Harp of Winds

25 Healing

It was full night by the time Aurian and her winged escort reached Aerillia. The Skyfolk who were bearing her were plainly unhappy about the risk of flying in darkness, and to compound the problem, the peaks were smothered in low-lying banks of cloud, reducing visibility to nothing.

The Mage could hear the muttered complaints of her bearers as she dangled perilously below them in the swinging net. And they thought they had problems! She snorted in disgust. Of all the insane, ridiculous ways to get from one place to another . . . The rough rope meshes dug into her body and the raw, damp chill had pierced her to the very bone, despite the blankets in which she had wrapped herself. And for someone afraid of heights, this was definitely not the way to travel! Aurian was wholeheartedly glad of the darkness, and obscuring cloud, so that she could not see how far she would have to fall, if these winged idiots should accidentally drop her.

“Aurian? My friend, is that you?” They must be nearing Aerillia at last. Hearing Shia’s mental call, the Mage forgot her fear in her concern for her companion. Shia sounded unhappy, and unusually subdued. “Are you all right?” she asked the cat.

“Khanu and I are cold and cramped and hungry. We daren’t even try to dig our way out, for fear of attracting attention. There are Skyfolk down here searching . . . For Anvar as well as ourselves.” Shia’s despairing tone told the Mage that Anvar had not yet been found.

Shuddering, Aurian tried to banish the cold hand of fear that clamped around her heart. I’ll find him, she told herself stubbornly. I know he isn’t dead—I would have felt it! Firmly, she put that worry out of her mind for the present and turned her attention back to Shia. “But in the message I sent, I told Raven to tell the Winged Folk you weren’t to be harmed!”

“Pah!” spat Shia. “She already betrayed us once. I’d put as much trust in Raven as I would put in the rest of these murdering skyborne fiends!” There was a long pause—so long that the Mage began to worry, then an unknown voice—another cat, for sure, but definitely male, broke in: “They killed Hreeza.”

“We failed her,” Shia added bitterly. “We could not come to her in time.” Into Aurian’s mind came a vision of a great cat standing at bay in a ruined building. Her black muzzle was frosted with gray and her movements were stiff with age, but her eyes were still ablaze with courage and defiance. A crowd of Winged Folk were closing around her, armed with stones and knives. “It took her a long time to die.” Shia’s mental tones were almost inaudible. The picture broke up and vanished as Shia lost control of the vision, and Aurian’s heart was overwhelmed by the agony of the great cat’s grief. A wave of anger rose up in her against the Winged Folk who had done this dreadful deed.

“Can’t you fly any faster?” the Mage shouted at her winged bearers. She was desperate to reach Aerillia now, to comfort her friend. “I’m coming!” she told Shia. “We’re almost there. Just hold on a little longer.”

Eventually, Aurian saw the haloed gleams of many lights shining dimly through the pervasive murk. Aerillia at last! Relief washed over her—but it was short-lived, as a great dark shape came hurtling at her through the fog. A leering gargoyle face loomed close, and hard stone struck her hip as the net crashed into the edge of a buttress. Aurian heard her bearers curse as they skimmed the top of the tower with which she’d collided. Her heart leapt into her throat as the sound of wingbeats faltered above her and the net gave a downward lurch. Then the Skyfolk steadied themselves, though the net, with its horrified passenger, was spinning beneath them from the force of the impact, while the Mage indulged in some inventive cursing of her own.

Aurian’s invective was cut short as she was dumped, none too gently, on a pile of excruciatingly sharp-edged rocks. Blast these bloody Winged Folk! she thought sourly, trying to scramble her way out of the tangled meshes. They’re supposed to be expecting us! Why didn’t they bring out some lights? Her escort seemed to be thinking along the same lines, judging by the choice, unflattering phrases that were being called out in the Skyfolk tongue. By the time that Aurian had managed to disentangle herself from the net, she saw some half a dozen lanterns, faint glimmers in the swirling fog, bobbing toward her at ground level.

In the growing light, the Mage saw Chiamh and Yazour struggling out of their own nets, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then she turned her attention to her surroundings. There was little to be seen through the mist, but Aurian could make out the looming shapes of broken pillars above piles of shattered stone. She recognized the ruined temple that she had seen when her spirit had ridden the winds to Aerillia with Chiamh.

There was no time for further thought. The Skyfolk delegation were approaching. Walking between four armed guards were two figures of a different stamp—an aging woman with a strong-boned face and a determined expression, her wings and hair tied in dramatic patterns of black and white, and a pale-skinned, white-winged man with dark hollows of sleeplessness beneath his eyes, and a shock of snowy hair that was belied by the youthfulness of his face. The guards drew back as the two Winged Folk approached the Mage, inclining their heads and extending their wings in the Skyfolk equivalent of a bow. “Lady Aurian,” the woman said. “I am Master Physician Elster. Queen Raven sent us to greet you. She cannot move from her bed—not with her wings so badly injured.” She glanced behind, to make sure that the guards were out of earshot. “Nor would it be wise,” she added softly, “for her to appear in public in her current condition. Thanks to the unlikely assistance of a straying child, who took a message out for Cygnus”—she indicated her white-haired companion”—the people of Aerillia know that the Queen was held prisoner by Blacktalon. They do not know, however, that she is incapable of flight, and therefore of ruling. Should this be discovered, trouble would ensue, for this fell winter is still upon us, and not all our folk were opposed to the High Priest. Some saw him as the harbinger of a golden age, when the Skyfolk would regain their old supremacy—” She threw up her hands in a gesture pf despair. “Lady, we stand on the brink of civil war, and only you can save us.”

Aurian thought of the death of gallant Hreeza, and Shia’s grief. She remembered the pile of catskins brought by the Winged Folk to the Tower of Incondor, where she had been imprisoned through Raven’s treachery. In that moment, she cared little whether or not the Skyfolk nation collapsed . . . Except that, against Miathan, she needed all the help she could get. And at least, as a price for helping Raven, she could put an end to the slaughter of the cats once and for all, and perhaps make peace between the two warring peoples.

Aurian brightened. At least Shia’s poor friend need not have died in vain. Feeling much better about the whole business, the Mage turned back to Elster. “Of course I’ll help you,” she promised, “but before I see Queen Raven, I must locate some friends of mine.” The white-haired Cygnus moved as if to protest, but Aurian Quelled him with a steely glare. “as soon as I have found my friends—and not a minute before,” she said firmly. “Now, show me the way to the passages beneath the temple.” She beckoned to her companions. “Chiamh, Yazour—come with me, please.” The words had scarcely left Aurian’s lips, when:

“I come!”

The Mage was bowled off her feet by a massive flame-eyed shape that was blacker than the darkness. As she went down, Aurian glimpsed, from the corner of her eye, another cat that pulled up just short of Shia’s joyful leap—then Shia was on top of her, purring like approaching thunder, her dark muzzle rubbing Aurian’s face as the two embraced.

“No!” The voice belonged to Chiamh. It was followed by a tearing, high-pitched scream.

As the Mage and Shia leapt apart, Aurian saw the winged guards cowering, arrows dropping from their crossbows and clattering to the ground. The Windeye was standing at bay between the cats and the terrified Skyfolk, his eyes flaring bright silver and reflecting the flickering torchlight, his hands twisting skeins of the mist-heavy air. Looming over the Winged Folk was the hideous shape of a demon.

“Drop your weapons,” Chiamh shouted, “or my creature will attack!” As swords and crossbows clattered to the ground, the Windeye glanced back toward Aurian. “Lady, they were about to kill your friends,” he grated. Red rage coursed through the Mage, but she had no time to indulge it. She could see the strain on Chiamh’s face as he strove to maintain his dread apparition in the sluggish air. Aurian looked at the demon with a shudder. It was far too reminiscent of the Death-Wraiths for her liking, but she had to admit that it was incredibly realistic. She turned to the cowering Skyfolk. “If anyone so much as threatens the lives of these cats, we will turn this abomination loose on the city of Aerillia. Have I made myself clear?”

“As you wish, Lady. I give my word that the beasts will not be harmed.” Elster was ashen, her face taut with anger, but Aurian suspected that the physician’s wrath was aimed at the guards with the crossbows, rather than at herself. Sure enough, she turned at once and began to berate the bowmen, and Aurian smiled to herself. She knew that the woman was masking her fear with anger.

With a sigh of relief, Chiamh dispersed the airs that had formed his monster, and the silver drained from his eyes. Aurian put a steadying arm around him as he sagged with exhaustion. “Thank you, my friend,” she said softly. The Windeye looked at Shia, his brown eyes wide with wonder. “When you told me of the cat that was your friend, I had no idea you meant the savage Black Ghosts of our mountains!”

“Savage, my eye!” snapped Shia. “All we ever had from your kind was arrows and spears—ever since the days you first invaded our mountains and took our lands! True enough, most of your folk have neither the wits nor the wherewithal to communicate with us, but you and your predecessors could have done so!”

“Mother of the beasts!” Chiamh cried, putting a hand to his head. “She did speak! When she leapt on you, Aurian, I was sure I heard her cry out to you in friendship. That was why I helped—else I might have thought she was attacking you, too!”

Aurian smiled. “You two can talk later, and work out peace between your peoples, I hope. Right now, though, our hosts look impatient. I think we had better see Queen Raven.” A hard edge crept into her voice, and at her side, Shia snarled. The Mage laid a comforting hand on the great cat’s head. “I know, my dearest,” she sighed. “But if we’re to find Anvar, we need her support, and that means helping the wretched girl.”

“Aurian?” Chiamh tugged at her arm. “I think I may be able to assist you in your search. May I stay here and make some investigations while you are with the Queen?”

The Mage glanced questioningly at Elster, who nodded. Aurian thanked the physician, and turned back to Chiamh.

“What do you mean, investigations?”

He shook his head. “I would rather not say at this point, and there is no time for long explanations. I will return to you as soon as I can—certainly before the dawn.” With that, Aurian had to be content. She knew the young Windeye could be trusted. She looked back at the sturdy winged bearers, who were readying nets to take her with the rest of her companions across the gulfs of air to the royal apartments, and sighed.

Raven had been dreading Aurian’s arrival. She had always been considerably in awe of the tall, flame-haired Mage, and now that she had given Aurian cause to hate her . . . Raven shuddered, and gasped with pain. Even that small movement sent agony lancing through her ravaged, splinted wings. If only she can help me, the winged girl thought desperately. Unfortunately, despite Aurian’s promise, she had no confidence that the Mage would do anything of the kind. Were our situations reversed, Raven mused, I would not help her . . . Then the door of her chamber opened, and the subject of her thoughts walked in.

For a moment, their eyes locked, then: “Don’t dare to pity me” Raven snapped, before the Mage could turn away, as others had, with that expression in her eyes.

Aurian merely shrugged. “You brought it on yourself,” she said coolly, and the winged girl clenched her teeth with anger. It was even more galling that the Mage had noticed. Aurian raised an eyebrow. “Make your mind up,” she said brutally. “I didn’t come to waste sympathy on you, Raven. I came to Heal you, as I promised—and then we’ll see what you can do to make amends for betraying us all.” The Mage’s stern words were echoed by a low and menacing growl, and Raven’s heart sank to see that Shia, together with another cat, had accompanied Aurian into the chamber. She was further dismayed to see Yazour behind them, his eyes like a naked blade. The winged girl flushed beneath his withering glare. As far back as the forest, the young captain had made it clear that he was attracted to her. When she had repeatedly spurned his tentative advances, his feelings for her had soured. She was astonished, therefore, to see his face turn pale with shock as he took in the extent of her dreadful injuries. He shook his head, dismayed, and tightened his lips as though he did not trust himself to speak.

“Lady, must these animals be in here?” Cygnus, entering with Elster, was frowning. He sidled across the chamber, putting the widest possible space between himself and the intimidating cats, to hover protectively by Raven.

“Yes, they must” Aurian replied shortly. “Now get out of the way, and let me get on with this.”

“What?” Elster looked startled. “You intend to heal her now? Just like that—with no preparation or anything?”

“Well, I must admit, a hot drink would have been welcome on this freezing night, but since no one has offered . . .” The Mage shrugged. “Yes, I’m going to do it now, and I want you two out of here.” She looked hard at the remains of Raven’s wings. “This will be tricky, and if I’m interrupted or distracted while I rebuild the wings, she could end up in a worse state than before I started.”

Raven saw the bitter disappointment on Elster’s face, and a flash of angry denial in the eyes of Cygnus. For a moment she was tempted to insist that they stay. Alone, she would be utterly at the mercy of Aurian and the cats. The Mage was looking at her with one eyebrow raised and a challenging tilt to her chin. “Well, Raven?” she asked softly. “Will you trust me to keep my word—or not?”

“Do not permit this, Your Majesty,” Cygnus urged. Elster said nothing, but she also looked unhappy. The winged girl hesitated—but only for a moment. “I owe you my trust,” she answered softly, “and much more than that.”

The Mage nodded briefly, accepting the sentiment behind the words. Raven turned to the protesting physicians.

“Out,” she said in imperious tones that she had learned from her mother. “Do not return until you are summoned.”

“Actually ...” Aurian was frowning thoughtfully. “One of you must stay. In order to repair that wing, I’ll need a perfect example to work from.” She gestured to Elster. “It had better be you—you’re less excitable than your friend.”

“Lady—no!” Cygnus protested. “I too am a physician. Would you force me to miss such a miracle? It isn’t fair to exclude only me, out of everyone in this chamber.”

Aurian sighed. “Oh, very well.” She looked at Yazour. “If our physician here utters a single sound, I want you to cut his throat.”

Yazour, grinning evilly as he slipped a long, keen dagger from his belt, looked as though he would be only too happy to oblige, and the protest that Raven had been about to make died abruptly on her lips.

As the Mage began to work, there was complete silence in the chamber. Afterward, Raven had few clear recollections of the Healing, but what stood out ever afterward in her memory was the sudden, shocking cessation of pain as Aurian laid a gentle touch upon her wings. In the absence of the agony that had been her constant torment, the winged girl was bathed in a warm, floating wave of euphoria, her body gloriously relaxed as though it suddenly had become weightless. Nothing in her life had ever felt so wonderful. Drowsily, she let her mind float free, barely feeling the lingering tingling glow as the Mage’s hands passed over the shattered wings, and the force of Aurian’s magic sank into mangled tissue and splintered bone, straightening and healing the damage Blacktalon had wrought. If only she could also heal my mind, Raven thought, of the grief I feel for my mother—and for Harihn, despite the fact that he betrayed me. If only she could heal me of the guilt I feel at betraying the Magefolk, and poor Nereni . . . Yet under the benison of Aurian’s Healing touch, even such bitter thoughts had little power to hurt the winged girl. Perhaps, if she could find a way to make amends, she might be truly forgiven... On such a note of hope, Raven’s mind drifted away into dreams.

“That’s it—finished.” Aurian straightened her aching back, and rubbed the last traces of blue Magelight from hands that had begun to shake with tiredness and tension. The repair of Raven’s intricate wings had been by far the most difficult Healing she had ever attempted. The Gods only knew how long it had taken! Rubbing her stinging eyes, the Mage glanced out of the window. Although it was still dark outside, she could sense that peculiar lightening of the air and the spirit that comes when the night has turned toward the dawn.

Aurian turned away from the window, belatedly aware that no one had replied to her comment. Raven was asleep already, Shia and Khanu were also sleeping, curled tightly together in a corner, black on dappled black and gold. Yazour was rummaging behind embroidered curtains, peering into the alcoves they concealed, “They must keep some wine somewhere in this room,” he muttered,

Cygnus and Elster were staring, mouths agape, at Raven’s wings. “Impossible!” whispered the young physician. Elster shook her head. “No! she contradicted. “It was truly a miracle.” For the first time, she smiled at Aurian with genuine warmth. “My Lady, how can we ever recompense you for saving our Queen?”

The Mage grinned back at her. “Well, to begin with, some food and wine and a warm place to rest would help,” Having expended so much energy in Healing Raven, she was sagging with exhaustion. “Tomorrow,” she added wryly, “I’ll talk to Raven, and let you know what else,”

“What now, Aurian?” Yazour, about to fling himself on the spindly, backless couch, took a second look at its delicate construction and lowered himself more circumspectly.

The Mage eased her worn boots off and lay back in the central hollow of the peculiar, circular bed. “Let me eat and rest for a little while, and as soon as we have some daylight, we’ll try to find out what happened to Anvar.”

Aurian reached out to the low table that stood by the bed, and took another piece of the heavy, soggy bread that seemed to have been made from ground-up tubers. She grimaced as she swallowed. “Gods, they are short of food,” she commented. “If the Winged Folk are so desperate, no wonder Blacktalon managed to gain his hold over the city.”

Yazour grunted a sleepy response. His eyes were already closing, and briefly, Aurian envied him. Forral had taught her, long ago, the warrior’s trick of snatching brief moments of sleep wherever possible, but though the circular tower chamber, with its thick, draftproof hangings, woven matting, and smoldering iron brazier in the corner, was the warmest place she had encountered since leaving the desert, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to stave off the urge to sleep, she knew there would be no real rest for her until she found her fellow Mage. Aurian took a sip of the thin, sour wine that was all that was left in Aerillia, and wished in vain for liafa. When a disturbance on the landing platform outside heralded the arrival of Chiamh, she welcomed him with undisguised relief.

Shia opened a sleepy eye as the Windeye entered, and came sharply to attention. The cat was as anxious as Aurian to find some trace of Anvar. Chiamh dusted flecks of snow from his cloak and stood shivering by the brazier, warming his hands. The Mage passed a cup of wine to him. “Did you find anything?” she asked urgently.

The Windeye shrugged. “I have news indeed—but good or bad, I cannot say. Have you heard of the Moldai, Lady?”

“The giant earth-elementals?” Aurian frowned. “Only in the ancient legends of the Cataclysm. I thought the ancient Magefolk had sent them out of the world, along with the Phaerie. What have they to do with anything?”

“More than you think.” Chiamh answered. “The Moldai were not sent out of the world, but merely imprisoned, sleeping, in the mountains that are their mundane flesh and bone.” He laid an urgent hand on her arm, his nearsighted brown eyes blinking up at her earnestly. “Aurian, the Moldai are awake once more. In my own lands, I have spoken several times with the Moldan of the Wyndveil Peak. And do you know what has awakened them? The finding of the Staff of Earth.”

Aurian stared at him, aghast. “What? You mean these things are on the loose again? And it’s all my fault?”

“Not on the loose, exactly—not in this level of existence, at any rate,” Ghiamh told her. “But they are awake now, and powerful—and not all have the good intentions of my friend Basileus, the Wyndveil Moldan’

Aurian saw his hesitation, and shuddered. Already, she had a sinking feeling that she knew what his next words would be. “Are you trying to tell me,” she said softly, “that there’s one of these elementals here in Aerillia?”

“There is,” the Windeye answered grimly. He could barely meet her gaze. “The Staff of Earth would prove an irresistible temptation to such a creature. Though this peak is unmistakably a Moldan, its consciousness is absent from this world, I fear it wanders other realms, far beyond this mundane plane—and that if you say your friend is not dead, I fear that it has taken Anvar with it, to wrest away the Staff. If it succeeds ...” The Windeye shuddered. “Who can say what will become of our poor world.”