Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1)

by Morgan L. Busse

  Puzzled, Rowen looked around. There were four other beds besides hers covered with the same pristine white sheets. Against the wall were rows of shelves filled with leather-bound books. Nearby stood one long table covered with herbs, vials of dark liquids, and more books. Her eyes traveled to the end of the room, where tall, narrow windows were dark with night.

  “Good, you’re finally awake.”

  Rowen jumped at the sound. She looked to her left and found an old man dressed in white robes walking toward her. His hair was grey and curly with a matching grey mustache. She recognized him from the night she’d taken her oath. Balint, the chief healer.

  “I was beginning to fear you would not wake up,” Balint continued. “You’ve been asleep for almost twelve hours.”

  Twelve hours?

  He smiled at her and took a seat in the chair that sat next to her bed. “How are you feeling?

  “Exhausted.” Rowen felt she could sleep forever.

  “That is to be expected after healing from that kind of wound,” Balint said. He folded his hands neatly in his lap.

  Suddenly she remembered the wolves and the pain—and her charge. “Lady Astrea! How is she? Did she—”

  “Fine. She’s fine,” Balint said. “A bit frightened, of course, but no injuries.”

  Rowen sighed and lay back against the pillows. She felt along her shoulder. She frowned and felt some more. There was no bandage, no cloth. She felt again. No wound? She looked at Balint. “How did you heal me? Am I dreaming?”

  “No, my dear. This is no dream.” His smile faltered a little. “It wasn’t me who healed you…”

  Rowen slowly brought her hand back down. “I don’t understand. Was it one of your—” She caught a glimpse of her mark as her hand moved below her eyes.

  Her glove was gone!

  Rowen shoved her hand below the sheet that lay across her lap. Her face grew hot. Had Balint taken off her glove? Had he seen her mark? She looked at Balint, who was now studying her curiously.

  “Why do you hide your hand?” There was no fear in his eyes, no accusations. Just curiosity.

  Rowen felt her mouth go dry. There was no use denying it. He knew. “I- I…”

  “Are you afraid?”

  Rowen looked down. How could it have come to this? She had been so careful, wearing the glove every day. Why did she have to be different and heal herself? Of course, a small part of her argued, if she were normal, she would probably be dead right now.

  I’ll be dead soon enough, she reasoned back.

  The chief healer of the White City knew her secret, and soon everyone else would. And when word got out, it would be just like it was back in Cinad—the fear, the hatred, and, shortly after, the banishment, if she was lucky. More likely, she would receive a quick execution for her deception.

  “Let me see your mark,” Balint said.

  Rowen jerked back up, shoving her hand deeper into the sheet. “Why? Haven’t you had enough time to look at it while I was unconscious?” The question came out sharper than she meant.

  Instead of answering, Balint held out his hand, palm up. Rowen’s eyes were drawn to the faint mark across his wrinkled palm. He had a mark too! His mark was similar, yet different. It was smaller and faded so that only a faint trace of it could be seen.

  “It is the mark of the Word,” Balint said softly.

  Rowen stared at his palm, hardly able to believe her eyes. He reached over with his other hand and gently wrapped his long slender fingers around her wrist. Rowen tensed.

  “You have nothing to fear, Rowen. At least, not from me,” he said.

  She looked up into his eyes. They were kind and gentle. Taking a deep breath, she nodded and let Balint slowly pull her hand out from the sheet. He turned it over and brought his hand next to hers. The white mark on her palm was much larger than his, and it glowed with a faint light.

  “We are both marked,” he said quietly. “But I’ve never seen the mark so pronounced on anyone.” He studied their palms.

  Rowen began to piece together what he was saying. If they shared the mark, then she wasn’t a witch, right? Unless Balint were a witch, as well. But if she wasn’t a witch, what was she? “I don’t understand.”

  “My dear, you have this mark because of what you are.”

  She almost didn’t want to ask. “W-what am I?”

  Balint lifted his eyes from their hands to her face. “You are an Eldaran.”

  A what? Wait…an Eldaran? Not a witch? Eldaran had to be better than witch, right? But it also meant she wasn’t…human. And it didn’t explain the awful ability she had with her touch… Did it?

  “An Eldaran?” Rowen looked at Balint. “Are— Are you sure?”

  “Yes. You have the mark. And…” he glanced back down at their palms… “as much as I would like to say I healed you from the wolf’s poison, it is you who healed yourself. I had nothing to do with it. In fact, when Captain Lore brought you in, you were already healed.”

  “I was?”

  “Yes. Quite healed. All my best poultices lay useless beside the bed. There was no need of them.” He looked at her more closely. “How much do you know of the Eldarans?”

  “Not much.” She recalled her conversation a few months ago with Lore, the night she took her varor’s oath. “Captain Lore told me a little. But all I remember is they had some kind of power…” She knew hardly anything.

  “So you know nothing of why they came here to the Lands or the gifts they possess?” Balint said.

  “No.” After her own bitter conclusion that she was not Eldaran, Rowen had never questioned Lore about them again. And deep down inside, she was not entirely convinced she was one. The way Balint talked, it would seem people would be attracted to these beings. So why had her village reacted to her with such fear and hate?

  “After the Great Battle,” Balint said, “some of the beings who had come to the Lands with the Word, well, they chose to stay. They came to be known as the Eldarans, the ancient ones. And while they took on the limitations of man, such as mortality and a weaker body, they also maintained some of their ethereal gifts. This was so they could continue to watch over and protect mankind should the Shadonae ever return.”

  “The Shadonae?” Rowen asked.

  “The dark ones who opposed the Word and sought to destroy mankind. During the Great Battle, the Word tore down their strongholds and bound their leader. The rest of the Shadonae fled. But they still posed a threat after the Word left. So a few of His servants stayed.”

  “Where are the Eldarans now?”

  Balint hesitated, his face thoughtful. “Well, I had believed they had died out,” he finally said. “We live in a different time now, an era that no longer requires the Guardians of the Word. I have my small gift only because one of my ancestors was Eldaran.” Then he looked at Rowen. “But seeing you now makes me think otherwise. Your mark has not begun to fade and you still possess the gift of healing. So perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps there are still Eldarans dwelling here in the Lands.”

  Rowen suddenly felt self-conscious under Balint’s stare. “If I am an Eldaran, what can I do?”

  “Well, one you have discovered already,” he said. “Eldarans have the ability to heal from almost any wound or disease. It is a carryover from their ethereal bodies. An Eldaran can also use that gift to heal others.”

  Rowen looked at Balint in disbelief. “I can heal people?”

  “Yes. However, it comes at a price…”

  But Balint’s words were only a distant echo in her mind. Rowen’s thoughts were on all the loved ones she had lost over the years. Their faces flashed before her eyes: her mother, her father, villagers whom she had loved and who passed away long before the mark… all the people who had ever cared about her. And all that time, she could have saved them?

  Rowen thought on this and grew bitter inside. For so long she had felt alone and forsaken, everything stripped from her. To find out now she could have prevented it…

  “So I c
ould have saved my parents?” Rowen said, resentment lacing her words.

  “Perhaps. Even with Eldarans around, people still died. And every healing comes at a price,” Balint said, watching her closely. “Besides, I do not think you were strong enough to save your parents. When did you say the mark appeared?”

  She thought back. “Just before I learned my father had died.”

  Balint shook his head. “Eldarans do not receive their mark until they are fully adult. So you would have been too young to save your mother. As for your father, he had already passed away by the time you knew. And, like I said, the gift comes with a price. You cannot just touch people and wish they were better. That only happens in stories. The only way you can heal someone is to take on that person’s injury or disease.”

  Rowen frowned “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we already know you can heal yourself. The wolf bite proved that.” Rowen nodded, so Balint continued. “So in order to heal another person, you need to absorb their hurt—to take their wounds onto your body—and then you’d need to heal yourself of their wounds or illness.”

  Rowen sat back. The resentment she had been feeling earlier drained away under this new knowledge “So I will have to experience a person’s pain in order to heal them?”

  “Yes.”

  She lifted her hand and studied the mark on her palm. It seemed everything this mark did brought pain and suffering. “Why would the Word give such terrible gifts?” she asked without looking up. “If the Eldarans had stayed to serve the Word by helping people, why would He make it painful for them to do their service?”

  Balint did not answer. Rowen found him staring out the windows. She waited until he turned back toward her. “I believe,” Balint said, “it is because that is what He does for us. Nothing worthwhile in life is free.”

  “What do you mean the Word does that for us? He heals us?”

  “In a manner of speaking. During the Great Battle, it was not combat that overcame the Shadonae but the sacrifice the Word made on behalf of man. The Word willingly took on the darkness inside the human heart.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “You see,” Balint leaned toward Rowen, “it was darkness that enslaved man to the Shadonae. The Shadonae could not survive in the light of the Word’s sacrifice. Many of the Shadonae were destroyed or captured on that day. Only a few escaped.”

  “But if the Word created everything,” Rowen said slowly, remembering one of the stories she had heard about the Word, “then why did he make man with darkness inside?” She knew about the darkness. She had seen it in others.

  “Oh, the Word did not make man with darkness,” Balint said. “He made man with the ability to choose. And man chose to invite the darkness in.”

  “Then why doesn’t the Word just speak and make everything right?”

  “Because…nothing worthwhile in life is free,” Balint said. “When it costs something, that item becomes much dearer. Yes, the Word could have saved all of mankind by just His words, but instead He chose to heal mankind a different way, by taking on the hurt and darkness Himself. And in doing so, we realize just how dear we are to Him.”

  Rowen grew quiet. She had never heard this before.

  “Real love is displayed when a choice has to be made. It would be easy to heal everyone who was sick if it didn’t cost you anything. But what if it meant excruciating pain? Then you would have to make a choice: Do I love enough to take on that pain, or do I take the easy route and keep this gift to myself?”

  Rowen sat back. If what he was saying was true, then to heal anyone would be a true act of sacrifice, because it would cost her something. Deep down, she wasn’t sure she could do it. Not even for her parents. “How did the other Eldarans do it?” She looked at Balint. “How did they find the courage to make that choice?”

  Balint sighed. “I’m not sure. But from what I have read in some of the ancient scrolls here in the White City, it seems the Eldarans drew their strength from the Word. And His example of self-sacrifice inspired them to do likewise.”

  He leaned closer toward Rowen. “You must understand, Rowen, the Word never created the Eldarans to use their power apart from His strength. It would be too great a burden. In fact, some gifts are so great and terrible that, without the Word’s help, they would overpower the possessor.” Balint paused. “Rowen,” he said quietly, “has anything else happened to you since the mark first appeared on your hand?”

  Rowen looked down, her heart suddenly heavy inside.

  Pulling his chair closer to her bed, Balint took her unmarked hand and held it between his own. “Tell me about it.”

  She didn’t know where to start. All the images and feelings of her past began to resurface. The anger, hate, and lust she had experienced at the touch of another. “I can… I can see things when I touch people. And feel their thoughts.”

  Rowen saw a flicker of worry cross Balint’s face. “Explain.”

  She drew in a deep breath and subconsciously clenched her right fist as if to protect the mark. She saw his eyes dart toward her gesture with another flicker of worry. Rowen let out her breath and began.

  As she stumbled through her story, she felt her heart tear anew. It had been months since she had thought back on her village. But the grief and pain were as real now as on the day when she had been banished.

  They hated her. The people she had grown up with, they hated her. And Calya… Rowen’s voice hitched as she thought about her old friend. She missed her. She missed their conversations, missed the sound of Calya’s little ones playing nearby, missed her friend’s friendly advice. And Rowen had done nothing wrong other than bear this awful mark.

  Rowen finished her story, crying as she held her face in her hands. She would give anything to be free of this mark.

  “You are a Truthsayer,” Balint said quietly.

  Rowen wiped her eyes. “I’m a…a what?”

  He looked at her with a sad smile. “A Truthsayer. You have the gift of revealing what lies deep within another person. That day you touched Cleon, you revealed the hatred buried inside of him.”

  Sudden uncontrollable rage filled her. “And that’s a gift? To see the hatred and darkness inside people? Do you realize I can never touch another person? That all I will ever know is loneliness?”

  Rowen knew Balint did not deserve her torrent of anger and rage. Who she really hated right now was the Word. He had given her this mark and the burden that came with it. All she had ever wanted was a normal life. She wanted to bond, have children, live in a small home just like Calya did. Just like every other woman in the Lands. But it seemed the Word had another future for her. One she would never have chosen for herself.

  Balint shook his head. “That is not necessarily true. When there is a need to heal, that is what your touch will do. When there is a need for truth to be revealed, that is what your touch will do. And you only reveal the truth to a person who is blind to it or hiding it.”

  “But why? Why is such a gift needed?”

  “Because if a person does not realize the darkness inside of him, he can never be healed by the Word,” Balint said. “Your touch makes people see what is already there inside their heart. You show them, and then they need to make a choice. Do they seek healing from the One who can heal them, or do they bury the darkness again, where it can fester and grow like an infected wound? And that is a decision you cannot make for them. You can only present the choice.”

  Rowen looked down, her thoughts and emotions churning. More than anything she wanted to rip the mark off her hand and the truth it revealed. “Is there any way to get rid of the mark?

  “Get rid of it?”

  “Yes. Like what if my hand was cut off or something?” She inwardly shivered at the thought. Would she really go that far to get rid of her mark?

  “Well, I’m not sure.” Balint rubbed his chin. “You see, the power is inside of you, not inside the mark. However, the mark is the conduit of that pow
er. If you lost your hand, I don’t know if another mark would show up or if you would simply lose the ability to touch others. I have not read about such a thing.”

  Balint reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “Rowen, I believe the Word has gifted you for a future we do not yet see. Truthsayers were rare, even in the day when Eldarans walked the Lands. To be one now, in this age…there has to be a reason. The Word will give you the strength to use your power. Trust in Him, Rowen. He will not leave you to carry this burden alone.”

  Rowen looked up with hatred. She wanted to shout at Balint, to tell him he had no idea what it was like. But Balint did not deserve that. He had only told her the truth. Suddenly the irony hit her; she was mad because someone else had told her the truth.

  Balint let go of her hand and stood. “I will leave you now so you can rest.”

  Rowen nodded and looked down at her clenched hand. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him quietly open the double set of doors and walk out. Then she shoved the offending limb beneath the sheets. Her heart beat with strong, angry thuds.

  She hated the Word. She hated Him and any future He had planned for her.

  15

  “How is she?” Lore said. He stood in the doorway to the Healers Quarter the next morning.

  Balint glanced up from the long table where he was working. He placed a small glass vial down and walked toward Lore. “Sleeping right now,” Balint said in a low voice. “But she will recover.”

  For the first time since yesterday, Lore relaxed. He had spent all night tossing and turning. One moment, he feared Rowen would die. The next, he was shocked at his revelation.

  He loved her.

  Lore knew he wasn’t the first man in his position to be attracted to a woman under his command. But how to handle it? Then he would remember there was a good chance Rowen wouldn’t recover, thus restarting the cycle.

  “That’s good to hear.” Lore glanced over at the one occupied bed. A long white sheet covered her body. He moved closer until he stood an arm’s length away. He could see the steady rise and fall of her chest. Her hands, one still covered by her glove, clutched the white sheet in two tight fists. Her face looked pale and pinched. “How did you do it?”