~Advice From The Gods~
The moment the physician arrived, Hermes didn't hesitate to pull off his blood-soaked robe and toss it to the floor. If he had been a less man, he would have frowned in disgust.
Across from him, on the other side of the bed, Meéarine shook her head at his antics. Of course, she would know how much distaste he felt towards the ruined cloth.
The swirls of ink decorating the left half of her face glittered when they caught the moonlight pouring into the room from its single window, almost silver on her dark skin.
"This was not a fight you should have had," she said softly but her voice retained its characteristic deepness, giving the feel that she was nothing but a vessel for its words-which she often was.
She tilted her head to the side, fixing her milky irises in Hermes' direction. "You should have been aware."
He looked at her and held her gaze. She possessed the eyes of the blind yet he knew she could see better than any man on Mother Earth. He didn't bother hiding his amusement. "Is that advice from the gods?"
The physician knelt behind him dabbed at his wounds with a wet cotton cloth, and Hermes had to look away from the pan on the floor as its contents turned red.
He felt his stomach churn at the thought of the crimson fluid dripping down his ebony skin. The smell of iron pervaded his senses now more than ever; he could almost taste it on his tongue.
When his vision blurred, he clenched his fists and persevered, ramrod straight as his wounds were reopened to be cleaned. Though the physician was a trusted one, Hermes could not have anyone knowing what ailed him. He had enough to worry about in court for there to be accusations of his being of failing health.
If Meéarine noticed his change in demeanor, she didn't comment on it.
"It is the advice of the common people." The Deádim used a pair of scissors to cut the shaft of the bolt sticking out of the nun then covered the area with red powder shaken out of a bottle she had gotten out of her satchel. "You were in no condition to fight. And now, you are in an even worse condition to brave the storms, Hekknï."
"I will be fine," he said, hissing when the physician finally got to the worst of his wounds, the large gash cutting into his shoulder.
"You will need to be knitted back together," she said and lit a candle with a graceful flick of her wrist. "I will have to brew you herbs for the pain."
"I do not need them."
"You will, tomorrow night when it begins to rain and rage." She pulled out two small knives and set them on the table that the candle stood. "Do not argue, Hekknï."
The physician walked in front of Hermes, hunched forward in a servile position. He showed the emperor the needle and suture in his hand before settling in front of his shoulder wound when he was given a nod of approval.
"I do not understand," Hermes admitted, forcibly relaxing his muscles as the needle pierced into his skin and the thread was tugged through. "My mother was attacked tonight but you did not visit her, yet you provide your services to a woman who is unaware."
"The Queen Mother is healthy, but in shock," Meéarine stated. "The gods brought me here, rightfully so."
She reached into her satchel and extracted a vial. She pulled out its cork with a loud pop and gently parted the nun's lips to dribble half of its contents into her mouth.
"The only physician with knowledge on how to save her took his life two nights ago. If I do not heal her, she will die," the Deádim explained then began to whisper incantations under her breath.
"The gods have told me nothing," Hermes muttered a complaint. "You told me to silence my thoughts, be open and vulnerable. I have."
"Not all rulers can hear the gods, even on occasion," Meéarine clasped her hands and raised her arms above her head, "you are lucky. Chosen. Hekknï."
"I cannot hear them."
"You do not listen."
The Deádim sunk to her knees and bowed in the direction of the window. She pressed her head to the floor, bathed herself in the glistening moonlight, and began to pray.
Hermes didn't need to listen in to know that she was asking the patron goddess Attula for guidance.
Attula, goddess of all that flowed within and without man, goddess of Mana and Soul and memory. Most didn't attribute healing to the female god but Meéarine was subtle in the way she worshipped the gods-she showed no favoritism.
While most would call upon Mathea, female god of healing and enlightenment, she paid obeisance to the often overlooked younger sister of Sūn who guided the tides via the moon.
By the time the Deádim was done praying, the physician was already done with the stitches and had finished bandaging the rest of Hermes' more shallow wounds.
The emperor felt little of what had happened, spellbound by the mellifluous words that had filled the room. They were so distinct from her usually grave and deep voice that it distracted him from the pain.
It was only when the woman rose to her feet again that it all snapped back. He sucked in a sharp breath at the intensity of the sensation then levelled his gaze on the physician who knelt before him.
"You are dismissed," he told the man, who nodded but placed a tiny scroll on the bed before leaving.
Hermes handed the prescription to the Deádim.
"You did not need to be so harsh." Meéarine took it then began to pass her knives over the candle's flame in repetitive motions. "He did his job well."
"They see me as a tyrant already, why should I bother feigning emotions I do not feel?"
"It is the vulnerability Sūn demands of you." She dropped the knives on the hemp cloth she had placed on the bed then picked up the scissors again. "Show your people your virtues and they will love you for it."
Or they might try to kill me again, Hermes thought, but said nothing.
He reached into the pan by his feet to wash his hands, though it made little difference when the water had long since turned to blood. He took the cloth that had been used to clean his wounds and scrubbed his nails and fingers until most of the redness was gone.
A shaky breath left him when he sat up again. He was in the bottom half of underclothes, the only piece not ruined by blood, but had forgotten that there were two women in the room with him. The fact that one was unconscious and the other was a Senior Priestess did not make the situation more acceptable.
"Draw down the curtains," Meéarine said, and he saw that she was now cutting bits and pieces from a bundle white cloth. "Or you could leave? I would like this lady to wake up with her reputation intact."
Hermes got to his feet and tugged on the cords tying up the flaps of the bed's canopy.
"I will stay."
The Deádim laughed and he heard her smile though he could no longer see it. "I can't imagine why, you hate blood more than anything. You can barely tolerate it when it is yours."
"From the looks of things, she saved me."
"From the looks of things?"
"Eugene shot the bolt at the assassin."
"And you are sure that his aim was true and the assassin was not skilled enough to counter it?"
At Hermes' silence, she continued, "If there is even a shadow of uncertainty in your mind, then she saved your life... regardless of what schemes you feel she had in mind."
"Winning my trust."
"And dying before being able to enjoy the results?"
"You cannot read her destiny. Magnus said it is as murky as mine. Forgive me for not being so trusting towards her actions."
"This wound will scar, despite my best efforts, and everytime she sees it, she will be reminded of what happened today. You can make that memory a sweet one."
"Is this advice from the gods?"
"It is your own decision," the Deádim said. "Fate has ensnared you both so soundly yet Death is eager to interfere... there is something strange about this. Until I am able to decipher what it is, do not act rashly."
"My mother will not be pleased."
"None of these events would have unfolded if not for the secrets she continues to keep."
Hermes heard the characteristic sound of an arrowhead clattering to the floor. More incantations followed it and he waited in silence until she was done, pacing in front of the bed while ignoring the strong stench of blood emanating from it.
"You have sent your Makanae away," he heard the woman say to him at last, "the storms will take your peace with him."
"This is not the first time Mikeal has been out of the capital during a thunderstorm."
"You might be a child of Sūn, but even you cannot resist the darkness with such a low life force," she chided. "You need the warmth of another body."
"How is the nun?"
"Sleep with me tonight, and until it passes, and until your strength is regained."
"Is it the will of the gods?"
"Yes, and no," she answered, her voice deeper and authoritative. "But it is so."
"Mother will not be happy, and neither will the court."
"You are the Emperor and I am the Deádim. We are both vessels of the gods. If mere men accuse us, they will be smitten by Sūn," Meéarine said and stepped away from the bed. "What are you afraid of, Hekknï?"
"You were not always a vessel," Hermes said, and she tilted her head back to regard him fully.
"Yes," her voice lightened to an almost playful tone and the corners of her eyes creased. "I was the love-blind initiate willing to risk the guillotine to be with you."
"People will remember."
"And they will be smitten by Sūn," she repeated and held up her bloodstained hands. "Come. The woman will live but we need to be cleansed. To my chambers."
She reached into bed's curtain and pulled out the cloak Hermes had used to cover Oris. "People will talk, so we shall give them less to talk about."
Hermes took the cloak and wore it, glad to have his clammy skin and many scars hidden once more. "Thank you."
She nodded. "A pleasure, Hekknï."
~
Another chapter, yay! And another god! I wonder how many we have now. And also new terms!
Just going to put their meanings here for all your eager folks.
Hekknï [Eck-Ney]: A term for kings (or rulers by extension) chosen by the gods, loosely translates to Exalted One [or the one above all]. So *an* Hekknï is a king (or Emperor) but not all kings (or Emperors) are Hekknï.
Makanae [ma-ka-nay]: The One who Guards. Every Hekknï has a Makanae to protect them, physically and spiritually but sometimes they do not know of each other's existence. It is also rare for them to be siblings, seeing that in the bid for the throne most princes and princesses get slaughtered.
Meéarine addresses Hermes and Mikeal as such because she is a Deádim and therefore cannot abase herself by naming someone as having a station higher than her.
Also, Deádims can only bow to people of the same gender, lest the gods will be angered.
Also... remember when last there was thunderstorm? When Oris first met Mikeal... And that could be the reason, Hermes had been so grumpy when they finally arrived at the palace... Just saying.