The Gates of Arstelem (Classic)

Chapter 21

Telun-ka did not think of her wanderings as she moved through the underbrush. Although there was some merit in purpose, it had faded over the centuries. To survive the length of an aeon, one had to let one's mind take an absence, as it were.

The man she found in the underbrush was a good reason to refocus her energy on thinking. He was in dire straits, she supposed, not quite remembering how the mortals' frail bodies worked. Her brethren would not have cared, but she did.

"Perhaps that is why I remain and they are gone," she said without realizing it. The strands of magic revealed themselves to her, the points and notes drawing themselves into order as she looked for the spell she needed. Without her god's help, it would take some time, but she pushed past the hunger and the pain to the needed formula, trying to call the magic forth with cracked lips.

At first, it failed, the memory too faded, her voice too faint, her fingers grasping at the mana coming away empty. She shuddered, but persevered. The man first stirred, then calmed. She took the bare white bone in her hands, forcing it into place as the flesh knit around it.

She had become used to the mortals' revulsion, but Berrand's response surpassed her expectations. Even in her torment the cry was bloodcurdling, and she recoiled, covering her ears. The courier tried to stand and flee, but in his shock he could do little more than push himself away from the devil.

"Peace." The word cut like glass through her throat, and she brought her hand to her throat. The mortal stopped, seemingly surprised by the fact that his rescuer could speak, though he had not yet recognized her as such.

"Who are you?"

"Outcast," she forced, "of a dead god."

The man looked at her a while, his fear and revulsion turning slowly to pity. She was used to the process, on the off chance that a mortal didn't try to kill her. The curse could not be undone so easily, and she recalled many scars from frightened mortals. They blended into the tapestry as soon as she lost her focus.

"You saved me?"

Telun nodded in affirmation. The man stood slowly, not trusting his footing.

"You're hurt yourself. Let me take a look."

She pulled away from his hand.

"Cursed. To hurt and never heal. To hunger and never feed."

Berrand watched her for another moment, as she turned to walk away. He wondered what sort of creature she had been, to walk the wilderness devoid of companionship, to bear weights of centuries. He turned to Wesfor, and—he hoped—Haniel.