From his early childhood, he was able to care for sick lake birds in Bulcaz, not far from the eastern perimeter of the habitable lands. Zell dwelt with a small community of ice monitors, who studied the expansion and retreat of the great sheets that covered the continent; there wasn’t much for a young boy to do other than slide down ice sheets or otherwise amuse himself. Zell selected birds, since he envied their ability to leave the region, which they did with some regularity. The youth wasn’t able to join with the birds mentally; his skill was not the equivalent of some proto-cazh that made two souls one, a Priestly idea he heard about from the airship crews that supplied the region.
Through the birds, however, Zell got a strong sense of what was wrong with them, where their bodies were hurting. He later understood that it was what the Priests called ilkhmelz: the capacity to feel another’s pain so acutely that it could be isolated. There was no dancing and waving of hands as in the ancient days. It was a quiet process, almost prayerful. Leaving Bulcaz on an airship, he was introduced to others who followed the profession of galdani.
Yet even they had limitations, relying solely on a mind-spirit connection. Zell used his own mixtures of cold-weather leaves and minerals, some heated, some chilled, some lotions, some ingested. He refined these by endless experimentation and a great many bird deaths, until he was finally able to heal more creatures than he killed. And soon he was healing all of them, even the aged.
There was a contradiction in that, of course, for as soon as the birds were well one of the humans in Bulcaz would kill and roast them or put them in a soup. But sometimes, Zell was able to sneak one away, to give it at least a chance for life.
A chance for life, he thought as he returned to the cabin after the unsatisfactory chat with Standor Qala. That was all most galdani, most physicians, could offer. When he settled down to study healing arts in Aankhaan, he found he had the same skill with humans that he possessed with birds. The big difference was that humans were less cooperative, since those in pain could not have their wings pinned. Where birds surrendered, humans fought. After earning a reputation for belligerence in Aankhaan—and healing one of Standor Qala’s essential crew members of persistent airsickness—Zell took to the skies.
Except to collect ingredients for his cures, the physician never left the ship. Qala once suggested that perhaps Zell had meshed too well with the birds; perhaps there was some truth in that. Zell was always happiest when he was aloft.
Yet of all the patients he had treated in his career, the galdani had never met anyone as perplexing as this boy in his care. There was no explanation Zell could think of to account for how, clearly, two beings inhabited one body. The explanation had to be found, not just for Vilu but also for Zelclass="underline" where there were two, there would likely be more. Qala’s concerns and reservations could not be permitted to interfere.
Bayarma had fallen asleep quickly and deeply in his hammock. Vilu was just lying by her side, clutching her toga. Zell drew shut a curtain made of tightly woven vines to give that little corner of his cabin privacy and darkness. The curtain was only drawn during emergency work: in case anyone entered, they would know to leave quietly.
Zell bent in a corner where he kept raw minerals in crates. Beneath these were blankets made of heavy flendro hide. The covers were used for patients with chills and also helped to buffer the more fragile stones during turbulent flight.
Within the covers, its hum muted by the thick skins, was an olivine tile that had been given to him by Palu. It had been gifted before private ownership of the stones had been banned by a rare, joint act of the Priests and Technologists. Any outstanding tiles were supposed to have been turned in.
Zell had retained this one because, unlike Atak, he was not content to misunderstand its qualities. He studied it when he was alone, tried to bond with it, understood that there was great power within… power that he did not understand. Once, however, he had used it to examine the mind of a patient who had been struck by a whipping sail. With it, he was able to see the man’s thoughts. This arcane process, known to the Priests as nuat, had been deemed illegal because of the danger it presented to the patient—minds had liquefied, it was said—and the temptation toward corruption it offered the user. The Drudaya, a group of rogue Priests and Technologists who made a habit of this practice, had been banned.
Zell had no use for fear, he had no tolerance for rules, and he was a healer with two sick patients who defied standard treatment. Nuat offered them “a chance for life.”
The tile seemed to be vibrating with more than its usual quiet hum.
“Responding to my patients?” Zell asked the stone, turning quickly to see if there was any reaction from the boy.
There was, and it was not the kind of mildly curious response he had been expecting. Vilu was crawling toward him across the hammock. Crawling purposefully, not like a boy child but like a predatory animal. The boy was moving awkwardly but only because he was only using one arm. The other arm, the left, was pointed directly at Zell, the first two fingers rigid in his direction.
Bayarma was still asleep, under the influence of the sedative.
“What is it, Vilu?” Zell asked, moving forward.
The boy didn’t answer. Zell realized that the youngster was not looking at him or pointing at him: the tile was the object of Vilu’s attention. Zell stopped. He noticed that the tile was vibrating strangely now, not only causing a mild tremor in his hand but also getting heavier. Zell bent with it.
The boy swung from the hammock, dropped to his knees, and crept forward, the two fingers never wavering. Zell realized, then, that the tile wasn’t getting heavier. It was moving toward the ground, the way some of his heavy stones pulled at each other when placed nearby.
“Vilu, talk to me,” Zell instructed. He was now kneeling as well, facing the boy. The two were just an arm’s length away. “What are you feeling?”
“Fire,” Vilu said.
“Inside you?” Zell asked.
“No,” he replied. He looked at Zell for the first time. “Inside the stone. Inside you.”
The galdani was startled by that, but almost at once he realized the boy was right. The olivine tile was vibrating so rapidly that it was beginning to generate heat, warmth that ran up his arm, into his shoulder, and up his neck. It moved so quickly that it felt like flowing water.
Zell released the tile but the respite was only momentary: it was glowing now and the heat became radiant. The dome of yellow light enveloped him, forcing him back on his palms.
On the other side of the light, Vilu had stopped moving but was still pointing his fingers. He did not seem to feel any heat: rather, he appeared to be undergoing some kind of rapture. His breathing was quickened, his eyes were wide, his mouth was pulled back in an expression that was somewhere between pain and euphoria.
Nuat should not be working so quickly, so decisively, the physician thought. Something has happened to the tile.
As perspiration pushed through the pores of his face and neck, Zell recalled what Qala had said about the tower and the rising heat.
It’s not the fiery rock that’s causing it, Zell realized. It’s the tiles within. Something has caused them to become very active.