He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, but Frath had the impression more than a day had passed. He hoped Pelya was alright and that the sergeant hadn’t turned her over to an orphanage. Frath would die if his daughter had to suffer a childhood anything like his.
A group of young men started following him shortly after he reached the streets of the Orphan District. Frath did his best to ignore them since he wasn’t in any condition to fight. He knew he couldn’t withstand another beating and hoped they would just let him be.
It wasn’t his lucky morning. One of the young men moved in front of him and started smacking a club in his hand. “Well, what do we have here? It looks like a City Guardsman out by himself in the Orphan District. Perhaps he’s looking for a little girl to molest.”
Another one behind Frath spoke up. “Or perhaps a little boy?” They laughed at their cleverness while Frath concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.
“It looks like the little girl messed him up good!” another voice taunted, eliciting more laughter.
“Look at his eyes. Maybe he found a puddle of magical pollution to suck on,” yet another mocked. “Maybe we shouldn’t get too close.” The mocking changed to concern and Frath became worried about the comments. He didn’t think he had run afoul of any pollution, but becoming one of the Deformed was one of the worst nightmares in Dralin.
The club flew out of the first young man’s hand. Laughter ceased as everyone watched it clatter along the cobble. “What? Hey?” Then he was knocked down. The others also fell suddenly, scattering in all directions as though they pulled backward. Whenever one would try to get up with yells of surprise and panic, they were knocked back down. After a minute of that, they started crawling off and running away as fast as possible.
Frath thought it must have looked extremely odd to anyone watching to see a guardsman limping along in the middle of a street while a bunch of thugs kept falling down around him with no apparent cause. What the inexperienced thugs hadn’t seen were the shadows that pulled on their legs and arms, keeping them away from Frath.
A shadow patted him on the back and gestured with an arm that he was free to continue. Either Distra is protecting me with shadows or I’ve gone mad. Frath realized he couldn’t think about that right then. It took all his concentration to put one foot in front of the other. His chest burned with each ragged breath and he could barely stand his own foul stench.
He left the Orphan District heading toward the Guard District. Between them were two housing districts and the South Highway. More people were starting to appear on the streets. Everyone who saw him moved as far away as possible before rushing off. A few individuals stepped out of their houses only to step right back inside as he passed by.
Frath was beginning to pick up speed and walk with a little less stiffness. He knew he would collapse at some point, but didn’t care, only wanting to get to the barracks and Pelya before anything else happened. It was frustrating that so many people were seeing him in such a terrible condition. Frath hated showing weakness to anyone.
Each step was white-hot agony and it felt like an eternity until he saw the wall of the Guard District. He wasn’t able to yell or speak to get the attention of the guards. Only a feeble croak managed to escape from his throat. He trudged forward toward the large, open gates.
“Guard in distress!” a woman’s voice rang out through the morning air from atop the wall. It was as though an anthill had been poked. Guards rushed out with weapons drawn. Nearby civilians put their hands up in the air quickly while they looked for the disturbance.
The first few guards ran past Frath in order to defend him from danger and to provide a protective barrier. The next two were strong men who put Frath’s arms around their shoulders and then lifted him up underneath his knees, locking wrists underneath. They ran ahead as fast as possible, flanked by other guards.
The first priority when rescuing a guard in distress was to get him to safety before anything else. Guards were drilled in rescue procedures until they were completely prepared to handle any situation, then they were drilled even more. Frath was safely within the walls less than a minute after being spotted.
“He’s injured. Take him to the healing hall immediately,” a female lieutenant said, coming out of an office responsible for overseeing the traffic in and out of the gate.
“It’s Frath Jornin, the missing guard,” a man said from the side.
“What’s wrong with his eyes?” another said.
The two men were carrying him too far away for Frath to be able to hear anything else. The comment about his eyes terrified him though. Frath needed his eyesight. Shadows having a life of their own along with sensitivity to the growing light were the only things that had changed from what he could tell. If he were being honest with himself, he would have to admit that his peripheral vision was clouded, but he was sure that was just from pain, exhaustion and lack of nourishment.
Frath closed his eyes for a moment. They snapped open when water splashed over his naked body. “Aghh!” he croaked in protest. He must have passed out, because he had been stripped and was being scrubbed by numerous hands.
“Be careful with him, but we have to find any injuries. They may have become septic,” a man’s voice said somewhere nearby. Frath found the smooth voice reassuring. His eyelids slid down again as he began to relax. More water splashed over Frath’s head and fingers ran through his hair. He shivered even though the water was warm.
Frath opened his eyes. A robed healer in front of him was scrubbing his face. The man had blonde hair and beard and he was studying Frath closely. “What the?! . . . Something’s wrong with his eyes.” The words sent a new wave of fear through Frath. He blinked a couple more times to help focus. His sight was still cloudy on the edges, but other than that, he could see normally. A healer with grey hair moved next to the other and took Frath’s chin. “Interesting. I’ve never seen that before.” It was the first man who had spoken.
“I don’t see any other injuries, Master Verbo,” someone said from behind Frath.
“I don’t think his injuries are physical, in spite of the blood that was on his chest,” the grey-haired healer replied. “Dry him off, get him in a gown and take him to a bed.” Master Verbo put his face near Frath’s. “Do you need food and liquid?”
Frath nodded weakly and croaked, “Yes.”
Master Verbo turned to the blonde-haired healer. “Irmin, get him water, juices, and simple food.”
A towel covered Frath’s head as someone dried him. Other towels worked the rest of his body. Everything they did hurt his skin, muscles and bones. They pushed his arms through the sleeves of a gown. Frath concentrated on breathing rather than the pain and managed not to moan too badly at the treatment.
Healers guided him to a bed where they made him sit. Irmin sat next to him and instantly put a spoonful of warm soup into his mouth. Frath swallowed it down the best he could, spilling some over his chin. Someone else immediately wiped the dribble away.
“Where is he?” the familiar voice of Sergeant Gorman sounded through the hall.
Irmin stood abruptly, handed the soup off to an assistant and then moved to intercept the approaching sergeant “You will keep your voice down,” he demanded in a stern tone. Frath figured the healer to be second in command to Master Verbo, who was nowhere to be seen. The assistant gave Frath another spoonful of soup and he did a better job of keeping it in his mouth.
Gorman stopped in his tracks and glared at the healer. Irmin leaned forward with arms folded. The staredown only lasted a moment before the sergeant backed down. “I apologize, Healer Irmin. Is he alright?”
“No. He’s in terrible shape even though there’s no obvious injury. Come see.”
Frath didn’t like those words so much, but set aside his feelings about it and asked a much more important question before anyone else spoke. “Pelya?” His voice worked a little better that time.
“She’s fine, Private. Bava an
d Herman are taking good care of her at the moment,” Sergeant Gorman reassured him. He put his hands on his hips and stared at Frath. Then he blinked and took a step back. “What in the world happened to your eyes?”
It was really starting to irritate Frath, but he couldn’t answer because another helping of soup was shoved into his mouth. Irmin spoke instead. “We don’t know, but it doesn’t look good. I believe Master Verbo is trying to find out.”
“Will he be able to continue his duties with his eyes like that?” Gorman asked worriedly while leaning forward to stare at them.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure what other side effects there may be from it,” Irmin admitted, also leaning forward.
“What’s wrong with my eyes?!” Frath demanded, unable to take anymore. It felt like sandpaper running up his throat as he rasped out the words and he clutched his neck with both hands.
“Shh. Don’t speak,” Irmin ordered. “You need to take it easy.” Frath became more irritated by the fact that the healer didn’t answer the question. He looked at Sergeant Gorman with pleading eyes.
The sergeant took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “Your eyes are glowing purple. It’s weird. Can you see?” he asked with a questioning eyebrow raised.
Frath nodded, unwilling to draw Irmin’s ire by talking. The healer was glaring at both men and was about to speak when Master Verbo came in with another person. “This is the man, Priestess Calla. Before I try any healing methods, I want to make certain there’s nothing supernatural about it. I think magic may have been cast against him.”
She nodded and sat on the opposite side of the bed from the assistant feeding Frath soup. Everyone else stepped back respectfully, including the assistant. The priestess was short with hair grey from many decades of life. She was physically frail just like most priests and priestesses who tended to spend their time fasting and praying to their various gods.
Her eyes were just as grey as her hair, and the power in them was undeniable. Frath didn’t like priests and priestesses, but he didn’t deny their holy powers. Priestess Calla didn’t touch him, instead grabbing the focus of his eyes with her own.
He felt her look into his soul and didn’t resist the invasion. At other times he might have tried, but being open seemed the best choice considering the situation he was in.
Suddenly, a door slammed shut and forcefully shoved the priestess out. Calla gasped and jerked her head back. Frath became even more concerned. Someone else had closed his mind.
The priestess gripped his head in between her hands and came close. He felt her push into his soul again. Whatever had shut the door pushed back. The woman gasped again, except this time she wasn’t kicked out. Frath suddenly saw into her soul. Not much, but a little bit. He didn’t understand any of it, but was still awed by the sensation. Then the priestess pried herself away with a low wail, shaking her head. She stood and swayed, only to be caught by Master Verbo. “Priestess Calla, are you alright?”
“Yes, yes. I’m fine,” she answered weakly, patting the man’s arm.
“What happened?” Healer Irmin asked.
“Will he be alright?” Gorman asked over him, eliciting a glare from Irmin.
“Alright?” she replied incredulously. “Will he be alright?” Priestess Calla turned to Frath with narrowed eyes and jutting jaw. “You’ll just have to ask whatever god or goddess touched him.” The room fell silent and they all stared at Frath.
He had no desire to enlighten them, which was good, because he felt his jaw lock and instantly knew he would never be able to tell anyone.
“God-Touched?” Healer Irmin asked in awe. “I’ve heard of it, but never seen it myself.”
“That’s because almost everyone dies when it happens. The very few who do live go mad instantly.” The priestess was refusing to look at Frath anymore.
“Then he’s mad,” Gorman said dejectedly, hanging his head.
“No, he’s not. I was able to see that much before being shut out.” Priestess Calla sighed and rubbed her temples, suddenly looking her age.
“Really? That’s great. Can you do anything to fix his eyes?” Gorman pressed.
The priestess glared at the sergeant, causing him to take a step back. “I can’t lay a hand on him anymore. He’s God-Touched and it would kill me to do so. No priest can undo the work of a god without that god’s permission.” She took a deep breath and rubbed her temples again. “I was specifically forbidden permission and might have died had I not detached myself quickly.”
Sergeant Gorman stared at the priestess, then Master Verbo, and then Healer Irmin. When none of them responded with anything more than a shrug, he turned to Frath. “Well? What god touched you? Help me out here.”
Frath’s jaw froze shut. He was extremely worried by how much Distra was controlling him. At that thought, the presence in his mind retreated, leaving behind locks only on the details of everything about Distra and her church.
“I can’t tell you,” he finally croaked.
“Have you been giving him liquids?” Master Verbo demanded of Healer Irmin. The blonde-bearded man reddened in embarrassment. Meanwhile the assistants sat back down quickly and tried to give him soup and juice all at once.
He took the drink first to try to quench the fiery soreness in his throat. It helped some, but he couldn’t talk because soup followed it too quickly. Healer Irmin turned to the sergeant and pushed him away, or at least he tried to. Gorman was a rock of a man and didn’t budge unless he chose to. The healer glared at him. “You can talk to him after he’s had some nourishment. He might be able to answer questions without sounding like a demented frog then. Now go away. I’ll send someone for you.”
Gorman crossed his arms and set his jaw stubbornly. Master Verbo became irritated by the exchange. “Shall I report to Captain Duuth that you are interfering with the ability of a healer to care for a patient?” His voice was hard with the very real threat.
Sergeant Gorman relented immediately. “You’ll let me know right away?” he asked Irmin, concern filling his words.
The healer softened a bit. “Yes. I’ll send someone as soon as he is feeling better and can talk.”
Gorman patted Frath on the leg through the blanket. “Pelya’s just fine. You get better and come back as soon as possible.” The sergeant looked over his shoulder a few times as he left the hall.
Chapter 10
A few days later, Frath was back in the barracks with his squad. They greeted him with cheers and claps on the back, but also with some hesitation. No one would look into his eyes for long. He couldn’t blame them. Frath had looked in a mirror. The glow was gone, but they were still dark purple in color. The irises glistened like amethyst gems around the pupils and the whites had a lavender tint to them, much like the combined light of the two moons.
It was the middle of the night and he sat on his footlocker feeding Pelya. Everyone was asleep in their bunks and it was quiet in the room even with the door open. Pelya kept staring into his eyes. What unnerved Frath was that he got the distinct impression that Distra was staring back at the baby.
A shadow wiggled along the wall, amusing itself in the steady light cast by the lone lantern. Frath remembered paying attention to shadows when he was a child, but they had faded from his mind as he grew. Now he noticed them all the time. They moved, they danced and they wiggled, but mostly they were sad.
He wondered again why the shadows were sad. Were they sad only in Dralin, which was a city filled with pain and suffering? Perhaps shadows in other cities were happy and danced for joy. Frath wished he knew. Perhaps it was because Distra was sad.
The thought of the goddess brought his memory back to the incident at the church. She still touched his mind and he knew she would never let go. Distra wasn’t there all the time, but she could peek in whenever she wanted to. Frath didn’t know if that fact should upset him.
He didn’t like priests, gods or churches. They had tried to convert him when he was in the orphanages, often by m
eans of a whip. He still had thin white scars on his back from some of the beatings received when he had refused to pray or worship.
The lonely church in the Forlorn District was the only place he had ever felt safe. As a boy, he would escape to there whenever possible and curl up underneath the statue. Judging by his current condition, Distra had accepted him as a follower whether that was his intention or not.
Frath sighed as he considered his feelings. It wouldn’t be fair to ask for a lifetime of comfort and solace, only to reject the one who gave it. At that moment, he decided to give his heart to Distra, especially since his mind was already possessed anyway. Perhaps the goddess needed a friend too. So it was settled that he would follow Distra, but the church wasn’t a good place to raise Pelya if they couldn’t stay in the guard. He worried about her fate. The world was a terrible place to raise a child and Dralin was worst of all.
He had been unconscious for three nights before waking up and staggering back to the barracks. The healers had given him nourishment and healed his body as much as they could. Even then, it had taken some time to recover enough to speak. His voice was still hoarse.
“Frath?” Bava said from the doorway. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear her cry.” She wore the basic cotton leggings and shirt that were standard issue for men and women in the Guard, just as he was wearing. They were cool and comfortable.
“She didn’t. I was awake and she made noises at me, so I changed her diaper and I’m feeding her.” He attempted a smile at Bava and managed to turn his lips up a tiny bit.
She pushed her hair back over her ears to keep it out of her face and then came over to sit down next to him, her leg touching his as she leaned over and waved hi to Pelya. The child stared at her solemnly as she tended to do. Frath felt Bava’s left hand on his back and her right placed on his thigh. Then she looked at him questioningly. “Would you like company to help ease the stress?”
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