A Healing Process (short story)

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

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

At the end of A Difficult Journey, back in early Olaesta 5118, Rohese had been left for dead following a bandit attack in a forest somewhere between Solhaven and the Talador refugee camps. This is a continuation of her story almost a year later and includes perspectives from the other key characters involved.

Recuperation

Rohese

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.

Puptilian ~ A Search for a Friend

[Added with Puptilian's permission]

I fed a piece of raw rabbit to the last of the eagles while I tie the message to her leg. With a command the five eagles flew off in different directions delivering messages to contacts throughout the empire. As they fly out of sight I hear a small growl as Aatu walks into sight followed by his pack. The wolves all smell the last letter sent by Rohese to get an idea of a scent before running off towards Talador. Lastly, I used my touch with nature to call in my little friends in a mix of finches and squirrels to send them closer to home looking for any clues. My hope is that they will succeed in finding any clues where human and elven scouts have not. I know all these options are a long shot but I feel horrible that Rohese went missing helping me aid those in need in Talador. We will find her and bring her home.

Recovery

Rohese

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.

Ceyrin

[Added with Ceyrin's permission]
Ceyrin sits, attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible on the deck of the moderate-sized cutter Shoalblazer, while the halfling crew lazily tends to the rigging as required by such a small craft. Stiff winds beat at the sails of the small vessel creating a deep 'whuffling' sound. The first rays of morning light cast an eerie glow across the sea, changing black into a sickly dark absinthe green. A pod of sea thraks breaks the surface for a few moments off the starboard side, their fins dipping in and out of the water -- a good sign, he decided. Considering the nature of his trip and the relative distance, it seemed like a poor idea to travel on such a small ship, but it turned out to be a successful combination of discreet, cheap, and quick.

It's been nearly a year at this point since I saw her. The informant I paid a hefty sum of coins to hasn't notified me she's left, so I have to assume she is still in the care of the Graces where I insisted my brother take her. I expect by now she's made a full recovery . . . physically at least. Whatever happened to her wasn't quick, and it wasn't pleasant . . . I expect those wounds will take longer to heal, if in fact they ever do. She's fortunate to be alive . . . we're all fortunate. . .

"Port a-view, lads!", cries the captain, a fierce and robust halfling who goes by the name Emerald Eye or 'Cap'n Em' for short. "Trim the sails and get the oars ready," he barks before turning an eye toward Ceyrin.

Before the captain can even ask, Ceyrin quickly states, "Yes, give me an oar."

"There's a good lad," replies Emerald Eye, a name one can only assume he took on due to the emerald that sits in his left eye socket as a 'replacement' for a missing eye.

After a few minutes of rowing, the crew moors the craft at the modest dock on an even more modest isle. A quiet and secluded location, the main attraction of which is a small abbey dedicated to the teachings of Imaera, Phoen, Ronan, Kuon, Oleani, Aeia, Niima, and Charl -- collectively known as the Graces, for the gifts they grace the land of Elanith with.

Ceyrin slowly rises to his feet and steps off the cutter and onto the dock, glad to be rid of the mercurial stability that is a boat. "Remember, I paid you for two days, so don't leave until tomorrow evening"

"Aye", replies the captain. "Sides-which, yer not the only one wit a reason ta visit".

Ceyrin gives a final, satisfactory nod to the captain and turns to make his way up to the abbey.

Though the island itself is likely no larger than the city of Wehnimer's Landing, the bulk of the landmass is a small craggy peak atop which sits the Abbey of the Graces, supported by a tiny seaside village upon the southern shore. In times past, the abbey was used as a refuge for those who sought to escape the trappings of life on Elanith proper, and free themselves from the politics of city-states, empires, and kingdoms. Those seeking enlightenment would venture here to spend decades training themselves to let go of all things material and open their minds to the possibility of harmonious existence. Today, the Abbey is as much spa and resort as it is religious order, giving up strict adherence of faith to gain a modest amount of support income in more recent times.

Taking his time, Ceyrin ascends the elaborately carved stone stairway toward the abbey, each step adorned with a different arrangement of herbs, flowers, and other small flora that can be supported in this climate. A massive teak door pointed towards the west is painstakingly carved with religious symbology depicting the 8 Graces, punctuated with polished brass rings on either side.

Ceyrin pulls the doors open just as the Orb of Phoen begins to rise over the surface of the water in the distance.

"Welcome to the Abbey of . . .", a young male acolyte trails off as he takes in Ceyrin's appearance, such as he is able while Ceyrin is veiled by the glamour of his pendant. "How can we help you, ah. . ."

"Ceyrin, Priest of Lord Onar", he states plainly, and continues, "I'm here to see Rohese"

"We will not tolerate any sort of violence here, sir", the acolyte quickly assumes.

Ceyrin explains, "Don't worry, not only would I not come in through the front door if that was my intention, I'm the one who sent her to you nearly a year ago".

The acolyte's mouth takes on a visible 'O' shape, though no sound is made for a moment. Then, spotting a young woman who appears to be another acolyte, the young man whispers something to her and she heads off up the stairs. "Just a moment, sir"

Ceyrin ignores the young man and follows the woman up the tight spiral staircase wrought entirely of brass until they arrive at the third floor landing. Keeping pace with the young woman they quickly traverse a series of corridors lined with tapestries, flowers, and statuettes before arriving at a door upon which the young woman knocks, pauses a moment, then enters and announces, "There's someone to see you, Rohese."

Puptilian ~ A Search for a Friend

[Added with Puptilian's permission]
It's been a few weeks now since I sent out my animal friends in search Lady Rohese. None of my contacts throughout the Empire or the Nations has any new leads for me. I talked to the guards in Solhaven that escort the supply trains between Solhaven and Talador and walked away empty. Even Aatu and his pack of wolves have found no sign so far.

My work at Talador has been taking up more of my time then I would have liked and the guilt of not looking for Rohese has finally forced me to leave behind the Taladorian farmers. I did a second sweep of a few bandit and monster camps that have been recently found and destroyed around the western half of Talador. The attack on these camps were not concerned with preserving any possible evidence since the people protecting Talador are only worried about keeping the roads clear. Despite the days spent at these camps looking I yet again come up empty. I even nervously walked deep into the waste lands of Talador with no signs and no luck.

Feeling rejected, I turn to head back to the farmers of northern Talador when I heard a rustle of leaves and a warm breeze blew across me. My heart jumped with the realization that my Lady in Green, Lady Imaera is telling me to not lose hope. I suddenly felt a tug from my connection with Aatu bidding me to run to him. I can feel that he was somewhere between Talador and Solhaven so I took off at once to meet with him.

Days roll past in a blur while I travel southwest. Deep in a dark forest on my way to Solhaven I heard the howl of Aatu and his pack drawing me away from the main road. As I push my way through the underbrush I come to a small clearing to see the pack of wolves and Aatu holding a small piece of cloth coated in dried up blood. A quick survey shows a struggle but weeks of weather sadly washed away any signs to be able to track where anyone went. I quickly write a report and have an eagle friend quickly fly off to deliver what I found to Tyrie.

As Yet Unknown ~ A Woman's Needs

Mid-life crisis

The tired, middle-aged woman sits on a curule chair before a tall rectangular mirror, knotting her hair in sections with the aid of a wooden implement. She notices a stray hair caught in its grain, quite unlike her own. The delicate paleness of it shines bright and distinct in contrast to the coarseness of her own thick, black locks.

A sudden look of dawning clarity crosses her brow.

She twirls the slender strand between her thumb and index finger. Each pirouette the stray hair's tangled path takes screams in her brain a veritable crescendo of some orchestral number on the epic journey to the fountain of youth.

Things once lost, soon to be found. Mmmm. Yes. This will do nicely.

A woman has her needs after all.

Debts owed are rarely forgotten

Donning the disguise of her forefathers, she traveled west to assemble a team of bodyguards with haste, carrying with her the imprisoned artifact now entombed a resin reliquary. It was quite easy to gain compliance from one of her former lovers, he himself having risen through the ranks of office. A man has needs too, but the price of silence is steep. She had finally come to collect after all these years and there was little he could do to decline the proposition.

A most fortuitous series of events played out once the soldiers set forth: aided by the power of this single silver strand, the team was hot on the trail of their target. It hadn't been too difficult, given the sucking mud ruts left in their wake. So too, were a group of idiot bandits. And when the first arrows flew at the behest of the bandits, the bodyguards leapt to action with the finery and flourish befitting their role. To protect their ward was their sole purpose and no other. But unfortunately, the woman was injured in the skirmish. Once the threat was obliterated, they bandaged and bundled up the injured woman best they could and returned to their employer after a difficult journey through the forest highlands.

No good deed comes for free

Cold as they often are, the mountainous manor seemed to warm with the arrival of the injured ward. The mistress of the house took her charge and responded coolly to the adjutant, "Your assistance is appreciated. Leave her with us. You'll have the rest of your payment before the next new moon. Send my pleasant regards to your esteemed officer."

She flipped a bag of silvers to the younger soldier and instructed him to visit the bawdy inn down the hill. "My women will be fair to you. Or harsh, if you beg for it," she finished with grim smugness. The crisply dressed man departed without as much as a salutation.

Long after the house quieted, she called her healer to attend to the ward's shoulder wound while her gaze remained enrapt on the tenderly feathered opportunity sprawled out perfectly before her. As she waited, the human woman knelt beside a richly draped bed and whispered into her elf's ear, "One has to keep up appearances, don't you think? Yes, I think you do."

No good deed comes for free. A woman has her needs after all.

Return

Standing at the stern of the Shoalblazer, Rohese’s eyes were drawn upward, past the small cottages nestled against the cliffside, to the sound of the tolling bell and the grey-stoned abbey on the island’s craggy peak. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she was reminded of the love and care she had received in that sanctuary; it had become like a second home to her where the Graces had dutifully tended her wounds and proffered the spiritual guidance she had sorely needed for her recovery.

She would normally be joining the sisters for prayer now, the sonorous peal signaling the beginning of another day of reflection and, in her case, recuperation but today was different; today she was beginning her long journey home. I’m not ready!

The sound of the bell receded as a feeling of panic began to overwhelm her. Her vision faded into stygian blackness and painful memories invaded her mind ... thrall to a banshee with piercing green eyes ... excruciating pain as her silver-blue wings were ripped from her back ... gaping wounds and raw flesh ... a pool of sticky red blood ... stunned silence ... cruel laughter echoing in her ears.

The lapping sound of the blue-green waters below called her back to the present moment, each susurration soothing her and bringing with it sweeter memories from her time in the abbey gardens: the gentle breeze redolent with the scent of lavender and thyme, the melodic song of the finches and wrens, and the quiet whispers of the sisters at work in the vegetable patch.

She was suddenly conscious of Ceyrin standing a few feet away. He had not spoken a word since they had boarded the ship but she drew comfort from the fact that he always seemed to be close by.

As if in response to her awareness, the sails billowed and the cutter picked up speed, finally leaving the shelter of the harbor. Heading out to sea in a southeasterly direction, Rohese allowed the salt spray to mingle with her tears before wiping them away. Enough. No more tears. Her fingers rested on the moon-filled pendant and she slowly retreated behind a silvery grey haze. She may be well again, but she still wasn’t ready for the world to see her vulnerable state.