Healed by Hope

by Jim Melvin

  “No,” Torg said. “I promised Laylah that whatever happened would be her decision. Besides, we don’t know if destroying the boy might harm the mother.”

  Burly dared to smack Torg on his knee. “Don’t you understand what’s at stake? If the boy becomes another Invictus, we’re doomed. Everything you’ve fought so hard to attain will be wasted. The time to strike is now. To provide such evil yet another chance to flourish would be criminal!”

  Torg did not respond. Instead, he pointed at Jord. “What say you?”

  “The words of Peta should not be ignored,” the Faerie said. “Before the ghost-child departed, she foresaw that the boy would be born . . . in Anna.”

  Burly gasped, but Torg’s voice remained steady. “What else did she foresee?”

  The Faerie lowered her gaze.

  “Do I not deserve the truth?” Torg said.

  “Now I agree with Torg,” Burly said. “By all means, Faerie . . . answer.”

  Jord raised her head. She spoke in a near-whisper. “Peta said that Vedana would come for the boy.”

  This time, Burly gasped so hard he started to choke. Then he began pacing frenetically. “Let me think . . . let me think. We . . . we can’t go to Anna! We’ve got to take Laylah somewhere else. Hide her somewhere.”

  Torg stayed him with his hand. “It is not possible to hide someone from Vedana. She appears able to go anywhere and anyplace. Nay, we will not hide. Instead, we will fight Vedana. And Anna is the best place to do it.”

  Then Torg went to Jord and knelt at her feet. “Tell me everything. What else did Peta say? Will the demon succeed?”

  Jord also knelt, and she took Torg’s massive hands in her own. “Torgon, I swear to you that Peta’s vision did not extend beyond what I have told you, except for three other things of import. Peta said that you and Laylah would fight Vedana together. And she said that two others would join you in the final battle.”

  “Aaaah!” Burly said. “That explains my presence.”

  Jord showed no signs of assent.

  “That is two things of import,” Torg said. “And the third?”

  The Faerie spoke slowly, enunciating her words with precision. “She said that Vedana would be aided by a great dragon.”

  Torg leaped to his feet. “Then we must get Laylah safely to Anna. Not even a dragon can stand against the Tugars.”

  Torg rushed back to Laylah, who had been moaning occasionally but otherwise sleeping calmly while he was away. But when he sat down beside her, the sorceress began to tremble and sweat. Torg attempted to place Obhasa in her hands. So often before, his ivory staff had strengthened and comforted her. This time when it touched her flesh there was a crackling spark, causing Laylah to cry out. Torg stood and backed away, taking Obhasa with him. As soon as he did, the sorceress seemed to relax. Without saying a word, she returned to sleep.

  “Her stomach glows,” Burly said.

  Indeed, Laylah’s lower abdomen emitted a yellow light that wavered in the darkness.

  “We should cover her,” Torg said. “It appears the less moonlight she absorbs, the better.”

  “We didn’t expect that we’d have to stop,” Burly said. “You thought that we’d reach Anna by morning. We don’t even have a blanket, much less something to eat.”

  “I have Cirāya,” Torg said. “It will suffice to keep us alive. But your point about the blanket is well-taken.”

  “Allow me to make an attempt,” Jord said.

  The Faerie approached within two paces of Laylah and transformed into Sakuna. The sorceress groaned but otherwise seemed able to tolerate the Faerie’s proximity, as long as she wasn’t touched. Then the huge mountain eagle spread her wings and formed a shroud over Laylah, blocking out most of the moonlight. The sorceress seemed to become more peaceful.

  Torg and the enchanter stood nearby and watched until well past midnight. Finally Burly tugged on Torg’s breeches. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight. We should sleep too. Perhaps Laylah will feel stronger in the morning.”

  Torg sighed. “After the eclipse, she was sick like this. It pains me to see it happening yet again. But I suppose you’re right.”

  Torg then cast himself onto gray grass and fell instantly asleep, though Burly beat him to it.

  Torg awoke to a clear, warm morning. Jord sat nearby, watching him. But Laylah had disappeared.

  “Where is she?” Torg demanded.

  “Be of ease, Torgon,” Jord said. “She has gone to relieve herself, that is all. The worst has passed. The sunlight has strengthened her.”

  Just then, Laylah appeared from behind a massive boulder that marked the outer border of Barranca. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’m feeling much better. The baby seems to behave in the daytime.”

  Torg walked toward her. “Can I touch you?” But when he came within two paces, she grimaced. Torg stopped. “I suppose not.” Then he tried to sound cheerful. “Well, at least I can look at you.”

  Now the enchanter also was awake, and he trotted past Torg and tried to touch Laylah’s leg with his wand. But she gasped and backed away. Burly did the same.

  “I’m . . . sorry,” she said. “If either of you gets too close, it hurts.”

  “Does it pain you to touch Jord?” Torg said.

  Laylah grimaced again.

  This exasperated Torg. “Without Jord’s help, it will take us three hard days just to cross Barranca and at least that much longer to reach Anna—and the terrain is treacherous.”

  “Perhaps if the three of you mount me, we will be able to ride for short distances before Laylah becomes too ill,” the Faerie said. “It will take longer to reach Anna than any of us would have preferred, but at least it will be quicker than if you marched there on foot.”

  “Agreed,” Torg said. “Let us begin the journey now. We will travel during the day and seek refuge at night.”

  42

  THOUGH IT MIGHT have appeared so to Torg, this sickness was not the same to Laylah as when she had been ill during the eclipse. Then, like a person who had ingested poison, she had been overwhelmed by fever and nausea, often hovering near death. Now, like a person being beaten down by a superior will, she was losing her grip on her own identity, often feeling as if she were becoming someone else.

  And this certain someone didn’t like Torg, Jord, or Burly one bit. He let her know it by twisting, kicking, and flailing in her womb if any of them—but especially Torg—came too near.

  As Laylah had discovered the previous night, the boy in her belly wasn’t fond of moonlight. During the night, all he wanted to do was sleep, which meant that he wanted Laylah to sleep too. When Sakuna shielded her from the gibbous moon, the boy had permitted the proximity without too much complaint, allowing Laylah to rest in relative comfort.

  When Laylah woke in the morning, she felt much better than she had the previous evening. She sat up and looked around, studying her surroundings. The Gray Plains lay north, west, and south, but to the east loomed the vast specter of Barranca. Laylah, of course, had never been anywhere near Tējo, but Torg had told her enough about the Great Desert and the rocky wasteland that partially encircled it for her to be able to recognize it.

  Sakuna no longer shrouded her. Instead, Jord sat cross-legged off to the side. Torg and Burly lay asleep in the grass nearby. Both were snoring, the enchanter even louder than the wizard. The Faerie ignored the men, staring at Laylah intently but silently. When Laylah walked away, Jord made no attempt to stop her.

  It’s not like I need your permission, Laylah thought.

  She walked toward the boulder, which seemed oddly out of place, as if it had strayed outside the border of Barranca and lost its way. When she walked around the mammoth stone, Laylah stopped and gasped. A Lyon as large as a horse stood just five paces away—and it appeared hungry an
d aggressive. But when it caught sight of her, it tucked its tail between its legs and ran, obviously wanting no part of what was growing inside her.

  Laylah squatted over a patch of sand to pee. Her urine burned with surprising vehemence, causing her to yelp, and then sizzled on the sand like hot oil, leaving a glowing stain that resembled liquid gold. Despite the unexpected pain, she felt better afterward—and then realized that she was ravenously hungry. You’re lucky you ran, Laylah thought about the Lyon. I might have eaten you.

  When she returned to their makeshift camp, the first thing Laylah saw was Torg—and for a moment it filled her with the same love and lust that she used to experience in his presence.

  They gathered and munched on Cirāya, which dulled Laylah’s hunger, and then they discussed the need to continue toward Anna. All agreed that it would be better to travel during the day and rest at night.

  When Laylah climbed onto Sakuna’s back, the kicking renewed. Laylah placed her hand on her stomach and willed white energy, sprinkled with flecks of blue, to flow from her palm into her womb. She was surprised to find that the baby grew a little calmer.

  Torg and Burly also climbed aboard. The mare charged into Barranca at a brisk gallop, barely slowing her pace despite the suddenly hazardous footing. Any other horse would have found it difficult to canter on the floor of broken stone, much less gallop.

  Even so, Bhojja was not able to run nearly as fast as she was capable. The crossing of Barranca was not completed until dusk, though that still was an amazing feat. Even Tugars took between two and four days to cross on foot, depending on their urgency.

  For Laylah, the experience was horrendous. There was a constant burning pain where her legs and crotch pressed against the horse’s back. And though she did her best to continue to keep the baby calm, he often woke and threw mini-tantrums in her belly. Several times Laylah cried out, but the loud clopping of Bhojja’s hooves on the jagged stone drowned it out.

  Still, riding on horseback was preferable to flying on an eagle’s back. Laylah feared that a violent kick from the baby would cause her to tumble to her death.

  As darkness fell upon the wasteland, the mare climbed a trail that crisscrossed up a sheer wall of rock. After reaching the top, Bhojja exploded through a crevice and leapt into midair, plunging fifty cubits onto a blanket of yellow-white sand. Despite the long drop, the mare landed softly and then came to an abrupt halt. Laylah slid off the horse’s back onto the cushiony sand. Immediately, Torg and Burly knelt beside her, which caused the pain in her abdomen to intensify.

  “Stay back . . . please.”

  Torg and Burly moved away obediently, and the pain lessened enough to permit Laylah to sit up. She was surprised to see Jord the woman, not Bhojja the horse, standing beside Torg. She experienced a sudden jolt of jealousy, which was followed by another session of violent kicking. Apparently, Laylah wasn’t the only one capable of hurt feelings.

  43

  LAYLAH’S DETERIORATING condition weighed heavily on Burly’s heart. He watched the sorceress as she lay on a soft bed of sand within a stone’s throw of the eastern border of Barranca. To the enchanter’s relief, Sakuna again used her wide wings to shroud Laylah from the bright moonlight. Torg sat off to the side, his expression understandably distraught. Burly sighed and then walked slowly eastward toward the rising moon, which would be full in three nights. The golden orb cast enough light for Burly to see a great distance. What he saw was beautiful. His first visit to Tējo did not disappoint.

  Though the temperature had reached nearly one hundred degrees in the afternoon, it now was at least forty degrees cooler, and a frisky breeze made it feel a good deal chillier than that. But this did not affect Burly. A sheath of magic kept him comfortable . . . and also safe. It wouldn’t do—especially at his size—to be bitten by a rattlesnake or stung by a scorpion. And in fact, he encountered both during his walk. The snake was as long as Torg was tall and as thick as one of the wizard’s arms. Burly was just the right size for a quick meal, but the rattler sensed Burly’s power and slithered slowly away, too stunned by the cold to move much quicker. The scorpion also retreated.

  The sand had been blown into swirls and waves, extending eastward like an ocean frozen in time. Though immense, this portion of Tējo was not lifeless. Heart-shaped cactuses with green spines and crimson flowers jutted from the desert floor, and a thicket of blooming sotol cast its stalks toward the moonlight, as if in quest of redemption. Crouched in the thicket was a gray desert wolf, much smaller than a black mountain wolf but formidable nonetheless. Had Burly been unequipped with magic, the beast could have torn him to shreds. But it, too, sensed his power and departed in haste.

  The enchanter scaled a dune—small by Tējo standards but mountainous to the Gillygaloo—and then gazed about, his miniature heart racing. To the west was Barranca. In all other directions lay the Great Desert, its landscape surprisingly varied. On the far horizon, limestone cliffs rose a thousand cubits above the dry plain. Burly could not be sure, but he swore he could see the silhouettes of trees growing on top of the knife-like ridge. Whatever scant rainfall fell on this place went there first.

  When Torg spoke to him, Burly nearly fell off the dune. Never before had he been caught so unawares. The wizard had approached with a silence as profound as death. He sat down beside Burly, both facing eastward.

  “How do you like Tējo?” Torg said.

  Burly took a few long breaths to calm his heart. Then he said, “I don’t think I’ve been here long enough to decide if I like it or not. I can’t imagine how people survive in such a rugged place, yet I also sense that Tējo has its share of fragility.”

  Torg patted him on the top of his head. “You are a wise man, Burly Boulogne.”

  Burly feigned offense. “I am no man.” Then he too smiled. “But I have lived a long life, and wisdom comes with age.”

  Torg chuckled. “My Vasi master often said the same. I patted him on the head too, and it enraged him—but he knew he was not my equal with the sword.”

  “And I, too, am not?”

  “With the sword? No. In other ways? It is not for me to say.”

  Burly felt a sudden surge of love for the wizard. “You are greater than I. Of that there is no doubt. What I doubt, though, is that you are great enough for the final test.”

  “Which is?”

  “The birth of Laylah’s child.”

  “We shall see what we shall see,” Torg said.

  “You could destroy the child—without harming Laylah. And you know it. What stays your hand?”

  “Despite the father, the child is a part of her body, not mine or yours. It is her choice.”

  “What if it is not her choice? What if the child is so strong, he chooses for her?”

  Torg shrugged. “Karma chooses for us all.”

  “So you’re not worried?”

  “The enlightened do not worry,” the wizard said. Then he lowered his head. “But I’m no Tathagata. So, of course I’m worried. Still, worry is just another emotion—as worthless as hate and as wistful as desire.”

  Burly patted the wizard on the back with a tiny hand.

  “I think I like it.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Your desert.”

  “Oh. Well, stay awhile . . . and you’ll learn to love it.”

  44

  WHEN TORG RETURNED to Laylah, it was a bell past midnight. It dismayed him to find that her condition had worsened. Instead of sleeping without movement, she now moaned and thrashed, and her stomach glowed with such intensity it hurt Torg’s eyes to look at it.

  Sakuna plucked several long feathers from her plumage and stabbed the quills into the soft sand, building a teepee-shaped structure to shield Laylah from the worst of the moonlight. Then the mountain eagle backed away, transformed to Jord, and sprinted away, as if in a p
anic.

  Jord covered half a mile before Torg finally caught up to her.

  “Why do you run?” he said between gasps.

  “I like to run,” she said, still breathing easily. “It is one of the best things about being alive. Now I have a question for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why did you follow?”

  “I’m still not convinced you’ve told me all that you know.”

  Jord flopped down onto the sand and lay on her back, looking up at the moon and stars. “I have not.”

  Torg stood over her. Though he considered himself mated to Laylah for life, it was difficult not to admire the Faerie’s supernaturally beautiful body. “Tell me . . . everything.”

  “Everything? Triken would crumble to dust before I could do that. But there are a few more things I am permitted to say . . . before I depart.”

  “Such as?”

  Jord sat up, tears lining her pale cheeks.

  “What is it?” Torg said.

  “Ugga . . . is dead.”

  Torg gasped. “Why? How?”

  “Why? You know the answer to that as well as I. How? He was bitten in the throat by a rattlesnake.”

  Torg sat down beside her and put his massive arm around her thin shoulders. Tears streaked his cheeks, as well.

  “Jiivitam maranam anugacchati (Death follows life),” Torg whispered.

  “Maranam jivitam anugacchati! (Life follows death),” Jord responded.

  And then, in unison, they said, “Aniccaa vata sankharaa. Mettaa eva sassataa. (All things are impermanent. Only love is eternal.)”

  “And I did love him,” Jord said. “It took almost one hundred millennia, but I finally learned how to love.”

  “I loved Ugga too,” Torg said. “And Bard, as well. So many have perished: Kusala, Tāseti, Sōbhana, Tathagata, to name just a few. Even Bhayatupa, who found wisdom before his demise. Yet it is not their deaths I mourn. Rather I grieve for myself . . . because I will miss them all.”