Immortal

by Pati Nagle

  He had taken it for me, this wound. At least partly for me.

  Madera stood before a tall piece of furniture against the wall—a beautifully carved cupboard, obviously his work—that stood high enough to serve as a counter. He came to Caeran with a bowl of steaming water (though I saw no kettle on the counter) and a small stack of soft cloths. The steam had a fragrant smell, like fresh herbs. Madera soaked a cloth in the water and pressed it against Caeran’s wound, then moistened another and began washing away the dried blood.

  I wanted to help, but there wasn’t much I could do, so I just concentrated on positive thoughts. I pictured the wound already healed, and Caeran walking free in the sunlight, untouched by the darkness that threatened.

  Caeran looked up, startled. He and Madera both turned their heads to stare at me.

  “What?”

  A smile curved Madera’s lips. “Nothing. Carry on.”

  He replaced the cloth over the wound with a fresh one, again soaking it in the herb-water. This time he gently rubbed the wound. Caeran winced. I took his hand and he looked at me, smiling.

  Madera removed the cloth and peered closely at Caeran’s shoulder, then spoke in their language. Caeran listened, nodding once. Madera took the bowl and the soiled cloths away to the counter.

  “He is going to treat the wound,” Caeran told me. “You will not want to watch.”

  I frowned. “What’s he going to do?”

  “Cauterize it,” Madera said over his shoulder. “It is the best means of preventing infection.”

  Ouch. I swallowed.

  “I’ll stay.”

  “Len—”

  “If you tell me honestly that you want me to leave, I will.”

  I held Caeran’s gaze. He looked worried, but said nothing. After a moment he glanced away.

  Madera handed him a glass of cloudy liquid. “Drink this. It will dull the pain.”

  I tried for a joke. “Maybe I should have some.”

  “It would kill you.” Madera turned to gaze at me. “I have treated your kind long enough to know the differences. This herb is a narcotic to us. It is poison to you.”

  I swallowed. “OK. Good to know.”

  Caeran drank the solution. I watched Madera working at his counter, thinking that his unique knowledge might hold keys to some of humanity’s greatest medical problems. All hidden here, in the middle of nowhere, New Mexico, in the mind of one being who was not human.

  Madera lit candles, making the counter look more like an altar than a workspace. Maybe it was. What did I know about his methods? He’d spent centuries perfecting them, no doubt. His people trusted him, so I really had no choice but to trust him, too.

  He spent a few minutes puttering at the counter. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. I watched Caeran. When his eyelids started to droop, I took the empty glass from his hand and set it aside.

  Madera returned, putting a hand on Caeran’s good shoulder. “Lie back, now.”

  He lifted Caeran’s legs onto the table and settled him on his back, then returned to the counter. A new smell rose in the room, one I couldn’t identify right away. I looked at Caeran and found him gazing at me, softly smiling.

  “You are very stubborn,” he murmured.

  “One of my more charming points, don’t you think?”

  I was being flippant to cover my nervousness. Pain was not something I enjoyed, mine or anyone else’s. I hoped Madera would work quickly. I glanced at him just as he turned, and I realized what the new smell was: hot metal.

  = 10 =

  The silver rod Madera held was small, not much bigger than a swizzle stick. The sphere at the end of it glowed orange-red.

  I grabbed Caeran’s hand and held his gaze. He didn’t resist. Maybe he’d already seen the thing, or seen it in my thoughts. I wrenched my mind away from it, and out of desperation, sang.

  “Sorry her lot who loves too well,

  Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly …”

  Gilbert and frickin Sullivan again. And could I have picked a more depressing song? Never mind, keep singing.

  A coloratura I was not, but I’d sung Josephine in high school, and I managed not to sound too much like a dying cat. I kept my eyes locked on Caeran’s until he closed them. I imagined I could feel the heat as Madera came to his other side.

  The healer laid a free hand on Caeran’s chest. A hiss and the taste of searing flesh as I drew breath to sing the next line.

  The skin around Caeran’s eyes tightened in pain. I wrapped my free hand around his and kept singing, ignoring everything else.

  “Sad is the hour when sets the sun,

  Dark is the night to Earth’s poor daughters …”

  I poured myself into the melody, which was beautiful and one I’d always loved. The words were angst-ridden; I’d loved them too when I was younger, but now they seemed too wildly despairing. I didn’t want Caeran to think that was how I really felt. It was just the music that mattered.

  As I reached the final high note, Madera stepped back. I didn’t sing the last two words.

  Caeran’s face was pale, his hand clammy in mine. Sweat beaded on his furrowed brow. I brushed it away.

  He opened his eyes and shivered. “Is it ov-ver?”

  “Yes,” Madera said.

  The healer held his hand in the air over the wound, now red and puckered. A soft glow shone in the space between. Caeran closed his eyes and shuddered again. I started toward the bed to get a blanket, but he wouldn’t let go of my hand. The tree-of-life cloth was in reach, so I grabbed that instead and spread it over his bare chest.

  “Interesting choice of music,” Madera said.

  “It was the first thing I could think of,” I said defensively.

  Caeran laughed. “It was p-perfect.”

  Madera raised an eyebrow. “An expression of pain for the easing of pain? I confess, it never occurred to me.”

  “It worked,” Caeran said.

  His eyes were on me, and I sensed he really meant it. He wasn’t just being kind. Poor Josephine’s anguish had eased him.

  I smiled. “Glad it helped.”

  “You know that song well. It came from deep in your heart.”

  “I used to sing it a lot.”

  His eyes flickered, the gold in them catching the firelight. “Why?”

  “Oh, you know.” I shrugged. “I was a teenager. They always feel like the world is ending.”

  Some kids dyed their hair black and punctured themselves in strange places. I sang light opera.

  Madera lifted his hand and the glow beneath it faded. He peered at Caeran’s face, then returned to the counter and came back with a gauze pad and a roll of cloth.

  “You can be of help, Lenore.”

  He set the bandaging down and stepped to the head of the bed, then put his hands under Caeran’s neck and good shoulder, lifting him a few inches. Caeran’s head rolled.

  “Dizzy,” he complained.

  “It is the herb.” Madera glanced at me. “Can you hold him here?”

  “Sure.”

  I slid my arm under Caeran’s shoulders, supporting his head, and put my other arm around and under his ribs, out of Madera’s way. I was close enough to smell Caeran’s scent through the herbs and the lingering scorch. He gazed at me and I gazed back, held by those beautiful eyes.

  Madera finished the bandaging all too quickly. He stepped back and I had no choice but to lay Caeran down again. Madera laid his hand on Caeran’s brow.

  “Rest now.”

  Caeran sighed and closed his eyes. The last of the tension drained from his face.

  “Sleep well,” I said softly, and saw Madera glance at me. “Or do you people sleep?”

  Madera’s lips twitched. “Not as you do. We rest, but we have greater control over our states of consciousness.”

  “Oh. Well then, rest well, Caeran.”

  His lips smiled slightly, then went slack. I got the blanket and covered him with it, then wandered ov
er to watch Madera at the counter. He collected the cloths, the bowl, and the swizzle stick onto a tray. I fetched the glass and put it beside the bowl.

  “Can I help with anything?”

  He paused briefly, considering. “Stay with him, if you will. I will bring fresh clothing for him.”

  He picked up Caeran’s sweatshirt and the tray, and left the room. I watched the candle flames steady themselves after the door closed, then drifted back to the table where Caeran lay and stood watching him.

  I wouldn’t mind nursing him back to health, if it came to that. Reading to him, or singing. I’d pick more appropriate songs next time.

  Caeran’s lips widened in a smile. “But I liked that song.”

  “Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  His eyes half-opened and found my face. He smiled again, and my insides went watery.

  “I am glad you are still here,” he said.

  “I forgot you could hear me. I’m probably driving everyone crazy.”

  “No. Madera has shielded this room.”

  “Wish he could do that to my head.” An image of a tinfoil helmet flitted through my mind.

  Caeran chuckled. “I could teach you to guard your thoughts. We all learn to do it.”

  “But I’m not one of you.”

  “You can learn this. You improvised quite well, in the car.”

  With the alben. Fear stabbed at me with the memory. I pushed it aside, not wanting to think about the alben right now. Hoping he was far away.

  Caeran’s gaze sharpened. “He will not touch you. You are safe here.”

  I managed a smile. “Don’t worry about him. Think about better things. I will, too.”

  He relaxed, eyelids drooping. “Sing to me again.”

  I thought for a moment and came up with “Kalimando,” a song from Cirque du Soleil’s Mystere. Very lullabyish. I sang it, unable to provide the harmony but holding it in my head, hoping Caeran could hear it that way. I pictured the acrobats, too—I’d seen the show and this was my favorite number—athletes suspended by pairs of bungee cords, flying in unison, dancing in the air, their costumes glimmering, ethereal.

  By the time I finished the song, Caeran’s eyes had closed and a soft smile curved his lips. I thought he was gone—resting or whatever—until he spoke.

  “What language is that?”

  “None. It’s nonsense words.”

  “Lovely anyway.” His eyes opened and turned to me. “Lovely.”

  I felt my face heating. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

  “This is very restful. You have a beautiful voice, and your soul lights up your singing. So fair, in so many ways.” He blinked. “Forgive me—I ramble.”

  “Ramble away, if you’re going to talk like that. I can use all the compliments I can get.”

  He smiled, then it faded. “I wish …”

  I waited, not daring to prompt him. He closed his eyes, frowning a little, and I wondered if his shoulder was hurting. He murmured something I didn’t catch.

  “What?” I whispered.

  Not vainly.

  I held still, stunned by the sudden contact, the delicious warmth of his mind. I sensed dull pain lurking somewhere distant, but far more present was a depth of gratitude and affection. Just as suddenly, as if a window had closed, the sensations ceased.

  I stood unmoving, trying not to think, just reveling in what I’d felt the moment before. If all I could have were occasional moments like this, I’d take it.

  The door opened behind me, startling me. I turned and saw Madera, a small pile of clothing in his hands. I stepped out of his way as he set the clothes on the bed and came to look at Caeran.

  He held one hand above Caeran’s brow, the other over his shoulder. I saw the glow rise in both places. Was this part of the healing? Or something else? After a moment, Madera stepped back, then caught my eye and nodded toward the door.

  Reluctantly, I picked up my pack and followed him out. Caeran needed to rest, and if I stayed I’d probably keep distracting him, no matter how hard I tried not to think.

  Madera softly closed the door, then turned to me. “What you saw was khi. It is the source of healing, but that is only one of its aspects.”

  “Khi,” I said, stumbling on the word, which sounded like a soft hiss when Madera said it. Caeran had mentioned khi, once. Forever ago. “I see. Thank you.”

  “Very few mortals are able to detect khi. I believe Caeran’s assessment of you is correct.”

  “Assessment?”

  “That you have a high level of ælven blood.”

  “Oh.”

  I thought about my parents, both terrific people, neither of them remotely like Caeran and his kindred. Madera seemed amused.

  “Perhaps you are hungry. May I offer you refreshment?”

  “Something hot to drink would be nice. Thanks.”

  With a gesture he invited me to walk with him, following the enclosed portal around the courtyard rather than going inside. We overshot the kitchen by a bit, but I didn’t mind, since it meant we didn’t have to pass through the living room where the others were gathered. The fountain made me feel peaceful, and now that I wasn’t driving in it, the snow was beautiful.

  Madera opened a door onto the small hallway I’d seen on my last visit, and we passed through it to the kitchen. A fire burned in a kiva fireplace I hadn’t noticed before, making the room cozy, filling it with the smell of fragrant cedar. Madera filled a kettle and lit his stove, then joined me at the table.

  “Thank you for bringing Caeran here.” He seemed less formal, more friendly than I recalled.

  “Glad to. So … is he pretty much safe? Since you treated the wound?”

  Madera spread his fingers. “I cannot be certain. I have done all I can.”

  I nodded. That was the answer I’d expected. Wait and see.

  “Have you had to treat a lot of—wounds like that?”

  “More than I would like. Not so many in recent decades.”

  I looked at him, a thought occurring to me. “Did you build this house?”

  He smiled. “Yes. This was the first room.” He gestured the length of the kitchen, and I could see how it might have begun as a one-room adobe house. A long time ago.

  The book Caeran had wanted from the library was about the Spanish colonists. Several stray bits of information clicked into place.

  “When did you come here?”

  “To this valley? After the Pueblo Revolt. I was in Santa Fe before then.”

  “So that’s … 1680. But I don’t think there were any settlements here at that time.”

  “Correct. I saw the coming disaster with the Pueblos. I knew the colonists who survived it would flee, but I did not wish to leave with them. I chose New Spain as my home for specific reasons. Fortunately, the natives thought well of me and raised no objection when I left before the slaughter began. I came here, far from any of their cities.”

  “You must have been alone here for a long time.”

  “Not quite two centuries.”

  I shook my head, unable to imagine it. “Weren’t you lonely?”

  “I was not entirely alone. I received visits from passing hunters, and before long they knew they could come to me for healing. It gave them a reason to let me live in peace.”

  “But you never saw any of your own people.”

  He gave me a wry look. “I preferred it so.”

  I wanted to know why, but didn’t want to be rude, so I didn’t ask. Instead I chose a less personal question.

  “Are your current guests the first ælven who have come here?”

  “Not the first. Twice before I have had visitors of my kind.”

  “So, they knew you were here.”

  “They knew I had set off to come to the colonies. The rest took research, as you have seen.”

  A memory of the alben standing at my counter, his face shadowed by the hood of his sweatshirt, made me frown. “Did Caeran tell you the alben was looking for
you too?”

  “Yes, when he warned me you were coming. We have taken precautions.”

  “Why would he be looking for you? Not for healing.”

  “No.”

  The kettle boiled, emitting a sweet, low tone unlike the shrill whistles I was used to. Madera got up to fill his teapot with hot water, then returned to the table.

  “He might seek me thinking I am an easy target. Do you remember when you first saw him?”

  “Yes. It was in the Student Union Building at UNM.” My pulse quickened as I recalled how the alben had caught my eye—how similar to Caeran he looked—and then the way he had noticed me.

  Madera straightened in his chair, looking alarmed. I glanced up at him. Had he seen the alben in my thoughts?

  “Did you ever see him more closely?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I took a picture of him, too. Want to see it?”

  “Please.”

  I dug my cell phone out of my pack, realizing as I did so that I didn’t have my charger. Again. I’d just have to keep the phone turned off unless I needed it. I flipped it open and brought up the picture I’d snapped of the alben in the library, then handed it to Madera.

  “It isn’t very clear, I’m afraid.”

  He peered at the image, frowning, then abruptly shut the phone and gave it back. “Clear enough. Thank you.”

  “Someone you know?”

  Madera nodded, looking unhappy. He got up and fussed with the tea, taking out cups and plates from a cupboard. I powered down my phone, but not before looking at my picture of Caeran. He looked vulnerable, startled, but still gorgeous. I’d erase that other one, when I was sure it was no longer needed.

  I stowed the phone as Madera came back with a tray bearing teapot and cups, honey, bread, cheese, and a plate of apple slices. The tea he poured smelled like butterscotch, and tasted a little like toast. It was delicious and a comforting warmth in my belly.

  I hadn’t thought I was hungry but the apples and cheese were too tempting. I proceeded to snarf down a lot of them while Madera sipped tea and watched me. Finally, in an attempt not to be rude, I thought of another question to ask him.