A Healing Process (short story)

Title: A Healing Process
Author: Rohese Bayvel-Timsh'l

First published on the 10th day of Fashanos in the year 5119

Recuperation

It is said that the harp has healing qualities, its music generates an atmosphere of peace that sweeps away fear, depression, desperation, and hopelessness. It creates an opening for healing to take place. Whether or not a person recovers from their illness or not is less important than the spiritual healing that so often needs to take place.

Given the circumstances of Rohese's condition, it was somewhat ironic that she felt drawn to the musical instrument as part of her healing process. Having recently woken from her prolonged state of unconsciousness, she had spent her time simply coming to terms with what had happened to her.

It was a miracle that the exsanguination hadn't proved fatal. While the physical wounds had quickly healed, with only a faint scar showing where the crossbow bolt had entered her shoulder and the further torturous injuries to her body carefully concealed beneath layers of modest clothing, the mental scars had left her deeply troubled.

The blood loss had been significant and it had taken months of skilled tending in the hands of the Graces to restore her to near-full health but she was still plagued with horrific flashbacks: images of imprisonment met with sumptuous surroundings ... lavish dishes untouched, yet none within reach, and those eyes ... piercing green ... the hungry eyes of her captor.

In an effort to shake off the distress welling up inside her, Rohese sat on the nearby stool. She adjusted the skirts of her gown and tentatively laid her fingers across the harp. Plucking a few strings, she played a simple glissando but, hitting upon a particular chord, she was instantly reminded of that banshee's wail. A sharp pain bit deep into the flesh of her back and a blood red haze fleetingly obscured her vision causing her to hastily rise and back away from the instrument. She clutched desperately at the driftwood locket around her neck and bit down hard on her lip to hold back her tears and screams.

The momentary feeling of dread subsided to be replaced by thoughts of Ta'Illistim's shimmering blue spires and the faces of her beloved friends. She would need a little more time to recuperate and recover her strength before she could return home though.

Recovery

Rohese watched the coral pink of pre-dawn light illuminate the harbor below, staining the white sails of the ships moored at the dockside. A recent squall had brought them within the sanctuary of its walls for a few days but she could see that most of them were making ready to set sail again.

She usually rose early to benefit from the tranquility of the abbey cloisters. The morning prayer bell would soon toll and the hallowed halls would be filled with the hustle and bustle of daily ecclesiastical life. For now, though, she had retreated to the solitude of her chambers and the book she intended to finish that day. She stood at the window, enthralled by the tattered, blue-grey clouds scudding before the wind across the blushing sky and let her thoughts drift over the last few months.

Why have you forsaken me, Lumnis? Suddenly appalled by her own blasphemous judgement, Rohese stepped out onto the balcony and inhaled the crisp, clean air. A salt-laden breeze whipped at her hair and for a moment, the banshee’s wail resonated in her ears again. It’s just the wind. Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate on the here-and-now and not let her grief and pain become too overwhelming.

Her walk along the beach that morning had yielded a nautilus shell, which she now gripped tightly in her hand. She murmured a brief prayer for the safety of the sailors below and tucked it into the pocket of her gown, making a silent promise to visit Charl’s shrine and honor the memory of her beloved husband. The moniker of widow was one she refused to admit publicly but it was something she knew she had to come to terms with; just not today.

Deep in thought, Rohese hadn’t heard Sister Anyia enter the room.

“There’s someone to see you, Rohese.”

Rohese stirred from her reverie and turned sharply when she heard a familiar voice behind her add, “"I knew the sea air would help with your recovery",”

Ceyrin released the blue-black haze of his glamour and greeted her with a vague smirk.