Fallen Emrys

by Lisa Rector

  Blood gushed from the bricklayer’s thigh where bone protruded from his flesh. The man’s ashen face hinted at shock overtaking his body. That, and his continual wail.

  “Why won’t he survive?” I asked. “Can’t someone mend a break like that?” I had to ask, but I guessed the answer. Of course not. None of these mortals had the power I had. What did these mortals, with such minute light, know about healing an injury as drastic as this?

  “Even if a physician set the break, fever would do him in,” a man on my left muttered.

  I grasped the reality. His death was certain if I didn’t use my powers.

  Are you sure you want to? Seren asked. Are you ready to reveal yourself?

  I can’t stand by, knowing he’ll bleed to death. “Pull him out, now!” I raced forward, grateful for Owein beside me.

  “What can we do? I’ve seen this before. No one but the king’s physician could heal this,” Owein said.

  With the help of two other men, we pulled the bricklayer free.

  “What’s his name?” I hollered as I slid to my knees beside him.

  “Alphis, my lady,” a ragged old man said. “Alphis. He has three young ’uns. Just lost his wife last year. It doesn’t look good.”

  Alphis was writhing too much.

  “Hold him,” I said to the men around us. “Alphis.” I touched his head. “Be still. You’ll be fine.” I poured my light into his mind. The grace of Deian slipped along the neural pathways, seeking the pain’s origin. I found the source—the receptors telling him he was hurt—and wrapped them in the warmth of light, blocking the body’s perception of pain. Alphis’s body slackened, and he breathed easy.

  A collective murmur surfed the onlookers. The dragon was out of the cave, or possibly, they thought Alphis had passed out.

  “We can’t help him,” the old man said as he applied pressure around the bone.

  “Niawen, you can help him, can’t you?” Owein asked, shooting me a questioning look because he realized I just stopped pain.

  “Yes, but I’ll need your assistance.”

  Owein nodded.

  “I need traction. You there, hold him under his shoulders. You, hold his hip. Owein, grab his leg. Pull the leg straight while I set the bone. I have to align it properly. Then once it’s in place, hold it while I mend it.”

  “You’re mad, woman,” the old man said. “How do you expect to do that?”

  I glared at him. “Don’t say a word if you’re not supporting me. He’s already lost a lot of blood. I can’t create that… unless you want to give him your blood.”

  “No, ma’am. I’ll be quiet.”

  “I must extend the wound. Lend me a knife.” I held my hand out, waiting. Cold metal—the very knife Owein flashed upon our first meeting—met my palm. I deftly wielded the blade, slicing far enough up the leg for my hands to reach inside.

  A lady in the crowd fainted. The idiocy.

  Blood squelched when I reached into the opening and pushed my hands against the bone. “Pull. Pull now.”

  As the men braced and Owein pulled, I closed my eyes. I thought with only my mind and saw with only my light and told the power what to do. Light healed with Deian’s blessing—Deian’s light, which was inside me—the same light inside all emrys.

  I envisioned the bone’s raw edges. I analyzed the shape. With the light, I saw every microscopic detail of the puzzle. I slid the bones together, rotating them slightly into alignment, using light as my guide. “There,” I said. “Hold it there.”

  I wrapped one hand around the bone, keeping it in place, as I pulled the other hand free and steadied the flesh on the outside. Light filled the gaps, knitting the harder external bone together, sealing over the break. I delved deeper and meshed the bone’s inner red matrix until components flowed freely between the former two bone halves.

  The bone was healed. I pulled my hand from the wound, ignoring the blood covering it. “You can let go. I’m almost done.”

  After approximating the wound’s edges, I held them in place as I effectively stitched them together with my light. Every little tear from the bone and every little clean cut from the knife melded in place as light sought out the damage.

  “You’ve done it,” Owein whispered.

  “He’ll be weak,” I said. “I can’t make blood, and he’s lost a lot of it. He’ll be laid up for a while.” I slipped my messy hands into a pocket at the edge of my tunic, feeling for the tiniest treasure I had hidden inside. I dropped a garnet stone, the size of my pinky nail, into the old man’s hands. “Will this feed his family?”

  His eyes grew large. “Aye, lass. That it will.”

  “Here.” Owein took a handkerchief from his pocket and worked the fabric over my palms and between my fingers, trying to remove the stubborn blood.

  “It’s all right. Blood doesn’t concern—”

  “Make way! Make way for Prince Kenrik!” a voice shouted.

  As the crowd parted, I stiffened. This is what we want, Seren. I’ll see you have your introduction.

  Let’s hope he’s here to congratulate you and not reprimand you.

  I don’t feel malice. I feel urgency.

  A young man, not more than Owein’s age, emerged from the crowd. His sandy-brown hair matched his eager eyes. He wore a navy blue surcoat with the emblem of a prowling mountain lion emblazoned across his chest.

  I straightened and found myself directly at his eye level. I bowed my head as I hid my bloodstained hands at my sides. Everyone else knelt, including Owein.

  “I am Prince Kenrik.”

  I lifted my head and held his intrigued gaze, not afraid to look at the prince. “Your Majesty. Niawen, daughter of Caledu from Gorlassar.”

  “Not a realm I’m familiar with.” Kenrik smiled and his chin divot deepened. “Word travels quickly, my lady. Imagine my surprise as I arrive at the festival and see my father’s subjects flocking to a scene of horror. And among them, whispers of a sorceress—a witch with healing powers.”

  I suppressed my grin.

  “My father, His Majesty King Sieffre, requests you come to the palace at once. He has need of your skills.”

  “If the king has need, then I will be of service, Prince Kenrik.”

  Owein rose and entwined his fingers into mine. “I’m coming with you, to make sure you’re treated properly.”

  “Have no fear, Owein,” I said. “Prince Kenrik has a dire need. I’ll be fine.”

  “All the same…” Owein squeezed my hand.

  Kenrik’s eyes drifted to my hands. “Fetch a basin of water for the lady. I can’t have her showing up at the palace looking as though she massacred a village.”

  Chapter Eight

  Father.” Prince Kenrik knelt on one knee and bowed his head.

  Owein knelt as well, but I stood respectfully behind Kenrik, inspecting the tapestry-covered throne room with a few darting flicks of my eye. Though richly decorated with plush fabrics, the room held a modest feel with its simply carved furnishings.

  King Sieffre trained his eyes on the tiles at his feet as he sat on his polished wood throne padded in red velvet. He was so forlorn I thought he’d collapse onto the floor. Shoulders drooped, and hands hung limp. I wanted to cry for his anguish, which was plain for me to sense.

  “Father, I’ve found one.” Kenrik stood, squaring his stocky shoulders, and smiled at me. “Lady Niawen—she’s the hope we’ve been scouring for. The hope Kelyn has yet to find. I saw the result of her hands. Witnesses said Alphis the bricklayer wouldn’t have survived. She’s the one. Look at her. The pale skin, the green eyes. Like a goddess, like our Creator. She calls herself an emrys.”

  I heard a low murmur, as if the effort to talk might buckle the king, before I understood the words coming from his mouth.

  “—ancient scrolls. Scholars were lucky enough to copy them before they crumbled to dust. As my son said, they spoke of a woman such as you—a woman with the gift from the Creator to heal. I didn’t dare hope. When she fell i
ll, we began the search. For six long months the sickness has eaten away at her insides, having gradually increased her torment. I watched her grow weak, powerless to do anything. My dearest Sorfrona. My wife. My queen.” Sieffre’s voice broke.

  I saw the faintest tremble in his hands.

  “She’s on her final breath. Her agony’s so great my physician keeps her sedated…” The king lifted his head, and his icy eyes met mine. “So forgive me if I don’t believe, in her last hour, you’ve finally come!”

  The king leapt from his throne, unsheathing a dagger from beneath his robes. In a rugged outcry, he lunged toward me.

  “Father!” Kenrik yelled.

  “Niawen!” Owein jumped up.

  I reacted on instinct. As if an extension of my arm, my light coiled out and seized the king’s wrist, immobilizing his steps. I told the light to squeeze ever so slightly until the king dropped his blade.

  Disarmed, the king crumpled to his knees, and Kenrik ran to him.

  That’s when I noticed the guards surrounding me, with lances pointed at my heart.

  Sieffre groaned, but rose with Kenrik’s help. “At ease, men. At ease.”

  “Father, are you insane? I told you, she can save—”

  King Sieffre motioned for his son to be silent before clapping him on the shoulder. “It was a test, my dear boy.”

  Sieffre’s eyes brightened. The blue in them shone clear as he stepped past his son and lifted my hand to his mouth. “You, my lady, are most welcome. I have no doubt you are the one we seek.”

  His hope was radiant.

  “Take me to her,” I said, unperturbed by his attack. I supposed at this moment, I realized I didn’t fear this breed of mortal. I was more powerful than all of them.

  A sweaty and red-faced boy, no more than five years old, ran into the throne room. “Kenrik!”

  Kenrik scooped the child up as he ran into his arms.

  “My nephew, Prince Brenin,” Sieffre said as he ruffled the boy’s brown curls.

  Out of breath, a young woman with thick, wavy hair ran into the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Sieffre, but I can’t keep Brenin away from Kenrik. He misses him dearly. I fear our visit won’t be enough to satisfy his longing.”

  Sieffre laughed. “Fine, let him come. My spirits are high. Lady Niawen, may I present my sister-in-law, Queen Tiwlip.”

  “Pleasure to meet you.” I inclined my head. “I don’t mean to skip pleasantries, but Sorfrona’s predicament calls to me. I cannot bear the thought of her suffering any longer.”

  ***

  Through the dimly lit chamber, I made out an emaciated figure swathed in blankets on the bed. Her forearms were exposed, and black, slug-like creatures clung to them.

  “What’s on her?” I rushed forward to inspect the foul creatures.

  A gray-bearded man standing beside the bed spoke. “Leeches, to clean the blood.”

  I scowled. Eccentric fool! “Take them off her now! Sorfrona’s already frail enough. I can’t make blood, you imbecile. It’ll take weeks to regain her full strength at the rate you’re healing her.”

  Sieffre pushed his way to his beloved and squeezed her hand after perching on the bed. “Do as she says. Lady Niawen has charge.”

  The physician’s lip quivered. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  As the physician plucked the offensive things off, I spoke. “Clear the room. Only the king and his son may stay.” I glanced at Owein, who hovered at my elbow. “And my friend.”

  The king nodded his head. The physician ducked out, as well as a few maids.

  “I’ll do a preliminary examination. Do you allow me to lay hands on your wife and proceed with healing as I see fit? I’m asking if you trust me.”

  Kenrik interjected. “I trust you. Father, you trust her, right?”

  “After assessing her skill in the throne room and hearing your testimony, I believe she’s the only one to save Sorfrona,” Sieffre said.

  “Good. I don’t like skepticism. It dampens the spirit and makes my job harder.” I climbed onto the bed and knelt beside Sorfrona. Her wheezing breath ached my heart.

  I cradled her face between my hands and touched my forehead to hers. The room became so quiet I swore Sorfrona stopped breathing. Seren, lend me your strength. This will be demanding, to say the least.

  I’m here for you. Deian will guide your light, Seren whispered.

  Sorfrona, show me your pain. With that request, my light reached from my heart-center, up through my mind, and slipped into Sorfrona.

  What I saw would haunt me forever.

  Emrys didn’t really fall ill. We had momentary headaches that were gone in a flash. Small twinges that healed instantly. The worst thing that might happen to us was falling off a dragon. My mother once twisted her ankle, and my father healed her. The light inside us continually quickened our physical frames and buoyed our spirits so the two were whole.

  Well, almost. In the case of my fractured heart, my spirit required a bit more healing. Usually time was enough to restore my immortal body and heal my emotional turmoil.

  But this—Sorfrona. Oh, Deian. How could this have happened? How could a person endure so much? I didn’t know how she was still alive.

  I knew what the normal mortal components making up humans’ bodies looked like because I had healed Alphis. They looked the same as my immortal ones. Most were smooth, able to flow, such as blood. Others were a more rigid shape, such as bones, or elongated like muscle fibers. Healing injury was straightforward. Healing disease was intimidating.

  Everywhere my light flowed, every turn inside Sorfrona’s body, revealed misshapen, lumpy, mutated splotches. A cluster in her lungs, spots throughout her liver. Her stomach had a huge nodule, which had nearly eaten through the organ. And last but not least, her brain. Three clusters at the base of her skull. The splotches pinched and crowded healthy tissue. They blackened pure life.

  I gasped. My stomach knotted.

  I pulled away. My shaking limbs revealed my alarm.

  Oh, Seren, how will I manage? I need Catrin’s skill.

  Move slowly and with purpose. One step at a time.

  I’m the most impatient person ever! I’ll rush. I’ll falter. Tears brimmed under my eyelids.

  Owein wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed his head into my back. “You can do this.”

  How did he possess such faith in me? He hardly knew me, but from what he saw during our week together, his faith was sure in my abilities. I drank up his belief in me, welcoming his embrace as I crushed his arms against myself. “Hold on to me. I need your faith to flow directly through me. This will be taxing.”

  Sieffre rested his hand on my shoulder, and Kenrik’s steady hand circled my wrist.

  “We’ll do this together,” Sieffre said.

  And I felt their emotions then—Sieffre’s love for his wife. Kenrik’s trust in me and his hope for a miracle.

  “Thank you,” I said. “The healing will take a while. Her body is severely compromised. I might be healing for hours. I’ll most definitely pass out. You don’t have to worry. I’ll recover. Just allow me to sleep my exhaustion off. Hold on. Don’t let go.”

  With that, I closed my eyes and lost myself to Sorfrona’s healing. I had no recollection of how time passed.

  And I never wanted to do that again.

  Chapter Nine

  A whisper. “Niawen… Niawen.”

  It’s time to wake, my sister.

  A hand touched my shoulder. More than a touch. A caress.

  I moaned. Wake? Seren? What’s going on? “My head…” It throbbed with vehemence. I fumbled beside myself, pushing with my wrists, but my head lolled to the side like a dying runt’s.

  You’ve been in good hands. Owein’s watching over you, but I did worry.

  “You said you’d faint. You said you’d sleep it off…” Hands slipped under my armpits and hoisted me onto softness. Pillows. My head hung slack, but I cracked my eyes.

  The healing was more intense
than I expected, I said.

  Owein was frowning at me.

  “That’s not what happened?” I asked.

  He lifted a cup to my lips. Cold water rushed down my dry throat. My hands curled around his, and I tipped the cup farther.

  “Not so much!” Owein pulled the drink away.

  “How long have I been out? The queen, how is she? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what? Like I’ve been sitting at your bedside for three days, panicking, and praying you’ll wake.” He cupped my cheek. “Three days! You collapsed beside the queen after healing her for six hours! I scooped you into my arms and tried to revive you, but that eager prince took you from me and brought you here.”

  I imagined Owein patting my cheeks and clutching my limp form. Then I imagined Prince Kenrik lifting me into his arms with my limbs dangling and my head drooping while he cradled me to his chest. For mercy’s sake. Heat seared through my cheeks and down my neck.

  That’s about how the events happened, Seren said. Only Owein wouldn’t quite let you go. Prince Kenrik insisted. Then Sieffre convinced Owein to allow you to be taken to a room.

  “I was going to accuse the queen of killing you,” Owein continued. “After three days of being unresponsive, most people die from dehydration.”

  I blushed. I kept forgetting—emrys. Owein didn’t know I wouldn’t die. “Dying of dehydration takes much longer. Unending life. Remember? I’d need a fatal wound, one too severe for my light to heal in a swift enough fashion, or several months of starvation and dehydration to do me in.”

  “Doesn’t sound pretty.”

  I grimaced. “I don’t really know. I suppose. I just know we eat and drink far less than I’ve observed you humans do.”

  Owein set the cup on a lacquered side table. My surroundings were lavish. Rich. Mahogany furnishings covered in linens and tapestries. My bed, my body, covered in a silken coverlet. Light hid behind blue velvet curtains. Its flames low, a fire waved against the opposite wall underneath a stately mantle.

  Seren, have you been well? I’m sorry I haven’t seen you. I don’t like to leave you alone.

  “I want to see the queen,” I mumbled.