Waylon's Crossing - 24. Chapter 24: Mage Tricks

Waylon's Crossing
Chapter 24: Mage Tricks

Alan leaped to his feet, lips bared in a snarl of warning. Fog surrounded him, making the hairs on his arms rise. Shapes moved around in the gloom, voices echoic and disjointed. At his feet, Kynan groaned.

"Leave us alone!" shouted Alan, twisting this way and that, but the shapes kept floating around. "Go away!"

"Alan ...."

He dropped immediately to Kynan's side and let his hand rest lightly on the back of Kynan’s head, one of the few places he thought safe to touch. There wasn't anything there, or so he told himself, but the sensation of being watched persisted. Had he finally snapped? Was he really --

"N'crazy."

"Shh, Kynan, don't speak. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to wake you." Though the fact he spoke was a relief. Kynan had been drifting in and out of consciousness ever since returning to their cell. At least they hadn't re-shackled him. Alan didn't know if he could have stood that.

Hooves on stone.

Alan whirled. "Who's there?" He saw nothing and no one, just the fog. "What now?" he moaned. He wasn't like Kynan; he couldn't just sit around patiently waiting for the next worse thing, and all the while growing weaker and weaker. Even the Demon Prince was disgusted, though Alan hoped he'd at last convinced the demon to summon a healer.

Kynan gasped something unintelligible, but Alan was too frightened to reach for the nearby water pitcher.

"Kynan," he softly wept. "I don't know what to do!" Watching the big man slowly waste away was worse than any nightmare -- or all of them put together. They'd come so far, survived so much, and there was absolutely nothing more Alan could do. Kynan was going to die and that was going to be the end, yet another failure in his grand, epic life of failures.

He didn't notice when the fog burned away, but he did see a huge, black figure suddenly swooping down on them. Roaring in demented fear and helpless rage, he leaped at the strange demon, only to be struck down. Before he could get up, someone tackled him.

"Alan. Alan!" With some effort, Bryce got the manic werewolf pinned down on his stomach, arms twisted behind him. He had to kneel on Alan's back to keep him pinned.

"Fuck," he grunted as a flailing foot jabbed his ribs. "Settle, shit!" He kept a close watch on Alan's face. His eyes changing color from their normal brown color to gold would be Bryce's only warning before the werewolf became wolf.

"Kynan!" screamed Alan, half-mad with the pain and fever echoes. "Stop it! Oh, God, it hurts! It hurts!"

Bryce looked up uncertainly, knowing he wasn't hurting the werewolf, and saw Azil and Karadur exchanging a long, solemn look over Kynan's prone form. Azil had his hands on the halfling's back.

There was banging now upon the study door, and Timolin stepped over to fling the door wide. The door opened with a whoosh of warm, dry air smelling of dust, cows, and night-hay. Two centaurs stood on the other side, staring at them wide-eyed. They wore little five-pointed stars upon their patterned vests. Beyond them was a wide, dirt street. The buildings were all made of wood slats, with wide, front porches and horses tied to the rail. A crowd clustered together across the street. They were a varied lot, even for a Borderlands town, with humans, demons, half-demons, centaurs, elves, a satyr and a fawn, werewolves, and others that Bryce couldn't see.

The floor beneath him, he suddenly realized, had been replaced by rough stone, dirty and blood-spattered. One wall was also stone, the case of instruments gone, and a length of chain coiled on the floor. He looked up.

"Karadur, the windows!" He didn't know how, but they appeared to be suspended in three locations at once. The windows still overlooked Karadur's backyard, the door obviously to some place in the Borderlands, and the room was both Azil's study and Kynan's cell.

The Hunter swore, glancing between windows and door, and then down to Kynan.

"He can't be moved," Azil insisted, anticipating the order.

"Out," gasped Duncan, levering himself up by his grip on the table edge. Jacen leaned drunkenly against the back of his legs. "Have to ... get out. Won't stay." He shook his head, wincing as the motion only increased the pounding of his skull.

They all moved at the same time, deciding that the Borderlands town was their safest option of the three. Bryce dragged the still struggling werewolf toward the door, Timolin scooped up mage and unicorn, and Karadur very carefully lifted Kynan. Azil grabbed anything of value he could hold and followed after.

On the other side, they looked back, and all they saw was a door, standing by itself in the middle of the street. As soon as everyone was clear, Duncan released the spell and the door vanished with a slight popping sound.

They stood staring at each other for a long minute, in a tense stalemate with the centaurs and anxious townsfolk. All except for Bryce. He was too busy trying to keep Alan under control. He finally hauled back and punched him, knocking the werewolf unconscious.

"Fuck," he panted. "Sorry, kid."

One of the elves stepped forward. On closer inspection, he was a half-elf and not a full blood at all. He said, "The healer's house is this way," and pointed.

Karadur nodded, and they followed raggedly after.

"Our healer isn't here," explained one of the centaurs, helping them towards a large, whitewashed home on the edge of town. "She's been gone many months, but she won't mind if you stay."

I'll see what I can do, Azil thought at his pairling.

Karadur grimaced, but followed the elf indoors. They didn't have much in the way of choices at the moment. He was glad for access to the healer's supplies and some privacy, however.

The rooms and hallways of the healer's house were built to accommodate a centaur's length and a demon's height and breadth. They had plenty of room to follow the elf through the house and into a back room on the ground floor. Karadur carefully placed Kynan down on the demon-sized bed there.

The halfling's high fever frightened Karadur. His skin was hot and dry; his lips were chapped and cracked. He barely had enough energy to pant for breath. The injuries were something else again. Karadur's arms stuck to the open wounds. They weren't serious wounds, taken by themselves. He'd been expecting far worse, but, somehow, seeing them there on previously unflawed skin was heart wrenching. Karadur had to turn away to catch his breath and settle his nerves.

Dumping his things on the nearby cot, Azil pushed past his pairling and climbed up on the bed beside Kynan. He lit the lanterns purposely hung low and proceeded to conduct a more thorough exam. He sought out the hard ridge of bone beneath the blistered, bruised, and battered flesh. Both demons winced as the halfling whispered out moans.

What? Karadur questioned, leaning in as he felt Azil's dismay.

They're so big, Karadur, he replied. His shapely, musician's hands outlined the curve of bone along Kynan's back. He shook his head, trying to recall everything he'd ever heard about half-demons and the Cyfnewid. He didn't think they had time to wait for the unicorn healer to recover. He was going to have to take action now; he only hoped he'd choose the right thing. This was not something he had any experience with, beyond his own Change, and that was so long ago!

Demons matured very slowly in comparison to the races of the World of Light, but their adolescence was very, very short. When the body did start to mature, it did so incredibly fast, over a period of days. The Time of Change or the Change, as it was also called, demanded vast reserves of energy from the developing adult demon. During the Change, the adolescent underwent a growth spurt, in both height and body strength. Their horns grew to their adult size, their voices changed, their final adult teeth grew in, and, most importantly, their wings developed. Wings on a demon signified their adult status.

Azil was neither adult nor child, but somewhere in between, a pariah and outcast but for his royal protection. He'd hoped to one day see Kynan through his Change, with all the social celebration and tenderness which had been denied Azil, but such was not to be. There was no telling what would happen with Kynan. Not all half-demons underwent the Cyfnewid. Azil could only recall tales, none of which he’d heard first-hand, about all the difficulties. Kynan had always been strong and healthy; Azil hoped he'd conquer the odds yet again.

"They have to be cut," he decided. He couldn't think of anything else to do. They couldn't stay as is. The wings were growing, and Kynan's body continued to heal around them, trapping the new limbs and attacking the muscles and bones as if they were foreign bodies. All of Kynan's resources were being consumed in the battle, leaving him sunken-cheeked and frightfully wasted in appearance. The obvious wounds were not getting the attention they needed and the combination had turned into a fever that was slowly eating Kynan away from the inside.

Karadur's tone remained flat. "He'll die."

"Maybe." He looked up at his pairling, needing his reassurance and faith. They both loved this strange and aggravating foundling, almost as much as they loved each other. Kynan was stubborn and exasperating, but he was clever and quick, with a smile that Azil had occasionally caught himself wishing meant something more.

Although he didn't feel comfortable in the least, Azil could feel Karadur's reluctant approval and agreement, and so he nodded his head. "Good."

They heard Bryce curse over the sounds of a mini-apocalyptical battle in the hallway and Azil covered a small smile. That werewolf is acting very possessive.

Karadur flashed his pairling a disgruntled look. They're apparently lovers.

Oh. He glanced toward the fuss. "Let him in."

The centaur which had followed them in looked taken aback. "Um ...?"

"The werewolf," Azil clarified.

Azi....

What? You've never been able to keep away when I've been sick, or me when --

That's different.

"Ow! Shit, you fucker! Grab him, damn it!"

Never too far away from his brother, especially in uncertain circumstances, Timolin snatched up the werewolf as he slithered underneath the centaur. Yellow eyes stared into golden ones. "Sit," he Commanded. The werewolf dropped, and they watched with some amusement as the boy dragged himself along the floor.

"Restrain him, then," said Karadur. If he's that determined, he might as well stay. He scowled as Azil chuckled.

The centaur watched them as if they were more than a little mad.

"If he bites me," Karadur warned Bryce, "I'll be extremely pissed off." The vampire gave him a rude gesture from where he crouched beside the werewolf and Karadur found himself grinning.

All too soon, Azil had everything ready. He washed his hands in a basin of steaming hot water, fresh linens and thick cloths were placed around Kynan. There were more ready at hand for the clean up after. Cautiously, he climbed up on the bed, arranging the lanterns for the best light, and picked up the sharpest dagger he'd found in the healer's arsenal.

Karadur placed his hands on Kynan's shoulders to hold him, and Timolin grabbed his calves. They both nodded their readiness.

Azil felt again for one of the wings and made a quick, deep, neat incision.

Alan jerked into motion with a scream of agony. He lunged for Karadur, his eyes equating the demon with danger. Startled, Bryce almost let him get across the room. He dragged the screaming, writhing boy away, amazed at the seemingly inexhaustible deceptive, manic strength in the young werewolf.

"You're hurting him!" screamed Alan. Tears poured from his eyes.

Azil wiped his brow on his shoulder. He had seen and done a lot of things in his long life, but few tasks had ever made him this queasy. Feeling within the long cut, Azil plunged his fingers through the hot, slippery blood to grasp what should have been tough, hard bone or cartilage and felt softness. He curled his hand around the surprisingly thin tube and pulled. The wing emerged with a nauseating squelch, flopping over and to the side as Azil hastily guided the new limb the rest of the way out and away from its too-small prison to its rightful place. A quick search to remove a few feathers stuck in the wound, and then he let the gash start to heal.

"The next," he said firmly, speaking to no one and everyone at the same time. They could gawk later.

Bryce tightened his hold on the werewolf, prepared this time for the demon's next strike. Another wing joined the first. Then Azil beckoned for the rags soaked in cleaning unguents. The werewolf went limp, weeping quietly and trembling.

Karadur helped clean and bandage, lifting Kynan so that Azil could get to his front and turning him as needed to fully address the remaining physical injuries, but his eyes continued to marvel at the drooping, dripping wings. Even soaking with the body's protective fluids and blood, the feathers were still glaringly obvious. No demon and no half-demon that Karadur had ever heard of had feathered wings.

What is he? he asked.

Karadur! Azil's shocked, mental exclamation made him jump. His arm, Karadur!

The wound was unmistakable. Karadur had a similar, thin, gray scar on the inside of his left forearm, as did Azil, only his was a slightly darker red than his skin.

Karadur swore silently, muttering to Kynan in exasperation and no little worry, "What did I tell you about lovers?!" Damn! He met Azil's astonished gaze. What will the Queen say?

Azil winced. It's not going to be good.

When they finished, Karadur lifted Kynan again so that fresh linens could be placed on the wide bed. They arranged the wings carefully. The bed was plenty wide enough for even a demon of Karadur's bulk, and the wings were not yet fully formed, so Kynan was fully supported.

Bryce dragged the werewolf out of the room under Karadur's wary eye, lending his muscles to bathing and drying the struggling youth. When finally released, Alan darted back to Kynan's side and curled up beside the feverish halfling, snuggling beneath the wet wings. Karadur reminded himself that he couldn't kill the pest.

Azil placed a bowl of water on the bedside table and sat on a stool by the ill half-demon. He dipped a rag in water and bathed away the sweat, doing what he could to keep the body cool. There was broth to try and coax through dry and cracked lips. Karadur sat beside him, painstakingly cleaning off each individual feather, marveling all the more.

Incredible. Incredible.

Propped up against the wall on the other bed, Bryce watched the strange trio until his eyes became too heavy to keep open. He dreamed of Aure, making himself into a blanket as he so often did, rubbing against him in teasing that could quickly become serious intent. So real was the dream that he awoke looking around for the elemental, and suffering his loss anew.