The Sorcery Within

XXX

Alemar held the head of the viper still, the upper fangs draped over the rim of the urn, while Gast delicately milked the venom out. The snake slapped its tail angrily against the sand. Alemar never loosened his grip.

"How poisonous did you say these were?" Alemar asked.

"Compared to what?" the healer responded, calmly stroking the snake's gums with his wooden implement.

"The moonsnake."

"Oh, not nearly so potent as those," Gast assured him. "The bites of these, even from a big individual, would take hours to kill you."

"Wonderful."

"The problem with manhunters is that they are not so retiring as theiltrekal-hasha-sor. They bite many people every year. If they'd behave themselves, we wouldn't have so much work."

Gast and Alemar had spent the previous week boiling and distilling mixtures of various herbs and minerals. The apprentice had not precisely been pleased to learn that they had to acquire some of the poison in order to finish making the antivenin.

"There, that one's done," Gast announced, sitting back.

Alemar held the head of the manhunter so tightly the snake probably couldn't breathe, and walked several dozen yards from their work area to the cleft in the rocks where they had captured it and its companions. He let it go with a firm toss. The snake wriggled instantly into the hole. Alemar returned, gingerly avoiding any shady spots that might hide more of its kind.

Gast cautiously opened the netting where they kept the other manhunters, taken earlier in the day. He inserted the capture stick, with its tiny lasso at the end, and looped the cord around the neck of one of the occupants. He withdrew it, closed and reweighted the netting, and held out his prize so that Alemar could grab it just behind the head.

"Such a fine, fat one." The healer smiled.

Alemar could feel the snake's firm, defiant muscles struggle against his palm and fingers. "How many of these do we have to do?" Alemar asked.

"Why, all of them," Gast said, pointing at the dozen remaining in the netting.

"Good morning," Gast told the plant as he gently dug away the soil at its base, exposing a tuber of imposing size. Alemar watched in disbelief as the healer continued to murmur to it, an endless monologue of encouraging remarks, compliments, and good wishes, such as one might babble to an infant. Gast didn't stop until he had completely removed it from the earth and held it up proudly for Alemar to examine.

The tuber was gnarled and ugly, but the healer had assured his apprentice that, when dried and pulverized, it would form the most important ingredient of several medicines.

"Fine baby, healthy baby," Gast told it, and gestured at the upper plant, which was still attached. "We will let it dry on its own. The tuber will absorb the juices of the stalk and leaves and become more potent. It will be ready to use next month."

The Hab-no-ken kept his prize cradled carefully in his hands as they walked back to their camp. Ahead of them lizards scurried in fright from one long patch of shade to another. The day promised to be hot. "Always reassure thewhakeesh when you harvest it," Gast cautioned. "The feelings it absorbs as it dies are those that will be stored in its flesh. If you insult it, or treat it with indifference, the healing effects will be lessened. And always take it on a summer morning, when it is both refreshed from the cool of the night and ready for the challenge of the new day. By sunset it is tired."

They were in a bunker in the earth, a few minutes' walk from the oasis of Nher, in the northern regions of the territory of the Alyr, the only spot that Gast might be able to call home. Down in the cool underground air, Alemar and his teacher worked by the light of oil lamps. The shelves around them were filled with Gast's pharmacopoeia, both the drugs themselves and the scrolls that outlined their preparation. Alemar's head buzzed with information about the potions, powders, and ointments that he had helped prepare. Gast required that he memorize the major ingredients and their applications, although, thankfully, he was permitted to consult the scrolls for the exact procedures and proportions.

The Hab-no-ken held up a vial. It contained a thick, viscous oil, taken from the frogs who lived in and near the oasis. "A sip of this once a day for a few weeks, and a child with bent limbs will grow firm and straight." Gast shook his head in amazement. "People think we are magicians, but most of our art is recognizing the sorcery within these bits of nature. For every person I heal with my powers, there are thirty I cure with little more than a bit of knowledge." He waved at his library. "Most of the men who discovered these medicines had no trace of the power."

Alemar nodded patiently.

Gast looked at him understandingly. "I know you've been waiting a long time. But these are the real tools," he said, waving his hands around the room. "They are the basics. You have to know them first. Sooner or later, you'll be grateful." He tapped his chest seriously. "In the times when the feeling in here fails to stir, you will always have your lore."

The healer and his apprentice were leaving the oasis, on foot, leading pack animals. They had stayed seven weeks. Alemar was reciting formulas, oblivious to the moment. As they were crossing a sand dune, Gast stopped short. He seemed to be listening. Alemar heard nothing out of the ordinary – only the wind, the cry of a distant bird of prey, the scurrying of lizards in the brush. Eventually the healer said, "Sit here. There is something you must do."

Alemar shrugged and sat cross-legged on the top of the dune. Gast said, "When I reach the outcropping ahead, put yourself into the Trance of the Listener, and wait for my instructions."

Gast trotted off quickly, taking the animals with him. Alemar watched him descend the slope, cross another dune, and finally settle on top of the jumble of rocks. Then the apprentice did as he was bid. Eyes closed, breathing deeply, he easily slipped into the first-level trance.

"Good,"Gast bespoke. The healer had entered the Trance of the Speaker. "Now – listen. Seek no farther than the mound upon which you sit. A voice is crying out to you."

Gast withdrew. Alemar could sense him observing, but nothing more. What could he mean? Alemar began to listen, this time not just with his ears.

He heard grains of sand tumbling endlessly down the lee side of the dune, propelled by the breeze. He heard a lizard sigh. There were roots deep under the dune – he could smell the water they brought up from below, feel the surge of the sap.

And he heard pain.

There was no cry or moan, not even strained breathing. But it was pain nonetheless. Someone was hurt. No, something. There was no human intellect involved. Alemar concentrated, but he could not recognize the pattern of the creature's thoughts. Its agony drowned out any other impressions.

Location, then. Alemar sent his awareness in widening arcs. He made contact again. The thing was behind him, to the right, about twenty paces distant.

"Good,"Gast said. "Awaken. Tend the injured."

Alemar opened his eyes. He walked slowly in the direction he had sensed. Only when he was quite near did he see it.

It was a tortoise.

He knelt down beside it. He had seldom seen the tortoises of the desert. They hibernated ten months out of the year, buried deep in the sand. Even during the few weeks when they were active, they were hard to find, for they likewise burrowed in order to escape the heat of the day. This specimen, a mottled grey individual only as long as Alemar's outstretched hand, was out much later than he should have been.

The reason was apparent. A small, thorny twig was caught in its collar. It could not dislodge the item, nor even withdraw its head into its shell. The barbs had dug into its flesh, and movement only caused it to be skewered more deeply. Drops of ichor had stained the sand beneath its neck.

The tortoise was aware of Alemar. It tried to retreat into its shell. The thorn prevented it. It glared at the man defiantly, opening its formidable beak. Small as it was, Alemar took no chances. He walked over to the nearest stand of brush, broke off a piece, and when he had returned to the tortoise, inserted the stick between its jaws.

It clamped down and wouldn't let go. Alemar tugged and, while the creature's neck was stretched, pulled out the thorn. The wound was superficial and would heal unattended. He left his patient to its own resources, its mouth still full of wood.

He was halfway over to Gast before he realized that this had been the first healing of his apprenticeship.

"Don't belittle it," Gast warned. "You have to start small and work up. To stop pain, you must be able to find it."

"I hope my next patient is more cooperative."

"Possibly. Now that you've healed a tortoise, you can move on to vipers."