Healer (28 page)

Chanté felt his throat swelling in worry.
He could not let them discover his involvement with humans. Checking the
position of thieves still clamoring around the debris, he caught sight of
Blackavar leading out a limping individual. With haste, the harpy immediately
glided down to the group. 

“I need to leave!” Chanté sputtered in
between throaty chirps. “Something’s happened, and I can’t be seen!”

The Master Thief made sure the one he was
helping was in good hands before turning to the harpy. 

“Did yer kind find
ye
with us?”

Chanté shook his head, his facial feathers
puffing out in urgency. “Not yet,” he croaked. “But they will.”

“Travel safe, then. I’ll set up some
lookouts ‘til yer return.
Er...if ye return.”

Chanté merely nodded as he took to the
sky. He pumped his wings furiously to reach the high currents, using the fog to
block his flight from those on the other side. 

This
can’t be!
His mind fought to
determine a better reason for the Wings’ reaction.
Father’s always been strong! He’s never failed us!

He headed southwest. Judging from his
people’s chatter, they had last seen their leader follow the winding road
toward a single clan several miles down.

Last
seen,
Chanté thought in confusion.
So whose
word were
they taking that confirmed any sort of death? 

He pressed on, pulling his wings close as
he dived through the trees. If he had to, he would scout the entire forest for
signs of his father. He would find
something
,
if only to prove them wrong.

It was dangerous maneuvering in flight.
Trees in these parts grew one on top of the other, and with the speed Chanté
was traveling it would not take but one miscalculated turn of wing to
break it against the hardy trunks. Instead, he dew his knees up, back arched in
landing position to grasp the next tree he came to. Wings angled his descent to
slow his speed until he could conform to tree hopping.

A white feather flitted off a branch.
Quickly, the young ‘Keyarx snatched it up to sniff.
A faint
scent of blood coated the tip. That pang of worry grew stronger in his gullet.
He spotted more clumped together down the side of a tree. Ahead, he could just
make out part of a road in between the leaves. Chanté began descending the
trunk, following a trail of shredded feathers.

There came a gurgling cough.

“Father?”
Chanté chirped. He jumped the rest of the way down,
landing hard enough to throw up bits of dry leaves and dirt.

The wheezing turned to raspy gasps of
breath as the harpy followed them through a thick layer of underbrush. Part of
a twisted wing could be seen sticking out from under some leafy branches. There
were drag marks mixed with white plumage leading up to his spot, a dead
giveaway for anyone to follow. 

“Father?”
Chanté crouched low and tried to press himself into
the thicket. There was no avoiding the thin covering of branches scratching at
his face and arms, so he puffed out his feathers to keep it from damaging his
skin. Folding his wings into a fade allowed more flexibility to crawl close.

Dim lighting flecked
across his leader’s pain-filled face.
With closed eyes, Rusha could do little more than suck in a few breaths.

Chanté’s heart sank. “I’m here.” He
touched his father’s bloodied hand. With hanging head, he regretted that his
kind had been correct but on one account. The calls had confirmed a death, yet
here his feather still breathed.
“If I could just get a
Healer to you.”

Movement beneath his taloned fingers drew
his attention. At first, he suspected his father just wanted assurance someone
was there, but after a moment he began to realize his father was signing to
him.

Traitor
, it signed.
Healer
.

“What?” Confused, Chanté watched his
father’s talons form the next few words. It was sluggish, but he was able to
make out:
Corrigan. Brother.

“Are you saying...?” Beneath his own,
Rusha’s hand quivered as if to sign something else,
then
went limp. Chanté watched his father’s chest fall into stillness. 

For a moment, he just looked at the face
slowly relax into peacefulness. No more would he suffer the human arrows still
protruding from his flesh. That, from what he could see, had ended his life.
Yet the smell of Healer still lingered close by, triggering a flash of anger
that spurred Chanté in the direction of the battlefield. 

Humans
may have wounded him, but Healers let him die!
He shot up a tree in a bark-ripping climb and leaped
from the treetops to catch the high winds. Snowy wings sprang open from their
folded fade with adrenaline racing from wingtip to wingtip. Before he knew it,
the fields of Lexington opened up with his kind pounding down the half-breeds.
One in particular stood out, and as he watched one
Lo-ans’rel
get beaten down he began to realize who it was. 

“Shy!” Chanté angled his flight toward the
White Wing about to land on top of him.
“Enough!”
he whistled and knocked the other from its course of action.

“Chanté?” he heard the Healer question in
breathless surprise, but Chanté had already pulled up with shrieking whistles
and cries for his kind to cease their fight.

“Hear me! As heir to our people, hear me
now!” He dove in between Red and White Wings to gain their attention. 

When enough were following his orders,
Chanté dropped down in a swift land on all fours. He pumped his wings a moment
to let the excess energy release from them before confronting the line of
confused Healers. From behind, the rest of his kind also dropped down to hear
what needed to be said. From the looks on their feathered faces, they were not
ready to give up the fight so easily. But Chanté’s rank kept them at bay.

“My father is dead!” His words drew
several hisses of fury from his people at the announcement. “But not by
humans!”

Directly in front of him, he saw Shy
glance to the rift-wizard leader. 

“We’ve
all
been betrayed,” Chanté said. “It was a purebred Healer who let my father
die. As I’m sure the purebreds wanted
you
to fight in their stead.” He motioned to the half-breeds. So far, his words
were holding his kind’s attention.

“That would explain why your people were
nearly driven mad,” Windchester suggested. “So what is your proposal, then?”

Chanté’s gaze burned into the Healer’s
questioning stare.
What we need is a
common
enemy,
he hoped Shy could pick up his
thoughts. When he received a nod, he continued, “There’s no need to continue
fighting for a cause that is useless. Sure, humans have enslaved some of our
people, but I believe there’s more to it than just that. Shy? Do you have any
idea who is driving this war?”

“The real enemy is neither human,
nor
my kind,” Shy said, speaking loud
enough for his voice to be heard by all. “Unbeknown to most, there is a black
unicorn that is roaming this land. And it’s looking to destroy us all! By
turning us against one another, what more does it need to do except wait for us
to fall?”

There were gasps of surprise at this
announcement. Chatter started up amongst the two groups until Chanté raised his
voice again to calm them down.

“But that can’t be!” a harpy exclaimed.
“Everyone knows unicorns are white!”

“Well, this one’s not.” Shy crossed his
amrs. “And it’s also a male.”

That brought about another round of
arguing until Chanté’s shrill whistle echoed for silence. “Who else doesn’t
know this?”  

“Chronicles...doesn’t know this,” Shy
said. “I had a chance to tell him once, but that thing has a power that
disrupts memories. I couldn’t remember it!”

“And where is he now?”

“He’s probably in Trully,” Windchester
said, “fighting against Shy’s brother.”

I
need to find Corrigan! I need to know if what my father told me was true!
Chanté sucked in a quick breath. “There’s no way to
get to him any faster than by flight, is there?”

The chestnut-haired leader turned to the
young Wing. “I might be able to use a telatransportation spell to get you
close.”

“But we need someone to switch places with
him,” Shy said. “There’s no telling who we’d be bringing here when the switch
is made.”

Windchester grinned. “I think we have our
bases covered if it’s someone we don’t like.”

“So you can only do one at a time?” Chanté
said. 

“The spell
is
very powerful. And it’s best if one person do it and not a
hundred. That much energy could cause a distortion to a person’s life-force.
But you know enough to get the message to the other side.”

“Wait! You’rrr sssending him alone?”
another harpy thrust a talon in Windchester’s direction with a hiss.
“After we jussst lossst a leader?”

“There should be allies where I’m going,” Chanté
answered without hesitation to put his kind at ease, though the idea of his
life being sucked away did not sound too appealing either.

Shy stepped close. “When you find Wisdom,
tell him Glory is safe. He’ll understand.”

“I will,” his words seemed to echo into
nothingness. Around him, people and landscape blurred. Wind whipped past, as in
flight, and yet his wings had not even moved from his side. Eyes shut tight
while his stomach churned. He could not seem to catch his breath. Before he
blacked out, all he could think about was his life’s energy being sucked from
him.
 

*****

Blackavar kept an eye on the growing
cracks along the ceiling as he continuously pulled people out of the tunnel.
Major sections of the underground guild had already collapsed. As a rumbling
echoed from within, a new crack appeared. Their escape route was soon to
close. 

“How many more?”
A proud set of jeweled arrows in its quiver
caught the Master Thief’s eye.

“Ye put down the bow but not that,
Aldaris?” He shook his head. “Like ye arrows; too many to count.”

“I made sure the main hall was clear
before I left,” the sharp-shooter said. 

A huffing individual ran out of the tunnel
to join them.

“Daumier, you made it!” Aldaris’ greeting
was short-lived, as their fellow thief tried to collect himself and catch his
breath. With hands on his knees, he coughed a couple times before answering.

“The tunnels are caving in! All of them!
We can’t reach several members! I tried
—
”
a wracking cough stopped him. Dust flew from his shoulders with each wheezing
breath. 

“Get with the others.” Blackavar motioned
for Aldaris to help their friend. “I’ll see what I can do.” Then he darted into
the trembling mouth. 

“Blackavar, don’t!” Aldaris shouted as
bits of crumbling dirt and rock started coming down.
“Blackavar!”

The Master Thief heard, but his loyalty to
the members far outweighed the urge to flee. He hurried those still in the
tunnels to leave, pushing them away from valuables they’d obtained from
steals. 

“Ye can’t steal yer life back!” Dust caught
in his throat, causing him to choke. Around him, he saw what Daumier had meant.
He could hear shouts for help, but it would take an entire group with efficient
tools to remove the rubble just to reach them. 

A loud crack snapped him back to his
senses. Too late to save those still trapped, he herded any stragglers toward
the tunnel’s exit. Large chunks of rock and dirt were beginning to fall. They
had nearly reached the end when walls started caving in behind them. An elderly
man could not hobble fast enough, so the thief scooped him up in his arms to
carry him. 

Something smacked the side of his head,
downing them both. Dizziness swallowed his sight in darkness. There was a faint
light coming from the outside. They were so close!

He lifted a hand toward shadowed movements
of figures obscured by the light before the weight of the entire tunnel
collapsed on top of him. 

CHAPTER 4

Wisdom dipped his head in preparation for what
was sure to come. Beneath him, he could see the shadow of
Osha’s
horn perched upon his own forehead. The transformation to unicorn should have
taken his kind by surprise. No
Lo-ans’rel
took the form of Nature’s legendary chosen. Yet his people were so obsessed
with their task that little else mattered.

The bear’s gaping jaws let out a roar in a
sign of charge. Without hesitation, Healers burst through the projected flames,
unafraid.

With a toss of mane, Wisdom reared and let
out a high-pitched whinny. On cue, the Simpleton’s dropped the shield
disguising Alexander’s readied troops. With heated weapons and heavy armor, it
was their only defense against the nimble Healers. All too soon, they were
being pushed back.

Neither the prince nor his
father were
without quick gashes along the flank. Already,
ribbons of crimson contrasted against alabaster fur, and a throbbing reminder
to reconsider his next moves. Although his father was not known for boisterous
transformations, the bear certainly made for a challenge.

A bold kick with a cloven hoof left a good
impression across his father’s left shoulder. Soon both were back to circling.
Wisdom could feel the horn pulsating to the throbbing pain along his side. When
it slightly lessened, a quick glance confirmed his wounds healed.

Thank
you.
With nothing but ash all around,
there was little else he could use for healing. At least,
Osha
allowed temporary relief. And yet he had taken a form with a weapon he was
forbidden to use. After several attempts to swipe at his father using the horn,
he suddenly found his course diverted. At each try, the horn veered away.
I get it. The horn isn’t mine to use.

It
is only a vessel to the soul
, a
tender thought lingered amidst the shouts of battle surrounding them.

Though Wisdom dared not break eye contact,
he managed to spare a mental probe to the whereabouts of Alexander and his men.
The forest warrior was able to handle himself well against the few Healers who
got past first defense. However, the prince became alarmed to learn their
cooling armor was not being replaced fast enough. Although Alexander did his
best to get what the men needed, they were swiftly falling prey to the various
shifted forms or solid sword thrusts. A dance of magic sprang into Healers’
movements, making it nearly impossible to keep up.

There came a sudden shout, “Incoming!”
before one of Lorens’ sons tossed a newly heated bucket of hot embers into the
fray. Healers scattered at the oncoming rain of pain. Those with shields raised
them quickly to secure their own safety. The pause of battle allowed Peter
Schevolsky to quickly dart through the crowd to exchange weapons. For ones
further across the field, Ertho and a few others sprang to the sky for
delivery.

“Watch it!” The brief warning was
all the
harpy needed to avoid two Healers shifting after
him. In a swift barrel-roll, he let the weapons drop where soldiers waited in
order to shake off his two assailants. Two golden eagles went down when the
harpy’s large wings swapped them both over the heads.

Wisdom grinned inwardly. Thus far, only he
or his brother could mix animal shifts to produce anything larger for flight.
The eagles were the best his kind could do. The bear, on the other hand, was a
whole different matter, and it was right back to kick and dash from a
countering blow. Blood splattered across his father’s face, one eye swollen
shut after a direct hit.

Something struck Chronicles’ hide. With a
grunt of pain, a flash of silver eye turned to a gold-striped dagger dangling
from his fur.

In an instant, Wisdom knew who had thrown
it.

From the bear’s snarling expression, so
did his father. A sudden
turn,
and he charged through
the ranks with an agitated roar. Men went down with little effort. A paw swipe
flung several aside like swatting flies.

He’ll
reach the Simpletons!
Alarmed, Wisdom
galloped after his father, throwing off various Healers who clung onto his main
and tail. A wild kick scored someone’s stomach. Another was slammed under his
pounding hoofs.

A flash of gold-knobbed wings lashed out
at the bear’s face. To preserve his one good eye, Chronicles heeded the warning
by skidding to a halt. Confused, he followed the swish of dark feathers.
Agitated, he turned round and round at the tease of talons along his fur.

He swiped his claws at a falling feather.
Disappointed, he turned once again to come face to face with the human-looking
Black Wing, Everest. Eloquent movements defined her true nature. No longer
confined to a bedroom, it was easy to tell how much she enjoyed this match. It
was just another hunt, and with a crooked smile her half-wings carried her in
short bursts of flight over the bear’s back to land just out of reach from his
wild strikes.

The performance did the job. To Wisdom’s
relief, Everest managed to turn the bear away from the Simpletons still holding
projected shields in place to cover where ash did not.

His thoughts carried to her in thanks.
With a nod, she gave up the battlefield and returned to her lover on the
sidelines to help with reheating armor.

Haven’t
you had enough?
Wisdom shifted to his
true form to face the raging animal. It was no surprise the surrounding men
gave his
father
a wide girth after his destructive
rampage. “What good can come of spilling blood? I’ve already proven that humans
will take our side!”

You
prove nothing!
In a fade of silvery
light, Chronicles also joined his son in his true form, though awkward with one
eye swollen shut. “You still stand beside a traitorous race.” He pointed the
tip of his staff toward Wisdom’s shoulder. In an instant, lightning ripped from
the crystal’s point across his son’s arm, searing part of his sleeve away until
skin was exposed. “And that is the mark of your actions!”

Wisdom yanked back from unavoidable pain.
Mere seconds was enough to expend the few bolts from the staff, bolts he
thought long gone from the last fight in Sapphire.

Covering his shoulder with one hand, it
was hard not to flinch from the sting. What remained showing was the tattoo,
etched into his skin the day he left his kind to return to humans – it’s very
meaning a symbol of disloyalty. He could only imagine what the tattoo looked
like with new burn marks – and nothing to cover it, for his sleeve had been
ripped clean down to the elbow.

I
doubt
Osha
will find this one useful
. He spared a glance to his wrist where the mark of
full moon presently reminded him of the coming
Purification
.

Within that moment he took his eyes from
his father came a blow that threw him several feet. He landed on his back,
dazed and holding his head where the staff had delivered a powerful strike.
There was no feeling in his jaw. A ringing in his ears blurred all sound.

He was barely aware of someone
approaching.

A shuffle of feet, then
a deep growl.
That, he could make
out after the ringing slightly subsided.

Wisdom opened his eyes to blackness. A
sudden panic tightened his chest, and he tried to pull himself away to be sure
there was nothing obstructing his view.

The blackness slowly took shape to become
soft fur. Another
growl,
and he recognized the black
wolf Delexi, who had planted himself between father and son.
Where have you been all this time!
He
wanted to scream. As his mind cleared and ringing died down, mere snarls became
words, though by now half the conversation had nearly passed between wolf and
Healer.

“This
isn’t your place!”
Chronicles fired
at the wolf in their language.

Delexi, however, countered with a series
of low growls and bared teeth.
”Winning
this fight will cost you more, Healer! If I were you, I’d back down and listen
to your options.”

“After all I did for you, ungrateful
mutt!” Chronicles switched back to Common. “Get out of my way!” He swung in
anger, but the animal latched onto the staff.

Teeth held firm against the Healer’s
strong tugs. Each try produced a menacing snarl, followed by a shake of head to
pry the staff loose.

“Chronicles, don’t!” The words could not
pass Wisdom’s lips fast enough. In a single move, his father released the staff
and drew his sword. With the wood still clamped between his teeth, Delexi was not
prepared to handle the extra thrust of metal to the neap of neck. With a final
grunt, the wolf sank to the ground. There came a tap of wood as the staff
dropped from the wolf’s jaws and rolled over by Chronicles’ foot.

The ringing was gone, but the prince’s
vision burned red – red with anger. It renewed his strength, churned up his
magic. It poured from his fingertips before Chronicles knew how to counter. Now
it was his leader’s turn to be slammed on his back. The force of the throw sent
Chronicles skidding a ways into the fighting men, sword lost amidst moving
bodies as they cleared him a path.

With a shake of head, Chronicles sought to
make sense of what happened.

“How many more?”
Wisdom advanced upon his father with clenched fists.
“How many more must die because
you
refuse to listen?!”

“As many as it takes...” He moved, and
when he did it was not Chronicles’ true form, but a wolf.

*****

It
had to be a harpy
! At least, Chanté hoped
he had switched with one the moment the spell ended. Cool wind whipped through
his feathers, and he opened his eyes to a free-fall directly overtop an intense
battle. If not for a dramatic display of feathers pumping to gain height,
Chanté would have paid more attention to who fought who. Instead, he fought his
own battle to keep himself from plunking directly into the skirmish of clanging
steal and...
animals
?

Wait!
Are these Healers?
The threat of
being detected still loomed at the back of his mind, though he could not help
but notice the layout of battlefield at this height.

Burnt ground and nothing
else for miles around.

Wasn’t
this Wisdom’s idea? So am I..?

Crack!
Wings caught in the branches of a nearby tree,
splitting several limbs and dropping leaves from the fumble. That, he could
clearly see once he was in it, having flown to the battle sidelines in hopes
the midair switch had not been spotted. Now, Chanté was certain he was in
Trully. It made sense that he had not seen anything else but ashen fields.

The
Simpletons really did it! They really
can
cover a piece of land with their minds!

After a moment to untangle his wings, he
folded them in a fade to climb into shadowy coverage. From this vantage, he
could peer out and watch. If someone had noticed, there was no advance toward
his hiding spot.

Throughout the battle, Chanté noticed
various colored outlines of faded light surround a Healer when shifting. The
humans must have noticed this too, for they held back to see what new challenge
came out of that light. He watched several individuals scramble through the
thrashing to distribute newly heated weapons, then disappear off the sidelines
as though a veil covered beyond the ash. Then there was the central fight. As
two wolves, gray and black against solid white, ripped into each other, Chanté
noticed how everyone else gave them the most fighting room.

“That has to be Wisdom!” he thought aloud,
cringing slightly when the gray bit deep into the white neck of its opponent.
“What can I do?”

A rustle of feathers releasing its hidden
position jerked Chanté’s attention to his right. Dark wings withdrew from
around a russet body, and he was met with a sharp grin.

“We wait,” was a rugged reply.

Chanté’s facial feathers puffed out in recognition.
“Corrigan!” he chirped, but the Black Wing only held up a talon to be still.
The young Wing, however, could hardly contain his joy, or welling questions
concerning his father’s last wish.

“Be ready. When that bastard’s back is
turned—”

“Is it true?” Chanté could not hold back
any longer. “Are we really brothers?”

Corrigan shot him a confused look before
his expression softened.
Relaxing his facial feathers, the
‘Keyarx
let a crooked smile show.

“So Rusha finally told you.” He let out a
breath and focused back on the battle. “I never thought he would.”

“He sent me to find you.” Chanté’s throat
nearly closed in remembrance of that last moment. “He...” Then he could say no
more.

Corrigan’s amber gaze darkened. “What are
you getting at?” His voice deepened in a threatening tone. “What happened?”