Fires of Justice

Part 18:  Pilgrim – Epiphany

Beginning | Previous | Next

Kale strolled away from Davanek’s temple and headed across the plaza at the heart of the Temple District, aiming in the general direction of the Temple of Arteneh.  He drifted inside, repeated his observance of the many pilgrims who came here, sitting on a bench and watching them come and go as he had at the Temple of Davanek.  As they had there, nearly all the supplicants looked as though they felt better leaving than they had when they entered.

After a time he felt hungry, and he drifted off looking for lunch, amazed at the size of his appetite since coming to this world.  He’d eaten a big meal three hours before, done nothing more strenuous than walk a mile or so, and he was starved again.

After a meal, he started back towards the Temple District, and as he passed the Temple of Alethanna, he was surprised to see a familiar figure.  Approaching the Temple of Justice from the other direction was Dannej, the cleaning girl from his inn.

“Good afternoon, Dannej,” Kale said, bowing slightly.  “How are you today?”

“I am well, Kale, thank you,” the girl said, matching his gravity, and dipping a half curtsy, made amusing by her boy’s clothes.  “And you?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Kale said.  He indicated the Temple of Alethanna.  “Were you headed to services?”

“I was,” Dannej said.  “And you?”

“I was going to watch a service for Arteneh,” Kale said.  “As I said last night . . . Gods who prove themselves is a novelty for me.  I’m trying to . . . develop some faith.”

“You could accompany me to services here,” Dannej said hesitantly.  “If you like.”

Kale grinned.  “I’d like.  New things are always easier when you’re with a friend.”  He offered the girl his arm, and they strolled into the Temple of Justice arm in arm.

_________________________________________________

Interlude:

Quinaav, High Priestess of Alethanna’s temple in Khorlan, was worried. Her protégé, Yaren, had gone to the Temple of Sebek at midmorning, for what should have been a brief appointment. Yet it the sun showed it to be half an hour after noon, and Yaren had not returned . . . .

Quinaav sat in her chambers, and brushed her hair, preparing for the afternoon services of the temple. So few attended – and yet they deserved no less than her best. It was only just, that she give those who still followed the Lady her all. And that meant looking her best, as well as speaking and praying her best.

Quinaav looked in the mirror, pleased with her reflection. She was young, for the office of High Priestess, even of a lone temple, at twenty-seven years, and far weaker than had been the last to hold the office. Yet, as Justice dwindled, so did the Lady’s strength.

I can do only my best. Quinaav thought philosophically, and went back to brushing out her hair, and studying her reflection.

She was tall, for a woman, at five feet, nine inches. Her weight had barely varied from the 135 pounds she had been at eighteen. Her figure was slender, but still very definitely feminine. Her hair was a deep, shiny black, was very wavy, almost curly, and fell to her waist. It was, as usual, gathered in a loose tail at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were the dark blue of the sky, just before the sun showed it’s first rays in the early hours of the morning. Her face was oval, her cheekbones rather high, and her lips were full.

I still think some of the young warriors come here just to try to court me, Quinaav thought wryly. I wonder how they’d feel if they knew I romance only women?  Still, perhaps they will stay to hear Her message.

There was a rapping at her door, and Quinaav called for her visitor to enter. In came Yaren, her protégé, looking tired and defeated. They saluted each other as was appropriate. Then Yaren sank wearily to a chair.

“What did they say?” Quinaav asked. Yaren had been to see the Priests of Sebek on matters of monies owed to their temple. And his face did not look promising . . . .

“They have ordered that we pay the remaining monies by the first of the Moon of the Mace,” Yaren said, slumping in his chair. “Or they will foreclose, paying us thirty thousand golds for the value of the building that we do not owe them.”

“Thirty thousand golds?!” Quinaav cried. “But the building and grounds were appraised – by THEIR man – at one hundred thousand, and we only owe them twenty-five thousand! They cannot – ”

“Legally, they need pay us nothing, Quinaav,” Yaren said. “And should they choose to do that, the Council of Guilds will support them.  Most of them owe Sebek’s Temple money as well.”

“Oh, Goddess!” Quinaav sighed, and slumped to a chair. “What is the most we can come up with, Yaren, if we sell all but the holy relics?”

“Fifteen thousand golds,” Yaren said. “If that.”

“And the offerings will never meet the difference,” Quinaav rubbed her forehead in thought, then slammed her fists down on her thighs. “Damn it – I thought – I have been feeling her more strongly, these last two weeks! I was hop—”

“You, too?” Yaren interrupted. “I thought it was perhaps just my imagination. I still cannot hear her, but I feel her more every day, I sometimes think. I thought it a good sign . . . .”

“As did I,” Quinaav sighed, standing. “Now, I know not what to think! Save that I had best get out there and perform the afternoon devotions. Justice waits not well, and neither do Her acolytes.”

It began simply enough. Quinaav greeted the twenty or so worshippers who were here, and the four petitioners for intercession, seated in the separate pews, and led a prayer to Alethanna, a simple daily prayer for balance and justice.

She then looked down to the Book of Justice, brought out and opened to the correct page for her by an acolyte, shortly before the service. She had chosen to speak that day on the alliance between Davanek and Alethanna, long ago, in the days before Khorlan, when the orcs had come down out of the mountains, and terrorized the other peoples of the world. It would appeal to the young warriors . . . .

And then a breeze, more of a wind really, sprang up, rolling into the temple through its open doors, and flipping the thick, heavy pages of the Book. And when she looked down again, the passage visible was a very different one. But, Quinaav decided to speak on this subject anyway, and damned be the Council of Guilds! They had asked her not to read inflammatory passages, and this certainly was inflammatory . . . but the Council members were in the pockets of the priests of Sebek, who were taking her temple.  The temple had been her only home since the age of twelve, and today she would read what her Goddess demanded!

“Today, gentles, I would read to you of a prophecy handed down to the High Priest Reuvek, some 900 years ago,” Quinaav said, noting the way all the acolytes here, those who knew the book, perked up almost immediately. “Listen, and I will tell you of a change that we can only hope is coming . . . .”

Quinaav then read the prophecy, in the clear, rhythmic voice that she had developed over the years.

“A time of darkness there shall be,

“Of fear, and chains without a key.

“Dark Gods make man a lowly beast,

“Whose hopes and fears mean not the least.

“A time of collar, whip and chain,  

“When dark you serve, or suffer pain.  

“A time when freedom has no spark,  

“To defy those whose hearts worship dark.”

There was more, several verses, and Quinaav read them all, detailing the deprivations of the Dark Gods and their followers. Never had there been a more attentive audience, not while she had been in the temple.

Then, came the verses that Quinaav read almost nightly, daring to hope that they might come true in her lifetime.

“And from the darkness, silver light,

“Will come with hope, to burn so bright.

“No gold could ever hope to match,

“Spell to douse, or jewel catch.

“Then there shall come a Paladin,  

“One once undead, made whole again.  

“The Lady burning in his heart,

“The war for balance, he will start.  

“With nine beside him, he will fight,  

“To show the world Her silver light.

“And in the end, a kingdom found,  

“From dark destroyed, and light unbound!”

From the hall dead silence, as those who listened stared wide-eyed at Quinaav, who so casually risked the wrath of both guilds and two other temples with her words.

“Pray with me, gentlebeings,” Quinaav said, closing the book. “For many of us here have felt our lady more strongly these last two weeks, and we can but hope that this is the reason.

“Pray with me.”

Quinaav led them in prayer, and was surprised and delighted to hear many praying aloud, repeating her lines as she finished them. When she finished, those who attended stood to bow, as she stepped down from the altar from which she’d spoken.

Then the miracle occurred.

Adren, the handsome young acolyte who came forward to pick up the Book of Justice, gasped as he touched it – and quite suddenly, he burst into silver flames, that flickered over his body and his gray robes without harming him at all.

Then he opened his mouth and spoke – and every person in the hall fell to their knees.  The voice he spoke in was not, could not have been, his – it was female, and it reverberated with power – and there was no doubt among those here but that it was the voice of Alethanna.

“Hear me,” Alethanna said, through Adren. “He comes. Bearing my mark four times, he comes. Those marks may not be removed, not even by magic. This is how you shall know him.

“Do as he bids, my children. He will lead you.

“You must follow.

“Quinaav.”

“Y-yes, Lady Alethanna?” Quinaav whispered, caught up in an ecstasy so strong that she could barely speak.

“You have been devoted to me since before you knew my name, child,” Alethanna said, voice warm and loving. “For your service, you will be rewarded. In nine days time, representatives from the five other temples remaining to me in this part of Quelannas will arrive here – and you will be appointed High priestess, not of this temple – but of my faith.”

“Lady, I – “ Quinaav stammered. “I am not worthy!”

“You are worthy daughter,” Alethanna said. “I know this, and you must learn it.

“In nine days time, you will be appointed. Let all those here now, even those of other faiths, be here to witness it.”

Quinaav looked at the penitents, here to ask for the services of Alethanna’s clerics in matters of judgment. Two were followers of the Healing Hand, judging by the amulets they wore, and one obviously a warrior, and so would worship Davanek, in all likelihood.  The last was a woman who wore the blue and gold of Mysarra’s worshippers, and whose beauty set Quinaav’s heart racing.

“He comes, Quinaav,” Alethanna said, once more. “Lead the others . . . in following him.”

Then the fires went out, and Adren released the book, and slid to the floor, weeping with joy.

Quinaav was weeping her own tears, and had to grope for Yaren’s hand, when he offered it to help her stand, as her tears had her seeing several hands in front of her.

She composed her self quickly, and started to speak – only to realize that every man and woman in the temple, even those of other faiths, was on one knee, heads lowered in respect for her new position.

“My friends, thank you all,” Quinaav said. “But rise now – there is much to be done, and we know not how long we have. Yaren, see to the needs of those who require judgments. Adren, are you well enough to go to the market for a time?”

“Priestess,” Adren gasped, wiping still-streaming tears from his eyes, “I have never felt so well in my life!”

“Very well, then, Acolyte,” Quinaav chuckled. “Go to the market. I want you to listen to every crier in the place, until he repeats himself. Then see if you can find a street person who will talk to one of Alethanna’s priests.  If the Paladin comes, dark-followers somewhere will be having difficulties – and I want to know about it!”

Adren nodded, bowed, and sprinted off to his room to wash his face before going.

“Priestess?” asked a tentative voice from one side.

Quinaav turned to see a young man of about 17, one of those attending the service, standing there. “How may I help you?” she asked.

“When is the next public service, priestess?” the boy asked.

Quinaav laughed in delight, and told the boy that services were every day at sunrise, an hour after noon, and at sunset. He stammered thanks, promised to be at the sunset service, and left, with many of the other parishioners – all, in fact, but one.

_________________________________________________

Kale rose with the others, and stood shaking next to Dannej, who was clinging to his hand so tightly that he could barely feel it anymore.

“Kale?” Dannej said slowly.  “Are you well?  You’re shaking.”

“I’m okay,” Kale said, gently slipping his hand free of hers, then taking her hand again in a grip that wouldn’t permit her to squeeze quite so hard.  “I’m okay.  At least for someone who’s just had his whole worldview rocked, I’m doing pretty all right!”

“I don’t understand you,” Dannej said.  “At least, not entirely.  Do you want a cleric?”

“No,” Kale said, taking a deep breath and shaking his head to clear it.  “I’ll be fine.  I just . . . Dannej, I’ve never felt anything even remotely like that!  I didn’t know . . . so much power, and so much . . . m-much – ”

With a start, Kale realized that there were tears running down his face, and when he looked at Dannej to see if she had noticed, he saw that she was smiling through her tears.

Okay, he thought, tears in the face of the divine probably not unmanly or uncommon.

“I didn’t know that there could be such majesty,” Kale said softly.  “And I wasn’t prepared for it, Dannej.  It . . . shook me.”

“I understand,” Dannej said.  “I was going to stay a few minutes, and speak to the priestess, but I’ll come back later.  I’ll walk with you back to the inn.”

“No, that’s all right,” Kale said.  He wiped his face, took another deep breath, and smiled at her.  “It was a serious shaking, Dannej – but a good one.  I’ll be okay.  And I don’t think I want to go to the inn.  I’m going to go to Davanek’s temple, I think.  And I’m going to think.  A lot.”

“You’re sure?” Dannej asked.  “I don’t want to . . . just leave you, if you want company.”

“I appreciate the thought,” Kale said, “but really, I’m okay.  I’m just in need of some serious realignment of old prejudices.”

“I . . . you’re sure?”

“Positive,” Kale replied.  At her puzzled look, he added, “Certain.  Go, speak to the High Priestess.  I’ll see you later.  The way I feel right now . . . I’ll probably want to stay up late tonight and talk again!”

Dannej chuckled, hugged Kale fiercely (which surprised him, but pleased him), and went to sit and wait for High Priestess Quinaav to finish with the orders she was giving to the others of her temple.

_________________________________________________

Interlude II

Soon Quinaav was left with her fellow priests and priestesses, and a lone attendee, a young woman of fifteen or sixteen, pretty, but rather shabbily dressed.  Quinaav recognized her, the girl had been to every afternoon service for the past two months.  Word from the other priests said that she often stayed and prayed silently for as long as half an hour after services were over, but never asked a an acolyte for advice or intercession.

Quinaav quickly gave orders to the other acolytes, sending some to the Sage’s Library, to see if there was any secular information on the prophecy, and the others to tasks around the temple.  Soon, she and the girl were completely alone in the temple – save for Alethanna, whom Quinaav could feel, burning quietly in her chest.

“How may I help you, young lady?” Quinaav asked sitting beside the girl.

“I . . . Priestess, I have never seen anything like what I saw here today,” the girl said softly. “And no ten things have ever made me feel so good as the words you said, and hearing the Lady of Justice say that the things you spoke of are happening right now.

“For years, I have worshipped Alethanna, hoping that I might . . . might someday know what happened to my family.  I know now that I will never see them again.  I have accepted that – and I would like to help . . . to help be sure that no one else has to just ‘accept that.’

“Priestess . . . how do I join your order?”

Quinaav closed her eyes, tears leaking out from under her lids, and smiled, that the girl might know they were tears of happiness.

“What is your name, young Lady?”

“Dannej, Priestess,” the girl whispered. “My name is Dannej.”

“Come with me, Dannej,” Quinaav said, rising and offering her hand. The girl took it, and Quinaav tugged her to her feet. “We shall go to the gardens, and I shall tell you what we do here, and we may together try to find out how best you would fit in.

“And, when that is done, if you still wish to join, we shall find you a robe, and a room.”

“I should . . . I have a job, and Master Samfer is a kind man,” Dannej said.  “I should like to work out the week for him, or until he finds another to replace me, if I might?  If I decide to join, and you decide to accept me, I mean?”

“That would be fine,” Quinaav said.  “And the Lady is pleased that you wish to be fair to one who was fair to you, Dannej.”

As they walked off towards the garden together, Quinaav said, “First, Dannej, you must understand that we are not just scholars and judges, but warriors, as well . . . .”

_________________________________________________

Kale Connor walked across the plaza at the center of the Temple District in a daze.

That was real, he thought.  I heard a Goddess speak to her followers.  I heard her give instruction, offer praise, and declare her affection for those who followed her.

Holy – I mean . . . by the Force!

That was real.  Gods and goddesses are real.  Magic supplied by a God healed me.  Twice!  And I was brought here by a God.  And now I’ve heard one speak . . . .

I think I need to have a long and serious discussion with my inner atheist!

Kale found himself at the doors to Davanek’s temple again.  He stood hesitantly for a moment, then shook his head to clear it and entered.  Chana and her girlfriend were still on duty here in the main room, watching for worshippers who needed more than simple prayer to meet their needs.

Kale sat all afternoon.  He moved from his seat only once, to use the bathroom.  He sat, and he watched, and he thought.  For the first time in many years, he opened his mind – completely – to the possibility of accepting a higher power into his life.  There were only a couple of things left to do – and Kale was willing to trust that, if he were supposed to believe now, those things would surely happen.

He was still sitting there when people began drifting in for the sunset service.  He sat where he was, several rows back from the altar, and tried to be inconspicuous.  Finally, several priests and a priestess came out from behind the statue of Davanek that dominated the altar.  All wore long tunics over trousers, in red and gold.  Kale recognized Palkor, the high priest he’d met the night before, as the man took his position at the lectern.

“Davanek’s blessing on you all,” Palkor said in opening.  “May honor and excellence follow you through life.

“Today, I am moved to speak of honor . . . and of warfare.”

There was a sort of settling in, then, as people made themselves comfortable on the benches.  Kale found himself leaning forward slightly, listening eagerly.

“One of my dearest friends in the city is Lomarr, a Priest of the Goddess Myssarra.  Today, as we do once or twice every moon, Lomarr and I had lunch, and played a game of chess after.  And we spoke of religion, as we often do.

“Lomarr asked me if I was never puzzled by the seeming dichotomy of Davanek’s title.  ‘The Lord of Honorable Warfare.’  Or sometimes just ‘the Lord of Honor.’

“The answer I gave Lomarr directed the things I would say today.”

For a long moment, Palkor was silent, looking down, gathering his thoughts almost visibly.

“Man is a violent creature,” Palkor said at last, lifting his head to look out over the congregation.  “As are elves, though less so.  And dwarves, and littles . . . all sentient creatures have some tendency towards violence.  When we no longer have these tendencies, as races, we will be ready to take our places alongside the Gods, and watch over whatever races come after us – or so I believe.

“But the violence of the world, and of those who inhabit it . . . those are not beliefs.  Those are observed facts.

“War will happen.  Violence will happen.  And Davanek . . . the Lord of Honor tempers the violence done by man and elf and dwarf and little.  He tempers this violence by making us aware that it is horrible – and by showing us how to make it less horrible.

“We who worship Davanek are not so bound by honor as to fight foolishly, always charging in head to head, always refusing to strike first.  No, we are men and women of honor, not of small intelligence.

“Yes, we avoid attacking from ambush when circumstances permit.  Yes, we avoid striking the first blow when it is possible.  But . . . in the defense of what is right and good, these things are not always possible.  Sometimes, you must use guile against a beguiling foe.  Sometimes, you must strike an enemy, before he strikes an innocent.

“The honor is in the motivation for fighting, not the method.

“Why do we fight?

“To defend those who are our friends, our allies.  To defend those who cannot defend themselves.  And to . . . stand on a line, and hold it against the darkness.  To say, ‘That’s enough!  You are wrong, and if you will not stop doing what is wrong, we will make you stop!’ ”

Kale did not miss the words that Palkor had said to him the night before, and he knew that Palkor knew he was here.

“We who worship the Lord of Honor stand and fight against those who would harm or destroy the innocent.  We fight honorably – and we live honorably.  Our word is never broken.  Surrender, given in good faith, is never refused.  A cry for help from those who are outnumbered or in some way outdone is never refused.

“We are the most competent warriors the world has ever seen, simply because we understand the truth – wars will be fought, violence will be done.  These things can be done well, or poorly.

“We do them well.  We do them very well.

“And when we fight those wars, when we do that violence – things are simply less horrible than they would have been otherwise.”

Kale sighed, as the others in the congregation murmured agreement.

Okay, now that’s just plain sane! Kale thought.  Nothing impossible to live up to.  No expectations of perfection.  No self deluding lies about the glory of battle!  Making things less horrible . . . I can do that.  I can!

Ax, when this service is over, you and I are going to have to have a talk.

Kale sat through the rest of the service quietly, listening to Palkor tell of a long ago war that had been destroying the countryside of innocent people – until Davanek’s men, coming from both of the nations at war, forced the armies of the nations into areas where the ground was too rocky for farming, and less harm would be done.

He liked it.  Kale found himself admiring Davanek, thinking of Davanek as, if not a God, certainly a warrior he could follow, a . . . being of principle.

I may not be entirely ready to face your godhood, Ax, Kale thought, as those around him stood to leave when the service was over.  But . . . I think I can, now.  I just need some personal bit of . . . I need to feel your divinity, as I felt Alethanna’s, and then . . . one worshipper from a far away place, coming right up.

There was no one left in the temple.  The place was apparently not open for public prayers in the evening, Kale remembered that it had been empty the night before when he came in.  A priest started to approach Kale, when he stayed after the service – but Palkor waved him off, and Kale Sword-breaker was left alone in the temple of the God of Honorable Warfare.

Kale eventually moved up to the altar.  He stood there, unsure of whether or not he could kneel, and waited silently.  He didn’t know what he was waiting for . . . but he waited.

He was hungry, but he didn’t leave the temple to get food.  He waited.

Kale had no idea how long he’d been standing there, trying desperately to compose a prayer in his head and failing miserably, when he heard a pounding on one of the side doors to the room, one he had noticed before, but written off as an “emergency exit.”  It was heavily barred, but there was a small window that could be opened.

Cautiously, Kale opened the small window, and looked out.  What he saw caused him to snarl a curse, and fling the bar off of the door.  Two of the city guard were outside the door, bearing a third between them.  They were all spattered with blood.

“We need a cleric!” the first man in snapped, knowing from Kale’s clothes that he was no cleric.

“I’m not familiar with the temple,” Kale said as they laid the third man down.  “But I know something about emergency medical care.  Send your man for a cleric!”

“Dall, find a cleric, before Rikas dies!” the man in charge snapped.  “Warrior, I think there’s nothing that any but a cleric can do for Rikas, though I’d welcome any attempt you can make!”

“Get his feet up, prop them up,” Kale said, jerking the injured man’s dagger from its sheath and slitting his tunic.  He recognized the wounded Guardsman, he’d been one of those who responded to Kale’s fight in the alley the night before.  “Get his head turned, so if he vomits, he won’t choke.  This armor – !”

The older man did something at the injured man’s shoulders, and the leather armor chest-piece came free in Kale’s hands, giving him free access to the wound –

And Kale felt sick, and shook his head.  A nine inch long gash across the man’s stomach was bleeding profusely – and leaking fluids of colors that plainly said they were not blood.  And Kale could see organs, trying to press out of the wound.

“Oh, Hell,” Kale choked.  “I don’t think – ”

The man opened his eyes, and screamed, and began to thrash around.  His friend tried to hold him down, but his pain and panic were giving him a horrid strength.

“Damn it, man, do something!” the Guardsman yelled at Kale in desperation.

“I’m no cleric!” Kale said.  “And I’m no miracle – ”

Kale froze for a moment, then spun around.

“Davanek!” Kale said.  He turned his eyes up to the statue’s face.  “Davanek . . . please!  Your priests aren’t here yet, and this man has no time!  Please, do something!  Or . . . show me how, I can’t just let him die!  He’s – last night, he was there, ready to help!  He’s a good man, an honorable man!

“He was hurt doing his job, I don’t know how, but it’s obvious!  He was . . . he stood on a line, Davanek, and he held that line – and now he’s bleeding for it!

“Help me help him!”

Gently, Kale Sword-breaker.

The voice in Kale’s head was very familiar, and he almost sobbed in relief.  “Ax!”

I like that name, you know, the voice said.  I’d be pleased if you kept calling me that, Kale Sword-breaker.

“I will!  But Ax, please!  He needs help, Rikas needs help now, and I don’t know where your priests are!  Help him, please!”

My priests are dealing with the rest of the action that led to Rikas being hurt, Davanek said.  Kale felt the warmth and power of Ax’s personality washing over him, and it calmed him.  Jaranaset’s priests are . . . daring, tonight.

Yes.  You may help him, Kale.  Just . . . open yourself to me, for a moment, Kale.

“I – I’ll try,” Kale said.  “I just – Ax, I’m scared.  If I can’t – ”

But you can.  Davanek’s voice was warm, and calm – like Kale’s father’s voice, when his father had accompanied him to martial arts tournaments, coached him, calmed him, helped him get over his pre-fight jitters.  I know you can.  The funny thing about being a God, Kale Sword-breaker?  You can’t help but believe in those who believe in you.

Now . . . to borrow from another old man of honor . . . “Do . . . or do not.  There is no try.”

Kale actually chuckled at that.  Davanek hadn’t just borrowed the words, he’d done a good Yoda impersonation.  And it was those words, words from a story that had been a part of Kale’s life since before he could talk, that allowed him to let Davanek into his head.

“Anybody who can imitate Yoda that well can’t be a bad guy,” Kale whispered.  “Tell me what to do, Ax.”

You aren’t ready for the power it would take to heal him of his injuries, Kale, Ax said in Kale’s head.  But . . . yes, I can give you the power to stabilize him, stop his bleeding, and put him to sleep, so that he doesn’t hurt himself.

Put your hands here . . . and here.  Kale actually felt Davanek’s big, powerful hands guide his to a spot on Rikas’s forehead, and a place just above the gash in his stomach.  Yes, that’s it.  Now, the hard part . . . Kale, you have to shape the power.  I can’t do that.  And you lack the knowledge, with no time to teach you the language for shaping my power.

“So, how . . . ?”

When all else fails, Ax said, fall back on the familiar.

“Huh?”

Treat my power as you would something for which you do know the rules, Davanek explained.  In other words . . . use the Force, Kale.

“Oh, wow,” Kale breathed.  “Yes.  Yes . . . .”

There was a warm flow of power, then.  Kale saw it as coming from the statue of Davanek, a stream of red and gold light.  He closed his eyes, not trusting them, and felt for the power that flowed through him.

The power flowed into Kale, through him into the injured man, and he felt the injuries of Rikas of the Guard.  Quickly, not thinking about it, Kale used the power he had flowing through him to close off the leaking organs, seal them gently, naturally, simply . . . accelerating the natural healing process, overriding parts of it, suppressing others, making sure to find the places where Rikas perceived pain, and close the nerves that sent that pain gently down.

Then Kale found all the major bleeders in the wound, and gently clamped them off, knitting the power that flowed through him into little constructs like knots, so that they could be rejoined by a more skilled cleric later.

Finally, he looked at Rikas’s mind, found the fear and anger, and damped them carefully.  By killing the “fight or flight” reflex, damping the adrenal gland, Kale made it not merely possible for Rikas to sleep – but virtually inevitable that he should.

“Kale Sword-breaker . . . !”

Despite the voice’s obvious excitement, it was hushed.  Kale opened his eyes to see Chana, the young acolyte of Davanek that he’d met earlier that afternoon.  She starred at his hands with open amazement, eyes almost comically wide.

Kale glanced down to see a warm golden light just fading from his hands where they rested on Rikas’s head and stomach.

“Hello, Chana,” Kale said.  Suddenly, he was exhausted, and starved.  He smiled at the girl as he lifted his hands from Rikas, and said, “This man still needs healing.  I’ve got him stabilized, but he needs a much more advanced healing than I am ready to even think about doing.  Are the others coming back soon?”

“They are almost here,” Chana said as her girlfriend Mevia came and knelt beside her, also staring at Kale.  “Kale Sword-breaker . . . what happened?”

“Aye,” said the older Guardsman who’d stayed with Kale and Rikas.  “I’d like to know that myself.  One second you’re telling me you’re no cleric – the next, you’re healing my man!  I’m grateful as all the world, Sword-breaker – but I’m confused!”

“On the world where I was born,” Kale said, sitting back on his heels and breathing deeply, his eyes never leaving Rikas’s slowing moving chest, “people would describe what just happened by saying, ‘he got religion’ – but that’s not quite right, I don’t think.

“I think it’s more like ‘religion got me!’

“And I don’t mind.  I don’t mind a bit!”

Beginning | Previous | Next

1