CHAPTER 10

HE LIVES

Never give up.

A simple sentence with an incredible meaning.

The only way you lose in life, is if you stop trying.

The situation may seem hopeless, even impossible.

…it’s not.

It only looks that way.

Change your perspective and look again.

Out of small efforts, great results come to pass.

For a night and a day, Lady Alaria waited and watched in complete silence.

If one were to have walked into the room at any time, they could have mistaken her for a piece of art—a flawless statue carved from pristine white marble.

Her delicate hands rested upon the layered fabric of her gown, palms gracefully overlapping, fingers at rest. The frosted locks of her hair rested gently upon her bare shoulders, like the soft dew of morning.

Yet the Lady’s heart was in turmoil.

From the moment her party had arrived, a sense of urgency fueled each word, each movement of the healers. Gifted hands moved over her son, checking, monitoring, testing. Yet no one spoke of Daxänu’s condition. No one reached out to reassure or encourage.

Something was terribly wrong.

Alaria bit her lip.

Among all the races of the world, the Evolu possess the greatest knowledge of the healing arts. As one of the oldest races, they had spent countless generations seeking after the cause and effect of each plant, each mineral, every element they could discover. They knew how one herb affected the body…or the draw it had upon the mind. How pressure or heat applied to one locale affected another entirely.

Over millennia, her people had been called upon by the races of the world to administer to those less skilled. To teach their knowledge to those with open minds and hearts. Intricate skills that most could not comprehend. Could not fathom.

Most of the races lacked the discipline to calm their minds and hearts…to listen.

Among all master healers of the Evolu, it was the Kädettä Aränuä who possessed the greatest skills of all.

It was said that one of the ‘Hands that Heal’ could, by simply observing and meditating over a patient, discover the ailments of a body. To know, by watching the breathing patterns and muscle impulses at the slightest touch, which herb or combination thereof could be administered to restore the balance of a body’s delicate frequencies.

Volumes had been written over the centuries about the ‘voide’ or salves created from rare and famous oils. Extracted by holy apothecary from the purest sources, Evolu oils were highly prized and sought after in every land. Creations so powerful, it is said that in the right hands such oils could bring one back from a certain death.

It was the Kädettä Aränuä who knew how to assist a body to heal itself. How to listen and speak the language of life. Because of this, the Evolu had earned the title of ‘Ihme’ [ee-may]…or prodigy.

Even knowing these truths first hand did not lighten the burden upon Lady Alaria’s heart.

Eyes moved from one Hand to the other.

Three female, one male.

A complete being, moving as one heart, one mind.

The room where Daxänu lay had been transformed to meet the specific requirements of the healing process.

Once cold and sterile, enveloped in stone and glass, the large room now resembled a small, budding forest. Flourishing plants and potted trees had been collected and placed around Daxänu’s bed in earthenware—arranged to be both accessible…and to counteract the toxins present in the air.

Spider plants, snake plants, and golden pothos joined the white flowers of the peace lilies surrounding the head of Daxänu’s bed. Chrysanthemum’s, hedera helix and blood flowers lined the tables, while larger plants such as weeping figs and warneck dracaena’s lined the walls.

Each plant, prepared and delivered by Elder Lamier, was gingerly arranged by the Kädettä Aränuä.

A cracked window allowed a fresh breeze into the room, rustling the leaves of the plants perched upon its ledge, spreading a hint of mint. Layers of filtering—to purify the air and strengthen the patients respiratory system.

Tables scattered about supported potent plants for medicinal purposes. Tamsy, hyssop, catnip, sage, red clover and greenthread—each with their own distinct properties to purge the blood, lungs and body, acting as expectorants, detoxifiers…or to soothe harsh reactions experienced by the body.

Hanging over the bed were crystals of emeralds and jade, peridots and epidote’s, all dangling from slender cords made of fine animal hair.

Daxänu lay upon his bed, the slight rise of his chest and the nearly imperceivable flicker of his eyelids the only movement one could detect. His pale green skin looked as if it had been drained of all but the faintest of color.

Alaria again bit her lip as the Hands moved in silence.

Slow and with purpose they watched, felt, shifted and applied their art to her sleeping child.

Alaria had not eaten since she arrived. It was the way of her people, to join in fasting and prayer when those they loved were taken ill. A gesture of combining ones will, belief and hope to those within a community to strengthen the faith of the whole. To share a portion of ones own health to recharge another in times of weakness.

So she sat…and waited. Crystal blue eyes, which contained only the slightest hint of color to them, remained focused on her greatest treasure.

“Thank you,” she said, just above a whisper.

The High Elder, trying without success to stand motionless in the corner, took a step closer. “My Lady?”

“For alerting me to his…,” Alaria broke off. It took her a moment to calm her quivering lips and hands. Composed once more, she said in a soft, even tone, “I am grateful.”

“He is my friend.”

For a single moment, her eyes dropped from her son. She blinked, looking to the floor. “Yet those who claim to be closest to him…are not here. The Gnolaum, I am told from my daughter Tamorah, is close to my son and,” she hesitated, “the one who my son claims himself…”

Delnar’s eyebrows crinkled, “Morphiophelius?”

She nodded. “Though I have come to appreciate what love and support he has given over time, where is the human who won the title of father? Why does he abandon the affections of my child?”

Delnar gripped his own wrists within the sleeves of his robe and steadied his breathing. “Morphiophelius remained by Dax’s…”

“Daxänu,” Alaria cut in calmly, “…is his given name.”

Nodding, “My apologies. Morphiophelius has remained by Daxänu’s side since they arrived home. Both as a comforter and healer. Together with Elder Jiin, they worked tirelessly to…”

“Yet you did not see fit to inform us sooner of this crisis.”

It was a statement, not a question.

The High Elder felt his hands twitch as they occasionally did in tense negotiations. The trick here was to maintain the diplomacy and respect, while maintaining the dignity and sovereignty of Iskari people. The lady was troubled over the health of her only birth-child.

“The truth of the matter, my Lady, is that we did not think the skills of the evolu would be required.” Delnar made sure to keep his own tone soft and even. “Your son is both loved and respected among our people, most especially by Morphiophelius and Wendell. Once it was discovered that the illness was beyond our skills to counter, we made haste to contact you.” An act Dax was not likely to appreciate once he woke up.

If there was a taboo subject you avoided when talking with Dax, it was his family and homeland.

There had been many conversations over the years. Not always about Dax’s beliefs or feelings, but there were moments where deep frustrations would surface. Points when the pain of being alone overwhelmed the elf…and anger exploded from within.

“He’s been hurting for some time,” Delnar added, “almost for as long as I’ve known him—and he finds peace here, among a people who see his potential. People who see the magnificent being he is striving to become.”

She placed a soft hand over her sons. “Yet he will not accept the truth. Not even from his mother.”

The High Elder nodded again, unwilling to venture further. There was conflict between mother and son—and though the High Elder had never met the Lady until now, Dax’s explanations and perspectives were starting to make sense. The elf’s confidence would be safe with Delnar.

Her head turned, ever-so-slightly, so that she could take in Delnar’s countenance. “You protect him. Even now.” Her expression wavered, lines appearing across her brow, though it was momentarily. “You would not trust your secrets to the Omä-es?”

The Hand paused, all eyes on the Iskari.

“I apologize, my Lady, but Dax…änu,” Delnar corrected himself, “is my friend.” He looked down, trying to bring a genuine smile to his face, to soften the blow his explanation would deliver. “That may not sound like much to some, but among my people, there is no greater title one can have. My first loyalty and devotion is to him, not you.” He bowed his head, “If I may be so bold.”

There was a slight hint of a smile. “You already have.”

Both looked upward as the male Hand drifted to stand…or rather hover, before them. The slim features of his face devoid of any emotion, the Kädettä Aränuä bowed.

“The spirit of the child is strong, my Lady. Exceedingly strong. It lends to the strength of the body without measure…yet,” the thin lips closed.

Alaria swallowed dryly. “Yet?”

“Forgive me,” the Hand continued, seeing her distress, “I do not mean to cause fear. Daxänu will live. The poisons in his body are leeching his life, both draining him and breaking down his lungs and heart. Through the use of oils and aiding his respiratory system through this environment, the damage has been matched.”

For long moments, she started up at the Hand.

“But you…cannot heal him?”

Again a bow—deeper this time. “There are yet things beyond our skills, my Omä-es. This poison has been created not of nature, but of mankind. It doesn’t not obey the laws of its kind.”

Delnar frowned. How was this even possible? An illness beyond the touch of the Evolu?

“But you said he would live.”

The Hand nodded, “There is a strength in him—a seed of light I have not witnessed in generations, even among our own. It struggles to grow, unable to destroy this ailment, but it grasps at our attempts, feeding upon herb and oil. Combined with his will to live, Daxänu has found a position of peace. One which we believe he can maintain.”

Lady Alaria looked back over the sleeping body of her son. “You cannot wake him, then.”

“We cannot.”

The High Elder stood dumbfounded. Not only were there limits to the skills of the evolu, gnomes existed in the world who were justifying the fears of other races. For generations it had been technology, and then technology combined with magic. Now the small race had developed poisons beyond the healing powers of the masters.

…and where had Chuck and Wendell gone to?

“Leave me with my son.”

The firm tone pulled Delnar’s mind back to the present. “My Lady?”

Lady Alaria rose and turned to the side of the bed, her hand remained resting lightly on that of her son. “Do as I ask.”

The Hand hesitated, concern—even a flicker of dread passing over his face. “My Lady, you mustn’t.”

Ignoring them all, she turned her attention to her child—gentle fingers caressing his chilled and sweating face.

Respecting the command of his mistress, the Hand guided the Iskari from the room, following after the High Elder and closing the door behind them.

Delnar looked up at the towering evolu group, “I don’t understand. What is she proposing to do?”

All four of the Evolu healers stood between the Iskari and the entrance, creating a barrier. The male nodded apologetically, “When a child is taunted by nightmares, a mother steps in to battle the nightmares with him.”

****

Wendell’s heart pounded so hard in his chest, it echoed through his skull. Lungs burning, he stumbled to a halt, leaning heavily against a tree to catch his breath. His chest heaved as he gulped air, his throat painfully dry.

The sharp pain stabbed at him—piercing through the fire already present in his chest. Blood continued to seep from a wound just under his ribs, dripping down from beneath the mägoweave.

Ahhhh! he winced, his knees nearly buckling under him. Trembling fingers gripped the cold, sticky spot, refusing to look at it.

He had no idea how long he’d been running, but the pain was slowing him down.

The pain.

Why wasn’t the wound healing?

His free hand rested upon his shirt, feeling the hard circular ridge protruding from his chest.

What’s wrong with you? he wondered.

So far from home—so far from the help of Dax or Chuck…or anyone else he knew in this world, he panicked.

I thought your first job was to heal me?

Wendell could feel the familiar warm tingle of healing power emitted from the gem, but…nothing was happening.

How much blood have I lost?

Wendell blinked through the pain. It was so hard to run. So hard to stand.

He blinked again.

No. This isn’t the time for…no. I have to keep going. No one’s here to help me this time. Think, Wendell….THINK.

He’d lost his way. Nothing looked familiar now. He’d wandered too far from the village. That was the price of not paying attention where you’re going while running from a threat.

The soft blue glow across the horizon meant the rising sun was approaching. The growing light of day provided a new advantage: Wendell was able to see where he was going.

Finally, some good news.

The forest was also thinning out. Easier to run without all the zig-zagging he’d been doing. What he really needed was a place to hide.

Not more than a stones throw away, dry tree limbs snapped.

The hairs on the back of Wendell’s neck jumped to attention.

THA-THUMP-THUMP!

It found me!

Knees trembling, Wendell pushed himself upright once more and started sprinting.

He made for a break in the trees.

His father had wanted to teach him how to hunt…how to use a gun, but Wendell had refused. It seemed like a much more convenient option, buying meat from the grocery store or from the corner butcher. Who wanted to be traipsing around in the mountains with a gun strapped to your back, eating prepackaged food and sleeping in the dirt and mud just so you could shoot Bambi’s distant cousin on his father side, right?

But this wasn’t a defenseless animal.

It was trying to kill Wendell.

For the first time in his life, he regretted not learning the hunting skills his father had offered.

Way to go, Wendell. That’s right, take a stand—preserve the life of the animal because you didn’t want to be a predator…and now you’re wolf food!

Another snap of limbs behind him, pushed him forward.

…it’s gonna eat your freakin’ FACE! He winced again from the pain, small white dots exploding across his peripheral vision.

Not that it would have done him much good at the moment, anyway. There were no gun shops, no pawn shops—and the likelihood of anyone but the gnomes having guns or even gun powder was…

Bow hunting then…?

His foot caught a small rock jutting out from the ground.

Wendell tripped and fell.

With a rather loud grunt, he hit the cold dirt and grass face first.

UNGH!!

The wound in his side screamed. Fire erupted so intense, it threatened to rip consciousness from him.

Biting his cheek, Wendell forced himself to be as silent as he could.

Like two deep set eyes, a pair of mountain caves stared down at Wendell. Openings in the side of stone ahead of him, worn paths leading up to each.

He blinked through the pain.

Get up Wendell…time to hide!

His hand touched the solid ridge of the Ithari under his shirt reassuringly.

Come on, Ithari, don’t let me down.

But it was too late.

The heavy breathing at the nape of his neck caused every muscle in Wendell’s body to contract in fear…