Oren's Return

The moon, plagued by clouds, now broke free, revealing the girl.

The Gibbor ran down the hill, looking for Bridon and found him, but only because he knew where to search. Bridon, still in the falcon shape, was barely discernable.

“I did not betray.” The man half spoke, half squawked. Though his speech was garbled, the Gibbor understood every word.

“Be at rest. My ward stone whispered the truth as I ran. Your stone rests against soft flesh, not in evil hands.”

After several failed attempts to say more, Bridon rasped. “Name me.”

The Gibbor then spoke to the Deep. He had that power, a great one, to intercede. “Bridon, Brother of the Blue Stone, slain by the Dark, enters. Unroll his path.”

At that, Bridon, the boisterous roller of dice and philosopher to deer, squirrels and chipmunks, entered the peace of the Deep.

A poof and all that was left was a glaze on the ground, and in a blink, that was gone as well.

The Gibbor stared at the unmarked ground, sorrow piercing deeply into his heart as it had on the Day of the Slaughter. How had the Curse Blessed gained so much power? Would another of the Brotherhood be killed? Why had the Dark grown so bold?

The answer came in the form of a baby’s cry.

With a start, the Gibbor remembered the Earth Child and the girl, a dying girl, no less. He found the basket first and lifted the boy out, but at his touch, the child screamed louder, rousing others from their tents, and now two women came running, one of them Abella, a healer and the wisest women he’d ever known. The other woman, Fala, never slept well, and thought the cry was from a child she had lost long ago.

Abella took the babe from his arms, quickly unwrapped him and judging him unhurt, handed him to Fala. “Take him to my tent and guard him with your life.” The woman nodded, fierceness leaping in her eyes. She’d lost one child; she would not lose this.

Abella followed a trail of personal items down the slope and found the girl. At the Gibbor’s order, several men located a stretcher.

The moon, plagued by clouds, now broke free, fully revealing the girl. She was young, with long tousled hair covering most of her face. Given the talon marks on her right arm, the Gibbor realized that she must have been clutching the babe with one arm and Bridon’s claw with the other. He squatted and pulled back her hair. So young, and so very still. Perhaps she was dead. “What do you think, Abella?”

“Tell the men to take her straightway to the warming cave, she said to the Gibbor as the men ran down the hill.

“But that cave is for . . . “ began the Gibbor.

Abella stopped but did not turn around, “Don’t say it. Sometimes, they hear.”

“What do you mean?”

She motioned him away from the girl. “Other than the talon marks, what do you see?”

The Gibbor walked back, squatted. Besides the obvious marks, and barely discernable in the night lit sky, were tiny marks all over her body, even on her cheek. They resembled tiny wolf heads.

He backed away. “She’s been bitten, but by what?”

“Have you forgotten the weapons of the Dark?” she asked, angrily. “The Tu’el couldn’t use his pack of wolves through the air, so he sent the wolf midges. Their bites are tiny but deep. Enough of them and the bites are lethal. Perhaps a poison, I don’t know. They tear themselves apart before they can be captured.”

The two men carrying the stretcher stood waiting. “Take her to the warm cave,” And before they could question, she added, “Go now, and handle her carefully. And tell Fala to get the helpers prepared.”

The Gibbor watched as the men put the limp figure on the stretcher, carefully, though it was evident they were repelled, believing her already dead.

He recalled the flashes in his blue stone as he’d run down the hill and now locked them together, deciphering what they meant. As clear as a dream, he could see the escape from the wagon, then her holding onto Bridon’s claw with one hand while she gripped the basket in the other. Bridon had done his best to fly above the rain, but he couldn’t avoid the cold, nor could he stop the wolf midges sent to destroy the boy. Further back, he saw Bridon trapped by a fat man, no doubt in league with the Tu’el, and sucked into one of his infamous Bottles of Breath. At least they were now broken—made by the light and ravaged by the Dark. As for Bridon’s blue stone, all he could see was the cleavage of a voluptuous bosom, which he dismissed quickly, believing Tianne still lurked somewhere in his mind.

He followed Abella and the stretcher up the hill to the cave kept for those whose time was near. It was a cave always kept warm, and soon after they entered, another of Abella’s helpers began spooning a broth carefully into the girl’s mouth, and the girl was swallowing.

“The others have left, thinking nothing could be done,” said the woman. “I thought I’d try some broth.”

“You may go now, Enota,” said Abella. “Thank you.”

Enota nodded and left taking the bowl and spoon.

As for the other women, they’d done their work. They’d ordered the men to bring furs. Lots of furs. Then, they’d stripped the girl of her sodden clothes and wrapped her body in linens before the furs arrived. They’d untangled her hair, allowing it to dry before the fire. Though she could manage the broth, the girl hadn’t warmed nor made a sound.

“She is what is called a living corpse,” pronounced Abella.

“This is bad news,” the Gibbor muttered, kneeling to touch her forehead. As Abella had said, she was cold to the touch. He pinched her cheek gently, then not so gently, lifted an eyelid and poked a rib. No response. “You’re right.”

“Have you ever known a time when I wasn’t?” Abella tapped her foot against the floor of the cave.

“No one has ever seen a case like this.”

“I have,” replied Abella.

The Gibbor looked up, slack jawed. Abella had a mind that remembered the slightest detail, who found solutions where others saw only problems. She also had a habit of withholding information. She liked to see him flabbergasted, and she liked to have the last word.

“When? Why wasn’t I told?”

“It was during one of the Spring Callings, several years ago. You were. . .“

She twirled a finger in the air.

The Gibbor had no choice but to stand patiently, though a sigh did escape him. A story was coming and, yes, he’d caught the rhythm of it. There would be more toying and more pauses.

“What happened?”

“Wolf Midges were flying just beyond the light. You know Emin?”

“Of course, I know Emin, he’s one of the guards.”

“Right,” she continued. “Do you remember Emin when he was small?”

The Gibbor made no response.

“He was always running off, and during one Spring Calling, he went well past the bonfires. Oren was holding the, the…” She made an oversized shape in the air.

“Spirit Shield.”

“Exactly! Spirits were hitting it right and left, but Emin, he was out of range, in the dark and met wolf midges along the way. His brothers heard his screams, and the men ran down with torches. Of course, Oren came down from the Jutting Rock, but it was too late. The boy had been bitten.”

“How did I miss this?” asked the Gibbor and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Again, she made a twirling motion.

Finally, he vaguely remembered a boy being carried into a tent. The child looked stunned, as though he’d fallen but boys were always falling, hitting their heads, breaking their arms.

“But Emin is strong and healthy! How did he survive?”

“The wolf midges were plucked out by his brothers before they got deeply into his skin. Even so, it took him a season to heal. But this girl,” She dropped to one knee. “She has been pierced time and again. Death has filled her heart. She won’t come back,” Then, Abella sighed, giving him the worst news yet. “She doesn’t want to.”

“Is death so beguiling then?” he asked, then let out a curse that made even Abella blush.

She’d no answer, and he’d no time to hear it, for the shouting had begun and the Gibbor knew the first of the Brethren had arrived. He left the warming cave without a word, and for the rest of the night he caught up with the Brethren of the Blue Stone, telling them what had happened to Bridon, listening to them swear vengeance on his murderer and how would the twelfth member come to them if the stone couldn’t be found?

That was a crucial question, particularly as the Gibbor didn’t want to give up his only clue. Much debate had taken place, and so they’d ended the night with no conclusion. He went to sleep, knew that Abella was safe in the warming cave, that Bridon was on his path in the Deep, and that the Earth Child was slumbering under Fala’s watchful eye. Bridon’s last thought, however, was of the girl, wondering if she’d die before he ever learned her name.

And in the morning, who should come but Oren, black and blue from some horrific beating, telling him of the disaster that had struck Casoria, but that he must go back now, as he’d left his betrothed behind.

“You got betrothed? When did this happen?”

“When I decided.”

The Gibbor paused. “And did the lady agree?”

“Of course!” Oren was visibly affronted.

Great God above, the boy was in love and half mad with it. Carefully, the Gibbor changed the subject.

“The Earth Child is here,” replied the Gibbor. “A young girl brought him. Bridon carried both she and the babe in his falcon form. He has entered now entered the Deep.”

Oren gave no thought to Bridon but said, “Mirella is here?”

“You know this girl?”

“The girl is Mirella and she is my betrothed,” he shouted. “I must see her!”

The Gibbor motioned for Oren to follow him. They walked to the warming cave and entered to find Abella was spooning more broth in her mouth. The living corpse was what Abella generally called her. The Gibbor hoped she wouldn’t use the phrase in front of Oren now.

She didn’t. She told the truth.

“What are you doing here?” She nodded at Oren. “This girl is dying. Death has touched her core.”

Oren challenged Abella with a snarl. “You know nothing. She will not die.”

Abella had raised six sons and was not put off by male aggression. “She is what we healers call a living corpse. She is—”

“Get out!”

In confusion, Abella looked at the Gibbor. “Do you say nothing to this insolent whelp you raised from a boy?”

“Best to go, Abella. He knows the girl.”

“The girl is Mirella,” he roared, “She is my betrothed. I won’t allow her to die!”

With a huff of disapproval, Abella left.

“Was that necessary?” asked the Gibbor.

Oren shrugged. “I can save her.”

“How?”

Oren told him. As best he could, in a few words as possible.

“Oren, surely not! She is a maid!” The Gibbor was shocked.

“And she will remain so! I will do nothing untoward!” Oren was shouting loud enough to wake the dead. “The wolf midges crave warmth and she is cold. In their anger at the cold, they are killing her. I will lie beside her and let them smell warm blood. They will come to me.”

“Very well, I will leave you to your cure.” He emphasized the last word, though he wasn’t exactly sure of the word. He wasn’t sure of anything at the moment. Maybe Oren wasn’t a mad man. Maybe he was only a man desperately in love. Maybe his idea would work.

The Gibbor paused before lifting the skin over the door. “Patience guide you, Oren, don’t step ahead.”

Oren nodded, and waited a full fifteen full seconds before stripping off his clothes.