“Dawan.” Albern stood at once and embraced her, and she patted his back gently. He slid around to another chair on the far side of the table, offering his own to her. “My heart sings to see you again.”
“It should not be doing that,” said Dawan, her brows rising. “I shall have to take a look at it.”
Albern chuckled, and Sun did the same, once she realized it was a joke. She had not stopped studying Dawan’s face. “Albern told me you were older than he is,” she said. “I can hardly believe it.”
Dawan laughed, a deep, rich sound that made Sun feel comforted and warm. “I have lived a life of great comfort and safety, even when travel has taken me away from the Seat. Meanwhile, this fool keeps throwing himself into one dark pit after another. Always climbs back out, however, which is good, especially if he is now picking up traveling companions as young as you are.”
“As kind as always,” said Albern, giving her a smile. Dawan returned it. Then she clasped her hands before her.
“I have much to do here and elsewhere, and less time to do it in. May we retire to my room?”
“Of course,” said Albern.
He drained the last of his mug, and Sun hurried to do the same. They rose and followed Dawan out of the common room into a hallway. She stopped at the second door on the left and opened it. As Albern and Sun filed in, Dawan remained by the door. When they were inside, she paused and looked to Albern.
“Would you prefer for us to be alone?”
“That is up to Sun,” said Albern. “I do not mind either way.”
“I would like to stay, if that is all right,” said Sun. The truth was that she was not even sure what she was staying for, but curiosity had a hold on her now.
“It is,” said Dawan. She closed the door and locked it. “You will have to go if I ask you to, however.”
“I will,” said Sun.
Dawan motioned her to a chair on the other side of the room, and Sun sat. Albern rested on the edge of the bed. Dawan went to him and took his face in her hands, tilting it back and forth and looking at him from all angles.
“Your eyes are still sharp, I see.”
“They are, thank the sky,” said Albern.
Dawan nodded. Then she placed her hands on either side of Albern’s throat. From behind her, Sun saw the soft glow of magelight from the woman’s eyes. She gave a little gasp before she could stifle it—as a child of nobility, she had often seen wizards performing magic, but it still sent a thrill through her every time.
From what Sun knew of spellcasting, she thought that Dawan was using her alchemy—transmutation, wizards called it—to look into Albern’s body, inspecting for any signs of injury or illness. They both remained completely still for a moment, Albern’s eyes closed as he let Dawan inspect him. After a short while, the glow in Dawan’s eyes faded, and she sighed.
“All seems well here. Your shirt, please.”
Albern nodded and began to peel his tunic away from his body. It was stained with sweat and with much travel, but Dawan did not flinch as she helped him lift it off and hung it on a hook by the door like a fine garment.
“Where was it?” she asked, peering at his chest.
“Here,” said Albern, pointing. It was awkward, for the spot was under his left arm, but he had no right arm to make the motion with.
“All right,” said Dawan. She did not use her magic at first, but poked and prodded at his torso like any healer Sun had seen. Albern took her ministrations without comment, his gaze wandering idly about the room. Once he met Sun’s eyes and gave her a gentle smile, which Sun returned with some embarrassment.
“You do not have to remain if you do not wish to,” he said.
“I am all right,” said Sun.
Albern nodded and said no more. When Dawan had finished looking him over, she again placed her hands on his body, her eyes filling with magelight as she touched him first in one place, and then another. It took considerably longer than Sun would have expected. She thought that alchemists could see straight through something in just a heartbeat, but that seemed not to be the case.
Dawan finished at last and stepped back with a sigh. There was a second chair nearby, and she sat down in it, seemingly fatigued for a moment.
“I can see it,” she said. “It does not appear to be from your wending, which is a good thing. And I do not think it is an illness, either. It looks to be the remnant of some old injury, likely from a battle.”
Albern pursed his lips. “It has never troubled me before.”
“You are old,” said Dawan flatly, though she softened the words with a smile. “Medicas can do much with the body, but they can do nothing about such injuries, nor about age itself.”
“Well, then,” said Albern, nodding. “That is the best news I could have expected, and I am glad to hear it.”
“It would not be so agitated if you settled down and led a quiet life,” said Dawan.
Albern smiled. “Mayhap one day.”
“Days run short, my friend,” said Dawan quietly. “For both of us.”
He shrugged. “Who knows what the future holds?”
“Only one thing is certain,” said Dawan. “But come. These thoughts are too gloomy. Let us finish your inspection.” She turned to Sun. “You may remain, as before, but I will ask that you avert your eyes.”
“Oh, I … of course.” Sun felt her cheeks flame as she looked away. She was vaguely aware of some activity between Dawan and Albern on the other side of the room, but she busied herself studying the grain of the wood floor beneath her.
“Have you suffered any pains?” said Dawan after a bit.
“As you have said, I live a hard life.”
“Aside from the usual, of course,” said Dawan, her voice betraying only a hint of annoyance.
“No,” said Albern.
“Good,” said Dawan. There was more activity just beyond the edge of Sun’s vision. “All right, girl. We are done.”
Sun looked back. Albern was fully clothed again and smiling at the medica. Dawan had gone to a table beside her bed, where a small bowl of perfumed water stood. She dipped her hands in it, wiping them gently before drying them on a cloth. When she finished, she fixed her gaze on Sun, and there was a keen interest in her eyes.
“Have you ever seen a medica at work on an ander person before?”
“No,” said Sun quietly. “I have known ander people, of course, but this is … new. I have always been somewhat curious about it.”
“Well, you will rarely have a better chance to ask questions,” said Dawan, spreading her hands. “What do you wish to know?”
Sun leaned forwards, flattening her hands against each other before her chin. “I have seen medicas heal wounds, but then I have heard that they do not truly heal wounds.”
“That is true,” said Dawan. “In the case of grievous injury, the best we can do is a sort of … a sealing. It holds the wound shut so that our charge does not bleed to death. True healing must come from within. Our seal will wear away after a time, and there can be aftereffects.”
“Why?” said Sun. “Why can you not truly heal the wound? And why is a wending different? The changes an ander person goes through do not wear away.”
Dawan licked her lips slowly, shaking her head as though frustrated. “And there you have asked the greatest question of our art. The answer is that no one knows. A therianthrope can heal their own wounds, but though a transmuter’s power is a mirror of that branch, yet we cannot heal others. And no one knows why.”
Sun blinked, confused. Albern saw it, and he smiled. “Therianthropy is what wizards call weremagic, and transmutation is alchemy.”
“Ah,” said Sun. “Thank you.”
Dawan smiled and shook her head at them. “In any case, to understand why it is this way, we would have to know why bodies grow the way they do in the first place, and that is a mystery beyond anyone. All I can tell you is that we consult with our charges for a long time, making sure the patient knows exactly
the way they wish their body to be, and that they have put that picture in our mind in as much detail as they possibly can. It is easier the younger they are, but then, most who are ander know it from an early age. But only once this picture is clear can we use our magic to realize it. If our job is done well, the body accepts the changes very naturally.”
“With no … no changing back to the way it was before,” said Sun.
“Correct. It is called reversion, in our craft.” Dawan paused, considering. “This is not part of our training, but … in my own experience, and from what I have seen, it is … it is as though the body was always supposed to be that way in the first place. We only use our magic to get it back on track, if you will. It is more like righting a ship so it can resume its course, than truly ‘changing’ anything. Which is why many ander people do not get a wending at all. They enjoy themselves just the way they are. The body was never off course in the first place.”
“I still do not see how that is different from an injury,” said Sun. “Is a wound not just a body getting ‘off course,’ as you put it, in what is clearly an attempt to relate to my Dulmish sensibilities?” She smiled.
Dawan gave a loud guffaw before she could help herself, and then turned it into a more dignified titter. She glanced at Albern. “Oh, I like her. As for your question, girl: that might be the case, but it does not mean medicas can accomplish true healing. We cannot, and the results can be very dangerous if we try. Things can be different with a disease, or some injuries a person may be born with. Sometimes our magic can treat such a disease, other times it cannot. But since the side effects can be so severe, it is rarely attempted unless a life is at stake.”
The room settled to silence. As Sun pondered what the medica had said, she realized that Albern and Dawan were both looking very intently at her. It was the same look Albern had given her earlier that day, when she had asked him about the time he left home. Suddenly she felt self-conscious, and she rolled her shoulders as if casting off a cloak.
“What is it? Did I say something wrong? I did not mean to …” She trailed off, for she did not know what she had not meant to do.
“Nothing like that,” said Dawan. She came over and crouched before Sun, looking at her from eye level. Her warm, soft hands wrapped around Sun’s own. “I must ask, and there is no wrong answer—even no answer. Do you think you might be ander?”
Suddenly Sun understood their reaction. She smiled at them both. “Ah. I see. I … I have thought about it. I do not think so, though I am not entirely sure.”
“And you do not have to be,” said Dawan quickly.
“Of course not,” said Albern. “I am glad to hear you have given thought to it, though. That was more than I had done, when I left Tokana.”
“Now I know why you were giving me all those looks this morning,” said Sun. “You could have simply asked me.”
“That is a conversation that must be had in the right time and place,” said Albern. “As I know better than most.”
“He is not entirely a fool,” said Dawan. But the look she gave Albern was so fond that Sun could not believe any of the chiding in her tone. “And with that, we are done here.”
Sun stood from the chair. She had not realized how much time had passed until her leg muscles suddenly screamed in protest. “Sky above, I need to walk.”
“I am sure you will, if I know anything about Albern,” said Dawan.
Albern stood from the bed, tugging gently on his tunic to adjust it. “Thank you, Dawan, as always.”
“You are most welcome, old friend.” Dawan went and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “And do not try any of your tricks this time. I have already given the innkeeper gold—more than enough to cover my time here. You will not be able to sneak a payment to her for my services.”
His face twisted in a scowl. “Dark take you. Old age has made you wily.”
Dawan laughed. She went to Sun and took her hand for a moment, squeezing it. “It was an honor to meet you.”
“Honor does not begin to describe it,” said Sun. Then, seized by an impulse, she stepped forwards and embraced the medica. Dawan seemed shocked for the space of a heartbeat, but before Sun could pull back in embarrassment, she felt the woman’s plump arms wrap around her.
“Please,” whispered Dawan. “Please, take care of him for me.”
Then Sun did draw back, but in surprise. She looked into Dawan’s eyes and found them glistening. But her face was turned from Albern, and she had spoken so quietly that Sun knew he had not heard.
“Thank you again,” said Sun. She gave Dawan a look, hoping the medica could see the answer in her eyes.
“And you,” said Dawan, nodding.
Albern ushered her out. Dawan closed the door behind them. “You see?” said Albern. “What did I tell you? Dawan is one of the nine lands’ greatest treasures.”
“She is,” said Sun fervently. “I wish we could have stayed with her longer. But I will accept, as a poor substitute, a return to your tale.”
Albern chuckled. “Very well,” he said. “I will tell you a bit more—but as we walk. Remember, I had other business in Lan Shui, and I still mean to take care of it.”
“Agreed,” said Sun, following him out of the Sunspear.
But as they walked through the streets and out through the north gate, she caught herself looking often back over her shoulder, thinking of all that Dawan had said.
The day after our meeting with Ditra, Gatak finally returned to the other trolls.
She strode into the pack’s midst soon after dawn, the sun just cresting the eastern horizon and shining on her back. The smaller trolls roaming around the edges of the pack saw her first. They went stock still, staring in wonder as she approached. Gatak ignored them. Ambling on all fours, she picked her way between the trolls who were still sleeping. The air buzzed with their snores.
Apok stepped into her path.
Gatak was larger than most of the trolls, but Apok was larger still. Gatak looked up, betraying no concern. They stared at each other for a long, silent moment.
“You have been gone for many turns of the moons,” said Apok at last.
“Yes,” said Gatak.
“Where have you been?”
“I have traveled far,” said Gatak. “I have seen the end of the mountains. I have seen the eastern sky and the western sea.”
“I think you have been lurking with your human friends,” said Apok.
“They are friends to all of us,” said Gatak. “Their Lord promises many gifts.”
“Chok did not think so,” said Apok.
Gatak showed her teeth. “And where is he?”
Apok’s nostrils flared. But before she could answer, a barking command came from behind her.
“Apok! Enough!”
Dotag strode up, shoving Apok aside when he reached the two of them. For a moment he stood there, looking Gatak up and down, his ears folding back in contentment. Looking around, he found another troll who still slept, his arm curled around a half-eaten loaf of bread. Dotag snatched it away.
“For you,” he said, proffering the loaf.
Gatak growled in pleasure as she took it from him and ate it in a single bite. But she tossed her head as she swallowed the last of it.
“Good,” she said. “But old.”
Dotag’s face fell. “We last attacked the humans five nights ago. We will get more.”
Gatak peered up into his face. “Have you fought many battles? Have you driven them out of the mountains?”
Instead of answering, Dotag looked around at the rest of the pack. “Let us talk alone.”
That earned a stony silence from Gatak, but she followed him as he strode away. They broke into a run as they left the pack, and Dotag thrilled to be running with her again. Soon they came to a broad cliff that climbed straight up the side of a mountain. Dotag roared and plunged his hands into the stone, grabbing handholds and propelling himself upwards. Gatak followed, but quietly.
H
alf a span up, they came to a wide ledge that almost looked to have been cut into the mountainside. The ground was soft and overgrown with grass, which formed a soft cushion for them to sit down on. Dotag cast himself down, looking out from the cliff over the mountains as they spun away south. Far away—but not too far—he saw the pall of smoke that marked the humans’ city, the one they called Kahaunga.
“We are close now,” he said.
“Close, but not there,” said Gatak. “Tell me what you have done.”
“We have attacked many villages. The humans flee from us. They gather in their city.” He drew a crude map of the pact’s borders in the turf, digging into it with his stubby finger. “This is the pact line. We are here.” He dug a great circle where the pack now resided.
Gatak snorted. “I know where we are. Why have you not attacked the human city?”
Dotag’s ears spread wide and began to quiver with his sullenness. “We have been moving closer,” he said. “The pack was reluctant.”
“When Chok led them,” said Gatak. “You lead now. They will follow you.”
“They do follow me,” said Dotag angrily. He stood and slammed his fists into the ground. His crude drawing was flung to dust.
“How many humans have you killed?”
Dotag almost deflated as she watched. “None,” he said. “The others still do not wish to kill. They say there is no reason to. The humans flee whenever we come.”
“They flee, but then they gather,” snarled Gatak. “And they do not leave the mountains. They infest our land like ticks. They will not flee their city and let you take it. You must kill them. You should have killed many already.”
“We will,” said Dotag. “I will. And then the others will follow me. We will drive the humans out of the mountains. For you.”
That seemed to please Gatak. She pawed the ground. “For the Lord.”
“For you,” Dotag said again. When she let the matter lie, he went to sit beside her again. “You were right. I lead now. The others follow me. And I can mate as I wish.”
Gatak’s ears went up. “When did that ever stop us before?”
The Tales of the Wanderer Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 4) Page 45
