“No! No! My baby, my baby! Do something, please, can’t you, why won’t she breathe, why won’t she breathe? Let me see her, damn you, she won’t-” Her voice trailed off into a deep, breathless sob.
Whill and Tarren reached the door, which was blocked by a tall guard with a bowed head. Whill pushed him aside and entered the room with no resistance. The room was bright, but the scene was a dark one. A woman lay on a blood-soiled bed, being comforted and held down by three older women. One who Whill sensed was her mother held her tight and cried hard into the young woman’s shoulder. A man of about twenty stood with a dead stare and watering eyes aimed at a bundle which lay on a blanket at the foot of the bed. The two guards remained at the door, their eyes on the floor. An elderly man and woman whom Whill suspected to be the town healers huddled over the dying infant, trying urgently to revive it. Whill could hear nothing but his own heart. It pounded in his ears steadily, faint hues of red flashing before his eyes with every beat.
There is no injury, he thought. I can do this. She only needs enough to come back enough to start her heart.
Whill faintly realized that all were now watching him as he advanced into the room toward the infant. He wondered why they did not try to hold him back. Then he saw what they saw: his outstretched hand. From the palm to each fingertip, blue tendrils of light convulsed and danced. The mother had stopped sobbing and stared in wonder. The healers made way for Whill and stepped to the sides, never taking their eyes off Whill. The infant laid upon the blanket, small, weak, unmoving, a blue hue to its skin. The look on her face was that of great discomfort, not peace. She wants to come back, he thought.
As Whill bent and put his hand upon the baby’s head, he instantly felt her presence. Her faint spirit stumbled into his as a blind man might do, lost in an unknown place. The tendrils from Whill’s hand spread across the limp infant’s naked body, becoming ever brighter. Her spirit clung strongly to Whill as he tried desperately to monitor the transfer of energy. Then suddenly he felt a great urgency, a desperate struggle to hold on to life as it slipped away. He felt the baby’s simple emotions, her need for what he gave her. Before he could break contact, a sudden jolt surged through his body, dropping him to his knees. He stiffened as her desperate spirit drained from him as much energy as it could. Whill was no longer in control, unable to stop, fighting hard to break contact, he saw now that the baby had lost her blue color, and through the energy bond he felt the baby’s heart begin to beat. It pounded faster and faster, stronger with every beat her spirit clung to the energy pulses that Whill could not stop. He mustered his strength, told her spirit kindly to let go, but not with words. The spirit responded, and as yet another strange connection was achieved, Whill heard himself gasp.
Now he sensed great knowledge and a vast intellect within the spirit’s consciousness. A wisdom of countless years resided within; memories like waves crashed into him. He saw strange lands and strange people, oceans, forests, and streams where he had never ventured. Mountain ranges foreign to him loomed before his mind’s eye and disappeared, Then a flash, and more memories, faces, feelings, and yet another death in the form of a flash. Another and another, until the lives of this ancient spirit poured into him like an avalanche. Then suddenly it stopped. Now a landscape he recognized spread out before him. The Ky’Dren Mountains, Lake Eardon, and Drakkar Island flashed before him. Then before him stood the Castle of Del’ Oradon, and a feeling of great love. Whill was now oblivious of his physical surroundings. He had no conscious link to the world around him. There was only this spirit, and the memories. He was not afraid; rather he felt great comfort and trust. As he watched the life memories of the spirit unfold, something caught his eye. It had only been a flash, but he asked to see it again. The spirit obliged and he saw in greater detail the form he sought. It was Abram, and he was a young man of in his mid-twenties. Whill could not believe what he saw, and wordlessly he questioned the spirit. It confirmed, and let Whill feel the emotions tied to Abram’s memory. Whill felt love, trust, respect, and great happiness. Abram was a close friend.
Another vision flashed before him, a long corridor hung with great banners. Through the spirit’s memories Whill watched as the view switched to a grand mirror. It felt as if he was looking through the person’s eyes, but he did not see himself in the mirror. Instead a stunningly beautiful woman was reflected back to him. She seemed to be in her late twenties, with long black hair and a flawless face. Whill knew then that for the first and last time in his life, he was looking upon his mother. She gazed at herself and then at her large belly in the mirror. She gave it a few loving strokes before again venturing down the hall. Whill urgently tried to make her turn, but the vision faded. Now all was black, though he was not alone. The spirit that had at one time lived his mother’s life now coddled his as if he were the infant. Without words she relayed to him that she loved him and that she was very proud, as was his father. She made him understand that the baby he had saved was a new life, and would have no memory of him. She told him not to be sad, but thankful that they had shared this rare experience.
Whill knew it was time to go but protested. She reassured him once again, and communicated a great sense of love and pride. Then she was gone, and the world was back. He knelt at the foot of the bed, vision blurred, his eyes burning with hot tears. He could hear the infant wailing loudly, and he smiled to himself as he passed out.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Will was again in the state he had been after healing Tarren. His body ached, his head pounded, and he floated in and out of strange, feverish dreams. He dreamed of his parents, and the mountain, and of places and people he had never known. He awoke briefly to find an old woman wiping his brow with a cool cloth. He attempted to ask of the infant but his head swooned with pain as he fell once again into a deep sleep.
Again the elf woman came to Whill, and with her soothing touch and warm smile she took away all pain. Her beauty surpassed that of any mortal he had ever seen, and he was sure he would be content to stare into her eyes forever. Her face radiated with great compassion, but Whill could sense an urgency born of fear. As she soothed his many pains with her own healing energy, she spoke.
“Whill, he can sense you. You must not use your powers again until you are among us. He knows where you are. You must go now.”
Whill awoke abruptly and sat up. Abram jumped, his eyes heavy. Whill surveyed his surroundings. He knew where he was the house of healing. The old man and woman who had tended to the baby now tended to him, and they seemed as shocked as Abram. Even Tarren stared in wide wonder as Whill attempted to get out of the bed.
“Abram, we must go, we have to leave know!”
Abram gave Whill a look of concern. “Whoa, whoa there friend relax, give yourself a minute. Are you alright?”
Whill found his shirt and other clothes and hurriedly put them on. Tarren retrieved his boots. “Thank you,” he said. “Abram, the elf woman from before told me we should leave, just now, before I awoke.”
Abram’s face turned to a hard scowl. “What else did she say?”
Whill tied his boots quickly. “She said something like ‘he can sense you,’ though I don’t know who she was talking about.”
Abram paced the room for a moment as if in deep thought. “You’re right, we must go, and we must go now. Tarren, go and tell Hagus we are leaving.”
The boy ran out of the room without a word. The old man peered out the window with a scowl. “I don’t know how easily you will escape the crowd, good sir.”