by Mark Anthony
"What?" he asked in trepidation.
"Your voice, Wort. I've told you that your voice is beautiful, and it is. But I've also had the strange feeling that I've heard a voice just like it somewhere before. I only just now realized where." She studied his features carefully, then nodded. "Yes. Now that I take a closer look, the resemblance is clear." The doctor took a deep breath. "You are Baron Caidin's brother, aren't you Wort?"
Slowly, almost painfully, he nodded. "How is it that you know my brother?" he asked warily.
She turned away with a shrug. "Oh, we've met briefly once or twice." The doctor turned to face him. There was a sadness in her eyes. " Wort… it hardly seems like the name of a baron's son."
"They say… they say my mother called me Wor- ren when I was a baby. She didn't live very long after my birth." Anger tinged his voice as he dredged up the dark memories. "You see, something went wrong the night I was born. She ripped deep inside, and I… I came out misshapen. The midwife thought me cursed because I was not formed right. She wanted to put me outside in the cold to die. My mother forced the Old Baron to swear I would not be killed. He gave her his word… and then she died."
"She was a courageous woman, your mother," Mika said Firmly. "Was she the Old Baron's wife?"
Wort shook his head. "No, my mother was his mistress. Caidin was born about the same time I was, to the baroness-though she too died in childbirth. Caidin was the Old Baron's legitimate heir, while I… I was his bastard." Wort had never told this tale to anyone before. The words seemed to gush out of him.
"After my mother died, no one wanted to care for me. But though I knew he despised me-despised the fact that his offspring could be so terribly deformed-the Old Baron was a man of some honor, and he did not forget the fact that his blood ran in my veins. He saw to it that i was cared for, though mostly by servants who were threatened with death if they neglected their jobs. As long as I can remember, I was called not Worren, but Wort." He shrugged as if none of this mattered anymore. "I suppose it's a good name for a hunchback."
He went on glumly. "When we were children, everyone adored Caidin. How could they not? Even then he was strong and handsome and smart. I loved him just as much as the others. Probably more. As for myself… well, you can imagine how the other children regarded me. In the end, I found it was better to keep to the tower, with my pigeons, and my bells." Wort fell silent.
Finally Mika spoke softly. "Worren. I like that name. It's gentle-just like you."
Wort shook his head. What could he say? That she was indeed an angel he had no doubt. Slowly, she reached out to touch his shoulder.
"Wort, I know that once I made you angry by saying that I could… help you. But I want you to know something. You don't have to live with your affliction forever."
He cringed, but this time he did not lash out at her. There was too much compassion in her voice.
The doctor went on earnestly. "More than once I've operated to correct clubfoot. I don't think this is so very different." He felt her fingers running lightly over his humped shoulder. "There seem to be extra spurs of bone protruding from some of your vertebrae." Her hands followed the contorted curve of his spine. "Yes, that's it. And the ligaments along the right side are too short and too tight. I might be able to cut some of them to release the tension. It might take several operations. There would be some pain, and a fair amount of work afterward to stretch and lengthen the muscles. Nor do I think we could straighten your back entirely, but…"
Wort dared to breathe the words. "But what?"
"I think, with time, I could heal your back." Mika gripped his hand. "Let me help you… Worren."
Wort opened his mouth, but he truly did not know what to say. Quickly she pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "No, don't give me an answer. Just think about for a while." She leaned forward and fleetingly brushed her lips across his cheek in a kiss. After a moment she turned and picked up her basket. "I'm going to search for a few more herbs. Fire- spur berries should just be getting ripe by now."
As she wandered off among the trees, Wort gazed after her in mute shock. For a long time he sat numbly on the ground, like one struck by lightning. Could he truly be healed? Once again the words he had heard in the belfry drifted through his mind. Monsters do not walk with angels…
"But what if she can do it?" he demanded angrily. "What if I can stand tall, like Caidin? What then?"
The voice whispered again in his brain, but was cut off as a scream shattered the air.
"Mika!" Wort gasped in alarm.
Leaping to his feet, he dashed through the trees. He ran stooped over, using his long arms as a second pair of legs, like some sort of beast. Another scream rang out but was cut short, muffled. Panting, Wort ran faster. Tearing through a tangle of brambles, he found himself on the edge of the small brook. The first thing he saw was Mika's straw basket on the ground. Bright red berries had spilled beside it, glistening like blood on the green moss. A creaking sound drew his gaze.
The dead tree beside the brook was moving. Its rough bark was twisted into a shape that suggested a grotesque human face. Two pits glowed with eerie green light like eyes, and a ragged hole in the trunk gaped like a huge maw, gnashing splintery teeth. Once this had been a living, evil, animate tree-a treant-but as it died it had not been willing to give up its carnivorous appetites. In undeath, it hungered more than ever for flesh and blood. Long ago Wort had read about an undead treant in one of his books-but then it had been only a story. This was all too real.
The treant bent its branches toward a struggling Mika. The doctor fought in vain against the dark roots that snaked out of the ground to entwine her. One had coiled about her mouth, stifling her cries. Another root wrapped itself about her arm. Its tip sank into her flesh. Her body went rigid as her flushed cheeks turned white. The thing was draining her blood.
With a wordless cry of rage, Wort leapt over the. brook and threw himself at the tree. A branch-arm swatted him aside as easily as an insect. He landed hard on the ground, grunting in pain. Damp roots started to encircle his legs. Kicking fiercely, Wort scrambled out of their reach. He turned back to see Mika staring at him with terrified eyes. Her struggling grew weaker as the root continued to drain blood from her body. The treant's maw opened in a terrible grin.
Wort searched the pockets of his cloak frantically, then drew out an object-the magical candle. Focusing his anger, he.created a shaft of searing fire that leapt from the tip of the candle. Roaring like an animal, Wort lunged at the animate tree, swinging the blazing candle like a fiery sword. The shaft of fire bit deep into one of the treant's branch-arms, cleaving it in two. The tree opened its ragged mouth in a scream of fury that seemed to vibrate through the earth. With the blazing candle, Wort hacked at the roots that gripped Mika. The treant screamed again as its roots released the doctor. Gasping, face deathly pale, she stumbled away and collapsed on the mossy ground.
"Mika!" Wort shouted, turning toward her.
One of the treant's gnarled arms struck him hard from behind. He fell forward, and the magic candle flew from his grip. Its flame went out as it struck the ground. Like a cold serpent, a thick root coiled about his body, holding him fast. Countless twig fingers brushed his face, scratching him. A weird creaking that might have been laughter emanated from the treant as it slowly lifted him toward the rotting hole of its mouth, ready to sink its splinter-teeth into his flesh.
Another soundless cry vibrated through the rotten wood, only this one was not fury, but agony. The root let Wort go, and he tumbled to the ground. He dragged himself to his knees just in time to see Mika pull the blazing shaft of the magical candle out of the undead tree. There was a grim expression on her ghostly face and a flinty light in her purple eyes.
Then Mika slumped weakly to the ground. The candle went out-but the undead treant still burned. Tongues of scarlet flame licked up its moss-covered bark. The ancient tree writhed violently. In moments it was engulfed in a pillar of roaring fire. It waved its branche
s wildly, then gradually grew still as a column of black smoke reached to the blue sky above.
Wort scrambled over to Mika, helping her sit up. "I'll be fine," she said hoarsely. Crimson still oozed slowly from the puncture wound in her arm. She cleaned it with a handful of dry leaves as Wort tore a strip from his cloak for a bandage. The two watched as the burning tree toppled over in a spray of sparks.
"It's dead," Wort whispered grimly. In his storybooks, the heroes had always been jubilant after they slew a beast. All he felt was sick. He helped Mika to her feet, and together the two walked slowly back toward Nartok Keep in the waning daylight.
Thirteen
Pushing open the heavy door, Mika stepped into the dimness of the charnel house. Quickly she clutched a handkerchief to her face against the fetid stench of rot. Here, in this windowless stone building on the edge of the village, corpses were kept until the gravedigger could perform his job. Mika hung a burning oil lamp on the end of an iron chain. Its wavering light illuminated several forms lying upon stone slabs, draped in white burial shrouds, awaiting interment. These days Nartok's gravedigger had more business then he could easily accommodate.
Mika peered under each shroud until she found a body suitable for her purpose-a hale, middle-aged man who was fresher than most of the others. The crude stitches that held his severed head to his neck marked him as a traitor executed by the baron's inquisition. Mika set down her satchel and laid out her tools. She tied a handkerchief, which she had soaked in attar of roses, tightly around her face, although the rank scent of decay still filled her nose and Jungs. At the university in Il Aluk she had spent long hours studying anatomy using the human cadavers that were always in great supply in the teeming city. That morning, when she had asked if there was a dead body which she could dissect, the gravedigger had looked at her strangely with his one good eye. Then she had offered him a gold coin for his trouble, and the look had turned from curiosity to greed. Clutching the coin in a dirty hand, he had led her to the charnel house.
Mika pulled back the white pall. The cadaver lay faceup on the stone slab, staring at her with dull eyes. She tried several times to shut his eyelids, but they kept springing back open, no doubt from rigor mortis.
"I do so hate working with someone staring at me," Mika murmured with a shivery laugh.
With a silver scalpel she made the first incision. After much cutting and sawing, she opened the cadaver's ribcage and removed the organs of his chest-his heart and lungs-which she set on the empty slab behind her. Now she could examine his spine from the ventrum, the belly side of his body. In a small leather-bound notebook she carefully sketched the anatomy of the bones, muscles, and nerves surrounding his spine. If she were to operate on Wort's hunchback, she had to learn such things. Otherwise she might make some dreadful mistake with her scalpel, perhaps paralyzing Wort, or even killing him.
After she finished her drawings, Mika turned the heavy cadaver over on the slab to examine it from the dorsum, the back side. Before continuing, she rested a moment. She pulled a flask of water from her satchel and took a few sips. She had still not recovered entirely from the attack by the animate tree in the forest two days before. Shivering, Mika sipped more water, then put the flask away. She turned to continue her dissection.
The cadaver stared up at her with lifeless eyes.
"That's odd," she said with a frown. "I thought I turned you over." Struggling with the heavy body, she turned the cadaver over on the slab and made an incision down the center of the back. Soon she was busily making more anatomical sketches in her notebook.
A faint sound echoed off the stone walls. Mika paused a moment, listening. Silence. She shrugged and continued sketching. The sound came again-a wet, slapping noise. Slowly, the small hairs on her neck prickling, she turned around. The dead man's heart was beating! She clutched her notebook with white-knuckled hands. The fist-shaped organ lurched across the stone slab, flopping like a dying fish, trailing dark blood.
Mika stared numbly. A choking sound escaped her throat. The smears of blood on the stone made by the beating heart formed letters, spelling out two words: HELP ME. There was a rustling sound behind her. Mika spun around. The cadaver lay faceup on the slab once more. His — dull eyes stared at her with an expression of… anguish.
With a muffled cry, Mika snatched up her satchel and dashed to the door of the charnel house. She gripped the knob and pulled. It was locked. Mika streamed, pounding at the wood, her hands clenched. She could feel the dead man's eyes boring Into her back. Suddenly the door swung open. Mika stumbled forward into fresh air and sunlight. She jerked the handkerchief from her face and took in deep gasping breaths.
"Are you well, milady?" the gravedigger asked, squinting at her with his one eye.She gazed back at the door of the charnel house. The Cadaver she had been dissecting lay facedown on the slab. The heart was no longer moving. Any message it had traced on the stone was now just a smear of blood. Shuddering, she turned to the gravedigger.
"The door," she said breathlessly. "It was locked."
"I'm sorry, milady. I forgot to tell you that the door only opens from the outside."
Mika stared at him. "But why?"
The gravedigger fixed her with another peculiar look but did not answer. "Are you finished, milady?" he asked finally.
She nodded. "I am now." Clutching her notebook and satchel, she hastily set off down the street.
In the light and air of the day, Mika felt her fright lifting. Soon she wondered if she hadn't simply imagined it all. It would hardly be unusual after her and Wort's nightmarish encounter with the treant. Relieved by this thought, Mika walked swiftly. She did not want any of the villagers to see her leaving the charnel house. Since Wort had scared away the mob that had accused her of witchcraft, she had been able to practice her craft in peace in Nartok. She didn't want to give anyone cause for starting further dark rumors about her.
When Mika returned to the Black Boar, she found a patient waiting for her in the dingy chamber behind the common room. It was a middle-aged woman, clad in the plain brown dress of a farmer's wife. "Begging your forgiveness, milady," the woman said, standing nervously. "I don't mean to disturb you…"
Mika smiled warmly, trying to put the woman at ease. "It's no bother." In truth, she was glad for something to take her mind off the grisly charnel house experience. She stepped into the chamber and set down her satchel. Only then did she notice the farmer's wife was not alone. In a chair in a dim corner sat a young woman. Mika stared in alarm, a hand unconsciously creeping to her breast. Something was terribly wrong with the young woman. Her face was pale and shadowed, and her eyes stared blankly forward-dark, unblinking, and utterly empty. Were it not for the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, Mika might have thought her dead.
"I hope I've done the right thing in bringing my Alys here," the peasant woman said in a shaking voice. "Hannis-that's my husband, you see-Hannis wouldn't like it if he knew I'd come to see you. He says healers are all either charlatans or warlocks, each one worse than the other. Though I love him, sometimes half of what Hannis says is poppycock, and the rest is just plain nonsense."
Mika knelt down to examine the young woman's face. There was no movement, no expression-no indication that she saw or heard anything at all.
"Do you think… do you think you can help her, milady?"
"I hope so," Mika answered gravely. "But tell me, how did this happen?"
Soon Mika knew the whole, sad tale. The mother's name was Marga. She and her husband had woken one morning to find their daughter Alys missing and the window of her bedroom open. They had discovered Alys far out on the moor, shivering and staring with unseeing eyes. At first she had muttered things in a singsong voice…
"Strange things, like dark, eerie poems," Marga said sorrowfully. "They chilled my blood, they did."
Gradually Alys had turned utterly silent. Now she seemed neither to hear nor see anything, as if trapped in a waking slumber.
"I believe your d
aughter is suffering from catatonia," Mika explained after she had finished her examinations. "I'm afraid it's a sort of madness, usually brought on by some awful shock."
"Madness?" Marga gasped. "Can you possibly heal her, milady?"
"I'm not certain. Sometimes such patients heal themselves." Mika took a deep breath. "And sometimes.. She faltered. "Sometimes they stay this way forever," Marga finished in a whisper. "That's what you were going to say, isn't it?" Mika could only nod. She went to a cabinet where she kept packets of herbs, jars of ointments, and other medicines. She returned with a small vial. "This might help your daughter. It is a distillation of mandrake root. I've used it before in cases of coma or sleeping sickness." Mika carefully poured some of the elixir into Alys's mouth. Alys screamed. The two woman stared in astonishment. Alys's blindly intent eyes were now focused on something only she could see. Horror twisted her ghost-white visage as her hands clenched into rigid claws. Despite the terror on her face, weird laughter bubbled out of her mouth. She began to chant in a queer, melodic voice:
"Where is my love?
Far under the earth
Crowned by the worms
The mold gives birth. "
"Who is my love?
The scion of Death
Whose kisses drown me
With sweet, cold breath!"
"That's it!" Marga cried. "That's what she was saying when we found her. Over and over again. That's what she said. What do you think it means?" Mika shook her head. Bracing herself, she knelt before the traumatized young woman. "Alys," she said softly. "Alys, can you hear me?" "I see him." Alys's voice was at once whisper and shriek. "I see him, out my window. He is walking to… to the tower."
"Who, Alys?" Mika asked intently. "Who do you see?"
"Yet how can it be him?" Alys went on eerily. "Oh, but it is. That is all that matters. I run to him. Yes, I run to him, to throw my arms around him. But…" Her body began to shake violently. "What is wrong? He is… he is so cold. And the smell-like the damp, fetid earth." Her voice rose to a scream. "No! Don't touch me! His kiss… his kiss is filled with writhing worms!"
