Both Jo-Dal and the king looked at her expectantly.
“I almost don’t know how to say this,” she began. “I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that almost everyone’s eyesight fails to varying degrees as they age, but age almost never causes total blindness. Have your healers tested you for starch tolerance?”
The king nodded that they had. “They have restricted my diet and given me various foul-tasting potions that I have to swallow before and after every meal. They don’t appear to be doing me much good.”
“Well, I assure that they are. You definitely have starch intolerance and you need those potions. I will check them against what I use before I leave to see if I have anything better. Anyone who has your affliction will lose a portion of his sight if he overindulges constantly and allows his weight to increase. Your weight and appearance leads me to believe that such is not the case with you.
“However, I think I see something in your eyes that I haven’t seen in a long time. Forgive me for asking this, but do you have a chronic affliction that causes you constant pain?”
The king nodded. “I do. I injured my back in a fall from a horse six summers past. If I do not take gaalan weed on a daily basis I can scarcely rise out of bed.”
She pursed her lips as she thought. Then she got up and dragged the other large bag over near her chair, gesturing that she needed no assistance when all three men in the room rose to help her. She opened the clasp and rummaged around the interior until she found a round wooden box. It was fastened shut with a simple string. She held it in her lap.
“Your use of gaalan weed has gone on for five summers or more?” she asked.
The king nodded.
She took in a breath and held it before expelling it slowly. She really didn’t want to tell him this. “Have your healers informed you that constant use of gaalan weed, and by that I mean when it continues for a period longer than two summers, will result in a complete loss of vision?”
The monarch looked at Jo-Dal with brows raised, then back at Dwan. “They have told me that my starch intolerance is the sole cause for my eye problems.” He appeared somewhat stricken for a moment. He looked at Jo-Dal again then over to his aide. “Are you saying…?” He stopped, unable to finish his thought.
Dwan nodded. “Let me venture a guess here, Your Majesty. You have one set of healers treating your back and another working on your eyes and starch intolerance. You have also been experiencing diminished hearing, and you are less able to enjoy the taste of your food.”
The king nodded. He had a sad expression on his face. “Actually it is worse than that, and I fear it is my fault. I have three different healers. One treats my starch intolerance, another my back pain, and a third my eyesight. I was warned about the long term use of gaalan weed years ago. My healers are all good at their profession. I told them all that I quit using the weed several summers past, but I so feared the pain that I have had gaalan weed brought to me on a daily basis each morning by my valet. He brings it in from the apothecary. I chew it before I rise so that I can bear to face the day. In all probability, my healers have discounted that possibility as the reason for my loss of sight. Oh Sweet Stars above what have I done to myself.”
He looked truly distraught, so much so that Jo-Dal appeared ready to rise, and console him. Dwan held up a hand to stop him. She gave him a smile. Then she turned back to Tyner.
“Your Majesty…please look at me.”
He dropped his hands from his face, and forced himself to look at her.
She held up the round box that she’d taken from her bag. “Your Majesty, your prospects are not as bleak as you fear. In this box is a powder that is made from a fungus that grows in the forest north of Olvion. We purchase it from the locals out there who find it, dry it and grind it into a powder. It has pain killing properties that equal the gaalan weed. In fact, when used to treat back pain it appears to be even more effective.
“We found out about the powder from travelers passing through our city. It is called Jairn. We had need of something like it for the long term treatment of pain for our wounded. It will manage your pain and does not have the adverse effects of the weed.” She handed him the box. “There is enough here to last you a season. We can have more delivered to you in the next transfer of goods from Olvion.”
The king accepted the box gratefully. “This is much appreciated, Healer. I assume there is nothing you can do about the damage that I have so foolishly caused to my sight?”
“You assume wrongly. Substitute the jairn for the gaalan weed starting now. I will leave instructions as to the dosage and you must not increase the amount. I am happy to tell you, Your Majesty, that I believe that your eyesight will begin to return much more rapidly than the rate at which you have been losing it. You will not recover fully, but I suspect we will see a considerable improvement in your condition.”
After a bit more discussion, Jo-Dal accompanied Dwan from the reception chamber. They were in a part of the castle in which civilians were not allowed unless accompanied by a military escort. Security was especially important now that the castle was under siege.
“I have to tell you, I am more than a little angry with the Royal Healers. All of this time and the impact on the king’s vision…unnecessary.”
Dwan knew she had to disabuse him of that thought. As the King’s Sword he had authority over every aspect of the safety of his monarch. If he felt there was negligence involved that rose to the level of malfeasance, Jo-Dal could have charges brought against the healers.
“I think you are not seeing this issue in the correct light,” she said. “The king seemed to have separated the different aspects of his treatments specifically because he did not want them to know of his use of the weed. Add to that the fact that the king denied the use of gaalan, and you have three healers who were just basing their diagnoses on the information that was available to them. I think he only told me because he had been misleading his other healers for so long that he just felt too embarrassed to admit it to them.”
The military commander walked silently for a bit, obviously digesting her words. Finally he nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I should have seen that, it is a logical conclusion to draw, but to think that it went on for so long. Wouldn’t they have begun to suspect?”
“It may be that they did. We have no knowledge of the number of times the issue was raised. I mean, this is their king. When he tells them something they tend to believe it.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm then turned to face him directly. “Try to understand this; I have seen gaalan addicts who’ve lost their sight completely. The prospect of constant, unceasing pain is a powerful motivator. It makes it so that you can’t sleep, can’t be comfortable and can’t enjoy your life. Even a king can be moved to make certain he has a supply that is unknown to his healers. The only way we got a handle on the problem in Olvion is when we were told about jairn. It is a remarkable substance.”
Jo-Dal smiled. Dwan thought the smile made him look more handsome, even though it looked out of place. The worry that he must constantly feel began to pull away at the expression almost immediately. She began walking again. He acted as though he expected something else to happen but quickly caught up to her. When he drew abreast, he lightly took her elbow in his hand. It was a common act, one that was almost expected of a gentleman who was escorting a lady. To Dwan it felt a bit uncomfortable, but she allowed it since she would probably never again see him.
They descended to the ground floor of the castle. The large entry area was brightly lit with hundreds of glow bulbs. The bulbs were lit from within by the presence of luminescent leaves from trees that grew all over the continent of Maltania on which rested the four kingdoms.
They passed many halls and dining facilities before coming upon the door leading out into the walled protected redoubt. Dwan turned and smiled.
“Thank you, Good Warrior, for your escort. If the king is in any further need please contact me at the clinic. They know how to fi
nd me.”
She started to turn, but he reached out and caught her arm. “Would you not like me to continue the escort until you arrive safely at your residence?”
Dwan looked at him and sighed. He was certainly a handsome man and they were near the same age. As recently as one summer past she might have seen the situation from a different perspective. Now, however, she was in love with another man.
“I appreciate your concern, Lord Jo-Dal, but I think it best if I continue on by myself from here.”
He looked a tiny bit disappointed, but he forced that uncommon smile back on his face and gave her a half-nod. “Of course, Good Healer. Again, thank you for your service to our king.”
After leaving the castle Dwan couldn’t resist the urge to take another walk on the defense wall. The night was fully upon them now and the line between the sea and the sky was barely discernable. The stars of her world shined brightly in a sky that was free of smog or pollution. The wind was coming in off of the water, and it carried the clean smell of brine. She closed her eyes as she drew in a deep breath, enjoying the scent. She had always been able to find a little peace up here. She closed her eyes again and tried to invoke the memories of her past from which she had been torn when Jo-Dal had found her. She drew back small snatches of it, mostly of herself and Tag-Gar or “Tag”. He had told her that, in his world of origin, his friends had called him that. It was…what did he call it? …a nickname. A funny word. He had also told her of his actual name, of course. She knew he was called Taggart in his world, but she would always think of him as Tag-Gar, the name he adopted when he first encountered her.
She had heard it said that a sign of getting over a lost love was an inability to remember the face of the person. She had experienced no such situation. She pictured him now, the unusual golden hair and beautiful light blue eyes that always reminded her of ice when it was forming on the water. In her mind she saw how he towered over others and the powerful arms and thighs. He had told her that he was unusually large in his own world, but here, where the average man was three thumbs shorter than Dwan, he was almost a giant.
Much discussion had been given to the puzzle of whether he was, in fact, The Legend, the mythical figure that had appeared two hundred summers past. That was when the walled city of Olvion had first been invaded and attacked by the brutal and bloodthirsty Grey Ones. They had always been a danger with their raiding parties coming down from the Grey Mountains to terrorize the outlying farms, ranches and villages. This time they came in the thousands, daring to challenge the walled kingdom itself. The heroic King Ausloe had battled them to a standstill time after time. Then there had appeared The Legend. He, like her Tag, had come from nowhere and had no knowledge of their language. He was aided by a white Mountain Child, the most mythical and rare animal on this planet. They were so rare that some denied they even existed. They had almost supernatural powers of the mind including the ability to translate communication from one person to the next. The Legend and his little animal friend entered the war on the side of humanity, and used his enormous strength and size to help push the Greys back out of the Olvion Valley and back into the foothills of their mountain range. In a furious last battle King Ausloe was killed, but The Legend was there to rally the human army and inspire them to victory.
The Legend disappeared after that battle, and there were only unsubstantiated rumors as to what had become of him. Some said he had married a beautiful woman and lived out his life in one of the Coastal Kingdoms. Others said he was taken away by the same mysterious force that had brought him, sent to other worlds to do battle wherever justice was endangered. Dwan had pored over every record ever created about him, but she was never able to find anything that settled the matter in her mind.
Now, in light of her own experience, she had been forced to conclude that he was possibly gone forever. She had not seen it happen when he was taken away to his world of origin. There was no question in her heart as to what had transpired. He would never have left her willingly. No, that part of their history was not in doubt. What she now wrestled with every day was a simple question; would he ever be allowed to return?
She looked again out over the sea. It was so peaceful, unlike the turbulence that was ever roiling inside her mind. She wondered if even death could release her from her torment. Her eyes fell from the sea to the harbor and below. The fires of the invading pirates littered the surrounding beaches and the rising topography leading up to this castle stronghold. Perhaps she would soon know the answer.
CHAPTER TEN
The village of the Mountain Children was located high up on the Grey Mountains. They were so high that most living things did not exist there. There were several such villages in the unforgiving heights. Most were home only to the carefree Browns. These fortunate beings enjoyed an especially blessed existence free from hunger, danger or fear. Their only poverty was the absence of any connection to the Awareness.
There were two other types of Mountain Children, and each of them lived among their brown brethren. They were anomalies in the litter process, appearing in only very rare circumstances. Some argued that, in the case of the Whites, their birth was triggered by a coming need of which only the Awarness knew. In the case of the Silvers, no logical justification could be discerned.
Both of the variances in the genetic normalcy of their species possessed characteristics very specific to their kind. Whites thrived in the higher elevations, they enjoyed and preferred snow and ice, but were also adaptable to the lower, warmer regions. They were most notable for their very strong connections to the Awareness and were always called upon sometime in their lifetimes to accomplish a task assigned by that mysterious and little-understood entity. They were born with a love for peace, but, even with that drive being utmost in their mindsets, they were well-equipped to defend themselves from attack. Evolution had honed their current incarnation after millennia. Whites were born for specific tasks regarding the protection of peace in their world, and some of those tasks required significant risk. A dead Mountain Child produced no benefit to their tribe or the planet. This was the reason for the retractable claws, blinding speed of movement and long canine teeth that were not seen in the Browns.
It is believed in the villages of the Mountain Children that for every good there is a bad. It was a given that large litters produced more offspring, but they also carried a greater risk of stillborn pups. The boldest among them traveled more widely and won more mates, but they also became victims of exposure and mishap.
It is this vein of thinking that the Mountain Children used to explain the Silvers to their pups. Silvers were also born infrequently among their kind. It was rumored, though never proven, that they were born in numbers close to or exactly even with the Whites. Some opined that a White being born in one tribe would trigger the birth of a Silver in another.
Silvers were the giants of their species. Their birth almost always resulted in the death of the mother. It is thus that the way of the Silvers begins at birth. Many say they are not responsible for their actions because they are born into a nature over which they have no control. The truth or falsity of that philosophy will never be established. What is undeniable is that the Silvers begin their lives causing death and go on to covet and seek power. Because the world in which they live is dominated by two species; the Grey Ones and the Humans, they usually align themselves with one group or the other and use their intelligence and telepathic abilities to gather whatever power they can.
Silvers have a powerful advantage over Whites separate and apart from their greater size. While Whites have the abilities of translation and projection, they find direct communication with humans, using actual words, difficult and even painful. They can do it only when their connection to their chosen entities is especially strong. Even then they find it much less taxing to communicate via projected images, emotions and translations.
Silvers, on the opposite hand, are gifted with an ability to project words to their connections. They fre
quently contact their chosen during times of sleep and slowly settle themselves into a connection to the mindscent of the entity. Unlike Whites, Silvers can insinuate their intrusions into an unwelcoming mind. They slowly acclimate the feelings and emotions of their selected minds to their presence. When those minds are adequately prepared, the Silvers make physical entry into their lives. The only restriction on such an arrangement is that the selected mind must be weak and already contain a certain predilection to evil.
On this day in the tiny village of Mynor, a white Mountain Child is asleep and dreaming. She is stretched out and enjoying the chill wind that sweeps around her. This village is one of the highest in the Grey Mountain range. The rocks upon which she lay are arranged like a natural hammock, deep in the middle and raised on all sides. It is the favorite resting place of the White known as Tinker.
Tinker had been chosen by the Awareness to accompany, aid and advise the oversized human she knew as Tag-Gar or Tag, in his efforts to turn back the invasion of the Greys and the extinction of the relatively small human population on this continent. The most important facet of her assignment had been to focus his emotions on the plight of the humans of the walled city of Olvion. If that city fell, it would spell doom for the human race on their continent. That would have put the planet into an unbalance that the Awareness would not allow. Tinker had accepted her task and accomplished it. She almost lost her life in doing so.
The sudden absence of Taggart, whom she thought of as her human, had been devastating to her. The connection to another entity’s mindscent required a heavy investment of emotion. In effect, a Mountain Child who accomplished such a link developed a love for that individual. When the assigned task was completed, the love did not evaporate, it lingered on for a lifetime. That was the reason why many white Mountain Children chose to stay in the company of their bonded individuals, instead of returning to their home tribes and taking mates. The Awareness had forewarned Tinker of what to expect when their task had been accomplished. The knowledge had not helped her with the sense of loss.
The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion Page 11
