Chapter Three: The Healer

Twig peeked out of Aidan’s pocket as he crawled, dumbfounded, across the floor toward Kyden’s limp form. They patted Aidan's face with an inquisitive chirp, but he neither noticed nor felt it. He was far too busy scooping the old Elfkin gently into his arms, his dark eyes permanently fixed on the pasty, slack face staring up at him. Breaking from his shock a bit, Aidan gave Kyden’s shoulders the gentlest shake.

“F-Father…? Father?!”

He couldn’t be dead. Aidan couldn’t fathom it. In his mind, the grouchy old watchmaker was always going to be there, criticizing his work at every opportunity. Although Kyden had never shown any semblance of affection toward him, Aidan had grown to care for the miserable codger. He would never call it love; he tolerated Kyden more than anything, but he was still the only father Aidan had ever known. And now, he was just… gone. Snuffed out like the stump of a candle on a darkened windowsill.

“No,” Aidan sniffed. “Y-You’re not dead! You’re not!” He grit his teeth with a growl and stood, hoisting the corpse into his arms. “The Healer,” he panted, “I… I need the Healer!”

Being Elfkin - and mostly skin and bones - Kyden weighed no more than a dried-up maple sapling. Even so, Aidan’s legs shook and his arms ached from the weight of his grief with every step. Twig jingled at him again, tugging at his hair as he staggered toward the front door. Their eyes kept flashing back and forth from yellow, to orange, to deep blue, barely able to cling on he was running so fast. Luckily, the Treejumper had time to duck into his breast pocket again when he paused by the front door to catch his breath, hiding before anyone saw them.

The Higher Born looked upon Aidan in confusion and alarm as he staggered into their line of sight. They said nothing to him, probably because one wouldn’t know what to say if they saw someone dragging a corpse through the streets. Others were clearly still trying to process their own losses, and as such didn’t pay him much heed. Those that did notice Aidan had the decency at least to part before him, giving him a wide berth as he stumbled toward the Healer’s shop. Aidan was too focused on his task to care much when a few Elfkin he passed covered their noses with their sleeves or turned their faces away in revulsion.

When he finally reached the highest point of Greater Elysium, the Healer’s shop came into view. It was a simple little hovel grown from the trunk of a large cherry tree, enchanted so that its blossoms would forever bloom even in winter. The sweet perfume of cherries clashed horribly with the acrid smell of ash and the putrid odor of charred flesh. In the light of dawn, the permanent blooms seemed much darker in color than their natural soft pink, raining down on the cobblestones like tiny shingles of dried blood. Aidan paused for just a moment to catch his breath, shivering in the unseasonably cool morning breeze, and scanned the wide courtyard surrounding the tree for the Healer.

The courtyard was already littered with canvas cots, each with a groaning, coughing, weeping occupant. Aidan was surprised to see such a large portion of Lower Born among them, although the patients were carefully segregated according to their caste. A tall, willowy Elfkin woman with snow white hair darted from cot to cot. Colorful crystals and natural stone beads hung on long strands swathed around her neck and from the lobes of her large, pointed ears, complimenting the billowing green and white fabric that made up her blouse and skirts. She moved tirelessly with both the speed and grace of a practiced physician, not even breaking a sweat on her ageless copper skin. The dark bruises encircling her beautiful yet severe emerald eyes, however, betrayed her weariness.

The Healer's intense eyes caught Aidan coming toward her, pausing her task of stuffing herbs underneath a patient’s bandages as he drew near. Without saying a word, she waved at one of her assistants to bring out another cot for Kyden, then glided swiftly toward Aidan. When she came within ten feet of him however, she stopped in her tracks and her shoulders dipped. She sighed, shaking her head, and turned away, readying to go back to her other patients. Aidan was persistent though.

“Please,” he begged hoarsely. “My f–… K-Kyden’s injured. You must–”

“I have lived eighteen lifetimes of Men,” the Healer said quietly. “…And I have yet to find an herb, spell, or potion that can bring back the dead.” She turned back when she heard the boy let out a sniffle, softening her gaze. “I am sorry, Aidan, but there is nothing more I can do for him.”

She waved to her assistants again somberly, who managed to pry Kyden’s stiffening corpse from Aidan’s grip. They worked quickly to wrap it in a silken shroud, then carried the remains to a long worktable beside the shop where a handful of other shrouded bodies lay. The Healer personally led Aidan over to a low wooden stool and wrapped him in a blanket, pressing a steaming cup of tea into his hands.

“What of your mother?" she murmured. "Is she injured as well?”

Aidan studied the bright green liquid in his cup, working his jaw to form an answer, but no words came. Before he could try again, a shriek from the other end of the courtyard nearly made him spill his tea.

“You!” An Elfkin woman charged toward him, pointing a shaking finger at his face. Her cheeks were streaked with ash, and clumps of her hair were missing presumably from her woeful tugging at it. “Y-You did this! The Goddesses of Light have cursed us all, because you were taken from the Darkness!”

“We should send him back,” someone else added. “The Darkness came for him. It might come back again!”

“Yes, send him back!”

“Send Lavinia with him! She’s just as much to blame!”

“Send them all back to Enq!”

Aidan’s eyes darted from face to face, shocked and utterly confused. “Back?” He repeated. “No… No, I’ve done nothing wrong! I belong here! I’m an Elfkin, I–!”

His eyes lowered to the cut on the back of his hand, which was still bleeding, and he swallowed the rest of his words. He wasn’t an Elfkin. Kyden had proven that with his dying breaths. Not even the Lower Born had red blood as far as he knew. Aidan’s head was beginning to pound from his overwhelming torrent of thoughts. His breaths became shallower and more rapid as the reality finally settled in: Aidan didn’t know who or even what he was, and the only people who could tell him were either dead or spirited away.

The teacup tumbled from his hand when a stone the size of a walnut bounced off his shoulder. He cupped a hand over the fresh bruise forming beneath his tunic on instinct, looking around in alarm for the Elfkin who’d thrown it. Before he could figure out who the culprit was, another stone struck him on the brow. It registered then that every Higher Born who could stand had a stone in their grip – including several children – varying in size from a berry to a small loaf of bread. When more stones flew, Aidan dropped to the ground and curled into a ball, covering his head with his arms, grunting and yelping at every painful impact.

Twig flew out of his pocket, exploding into angry jingles and flinging their tiny fists in fury at the mob. Aidan grabbed Twig in his fist and held them to his chest to protect them, fearing their tiny body could easily be crushed by a wayward stone. They gnawed and nipped at his fingers, but he refused to let them go. Right now, they were the only friend he had left in the world, and he couldn't bear to lose anyone else that day.

“Enough!”

The pelting stopped at once at the deep, masculine roar. Even Twig stopped their thrashing at the booming, powerful voice, but Aidan remained tucked in the fetal position on the ground. He didn’t move until a large, cool hand tapped him smartly on the head, causing him to lift his eyes cautiously. The face that greeted him was stern and sharp enough to cut glass. A pair of onyx eyes glittered critically at Aidan from underneath sculpted dark brows, and the same incredibly deep voice rumbled from the Elfkin’s throat.

“Aidan Moon-Catcher,” he growled. “What have you to say for yourself?”

Aidan trembled before the Elfkin, holding back tears. Very few Elfkin called him by his full name except his mother, and only if he were in the deepest trouble. Being addressed by his full name by none other than Mordred Proud-Ears – the head of the Elfkin Council – was an entirely new level of “in trouble.” His entire body ached from being pelted with rocks, some of which had caught him in the head despite his best efforts. He could feel tiny trickles of blood dripping down his face from the cuts they’d left behind, mingling with his sweat. On top of that, there was very little air moving into his lungs anymore. Overwhelmed with fear and pain and totally unable to breathe, Aidan’s eyes rolled up into his skull and he fainted on the spot.

When his senses returned to him, a warm feather bed had replaced the hard stone under his body. Sweet herbs and spicy roots tickled his nose, along with the heady aroma of stewing vegetables. Aidan moaned softly and rolled onto his back, wincing at the minor aches and pains plaguing his body. The most pain was coming from his hand, which he discovered was wrapped in a thick mitt of bandages. The lattice of huge, gnarled roots hanging above him told him he was in the Healer’s home beneath the great cherry tree.

Rolling over had upset the assortment of glowing crystals balanced across his body to dull his various aches, but they didn’t appear to be doing much at all in the first place. He moved them to the bedside table before they could tumble to the floor, pausing when his hand brushed over his breast pocket. For a moment, he didn’t know why it concerned him that the pocket was empty, until he remembered Twig. He sat up – admittedly a little too fast – to look around the dimly lit, cozy space for his little friend, only to spy them sulking cross legged in a gilded birdcage across the room.

The Healer was nowhere in sight, so Aidan got out of bed to free Twig. “You okay?” he asked, lifting the latch on the little cage.

Twig tinkled indignantly, but was quick to jump onto his shoulder and nuzzle his cheek all the same. Aidan noticed small piles of barleycorns, seeds, and dried beans in the bottom of the paper-lined cage, neatly organized and stacked on top of each other by size. “At least Twig hadn’t been bored in there,” he thought. After scanning the sparsely decorated room, he found a bowl of sugar cubes sitting on a polished stone table among other various jars, vials, and bottles containing Goddesses knew what. Aidan had only just grabbed a cube and given it to Twig when the door behind him swung open.

“You shouldn’t be up and about yet,” the Healer said sharply. “Get back in bed at once. And put that–” she gestured vaguely to Twig, “–back in its cage where it belongs!”

Twig let out a noise that was half jingle half hiss, but they relaxed when Aidan stroked the top of their spiky head with his fingertip. “They won’t be any trouble,” he said.

“I find that hard to believe. It bit four Elfkin and nearly took an ear off my assistant before we caught it. Lock it up now; my house, my rules.”

Aidan looked down at Twig - licking their sugar cube smugly - and shook his head, gently scooping the creature off his shoulder. Twig chirped and jangled in protest after being put back in the cage, but was quieted by another pet from Aidan. “I’ll leave it unlocked,” he whispered. “Just behave yourself, okay?” That seemed to quell the little creature at the very least, who sat with their legs sticking through the bars as they crunched the corner of the sugar cube.

“If you’re feeling well enough to walk, then you’re well enough to talk.” The Healer moved to a large pot bubbling on her hearth as she spoke, scooping a ladleful of what was inside it into a bowl. “I shall ask you one more time, Aidan: where is Lavinia?”

Aidan swallowed dryly at the bowl of hearty-looking vegetable stew he was given. It looked and smelled delicious, but his appetite was all but gone. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Kyden…” He set the bowl on the table and sat down, holding back tears at the thought of the Elfkin he once called father. “He said she was taken. I… I don’t really know where, or by whom.” His grip on the bowl tightened, as did the frown on his face. “I’m gonna get her back, though… I swear it. I won’t stop looking until I find her, and punish whoever did this to Elysium!”

A chill wind blew down the chimney, nearly smothering the ashes glowing within it. The room darkened considerably as a result, but the warm glow of light was restored by the Healer adding a fresh handful of kindling on top of the ashes.

“You sound like a creature of Darkness, speaking of vengeance like that,” she remarked. “Do not let your grief destroy The Light within you, Aidan. I have seen my fair share of those tempted by the Darkness’s allure, and I can assure you there is no turning back once you give in to it.”

“What does it matter?” Aidan growled. “Why do you even care?! I’m not even an Elfkin. Hell, I don’t know what I am! You should be trying to banish me like the others! After all, isn’t that what the Higher Born do best?! Belittle and ostracize those who aren’t like them?!”

The Healer dropped the lid back onto her stew pot loud enough to make Aidan jump. Her emerald eyes glowed at him from across the room, turning his guts to jelly. “I remember a time when there were no Higher Born or Lower Born,” she said darkly. “Before all this madness about purity of bloodlines and status began. Do not presume to think I am like the young fools outside this tree, Young One; right now, I’m the only hope you have of getting out of Elysium alive. It’s best that you keep that in mind the next time you open your mouth so ignorantly!”

Aidan felt his mouth run dry. “G-Getting out… alive?” he repeated dumbly. “What do you mean? They… Th-They don’t actually want to kill me, do they?! I haven’t done anything!”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Healer sighed. “They’re nothing but bleating lambs stirred up into a frenzy, ready to lay blame on the most convenient target. Right now, that happens to be you.” She straightened up, dusting off her hands, and moved to the shelves laden down with herbs and dried roots across the room. “When you were an infant, your mother found you abandoned in the bowels of Enq. The Higher Born were against her adopting you at first, but the Old Council was much more lenient back then. You had nothing on you save an old blanket… and this.”

She turned around, holding aloft a shimmering stone that dangled from a thick, braided leather cord. Aidan’s eyes widened at the stone, and he plucked it from her hand without thinking. For a handful of minutes, he lost himself in its brilliant rainbow flecks, which seemed to glow with a strange light from within. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured. “…but what is it?”

“I don’t know,” the Healer admitted, folding her arms crossly. “There has never been anything like it in Elysium to my knowledge. The closest we could come to finding its origins came from the inscription on the back.”

Aidan turned over the stone on instinct, his brows knitting together in confusion. The stone bore a single rune: a bottomless triangle with a swirl in the middle. “That’s not Elfkin,” he observed. “At least, not any dialect I’m aware of. What does it mean?”

The Healer rummaged through a pile of scrolls and loose papers on the table as she spoke. “Again, I don’t know for certain. It bears a resemblance to a handful of ancient Dwarven runes I’ve studied in the past, but it’s meaning is completely lost to me. Truth be told, I’ve forgotten most of the Stone Tongue I used to know. It’s been so long since…” She trailed off after she found what she was looking for, holding out the small bit of parchment to Aidan.

He glanced at the crudely penned runes upon the paper, studying the drawing of the mountain beside it. “Is there no way to find out what this is? What this symbol means?”

The Healer snatched the paper back with a huff. “If you want answers, you’ll need to find a Dwarf, or at the very least someone who still speaks Old Dwarvish. Good luck with that on this side of the Forest.”

The entire tree shook suddenly when an angry fist banged on the door. “Lady Healer, let me in!” The voice belonged to Mordred, which made Aidan start trembling all over again. Before he could utter a sound, the Healer dragged him out of his chair and over to the herb shelves. Quick as a flash, she tipped a vial on the top shelf backward, and with a soft metallic click the entire structure swung outward.

“Make a peep,” she murmured, “and you may not live to regret it.” She pushed Aidan inside the small, dark room beyond it without another word then eased the shelf back into place, leaving a gap just wide enough for Aidan to slip his fingers through.

It wasn’t easy to see through the gap, but he could hear very well when Mordred was finally let into the room. “Where’s Aidan, Immalda?" he demanded. "What have you done with him?!”

The Healer’s voice was even and calm, but tinged with annoyance. “He’s gone,” she answered. “He must’ve left on his own while I was upstairs, tending to the others.”

Mordred let out a soft noise of frustration and disbelief. “A likely story. To think you would allow a wanted criminal to hide behind your skirts, instead of bringing him before the Council for judgement… I thought you were wiser than that, Immalda!”

“What you call a criminal is merely a frightened boy in my sight,” the Healer shot back. “Furthermore, you should put your efforts toward rebuilding the city, not finding a scapegoat.”

Aidan saw Mordred’s shadow move closer to his hiding place, then heard the tall, powerful man let out a huff. “That… pet of his is still here,” he observed. “Which means he must be, too. Please, Immalda… don’t do this to me. To yourself. Give him up now, or else I may not be able to shield you from the consequences.”

The Healer moved closer to Mordred, blocking his line of sight to Aidan’s hiding place. “I do not fear you, Mordred Proud-Ears,” she snarled softly. “You may be descended from Haldrin himself, but I was his apprentice. If he knew his bloodline would culminate in such a pitiful, spineless lump of jelly, he would have severed his manhood with his own blade!”

Aidan held his breath as the Healer’s back slammed against the gap he was peering through. Mordred was so close, he could smell the mulled spices of his cologne. “You go too far, Immalda,” Mordred growled. “Much, much too far.”

A sharp jingling noise cut the heavy silence that followed, shortly before he heard Mordred yelp in pain and annoyance. “Vicious little beast! Get off!” The Elfkin man quickly backed away and the Healer stepped forward, allowing Aidan to see Mordred holding his right ear.

“You have one hour to give him up,” Mordred declared, storming back to the door. “After that, I will be unable to keep the others from tearing this tree apart to find him!” The entire tree shook when he slammed the door behind him, punctuating his decision.

The Healer waited a full minute before swinging the shelves open again, with Twig nestled in her palm. She stroked the Treejumper’s wings with quiet gratitude, allowing her vast years to show for just a moment. With the twist of another vial on the shelf, the wall behind Aidan fell away, revealing the entrance to a well-lit underground tunnel.

“Come,” she said. “We haven’t much time.”