Dhavalos - Harbinger

< The Turning

        I stared down at the pale form sprawled on the moss, bright as a shaft of sunlight. My first thought, full of fear, was that she might be dead. She seemed as frail and beautiful as a butterfly, lying there so still, and I had a moment’s terror that the light, the impact, whatever had happened here had killed her. I didn’t understand why, but for some reason frightened me deeply. Fortunately he had the sense to hold back my panic for a moment and actually look at her. Brother Gasad had drilled into me that observation, gathering as much knowledge as possible, was as vital in everyday life as it was when treating injuries or diagnosing illness, and that it was doubly so in emergencies. And if finding a mysterious girl who had ridden a beam of light from the sky wasn’t an emergency, then I couldn’t think of one.

        I was suddenly glad of all the stern admonishments from the Ankorite apothecary, because when I forced myself to be still and actually study the situation, I saw that the girl was breathing, her chest rising and falling like gentle ocean swells. Watching in relief, I noticed that her skin wasn’t just pale. It had an unnatural sheen to it that glimmered wherever it moved. It was as if there was some sort of soft light just beneath her skin. It was beautiful, but strange, like something sleek flashing past under the water. I reached out my hand – I was surprised it wasn’t shaking – and gently touched the skin of her wrist.

        A pulse leaped up my arm and there was a flash inside my head. For a long, perilous second, I was utterly frozen, held by some unseen force and unable to even breathe. It was as if my heart had stopped mid-beat. Then after what seemed like an eternity, whatever was holding me in place slid off like a blanket when you get out of bed, and everything returned to normal. My throat unlocked, and I gasped in a lungful of air with a great strangled wheeze. My vision had begun to go red and black at the edges, but even as it returned my head was swimming, and I fell over onto my hands and knees. Well, knees and one hand rather; my right hand, the one I had touched her with, was warm and numb to the shoulder except for a boiling tingle under the skin. It was long heartbeats before I felt steady again.

        It was at that moment, hunched on all fours over the mossy blanket, still wheezing faintly, that I felt someone watching. I turned. And for the first time, I saw the most beautiful eyes in the world. They were the color of turquoise, deep and clear like water, bright as the sky…

        In that one look, I was smitten.

        I don’t know how long I just gaped at her. Longer than I’d care to think about, I know that much. But eventually, she blinked and the spell finally lifted a fraction. I blinked myself and shook my head, a man waking from a dream. When I looked back, I was actually looking instead of just staring like a yokel. She was still lying on her side in the moss; she hadn’t really moved but to open her eyes. Willow-thin, I was struck by how pale her body was against the deep green moss. Even when she was still, her limbs looked graceful, smooth lines tracing up over the contours of her body –

        I recoiled, snatching my eyes away. Naked. Heat poured into my cheeks like metal into a crucible. She was entirely naked, and I had been staring straight at her like…like…like I didn’t know what, as I had no idea what you would call a person who stared at unconscious women, but I was sure it wouldn’t be a flattering name. Stupid stupid Dhavalos! How had I not noticed that she was naked? How had I been so foolish, so oblivious? I gulped. And how long had I been looking? I almost bit my tongue in anger at myself. She must think I was the worst of people! What’s more, I had probably frightened the poor girl out of her skin – I knew that if I had awoken naked somewhere unknown to find a strange person had been staring at me with I slept, I would probably tear out of there like a rabbit fleeing the hounds. I was certain that when I turned back she would be hiding in the foliage from my rude gaze, and I wouldn’t blame her.

        I felt a hand on my shoulder and yelped in surprise, wheeling around. The girl was right there, up on her knees and barely a handspan away. Startled, I tumbled backward into a bed of ferns. She stared at me, her head tilted ever-so-slightly. Watching. And still naked. Flailing awkwardly, I managed to half-roll, half-crawl out from among the plants and turn my back to her once again. Before I could embarrass myself further, I pulled my outer robe off over my head and held it back toward her.

        “Here,” I said, keeping my face turned away. “Please, take it.” Nothing happened. I waited as long as I could before taking a quick glance back at her.

        She was still on her knees, but now she was bent over the folds of my robe where it dragged on the ground, tracing and plucking at the cloth with her fingers. She lifted it a little, shifting it from hand to hand, then looked at me.

        “Ise tohruru yemenna?”

        I looked at her helplessly. It was obvious that she had asked me a question, and equally obvious that she was hoping for an answer, but I had no idea what she’d said. Her brows furrowed a bit. “Innae toh yamanu? Pyosisae, sae barakallo laganami.”

        “I…I’m so sorry, I don’t understand.”

        She looked from me to the robe, then held it up, questioning clear on her face.

        “Oh.” Finally, I understood. I gathered up the robe. With my other hand I reached out for her, tentative and bracing for another shock. It didn’t come though; when I took her hand all I felt was a kind of warmth. Turning her hand over, I pushed the robe into her grip and closed her fingers around the coarse cloth. She stared at me, then held up the robe, curious.

        “You wear it,” I said helpfully, though I felt remarkably thick a moment later. Dunce, I’m sure she can’t understand you either. “You know…” This time, I pantomimed pulling the robe on. She lifted it over her head slowly, watching me with intense focus as I repeated the motion, but as soon as it covered her arms, she wrinkled her nose like a child refusing to eat his vegetables and twitched it off.

        “Oh no, no please, I –” I looked around helplessly, but I already knew I was on my own. And I was becoming more and more acutely aware of the femaleness of her naked body. “You have to,” I said, in a voice that I hoped was both firm and apologetic. “Please…the season is still new; you’ll catch cold without it.” I still wasn’t sure if she understood anything of my meaning, so I pushed the garment back at her and, with peripheral vision and some fumbling, placed it once again into her hand. I heard her heave a great sigh, and without words, I felt almost certain she was saying, very well, if I absolutely must. Then I heard the fabric rustling. When I turned back, she was squirming and itching and pulling at the robe while making disapproving faces at the cloth. But at least she was fully covered. I felt a small twitch of regret about it from the less refined part of my brain, but I shoved it back. Whoever this girl was, she was something special, something unique and wonderful. She was a miracle.

        The last thing I wanted was for her to think me a pervert.

        Standing up, I brushed the bits of green from the knees of my breeches, and offered her my hand. She was still pulling and fussing at the robe, but she stopped when she saw my hand. For a second she just watched it, as if waiting to see what would happen, but then she slowly reached up. And when her fingers wrapped around mine, she smiled at me.

        As I smiled back, I felt like my entire chest had simply collapsed into a warm puddle. Carefully, I helped her to her feet. “Come on,” I said, grateful when she didn’t seem to hear the slight hitch in my voice. “We need to get back to the Monastery.” I tugged her hand and thankfully, she didn’t seem to have any trouble understanding what I wanted.

        I had come barreling through the forest at a run so my trail was hardly difficult to find, but the way out was much slower. I pushed my way through the thick coils of undergrowth, backtracking through the strange, instantaneous forest and doing my best to keep any of the foliage from swinging back to hit her. Finally, after long minutes of wading through green on every side, I saw the ring of boulders I had climbed to get through.

        “Here we are,” I said, letting her go as we came to open ground. “Here, let me help you up.” I went up to the boulders, and stopped just a finger-length short of touching them. Suddenly I remembered what had happened on the way in, putting my already raw and bloodied hands on the searing rock. I winced at the thought. Pulling the sleeves of my tunic up to cover my hand, I touched the rock gingerly. It was still unnaturally heated, but fortunately it had cooled enough that it was no longer painful to touch. With a sigh of relief, I pulled my shirt back in place and clambered up onto the rock, then turned and offered her a hand up.

        As I did, I saw my own palm. It was pale and pink, and unmarked. I frowned. I could have sworn that I had sliced and scratched my hand to bleeding in a dozen places when I slid down the hillside… Then my hand was lost in hers, and the thought slipped away like so many milkweed seeds in the wind. To my surprise, she needed very little help from me to scale the boulder. Though she looked delicate, she seemed strong and agile. Like a deer, slender, fine-boned frame full of bounding energy. She moved to the peak of the boulder with ease, and before I could say anything she leaped to the ground on the other side. I half-jumped, half-slid down after her, my heart fast with worry, but she seemed unhurt. In fact, she was smiling. She reached out for my hand, placed it in her own, and looked at me expectantly. Despite the awe and the madness and the shock, despite everything that had happened, I felt pleasant. Downright peaceful. In fact, I felt better than I had in a long time.

        With her trailing half a step behind, I set off down the path. I was warmed by her touch and my happiness, but nevertheless I felt the abrupt change in temperature. Every step we took away from the strange little forest, the air temperature dropped sharply. It had been so warm inside the patch of green I had forgotten that it was still only early spring. It really was strange…no, more than strange… Impossible. The word just seemed to drift into my head, but it was right anyway. It was impossible. There was no way a lush garden could suddenly spring into being in a crater on a hillside. And it wasn’t even just the plants, I knew that much. It was like an entirely different world cupped inside a bowl of rock, a world of summer with life bursting out the seams. In fact I turned back to look, wondering if it was all a mirage.

        The greenery was still there, rising up beyond the lip of rock in a vibrant tangle. I sighed with relief. It made no sense, but at least I wasn’t crazy. As I turned to leave, my eye caught on a spot of color plastered on one of the rocks. A splash of blood. I stared. It was fragmented and half-formed, but I could make out a definite outline. It was in the shape of a handprint.

        The hair began to stand up at the nape of my neck. I couldn’t take my gaze off that mark on the stone. It wasn’t just any handprint, it was my handprint, made when I went vaulting over the blistering stone. An impression stamped in blood smeared across my palm and fingers, running from a host of cuts and gashes. I looked at my right hand once again.

        It was smooth and clean without a mark on it. In fact, as I stared at it, I noticed the places where small scars had been, little pink-white signatures from a dozen injuries over a lifetime. Now, all of them were gone. My hand was as unblemished as a newborn’s.

        My heart began to beat faster. I felt the wheezing threaten from inside my chest; before it could take hold I headed double speed back up the path. Unhindered, the girl followed behind me. She seemed happy enough, taking my hand once again in hers. My right hand. The hand that had made the print.

        The hand I had first touched her with.

        I focused on the winding trail in front of me, and tried to fight down the feeling that I was being overwhelmed. That I was caught in some tide of events, something stronger and greater than me, and that now that I was in it, it was sweeping me along whether I wanted to go or not. I looked back at the girl, at her unnaturally bright eyes and shimmering skin and strands of nearly-white-blond hair clinging to the rough robe like tendrils of ivy. She looked right back at me, and I had a sense that she was looking through me, somehow. Like she was looking inside.

        I quickened my steps further, moving as fast as was safe back toward the monastery. I had to talk to Touraj. Surely the Arkigos could figure this out. Surely he could explain what had happened, who and what this girl was. Why, after knowing her less than an hour, I felt tied to her as if our lives were entwining like two coils of wisteria vine, wrapping around each other and growing tighter and closer with each moment.

        Because if he couldn’t, I felt that this new current was sweeping me away to some strange land that was beyond the edge of any map…

*****

        As it turned out, I didn’t even need to get all the way back to the Monastery. Halfway around the hill, we bumped into Arkigos Touraj and two other elder Brethren coming from the other direction at a run. When they saw us, they stopped. Instinctively, I stepped in front of the girl, as if to protect her, though I wasn’t sure why.

        Touraj looked at me. “Dhavalos,” he said quietly, almost as if he were afraid to break the silence of the windy hillside. “Dhavalos…who is that?”

        I turned to look at the girl. She looked back at me and squeezed my hand – I couldn’t tell if she was seeking reassurance, or offering it – then stepped forward into full view. I looked at Touraj and the others.

        “She came from the sky…the light brought her here.”

        They were staring, a strange mix of disbelief and awe on their faces. One of the Brothers made the Holy Sign, thumbs to forehead, and seemed torn between standing and dropping to his knees. The other one mouthed a stream of soundless words, and even without putting voice to them I knew it was the Call of Supplication: Great Fire of Creation, Holy All-Light, burn away my failings and help me to be clean, that I may be worthy of your gifts…

        Touraj alone was still, his face gone pale and slack. But it was only momentary. Then he seemed to come to himself and rushed forward, shepherding both of us down the path. Without speaking, the other two fell in beside us. It was as if they were flanking us, almost like bodyguards. When I saw that all of them, Touraj especially, were looking out at the surrounding empty countryside as if attackers might spring from behind the nearest olive tree, it did nothing to ease my fears. I had been unsettled before. Now I was downright worried.

        “Arkigos –”

        Touraj shook his head sharply. “Not here,” he murmured, intensity sharp in his voice despite being quiet. “Back to the Monastery first.” I didn’t say anything else for the rest of the trip. I could only wonder what kind of mess I had gotten myself into.

        When we reached the Monastery after what seemed like an interminably long time, the reactions of the Brethern told me that whatever it was, it was even deeper and more complicated than I thought. All the Brethren were outside, or nearly all of them, a multitude of figures in undyed wool and rope belts. And as we hurried into the central hall, not one of them spoke. Not a word. Of everything I had seen that day, it was that which made me feel actually frightened. What on earth was going on? Who was this girl I had found? Some of the Brothers were acting as if they knew who she was, who or what, and their response was making me feel genuinely scared. The Holy Sign. Mouthing soundless prayers. Some of them were even down on their knees. And all of it in complete silence. I had thought that coming back to the Monastery would provide reassurance, that it would put stable footing beneath me again. Instead, as I passed beneath the eaves of stone and wooden beams into the dimness of the hall, I felt as though I was sinking even deeper into the unknown.

        I came to a halt without realizing it, my chest clenching up and the noises welling again in my throat. Then someone, Arkigos Touraj I think, was pressing ephedra from my pouch into my hand; numbly I chewed it and allowed myself to be led into the Monastery complex. The girl would not let go of my hand the entire time – and by that point, it seemed that the warmth of her touch was the only thing I could still feel.

        We were taken through the corridors, past all the public spaces, and finally into the Arkigos’ private office. Normally, it was where he would meet with any important visitors to the Monastery. Now instead it became the place where I told Touraj and a half-dozen elder Brethren what had happened. And then, they made me tell the story again. And again. They asked endless questions, some of which I didn’t understand, and many of which I unfortunately couldn’t answer. The whole time, the girl sat next to me, keeping one hand on me as she looked at everyone and everything in the room with those curious, strange eyes. They tried to question her as well, but after a few attempts were met with streams of speech in her unknown tongue, they seemed to realize that I was the only source of information they were going to have. Sometimes they would ask a seemingly insignificant question, and I would answer without knowing why they would care about such a small detail, but then they would all look at each other as if they had confirmed some piece of a puzzle. None of it gave me any real sense of what was going on. Finally, I think I just sort of collapsed, my head falling into my hands, trying to explain to them that I couldn’t answer any more questions as mumbles fell from my lips.

        Then Touraj was at my side, helping me to my feet. I heard snatches of what he said – let the boy rest, he’s been through enough – but mostly, it was just a blur. I was helped to my feet, and the girl and I were both ushered into Touraj’s private sleeping chambers. There was some hesitation then. I think they were reluctant to leave the girl and I alone together, especially in sleeping quarters. But when they tried to encourage her, albeit gently, to leave me in the room, she became agitated and made it clear that if they wanted her out, they’d have to remove her forcibly. They were obviously even less comfortable with that than with letting us remain together, so eventually they left us there.

        Whatever worries they had about my behavior toward her, if that was really their concern, they needn’t have bothered. I had never been so tired in my life. I dropped onto Touraj’s cot like a sack of grain, not even bothering to take my shoes off. The girl perched on the edge of the bed, with her hand on my wrist. After a few moments though, I felt her shift and lie down in front of me, her back pressed against my chest. Even exhausted and nearly asleep, I felt her presence, warm and peaceable. She smelled like lilacs.

        Tranquility rolled over me. Inexplicably content, I let myself drift the last bit of the way to sleep. As I was slipping off, I heard voices outside the door, which had been left open a crack. They were filled with fierce passion, those voices, clearly audible despite their attempts to keep quiet. A memory of my parents fighting the day I left them flashed into my head…though for the first time, the memory didn’t pain me. Feeling safe and sheltered despite everything, I let the sound of the voices lull me further. As I floated away from the waking world, a single word made its way through the warm rising darkness and into my last bit of consciousness.

        Yazata.

Visions >