Rohvim #1: Metal and Flesh (24 page)

“You think I won’t just hurt them, meddling around in their heads?” Aeden asked, wide-eyed.

“No. You’ll do just fine. And I can clean up any mess you make.” He replied, winking.

“Master?”

“Yes, Aeden?”

“Can you help the lord? I mean, is there anything you can do to bring him out of his sorrow? I remember you did something for my mother and me in the Markham estate …”

The master looked at Aeden “In his mind, very little. When I helped you and your mother, I temporarily calmed you and allowed you to think clearly. For him, I could do a few things, but they would be just as temporary and almost inconsequential. No, his healing will take place without rohva healer expertise.”

Later in the afternoon, people from town started arriving at the house of healing. A line of perhaps forty stricken individuals arrived, some hobbling along, others carrying children or supporting an aged relative. The thirteen worked quickly, and as the people found comfort they blessed their comforters.

Aeden’s first townsperson was a man in his fifties, who complained of rashes and sores. Sitting down together, Aeden placed his hand on the man’s head, and entered. As with any who do not know themselves, the mind was misty, dark, and clogged with undergrowth. Aeden located the mind’s wall and found the section that the master healer had shown him. The lungs looked fine, as did the blood circulation system, as well as most everything else. One section dealing with extremities seemed to have some odd colors on it—there were reds and oranges where the master healer had told him should usually display greens and blues. He fiddled with the knobs and dials in that section until the lights slowly progressed from reds to greens and blues. A few of the oranges he could not change to blue or green, but yellow he remembered was better than red or orange, so he left it yellow.

All apparently as complete as he could make it, he exited the mind, and told the man, “Your maladies have been mostly healed. Expect the rash and sores to start disappearing over the next few weeks.” The man placed his own hand on Aeden’s head and lifted his voice: “May the Creator bless this young man!” He stood, shook his hand and left the room.

Aeden arose and directed the next person in to the room—an old man, at least one hundred, hobbled in after him. They sat down and repeated the ritual. Once inside the man’s head, Aeden could hardly see. After several minutes, as it seemed to him, he finally located the mind’s wall, this time arriving at the section containing memories. He looked around for the body section, seeing it twenty or thirty feet away, and started walking towards it.

The screens displaying the memories distracted him, however, and he stopped to watch. He saw people and places he did not recognize. Landscapes and fields and crops—apparently the man was a farmer. In another he saw a child being born, and in another he saw a beautiful young woman with whom he was holding hands while walking amid the waving corn.

Aeden walked slowly along, until he came to one of the final screens. He saw the beautiful woman again, though this time somewhat older, and she was cowering. He could see a fist pounding on her. Over and over it struck. Aeden watched, horrified. The woman started to bleed from her nose, her hand up as if trying to ward off further strikes. She cried, and screamed, though Aeden could hear no sound. The fist stopped. Aeden could finally see that the fist belonged to the old man. The hand reached down to the woman, and hefted her up off the floor. She was still sobbing. And bleeding. The hand stroked her hair. Aeden could hear nothing, but saw the woman slowly stop crying, nurse her nose and her now black eye. The hand held her shoulder, and guided her to a chair. The scene shifted. More corn.

Aeden continued walking. He found the body’s section, and began searching for problems. He could not concentrate. The image of the bloody, cowering woman haunted him.
Does this man deserve healing?
He thought. He saw a few flashing red lights on the extremities section, and approached them.
Is this how all commoners are?
His hand drifted over the controls for that section.
How can he hurt and injure, and then come ask for healing?

Aeden struggled. He heard a distant, echoed voice:
Please heal me.
He looked all over, but saw no one. He stood there, staring at the controls. He heard it again, very distant, pleading:
Please! Please heal me!
His hand rested on the dials governing the red lights. He turned it slowly. The light turned from red to orange, then yellow.

The image of the woman replayed itself in his mind. Her hand raised to block the beating fist.

He stopped. He moved the dial back. Yellow, orange, red.

He raised his hand from the controls.

He left the mind.

He looked and saw the old man sitting there, with expectant eyes. Aeden took away his hand. “I’m sorry, I tried, but I could do nothing. I’m sorry.” He said straight faced.

The man sighed. He struggled to get up, and said, “Thank you for trying. For a moment there, I thought I was feeling relief. Thought I might be able to farm again. No matter. You did your best. Thank you, my son.” The man raised his fist above Aeden and placed it gently on his head. He voiced aloud: “Great Creator, bless this young man. May thy grace rest upon him.” He lowered his arm, and limped out of the room.

Aeden sat there, shaking. He stood to fetch another townsperson, but sat again. He leaned back against the brick wall and looked toward the ceiling of the room. Rough wooden boards, held together by slats of steel near the walls. He traced the seams with his eyes, the knots, the cut marks. He counted them.

He lowered his head and rose and opened the door. He beckoned to the next person. The woman entered, carrying a young boy, no more than three or four. He looked listless and pale. “What is wrong with him?” Aeden asked.

“I don’t know. He’s been like this for weeks,” she whispered. The woman looked plainly exhausted. They sat and Aeden placed his hand on the boy’s burning head. He entered. The wall loomed before him and he found the body section. A mass of flashing red and orange greeted him. He caught his breath. Extremities, red. Lungs, orange. Blood, red. Stomach and viscera, red. He turned some of the dials. A few reds turned to orange. He turned other dials. The oranges turned back to red. He adjusted the blood dial. The lung lights turned from orange to red. Aeden panicked. He turned more dials, some changing the colors to orange and yellow, others changing them right back.
What am I doing?
He thought, and he left the mind.

He said to the woman, “I’ll be right back, madam.” He rushed out of the room, and found the master healer’s room where the old man had his hand on the head of an old, scabby woman.

The master healer opened his eyes. “Can I help you, Aeden?”

The young man blurted out, “Master, there is a sick child here, and I’m not sure what to do. I’m afraid I’ve made him worse.”

The master arose, supporting the old woman as she followed him out the door. “Unlikely. But come. Let us see.” The old woman thanked the master, who followed Aeden into his room. The young mother looked up at them, red eyes pleading. The two men sat, placing their hands on the child’s head, and entered.

Aeden showed the old man the lights, and how he had adjusted them. The master healer turned a few of them himself, then placed his hand on a blank screen, closed his eyes and concentrated. When he opened them, he looked up at Aeden, unable to hide the sorrow in his eyes.
You’ve done nothing wrong, Aeden. There is nothing either of us can do. Whatever malady has invaded this child is here to stay. It is in the Creator’s hands now.

Aeden shouted,
What do you mean there’s nothing we can do? We’re healers, aren’t we? It’s just parts and pieces here that we need to fix, just like your metal toy! Fix him!

The old man sighed.
I’m so sorry Aeden, This is hard. It’s hard your first time, and it does not get easier, I’m afraid. We are not the Creator. We can’t fix this. Just like the lord of Lofgren, we can’t fix this. Only the Creator can now.

Aeden pursed his lips. He turned his back.
Fine. Let’s leave.
The two men left the mind and opened their eyes. The master healer put his hand on the side of the head of the woman, tenderly stroking her hair.

“My lady. I’m so sorry. I can do nothing.” She wept, the tired tears flowing down her cheek. The old man rested his hand on her head, and spoke. “Let us pray.” He lifted up his head and raised his voice, “Oh Creator of heaven and earth, of field and sky. Have mercy now on this thy daughter, and this her son. Let thy power flow from on high and cleanse the child of the malady and heal his pain. May thy grace be sufficient for him, and for her. And for us. Of one mind and heart!”

 She likewise repeated, “Of one mind and heart.”

Aeden breathed, “Of one mind and heart.”

The woman found strength and bore her child out of the room. The master healer, with a tear on his cheek, pulled Aeden to the door. “Come, my son. There is work yet to be done before the journey is rejoined.”

Chapter Fifteen

“The first shall be second and the second shall be first. The conquering enemy and the friend shall become the deliveror and the the tyrant. But the two enemies shall reconcile, though but for a moment.” –Burdens of Galen, 2:11

The travelers set out late that evening, after the sun had fallen. The company passed out of the town under a blanket of darkness and fog, which rolled in from the sea. They climbed the hill above the town and re-entered the forest to the north, angling now to the northeast, toward Volda, the nearest of the northern kingdoms. They marched through the forest for hours, at times unsure of their direction. They gradually sank lower, until they came to the edge of a precipice that looked out over a broad, wooded valley, faintly illuminated by the pale light of pre-dawn. Near a stream, they stopped, and decided to rest for the night, laying out their bedding under the trees for cover from the fog.

Aeden and Priam ate some of their provisions, and decided to blow off some steam. They distanced themselves a bit from the group, taking their swords and armor with them. They dueled, as they once did as children and as they had done just weeks before the nightmare. Aeden smiled at last, for the first time in days, as Priam lunged at him, only to miss as the more talented boy dodged and delivered his counterstrike. Priam swore, to Aeden’s delight.

“Getting a little rusty, are we?” he jeered. Priam struck again, even sloppier, as the sleepless night of marching began to show. Aeden laughed, and as his friend missed he grabbed his wrist with his left hand and elbowed him in the stomach with his right elbow. Priam dropped the sword and doubled over as Aeden released him and stepped back a few paces, still chuckling.

When Priam recovered his breath, he remarked bitterly, “The heavens always did seem to favor you, friend.” He wheezed.

Aeden bowed, “Heir of the sixth duke, at your service.”

Priam grimaced, and Aeden bent down to help raise his friend up. They heard a voice behind them.

“Bravo!” Swordmaster Arturo approached, clapping slowly. He stood before them, holding his sword. “May I join you?”

Aeden and Priam nodded, with Aeden adding, “I daresay you may teach us a few things, sir.”

Arturo inclined his head toward them. “More than a few, I think.” He said, giving a sly wink. “Your technique is excellent, worthy almost of the royal guard.” He said to both of them. “But you fight as regular men, and not as the rohvim you are. Come, enter my mind for a moment. I have something to show you.”

The boys looked at each other and shrugged. They sheathed their swords and placed a hand each on the man’s head. Once inside, they found themselves in a fighting practice room, yet one such that the king himself would envy. Targets and wooden people and bales of hay and many styles of swords and daggers and armors lay about.

Arturo gestured them over to his mind’s wall.
Come, look here. Near the body section you see some controls that govern some of our rohva powers
. He waved his arm over some knobs and indicators just past the mind section that Aeden remembered the master healer showing him yesterday.
This second set here controls what has colloquially come to be known as the soul shock—that is what the young woman used against you last week—yes I was watching. To use it, you need to be partially in the real world, and partially here, at the controls. It takes some practice, splitting your attention like that, but soon you will do it without hardly thinking.

This first dial controls the intensity. This second one controls the repetition rate—it can be set to steady, or it can be set as high as … well, far faster than you could keep track of. We find that different repetition rates can create vastly varying effects. For now, until you learn more, keep this one at the lowest setting. The third control you see is a button that initiates the release of … soul, so to speak, or lightning.