by Lexy Wolfe
He held her for several minutes, waiting until the sobs finally eased to sniffles before speaking again. "Taylin, what is wrong?"
The simple question released an avalanche of emotion-laden words, the healer gesticulating to emphasize her frustration even more. "I am supposed to be a great healer. One of the most gifted from the Zeridian temple! Yet for all the times I healed Storm, I never saw the old injury she had. It would only have been a matter of time before it killed her, either directly or being the cause she faltered and was cut down in a fight.
"But how? How could I have missed it? I could feel the Desanti's Psia Re. You said no other from the north has ever felt it, that I had to be a great healer to sense it. I sensed the Raging One's suffering. I sensed a god's suffering! So why couldn't I feel the pain Storm was in or see the old injury that had caused it." Looking up at Mureln, she demanded, "Do you know how close she came to dying? Again?! She would have had I not reached her when I did. She was bleeding inside with each heartbeat and-and I don't want to think about what would have happened, to lose the Raging One's daughter now that he was free from his bondage.
"And it would have been my fault! My fault! And it will happen again! You know it will happen again because that infuriating woman is a walking trouble magnet." If the bard had not been holding her wrists, she would have pounded his chest in frustration.
"No one is blaming you," Mureln tried to reassure. "Certainly not Almek—"
"Of course Almek does not fault me," Taylin shot back, inconsolable. "He never faults one of his students unless they willfully do something hurtful. But I know my responsibilities and she is making it damned impossible to do them without giving everyone heart failure and—"
Mureln hushed her, putting his fingers over her lips. "Dear heart, stop and think a moment about how Storm grew up." When he had Taylin's attention, he said gently, "Storm came of age in the Rumblelands. In the company of the Raging One and His Totani. All of whom cherish her. No doubt they had doted on her so much they drove her to distraction when trying to 'help' her." He smiled wanly as he dabbed at the tears on Taylin's cheeks with his shirtsleeve. "You're trying to sense things from a woman who had learned to hide things from the divine themselves."
Taylin sighed heavily, closing her eyes as she rested her head on his shoulder. "Fine. I will accept that reasoning." Not willing to let her frustration go entirely, she complained, "But Storm hides things that need to be fixed, too. The wound that nearly killed her was old. She had gotten it long before we ever went to Desantiva and I could tell it was not the first time it reopened, just this time the toxins were inhibiting her ability to heal fast enough." Looking up at Mureln, she said, "It would have taken effort but I could have mended it. She even stops me from healing her completely when she does allow me to work on her, preferring to suffer. I do not know how she stops me, but she does."
"She is maddening like that, isn't she?" Mureln asked drolly, earning a rather unladylike reply. He tsked, grinning when she swatted his chest for chiding her about her language.
"But I do not understand why she does it," Taylin complained wearily, leaning on him. "I could understand not worrying about little scratches and bruises that could perfectly heal on their own. But that injury... I've healed her before and I never saw it because she hid it from me. Even near death, there is so much she manages to obscure. What purpose could she possibly think it serves?"
Mureln did not say anything for a time, just rubbing her back soothingly. "I can't say I understand how Storm thinks. I don't think she does think very often."
Taylin looked up sharply with a frown. "That is rather a cold thing to say about someone. I thought you liked the Swordanzen."
The bard couldn't help but laugh at the accusation. "No, no, I don't mean it that way. As a people, we tend to reflect our gods. The Forenten are... well. Aloof. Clinical. Logical. They prefer their world calm and orderly, and they love to learn about things. Even if they don’t try to see things from others' viewpoints as much as they say they do, they have an insatiable hunger to acquire knowledge."
"And the Desanti?" Taylin wondered, curious despite herself.
"They are children of the Raging One. And Storm. She was literally raised by Him." He smiled faintly. "It isn't that she doesn't think... she feels. Deeply and passionately. The heart is extremely unpredictable. Something perfectly sensible to Storm we may consider completely unreasonable."
"She did not have an option to be healed before. But once I was there... I could have—" Taylin argued.
"Try to think how she would. No matter the Raging One said he never forbade healers, Desanti still assume they are forbidden." Letting Taylin consider that thought a moment, he continued. "It could be she never considered you could heal it. You said yourself that you are the only healer known to be able to mend old injuries. Or..." He sighed, closing his eyes. "Perhaps she was punishing herself."
"Punishing herself?"
Mureln nodded solemnly. "Was how she got the injury some failure on her part? Was it who gave her the injury that was a factor in why she hid it? Was it the situation that led up to her injury? Remember when she took us to the Raging One in the Rumblelands? It needed to be done, she was the only one of us who knew he still existed, but it went against every law that she had been taught to uphold. When Thandar punished her, she did not fight back, complain, nor plead for mercy. I think she believed she deserved to be punished."
Torn over how she wanted to respond, Taylin trembled before the words all but exploded from her. "I am so tempted to just... I just want to shake sense into her!" Mureln's eyes widened a little at Taylin's vehemence, smiling fondly at the healer. "But it isn't right to yell at someone."
Kissing her fingertips, the bard murmured, "You are thinking like a Sevmanan, not a Desanti. Go ahead and yell at her." At Taylin's shocked expression, Mureln smiled. "Don't be afraid to confront Storm. The only way to earn a Desanti's respect is to stand up to them. They appreciate shows of strength. Anything else confuses or frustrates them."
"Confront Storm?" Taylin looked aghast. "She'd stab me in a second!"
"Maybe. But she would never kill you, and you can heal yourself." Mureln held up her hand, kissing her palm. "And you have your own weapons. Wield them."
Taylin's eyes went wide at the suggestion. "You-you want me to use my gifts to cause pain?" She pulled away at Mureln's silent nod. "No! I-I couldn't. That goes against the most basic rules of the temple! We are to bring healing, not harm. The cleric elders—"
"The clerics of the Zeridian temple are idealists, beloved. You have seen the real world, and it is often not so pretty or gentle." Mureln smiled faintly. "The clerics of the Zeridian temple can follow such pacifistic teachings because they have loyal guards who keep those who would threaten them away."
"It just feels so wrong to consciously hurt someone. Enjoying it is even worse, and I enjoyed it a lot when I did it to Amelana," Taylin confessed with a sigh. "Storm is never flustered when she hurts someone. I am not anywhere near as strong as the Swordanzen."
Mureln arched an eyebrow at Taylin in surprise. "'Not as strong'? Do you remember what you did when you went to Storm to heal her?" He paused, waiting until he could tell she was thinking on the memory. "The drizar was going to bite you. And you smacked his nose and ordered him to stand still." Tilting her chin upwards, he looked into her eyes. "And he listened to you. The drizzen don't typically listen to anyone other than Storm or Skyfire."
"He did?" Taylin blinked a few times, then blushed a little. "I-I guess he did, didn't he? I didn't even think about it. I was so worried about Storm..."
"My dearest healer, what is true for the Swordanzen is true for all of us who call ourselves masters." When he had her attention, he said, "It is the duty of students to master the patterns." His lips brushed hers lightly in a gentle kiss. "It is the prerogative of masters to make new ones."
Smiling as she draped her arms around him, Taylin kissed him soundly. "I want to make a new pattern with you," she mur
mured.
Looking amused, the bard arched an eyebrow but did not loosen his embrace around her. "Right now? We might be late for sup—" She silenced him with another ardent kiss. It took him a moment to catch his breath. He looked down into her eyes, smiling at the mischievous love in her expression. "There is time before dinner..."
Chapter 10
Almek looked around the common room, rather surprised to see the familiar gypsy pair had already returned. The massive, blunt featured Emaris spoke in silent gestures while his wiry, sharp-featured brother Emil was chattering back to him. "Have you two boys cleaned up already?"
By no means young, the gypsies were not offended; by comparison, they were infants next to Almek. Emil squinted up at the Guardian, noting how Almek's hair had gone from brown streaked with grey to grey streaked with white in the short time they had been traveling together. "Ye learn not t' take long when ye are gypsy born an' raised, unless ye want some half-grown girls walkin' in on ye washin' up in a river and suddenly havin' 'em start pointin' an' gigglin' at ye." He got up from the more comfortable chair, waving graciously to Almek. "Ye look like ye be needin' this chair more 'n me, Guardian."
The Dusvet made a face at being treated as a frail old man, but did not turn down the offer. After settling himself in the chair with a sigh, he regarded the two swarthy men. "Keeping out of trouble this time, I hope?"
Affecting hurt, Emil put both of his hands over his heart dramatically. "Ye cut me t' the quick, Dusvet, that ye could ever think such a thing of me!" As the Guardian snorted, the skinny mercenary grinned hugely before his expression took a more serious overtone. "Th' Illaini be a good man. Bit rough 'round th' edges, but ain't none of his fault. These people'd drive me mad."
"Glad you approve of him," Almek said drolly.
"Feh." Emil made a dismissive gesture. "Ye don't be needin' my approval fer nothin'. Just sayin', we like th' mage. Ye see, Emaris an' I, we just be stayin' around watchin' Mureln's back." Dumping a pouch filled with assorted dice and worn cups, he started sorting them to matching groups. "Mureln, he be a good man, but sometimes he fergets that not everyone appreciates bards as much as they should."
"And it's profitable for you?" Almek suggested. He rested his elbow on the chair arm, propping his chin in his palm and watching Emil with mild amusement.
"Profitable enough," Emil agreed with a wink, grinning toothily. Matter-of-factly, the sharp-featured gypsy continued more seriously. "What we don't get fer in gold, we get fer information we ken pass to the other gypsy clans. Better knowin' what be ahead than walk in an' be arrested for lies jus' b'cause they dinna know the local temperament." With a snort, he said, "Exceptin' th' Vodani and now th' Desanti, ain't no one really understanding th' nomad life."
"Ahh, I see." Almek squinted at the dice and leaned forward, touching an unusual set. "It has been many years since I've seen cross bones dice. I don’t think most remember the game anymore."
"Prolly not. I got these from an old man from one of th' southern Sevmanan towns who most swore was old as... well. Th' Dusvet Guardian." Emil grinned cheekily at Almek's arched eyebrow. "I likes t'learn all th' gamblin' games I can. Even th' old ones." Sweeping the other sets of dice aside with a grandiose gesture, Emil asked hopefully, "Would ye like t' have a whirl at it?"
"I would love to," Almek said, shifting in his seat, reaching for his money pouch. "Had you ever heard of a game called bo'alia? It is similar to cross bones, but the dice have eight sides instead of six."
About to respond to Almek, the wiry mercenary smiled hugely when Terrence came in, enthusiastically waving him over. "C'mere, lad. We were just goin' t'start playin' a game of cross bones." He reached over to pat a footstool. "Been savin' a place fer ya."
"A new dice game?" Terrence brightened, but then his smile faded as he looked down in shame, his dirty blonde hair falling across his light blue eyes. "Master Emil, forgive me. But... I-I can't play with you anymore."
The two mercenaries traded confused looks before looking back at the young man. "Why not? Yer master tell ye that ye can't?"
Terrence shook his head, quick to dismiss any fault on Ash. "Oh, no. Master Ash does not care whether I play games of chance or not, so long as it does not interfere with my other responsibilities." Flushed, he looked down, scuffing the floor with his heel. "Because... because I have been cheating, Master Emil. I didn't realize it until recently that I was influencing the dice. I tried stopping but sometimes I slip up and... It wouldn't be right to continue deceiving you both."
Emil looked at his brother in confusion that cleared when Emaris made a few quick gestures. "Oh, ye mean yer mage mind tricks?" Emil waved a hand, easily dismissing the concern. "Don't fuss yerself over it. I figured that out months ago, lad. C'mon over here an' sit down. Cross bones best wi' at least four players."
Terrence's jaw dropped as he stared at Emil. "Master Emil! You... you knew? And you still let me play with you?" Joining the three men, he sat on the stool across the low table from Almek. "I-I don't understand. Why? Why didn't you say anything? Or-or... you kept playing with me even though you knew?"
Emil shrugged as he scooped up the colorful dice into the ornate cup with etched designs nearly worn away with age. "Well, I dinna realize it at first. Mureln and Emaris, though, they knew right off. Wondered why they were laughin' their fool heads off like they were down in Desantiva." He made a face at Emaris, who made a rude gesture in return, grinning at his brother.
The journeyman mage did not notice the play between the gypsy men, staring at a knot in the wood of the table, lost in thought. "I wondered why Master Mureln said I should not try so hard to win sometimes," Terrence confessed. "But you figured out what I was doing. Before I figured out what I was doing." Looking confused, he asked plaintively, "Why did you allow me to keep playing with you if you knew I was cheating?"
Almek took pity on the young man and explained. "Seems after spending over ten years traveling with Mureln, Emil and Emaris started being able to pick up on when people were using their minds to influence things, whether guardian or mage. Back in Desantiva, you were so..." He paused, searching for the right words to spare Terrence his pride.
Emil had no qualms and stated bluntly, "Ye were so damned innocent an' honest, I was no' even thinkin' ye would even been able to do it without knowin' th' games at all, so I was not payin' attention like I normally woulda," The smaller man grumped. Not looking up, he brushed off the tabletop unnecessarily. "And well, we... I had taken th' gold in the hall box that yer master had kept fer his Dessa b'fore she died. He would no' take it back. But it weren't right we keep it."
"So you let me win it," Terrence murmured. He took off his belt pouch, feeling the coins inside.
Emil snorted. "'Let' nothin'. Ye earned ev'ry coin, lad. Ye helped us practice recognizin' when ye be usin' yer talents. B'cause ye would no' use 'em all th' time." He grinned toothily. "I say half th' games ye been winnin' b'cause of Lady Luck's lovin' ye, not b'cause ye make 'em come up winners. Don't be thinkin' of it as cheatin'. Think of it as teachin' us how best t' recognize talents like yers."
Terrence sat in silence, eyes on his money pouch. "If you knew what I was doing, then surely Master Ash knew what I was doing." He looked between Emil and Emaris. "And I am certain he knows where this money came from. I... it belongs to him. I shouldn't keep it."
Emaris lightly smacked the table to draw Terrence's attention, making several hand gestures. Emil helpfully translated. "Emaris says yer master tol' us since ye were learnin' from us, ye were earnin' what he woulda given ye if ye woulda asked fer it yerself, so it all be good."
"Oh." Terrence looked at Emaris quizzically. "You speak with your hands?" The large man shrugged one shoulder and nodded. "I know some who are unable to hear often learn the silent language, but—" He frowned, not understanding Emaris's gestures, looking to Emil.
"M' brother ha' never made a sound. Not even when he were born," Emil clarified. "No one knows why. Some say it be a punishment from his previo
us life. Not even healers know why." He slapped Emaris's shoulder affectionately. "Don't matter none. People understand what matters."
"I'd like to learn it, please?" Terrence asked hopefully. "Unless it's only something your people use?" The young man smiled brightly when Emaris smiled and nodded.
Pulling out a handful of coins and stacking them in front of himself, Almek and Emaris doing the same, Emil said gruffly, "Now, c'mon and ante up. I want t' get a game 'r two in b'fore that Kelafy woman sweeps in like a screamin' banshee callin' us fer supper."
"I heard that!" the woman's voice came out of the dining room, making Emil cringe and the other men snicker. "Don't think you are too old for me to take a switch to that sweet tush of yours, you rogue!" Emil's embarrassed groan and attempt to cover his face turned the snickering into laughter.
Chapter 11
Well before the glimmer of dawn, the house was quiet and lit only with the cool, dim light of the occasional moonstone lamp. The kitchen was dark save for one small hand lamp and the fire in the hearth. Wrapped in a soft robe, Lyra stifled a yawn as she poured hot water into a pitcher sitting on a tray.
"Miss Lyra, what in the world are you doing awake at this hour?" Ash's voice was quiet, and unexpected. With a yelp, the startled young woman dropped the kettle of boiling water reflexively. Ash quickly pulled her away from the spilled hot water, covering her mouth to keep her shout of surprise from waking anyone. Like a boy worried about being caught, Ash held as still as Lyra, waiting to see if the sound of the fallen kettle had awoken anyone. When the silence of the house remained undisturbed, they both heaved a sigh of relief.
The girl looked at the spilled water spreading out on the floor aghast. "Oh, goddess, I must clean this before Miss Kelafy finds out." She reached for a towel close at hand, but it was woefully inadequate for the task.
Ash put a reassuring hand on the young woman's shoulder. "Relax, Miss Lyra. I caused you to spill it. I will clean it." She watched with wide eyes as he murmured a soft spell, spilled water reversing its direction to flow back into the pot. When he was done, he looked tired but pleased with himself. "You will want to dump that and get fresh," he noted. "Master Almek says it takes centuries to acquire the skill to keep contaminants from clinging to what is being reversed into a new time path."
