Keepers of the Flame (37 page)

T
wo afternoons
later, Elizabeth stood in the cool cloister outside the Castle keep and
sweated. Bri was due “soon,” but some patients couldn’t wait. The sickness
would kill them shortly. According to the Marshalls “soon” was today, tomorrow,
the next day, maybe even next week. No one could give Elizabeth a definite time
and that irritated.

Five
people with frink sickness lay on pallets, ready for her healing hands. The
gift Bri had always told Elizabeth she had. Which she’d used with little
success on Earth, but had achieved great results here on Lladrana. With Bri.

Elizabeth
would be performing before a critical audience scrutinizing her every move. She
set her jaw and ignored them—the medicas and the Marshalls and the Chevaliers
and most especially the townsfolk radiating worry. Bri had endeared herself to
them with all her quirkiness, and the people who had brought Elizabeth here
didn’t have much faith in her alone.

These
were her clients! Living in the Castle she’d forgotten that. Most of the time
she’d kept herself in a nice little enclave, as usual. Foolish to chide herself
now. Bri wasn’t here and she was and patients needed her. Her healing gift.

She
took a deep breath and let it out slowly, checking her own chakras as she’d
been taught. Almost second nature to her now, but she’d
never
done it at
home as part of her regular medical training. She hadn’t been this nervous
since the first years of med school, either.

The
first time she was using her healing gift alone in Lladrana. Breathe in deeply,
slowly let it out. She
had
practiced breath control on Earth—many of her
friends had.

She’d
already checked the patients as a doctor. There might be some herbs she could
recommend, but she was all too aware that even on Earth she couldn’t have cured
them. Treat each symptom, and somewhere down the line of that treatment they’d
die.

This
patient was a young man, a farmer with compromised organs. He had a film over
his eyes, a coating on his tongue, moaned when she touched his abdomen. His
breath was shallow, his heartbeat too rapid.

A
shifting of feet came and she knew she’d hesitated too long. Nothing to do but
trust her intuition, her gift. And pray.

She
placed her left hand on his throat, her right on his lower abdomen. Another
deep breath, then she opened herself. She knew Bri had the image of a
healingstream. When they worked together, Elizabeth was swallowed by a flood.
For herself, healing wasn’t water, a rushing river, but fire. Heat and light
she drew from around her, the crackling of a wildfire in her head. Her hands
grew warm, and she sent cleansing, bright fire that lit but did not sear down
her tingling fingers. Moving her hands along her patient’s body, she sought the
cobwebs inside him, shriveling them to black, to dust, to tiny motes that were
attacked by his own white blood cells, defeated.

She
stepped back, and as the snapping of the fire inside her mind quieted, she
heard murmurs, ignored them. Blinking, she cleared her eyes, saw the sharp
fascination on the medicas’ faces, almost smiled.
Felt
the pride and
support of Faucon. Her gaze met his and he nodded. He’d had no doubt of her
skill.

All
of her life, no one had had complete confidence in her gift except Bri.
Elizabeth herself had doubted, time and again, others hadn’t known. They might
have suspected, felt the aura of her energy when she tried her gift in
desperate times, wondered what she might be doing, figured nothing could be
done to save some patients. But Elizabeth
had
helped. Looking back, she
understood there had been a couple of lives she had saved.

Her
fingers curled, sending energy back up her nerve endings, giving her tiny
shocks of renewal. She kept the Power safe from harming anyone, took cleansing
breaths, moved on to the next. Her heart jolted. It was a Castle soldier, a
young woman she recognized. The fire in Elizabeth burned hotter. Anger. Anger
that this disease had been deliberately sent against the Lladranans. Fury that
something evil loved death and dying more than the spark of life.

The
soldier whimpered, looked up with suffering eyes. Elizabeth stroked her
forehead, left her hand there, put her other hand on the jut of the woman’s
hip. This time Elizabeth went deeper, into the bone marrow, into her own mind.
Further. The flame of her danced until she thought it leapt into the the earth
of Amee, giving and receiving, beyond the planet, into the heart of space
itself, connecting with starfire. Her marrow burned, and she sent the healing
energy from her fingertips into the soldier, swept away the sickness in a sheet
of rushing flame.

Stepped
back a pace, panting, wiping her arm across her forehead. Marian was there with
a bota of cool, clear water, holding it to her mouth, squirting it inside.
Elizabeth’s head felt light and she settled into her balance. No time for
dizziness. Despite that, she felt strong, Powerful.

Her
twin would fling herself into a healingstream, a rush of energy she thought of
as a river. Finally, Elizabeth knew that image would never work for her. She
channeled the energy of the stars.

“Very
impressive,” Marian said.

“Thank
you.” Elizabeth allowed herself a faint smile. She knew, now, what Marian had
felt when she had come into her Power, raised her tower, became a Circlet.
Elizabeth had crossed the barrier of self, found limitless Power. After a last
swallow of water, she turned to her next patient, a girl about seven, thin and
pale. Elizabeth tucked away compassion, which could only impede her, and studied
the sickness, the disease that lived just under the skin.

Hands
on throat and groin, Elizabeth let the flames flash through her, slid the
energy into the child’s body, crackling under her skin, radiating through her,
searching out the dark cobwebs, frying them, killing them. When she stepped
back, she was smiling fiercely.

She
leaned over and propped her hands on her legs, gulping in air. Not a position
she would ever have taken in the halls of Denver Major Hospital, where doctors
strode with dignity and arrogance. A couple of medicas looked at her askance.
Tough. Healing was hard work and took energy. She’d rather pant and sweat and
move on, than retreat to a bench in the shade of the cloister for a little
break to keep her dignity intact, as a medica’s soothing voice urged.

The
fullness of the Song—and now she could hear the sparkle and crack of it, the
rhythm more of drums than of melody—and Power from her gift was finally inside
her. Maybe she could find dignity later. Now she had work to do.

She
straightened, rolled her shoulders, rubbed her hands together and wasn’t too
surprised to see a fountain of sparks. People withdrew a pace. Except Marian.
Elizabeth turned her head to see the other woman’s smile.

Marian
shrugged. “I’m fire, too.”

Elizabeth
heard a clang of understanding, as if the silver gong had gone off next to her
ear. Slowly she swivelled her head to look at the other Exotiques. They all
represented the ancient four elements. Alexa, earth. Calli, air. Bri was water.
Herself fire, too.

“We’ll
need spirit, too, to untie the weapon knot, the final destruction spell. The
last of us Summoned, for the Singer, the Song—spirit,” Marian said.

Elizabeth
shook her head to rattle some sense back into it. “I’ll take your word on
that.” With small steps she moved to her next patient, an old man. The tips of
his fingers and toes were white—there the spiderwebs lived in him, in his
arteries and veins, down to the tiniest capillary. She’d clean them out.

She
would have liked to position one hand on his heart and curl one around his
toes, but she didn’t have the arm span. She glanced at the chief Castle medica,
Jolie, who could help. “Can you stand at his feet and warm them?” Jolie would
be better at the feet anyway, she knew all foot pressure points.

A
frown knit between Jolie’s brows. The medica took the man’s feet. “I don’t
think I can help you, Elizabeth. I can’t link well with you without others.”
Jolie blew a breath out. “You and your sister access so much of the Song….”

“Just
do your best,” Elizabeth said. At least she’d been saying those words to
herself and others all through medical training, so that was familiar.

She
set her hand on the old man’s navel, felt an immediate connection, and an
immediate draw of fire from beyond herself. Then the tug of that healing energy
down to his feet. Jolie had joined her, massaged the man’s feet with strong
fingers, broke up cobwebs with little bursts of Power, and with caring. Jolie
lifted her voice in Song, and the energy she drew from the sky and the earth
and the sun and the humidity of the air washed through the man.

The
melody caught Elizabeth. She hadn’t begun to fashion healing Songs. It was all
she could do to open herself to the Power and direct it. Couldn’t hurt to hum.
She discovered she was holding notes that corresponded to the chakras,
fine-tuned them for her patient. She punched up a scale that would help him
heal, saw her hands fire with flaming green light, and opened herself to the
bright starfire energy.

It
whooshed
through her, prickling her fingers, into the man. He arched, yelped. Elizabeth
clamped down on the flow, narrowed it to a laser. She visualized the arterial
system and she sent the light, the heat, the flame through him. Again and again
she met wisps and clots of gray cobweb energy, fired it, destroyed it. Now in
control, she opened the floodgate a little wider, let the push of the Power,
the hum of the Song send healing force through his arteries, veins,
capillaries.

Jolie
Sang louder. Elizabeth spared her a glance, saw she sweated. Jolie smiled, and
her Song held thanks. Then Jolie let go and the backwash sped through the man’s
body, spreading into muscle and sinew, repairing as well as destroying the
disease. A little of Jolie’s Power smacked at Elizabeth. She gritted her teeth,
took it, checked her patient and raised stinging hands.

This
time Faucon’s strong arm was behind her, supporting her and she let herself sag
slightly into him, feeling his satisfaction, knowing his pride in her.

Cassidy
had been proud of her, before he’d seen her use her gift.

Stop
it! What was
wrong
with her? Since she’d seen Cassidy again, she’d been
comparing the two men. So wrong. Why couldn’t she just accept her affair with
Faucon and the respect and affection and sexual desire they shared? Why did she
continually have to pick everything apart?

The
fire was affecting her emotions, licking at her, amplifying negative feelings.
She shook her hands out, stamped her feet.

“Water.”
Marian held the bota up to Elizabeth’s lips again, and the residual overburn of
the fire was banished as she drank deeply, then she turned her head away and
wet her lips. She smiled up at Faucon, nodded thanks at Marian. “I need a
little protein boost,” she said.

Faucon
waved and Broullard strode up with a small box. He opened it. Sweetcheese,
antremay, lay there, looking like baked brie. Bri would have snatched at it and
stuffed it in her mouth. Elizabeth wished for juice with an addition of
wheatgrass.

Nevertheless,
she took a pre-cut wedge up and bit into it, letting flakes of the pastry fall
to her bosom. The treat was fabulous. All thoughts of mango juice with
wheatgrass faded from her mind as the taste of the naturally sweet cheese lay
on her tongue. She ate two slices in undignified haste, swigged from the bottle
Marian handed her and drank deep.

Her
head cleared, she could almost feel her cells plump in rehydration. She dipped
in her pocket for a clean handkerchief and wiped her mouth, her hands, brushed
the crumbs from the slight shelf of her breasts. She caught Faucon’s gaze and
saw a promise…that they’d both eat more sweetcheese later. The notes of his
personal Song twined around her, tender, and she sighed.

“Thank
you Jolie, Marian, Faucon and Broullard.” She spread a smile among them.

“Can
you go on?” asked a female Citymaster. “We have one more. My sister,” she
whispered.

Elizabeth
had very little energy, though she’d snagged some as it had rushed through her
like fire eating dead weeds, the Power was only enough to heal, to keep herself
going. Her brain, her nerves, felt fried, as if using more would damage her.

Four.
She’d only been able to heal four. Fewer than the number of cases being
discovered every day. In Castleton. They
had
to find a treatment for
this sickness, and a cure.

Elizabeth
was beginning to believe everything she’d read in the lorebooks, others had
told her. She and Bri would
not
be called home until they figured this
out. She bit her lip. They had to find a way, and fast.

She
went to her last patient and stroked the middle-aged woman’s face, wiping away
perspiration, sending a tiny amount of Power to boost the patient’s. This woman
was fighting the sickness hard. Elizabeth could feel her exhaustion, her will
to stay alive, to thrive. She was also a woman of Power, with the touch of
silver-turning-to-gold at both temples.

But
Elizabeth didn’t want to leave this woman overnight, treating her only with
herbs. Didn’t want to subject her family to the worry. She wasn’t sure of her
limits here, but had learned to push them back home.