The Alterator's Light

by Dan Brigman

  “What have you done to quicken their healing?” Bregoth asked seemingly in an accusatory tone. “Neither man has opened his eyes since their arrival yesterday.”

  Malkari spun quickly and stared at the clan leader sitting upon one of the empty beds. He could see the grimace on Bregoth’s face as he turned. The look fueled Malkari’s ire. The blatant scar he carried could not be forgotten no matter how much time one spent with the man. Years ago, someone had attempted to slit his throat from ear to ear and had succeeded, yet the assassin did not count on the powers of a skilled Alterator. Despite the healing, a wicked scar remained in plain view.

  “I’ve done everything possible for these men, Bregoth,” Malkari replied in an annoyed tone. “I do not understand why the outsider does not awaken. His head had been cracked, but that wound has healed enough for him to at least open his eyes. As for Melek, he is ill and exhausted. Did you not see that when he entered your home? Obviously, he could barely stand, and yet he still tried to carry that man. You left him alone to fetch me.” The heat in his voice had diminished as he continued.

  Bregoth raised his palms forward and stated, “Calm down, my friend. I meant no offense. I’ve never known anyone to suffer for this duration while in your care. That’s all. Tonight, and this morning, your mind seems to be elsewhere. I have seen you perform acts of healing that cannot be done by others in your profession, yet these men lie here unmoving.” He pounded his right hand onto the bed in frustration.

  With a deep sigh, Malkari moved to the table and pulled the stool out from underneath the table. He sat with a grace belying his slightly-hunched form.

  “All we can do now is wait, Bregoth.” Malkari turned to grab the mortar and pestle. He lifted the pestle to his nose and sniffed the powder. Uttering a satisfied grunt, he poured the fine powder into a clear glass bottle. Initially half full, the orange powder filled the bottle to its top. Malkari carefully placed the bottle back into its previous location. He stood and reached above the table to retrieve a collection of dried flowers. Bregoth could not discern the flower’s original color while he observed Malkari acting as though nothing was the matter.

  “Waiting isn’t a game that I like to play,” Bregoth replied, his voice close to shouting across the small room.

  Malkari calmly pulled the dried flowers off the stems and placed them in a pile on the table. He then discarded the stems into a small wicker basket on the floor near his stool. As he put several of the flowers in it, he turned so he could better see Bregoth. He placed the mortar in his lap and began grinding the flowers with the pestle.

  “Aye, I think clansfolk walking in the street may know that now,” Malkari offered flatly. “If you cannot maintain your temper then you are going to need to leave the room. My patients demand quiet while healing and your demands of quick action defy the very nature of a human body.” Malkari continued to grind the flowers while he gazed into Bregoth’s eyes.

  A look of chagrin passed over Bregoth’s face during Malkari’s rebuke. He averted his eyes to a loud crash originating from the street. Within a breath, angry yelling issued upward into the room through the open windows. Bregoth glanced back at Malkari, and the Alterator had turned his attention downward toward the mortar. He did not seem to notice the commotion, yet Bregoth stood and stepped to the open window facing the street below. As he peered down, Bregoth noticed a wagon had become stuck in the muddy lane. The wagon’s back wheels lay buried in the muck to its axle.

  Bregoth heard more yelling from the red-faced, disgruntled driver, as the rear axle had been broken, or at least that was what Bregoth deciphered between curses. One passer-by stood snickering and a few others stopped to see if the driver needed help. He angrily shooed a majority of them away, but soon he realized the error and called a few of the strongest clans’ folk back to wagon. Bregoth shook his head at the display while turning back to the Alterator. Malkari still sat grinding the herb ever finer.

  “Close the windows,” ordered Malkari. His tone brooked no room for argument.

  “Do you plan to cook these men once the air stagnates here?” Bregoth asked in an off-handed tone.

  Malkari slowly peered upward at Bregoth. He simply stared at the clan leader and waited. Bregoth sighed heavily before moving to close the windows. Almost as soon as the second window closed, the humidity became palpable. Malkari calmly placed the mortar back upon the desk and placed his right hand in front of his body. He inscribed a simple rune resembling a glowing white snowflake in the time it took for the men to blink. A slight hum emanated from around the Alterator’s hand while he finished inscribing the rune. The last line’s tone hung in the small room like a bell tolling from a great distance. With a noticeable darkening and a slight drop in the room’s temperature, the stagnant air grew bearable.

  Bregoth sat back down upon one of the vacant beds and stated, “I am sorry for being so quick-tempered.”

  He hesitated a few seconds and looked out the window over the beds. Malkari noticed something in the deep gray sky had caught the clan leader’s attention. From his position, Malkari knew he would not be able to view the item of interest, so he turned around to his work at the table.

  Soon, Malkari heard Bregoth’s deep voice utter somberly, “Surely, as long as I live, I will not pretend to understand the power you hold in just your words and the movements of your fingers. Yet, I appreciate it, Malkari. Your place here is, without question, necessary and wanted by all who live here.”

  Malkari stopped grinding and lifted his head. Then, without turning, he offered a reply. “Ah, but the very thing you appreciate and desire to have as aid to your clan garners fear in those same people. I know you can never understand what an Alterator must endure to remain as such. The greatest dilemma with my position in your clan is a self-contradicting one to be sure. When someone shows symptoms of a lethal disease, who among us can deliver them from their ailments? While the clansfolk desire to live longer and healthier lives, they spit in the very face of the person who is able to deliver those things.” Malkari paused, his gaze slipped down. “Because when the crops die year after year, or the latest stock of horses is not good enough an Alterator does not and never will, at least in this era, receive the respect that he or she is due. Instead they will be blamed for such maladies. Never mind your precious sensibilities; I discarded mine ages ago when I realized my potential.”

  Bregoth let the words settle into his mind for a few moments. The unnatural coolness of the room soothed his initial resentful rebuttal. He’s correct. I place his actions into a mold that seems to defy nature. But what he does is hardly unnatural. He is doing what his namesake does, and he does it well. Rather than defying nature, his kind merely alters nature to benefit those around them. Perhaps this man can teach me more about the philosophy of his art. He stood, then moved to the cabinet and grabbed the pitcher’s handle. Beads of condensation had formed on the pitcher, and as he lifted it the base stuck slightly to the marble top. Bregoth noticed a small pool of water had formed around its base. He poured water into two glasses, set the pitcher down, and placed a glass upon the table.

  He heard a muttered, “Thanks,” while moving to look down at the street. While he sipped the water, he noticed the disabled wagon no longer sat in the middle of the lane. It had been moved to an alleyway, and the angry driver could not be seen.

  Bregoth sipped again and stated, “I know your profession is not understood by most people. And you are correct in the belief it does not receive the respect it’s due. That does not detract from the fact that your profession has become a necessity for the survival of many outlying communities, such as the one in which you reside. As long as I have been clan leader no one has physically assaulted you. I have made your position known and its significance understood to every clan member. Outsiders, especially the traders, are made to understand your significance. If they cannot accept that courtesy, they are asked to leave the village. Voluntarily or by force. You know this, yet here I am repeating myself.
” Bregoth finished speaking and sipped again.

  “Your respect for my position is understood throughout the clan, but for some it feels as if they are being forced to respect me. I have heard their whispers, Bregoth. Through you I have obtained a measure of respect not normally seen by most of my kind. What I do is not understood, thus it is feared. Something breeding fear is not accepted or tolerated. I also heard the same stories as a child as you did. ‘Be careful of Alterators when searchin’ for herbs my dear,’ my mother used to say, ‘they enjoy findin’ small children.’”

  Malkari’s imitation of his mother brought back forgotten memories of Bregoth’s childhood in which his parents said much the same about Alterators or Scribers. His mother had called them Scribers, always laced with tones of necessary derision.

  “You and I both know what your ultimate purpose is, Malkari. One that has been forgotten over the years. You are to defend us against…”

  “Do not say that word!” rasped Malkari. The vehemence rose the hairs on Bregoth’s neck.

  Bregoth, surprised, turned to face the Alterator. The rage transforming Malkari’s face took Bregoth aback. Before either man could respond, a loud knock at the door tore Bregoth’s gaze away from the Alterator. Malkari, without turning his gaze, replied, “Come!” The doorknob turned slowly, and the door swung inward noiselessly. Slight footsteps drummed on the floor as a familiar figure moved into the room.

  “Loken, I wonder what your purpose is here today?” Malkari stated with no lack of sarcasm. “You have been told to wait until the men awaken. Obviously, your patience wears as thin as our illustrious leader. State your business and be gone.”

  Loken’s face shifted from honest care to anger as Malkari spoke aloud. Loken turned to Bregoth and noticed, for the first time, surprise upon the leader’s face. Loken could not recall any time in which the man had been surprised. Could he even be surprised?

  “Well, Alterator, I suppose the care of friends is not something which burdens your conscience.” Loken nearly spat the man’s title, and he could see the effect upon Malkari’s visage. The apparent anger melted away and sadness replaced it. Anger lowered Loken’s hesitancy to offend the man. “I care not for your instructions, Alterator. I intend to check on these men until either you physically arrest me, or the men are dead and buried. Your powers are truly wondrous, but your manner lacks caring towards those who are not conscious.”

  The Alterator mumbled something indistinguishable and turned toward the table. He worked furiously, grinding the material even finer.

  Turning again toward Bregoth, Loken felt misplaced laughter bubbling up at the man’s reaction. Bregoth’s surprise had been completely replaced with shock. Bregoth’s face had drained of blood. Loken paid no more attention to the leader or the Alterator and moved to check on his friend. Melek had not moved since Loken brought him here days before. In the meantime, months had seemed to pass for Loken while nothing changed. He practiced with his sword for hours and walked alone until exhaustion fell upon him, yet the time crawled.

  Suddenly a slight moaning emanated from Melek’s open mouth. All three men in the room turned toward him. Previous disagreements fell to the wayside, and Malkari shot from his seat. Loken stepped away from the bed as the Alterator moved in a seeming blur to the man’s side. With a quick flick of his index finger, Malkari inscribed a rune in the air near Melek’s forehead. Shadowy darkness fell over the room, mixed with a scent of rain, and within a breath the room’s brightness restored itself. Loken and Bregoth looked curiously for the effects of the rune; in the span of a few seconds they noticed Melek’s pallor change from a deathly pale to his normal tanned skin.

  Standing behind Malkari, neither Loken nor Bregoth could discern the effects of the rune upon the Alterator. He slowly placed the back of his hand upon Melek’s brow and held it there for a moment. Without warning, Malkari’s shoulders slumped while a sigh of apparent relief slowly escaped his throat. A hushed gasp caught Loken’s attention and he looked askance at Bregoth. Loken saw the clan leader’s face transform from curiosity to loathing in the span of a heartbeat. The loathing did not appear to be fear-laden, but something else…fear of losing a close friend.

  Startled by the look upon the leader’s face, Loken followed Bregoth’s gaze. Disbelief at what he looked upon threatened to unhinge Loken’s psyche. The Alterator had turned his face enough to be seen by the two men standing behind him. The same hushed gasp rushed from Loken’s mouth. The Alterator turned his head slightly toward the men, and he sighed again. This time, the sigh belied the exhaustion, ruining his once-strong face. Despite the fact Malkari had already entered his middle years long ago, the strength in his eyes, jaw, and shoulders usually kept men at bay. The scar lining his throat had always helped his favor for that purpose. Now, as the men watched, a haggard look of great age carved itself upon the Alterator’s visage. A deep gray soaked into the man’s skin. The deep scar tissue on his throat became more pronounced, and a great tiredness passed over Malkari’s eyes. Fifty years seemed to have passed in the span of a few moments.

  A voice strained from the parched and outwardly ancient lips. “Do not worry about me. This,” Malkari said as he slowly waved his right hand past his face, “will pass. I will not explain the process to you but rest assured that Melek is going to awaken in a few hours feeling better than he has ever felt in his life.”

  The last few words came with much effort, and the Alterator slumped over the still unconscious man. Both standing men tore their gazes from the sight and glanced at one another in wonderment.

  Bregoth moved to the Alterator’s side in one step and put two fingers on his wrist. Feeling a weak beat, he stated, “He lives.” He felt a flood of relief as his doubt was cast aside, yet trepidation filled his mind as he thought about the effect the Alterator could have on him just by being too close. Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, Bregoth quickly glanced at Melek. The man seemed unchanged except for healing wrought by Malkari’s alteration just a few moments before. Nearly laughing at his own superstitious nature, Bregoth gently picked Malkari up and carried him to the empty bed between the two previous occupants.

  Loken had already moved to the bed without Bregoth’s notice. The bed coverings, simple quilts of blue and green patches, had been pulled back, allowing Bregoth to gently place the man onto the bed. After laying the man down, Bregoth pulled the covers to Malkari’s chin.

  The two men stood gaping at the nearly-helpless man. Confusion and disbelief became prominent on the men’s faces as they stared at Malkari’s aged body. Now, looking down at the apparently ancient man who had been middle-aged mere moments ago did nothing to alleviate the confusion.

  Loken’s voice broke the silence, “I will stay and watch over these men, Bregoth. Your presence is needed in the village. Besides, my place is at my friend’s side. In a few hours, when he awakens, I will send a courier to inform you.”

  “Aye, thank you,” Bregoth replied. “You truly are a good friend.” He paused for a moment while staring at Malkari, and then he continued, “I sometimes question my original invitation to Malkari years ago. The power he wields is not unnatural; it is just too dangerous. Sometimes. I am not necessarily frightened of the danger to others; the danger to himself is obviously a greater threat. What if he were to die in that bed before his statement comes true? His power has been taken for granted by the clan for far too long. Even I am guilty of that. Now that we have become accustomed to the power, his loss would be a severe blow to the people.”

  “I agree with you, Bregoth,” Loken replied tentatively. “I don’t even pretend to understand what Alterators can do, but I know things are changing. Something followed us through the hills on our return trip. Something unnatural.” Bregoth quickly turned his eyes from the Alterator to Loken. A curious, yet uncertain look settled in the leader’s eyes.

  “What do you mean?” Bregoth asked without hesitation.

  “I mean whatever followed us may still be out there wai
ting.” Loken moved his hand in the general direction of where they had returned from. “All I could see was a shadowy figure. Something I hope I never see again.” Loken trembled momentarily at the recollection of the night’s events. I cannot allow myself to dwell on that creature, he thought dejectedly.

  “Why have you not told me about this sooner?” Bregoth’s voice rose until he looked back down at the sleeping figures. The curiosity on his face had been wiped away by a sweeping anger.

  “My lord, for one thing, we had two men take ill. One on our trip and another in this very building. Honestly, I pushed the encounter to the back of my mind upon our arrival. Your mention of the danger to others sparked the memory. I ask your forgiveness in my dereliction of duties.” Loken strode to the middle of the room and placed his right knee upon the wide wooden floorboards. He calmly placed his hands upon his left thigh and looked straight ahead. His last glance at his leader did not bode well for his own future. Bregoth’s lividness plastered itself upon the kneeling man’s psyche.

  The clan leader stepped in front of Loken and glared downward. From the corner of his eye Loken blinked as a fist blurred toward him, then a jarring pain exploded on the right side of his head. He fell to the floor gasping for breath. His ear felt as if it had been torn off, though he dared not reach for it to ensure it remained attached. Hurried footsteps rapped sharply off the wooden floor toward the sole door in the room.

  Despite the deafening ringing in Loken’s ear, he heard a sharp voice laced with derision state, “You have failed the entire clan, Loken. Your easy-going nature has cost me any respect I may have had for you. You will watch over these men and attend to their every need without complaint or comment. Upon Malkari’s hopeful recovery, you relay to him all the details of your scouting, or you will see the blade of the headman’s axe.”

  With the last word, the door slammed shut, leaving Loken without a chance to respond, not that he would have done so.