by Candy Nicks
"The Crystal hardly speaks to me these days. The Goddess, even less so.” Carine turned away, after eight years still unable to talk at length of the sacrifice she'd made for Ancel. She patted the consoling hand Naima placed on her shoulder.
"I'm so sorry,” Naima said. “My problems are trivial compared to the awful burden you carry. You should tell father what you did. He would want to know."
"No, he would not bear it well. Naima, you must keep your promise never to tell him."
"You told me. Why not him?"
Carine shook her head. “It would break him—oh, my goodness, what is all that commotion?” she said, deflecting further questions that she had no intention of answering. Peering through the window, she caught sight of an excited crowd of Settlers making their way towards the main gate. Her eldest son, Sol, broke from the throng, and ran to the hut, an enormous red hound at his heels. He threw open the door, breathless with excitement, and pushed away the snuffling dog.
"Mother, Naima. You must come and see. There's a man. He's all bloody and beaten and cut,” he gasped, making dramatic slashing gestures with his hands. “Father's on the walls with Brynn and Kandar. They're deciding whether to bring him in."
"Deciding? Sol, go back to your studies. This is not something you want to see."
"Mother, I'm eight years old.” Sol squared his shoulders and grasped the wooden sword buckled at his hip. “I've begun my warrior training and you might need protection. Let me come, please?"
Distracted by the soul in need, Carine had no time to argue. “All right,” she said. “But if I say you go back, you do. Where's your brother?"
"With Larissa, where do you think?” Face alight with excitement, Sol spun on his heels and ran on ahead, eager to catch a glimpse of the mysterious injured man. Sol had the physical appearance of an Eagle but all the guile of a Moon-Child when it came to getting his own way. He disappeared into the crowd while Carine mentally ran through the list of supplies required to treat such terrible injuries.
"Here,” she said, tucking a fresh batch of sterilised bandages into the medi-kit.
"Will father let him in?"
Carine reached for her Crystal and caressed the smooth facets with her thumb. With all of her reserves drained by the soul-swap, she had little left in the way of magic. Yet, this man's sudden appearance troubled her. The Crystal hummed gently under her fingers, sending images rather than words. Why had it chosen to speak to her now?
"What is it?” Naima's eyes narrowed with concern. “Is he a danger to us?"
Carine closed her eyes and strained for a connection to the Source. “No ... I don't think so. It's important we save him, and not simply because he's a soul in need. That's all I know."
"Then save him we will.” Naima slung the medi-kit over her shoulder and raced from the hut calling for stretcher-bearers. Carine followed, her mind full of the Crystal's vision. After all these years, had the Goddess at last heard her prayers? A wolf in man's clothing meant only one thing. Carine steadied her thumping heart with a calming breath and glanced up at the walls and the sight of her husband, a tall silhouette against the evening sky. Blast-gun in hand, he was staring intently at a point beyond the dry moat. Nothing would happen until he gave the word. The safety of the Settlers was paramount.
Naima appeared beside him flanked by Brynn and Kandar. Ancel turned and looked down into the crowd. Carine waved to him, relieved to see him nodding his assent.
"He's alone,” she heard him shout, at last. “We'll bring him in."
While she waited for them to descend the walls, her mind raced through the possibilities. Most likely, the man had been savaged by a wild animal. That would account for the vision. But what of the other explanation? The one so unlikely, she hardly dared think it?
Ancel embraced her and pressed a kiss to her cheek, frowning at her serious expression. Sol burst through the crowd to stand beside his father, wooden sword drawn. Ancel ruffled his son's long yellow hair and gave the order to open the gate.
"Let him come,” he said, anticipating Carine's objection to Sol witnessing such a gory spectacle. “Our son needs to learn the ways of men.” He turned to Carine, giving her a long hard stare. “Why so serious?” he asked as the wooden gates swung open.
Carine shook her head in dismissal, straining for the first glimpse of the injured man.
"I know that look,” Ancel replied. “Do you sense something?"
"Only that we must save him."
"We ... Naima! Sol! God's Blood, when will those two learn? Wait for me. It could be a trap."
Carine ran with him, over the wooden ramp bridging the dry moat, calling after Sol to no avail. The child stopped at the feet of the injured man, his face blanched white by the sight. Taking him by the shoulders, she gave him into the care of one of the women who stood at a respectful distance.
"He's alive.” Naima batted away the flying insects buzzing around the man's open wounds and pressed two fingers to his throat. “Yes, he lives—barely. Will someone go and see if Doctor Pietr is awake? And bring a stretcher. We must get this man inside."
"No, wait. Give me a moment.” Carine dropped to her knees and pulled out her Crystal. Around them, weapons drawn, the men-folk took up watch. Depending on their value, a runaway might have a whole posse of bounty-hunters after them. Or worse, the man might be a criminal on the run. A danger to them all.
She held the Crystal over the man, glancing at his near lifeless body with dismay. How could anyone survive such wounds? He looked more like a bundle of blood-soaked rags than a human being; barefoot, emaciated. His tattered tunic was sliced open at the front, as if an animal had clawed at him, revealing a festering mass of open flesh. Long dark hair, tangled and matted, clung to cheekbones sharpened by hunger. The thin fingers of one hand clutched what appeared to be the bone of a small animal.
"My Crystal also speaks.” An older woman kneeled with them. “Words I have never heard. May I join with you?"
"Please.” Carine grasped the older woman's hand. The power of the second Crystal surged through her.
"Healing,” Carine said. “He needs healing beyond what our medics can provide. The Wish-in-Hand. Do we have one intact?"
The older woman shook her head. “No. They are all given. I fear these wounds are mortal. Even now he hovers between worlds."
"Yes, I fear so too. His journey has been long and painful. It may be kinder to let him cross over.” Carine bit her lip, feeling helpless, while Naima worked with grim determination to stem the bleeding. Pictures flashed into her mind. A soul in torment blackened by a savagery beyond his control. Crying out for understanding. What did it all mean?
"He needs blood.” Naima covered the man with a blanket and gathered up her supplies. “We must get him inside, quickly. Go gently with him. It's a miracle he's alive."
"It is, indeed.” The older woman regarded Carine thoughtfully. “I feel he's here for you,” she said. “That a long-held secret is about to be revealed. But your Wish-in-Hand has been given, has it not?"
Carine extended her hand, helping the old woman to stand. “Yes, it has. I feel something, too. Keep this to yourself for now. I need to meditate on it further. Pray for me, please?” Carine gave a wan smile. “The Goddess listens to you."
In the infirmary, Carine found Naima engaged in heated whispers with her father. She listened with half an ear to Naima attempting to convince Ancel that the man, in his state, constituted no danger to them. Ancel, just as vehemently, argued that he would take no chances and the man should be manacled, at least, until they knew what they were dealing with.
"I will not put an injured man in a cell. Father, how could you suggest such a thing?"
Carine placed a placating hand on Ancel's arm. “Let Naima help him. I sense no immediate danger."
"But you do sense something. I see it in your eyes.” Ancel rolled back his sleeve and flexed his arm. “Take your blood. You may save him, but he will be shackled. Kandar, fetch some manacles and sec
ure him. I'm taking no chances with any of you. That door stays locked, and you will only tend him with an armed escort. Have I made myself clear?"
Naima muttered something that might have been ‘yes'. Carine nodded briefly. Ancel let out an exasperated sigh.
"I mean it,” he said. “You remember what happened last spring? We assess each case on its merits."
Carine touched the injured man's burning cheek. Two red spots of fever glowed against the pallor of his skin. Ancel was right to be cautious. In an effort to catch a runaway slave, a bounty hunter had used an injured man as a decoy to gain their trust. The runaway had disappeared with the bounty-hunter, never to be seen again. The lapse of judgement had cost a man's life. Ancel had vowed never to make the same mistake.
Brynn stepped forward bearing a tray laid out with the tubes, needles and tourniquets needed for the transfusion. “Take my blood,” he said, handing them to Naima. “I'm a universal donor. He'll be beyond saving if we don't do this quickly."
"Sit down then.” Naima, in full flow, directed him to the chair beside the bed. She moved to the basin in the corner of the room to wash her hands. “Father, while you check the perimeter, would you see if Doctor Pietr is sober? We need his expertise."
"And find Sol,” Carine added. “This was a great shock to him. Make sure he's all right."
"Very well, but I'm posting a guard on that door. If you need help, call me.” Ancel pushed down his sleeve without protest, understanding that they all had a specific job to do. “Stay with them,” he said to Carine. See if you can find out who he is. Why he's here."
Naima lifted the injured man's arm, searching for the vein. He shuddered and sucked in a raspy breath. Carine touched her gently-pulsing Crystal. The pictures in her mind were stabilising. Man, wolf? Or both? She wouldn't know until he opened his eyes.
* * * *
"He's weakening. I'm sorry, Naima. Nothing more we can do for him. We'd just be using up precious supplies for nought."
"There must be something.” Naima clutched the Doctor's grubby sleeve when he turned to wash his hands, holding him in place. “You swore an oath to heal the sick. This is beyond anything I can do, and you're an experienced medic, the most qualified doctor we have. You can't just turn away and leave."
"I'm a sad old drunk, Naima. Struck off the professional register for misconduct.” The doctor held up a trembling hand. “Even if I did have the facilities of a high-tech hospital, I wouldn't be able to operate. I have nothing to offer. His injuries are mortal. Take my advice, make him comfortable and get the wise-women in. Magic is the only thing that can save him now."
"We've already tried. He's blocking every attempt at mystical intervention. I don't know why."
"Let him die—if that's what he wants. I'm sorry. I'd help if I could."
Brynn limped forward. Gently, he opened Naima's fingers and released the doctor's coat. His steadying arm slid around her shoulders.
"He's right, Naima. We can't do any more for him. And if he did survive the journey to the nearest hospital, there would be questions."
"He got this far. We can't let him die.” Naima took Brynn's arm, grateful for the support. He steered her to the wooden chair beside the bed and pushed her down. Lack of sleep and food were taking their toll. The blurred shape of the dying man looked so much like a corpse that she struggled to rise again in order to check he still lived.
"No.” Brynn pressed her back down. “I'll watch over him. You get some sleep."
Despite her determination to watch over the man, her eyes were closing, the dream-state already calling her. Darkness cloaked her, and it seemed only moments later that she jerked awake, grabbing at the arms of the chair to ground herself. Brynn stood by the bed, yawning, arms stretched above his head.
"I can't sleep,” Naima said flexing her cramped back-muscles. “I need to keep watch."
Brynn smiled and nodded at the window, lit now by the weak glow of the dawn, indicating that she'd slept away most of the night.
"You needed the sleep,” he said when she frowned and followed his gaze. “He's hanging in there. Okay if I go shut my eyes now?"
"Yes.” Naima struggled from sleep to waking, the events of the previous evening returning in a rush. Instinctively, she reached for the pulse-point on the injured man's neck, holding her breath and counting off the erratic beats. Far too fast. Pallid skin, hot with fever. A surge of helplessness overtook her, mingling with a sharp stab of annoyance at the sight of the shackle securing one of the man's slender wrists to the iron bed-frame.
"Your father insisted,” Brynn said following her gaze. “I sent Carine home. She'll be back with breakfast in a while."
"Thank you, Brynn.” Sleep fogged her brain, making her disorientated and clumsy. Brynn handed her a wet towel and when she'd wiped her face and smoothed back strands of hair that had escaped from her plait she felt a little more human.
"Go home to your family,” she urged him. “Rest."
"You'll call me if he wakes?"
"I'm not sure he will. It's almost as if he wants to die, but something is blocking his passing over. He's lost between worlds.” Naima shuddered. “Poor thing.” She touched the beads threaded through strands of the man's matted hair. A poignant reminder that someone, in his past, had cared enough to treat him like a man.
"Perhaps it's not yet his time. If anyone can keep him alive, it's you, Naima. Call him back."
"How? I'm a healer, not a magician."
"Be his anchor to this world and give him something to live for. We all need that. I'll send someone to stand guard."
"Keep them outside, please? I don't think he's a danger in this state."
Brynn hovered, as if reluctant to leave her alone with the patient. She shooed him away, anxious to spend some time with the man before Carine arrived.
How did you give someone the will to live? Wasn't that dependent on goals and aspirations? If life only offered pain, why cling to it? She moved to the window and pushed it open. Breathed deeply, taking in the morning air, sharp with salt from the Great Ocean, which formed the westward boundary of the Settlement. Behind the hut, the sun would be nudging its way above the horizon, the moons setting for the day.
Ancel had dreamed of a place where men could live, free from fear and discrimination. He had chosen well. Eight years on, they'd made enormous strides forward, but there was a long way to go. The man lying in the bed behind her was a testament to that.
Away from the main settlement, on the lower mountain slopes, the infirmary doubled as an isolation hospital when needed.They usually reserved this hut for the more contagious cases. Naima was glad of the solitude. In the wooden building forming the main part of the hospital, lights went out as the sun rose. Everyone understood the need to ration resources even though, this year, they'd added hydro-power to the solar power they'd harnessed early on. She quickly moved to follow suit, switching off the small oil-fuelled lamp beside the bed. Outside the room, she heard the whine of a blast-gun charging and prayed that the guard would stay outside.
Brynn's words had been wise. Healing was as much about belief as medical knowledge. The man's wounds had been packed with taraga and maggots, which together would fight the infection, but the greatest fight would happen in the man's head and heart. He needed a reason to live. Something to tip the balance from death to life. Naima pushed the chair nearer to the low cot and took the man's limp fingers in hers. Despite the chipped-back nails and abrasions, they were free of the hardened skin of the warrior or the manual worker.
Artist's hands. Or those of a pleasure-slave, perhaps? Her skin heated at the thought.
"What's your story?” she said. “Tell me. Show me.” Closing her eyes, she shut out the sound of the guard's footfall on the wooden floor, the shrill clamour of the dawn chorus celebrating the new day. The will to live: this she had in abundance with more than enough to share. From the moment she'd leapt out in front of her father's horse and begged him to take her, she'd accepted every chal
lenge, saluted every new day with vigour and expectation.
A languid warmth filled her as she sat, stroking the man's hand. Resting her head on the cool sheet, she opened her mind and let her thoughts drift. Somewhere in the distance, she heard music and children's laughter. It blended with the pictures in her head. The insistent piping of a carousel. Voices raised in anger. “Who are you?” she whispered. “Tell me."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 2
"What did you tell her?"
"That the child died."
"She saw him?"
"No, she never set eyes on him."
"So, our secret is safe?"
"For now."
"Do you have any idea how valuable he will be to us? This could turn our fortunes around."
"He's my son. I will not parade him around like some freak-show."
"Freak-show is what we do best, brother. Let him be raised somewhere remote. Lem and his wife are trustworthy. When he grows into his gift, we'll bring him back. Brother, there hasn't been a Lupine born in our family for centuries. We are going to be rich beyond measure."
"It doesn't seem right. The Goddess..."
"Always so soft-hearted. Does the Goddess care for our kind any more? No. Brother, she owes us this much at least. Here, let me take this burden from you. You go tend to your wife, I'll see to the welfare of this little pot of gold. Trust me, brother. He's my blood too—would I do anything to hurt him? Believe me, this is the best way. Go see to your wife."
* * * *
"Naima?"
"Who would do such a thing?"
"Naima, wake up."
"Oh...” Naima struggled to shake off the dream, helped by the insistent hand on her shoulder and the voice urging her to wake up. The man lay unmoving, as one in his grave, his hand resting in hers. Naima lifted her head and blinked away the sleep. Carine's face came into focus, behind her Ancel and his shadow, Sol.
"I'm sorry,” she said, remembering that today was Festival day. As the daughter of their leader, she would be expected to attend. “I fell asleep.” She caught Carine's eye, anxious to share the dream with her. A Lupine. Carine had once mentioned the mythical creatures who no longer roamed the world.
