The In Between - 11. Dathilda

11 ~Dathilda~

Anailde, who apparently felt that she wanted no more misfortune landing at her doorstep, waited a few days until Brandon was able to tolerate travel then loaded Jordan and Brandon into some kind of carriage and took them to another town. Brandon tried to sleep through the journey. Anailde had given him enough narcotics to knock out a small horse, but every bump and dip in the road pulled his back, keeping him awake but exhausted. Jordan sat silent next to him.

After a while, they could hear human voices, the clicking of hooves, shouting, cursing, laughing and the familiar cacophony of too many voices all talking at one time. Brandon was reminded of the mall on a Friday night and felt slightly comforted.

Eventually they came to a slow, swaying stop and Anailde helped them out of the carriage and down into the street. Brandon held onto Jordan as they followed Anailde, trying to take everything in and not let anything bump against his back in the process. He got a swift impression of narrow streets, tall, thin buildings and costumes in bright, eye screaming colors. He swore he saw someone walk by in little more than a huge cloud of yellow feathers. He didn't have much time to gawk before he was in front of a large, round dwelling, Anailde lifting her hand to knock on the door.

A rather small woman, shorter than Jordan and Brandon and absolutely miniscule in comparison to Anailde, appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in a simple tunic and leggings in comparison to some of the rather flamboyant outfits they'd seen out in the streets. Her pale blond hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, and she regarded them calmly with soft black eyes, smiling as she caught sight of Anailde and nodding to her.

"This is Dathilda," Anailde said, gesturing to the petite lady. "It is the will of Anailde that you stay here to receive her care."

Dathilda glanced at Anailde again and inclined her head.

"We shall. We thank you for your hospitality and kindness," Jordan said. Brandon nodded in agreement and murmured his own thanks.

Anailde patted Dathilda on the shoulder, then turned and walked way without another word.

She didn't even tell her why we are here, Jordan thought incredulously.

Dathilda didn't say anything, just gestured them inside. As Jordan crossed the threshold, Dathilda caught his eye.

Hello young one. May I have your names?

Jordan startled slightly as he heard a voice cut effortlessly through his mind, cool and smooth. Dathilda was looking at him steadily, her eyes seeming to pulse slightly, almost unnoticeably, the pupil and equally dark iris dilating wide, then shrinking back slightly.

Psychic? Jordan thought.

I do not know that word. But you are familiar with mind speak.

He wasn't, as a matter of fact, but he would keep that little tidbit to himself. He had heard of mind to mind communication, but he was a little skeptical about it. Psychic communication was not something most Creators and Enablers had been able to achieve yet.

Your names? Dathilda's voice pressed in his mind.

I am Jordan. He is Brandon. Jordan revealed. He didn't even bother to try to lie...He doubted it was possible to do so psychically.

Jordan, may I speak through you? I need to communicate with my patient and he will not allow me to touch his mind.

Well, that was the fucking surprise of the century. Jordan resisted the urge to roll his eyes and just nodded.

She gave him a grateful smile and turned to Brandon, gently touched his arm.

"Brandon?"

Brandon turned his head as Jordan said his name, looked startled to see Dathilda there and took a quick step back. Dathilda smiled gently, reassuringly as words tumbled into Jordan's head and out of his mouth.

"I am Dathilda. I can't touch your mind, so I use Jordan's voice to communicate with you. I am here to help you. Where are you injured?"

Brandon glanced at Jordan questioningly and Jordan nodded his head. "My back," Brandon answered quietly.

Dathilda blinked, nodded and Jordan spoke. "Okay. Come."

Brandon and Jordan followed her down the hallway into a dim room with several padded tables set up. Dathilda grabbed a sheet, flipped it open onto a table and gestured to Brandon.

"On the table, face down," Jordan relayed.

Brandon gingerly climbed onto the table, unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders. Dathilda frowned as she saw the bandages that Anailde had swaddled his back in, but said nothing. Jordan could feel the faint hum of thought energy from her.

"Let me take a look. Tell me what happened," Jordan relayed.

"I got attacked," Brandon said.

"By what?"

"Hooping cat."

There was a faint tingle along Dathilda's thought processes that Jordan felt as Dathilda cut through the bandages, but Jordan wasn't sure what it meant. She peeled the bandages away from his back and studied them for a moment.

Jordan watched as her pupils grew and grew until there were no whites left in her eyes except lingering slivers near the edges. Jordan’s immediate thought was fish eyes, and he was surprised enough to take a step back from her.

If Dathilda noticed his reaction, she gave no sign of it, studying Brandon's back with her large black hole eyes.

Did Anailde’s ladies do this?

“Yes,” Jordan answered without bothering to translate.

She trains them well. The stitch work is good, small, neat, and secure. No signs of infection yet.

Jordan relayed that.

Brandon, I’m going to put my hands on you.

“Is that going to hurt?” Brandon asked.

A wild animal clawed open your back. Everything is going to hurt.

“Yes,” Jordan said instead.

Brandon sighed and closed his eyes. He felt a small pressure of cool fingers, then a deep burning pain along the marks in his back. His hands tightened on the table. Then after a few seconds the pain was gone, replaced by a cold numbness. Brandon felt himself relax slightly. That hadn’t been too bad.

Jordan spoke again as Dathilda‘s words filled his head. “I’m going to talk to your body with my mind, to help it heal. That’s what I do. You won’t hear me, but your body will.”

Brandon tensed again. “This will hurt, won’t it?”

“It shouldn’t, but you might feel something strange from time to time. It‘s just your body responding. Try to relax.” Jordan relayed.

Brandon closed his eyes, felt something happening to his back, but nothing that was painful. It was kind of like when he got a filling at the dentist. He knew something was going on, but he couldn’t feel it because of the Novocain. It was almost quite pleasant.

He felt and heard Jordan kneel down nearby, heard his voice near his ear. “Do you want me to stay?”

Brandon reached out blindly with his hand until he found Jordan’s and held it tightly. It was all the answer they needed.

Jordan prowled through the house, exploring. Dathilda told him he was more than welcome to wander throughout town, but he didn’t want to be too far from Brandon. Ever since the incident with the hooping cat, he felt fiercely protective of him. He could remember the cold ball of terror in his stomach as he heard the young child’s screams coming from the fields, and how he had made it through the doorway of Anailde’s house just in time to see Anailde lift Brandon up from the blood stained ground. One of Anailde's ladies had stood by with a crossbow, and for one crazy moment he thought that she had been the one to hurt Brandon. He found out later that she had been the one to shoot the cat and had essentially saved his life.

Over the last few days, Dathilda had been working on Brandon's back. He wasn't quite sure what she was doing, except that it seemed to ease his pain a little and made him sleep a lot, but when he peeked at Brandon's back the evening of their second day there, he was amazed. The gashes had completely closed, still a deep, angry red, but looking much better than they had earlier under their stiff black stitches. Now the stitches had been removed and the welts were a vivid pink against Brandon's skin, but looked fully healed.

He didn't know how Dathilda did what she did, but he was betting a lot of it had to do with her mind "talking to" Brandon's body. Like psychic healing. That was awesome.

He entered a room that looked like a study. He felt a little bit like he was snooping, but the door had been left open and Dathilda told him he was welcome anywhere in the house, except in the sick room while she was working with Brandon. After that first session, she made it clear that she wanted to work privately.

The room was dominated by a huge bookcase that covered three of the walls. A small desk was set up in one corner, covered with papers and instruments made of silver and glass of which he didn't recognize the function. There was a heavy, thick book on the floor near the base of the bookshelf. Jordan bent down to pick it up and opened the leather cover to look through the pages. They were yellowed and thinner than tissue paper, but not brittle. They slipped over his fingertips as he turned the pages, looking at the light spiderwebby writing, sprawled across the pages and felt something inside of him tighten and tingle. There was something about this book that held history and power, and he was feeling that just through touch.

Jordan.

He quickly placed the book back on the bookshelf and moved his hands away as he heard Dathilda's voice in his head. He saw her approach and she reached out and picked up the book he had been pursuing. She glanced through a couple of the old weathered pages, closed it, and stretched up on her toes to put it back in its correct location on the shelf.

Do you have an interest in alchemy, young one?

"Is that what it was?"

Yes. This one- She brought down another book, -is better, more modern. Less myth and theory, more practical applications.

"That's all right. I don't know alchemy." He had a Creator that could create gold from paper and pencil and that was good enough for him.

Would you like to learn? I could teach you.

He smiled, unable to deny the appeal of that idea. He wouldn't mind learning a whole lot of things from her, with her large eyes and cool voice echoing smoothly inside his own head, intimate and erotic. "How long does it take to learn?"

A lifetime.

"Then I guess I am a little behind, then."

Dathilda shrugged. It is the commitment to the craft that matters, more than the years you put into it. I think you would be a quick learner.

He found himself watching her mouth as she spoke into his head and wondered what it might be like to kiss it. Don't even go there, he thought, hoping that Dathilda wouldn't be able to hear it. So far their psychic communication had been pretty one sided. "We have places we need to go when he is feeling better," Jordan explained. "I can't stay."

Where do you go?

"We are on a pilgrimage to visit the Queen Goddess," Jordan said.

Dathilda studied him for a minute, for so long he was beginning to feel nervous about her scrutiny. You two are Outwolders, aren't you?

Christ, are we wearing a sign or something? Jordan thought to himself. Aloud, he said "Why do you think that?"

It's obvious that you are not of this world. You come in from the Outskirts, but you don't have their dialect or accent. And your friend was injured by a hooping cat; they guard the Sacred Places. All the Outworlders come to see the Queen. Dathilda blinked slowly, her eyes pulsing again. It is illegal to attempt to approach the Sacred Places; bearing scars from hooping cats in a mark of high shame. Yet Anailde delivered you here to my care instead of to the proper authorities, as well as giving me a victim of the cats to use my brand of healing on. She is protecting both of you, and now so must I. She raised a hand to her forehead, frowning, and took a seat.

"Are you alright?"

Dathilda did not answer, but kept her hand to her forehead. Are you here to help our Queen?

"If she needs it."

There are rumors. We fear for her.

"Then we will help her."

Then I shall help you. Dathilda stood. I have a headache, I must lie down. Excuse me. She exited the room quickly, her head down, her gaze on the floor. Jordan watched her leave with a bit of concern.

He left the room and went to see Brandon . He was sitting up, his back straight and stiff, sketching. He looked up as Jordan entered and smiled, but said nothing.

Jordan sat next to him. Brandon spoke little since the experience with the hooping cats, mostly only when spoken to, and even then no more than necessary.

Brandon closed the sketchpad, but not before Jordan saw an extremely well done portrait of Dathilda. Jordan smiled slightly and leaned forward, kissing Brandon.

Brandon hesitated slightly, then kissed him back. Jordan hated that. Brandon never hesitated. Brandon was impulsive, ferocious, generous and careless but not hesitant. Not like this.

Jordan moved his lips up to his temple, kissing the smooth skin there, rubbing his lips over Brandon's hair. "Don't worry," he said. "It's going to be all right."

Brandon shook his head. “You can’t promise that.”

“I know.” Jordan leaned his forehead against Brandon’s, stared into his eyes. Deep, warm brown like chocolate and coffee. “But no matter what, I’ll be with you and you’ll be with me. I can promise you that.”

Brandon exhaled shakily. “I’m scared as hell blue eyes.”

“Me, too.”