Healer (6 page)

He started down the
dimly lit interior. Several unused torches sat with cobwebs fanning out under
their holders. At an attempt to remove one, the rusty holder gave a groan until
its waxy cylinder slid out. Holding the candle against another, he tried to
pass its flame to the tip of wick vaguely protruding on another. Flames
flickered low, threatening to give out until he finally abandoned the task. The
old candle just refused to cooperate. After stuffing it back in its holder,
Abraham lifted a hand and concentrated. An illusionary orb of light shuttered
into view. The form wavered as he centered all attention on strengthening the
glow until a yellowish tint finally spread over stone wall.

Least illusion’s
good for something around here!
He
let his fingers trail over the side paneling until he felt a dip. The flawed
surface marked the secret entrance to one of the tower rooms – the location of
the sleeping Black Wing.
I’ll check on him again soon.

Abraham scoped out the
remaining length of hallway by sending the orb ahead of him. It darted to the
left, then right, as he searched for signs of Jenario’s portals. The thought of
accidentally stepping through one still
tingled
his
skin. The portals clung to his clothing like heavy morning dew and smothered
what breath he could not hold. Although they had their conveniences, seeing one
only suggested the likely appearance of his father.

At the end of the
hall, he descended several flights of stairs to reach the level where Jenario
kept a library. Here, enough torches had been left in use to douse his created
light source.

The library door was slightly
open as he reached for it. His hand had barely touched the handle when he
paused and sniffed at the stench wafting from the room. It was unmistakable,
and indicated the only other being besides his father who lived in the castle.

Abraham’s hand was
still on the handle when the door opened inward. Stunned, the young man
remained in the doorway as a figure stepped foward.

“Nathaniel,” Abraham
greeted dryly. Accustomed to seeing the assassin laden with multiple pouches,
strap-on daggers and other items, the lack of these set a confused look. It was
not until the man took a step back that Abraham realized why.

Not comprehending the
need to move his back leg for balance, the man came crashing down. An obtrusive
beer-belly stuck well above the rest of his body once it stopped jiggling. The
bulge of belly pulled a sweat-stained shirt from his pants to reveal a slicked
growth of black hair centered from belly to groin.

“You don’t even know
where your things are, do you?” Too repulsed to help him up, Abraham just
stared at the drunken man. A yellow film covered the whites of his eyes, the
result of consecutive alcohol consumption. Abraham doubted the assassin could
even comprehend his words, and walked around the stinking body to a bookshelf.

Jenario’s collection
of notebooks, reference materials, and maps scattered the many shelves in
between other collected items. A small harpy statue acted as bookend to
multiple guides of
No’va’s
Foundation
, of which Abraham had read
many times. He bypassed the creature section, skimmed over landmark guides,
then stopped when his eye caught the word
Formulas
written on a spine.

The dusty brown book
had seen better days as it lay on its side. Carefully, he picked it up and
thumbed through a few dog-eared pages.

“I don’t recall seeing
this before,” he said over the groans coming from behind. While his eyes
trailed over his father’s handwriting, he came to a results page for attempted
spell casting that dated long before the introduction to the horn’s power. The
turn of page revealed a wide variety of formulaic spells, their general
properties, required materials to complete the spell, and pronunciation.

The young man laughed
when he came across one to turn a drunken man sober, and noted the multiple
trials on the page using Nathaniel as target practice. There had been no
success.

“I suppose the horn
could just turn you sober if it needed something.”

He glanced between
assassin and spell, and a slight smile spread across his face. Taking the book
with him, he stepped over to the sprawled man. A gurgling snore erupted between
frothed lips as Abraham shook his head and attempted to pronounce the spell as
written.
 

“
D’loj, dee-lodge,
 um…
How ‘bout 
Dill-looj!”
 He tried waving
a hand over the body, made signs in the air, even pranced around the figure
until he about laughed himself breathless at the silly way he probably
looked. 
”Dee-looj, Daye-laidge!
 Ah, forget it!” He paid no
attention to the lessening snores and put the book back where he had found it.
“You’re a sorry mess, Nathaniel!” With a chuckle, he left the room.

*****

A firm kick to
Nathaniel’s side jerked him awake. Yellow-rimmed eyes darted about to discern
his uncanny whereabouts when they at last focused on a bearded figure staring
down at him.

“Congratulations.” It
lacked emotion, as Jenario usually sounded when amused. “You’re sober.”

Nathaniel heard the
faint rustle of sable robes brush against the floor when he moved aside. The
assassin needed room, his massive beer-belly tumbling upon itself as he rolled
over and pulled himself up. He ran a hand through his mess of tangled curls
before tucking his shirt back in.

He checked Jenario’s
position. The crimson stone gently swung a moment when the mage turned, then
stilled itself with a slow, pulsing glow.

“You must have a job,”
Nathaniel’s voice cracked. He coughed, cleared his throat,
then
checked himself for all the usual weapons. Finding none, he stared blankly down
at the floor to recall his last placement of them.

“They’re in your room,
if you must know,” Jenario said. “As for the job,” he stepped around his
unkempt companion, “seems someone else has taken that liberty.”

“What?
Killing?”

Nathaniel waited until
Jenario had stepped back into his line of vision,
then
wished he still stared at the floor. The mage’s eyes took on a fiery
appearance, the sign of horn making an entry. When he spoke, his voice was no
longer his own.

“For one whose
skills could’ve risen above the norm of human kind, you’ve proven to be a waste
of time!”
 The horn’s raspy tone
reflected a being whose years of warped wisdom came in spurts of both
inspiration and despondency. 
”You’re only this way because of magic,
and that someone isn’t Jenario this time.”

Nathaniel just rolled
his eyes. “Yeah, but Jenario doesn’t have—”

“Of
course.
 He 
doesn’t.
But his son does.”

The assassin burst
into laughter.
“That book-loving worm?
Never thought you’d have a sense of humor!”

“It would seem our
young illusionist has been holding out on talent.”
 Jenario grinned, or at least, the horn forced
his lips upward to form a grin. 
”This changes things.”

“Yeah,
yeah.”
Nathaniel made ready to
leave, having heard enough of the horn’s rant. “So you don’t need me, then.”

There came a pause as
both Jenario and horn shared conversation within themselves. It was the real Jenario’s
voice that spoke next.

“Is it possible?” He
gestured to the books. “Years I spent studying…but Abraham has no knowledge of
magic. How..?”

“Does it matter?”
the horn seemed to purr.
“You have the knowledge;
now council him.
 
As for you….”

Nathaniel perked up as
conversation was directed his way. 

“So long as you’re
sober, I want you to keep an eye on his progress.”

“Pa!” Nathaniel waved
the comment aside. “What’s in it for me?”

“How ‘bout all the
liquor you can drink.” Jenario paused before adding, “With no complaints from
me, of course.”

Nathaniel savored the
promise. “No more jabbing me in the side, tossing against walls, or bathing!”
His eyes lit up to Jenario’s nod.
“Right, then!
Er…what am I looking for anyways?”

“How powerful he
gets,”
 the horn was quick to
reply.

“So when he starts
throwing me against walls, I’ll assume he’s reached your level of persuasive
arguing?”

Neither Jenario nor
the horn responded as the library door opened with a hand wave. Outside, a
rolling mist of darkness filled the hallway. Nathaniel watched the mage
disappear within its distorting form. It then shrank upon itself until
dissipating in a puff of smoke.

“Show off!”

CHAPTER
4

A light rap upon bedroom
door confirmed the boy was still awake when an answer of, “Come in,” replied
from inside. He was sitting in bed when the prince entered, knees drawn up,
with gaze fixed on a tapestry hanging on the opposite wall.

“Just
thought I’d check to see if you needed anything.”
Wisdom
entered,
a brass
candlestick in hand that produced a fair amount of light in contrast to the
ones displayed along the mantle. Their soft glow illuminated the tapestry’s
rich colors over blue-gray stone.

“Think I’m good.”

“I also wanted to
thank you for your help bringing things in.” He set the candleholder on a
nightstand as he glanced around the room.
“Finally nice to
get the place looking livable.”

“Got
some good stuff here.
My father
used to sell those.” Ashpin pointed to a throw rug near the bedroom door.
“Well, the furs ones, anyway.”

“So
what’s
he do
now?” Wisdom pulled up a chair and took a seat.

A
shrug.
“Don’t know. It’s just one
of the things my mother used to tell me. I
vaguely
remember him.
Most of the time he was gone.
Then he just didn’t come back.
When my mother starting getting sick, she’d tell me all these
great things about him.
I got used to staying up at night, just watching
over her and thinking about all she had to say. Now stories are all I have.
Some of my father.
Some of Healers.”

“Is that why you came
to Trully? Were you looking for a Healer?”
 

“Not unless you could
bring back the dead.” There was a slight smile that quickly disappeared, and
the boy’s gaze returned to the tapestry. “I thought I’d look for my father in
Lexington. Course, all I have is this to go from.” He held up the tip of gold
necklace hidden beneath his nightshirt, on which a small, heart-shaped pendant
dangled. “It’s not much. My mother told me there were two. The second’s with my
father – assuming he still has it.”

“So you went to
Lexington?”

A
nod.
“I was trying to watch the
merchants. You know, see which ones dealt in fur. But you can’t stand around
very long. They have these guards….”

Wisdom chuckled.
“Those guards act like ravaging wolves sometimes. I’ve had to deal with them
many times.”

Ashpin frowned. “I
wouldn’t think they’d mess around with the wealthy. They probably thought I was
there to steal; I saw a few that did, so I kept moving. Eventually, I heard
about some merchants coming here. So I followed aboard their ship. Saw some
strange storm, but that was about it.”

Wisdom grimaced at the
mention of it. “Yes, well…you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.
Maybe something will turn up soon.” He rose to put his chair back, and had just
retrieved the candle when an idea came to mind. “Are you familiar with Lord
Gracie?”

“Very
little.
Stays in Luxor, doesn’t
he?”

Wisdom nodded.
“The only floating castle in
No’va
.”
He started for
the door. “Try to get some rest tonight. When I get ready to leave for Luxor,
you can come with me. Lord Gracie’s very good at looking into things for
people. He may just know where to find your father.” He then lowered his voice,
“Or at least
see
what’s become of him.”

Wisdom caught that
appreciated grin before departing the room. There was no moon that night as the
prince passed by opened bedroom doors. A warm glow of candlelight came from
occupied rooms, where Lexington merchants quietly debated pricing on goods and
town renovations. With Blackavar in charge of his members, he was to lead a
team into town next morning to help the Schevolskys finish repairs.

Wisdom’s own flame
danced upon its wick when a draft of cool air greeted him at the entrance to
the mansion’s master suite. He admired the decor replacing that barren look to
the parlor before crossing over to the adjoining bedchamber. A collection of
colored glass bottles settled over the mantelpiece, treasured from his stay at
the guild, with a tapestry just overhead to liven the blue-gray stonework.
In front of the fireplace stood a round table and two chairs.
There was even a woodbox for storing firewood during the winter months.

Wisdom glanced to the
desk. A stack of parchment paper, complete with quills and ink, lay ready to
use. He could see himself counting out various percentages of town earnings
once the merchants began to sell their wares. It was both exhilarating and
exhausting to think of all the possibilities the clan would provide, as well as
all the responsibilities to go with it.

He headed for the
balcony, passing the canopied bed with its midnight blue drapery and top
coverings wavering in the breeze. Double stained-glass doors had been left
open, with a certain someone waiting patiently as Wisdom slipped outside.

Glory’s silhouetted
figure leaned against the balcony wall, an arc of surreal beauty in the
lamplight coming from the main gate below. Ready for evening, she had already
slipped into a simple nightgown. A few locks of her wavy hair nestled over one
shoulder, alluring where the fabric had slipped down the arm. While his mind
could only imagine her unrivaled mien without clothing, reality held the need
for manners at the moment.

A clearing of the
throat drew her attention.

“Hoping we could share
the night together, I see.” That made her smile. “Had you a chance to read the
letter?”

She flashed a warm
smile. “Father sounded so pleased! He seemed to thank you every two sentences
for informing him of my whereabouts.”

“Funny…” Wisdom joined
her by the balcony wall. “You would think Valor would’ve told him first since
he was sent looking for you.”

Glory looked away in a
huff. “I know Valor was sent by my stepmother. Of course he wouldn’t tell! He
only corresponds with her.”

The day Valor had
arrived,
Wisdom had found the two arguing in the front yard
with clan members and guards ready to pounce at each other’s defense. Having
been Glory’s former, preselected fiancé, the wealthy fish merchant still loomed
in the back of the prince’s thoughts, certain that another confrontation would
take place. Yet, as the guild merchants seemed to have reached town with no
problems from Lexington’s port, owned and operated by Valor himself, Wisdom
dismissed the matter.

A
sigh.
“At least things are going
smoothly.”
 

The warmth of her body
drawing near triggered an ardent hunger to have her closer. As more of his
senses attuned to her desire to be with him, the battle to keep control grew
heavier. What he wanted more than anything was the approval of her parents.
Thus far, Roland Elite had given it. Her stepmother had not. The letter had not
mentioned when they were traveling, but Roland wanted to meet the new prince.
Until then, the two would settle in separate bedrooms. Glory’s was just on the
other side of the adjoining parlor, though he wished it had been made to
connect once the Elite family gave their blessing.
Then, and
only then, would Glory become a Larson.

Larson.
He had not deliberated on the fact that his surname
had been given by his human stepfather. Although very similar to his
Lo-ans’rel
father, Lorcán, the signification that passed with the name was completely
different. That entailed another problem.
I set out to reunite Healers and
humans. Maybe humans have accepted us, but it’s up to my family whether they
want that human interaction again. I only hope with my brother here that it
means change is coming.

“Are you all right?”
Glory’s question pulled him from concentration, and he glanced down to where he
had gripped the balcony wall.
In realization that his knuckles hurt from
holding so tightly, he let go to flex his fingers.

“Sorry. I’m in my own
world sometimes with all the things I need to do.”

Glory nodded in
understanding. “One day at a time, as my mother used to tell me.” She was
silent a moment before asking, “How’s Ashpin doing?”

“Adjusting
after a death in the family.
He’s
searching for his father, so I’ve invited him to come with us to Lord
Gracie’s.”

“You think he can
help?”

“Lord Gracie has
access to things a normal person wouldn’t. He’ll know.”

“Oh,
really?”
Glory gave him an impish
grin. “And does he know when you’re planning to kiss me?”

“That’s not—” But her
lips were already to his, silencing his tongue. Nostrils flared, taking in all
her essence. “Not fair,” he said once they drew apart. “I want to do this right.”

“You already have,”
she whispered. “We’re not children anymore, Keith.”

The touch of her hand
sliding down his thigh induced a rush of excitement. With ears laid back, he
released a deep-throated rumbling. Pulling her close, he tested her response to
his animal-like behavior. The slight vibration transferring to her body seemed
to take her by surprise. He allowed her to pull away,
then
watched with satisfaction while she pressed against him again.

“Are you…purring?”
That maple-brown gaze stared up at him.

“Is it such a
surprise, being what I am?”

“No.” She reached up
to draw his face to hers.
“Just better.”

Their embrace was
magic in itself. That deep yearning to caress what his imagination had conjured
was not to be disappointed. The wide neckline of her nightgown allowed easy
access to slip both hands under and abandon all material until only her creamy
flesh pressed up against him in the night air. She returned the motion, feeling
her way beneath the fabric of
Lo-ans’rel
clothing to disrobe him. Having
moved inside, they found the drapery of canopy bed satisfying, as it shielded
them from the chill and concealed their intake of love and release.

To the energy kindling
in the air, Nature responded. On cue, a sudden spark of growth tore through the
plants and vines beneath the balcony area. It groped its way up the balcony
wall, spilling over until it dripped with the desire to release bloated buds.
When it did, white blooms burst from unfurling, crimped leaves with an orgasmic
puff of yellow-stemmed cores beaming uncannily into the candlelight. Then it
slumped, hunkered together in clusters of white and green, its energy spent.
The same went for the two sprawled overtop crumpled covers, the seeds of love
extinguished into each other.

They lay facing one
another, with little strength to move except to trace a finger over the
Healer’s shoulder tattoo. The burning desire had fled, but the prince welcomed
the cool touch to his skin. With eyes closed, his mind visualized what her
finger drew.

He had nearly
forgotten the mark kept hidden under his long-sleeved shirts. Interwoven arcs
crossed in a knot, gray-black over pale flesh. He heard her sigh and looked
upon her relaxed beauty to take in her expression.

“It’s beautiful,” she
said.

“If words could override
its meaning, I’d accept just that.” He watched one of her eyebrows lower
slightly in confusion.

“What does it mean?”

“The day I decided to
leave my homeland was the day I received it. And it’s not a come-home-soon type
of mark.
Quite the opposite.
It means
traitor
.”

“Traitor?”
Glory stared in stunned belief. “Why’s that?”

A
sigh.
“Be lucky your father
understands you, Glory. With my kind, you don’t just walk away and everything
be
all right. To them, it’s no better than treason.”

She was silent a moment,
her finger still tracing the inked curves. It was not long before she settled
along the last arc,
then
let her hand fall back to her
side. Curiously, she asked, “Will your family accept me?”

As they nestled close
together, he finally answered, “I hope so.”