He gestured at the boy—whose name he realized he still did not know—urging the child to come to him. Bartha patted her son on the back, sending him off to Uldyssian. The child ran up and hugged the tall figure tight.
“I was able to help him,” Uldyssian added, letting everyone see the arm. The boy smiled at him. “And what I did, you can do, too. Perhaps not immediately, but you will.”
Many shook their heads or frowned. It was one thing for them to believe that he could perform miracles, but still they could not conceive of such abilities in themselves.
With a sigh, Uldyssian considered. Perhaps he moved too swiftly even for the understanding people of Partha. Perhaps he just had to show them.
“Bartha,” the son of Diomedes called. “Come up here, too. Please.”
Beaming, she rushed up. “Yes, Holy One?”
Her use of such a title caused him to wince. He did not wish to be put in the same category as Malic and his ilk. Never that. “I’m just Uldyssian, Bartha, a farmer by birth, like many you know.” Her expression immediately told him that his words passed by unnoticed. With a sigh, he finished, “Just call me Uldyssian, please.”
She nodded, which was all he could hope for at this juncture.
“Stand beside me.” When she had obeyed, he looked for the man whose face had most been ravaged by disease. “You there. Come to me.”
There was a moment of hesitation, then the sandy-haired figure stepped up before Uldyssian. He held his cap in his hand as if it were a form of security.
“What’s your name?”
“Jonas, Holy One.”
Uldyssian tried not to react again. He would get them to stop…eventually. “May we touch your face?”
Again, there was a pause, but finally the man nodded. “Yes. Yes, Holy One.”
Uldyssian reached to Bartha, taking one of her soft hands in his own. She allowed him to guide it up to the ruined flesh, unfearful of touching it despite its grotesque appearance. That impressed him. It was one thing to see someone disfigured so, it was another to actually feel that scarred skin beneath one’s fingertips. He had chosen the right person with which to start.
As both his fingers and hers made contact with the man, Uldyssian closed his eyes and tried to imagine the flesh whole. At the same time, he also reached out to Bartha, trying to see inside her and let her feel what he was doing.
He felt her abruptly shiver, but she did not pull away. Grateful for that, Uldyssian focused on the figure before him. The man was understandably anxious, perhaps most of all from being the center of attention. Uldyssian knew that he had to hurry, if only to prevent Jonas from growing faint of heart and retreating.
Uldyssian tried to recall the emotions that had flowed through him when he had healed the boy’s arm. It proved easier to bring them to the forefront than last time, something that surprised him.
The pain, the loss, coursed through him. He knew others who had suffered disfigurement as this man had, people in his village whom he could not help now. Perhaps…perhaps if all went as hoped, Uldyssian could someday return to Seram and make amends…
Then, as if such thoughts were the key, the force within suddenly poured out of him. He sensed Bartha’s renewed astonishment, an astonishment mixed with immense pleasure.
He also sensed the man feel the power flowing into him, and, specifically, his ravaged face.
A gasp of wonder rose from those watching. Uldyssian dared open his eyes—
His fingertips had already given him some hint of the results, but seeing them still amazed Uldyssian at least as much as it did the throngs. The damaged skin was pink and whole…in fact, there was no longer a blemish or mark anywhere on the man’s countenance.
“Another miracle!” Bartha breathed.
The subject of Uldyssian’s experiment put his own hands to his face, marveling at the feel of his skin. He turned toward his fellows, giving them a good view of the results.
Before they could start praising him again, the son of Diomedes loudly interjected, “Bartha, did you feel everything? Did you?”
Her expression turning confused, she replied, “I felt you heal him—”
He cut her off. “What do you feel inside yourself? Do you sense it yet?”
She touched over her heart. The crowd—including the healed man—looked at her.
“I feel…I feel…” She smiled beatifically at Uldyssian. “I feel as if I’ve just awakened, Holy—Master Uldyssian! It…it’s…I don’t know how to describe it…”
Nodding, he looked to the others. “That’s how it begins. The feeling will continue to grow. It may take time, but slowly…slowly…you’ll come to be everything I am…and possibly more. Possibly much more.”
It was a weighty promise and one that Uldyssian in great part regretted the minute that he uttered it. Yet, now it was too late to turn back. As he learned more about what he was able to do, he would try to teach the others, at least until someone else could do better.
That meant that Kehjan would have to wait even longer than he had initially intended. Uldyssian could not very well leave the people of Partha until they understood better.
Immediately, he thought of Lylia. She would be upset at first, surely, but, as in the past, she would come around. When the noblewoman saw how the Parthans reacted, it would make absolute sense to her to stay as long as needed.
At least, he hoped that she would see it that way.
The man he had healed came up to him again. “Master Uldyssian…. could you…could you show me?”
Uldyssian started to reach forward, then hesitated. He smiled, surprised himself not to have sensed it sooner. “I guess I don’t have to. You should know that. Just look deep. You’ll see…”
Jonas’s brow furrowed…then suddenly joy filled his face again. It had nothing to do with his mended skin. He nodded eagerly, all but shouting, “I feel…I think…what Madame Bartha said! I feel…awakened…”
His awestruck words were enough to cause the crowd to break into excited babble. Someone stepped toward Uldyssian. That caused the entire crowd to flow forward. Each person wanted to be the next.
Caught up in the moment, Uldyssian accepted one after another, spending what time he needed with each. Hands stretched toward him, seeking his touch. Not all of them would feel the awakening as quickly as Bartha and Jonas had and he said this to every person before trying, but it would eventually happen. Uldyssian truly believed that and because he believed that, so, too, did those to whom he ministered.
As each new supplicant stepped up, he also grew more and more confident with his decision. Partha was indeed a perfect place to prove himself. If he was able to do this well here, it staggered Uldyssian’s imagination to think just how matters would fare in the city.
No, a short respite in the town would surely not endanger matters…
Surrounded by so many, Uldyssian did not notice that, far back, the one whose thoughts most mattered to him watched him now with veiled eyes. Lylia stood at the base of a set of steps overlooking the fountain, drinking in the sight. Oddly, despite the noblewoman’s arresting appearance, not one among all those there so much as noticed her.
But she noticed everything, including that what Uldyssian had set into motion here would keep him occupied for quite some time to come. Too long, in fact. He should have nearly reached Kehjan by now. That was how she had planned it. Not this highly suspicious turn to Partha, of all places.
Yet, after a moment’s consideration, Lylia suddenly smiled. Plans were made to be adjusted constantly.
“If not Kehjan, then by all means here, my love,” the blond woman whispered to herself. “In the end, the location does not matter. You will yet bring to me what is rightfully mine, Uldyssian…you will…even if you must die to do it…”
TWELVE
Achilios found Serenthia not where he had expected, that expectation being that Cyrus’s daughter would be assisting Uldyssian with his task. Instead, the hunter discovered the dark-haired wom
an sitting where she could see the proceedings, but was far enough away not to be a part of them. Her eyes were, of course, on Uldyssian—to ask otherwise would have been unthinkable even to Achilios—although as the archer approached, his own keen gaze noticed hers surreptitiously shift to Lylia, then back to the son of Diomedes again.
“I brought you some water,” he said as way of interjecting himself into her private world. He offered her the sack he had carried with him, freshly filled at Master Ethon’s estate. Ever practical—save when it came to love—Achilios had first paused to gather something to drink before chasing after his friend.
Serenthia took it with a nod of thanks. She drank far more from it than Achilios assumed that she would, which meant she had been sitting out here for quite some time, just watching. Likely Serenthia had run all the way here, fearing some imagined danger, whereas he had taken his time, somehow aware that Uldyssian was utterly safe.
When she was done, he took the sack back and remarked, “It’s truly astonishing, isn’t it, Serry?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’ve been his friend since we were children.” Without asking, he took up a place next to her. It was as forward as he dared get. Despite his sometimes gregarious appearance, Achilios was much more at home in the forest, alone with his quarry. In social circumstances, he felt only one step above Mendeln and, where the woman next to him was concerned, as awkward.
His comment caused her to look at him with such intensity that Achilios wondered what he had said wrong. Serenthia appeared poised to say something, but it was almost a full minute before a single word escaped her lips.
And when she did speak, it was not on the subject that he assumed it would be. “Why are the two of you friends, Achilios? You seem so different in so many ways.”
He had no answer save “Because we just are, I guess. We were friends the moment that we met.” He shrugged. “Children are like that.”
“I suppose.” Serenthia thought for a moment, then asked, “Is she what you would dream of?”
Now the subject he had expected was at hand. Serenthia had merely taken a more circuitous route to it. “Lylia? She is fair, to be honest, and no man would let his gaze pass over her without noticing that, but the same could be said for others, not merely her.”
He could barely have been more blunt—in his eyes—but she seemed not to understand that he meant her. “I know that to us she is exotic and I can understand why Uldyssian would fall for her, but it was all so quick, Achilios.”
“It can be like that.” It had been like that for him…in a sense. One day, he had known only Serry the impish child. The next day, there had stood the beautiful woman. Achilios had been so lost in amazement of the change that, for the next week, he went without a single catch to his credit.
Serenthia was silent for a time and Achilios satisfied himself with being in her company…which was how such situations generally ended. They watched as Uldyssian greeted one Parthan after another. Each time he succeeded in doing whatever it was he did, Achilios noticed both his friend and the one touched share a look of immense satisfaction.
“Is that the way you felt?” he finally dared ask Serenthia. “Like them?”
“Yes.” But the way she said it made the hunter not so certain.
“Have you been able to do anything?”
This time there was a pause, followed by, “I don’t know.”
“How could you—”
Her tone grew more adamant. “I don’t know.”
Normally, Achilios would have left it at that, but this time, he could not. “Serry, what do you mean?”
Her gaze shifted not to him, but rather her hands. “I feel it, just as I know many of them do, but that’s all. I haven’t noticed anything else different around me. I’ve tried to think of things, make them happen, but…but as far as I know, nothing has.”
“Still? I would’ve thought by now that—”
Now she looked at him. Her eyes were steely. “So would I. Believe me, so would I.”
It made no sense to him. Lylia had already displayed several instances of ability, such as making flowers and berries bloom on bushes or healing some minor cuts suffered by one of the mounts. She had also summoned a rabbit to them, saving Achilios from having to hunt but leaving the archer feeling as if somehow the animal had been cheated of its chance to survive.
“What about you?” his companion asked without warning. “I haven’t seen anything from you, either.”
In truth, Achilios did feel something within him seeking to grow, but he had done his best to smother it. He had told no one of that decision. Many might desire the gift that Uldyssian offered, but not his best friend. Achilios was satisfied with being who he was. A hunter and a simple man.
“I suspect that I’m not the best student for Uldyssian,” he returned. “Not at all.”
“But no one taught him, not really! With Uldyssian, it came as suddenly as the storm over Seram…which apparently was caused by him, too!”
“Uldyssian was pressed on all sides, Serry. He was accused of brutal murder by Brother Mikelius. The Inquisitors would have dragged him back off to the Cathedral, probably to burn as a fiend! He had no choice!”
She was not convinced. “It was all terrible, but why at that time? Why not when his family slowly and horribly perished from plague? Why not then? Why even him, for that matter? There are so many others who’ve suffered worse and yet we’ve never heard of such an astounding thing before! It would’ve even reached Seram, you know that!” Even as he nodded his agreement to this argument, Serenthia went on, “And why not Mendeln, then? He suffered as much, too! His family was wiped out and his brother was accused of a terrible crime! It could’ve been him, but it wasn’t! I’ve seen nothing unusual about Mendeln, have you?”
Her mention of Mendeln made Achilios flinch. Serenthia noticed his reaction and her eyes narrowed.
“What is it, Achilios? What about Mendeln? Is he manifesting abilities like his brother?”
It was not the suggestion of that which had caused the archer to flinch, but rather a brief and unexpected recollection of another time, another place. As Serenthia had spoken of Uldyssian’s sibling, Achilios had relived the moment when he and his other friend had inspected the mysterious stone near Seram. Not only had the archer seen again Mendeln freezing in place before it, but he had also reexperienced touching it himself…and the awful emptiness that had overwhelmed him until he had managed to pull free.
“No…” Achilios finally managed. “No…nothing like Uldyssian.”
She was not convinced. “Achilios, what—”
Without warning, a tremendous sense of fear overcame the hunter, but not fear for himself. He had the awful feeling that something was happening to Mendeln at this very moment.
Achilios leaped to his feet, startling his companion.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
He wanted to answer her, but the urgency he felt was too strong. Without a word, Achilios began running. He ignored Serenthia’s concerned call after him.
But barely out of sight of the woman he loved, Achilios came to a dead stop. The fear for Mendeln had not lessened any, but the archer hesitated to begin his run anew.
The truth was, Achilios had no idea just where Uldyssian’s brother had gone.
The streets through which Mendeln moved were oddly empty and the buildings around him had suddenly taken on an unsettling gray cast. There was no wind whatsoever and not the slightest sound. Mendeln would have felt very alone save for one thing…he was still surrounded by the shades of the guards Uldyssian had slain.
Since their arrival, it had taken monumental effort on his part to keep from screaming out the truth to the others. Either these shadows of men existed or he had gone mad…or both. Mendeln did not know which would be worse. He only knew that he just wanted to tell someone what was happening to him.
But he had not. He had said nothing even when they had arrived in Partha, where his hopes t
hat the ghosts would leave him had dissipated the moment the first of the shades had passed through into the town. Until then, Mendeln had believed that his haunting would be temporary. Now, he feared that the dead would always be with him.
“Fear” was perhaps no longer the right word, though. Certainly, they kept him anxious, but the more they were around him, the less frightened he became. They did nothing but stare. Not in condemnation, but as if awaiting some word from him. So far, though, Mendeln had said little directly to them. He had asked them to please kindly go away, but since they had not obeyed, he had seen no reason to continue any further attempt at conversation.
At the moment, they were the least of his concerns. As he continued through the town, Mendeln began noticing peculiar signs of age on the buildings, as if Partha were some ancient place long abandoned. The shift became more apparent with each step. The grayness grew darker, veering toward the black…
This was not right, he realized. Where was everyone? Where was Uldyssian, after whom he had been chasing? Mendeln was worried about his brother, especially what the Parthans might do. He recalled too vividly what had happened in Seram, where people who had known Uldyssian all his life had turned on him…
But then there arose a sight ahead that made Mendeln falter in his steps and forget all about his brother. He spun around with the intention of fleeing…only to find himself facing the very direction he had just abandoned.
A direction that led to a long-neglected cemetery. A cemetery that, from its ancient state, surely could not be Partha’s.
With the shades of dead men already surrounding him, Uldyssian’s brother could see nothing but ill coming of entering the overgrown burial site. Yet, when he tried to back away, the cemetery only drew nearer. Nevertheless, Mendeln tried one more step back—
And in the next breath found himself standing within the ruined grounds.
Diablo: The Sin War Box Set: Birthright, Scales of the Serpent, and The Veiled Prophet Page 17
