Metal and Flesh (The Rohvim, Book 1)

22.2 Healed

As his hand closed around the locks and touched the scalp, he felt glimmers of feeling pulse into him. Fear. Longing. Sadness. He pressed the sword firmly to the man's neck, preparing to cut, a thin line of blood appearing where the steel met flesh. His hand hovered, quivering, over the warlord's face. The whispers of emotion called to him. He looked down at the man's face, now coughing up blood, a look of pure hatred painted on it. And yet flowed still: desire for mercy, for peace, for release. Aeden's heart swelled, and he felt pity for the dying man below him. Seeing the blood flow freely from the warlord's abdomen, he dropped his sword and placed his hand on the man's head, both now gently covering it, and entered. 

   He wheeled around, searching for the warlord, but he was nowhere to be found. "Who are you?" a voice asked. He turned, and, standing next to the wall, stood a man Aeden did not recognize. He was older, tall, gaunt, and looked at Aeden with deep, heavyset eyes. Aeden stared at him, not understanding.

   "Who am I? Who are you? Where is Shiavo?" 

   The gaunt man looked at him grimly and replied, "Shiavo is my slave."

   Aeden repeated, "Who are you?"

   The man replied, "I asked you first. But very well. My name is Yoruth. And we are now at an end. As you can see, I am but a copy of my true self-A powerful, nearly complete copy, yes, but a copy nonetheless. I am no match for you here. I will leave now. You have won this round. But there are many rounds to go yet, and I assure you," he paused, tilting his head toward Aeden, looking up at him, "I will prevail. It is prophesied to be so."

   Before Aeden's eyes, the man flickered and dissolved away, leaving a wall flashing with red and orange. He stood there, processing what had just happened, and then sprang into action, running over to the wall to examine it. He found the blood controls and attempted to redirect flow while with his real hand he reached down and gathered up a fistful of the man's tunic, pressing it into the wound. He reached and manipulated the blood to send a reconstructing fluid to the pierced area. The man's lung controls blared red and as he watched the broken body it wretched up more blood. Aeden rushed, hands in a flurry over the controls to save the dying man. One light turned yellow and three more turned red. He made steady progress, only for a cascade of red lights to sprout up.

   At last, the entire board was a mass of flashing red, and he knew he had failed. Slumping to the ground, eyes blinking rapidly, he called aloud in the man's mind, and aloud to the room,

   "Great Creator, I do not know this man, or what wrongs he has done, but save him now. I have done all I can. Please save him now."

   He raised his hand, placing it gently up on the wall, and a flood of emotion flowed through him, the same feelings as before-pain, desire for release and mercy, and now, a glimmer of hope and faith, but the feelings were diminishing. He hung his head and left the man's mind. He remained kneeling, one hand still cradling the bloody head, the other pressing on the wound.

   He remained in this position, steady, for several minutes, and tears surged into his eyes, blurring his vision of the dying man before him. The drops fell down on the bloody face.

   The man stirred.

   Aeden blinked and looked down at him, his breath held.

   The man moaned, but breathed deeply. With some trepidation, he removed his hand on the wound and joined it with his other hand on the man's head and entered again. He looked.

   The red was gone. Some orange, some yellow, and some green had taken its place. As he watched, several more oranges turned yellow. He leapt forward and began again, slowly but surely healing the man, repairing the damage, draining the lungs, righting wrongs.

   Who are you? A voice asked. Aeden turned and saw the man standing behind him.

   He answered, Aeden Rossam of Elbeth.

    Shock covered the man's face. And joy. He rushed to Aeden and grabbed him, pulling him in a close embrace.

   Aeden, alarmed, struggled to pull away, but the man held tight and continued, You found me. You found me, Great Creator be praised, you found me, he sobbed.

   Aeden, confused, asked, Who are you? The man released his hold and grabbed Aeden's head with both hands.

   My baby brother found me!

   The two brothers sobbed, holding each other tight. Minutes, or possibly hours passed, the two men reluctant to part, fearing it a dream, but finally Aeden pulled away to arm's length, looked at his brother again, and left the mind.

   He sat looking down at the bloody head now staring up at him. The man mumbled weakly, "You found me." Tears splattered down Aeden's cheek, landing on the bloody face, and smiling, Aeden wiped the blood and the tears away with his sleeve of the armor of the shopkeeper of Ramath, still cradling his brother's head.

   Betha groggily awoke, again, and approaching the two brothers, saw them-their faces side by side, and understood. She knelt next to Aeden, and began to sing, his shaking voice joining hers after a moment:

  

   "My comfort, my joy, my soul's delight,

   Welcome, beloved, my song in the night

   Has lingered long, enduring bright,

   Take my hand, beloved, my soul's delight."