Alec moaned again as another spasm of pain rippled his back muscles. Why weren’t these healers able to cure with a touch and a prayer, he wondered.
“What is your name?” Alec asked.
“My name is Major Holbanks,” the man answered.
“Where are you from?” Alec asked another question, suddenly anxious to know something about the people around him. Holbanks’s answers and tone sounded genuine and trustworthy to him.
“I was born in Oyster Bay, but now I serve in the army of Sturgeon,” Holbanks answered referring to the city far up river past Stronghold
“Who has your allegiance?” Alec asked.
“The Dominion,” Holbanks answered simply. “I fight on behalf of the Queen of the Dominion, Bethany, who now rules from the court in exile at Stronghold.”
Chapter 21 – Teaching Stracha
Alec groaned again. “How,” he paused to rephrase his question. “Is Bethany, Queen Bethany an ingenaire?”
“See, he is Alec returned, asking about his love,” Stracha hissed.
“Yes, Gordon, you know she is a water ingenaire,” the first man answered, the voice Alec now recognized as Parnell, the head of the band of healer ingenairii. “And Stracha, there has never been a rumor or a hint or a story or a legend of a person going into the power realm and coming back possessed by a hero from the past. Let go of your preposterous story,” he said with tension in his voice.
Alec had a sudden insight; the man feared that he might actually be who he was, a spirit that had come from the ingenaire energy realm to possess an ingenaire’s body. That opened up the possibility that others could be possessed by using their powers, and that was a possibility as frightening as falling into a coma from reaching the power.
“Tell them Gordon who you are,” the man prompted.
Alec’s stomach turned as he realized he was going to lie. “This is Gordon’s body, and I am Gordon,” he pronounced in a strangled voice.
“You’re lying,” Stracha said in a very soft, sing-song lilt that only Alec could hear.
“When will he be able to fight again for us?” Holbanks asked, and Alec sensed some deflation of tension in his voice. Apparently the major had also wondered about the mythical return of Alec.
Alec felt a sheet lifted off him. “You look at this and tell me when you think he’ll be ready. It won’t be anytime soon,” Stracha responded fiercely, as a healer protecting her patient. She was an ingenaire healer, yet she didn’t seem able to heal with a touch, something that Imelda and other healers he had raised had done. Could such an element of the talent disappear? He thought about the long centuries when there had been no healers at all, and concluded that yes, it was a power that might fade.
“Very well,” Holbanks replied, the evidence on Alec’s body satisfying him that the warrior would not be at his disposal. “You almost made me believe in fairy tales. Heal him quickly and send him forward. We’ll face another demon sooner or later.
“They were displeased with this sorceress. We found her head about a hundred yards from her body. Presumably they have other sorcerers, but they may not bring the demons out if they think we’ve got a demon-killer waiting,” Holbanks added. “You take care of this boy. He’s the best weapon we’ve got; he’s the first positive thing to happen for the Dominion in years.”
Alec heard the rustle of the feet leaving, and closed his eye to rest. “Are you still here, Stracha?” he asked a minute later.
“Yes, Gordon, I’m here,” she answered putting an emphasis on the name.
“I’m going to place my hand on my back. Then I want you to place your hand on top of mine, and when I tell you, I want you to send your healing power into my hand, to help heal my back,” he told her. “Will you do that?”
“They said that Alec had the ability to use the powers of others,” she replied tartly. He heard her step closer, and her hand came to rest on top of his as he slowly swung it around.
“Share your powers now,” Alec directed, as he began the flow of his own energy, “and pay attention to how it feels.” He took her powers, a weak and unsteady stream, and added them to his own to repair the broken bones and knit the wounded flesh together. The process was laborious, as Alec was slowed by the pain he felt and the remaining awkwardness of his adopted body. “Help us Lord Jesus, give us your power and love to aid our efforts…expungno malum, rememdium ictus,” he prayed, and the flow of healing capacity smoothed and increased as Alec pressed his abilities to their limits.
“Thank you,” he said at last, dismissing his own energy and removing his hand from beneath hers.
“It’s not finished,” Stracha protested.
“It is for us. Those wounds are demon-given; they’re beyond our ability to heal completely. It takes the hand of God, the love of Jesus, to completely heal this type of wound,” Alec answered, remembering other battles and wounds.
“Your back does look much better. That was extraordinary! Why don’t you admit that you are Alec? The whole world would celebrate! You could lead the army to victory,” Stracha asked plaintively.
“Stracha, please do me a favor. Do this for me. Stop talking about the return of Alec,” he asked her, rolling onto his back and looking up at her.
She was staring at his face, but she was looking at the injuries, he realized. She was distracted by the burns inflicted by the demon’s blood that had splashed across his face.
“Remove the bandages,” he ordered her.
She did as he asked, and he saw the grimace on her face as she studied the damage done to him. He covered his face with his hands. “Place your hands over mine,” he told her, as he felt the exposed muscles and the missing nose. “Give me your power again,” he told her, and he focused with all his soul on restoring the face. He began a new prayer, hoping to supplement the slight reserves of energy he could command, “Restituo, restituo,” he prayed, and he felt the flesh change and grow beneath his hands.
“Take your hands away,” he told her, and then he removed his own hands. “How does it look?” he asked her.
“It’s much better; you can walk down the street without scaring people. You are an incredible talent. But it’s not Gordon’s face,” she told him.
With a sinking feeling, Alec knew what had happened. “Do you have a mirror?” he asked.
“We’re refugees from the war, and we’re with the army. No, we don’t carry mirrors around,” she snapped.
“Thank you Lord for your love and kindness and the opportunity to serve, as you serve and care for us,” he prayed in gratitude.
“Can you help me heal other wounded soldiers?” Alec asked her, feeling new energy enter his body. “Help me get up,” he held out his hands, and she obediently aided him in sitting up.
“How can you possibly be able to rise after all those wounds, and then all that energy you just consumed?” Stracha demanded as she stood before him, her hands planted on her hips.
“It is the will of God, his power, that makes everything possible,” Alec told her simply as he rose and led her over to a nearby canvas structure.
They walked through the aisle in the center of the tent, moving slowly, as Alec looked at the wounded soldiers and decided what healing to offer. “Place your hands on my shoulder,” he told Stracha, as they walked through the makeshift hospital. Alec felt his new power draining away slowly, and he sensed the sapping of Stracha’s reserves as she silently supplied him with energy.
“That’s all that you or I can do for now,” Alec said as they reached the far wall of the tent, hearing the thanks that the wounded men and women were offering. “Where can we go to rest?”
“We don’t have an assigned tent,” Stracha told him. “We were called forward to heal the wounded after the battle, and so far we haven’t had time or a place to rest.”
“You and I need to rest now. We’ve done all that we can do until we recover,” Alec said, sensing the exhaustion that was finally setting in. He looked inside a deserted supply tent bes
ide the hospital tent. “We can sleep in here,” he pulled her into the tent with him, then released her as he sprawled upon a pile of canvas, feeling the aches of his imperfectly healed body. Stracha stood over him and looked at him, while she self-consciously touched her hair.
“Just lay down and rest,” Alec said irritably, unhappy he was with the one person who correctly knew his real identity. He realized that he needed to rest, and he needed to sort through all that was happening. So far, since the moment he had defeated the demon in the ingenairii energy realm, all he had done was react to circumstances. Now he was so far along this path, responding to the needs of each opportunity and moment, that he had no idea what he wanted to do other than rest.
He looked up at the girl above him, and saw the fatigue in her eyes. “Lie down here,” he pointed to the pile of material beside him. She obediently followed his command; Alec reached out and placed a fingertip on her temple, letting his powers flow. “You need to rest and relax and be at peace. Know that Jesus loves you and that your talents are given to you so you can serve,” he said as he struggled to initiate his Spiritual energy, then suddenly felt wrenching within her and a clicking in his own soul, and a pricking on his arm, then he felt himself observing her wary soul as she sensed his connection to her.
“Here is how you must use your powers to be a true healer,” he directed his thoughts to her consciousness. He led her obedient spirit to her energy portal, then said another heartfelt prayer, letting her observe the enhancement of his abilities as he integrated them with his faith and reliance on Christ. “Bring them together, and let your healing be His powers flowing through your hands, to accomplish what your powers know is needed,” he directed her.
“Oh,” was her only comment, a murmur of surprise and satisfaction and even of rapture.
Alec withdrew most of the way from her spirit. “Now sleep and rest,” he directed with a slight flow of energy, then departed from her as he sensed her sleeping, and as he fell asleep himself.
Chapter 22 – The Battle for Frame
“You’ve got the third mark,” Alec awoke to hear Stracha say. The light outside the tent was dimmer, as the day had passed. “I’m now a full healer too; you gave me my mark,” she held her wrist in front of his eyes. “You used your Spiritual powers to guide me.”
“I know you’re Alec. You’re doing things that no one else could possibly do. I don’t care if you took Gordon’s body. I don’t care if you killed him. We need you to be our hero now. I won’t keep quiet about this, no matter what you say,” she finished defiantly.
“Stracha,” Alec said in an agitated tone. “Whatever you think doesn’t matter right now. Go back to healing. You understand now how to use your powers. Take care of the people out there, and leave me in peace for a while. I have a lot to think about,” he told her dismissing her with a wave of his hands, and pleased when she sullenly obeyed him, exiting through the tent opening.
He hadn’t imagined that he would return to the Dominion and find it at war, under invasion. But he had never thought that he would be locked away for fifty years of tortured captivity, fighting a demon that had sucked at his soul as they had grappled together in the ingenairii realm. Alec had fought to keep the flows of power open, while the demon had fought to close them off again, seeking to kill the ingenairii trapped in the dimension where the power flowed.
Alec had been a part of the events but not an active one. He’d found himself confined, while so many things had happened. Somewhere, far away, Bethany was now an elderly woman, and he was trapped in this strange body. All his old friends were gone, carried away by time, or perhaps war or disease over the years. He didn’t know what he wanted, or who he was, or what his purpose was. But he knew he didn’t want to spend any more time here arguing for anonymity with Stracha.
He stood up and peered out the tent opening, then stepped out and began walking; the journey was uncomfortable as the demon-struck injuries remained tender, causing him to limp faintly and walk with a slight stoop. He walked into the humid summer afternoon, towards the river, away from the camp, and began to head towards Frame, where he would fight for the Dominion while he decided what he wanted to do.
Alec walked purposefully towards the west, and as sunset came, he continued to follow the road towards the gray horizon. He stopped at a pile of battlefield rubbish to acquire a cloak, and to replenish his supply of knives. Among the discarded refuse he found a soldier’s knapsack with a hearty supply of dried meat and hard tack. An hour after sunset the rains arrived, and Alec settled into a corner of an abandoned pigsty, where he traded the discomfort of the rain for the odor of the animal manure.
He lay huddled, wondering about his direction. He needed to go to the battle front to fight against the Michian invaders. His abilities were needed in a Dominion without warrior ingenairii. But Bethany was still alive in the opposite direction. The journey to reach her would be a long one through the unsettled lands, especially since he no longer had the money or access to ships he had once taken for granted.
To go towards the battle would be to serve Bethany, by driving the Michian forces further and further from her, perhaps even out of Oyster Bay, allowing her to return to the palace that should have been theirs together. He would continue towards the battle field, and fight against these enemies, and perhaps then Bethany would come to him, he dreamily speculated as he fell asleep to the sound of the raindrops drumming just a few feet above his head.
When he awoke the next morning the rain was lighter, the sky was just as dark, and he was just as uncertain. Pulling his new cloak up over his head, Alec returned to the deserted road and began his journey west. As he trudged and gnawed on a piece of dried beef, he heard the sound of movement behind him and soon was joined by another Goldenfields regiment also on its way to the battlefront.
“Are you lost son, or a deserter?” a lieutenant asked Alec as the front rank reached him.
“I’m trying to get to the war, sir,” Alec said respectfully, keeping his eye downcast.
“We’ll make sure you get to the war son. We’ll escort you directly there. Alsee and Givens, take this boy under your wing, keep a close eye on him, and see that he stays with us,” the officer ordered two imposing infantrymen who took position on either side of Alec.
Without protest, Alec fell into step with the rest of the soldiers, a unit from Goldenfields that had transferred from ships to marching on land and wasn’t happy about it. Alec listened to their grumbling banter as they marched for miles, until sometime in mid-morning they came to a halt for a brief breakfast respite, and then were on the march again. By the middle of the next day they had reached the front. Alec had kept quiet and marched without resistance, quelling some of the suspicions that he was about to desert. Trust in Alec rose further when he volunteered to join a squad that was sent to the left flank of the battle lines to scout for a way around the corner of the Michian line that defended the outskirts of Frame.
As the clouds finally cleared and the sun shone brightly, Alec watched the sergeant who was studying the map of the Frame district. “You stay with me lad,” Givens, one of his large overseers, said without rancor. “This situation could get hot. Look at the way the sun is glinting off the swale over there. That’s a lot of Michian soldiery tucked away up here for some reason.”
Alec saw the subdued yellow flashes that gleamed with every roll or twist or scratch by a Michian soldier who was lying on his stomach. “Those are from the Canare clan,” he said half aloud, recognizing the clan from his few days spent in Michian.
“You know something about them?” Givens asked. “Sergeant, our rookie says he knows what Michian clan we’ve got on the other side. Are they any good?” he asked Alec.
“I think they’ll fight pretty well. Michian has several major clans, and the Canare are usually one of the leaders,” Alec said cautiously. “They’re men just like we are, and they’ll fight just like we do or they’ll run…just like we won’t,” he finished with a gri
n.
“What’s your name, boy?” the sergeant asked.
“I’m Al…Gordon,” Alec stumbled.
“What?” the sergeant looked at him sharply.
“Gordon. My name is Gordon,” Alec firmly answered.
“Givens, you and Gordon take three more with you and see how far north we have to stretch to get around the end of the line,” the sergeant ordered. “You two go back to headquarters and report that we’ve got at least three Michian companies trying to look like the background up here. It must mean something,” he told two others, who promptly scrambled away.
Givens nodded at Alec and tapped others as he passed them and they headed around a clump of bushes to start probing the enemy lines. They moved stealthily for half an hour, then cut back to the west, following a ditch that brought them back towards the front. “Stay put. I’m going to go look,” Givens told the others as he crawled up out of the mucky ditch bottom and disappeared.
Ten minutes later he returned. “There’s a big knot of yellow and black up here, and nothing beyond that,” Givens gasped as he dropped down. “We’ve found the end of the line.”
“What do you mean by yellow and black?” Alec asked as his stomach heaved. He turned and vomited for several seconds.
“Are you alright? Scared?” Givens asked as Alec wiped off his mouth.
“Were there people there dressed all in black, or were there just uniforms that had yellow and black mixed?” Alec rephrased his question. He stuck his hand in his pocket and took comfort in the solid feel of his piece of the Cross.
“There were three people wearing all black. The rest were wearing yellow,” Givens responded without concern.
“The black means they are sorcerers. They’re the ones who call the demons,” Alec hissed.
The eyes of the other men grew suddenly wide, and Alec knew he had their attention. “Were there any prisoners tied up anywhere? They have to make a human sacrifice to call the demon to our world.”
Preserving the Ingenairii Page 15
