Imelda groaned, and looked for Rashrew to see if he planned to prevent the travesty of this escort duty. Instead, she spotted him happily bending over the hands of several court ladies, pandering to them, and she groaned again. The ride back to Goldenfields had just become a less inviting prospect.
Meanwhile, Kinsey was back at Alec’s tent, greeting Armilla as she entered. Her deep sense of uneasiness had not abated, and she felt her intuition telling her it was because of Alec’s condition. As she sat and looked at him, she tried to discern what the difference was in his appearance. It had to be a clue to his condition, she was sure. She reached out to hold his hand, and when his sleeve slipped, she saw something that made her gasp.
Kinsey pushed his sleeve up his arm, showing his ingenaire marks. The vibrant, pulsating color and energy she expected to see were gone. The marks were dull scars on his flesh. She reached to his other arm, and found the same distressing destruction of his ingenaire marks. She sat with her head bowed, and watched her own tears drip to the floor. Imelda had told her about the loss of powers, but Kinsey had not truly grasped the concept, not as a permanent condition. But now there was proof; seeing his critical marks so desiccated was visually devastating.
She looked at Alec’s face through the blurry vision of her eyes. He looks so young, she thought to herself. She rubbed her eyes and blinked. He did look younger, she realized. Beneath the exhaustion and gray coloring, his features appeared to have regressed slightly in age. His cheeks were fuller and less defined. The small wisps of whiskers he had sprouted had disappeared. Why would losing his powers make him younger? She wondered. Does he know his powers have gone? Is that why he doesn’t want to awaken? Will they ever come back to him?
Kinsey tenderly placed a hand on Alec’s forehead, like a mother testing her child’s temperature. She tried to use her ingenaire powers to sense Alec’s state of mind, but his profoundly deep slumber was beyond her ability to plumb, behind an unusual barrier she could not breach. She sighed and stood up, silently vowing to watch him closely, then left the tent.
An hour later, the unwieldy procession of departing soldiers began to leave the camp. Imelda placed her forces in the front of the riders from Bondell, seeking not to upset them but hoping to set a pace that would speed up their progress. As they rode away, they wandered through a vast stretch of the army’s tents, supply depots, and mechanical works that had been set up for this war, so that the ride just to reach the countryside beyond the base took over an hour. Imelda turned once to look back as they finally cleared the fringe of the depot and entered the empty lands surrounding the army. A haze of smoke from the many campfires was rising above the city of tents, and a vast gray sky was around and above the smoky cloud. Now though they were away from all of that, out in the open and riding away.
How long until she would see Alec again, she wondered?
Chapter 3 – Alec at the Chapel
Alec awoke, feeling sore, his head aching and his mind foggy. The room was dark, and his bed was hard. He had no notion of where he was, or why he was there, but his memories nagged at him, telling him that this was not a typical morning. He heard a sound, and realized it was a voice, in his room with him, chanting a prayer. He listened to the comforting cadence of the words that called for healing and comfort, then a subtle awareness stole over him that the voice was a familiar one.
He turned his head and saw a priest kneeling near his bedside. “Brother?” he said quietly, trying to place a name to the vaguely familiar face.
Antonio stopped his prayer. He’d waited a long, long time to hear Alec’s voice. He said a quick, quiet prayer of thanks, and looked up. Alec’s eyes were open, and looking at him. They were dull, not bright, and together with his matted hair created an appearance of a man who lacked self-awareness.
“Alec?” Antonio answered. “How are you?”
“Sleepy, and thirsty,” Alec said, his throat dry.
“Here, take a sip of this,” the priest said, holding a small cup, which Alec took and greedily drained.
“That was good, very good. May I have more?” Alec asked. The water had tasted unusually refreshing.
“It should taste good! It’s your own fountain water, after all. I’ll get more in a minute. How do you feel?”
“Sore. And tired, Antonio,” Alec replied. “What day is it?” he struggled to remember where he was, and why. Memories suddenly came flooding back, and he recollected the whole of his story with a moan.
“It is the 20th,” Antonio replied, rising from his knees.
“How long have I been here?” Alec responded, unable to count the days.
“You’ve been lying in bed, unconscious, for 17 days,” his friend explained. “Long enough to make many believe that perhaps you would never awaken.”
Alec laid his head back down, and Antonio left the tent to fetch more water. Seventeen days? The boy could not comprehend spending seventeen days unconscious. He thought back to the last thing he remembered, saving Imelda and releasing his marvelous ingenaire powers as the foretold payment in return for the chance to restore life to the cavalry leader. His body had been through a great deal, often carrying two powers at once, flicking back and forth from warrior to healing and even to time traveling, all wearing at him. But seventeen days seemed inexplicably long.
He sat up, spurred by a desire to see Imelda, to know that his efforts had succeeded. Sitting took effort. His muscles were weak from the long slumber of inactivity. He sat slumped, judging whether he could easily walk across the tent, and concluding that he could. With a grunt, he rose on stiff, weak legs and walked to the tent entrance. As he reached the entrance the canvas flap flew back into the tent, and Colonel Ryder entered, knocking Alec down upon entry.
Alec sat in the dust, and looked up at the colonel, who was profusely apologizing as he bent and offered a hand to help Alec up.
“I’m terribly sorry, your grace,” Ryder said, as he braced himself and heaved Alec back up to his feet. After Alex’s long fast, the boy was lighter than Ryder expected, and he flew upward from the force of the colonel’s help. “Antonio reported that you were awake, and I hustled over as fast as I could.”
“It’s not your fault, DR,” Alec assured him. “I’m so weak right now I couldn’t step back out of the way.” He tottered back to his cot, and gratefully sat down, as Ryder sat in a chair. “Everyone is well? There’s so much I want to know about what has happened. Tell me everything! Is Imelda here?”
“Everything is well, now that you’ve awoken,” Ryder replied, reaching inside his tunic for something. “Imelda is not here now, but she left you this note.” He pulled out the folded paper. “She left it with Pember, when she departed with the forces of Bondell to help them fight bandits in their southern mountainous marches. Before she left, she wrote the note to you, and left it with Pember to deliver,” he paused, as he repeated himself while Alec began to tear the paper open. “But then the time came for Pember and the rest of the cavalry to return to Goldenfields too, and so I am your delivery boy.” He stopped speaking, as Alec ignored him and read Imelda’s note.
The words on the paper were brief. “Alec, by the time you read this I will have left to join Rashrew on a journey to Bondell. He has asked for the help of our cavalry in fighting the bandits in the south of the country. As soon as our duty there is done, I will return to Goldenfields. Yours, Imelda.”
Alec read and re-read, trying to find some trace of warmth or affection in the words. He could find none in the simple, neutral language. He looked up at Ryder with eyes that were haunted by the notion that he had been so readily abandoned by the girl he had given up so much for.
“This is bad,” Ryder instinctively thought as he saw the pain in Alec’s eyes. Ryder had raised no children of his own, but had seen hundreds of youths grow to maturity under his command in the Guard, and the look he saw in Alec’s eye’s was the look he’d seen numerous times when a boy or girl learned they’d been jilted by their paramour back home.
Ryder decided to try to ride the storm out, and began recounting the recent history of the army, the great victory, and then the rest and recovery; the colonel hoped the sound of the words would distract Alec from his pain, even if the meaning flew by unperceived. He mentioned the graveyards established along the river, and the chapel. Then Ryder detailed the gradual departure of forces, still underway, as various regiments began to trek homeward. Although it was approaching summer, many of the soldiers from the country hoped to have time to help tend the crops in their fields back home.
“We’ve got a remnant of the Palace Guard still here, as well as several units from Oyster Bay,” Ryder informed Alec. “There aren’t many others left, just some workmen who are finishing the outpost fort at the end of the road. Delle Locksfort and one of your ingenaire friends, Kinsey, stayed! All the others were anxious to get back to the comforts of the court, but that girl insisted that she stay here, and Armilla of course.”
Alec tried hard to focus on Ryder’s words, but his attention still wandered. “Did she say anything before she left?” he asked Ryder during an eventual pause in the recitation of events.
“She told me how you had left your companions to put yourself at a safe location, and then returned to save them all with your great abilities,” Ryder answered. “And she and the others said that you were remarkable on the battlefield as you saved and rallied your troops, and kept them all alive.”
Alec thought back to the day he had fought through the retreating lacertii army. He had felt indestructible, convinced that prophecy guaranteed his survival in battle so that he could achieve his real, very personal goal, the revival of Imelda. “I’d like to clean up and have some food,” he added. “And a cane to help me until I get my legs back,” he added reluctantly, embarrassed by the weakness he suffered.
Ryder left the teen boy to find a cane and assigned a trooper to accompany Alec to the showers and the mess tent. He returned to his command tent and called together a meeting of the leaders who remained in camp, to inform them that Alec was awake at last, and explain the ingenaire’s present weakness, even as the colonel wondered at the oddity of the healer not healing himself.
Meanwhile, Armilla intercepted the trooper who delivered the cane, and after a long, silent reunion, took over the duty of accompanying Alec around camp. She watched with pain in her eyes as Alec hobbled slowly to carry out his chores. “Would you like me to carry you?” she asked, seeking to spur him to push himself back to health.
Alec looked at her without comment, then continued to walk along, trying to increase his pace without breathing heavily.
“Do you want me to help?” Armilla asked again as he prepared to clean himself in a hot bath.
“No, no, and no,” Alec replied. “Go get some food ready for us to eat after I’m done here.” Minutes later he pulled on the fresh robe Armilla had fetched and stepped back out of the bath to find Armilla waiting patiently. “That felt good! Just getting clean makes me feel better already,” he told her with a smile, his first, and she noticed that he did walk faster as they went to eat.
“I don’t know anything about what happened at the end of our battle when the lacertii were fleeing all around us. Was everyone alright?” Alec asked as they sat down at an empty table.
“If by everyone you mean Imelda, she was fine. You healed her perfectly, more than once. Not to mention what you did for Yula and the others. Many folks were on top of the hill with us fighting, and they all walked away,” Armilla replied, for she and Kelsey and Nathaniel and Yula had repeatedly spoken among themselves, recounting the events of the battle. “That all seems like old news now. The ingenairii returned to Goldenfields when the court and most of the army left, except for Kinsey. I’ve only had the Nineteenth and the Guard to practice swordsmanship with the past two weeks. Now that you’re back among us I’ll expect you to put up a challenge,” she said. She looked at Alec and realized he wasn’t paying full attention. “I don’t think she ran away from you, Alec,” the bodyguard addressed his distraction. “Imelda cares for you,” the guard added comforting words.
“Thank you,” Alec said, and he seemed less anguished. “So Kinsey’s still here, and she’s built a chapel on the battlefield?” he asked, remembering a fragment of Colonel Ryder’s narrative.
“She did, right on top of that hill where we held our ground. Would you like to ride out there to see it?” Armilla asked.
Alec rested in his tent for an hour, and then willingly let Armilla boost him atop Walnut for a ride through the battlefield. “So many graves,” Alec murmured, as they passed the freshly created graveyards along the top of the river banks. “Look at how tall that spire is!” he exclaimed when he looked up at the chapel on top of the hill.
“Has there been any word from Oyster Bay? Is everything okay back there?” he asked, seeking to hear about Bethany or Aristotle or someone he might know.
“If there’ve been any messages, I haven’t been informed,” Armilla responded as they began to climb the small rise. “We seem to send news out, but none comes back.”
They rode their horses to the top of the hill, and Alec dismounted to enter the chapel. He knelt at the front railing, and prayed in thanks for the success of the army and the end of the war, as he thought of all the bodies he had seen on the hill during the battle, and all the blood that had been shed there. It seemed a terrible way for a site to become sanctified.
“This is a special place now,” a voice beside him said in a quiet aside. Alec opened his eyes in startlement, and turned to see John Mark, his patron saint, kneeling beside him. “A miracle happened here, Alec. Most folks will think it involved swords and arrows and blood. But the true miracle didn’t concern such things; you surrendered your great powers on behalf of another person, without seeking anything in return. People will make pilgrimages to this place someday to seek to be consoled or healed by the great power of generosity here, even though they won’t know what caused it.”
“I’m glad I did it,” Alec replied. “I hope people will be able to be healed,” he added, thinking about his loss of healing abilities.
“You will miss the healing powers as much as your warrior abilities?” John Mark asked, as though reading his thoughts.
“More, much more,” Alec told him. “Were you a healer?” he asked the saint, thinking about the feeling of satisfaction his former ability had brought.
“Some miracles happened through me, but I was not a healer. I was really a Spiritual ingenaire in this world. When I brought peace to a person, and especially when I showed them the love of their Savior, I felt my greatest contentment,” John Mark answered. “Much as I imagine you felt about healing.
“If you had a choice, would you prefer to have your healing powers return?” John Mark asked, “Or would you prefer to have your lady return to you?”
“Is it possible? Does there have to be a choice?” Alec asked, his eyes wide and hope rising in his heart, followed by concern about the implications of a choice.
“There’s always a choice, Alec,” John Mark said gently, and Alec realized there was more meaning in the simple statement than he could fathom.
Alec hesitated. Before he could answer, he thought about Bethany’s lack of faith in his commitment, and he thought Imelda’s doubts about his loyalty to her. If he really loved one special person more than anything else, he could only make one choice, he realized. And then when the right time came with the right woman, he would tell her about his choice, sooth her doubts, and prove his love, winning her heart in return. But if he did that, he would never be a healer again…
He closed his eyes. “I want to have the power to heal people. I want to protect and improve people’s lives. I want to be an ingenaire again,” he decided. He felt a forlorn guilt as he did so, knowing that his selfish decision had just proven how correct both women were to doubt his faithfulness and leave him.
Armilla looked in through the open doorway at where Alec knelt alone before the cha
pel’s small altar.
John Mark told him. “You’ve made a good decision. I’m always proud of you, Alec,” and Alec felt a hand pat him lightly on the back. “You know what to do, don’t you?” he asked. Alec nodded, for as that warm hand rested on his shoulder, the knowledge of exactly what to do was suddenly and firmly implanted in his mind.
“Is everything alright?” Armilla asked. Startled, Alec looked around at where she stood by the chapel’s entrance.
“Everything is fine, Armilla,” Alec said as he stood up. “I’m going to stay here to pray. You can go back to camp and I’ll meet you there in a little while.”
Armilla sensed some catch in Alec’s voice that alerted her to look at her ward more closely. She saw stress and discomfort in his face, a look that was more unhappiness than physical strain. “Why are you trying to get rid of me? What are you up to?” she asked abruptly.
Alec sighed. “I’m going on a pilgrimage, and it’s going to be a long, long journey. I may not return to Oyster Bay, Armilla, not for a long, long time. You aren’t expected to go with me. You can go back to the palace and serve, or be free if you wish.”
Armilla stared at Alec for a long time.
“Are you nuts? Are you still wrong in the head? What are you talking about now? Listen. You are supposed to be a steward of the people. You’re not supposed to be running away from responsibility and obligation, as you’ve been doing for all these months. You’re supposed to go back to the Palace and take charge and make the people of the Dominion feel secure until the heir is found. You’re the hero everyone is looking for right now! They’re out there waiting for you.
“Even if you’re not going to do the right thing for the residents of the Dominion, what makes you think I’m going to stop doing my duty?” she thundered. “I am not going to run out on you, so just forget that line of horse droppings.”
Against the Empire: The Dominion and Michian Page 4
