Healer

by Bonnie Watson

  For a moment, he just looked at the face slowly relax into peacefulness. No more would he suffer the human arrows still protruding from his flesh. That, from what he could see, had ended his life. Yet the smell of Healer still lingered close by, triggering a flash of anger that spurred Chanté in the direction of the battlefield.

  Humans may have wounded him, but Healers let him die! He shot up a tree in a bark-ripping climb and leaped from the treetops to catch the high winds. Snowy wings sprang open from their folded fade with adrenaline racing from wingtip to wingtip. Before he knew it, the fields of Lexington opened up with his kind pounding down the half-breeds. One in particular stood out, and as he watched one Lo-ans’rel get beaten down he began to realize who it was.

  “Shy!” Chanté angled his flight toward the White Wing about to land on top of him. “Enough!” he whistled and knocked the other from its course of action.

  “Chanté?” he heard the Healer question in breathless surprise, but Chanté had already pulled up with shrieking whistles and cries for his kind to cease their fight.

  “Hear me! As heir to our people, hear me now!” He dove in between Red and White Wings to gain their attention.

  When enough were following his orders, Chanté dropped down in a swift land on all fours. He pumped his wings a moment to let the excess energy release from them before confronting the line of confused Healers. From behind, the rest of his kind also dropped down to hear what needed to be said. From the looks on their feathered faces, they were not ready to give up the fight so easily. But Chanté’s rank kept them at bay.

  “My father is dead!” His words drew several hisses of fury from his people at the announcement. “But not by humans!”

  Directly in front of him, he saw Shy glance to the rift-wizard leader.

  “We’ve all been betrayed,” Chanté said. “It was a purebred Healer who let my father die. As I’m sure the purebreds wanted you to fight in their stead.” He motioned to the half-breeds. So far, his words were holding his kind’s attention.

  “That would explain why your people were nearly driven mad,” Windchester suggested. “So what is your proposal, then?”

  Chanté’s gaze burned into the Healer’s questioning stare. What we need is a common enemy, he hoped Shy could pick up his thoughts. When he received a nod, he continued, “There’s no need to continue fighting for a cause that is useless. Sure, humans have enslaved some of our people, but I believe there’s more to it than just that. Shy? Do you have any idea who is driving this war?”

  “The real enemy is neither human, nor my kind,” Shy said, speaking loud enough for his voice to be heard by all. “Unbeknown to most, there is a black unicorn that is roaming this land. And it’s looking to destroy us all! By turning us against one another, what more does it need to do except wait for us to fall?”

  There were gasps of surprise at this announcement. Chatter started up amongst the two groups until Chanté raised his voice again to calm them down.

  “But that can’t be!” a harpy exclaimed. “Everyone knows unicorns are white!”

  “Well, this one’s not.” Shy crossed his amrs. “And it’s also a male.”

  That brought about another round of arguing until Chanté’s shrill whistle echoed for silence. “Who else doesn’t know this?”

  “Chronicles...doesn’t know this,” Shy said. “I had a chance to tell him once, but that thing has a power that disrupts memories. I couldn’t remember it!”

  “And where is he now?”

  “He’s probably in Trully,” Windchester said, “fighting against Shy’s brother.”

  I need to find Corrigan! I need to know if what my father told me was true! Chanté sucked in a quick breath. “There’s no way to get to him any faster than by flight, is there?”

  The chestnut-haired leader turned to the young Wing. “I might be able to use a telatransportation spell to get you close.”

  “But we need someone to switch places with him,” Shy said. “There’s no telling who we’d be bringing here when the switch is made.”

  Windchester grinned. “I think we have our bases covered if it’s someone we don’t like.”

  “So you can only do one at a time?” Chanté said.

  “The spell is very powerful. And it’s best if one person do it and not a hundred. That much energy could cause a distortion to a person’s life-force. But you know enough to get the message to the other side.”

  “Wait! You’rrr sssending him alone?” another harpy thrust a talon in Windchester’s direction with a hiss. “After we jussst lossst a leader?”

  “There should be allies where I’m going,” Chanté answered without hesitation to put his kind at ease, though the idea of his life being sucked away did not sound too appealing either.

  Shy stepped close. “When you find Wisdom, tell him Glory is safe. He’ll understand.”

  “I will,” his words seemed to echo into nothingness. Around him, people and landscape blurred. Wind whipped past, as in flight, and yet his wings had not even moved from his side. Eyes shut tight while his stomach churned. He could not seem to catch his breath. Before he blacked out, all he could think about was his life’s energy being sucked from him.

  *****

  Blackavar kept an eye on the growing cracks along the ceiling as he continuously pulled people out of the tunnel. Major sections of the underground guild had already collapsed. As a rumbling echoed from within, a new crack appeared. Their escape route was soon to close.

  “How many more?” A proud set of jeweled arrows in its quiver caught the Master Thief’s eye.

  “Ye put down the bow but not that, Aldaris?” He shook his head. “Like ye arrows; too many to count.”

  “I made sure the main hall was clear before I left,” the sharp-shooter said.

  A huffing individual ran out of the tunnel to join them.

  “Daumier, you made it!” Aldaris’ greeting was short-lived, as their fellow thief tried to collect himself and catch his breath. With hands on his knees, he coughed a couple times before answering.

  “The tunnels are caving in! All of them! We can’t reach several members! I tried—” a wracking cough stopped him. Dust flew from his shoulders with each wheezing breath.

  “Get with the others.” Blackavar motioned for Aldaris to help their friend. “I’ll see what I can do.” Then he darted into the trembling mouth.

  “Blackavar, don’t!” Aldaris shouted as bits of crumbling dirt and rock started coming down. “Blackavar!”

  The Master Thief heard, but his loyalty to the members far outweighed the urge to flee. He hurried those still in the tunnels to leave, pushing them away from valuables they’d obtained from steals.

  “Ye can’t steal yer life back!” Dust caught in his throat, causing him to choke. Around him, he saw what Daumier had meant. He could hear shouts for help, but it would take an entire group with efficient tools to remove the rubble just to reach them.

  A loud crack snapped him back to his senses. Too late to save those still trapped, he herded any stragglers toward the tunnel’s exit. Large chunks of rock and dirt were beginning to fall. They had nearly reached the end when walls started caving in behind them. An elderly man could not hobble fast enough, so the thief scooped him up in his arms to carry him.

  Something smacked the side of his head, downing them both. Dizziness swallowed his sight in darkness. There was a faint light coming from the outside. They were so close!

  He lifted a hand toward shadowed movements of figures obscured by the light before the weight of the entire tunnel collapsed on top of him.

  CHAPTER 4

  Wisdom dipped his head in preparation for what was sure to come. Beneath him, he could see the shadow of Osha’s horn perched upon his own forehead. The transformation to unicorn should have taken his kind by surprise. No Lo-ans’rel took the form of Nature’s legendary chosen. Yet his people were so obsessed with their task that little else mattered.

  The bear’s gaping jaws let
out a roar in a sign of charge. Without hesitation, Healers burst through the projected flames, unafraid.

  With a toss of mane, Wisdom reared and let out a high-pitched whinny. On cue, the Simpleton’s dropped the shield disguising Alexander’s readied troops. With heated weapons and heavy armor, it was their only defense against the nimble Healers. All too soon, they were being pushed back.

  Neither the prince nor his father were without quick gashes along the flank. Already, ribbons of crimson contrasted against alabaster fur, and a throbbing reminder to reconsider his next moves. Although his father was not known for boisterous transformations, the bear certainly made for a challenge.

  A bold kick with a cloven hoof left a good impression across his father’s left shoulder. Soon both were back to circling. Wisdom could feel the horn pulsating to the throbbing pain along his side. When it slightly lessened, a quick glance confirmed his wounds healed.

  Thank you. With nothing but ash all around, there was little else he could use for healing. At least, Osha allowed temporary relief. And yet he had taken a form with a weapon he was forbidden to use. After several attempts to swipe at his father using the horn, he suddenly found his course diverted. At each try, the horn veered away. I get it. The horn isn’t mine to use.

  It is only a vessel to the soul, a tender thought lingered amidst the shouts of battle surrounding them.

  Though Wisdom dared not break eye contact, he managed to spare a mental probe to the whereabouts of Alexander and his men. The forest warrior was able to handle himself well against the few Healers who got past first defense. However, the prince became alarmed to learn their cooling armor was not being replaced fast enough. Although Alexander did his best to get what the men needed, they were swiftly falling prey to the various shifted forms or solid sword thrusts. A dance of magic sprang into Healers’ movements, making it nearly impossible to keep up.

  There came a sudden shout, “Incoming!” before one of Lorens’ sons tossed a newly heated bucket of hot embers into the fray. Healers scattered at the oncoming rain of pain. Those with shields raised them quickly to secure their own safety. The pause of battle allowed Peter Schevolsky to quickly dart through the crowd to exchange weapons. For ones further across the field, Ertho and a few others sprang to the sky for delivery.

  “Watch it!” The brief warning was all the harpy needed to avoid two Healers shifting after him. In a swift barrel-roll, he let the weapons drop where soldiers waited in order to shake off his two assailants. Two golden eagles went down when the harpy’s large wings swapped them both over the heads.

  Wisdom grinned inwardly. Thus far, only he or his brother could mix animal shifts to produce anything larger for flight. The eagles were the best his kind could do. The bear, on the other hand, was a whole different matter, and it was right back to kick and dash from a countering blow. Blood splattered across his father’s face, one eye swollen shut after a direct hit.

  Something struck Chronicles’ hide. With a grunt of pain, a flash of silver eye turned to a gold-striped dagger dangling from his fur.

  In an instant, Wisdom knew who had thrown it.

  From the bear’s snarling expression, so did his father. A sudden turn, and he charged through the ranks with an agitated roar. Men went down with little effort. A paw swipe flung several aside like swatting flies.

  He’ll reach the Simpletons! Alarmed, Wisdom galloped after his father, throwing off various Healers who clung onto his main and tail. A wild kick scored someone’s stomach. Another was slammed under his pounding hoofs.

  A flash of gold-knobbed wings lashed out at the bear’s face. To preserve his one good eye, Chronicles heeded the warning by skidding to a halt. Confused, he followed the swish of dark feathers. Agitated, he turned round and round at the tease of talons along his fur.

  He swiped his claws at a falling feather. Disappointed, he turned once again to come face to face with the human-looking Black Wing, Everest. Eloquent movements defined her true nature. No longer confined to a bedroom, it was easy to tell how much she enjoyed this match. It was just another hunt, and with a crooked smile her half-wings carried her in short bursts of flight over the bear’s back to land just out of reach from his wild strikes.

  The performance did the job. To Wisdom’s relief, Everest managed to turn the bear away from the Simpletons still holding projected shields in place to cover where ash did not.

  His thoughts carried to her in thanks. With a nod, she gave up the battlefield and returned to her lover on the sidelines to help with reheating armor.

  Haven’t you had enough? Wisdom shifted to his true form to face the raging animal. It was no surprise the surrounding men gave his father a wide girth after his destructive rampage. “What good can come of spilling blood? I’ve already proven that humans will take our side!”

  You prove nothing! In a fade of silvery light, Chronicles also joined his son in his true form, though awkward with one eye swollen shut. “You still stand beside a traitorous race.” He pointed the tip of his staff toward Wisdom’s shoulder. In an instant, lightning ripped from the crystal’s point across his son’s arm, searing part of his sleeve away until skin was exposed. “And that is the mark of your actions!”

  Wisdom yanked back from unavoidable pain. Mere seconds was enough to expend the few bolts from the staff, bolts he thought long gone from the last fight in Sapphire.

  Covering his shoulder with one hand, it was hard not to flinch from the sting. What remained showing was the tattoo, etched into his skin the day he left his kind to return to humans – it’s very meaning a symbol of disloyalty. He could only imagine what the tattoo looked like with new burn marks – and nothing to cover it, for his sleeve had been ripped clean down to the elbow.

  I doubt Osha will find this one useful. He spared a glance to his wrist where the mark of full moon presently reminded him of the coming Purification.

  Within that moment he took his eyes from his father came a blow that threw him several feet. He landed on his back, dazed and holding his head where the staff had delivered a powerful strike. There was no feeling in his jaw. A ringing in his ears blurred all sound.

  He was barely aware of someone approaching.

  A shuffle of feet, then a deep growl. That, he could make out after the ringing slightly subsided.

  Wisdom opened his eyes to blackness. A sudden panic tightened his chest, and he tried to pull himself away to be sure there was nothing obstructing his view.

  The blackness slowly took shape to become soft fur. Another growl, and he recognized the black wolf Delexi, who had planted himself between father and son. Where have you been all this time! He wanted to scream. As his mind cleared and ringing died down, mere snarls became words, though by now half the conversation had nearly passed between wolf and Healer.

  “This isn’t your place!” Chronicles fired at the wolf in their language.

  Delexi, however, countered with a series of low growls and bared teeth.”Winning this fight will cost you more, Healer! If I were you, I’d back down and listen to your options.”

  “After all I did for you, ungrateful mutt!” Chronicles switched back to Common. “Get out of my way!” He swung in anger, but the animal latched onto the staff.

  Teeth held firm against the Healer’s strong tugs. Each try produced a menacing snarl, followed by a shake of head to pry the staff loose.

  “Chronicles, don’t!” The words could not pass Wisdom’s lips fast enough. In a single move, his father released the staff and drew his sword. With the wood still clamped between his teeth, Delexi was not prepared to handle the extra thrust of metal to the neap of neck. With a final grunt, the wolf sank to the ground. There came a tap of wood as the staff dropped from the wolf’s jaws and rolled over by Chronicles’ foot.

  The ringing was gone, but the prince’s vision burned red – red with anger. It renewed his strength, churned up his magic. It poured from his fingertips before Chronicles knew how to counter. Now it was his leader’s turn to be slamme
d on his back. The force of the throw sent Chronicles skidding a ways into the fighting men, sword lost amidst moving bodies as they cleared him a path.

  With a shake of head, Chronicles sought to make sense of what happened.

  “How many more?” Wisdom advanced upon his father with clenched fists. “How many more must die because you refuse to listen?!”

  “As many as it takes...” He moved, and when he did it was not Chronicles’ true form, but a wolf.

  *****

  It had to be a harpy! At least, Chanté hoped he had switched with one the moment the spell ended. Cool wind whipped through his feathers, and he opened his eyes to a free-fall directly overtop an intense battle. If not for a dramatic display of feathers pumping to gain height, Chanté would have paid more attention to who fought who. Instead, he fought his own battle to keep himself from plunking directly into the skirmish of clanging steal and...animals?

  Wait! Are these Healers? The threat of being detected still loomed at the back of his mind, though he could not help but notice the layout of battlefield at this height.

  Burnt ground and nothing else for miles around.

  Wasn’t this Wisdom’s idea? So am I..?

  Crack! Wings caught in the branches of a nearby tree, splitting several limbs and dropping leaves from the fumble. That, he could clearly see once he was in it, having flown to the battle sidelines in hopes the midair switch had not been spotted. Now, Chanté was certain he was in Trully. It made sense that he had not seen anything else but ashen fields.

  The Simpletons really did it! They really can cover a piece of land with their minds!

  After a moment to untangle his wings, he folded them in a fade to climb into shadowy coverage. From this vantage, he could peer out and watch. If someone had noticed, there was no advance toward his hiding spot.

  Throughout the battle, Chanté noticed various colored outlines of faded light surround a Healer when shifting. The humans must have noticed this too, for they held back to see what new challenge came out of that light. He watched several individuals scramble through the thrashing to distribute newly heated weapons, then disappear off the sidelines as though a veil covered beyond the ash. Then there was the central fight. As two wolves, gray and black against solid white, ripped into each other, Chanté noticed how everyone else gave them the most fighting room.