Rohvim #1: Metal and Flesh (5 page)

“I’m … here to see the master healer. On business,” he responded curtly.

“Oh! Business!” The man excitedly bobbed his head, which Aeden thought strange since he thought the man clearly had never done any business in his entire life. “You must be a nobleman!” He got to his feet and approached the wide-eyed Aeden, “Nice to meet you!” he asked, extending his scabby hand to the grimacing boy.

Aeden looked at it in thinly disguised horror, and nodded to the man, “Very charmed. I …”

“I will see you now, Tompkins!”

Aeden looked up and the master healer stood before them. The wretched man hobbled away towards the master, who continued, “Good to see you, Master Rossam. Please. I’ll be but a moment.” He strode off with the sick man in tow towards a pair of chairs in the center of the room. The two sat and the master healer placed his hand on Tompkins’s temple.

Aeden rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. The scene from the alley replayed itself in his mind several times over. He felt badly for the man—obviously poor, by the looks of him, and in spite of his poverty the thugs beat him and took what little he had. In his mind’s eye he saw the bloody man reaching up to him, begging for help. What else could he have done? The scene continues—the hand is almost touching his arm.

Aeden nearly jumped out of his seat as a hand grabbed his shoulder. “You awake, boy?” Tompkins cackled with delight in Aeden’s face, released his grip of the startled boy’s shoulder, and swaggered past him, a new spring in his step.

“Thank you kindly, master!” the old man called back.

The master healer stood with hands on hips, watching the old man leave and replied, “Anytime, Tomkins, anytime. Aeden! Come. I told you I’d be but a minute.” Aeden sprang to his feet and followed the man back to an office at the rear of the room. It was larger than the other siderooms, and shelves lined the walls, crammed with books and odds and ends. A large desk sat to one side stuffed with parchments, scrolls, books, quills, and half eaten food. The master healer sat at the desk, motioning for Aeden to sit in a chair to the side.

“Good to see you, my boy. Do you remember me?” The man smiled at him, leaning back in his chair and kicking his boots up onto the littered desk.

“I do, sir. You healed me when I was young. Seven, I think.” Aeden cocked his head to the side. “You remember me after all this time and all those people?”

“Yes. I have an excellent memory, if I do say so myself—which I do. Plus, I kept an eye on you since.” He thumbed through some stray papers on his desk. “Do you believe the healers can heal?”

“Of course, sir. I would say the results speak for themselves.”

“Some people think we practice witchcraft, or some other nonsense. What do you think?”

Aeden slowly shook his head. “I … I don’t know. I just know you heal people, and, I assume it’s by the power of the Creator.”

The healer stroked his chin, “And the priests? Why do they not heal?”

The boy looked bewildered. “I don’t know, sir. Maybe that is not their job?”

“Good answer, my boy, good answer,” the man chuckled. “It is, however, my job, and I hope it will soon be your job. I’ve asked you here to invite you to join the society of healers. What do you think about that?”

Aeden looked stunned. “I don’t know what to think about that, sir. I’ve never shown any … hint … of being able to heal anyone. I don’t know how it’s done. I planned on applying to join the royal guard when I turn nineteen.”

The man frowned, further creasing the lines on his forehead. “True, it would be an honorable calling in life to protect the king. But I’m offering you something far greater. And I can assure you, the power is within you. Actually, the power is within all of us, most just don’t know it.”

“Anyone can be a healer? Well I guess that explains Priam.…”

“I asked Priam to come here for the same reason you sit here as well. True, any can heal, but I want something more in my healers. I saw it in you when I healed you those years ago, and I saw it in him as well. Don’t ask me to explain: it was just a feeling, but I knew that you and Priam both were to be invited to join the society.”

“But sir, I know the work you do is very important—the king himself thinks very highly of the society. But I’ve been planning on the royal guard since I was a child. And if that doesn’t work out, the priests have suggested that I might have a place with them as well. And either way, when my father passes away, I will be the next Lord Rossam and will have other duties. I just don’t see how.…”

“All very important things, my boy. I’m asking you because you are special. Yes, yes, you have nobleman’s blood in you, I do not refer to that. When I healed you, I felt something special, and I believe you are destined to join us. And with that, I will tell you something else. Something that will be very difficult for you to believe, and I ask very seriously that you keep this between us.”

Aeden nodded gravely. “What is it, my lord?”

The master healer leaned forward in his chair and lowered his voice. “You, my boy, are a rohva.”

Chapter Three

“In the beginning very little was. This little became more, growing and learning of its own accord, until it drew the attention of the Creator, and, drawing handfuls toward him, he fashioned it into forms like unto himself. ‘Created by me you were not, but now with my breath of life, created in my image you are.’ And he touched with his finger the things he had made, filling them with his breath, and they lived, and rejoiced....” —Beginnings, 2:1

 “Excuse me, master healer, a what?”

“A rohva. A machine. An automaton. An android. A cyborg. A robot.”

“I’m sorry master, but I’m not familiar with any of those words. Are they Voldish words from the north?”

“No, no, no, these are words that our people used to know in long ages past, but have forgotten as the years progressed. They are, in fact, many thousands of years old. What I mean to say is, you, me, all of us, are mechanical beings. We were built!”

“Well master healer, of course we were built! The Creator built us. Does it not say so in the Chronicles?”

“So it does. And I don’t mean to say I understand all of it, but what I’m trying to tell you is this.” He stroked his chin again and got to his feet. “When a stag or a chicken are killed, what do you see inside of them?”

“Blood. Muscles, white bones, uh …”

The master healer cut him off, “In their heads, what do you see?”

“Brains? More blood?”

“Yes! Brains! More blood! You see … flesh … inside the heads. Now what do you see in the head of a man? What do you see in the tombs? When the tribunal passes judgment and a man is condemned to die, what do you see inside after they execute him?

“Well, you see his soul escape with the fall of the axe. And in his spine you see metal, and in …”

“That’s it. You see metal. We are different than every other living thing. Animals are made of flesh and bone. We are made of flesh and metal. And if you look closely at the brain of a man, you’d see tiny glassy fibers, embedded in flesh, encased in metal.”

“But master healer, you are only repeating what the Chronicles teach! They say that we are special too, that the Creator, after he finished making all the beasts and fowls and fish, he saved man for last, and he made us special. He gave us stronger bones with metal in them, and stronger heads, also with metal in them….” He trailed off, as he saw the master healer shaking his head.

The old man sat down at his desk, mumbling to himself. Aeden looked around the room at the master’s bookshelves, full of ancient tomes, the old oak desk full of stacks of parchments, inkwells, medical implements, toys that the old man delighted in giving out to the town’s poorer children. The more he inspected the room the more he realized how much it looked as if a cyclone had passed through. The healer rummaged through the items in his desk and pulled out a silvery toy. It was a man, made of shiny metal, apparently steel, but it had a knob on the back and several gears stuck out behind it.

“Look at this.” The man said, extending the toy to Aeden. He accepted the offer and examined the toy. It was cold, very smooth, and heavy. Tiny engravings revealed themselves as he looked closer, though they were indecipherable.

“What is it?”

“A toy, nothing more. I use it to explain to future society members what our true natures are. That knob in the back. Twist it several times.” Aeden wrapped his fingers around the piece of metal extending from the toy man’s back and twisted. When he let go, the toy’s arms began moving up and down while the head turned from side to side.

“Very fun. Where did you get it? I reckon my sister would enjoy one.” Aeden remarked.

“It does not matter where I got it. What matters is that you understand now, that I, you, all of us, are almost exactly like that toy. Just as you supply power to it by turning the knob, which moves the gears you see and thereby moving the arms, we too have a power source which supplies energy to our bodies and minds. Except we are far more than this toy, obviously. Our Creator put a great deal of work into us.”

“Master, I’m afraid I still do not understand what you are getting at. Of course we are somewhat like this. We eat, and the Creator himself sustains us with his holy power. Just because we have metal bones and skulls does not make us … well I’m still not even sure what you’re claiming that makes us.”

The man sighed. “My boy, Aeden, I suppose I will have to show you. Come here. Let me touch your head.”

“But I am not sick. Do you need to heal me?” Aeden looked a little bewildered. “Did that filthy man infect me with something?”

“No, you are not sick. Maybe a little naïve and even foolish, but no. I just need to touch your head so I can show you what I am talking about.” The old man beckoned, and Aeden, after a moment’s hesitation, approached. The healer put his strong, wrinkled hand onto Aeden’s forehead.

Can you hear me, Aeden? Here, in your head?

The boy’s eyes grew wide, and he backed away quickly. “What?” He stumbled as he retreated from the healer. “What … what did you do?”

“My brain spoke directly to your brain. No, it’s not what you think. This is not witchcraft. I am not evil and I do not wish to steal your soul, contrary to what the priests might say, though I daresay there are those in the world who would. No, what I have done is used … the metal … in my head, to talk directly to the metal in your head. Great creator, you are more dense than most.” The man sighed again in defeat.

Aeden sat silent for a few moments. “Master, I should go. Thank you for the offer. I’m flattered. Really.” He stood and walked to the door. “I … I’ll not tell anyone what you said, as I promised.”

The man smiled wryly at him. “Do you really think anyone would believe you, or even understand you, since you don’t seem to quite grasp it yourself? But thank you. Please come visit me again and we will talk more.”

Aeden turned to walk out the door, but paused again. “You say that everyone has the power to heal? And everyone then has the power to … to do what you just did to me?

“Yes, Aeden. I can teach you. You have a great destiny before you, son. You will be an instrument in the hands of the Creator to bring relief to many. The calling of a healer is the greatest that a man or woman can aspire to in this life. Please consider what I have shared with you.” The healer stood up and followed Aeden out the door, beckoning to another sick person seated near the front entrance, this one a young pregnant woman with a look of distress plastered on her pretty face.

Aeden, still shaken by his talk with the master healer, left the clinic and walked down the street in front of the estate. He saw the communal hall gleaming up ahead and began walking towards it, now noticing the sick, the poor and the afflicted that steadily approached the healer’s clinic in ones and twos. He sprang up the stone steps of the building and entered the large double doors.

Priest Anthony looked up from a manuscript and stood with arms open, “Master Rossam! Welcome! Come! Sit!” and ushered Aeden to a chair near his, next to the great circular dais with its peculiar markings ringing the edge, two slightly raised lips in the center pointing out towards two of the symbols. “Your mother performed exceptionally well several nights ago. And I must say, you dazzled us all with your voice, once again.”

“Thank you, Priest Anthony. Have you been busy today?”

“No. When there is not a feast or a festival or a communal service approaching, then I actually become quite bored, were it not for friends like you to come cheer me up.” The priest crossed his legs and leaned back in the plush chair. “What’s on your mind?”

“Tell me, Priest Anthony. What are we?” Aeden asked, earnestly.

“What a question, friend! We are Puertamandians! We are of Elbeth! We are noblemen!” exclaimed the priest.

Aeden tried again, “No, Priest Anthony. I mean, where did we come from? How were we created? What are we?”

“You know the answer to that, friend. We are children of our Creator, made in His image. He sits over all in His throne on the highest mountain of the world and gives unto us the rest of His creations to dominate and order and do with as we will, all to His glory.” The priest sat forward in his chair, concerned, “Why the questions, friend? Questions to which you already know answers.”