really know what they’re fighting for. They follow the words of my father, but
even
he
doesn’t know the true threat of that storm.”

“Are you hoping it will stop him?”

“I’m hoping he’ll come to his senses!”
Another sword-thrust sparked a burst of heated flame that popped and sizzled
around the wood. Emotions flared within just like the fire, and he said no
more.
Better to save my anger toward the fight. No use getting upset
now. 
               
 
          

Around the two, others worked quickly from
multiple fires. As heated weapons were pulled from the pits, they were then
placed on warming racks.
A low flame beneath allowed
equipment to retain its heated surface.
Metal shields were beginning to
fill the top racks, their wearable surface facing upward to keep cool.

Eventually, the two were joined by the
Mystic doctor, who greeted them with raised hand.

“How’s everything in town?” Wisdom said.

“Nearly evacuated.
Mr. Phine and his crew are preparing the last of the
ships. A few Simpletons will be with each one. That way they’ll mask themselves
should war break out along the shoreline.”

“Well, at least the people will be safe
for a time.” Wisdom glanced to the Western Prince.

“Until they run out of supplies,”
Alexander said. “What then should this fail? Where would they go?”

Wisdom was silent a moment, the words of
Osha
echoing in the back of his mind.

“It’s more than just a battle,” he said.
“It’s about the truth. Hopefully, we shouldn’t have to detain them long before
that truth reveals itself.”

“And what truth would that be?” Nickademis
said.

“With luck,” Wisdom thrust another sword
into the pit, “our true enemy will reveal himself. Only then will my kind
understand that they need to fight alongside humans, not against them.”

Wiping his hands on his pants, Wisdom
commenced to turn away when he felt a tug to the shoulder.
A
glance behind revealed Nickademis leaning in to whisper harshly, “You don’t
mean Jenario, do you?”

“In this case, an enemy becomes an ally.”

Although Nickademis reframed from
emotions, he still made his discomfort quite clear by letting his foot kick a
nearby bucket of water as he turned away. The water sloshed alongside the
firepit, allowing a brief reflection before soaking into earth. It was long
enough, however, to catch the mouthed words, “They’re coming.”

“Alex.” Wisdom drew his attention to the
warming rack. “Gather your men.” Around them, clan members paused. “It’s time.”

*****

It was the lull of pulsating power within
the fog that drew him further south. As the
Lo-ans’rel
leader left the ruins of Lexington, he moved his kind toward the welcoming
persuasion, and promise, of control.

Let
the harpies deal with the half-breeds,
it purred in Chronicles’ mind. T
here is
more to conquer.

The speed of
Lo-ans’rel
was a considerable difference compared to humans. With
magic flowing through their veins, they used it to speed up travel until they
became a blur of colored garments between trees.

It was not long before the Realm of
Lexington was but a memory. Now on the main road, Chronicles stopped to expand
his animal-like senses and test the air. Nostrils flared to catch drifting
fragrances of passersby...and something else.

The road had curved over a hill, revealing
the next realm
–
and the source of
pull each Healer had felt the closer they came.

The storm.

Chronicles cursed under his breath. Never
had he seen anything so massive. The sheer volume of black clouds building up
completely vanished in itself. He could see no end to its height. Even the
fields leading down into its core were devoured into spreading darkness.

A nervous growl escaped his throat. All of
his senses were alert in warning, and yet he could not turn away.

“What are you?” he breathed.

What
you
are,
came
a whisper on a brisk breeze that beckoned the Healers closer to the storm.
The human kind has misused us – forgotten
what magic really means in their lives. Without us, their world would be
nothing but a dead and broken wasteland!

A piece of cloud broke off from the rest.
It swirled gently down until touching ground in front of the leader. Chronicles
knew he should be wary, so his gaze stayed transfixed to its curving body
forming an archway. While its outer layer thickened, its center thinned to a
fluxing, transparent mix of light and color. It was not until an image began to
emerge that Chronicles realized what they were looking into.

“A portal?”
He glanced to the rest of his kind, then back to the
way that opened before them.

The
door is unlocked,
the voice coaxed.
Finish it.

Chronicles hesitated before tentatively
stepping through the opening. That draw to complete the elimination process
grew stronger the moment he was within Trully’s borders.

Yet while the urge to fulfill his task
grew stronger, his connection with Nature suddenly weakened. Perplexed, the
Healer dug his magic into the earth, seeking any living source.

Crunch!
Blackened blades of grass drew his attention to where
he stepped. Kneeling, he took some of it between his fingers. The distinct
smell of still-burning ash rose from the earth. And with it came a distant
memory.

Something about fire.

“It must be hard,” a familiar voice said
,
“to not have access to Nature.”

Chronicles lifted his gaze to a solitary
figure. Between the two and all around was little more than a blackened
landscape. Flaring nostrils filled with the scent of scorched earth, and he
glanced over his shoulder to see how many of his people had come through.

They were all present. The portal,
however, was not.

Chronicles slowly stood, letting the dry
remains fall from his fingertips. His gaze immediately flicked to the
sapphire-tipped staff planted firmly in front of his oldest son. With a vicious
stare, he hissed, “What have you done?”

“There’s nothing here now,” Wisdom said in
a calm tone. “The humans are gone. They destroyed themselves in the chaos to
get out. I saw to that myself.”

Chronicles released a deep, throaty growl.
A crimson glow lit those silver eyes, and a crooked smile cracked one corner of
his lip.

“Your
insolence knows no bounds, does it?”
Chronicles cocked his head all-knowingly at his son.

Wisdom recoiled with precaution, and his
grip on the staff tightened. That voice was not of his father’s, but the raspy
tone of the horn. While the other Healers did not seem bothered by the peculiar
change, a quick glance to their faces confirmed that they, too, were under its
influence.

“You
are the one driving this war, not my kind,” Wisdom
said with a low growl.

A chuckle.
“When the time
of Purification draws near, there will nothing to stand in my way. The less
interference,”
eyebrows lowered in sincerity,
“the better.”

“Get out!”

“But
I’m not really in, am I?”
the horn
continued speaking through Chronicles’ tongue.
“Such hatred – only empowers my storm.”

He began a slow circle around the young
man. While the rest of the Healers patiently waited, the two studied one
another. Their circle slowly tightened.

“There’s
no deceiving me,”
the horn said.
“I know you’ve a clan that lay in wait.”

“I said, get
out!”
Wisdom picked up the pace. He recognized the dance they had
entered. It was the same when he had trained with his grandfather, one that
could only end in total submission. Experience heightened his awareness. One
flawed step and it would be over. As their circle narrowed, Wisdom held the
staff out in a defensive manner, although it was not the horn he feared first
strike.

“You
should be thanking me, as I keep your own kind from killing you.”

“I need no help from you.”

“My
dear sister can only provide so much protection. When the Red Moon rises,
Nature’s barrier will lift. And when it does...”
A chuckle.
“I shall have my new body.”

Wisdom narrowed his gaze. “You
would
remind me of that.”

At a blink, the irises returned to their
normal color. The horn was gone. Instead, a deluded Healer was left in its
place.

Although his father kept a short sword at
his side, Wisdom knew the Healer’s skills were more than adequate without it.
The day he had tested his father’s patience had landed him on his back staring
up at a six-inch knife pointed at his face.

The prince took in a breath and let it out
slow.
I’m not your enemy,
he thought
to his father.
All I ever wanted was
peace between the two races.

You
side with those who have mistreated you, stolen our homeland, and continue to
use weaker races for servitude.
Chronicles’ snide remark slammed his mind. With concentration briefly broken,
he missed the slight turn of his father’s foot that moved their circle in the
opposition direction.

Wisdom barely registered his father’s
speed. A
blur,
and their faces were mere inches apart.
Without magic, keeping up with the two Healers seemed impossible to follow. Yet
it was magic that sped up solid counter-attacks and hand thrusts. A quick spin
hid his father’s grab for the staff. In the midst of their battle dance, it was
yanked from his grasp. Wisdom avoided a low swing, but at a twist of flying
fingers twirling the staff produced the hidden blade that sprung from its
bottom.

Pain dug into his flesh. With a loud gasp,
Wisdom stumbled back and went down on one knee while holding his punctured
side. A narrowed gaze continued to track his father’s movements. Thankfully, no
other attack came. At the same time, there was no healing energy available, as
the burnt fields offered nothing to sustain his waining strength.

Thankful,
my foot!
Wisdom recalled the horn’s
earlier statement.
He’s the one who
should be thankful I know how to fight!