His one remaining point of focus was his injured kidney. Having instinctively clenched shut the flow of blood to the ruptured organ, as well as other assorted arteries, lest he die within minutes from internal bleeding, he was now ready to attempt this exceedingly complex task of repair. He now poured almost all of his focus into gently lining up and striving to repair the incredibly intricate structure that had been so terribly wounded.
It was a trying task, striving to repair, as best he could, the many thousands and thousands of capillary ducts and nephron tubes that made up his kidney. Crudely joining the intricate, minute structures together, he started first and foremost with lining up the torn vessels inside. Only then was he comfortable releasing a trickle of bloodflow to keep the vital forces of life flowing through the injured flesh, nurturing his starving kidney, preventing it from dying before he could repair it.
It was perhaps the most difficult task Elthsiss had ever striven to accomplish, though it was near entirely mental, keeping joined so many thousands upon thousands of points of injury. He continued to clench them together as firmly as he could, grimly waiting for his ravaged body’s own repair mechanisms to take up where he left off, making his temporary repairs more solid via platelet clots reinforced with strands of interconnecting fibrin that would help hold together the thousands of tears presently joined by force alone. Eventually those injuries would be repaired entirely by scar tissue, yet that would be some time, even with all of Elthsiss’s focus on healing this torn and damaged body that was his only link to life on this plane.
Imperfect, but strong, his body would be scarred and he would carry the mark of his terrible wound for so long as he was Sorn, he was sure. Though hopefully both his bodies would be strong enough to enable him to make the change with time, Elthsiss was all too aware that this could take many days. By that time, he may well have imprinted the present Sorn, injuries, scars and all, so deeply it would not be subject to easy alterations, lest he destroy the form entirely and have to start anew.
This, of course, was something he was loath to do. He had worked diligently at making it such a strong vessel for his essence, bringing it into such close harmony with his own true form. Indeed, it was through Sorn that Elthsiss had shown his mastery over forms, having forged such a sympathetic link with his simulacrum that it was a simulacrum no longer, but a living being in its own right. A being with sufficient inherent life force to generate its own seed and propagate itself, carrying a portion of Elthsiss's power to all of his descendants.
It was, indeed, an echo of what form masters ultimately hoped to achieve. Just as essence could transcend the limits of form, it was hoped that one day the secret would be found allowing one's essence to transcend the limits of mortality entirely.
Elthsiss gave a silent chuckle at his reflections. For all that form mastery was seen as a path that may one day allow his people to transcend death itself, he had never been as mortal, nor as close to mortal peril, as he was at that very moment.
Another curious thing, he couldn't help but notice. Though at first he thought it must be his imagination, he realized that his acute affinity for Sorn's physical being, his comprehension of the joining and repair of every wounded strand of Sorn's form implied that their resonance was, if anything, stronger than it had been but days before. He had but to summon the courage to open his inner eye and look at the streams of life force slowly oscillating between them to see the proof of this, and so he did.
And it was then that Elthsiss took in the awe-inspiring sight of the umbilical cord of essence that linked his forms. Its rainbow hues, more brilliant than he had ever seen them before, flashed with a sparkle reminiscent of endless rivers of rubies, emeralds, sapphires and diamonds, blazing with the intensity of a white-hot sun in all its glory. The tremendous flow of forces emanating between his two major forms bespoke of a resonance that was indeed greater than what it had been just days before. It was a resonance greater, he suspected, than that held by any form master he had ever known. It was then that he noted the near simultaneous gasp of a fellow presence as well.
Sorn? Is that you?
"Why yes, I suppose it is. Strange, isn't it?"
Why yes it is. I always thought of you as a facet of Elthsiss.
"And I thought of Elthsiss as just another facet of me"
What do you suppose it means?
"I don't know."
Sorn, brother?
"Yes?"
I sense that you are tired. Very tired.
"This is true."
Go to sleep, Sorn. I have everything under control.
"Very well, and self?"
Yes, self?
"Nice work on the repairs."
And before Elthsiss could reply, Sorn drifted off to sleep. Which was perhaps a good thing, as Elthsiss's deep lizardlike bemusement soon turned to blistering pain as the healers channeled their energies into Sorn's tattered worn body, slowly snapping overstretched fibers only recently drained of their terrible burden of essence, and Elthsiss could feel his human body screaming.
It was with a sense of terrible relief that the wave of destructive burning stopped, though he did not see what had happened specifically, only able to control Sorn's comatose form with a sudden burst of will. Desperately flailing, the impact of contact told him that Sorn had sent at least one individual flying. Elthsiss then directed Sorn's body, one step removed, to keen a certain high pitched wail that was reminiscent of the call of infant clutchlings. He could only hope that would bring his cousins to his aid, as he desperately held tight to all the repairs he had made.
36
The wind knocked out of her but otherwise unharmed, Villa slowly forced herself up to behold the dreadful countenances of the three enraged youths hovering over their cousin's supine form so protectively. To Salrie they looked like nothing so much as the savage prairie cat Salrie's father had once pointed out to her from their well-protected carriage as they made their way north to Caverenoc, years ago.
She could still remember her father's pedantic lecturer's voice, dryly informing her that the great prairie cats had once ruled over the savannas, able to disembowel a horse with a single swipe of their terrible claws. Yet despite her father's dispassionate lecture, she remembered feeling an awe akin to terror gazing upon that savage predator, busily gorging itself upon a great horned elk. Captivating and chilling in equal measure it had been to watch its sleek form, rippling with muscles that bespoke of terrible power, effortlessly tearing through the elk's innards as it burrowed for choice morsels.
And that had been when she had felt safe and protected by her father's side.
Then the creature's head had snapped up to gaze at the passing coach, and Salrie had felt her breath die in her throat, her heart hammering with fear as the terrible eyes of that fierce predator locked with her own. The lull of her father's voice and her surroundings forgotten, all she could see was the blood-coated maw of that creature, its brilliant gaze holding her captive, freezing her utterly.
She had known with utter certainty that had that prairie cat not eaten, no matter the numerous guardsmen of the lord whom her father had worked for at that time, the great cat would have brought down their carriage with ease. She knew. And gazing in trance at those terrible eyes, she knew that the beast knew as well. And she had had no doubt either as to which terrified little girl would be its first choice of prey.
Then, almost as if she had been dismissed as unworthy, her entire existence no more relevant than that single glance, the cat ignored her and her wide-eyed stare completely, hunkering down once more to gorge on its prey.
Years had passed, and nightmares of the terrible intelligence she had seen in that hunter's eyes peering so deeply into her own, marking her as his, had faded from memory. Yet in that chilling instant, it was the same fierce predator's stare she saw, mirrored perfectly in the three youths before her. Their dreadful gaze blazed hot, not with hunger, but with rage.
It was not that they would not act, it see
med, in their predatory stillness. Rather it was as if they were considering the perfect instant to pounce, wherein their inhuman stillness would turn instantly to a blur of motion and Salrie could not help but think of herself as an elk at that moment, having to fight down the bizarre urge to laugh. This was, she knew, simply her overwhelmed body's response to this final jolt of terror she was being subjected to this night.
Frozen with fear, she could do naught but continue to gaze up at the three youths hovering protectively over their wounded cousin, mithril blades naked, so perfectly polished she thought she could see reflections of the red drenched morning clouds in the one closest to her neck. At that moment one of them vented a terrible hiss, and Salrie could not shake the chilling certainty that these youths were not entirely human.
It was then that Villa began to whimper like a lost child, frightened and far from home. And Salrie knew she had to say something. Either that, or start whimpering herself.
"Relax, young ones," Salrie soothed. "We mean your cousin no harm. We sought only to heal him as best we may, as you have seen for yourselves. It seems, however, that his body is reluctant to take in our healing energies. Yet be at ease, for there is hope. For the moment we freed him of the spear, his flesh began to seal of its own accord. Perhaps, and we can only hope, the very power within him, be it artifact or innate, that shuns our touch does so only because it seeks to heal him in its own way. Look for yourselves, young ones. He breathes still, and his breath is strong and sure. Had he been anything less, he would have perished for certain, before we had even brought him here."
Salrie took a deep breath, terrified despite herself, hoping only that these fierce young creatures, whether they be human or something other, would judge her words and intentions, not simply strike her out of hand. Perhaps her words were unnecessary, yet fear made her speak nonetheless.
“You three know well the care I have given to your companions and their injuries, cared for in my very home. Your friend Bates, dare I say it, would otherwise not be with us today were it otherwise. So please understand that we only intended to give what healer’s aid we could to your cousin. I had no way of knowing that his body would reject my gift out of hand, and we can only hope that it is because his body has its own way of healing and is in no need of my limited aid.”
As one the three youths blinked, and it was as if darkest night had given way to pleasant daybreak in that single blink. Gone were the fierce-eyed countenances of predators hungry to strike. Instead before the two stunned healers were three very worried looking lads, eyes still troubled, anxious for the well-being of their cousin.
"Oh, we understand," Fitz assured them. "Sorn's cry just startled us, that's all."
“Yeah, Salrie, we know you just wanted to help,” Hanz agreed with a weak smile.
Elthsiss, sensing only the protective presence of the three youths he had long cared for himself, slowly faded into a half-sleep of his own, unaware of all save the tight grip in which he held together his ravaged flesh, like a child instinctively clutching his mother's finger as he gently drifted off to sleep.
37
Only vaguely did Sorn or Elthsiss return to consciousness in the following days. Filled with a curious burning need, Sorn opened his eyes sometime later to find himself in a warm soft bed, brilliant sunlight falling upon him from a nearby window, his bleary eyes depicting what could only be the worried countenances of his cousins muttering words he could no longer understand, while a beautiful girl with auburn hair and eyes the deep green of dappled meadows slowly gave him a cup of cool, cool water until he once again drifted off to sleep.
When next he woke, still bleary eyed and near incoherent, he made out his sleeping cousins all lying in a puddle like cats amidst furs and pillows, still wearing their mithril mail sparkling in the moonlight, upon a massive bed next to his own. Only then did Sorn note the soft floral scent and warmth of the arm gently resting upon his chest, turning his head to gaze into the smiling countenance of the elfin-featured girl once more.
He was as puzzled by the tears in her eyes as she was by the question he strove to ask, embarrassing them both; her to giggles, him to fuzzy mortification as he wet himself, before finally drifting back into sleep. It was only later that he realized he had addressed her in draconic.
It was daylight when his consciousness next surfaced, beholding the girl once again feeding him water, and he coughed and sputtered as he took over his senses, interrupting the swallow he was making in his half stupor. His cough was terribly painful, sending shooting pains all through his torso. Yet it passed soon enough, and Sorn tried to indicate his thirst once more via a gesture towards the vessel. It troubled him to sense how weak he was, even twitching his hand took an inordinate amount of effort.
At last his thirst was quenched, and this time he had the presence of mind to gesture for the chamber pot, frustrated to once again find that he couldn't seem to remember the words to convey his meaning to her. His cousins were for once absent, and they were alone.
When Sorn paused to look at the girl before him, still smiling with the game of trying to fathom his meaning, their eyes locked, and suddenly both were aware of how empty the room was of all save them. Sorn was acutely aware of her intense floral scent, with some other odor underneath, something that awoke primitive stirrings from deep within.
His longing gaze drew Elissa close, and they kissed. The kiss was sweet. Savage. Igniting a mutual hunger, and suddenly Sorn didn't feel nearly so weak as he had but moments before.
The world became suddenly a warm pulsing blush, a glorious soft heat, a sharp taste, a sweet sigh, aching adoration and painful need. Sorn felt himself falling into the embrace of roaring tides of warmth and bliss before all swirled into blackness once more.
38
When next Sorn awoke, he felt more clearheaded than he had since the day of the desperate battle to stop the Empire's forces from invading Caverenoc. It was as if a vast, endless fogbank had suddenly lifted, and he could see and think clearly once more. Yet his immediate past was strangely blank, as if trapped still in that billowing mist.
He was disconcerted for a moment to find himself wrapped in a quilted blanket in a snug little cabin, having no clue as to how he had gotten there, before realizing that he was back his quarters on Halence's ship, and could only assume that they were all at sea.
For some reason, though he could not recall why at the moment, this made him feel terribly sad. He took some comfort, however, in the familiar scents he recognized so well.
"Cousin!" Fitz said exuberantly, head popping down from the hammock above, looking toward a groggy and newly awake Sorn with undisguised delight. "You’re awake!"
"I suppose I must be, Fitz," Sorn said tiredly in response to his cousin's grin. "Are we on the ship once again?"
"Why so we are, cousin! Brilliant work of deduction! It was the rocking that gave us away, eh?"
"Actually I just recognized the quarters, Fitz. Hanz? Lieberman?"
"Oh, we're right here Sorn!" His two other cousins chimed in unison, and Sorn managed to maneuver himself so as to better look at the bottom adjoining bunk, noting his cousins' avid eyes focused upon the glittering piles of gold before them.
"Ah, playing with our hoard, I see."
"Absolutely! And a proper hoard we have now too, Sorn. All nice and shiny. See?"
Lieberman displayed before Sorn a large pristine ruby, glimmering with perfect symmetry from the thirty-two facets that made up the brilliant-cut gem. Truly a masterpiece that even made Sorn catch his breath in wonder.
"Where did you… where…"
"The king!" Fitz said, smiling brightly. "We're heroes, Sorn, did you know that? Right proper heroes of all of Caverenoc! They say you're the spirit of Caverenoc made flesh, you know, destined to come to the city's aid in its time of greatest peril." Fitz sighed.
"Yes, it's true!" Hanz concurred. "You should have seen it. Every single knight who survived the night came to your quarters in the castle and p
aid homage to you. Not that you noticed, being as you were asleep and all. But it was brilliant, Sorn, truly brilliant!" Hanz smiled, eyes lost in fond reverie.
Lieberman nodded at Hanz's recollection. "Yes indeed, cousin. We truly were knights extraordinaire, just like in the tales. We saved the kingdom, and the king himself rewarded us! Oh, it was wonderful, Sorn! There was this big ceremony, feasting, dancing and juggling, and the king himself had all of his knights line up and gave them pins declaring them all heroes of the Crown, defenders of Caverenoc. And guess what, Sorn? They made us knights!"
"It's true!" Fitz chimed in again happily. "When we told the king we were only squires, the captain of the knights himself came forth and handed the king his sword, and he dubbed us Royal Knights of the Crown! So we're heroes, Sorn, heroes! And everyone clapped and laughed and cheered, and it really was just like Hanz said, right out of the tales you would read to us. Oh this was fun, Sorn, great fun!"
Peril & Profit Page 51
