Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I - 21. Endymion

Chapter 21: Endymion

Happy I deem Endymion
Who sleeps the sleep unturning…
—Theocritus, Idylls

The companions were two and a half days southeast of Morrow, and had spent the past two nights in the woods. They had passed only a few farms or holts along the road; the next town—Mountainmass—was a day or two ahead. They were looking forward to a hot bath. George, who was in the lead with Larry, raised his hand and pointed. Ahead, over the trees, a column of black smoke rose straight into the still air. Arthur touched his spurs to Aurorus and rode alongside George.

“About five miles ahead,” George said.

“A farmer burning off a field, perhaps,” Arthur suggested. “It’s much too much smoke for a campfire, and too little for a forest fire.” The concern about a forest fire was very real. The taiga through which the road passed was dry; hot and resinous, the smell of pine surrounded them.

The companions had covered perhaps three miles when a light breeze from the east brought an unpleasant smell, a smell of poorly roasted pork. “I have a bad feeling,” Arthur said. “We’ll take to the woods, and skirt this, whatever it is, until we know more.”

When Arthur judged that they were abreast of the source of the smoke, although a half mile north of the road, he called a halt. “Larry and I will walk toward the road to investigate. Gary, please obey George. If you hear my whistle once, flee; twice, come silently; three times, come openly and quickly.”

The thick pine canopy kept direct sunlight from reaching the forest floor and inhibited the growth of brush below the trees. It was easy to walk through the trees, but Arthur and Larry felt exposed. Closer to the road, they saw scrub bushes growing on the verge. The smoke, now a mere wisp, still rose beyond the bushes. The forest was silent save for the buzz of insects. After crawling on their stomachs the last few tens of yards, the boys peered through the scrub. In the road and scattered on the verge were the remains of several wagons, all burned, some still smoldering. “Larry…can you see any life?”

Larry’s ability to see life as a rainbow of color cascading from a person’s head to his feet had proven to be a useful diagnostic tool. He had learned, too, that in death a person’s spectrum turned from color to shades of gray before fading away. The boy looked up and down the road. “Yes…one, very faint, there,” he said, and pointed.

Arthur had sent out a weak pulse of magic. The return pulse confirmed Larry’s sight, and detected no other life—save George and Gary—within two miles. Rising, Arthur pushed aside the brush and walked in the direction Larry had pointed. Larry came behind him. Arthur turned to prevent the boy from seeing what lay in the road, but it was too late. Larry hurled the contents of his stomach into the grass beside the road.

Larry knelt beside Arthur. “I’m so sorry,” the boy sobbed. “He’s hurt so badly…I could see it…”

Arthur reached out and soothed Larry. “Shhh. Be strong, now. He needs you. We both need you.”

Lying in the center of the road, black except for eyes that peered from a head devoid of hair and…Arthur shuddered…devoid of eyelids, lips, and ears…charcoal limbs contorted, breath rattling through a gaping hole that was its mouth, was…someone. Human or elf or dwarf or troll…male or female…nothing could be determined. It was burned, but it was alive.

“Larry…the whistle…three times,” Arthur said. “Then help me, please.”

Arthur bent down and touched the creature’s head, steeling himself to the pain he knew he would find when he reached the mind inside the nearly fleshless head. None of his experiences had prepared him for what he found. He saw himself standing in a meadow covered with lush, spring-green grass under a cerulean sky. A stream gurgled through the meadow; broad oak trees surrounded it. A young boy with curly red hair, green eyes, and straight white teeth visible through smiling lips was watching him. The boy’s voice echoed into Arthur’s mind. Who are you?

My name is Arthur. Who are you? Arthur asked.

Endymion. Where is this place? How did we get here? Did you bring me here? The boy was plainly puzzled, but he did not seem worried.

I think you brought both of us here, Endymion. Arthur thought to the boy. To himself he marveled. The boy has retreated from the pain into this place of his imagination…at least, I don’t think oaks like that grow anywhere around here. Perhaps it’s a place of memory. If I break the illusion, will he go mad? May I heal him without telling him?

Arthur had never sworn Healer’s Oath, but considered himself bound by it. The oath discouraged healing someone without his or her knowledge and permission, and allowed a healer to ease the death of someone who was in great pain that could not be palliated, or someone injured too severely to be healed. The husk of a body that lay in the road was in great pain; only the boy’s imagination protected him. Arthur could ease the boy’s pain with endorphins, but could not erase it completely. If the boy were to survive, he would face months of rehabilitation, and pain would be a necessary, even an integral companion.

While Arthur thought, the image of the boy approached him. You look like a nice boy. If I brought you here, you must be my friend. The boy reached out his hand and grasped Arthur’s. Arthur felt the contact, sensed the soft, warm flesh of the boy against his stronger and tougher hand. Can we play? The boy asked.

Would you sit with me, first? Arthur thought. Here, by the stream. He led the boy to the brook, and sat down. The boy sat facing him. Their knees touched.

Endymion, Arthur began, when you sleep, what do you dream about?

That’s a silly question, the boy said. I dream about my best friend, and who he will be. I meet him in a meadow surrounded by great trees. He’s tall, and fair haired, and beautiful…Oh, this is a dream, isn’t it? I’ve never talked to you before in a dream.

This is a dream, Endymion, Arthur said, but I’m real, and so are you. You see, Arthur paused and stimulated endorphin production in the husk he was touching, you were hurt badly, and you came here to escape the pain, and that’s where I found you. Arthur paused and looked into the boy’s eyes, afraid that this revelation would jerk the boy from his dream and into madness. But all he saw was love and trust.

If you’re here, then it can’t be too bad, the boy thought.

Endymion, will you let me heal you? Arthur thought. You were hurt…you were hurt badly. In his mind, Arthur took both the boy’s hands. If I am to heal you, you will have to wake up, and that will hurt. It will frighten you. But I will be here for you.

You must tell me how I was hurt, the boy thought.

There was a fire; you were burned. A caravan in which you were riding was burned. Arthur watched memories flood into the boy’s mind from whatever placed he had hidden them. Arthur tightened his mental grip on the boy’s hands and poured magic through his body into the boy’s, careful not to make the mistake that Prince Aladil had made.

As Endymion’s memories returned, the dream faded, and Arthur was once more kneeling in the middle of a dusty road staring at the burned husk of a boy…no, a tween he thought, seeing more of Endymion’s memories.

Had Endymion been able, he would have screamed, but only a guttural moan came from his lipless mouth. At least he is still sane, Arthur thought to himself.

I am a healer, Arthur thought to Endymion. Arthur continued to help the boy’s body create endorphins.

Kill me…kill me…came the reply, please I don’t want to live…

I will help you die, if that is truly what you want, Arthur thought, but you must not decide from pain. Wait. The endorphins saturated the boy’s body.

The pain is less, now. Arthur thought to Endymion.

The voice in Arthur’s head was stronger, but no less determined. I must die…I cannot live like this. Endymion knew what had happened to him. The flesh was burned from his face. His hands and feet were mere stumps of flesh; his genitals had been consumed.

Your body was beautiful, Arthur assured the boy, but what you are is so much more than your physical body. What you are is in here, and Arthur urged the boy’s mind to explore its potential. Arthur pushed the boy’s thoughts along paths of might-be and may-be. Here was Endymion, riding tall on a white stallion, a gleaming sword in his hand. Here was Endymion, in the gold-trimmed robes of a Master Mage, presiding over the elevation of a cohort of Journeyman Mages. Here was Endymion, standing in the courtyard of a huge stone house—more a castle than a house—watching a gaggle of boys practicing with sword and quarterstaff. Leading from the meadow of Endymion’s imagination were countless roads; each road forked over and over, creating a net of probability.

Arthur tried to explain what the boy was seeing, Every time you make a decision, you create a new path, and you cut away the other possible paths you might have taken from that point. What you see is what can be, depending on the decisions you make from this day forth.

The boy’s thoughts were bitter. That’s all what I could have been…had I been born elsewhere or elsewhen…had I not been apprenticed to a third-rate merchant…had I not been burned…Let me die!

What you see is not what you could have been, Arthur thought, but what you will be. Don’t you see? You will be what you see…or you will be dead here and never know the wonders that the future holds for you. It’s your choice. Let me know what you decide. Arthur withdrew from the boy’s mind.

“Here they are!” Larry said. Gary and George had ridden up.

*****

Arthur touched Endymion’s charred forehead and asked, Will you live, or will you die? I haven’t a lot of time.

Please don’t leave me…can I really be what I saw? Endymion thought.

Yes, and more. But it will be hard. It will be painful. It will take a long time for you to heal. You will hurt more even than you hurt today. You will be in torment unlike any you could imagine, Arthur replied.

Will you help me? Endymion thought. Please?

Arthur sighed. So this was what destiny wanted of them. Of course, he said.

*****

“Mage-fire,” George said. “Nothing else could have caused this. Not even napalm, I don’t think, and they don’t have that here, do they?” When Arthur didn’t answer, George pleaded, “They don’t, do they?”

“I’m sorry, George,” Arthur said, “Napalm…no, none of that here, but a mage doesn’t need it. You’re right, of course. There’s nothing physical in this world…that I know of, at least, that could have done it. It had to be magic…an awful use of magic. Most of these bodies are burned to the bone. Third degree isn’t even the right word. The only reason Endymion survived was that he has some innate magic that shielded him. And he’d have died in another agonizing hour or two had we not arrived.”

Once again, Arthur entered the boy’s thoughts. Endymion, we have to move you from this place, but you’re…well, you’re fragile which is why we haven’t moved you, yet. The only safe way to move you is to put a magical spell on you. It will completely immobilize you in a cocoon of magic. You’ll still be awake and alert. I can continue to help you control your pain, but I dare not make you unconscious. I have to bandage your eyes to protect them while healing begins…so you’ll be blind. Your ears are damaged, and you’ll likely not hear much, either. We’ll be here, for you, even though you won’t be aware of that. Do you understand? You’ll be deaf, blind, and dumb. Can you do this?

Yes…yes. I want to live, now. I hope you’re right…

The boys cut two tall saplings, and with blankets made a horse litter. Arthur wove magic in a cocoon around Endymion. Endymion, I’m going to pick you up and put you on a litter. You’ll feel movement. We’re going to take you to Mountainmass…

Please! Don’t let anyone know it’s me! Please!

No…not if you don’t want. Is there anyone in Mountainmass we can trust? We need a place to stay…you need a place where you can heal…

Archibald…the librarian at the College of Mages…he was my friend when I was a boy…ask him…tell him it’s me…but no one else…swear!

I swear.

Larry and Arthur walked behind the horse litter. “Arthur,” Larry said. “Why don’t you heal Endymion like Prince Aladil healed you…except for controlling the magic, of course?”

“Several reasons, Larry. It would be simple to say that nothing is free, not even magic, and the more magic we use, the greater the cost. When the Prince tried to use magic to heal me the cost was that the magic froze my pattern—what we call DNA—into that of a tween. Every time a cell of my body replaces itself, it replaces itself exactly as it was, before. But more than that, I’ll never become an adult.” Arthur paused while Larry digested this information.

Arthur continued. “The magic also affected the cells in my testicles that would someday produce sperms. Even if I became an adult, I could not sire children. We must stop, now,” he added. “Endymion has lost a great deal of fluid.”

Arthur and Larry carefully gave Endymion water. “The skin,” Arthur said, “the skin provides a barrier against the loss of body fluid—which is mostly water. The skin also begins the synthesis of Vitamin D, which the body needs. He’ll have to get that in his diet. Egg yolks, perhaps. There’s no deep water, oily fish here.”

“What about plants?” Larry asked. “Don’t they have vitamins?”

“A very few plants have a very little Vitamin D,” Arthur said, watching Larry carefully tip a drop or two of water at a time into Endymion’s mouth. “In fact, it’s not really a vitamin; I only call it that because that’s how I first learned it. It’s more like a hormone, actually—”

“There, that’s enough water for now. Let’s go,” Arthur urged.

As they walked, Arthur continued to lecture Larry. “The skin also contains the nerves called thermo-receptors. Some of them are tied to the hypothalamus, which regulates body temperature. Those nerves were damaged—many were destroyed. We’ll also have to watch his temperature, and help the hypothalamus regulate it.

“It his temperature were to rise above 42 degrees, a positive feedback loop would be triggered that causes the temperature to rise even higher until at about 45 degrees, death would occur,” Arthur added. And I wonder why the ‘Intelligent Design’ advocates who were trying to push religion into the schools, and science into the dark ages, never bothered to consider that very stupid piece of ‘design.’

“There’s some skin left on his back,” Larry said. “I noticed when we were putting him in the litter.”

“That’s good,” Arthur said. “Skin can regenerate, but only from undamaged skin—it needs a place to start. I don’t think anyone around here knows how to do a skin graft, and I’m not anxious to start. “We’ll also have to watch the burned skin carefully until it sloughs off. It can become toxic from bacterial infection.”

The journey was a slow one. Walking, and stopping every half hour to give Endymion fluids—and to reassure him that they were still with him—took a lot of time. Leaving the road when other travelers were detected slowed them down even more. It took the companions nearly six days to reach Mountainmass. Larry examined Endymion’s spectrum and concocted an infusion that helped replace the electrolytes the boy’s body lost in the pus that oozed from cracks in his charcoal skin. Larry also created a salve with which to bathe Endymion’s charred flesh. At each stop, Arthur channeled magic to the boy, instructing and helping his body begin its healing, and preventing the bacterial infection in the charred flesh that killed so many burn victims. Knowing the potential ill effects of sensory deprivation, he concentrated on eyelids and ears, mouth, lips, and tongue. By the time they neared Mountainmass, Endymion could hear.

“Endymion, I have to go into town to find Archibald. There’s another healer who has been caring for you ever since we first found you. His name is Larry, and his herbs and medicines are what you’ve been drinking, and what have been soothing your skin. I think it’s time you met him,” Arthur said.

“Hello, Endymion, my name is Larry,” the boy said. Through Arthur’s touch, Larry heard Endymion’s mental reply.

Hello, Larry. Thank you for taking care of me. I must look repulsive. The boy’s body shuddered, causing him to moan in pain.

“No, Endymion,” Larry said. “I know that you are beautiful, and I know that what I see with my eyes isn’t the real you. The real you is inside, waiting to come out. You’re like…you’re like a butterfly that will come from its husk!”

Arthur felt a flicker of hope from Endymion’s mind, and smiled at Larry. You did well, he mouthed to that boy. Larry understood, and smiled back at Arthur. It was the first time he’d smiled since he’d first seen Endymion’s charred body beside the road.

Arthur prepared to leave the boys and enter the city in search of Endymion’s friend. “Endymion, I must leave, now. Larry is going to sit with you. He only will be able to talk to your ears…he can’t yet talk to your mind.”

It was nearly dark when Arthur returned with Archibald.

Archibald was anything but the stereotype of a librarian. He was a hale man, who strode briskly down the road swinging a quarterstaff. He wore a mage’s robe, but rather than sandals, he wore sturdy boots. A sword hung from his belt. His hair was cut short. Larry stood and put himself in front of Endymion, blocking Archibald’s view.

“They told me…,” he began, “I’m prepared to see…”

Despite this assurance, the color drained from Archibald’s face when he saw the boy. “I…I’m sorry,” he turned away and faced Arthur. “Endymion was once my protégé. We were friends, lovers before his father apprenticed him to the merchant Eisenstein … Endymion had such potential …”

Arthur gestured to a blanket on the ground beside Endymion. “Endymion will live…and perhaps reach that potential,” he said quietly. “He’s awake, and he can hear. Come, I think he would like to hear your voice…”

“Endymion, it’s Archibald. I’m here. We’re going to take you to my sister’s house…it’s outside the city walls, but secure in its own right,” he added for Arthur’s benefit.

Arthur touched Endymion’s forehead and relayed the boy’s thoughts to Archibald. “He’s very happy that you’re here. He remembers your sister and is worried that her boys will be frightened or upset…apparently he was good friends with them…”

“Yes…they were. Endymion stayed overnight with the boys many times before his father apprenticed him to the merchant…but shouldn’t we tell his father?” Archibald asked.

“I swore not,” Arthur said. “Perhaps it was not a good oath, but it is a valid one. I ask you to honor it until Endymion releases me from it.”

Archibald nodded his agreement.

They had already passed the path that led to Archibald’s sister’s house, and had to backtrack along the road. It was dark when they arrived.

Archibald’s sister and her family were beekeepers, and their house was in the middle of pastures full of flowers and beehives. The companions learned what Archibald meant when he said the house was secure. It was guarded by the bees, and they could not come within 100 yards of the house until Archibald—whose scent was known to the bees—had walked in and summoned his sister.

“Of course we will help,” she said. “Here…put a drop of this on each of your foreheads, on the injured boy, and on the head and rump of each horse. Just a little…and you only need it to reach the gate…the bees do not come within the compound. My brother will not tell me who this is…but I have guessed. Please, do not tell my sons.”

After reviewing the options, Arthur elected to put Endymion in a room adjacent to the bath. A second room, nearby, would be sleeping quarters for his companions and himself. “The high humidity here will be good for his skin…for its rebuilding, that is. Mistress, your kindness is appreciated…I only hope that you understand what will be needed. It will be months before the patient will be able to function—even partly—on his own. Until then, he must be fed and cleaned as if he were a baby. After that, he must undergo months of rehabilitation while he re-learns how to use new muscles and nerves. My companions and I must stay with him…it is a point of honor. The burden we place on you goes well beyond traditional hospitality…we will need feed for the horses, food and lodging…the boys’ training must continue…We will pay for our keep…but I worry about the effect on your household.”

The woman laughed, “I had five brothers, three of whom live here, and now I have seven sons, so I have a very good notion of the chaos that boys create. Do not worry…I can’t imagine you and your companions causing any more disruption than my boys already do. And please, my name is Sarah.

“It will not cost us anything to house you; we grow and raise more than enough food. Oats for the horses…yes, I will ask you to pay for that, since we have to buy them. Help with chores, please…with enough time left for training…The boys are your apprentices? In what are you training them?”

Arthur felt safe and comfortable—the first time in a long time—and answered candidly. “George … the black-haired boy … is going to be a mage,” he said. “Larry, the tallest boy, will be a healer; Gary, the little one, may become the greatest alchemist this Age has seen … I also train them in martial skills … as Darkness falls, they must be able to protect themselves … ” Arthur’s voice drifted off. “Of course we will pay for oats, and whatever else we consume that must be purchased, and help with chores. You are a most gracious hostess, Sarah.”

“Nonsense. I’m a mother and a sister. My brother loves Endymion, and so do my boys. He is a good friend to them.”

Arthur’s silence was tacit admission that Sarah had rightly guessed the identity of the injured boy.

George took charge of the horses, and with the help of some of Sarah’s sons, bedded them down for the night. Gary set up things in the companions’ bedroom. Larry helped Arthur get Endymion situated, and watched Arthur release the cocoon. “Endymion, I’m going to release the magic that has been surrounding you. I’ll remove it slowly. Your arms and legs, your head, are supported, but they’re still going to move. That will cause great pain. I’m sorry…Are you ready?”

I’m ready…Please hold me…touch me. I can’t feel you, but I know you’re there…

A startled moan came from the boy’s throat as the cocoon fell away and his limbs settled onto the sterile, wet sheets that Arthur had placed under him.

It had been six days since the attack, and Arthur judged that Endymion had healed enough that he could be allowed to sleep under the influence of endorphins. “In fact,” he told Larry, “he should sleep quite a lot for the next tenday. It will be easier on him, and will speed healing. You or I will have to stay with him, and awake, though. At least for another several days.”

Exhausted, Arthur and his companions stumbled through a bath and were drying, ready to go to sleep without supper when Archibald came in. “Sarah has supper for you. The boys have met George, but want to meet the rest of you…as does Sarah’s husband.” The companions quickly dressed. Larry was left to watch over Endymion.

Archibald performed the introductions. “Robert, here is Arthur, a healer. His companions are George, Gary, and Larry…Larry is with the patient...”

“We’ll take Larry a tray…” Sarah said.

“Arthur…boys…you’ve met my sister. Her husband is Robert. Here is Alice, their daughter. The tweens are Arty, Harry, and John. The boys are Ernest and Lawrence. And these two children are Douglas and Richard.”

“My wife has made you welcome,” Robert said, somewhat ungraciously, Arthur thought. “Come, supper is waiting.”

Archibald took Arthur aside after supper. “You are tired…I can see that, but I would have a few words with you,” Archibald said.

“You are a mage and a healer,” Archibald continued, “And you have saved the life of someone dear to me. I must ask you what your intentions are. Can you truly heal Endymion, or will he be a scarred cripple? Is his mind sound and will it remain so? Will you see this through? Are you…Oh, I have so many questions…Who are you, Arthur? Where are you and your companions from? Why are you here? How was Endymion burned so badly?”

Arthur answered slowly. “Archibald, Endymion knows you to be a Good person…I could see that in his mind. You tested me when I first approached you…I felt your spell. You also looked to see that it was really Endymion who lay cocooned on the litter. I saw that spell, too.

“We are all from the north…the far north. The boys are my apprentices, and will become magic users. We travel…we travel to adventure, to see, and to learn.

“We found Endymion amid the ruins of a caravan…wagons, anyway, and the bodies of others. Everything had been burned with Mage Fire…the destruction could not have been caused by anything else I know of.

“Yes … I know what it will take to heal Endymion, and I can do that. I can make him as beautiful as he once was … but not necessarily as beautiful as he thinks he is …” Arthur paused.

Archibald filled in the gap, “Yes, he is a bit conceited about his looks. I see that you do know him …”

“We shared many thoughts before he agreed to be healed and accepted me as his healer. He knows, I know, and your sister knows, that it will take months. I hope we have that time, for Endymion is witness to a horror that will be treated by the death of the perpetrators…”

Archibald mused. “News of the destruction of the caravan reached Mountainmass five days ago…where have you been? Of course, you could not travel quickly with Endymion…No one reported seeing your party…you must have hidden…why? Of course…you knew Endymion was in danger. Have you asked him about the attack?”

“No,” Arthur said. “And he may not remember. That is the irony. If the attackers knew he were alive, they would try to kill him to prevent him from revealing something that he may not know. He was traumatized by the attack; when we first found him, he did not remember it. If he is lucky, he will never remember it.”

*****

“Arthur, I want to try a new salve on Endymion,” Larry said the next morning. “It’s the same herbs we found along the road, but they’re infused in what the boys call royal jelly. It’s something from the bees, and they said it had great healing properties. I talked to Mistress Sarah about it. She said they used it all the time as an unguent. It’s a foreign pro…pro…uh…protein, and I don’t know how Endymion might react. Would you look at it?”

Arthur led Larry through an examination of the salve. “Proteins, and amino acids,” he said.

“They’re the building blocks of proteins, aren’t they?” Larry asked. “That’s a funny name. I never heard it, before, but when you said it, it made sense. Like the stone blocks in the city walls.”

I forgot, Arthur thought. Children here don’t play with alphabet blocks like we did on Earth. “That’s right,” he said. “What else do you see?”

“Pollen,” Larry said, instantly. “I’ve learned to recognize it. Oh! Could he be allergic to the pollen? I mean, and not just the proteins?”

“That’s a possibility,” Arthur said. He smiled and ruffled Larry’s hair. “We’ll test on a very small area and watch Endymion’s reactions closely. You are learning quickly and well, Larry. I’m very pleased.”

“Endymion, Larry’s here,” Arthur said. Taking Larry’s hand, he placed it on Endymion’s forehead and helped Larry read Endymion’s thoughts.

“Hello, Endymion. Is there anything that hurts more today than yesterday?” Larry asked.

I’m glad you didn’t ask me how I feel…Yes, my left elbow feels like it’s still burning…

Larry used a soft brush…one from Gary’s box of art supplies, and which they’d cleaned and sterilized…to apply some of the latest unguent onto Endymion’s elbow. “Is that better?”

Oh, yes. Thank you.

*****

Arthur and his companions quickly adapted to the rhythm of their host’s household. Even Robert seemed less sour toward them. While the companions maintained a watch on Endymion—whose identity was still unknown to all but Sarah—and helped with chores, they was still time for training and play. The tweens, especially, were happy that Arthur and his companions would spar with them. The boys delighted in teaching Gary and George and Larry about the bees, and the two children tagged along everywhere, constantly underfoot.

A ten-day after the companions arrived at the bee farm, Archibald rode from the town, ostensibly to visit his sister, but in truth, to speak with Arthur. After he’d been greeted by the family—and surrendered the treats he’d brought for the boys—he took a mug of tea to Arthur, who was watching over Endymion.

“Thank you for the tea,” Arthur said. “Endymion…Archibald is here.”

“Oh, Archibald. I’m sorry I cannot greet you properly,” Endymion whispered. “Arthur and Larry say I must not touch anyone…”

“Endymion, you look very much better than you did ten days ago…and Arthur assured me that you would soon…okay, not soon, but not too long…I’m sorry…”

Indeed, had Archibald not been a mage, and familiar with the arts of healing, he might have thought a miracle had occurred. Much of the charcoal that had covered Endymion had sloughed off and been replaced by delicate pink skin. Beneath the skin, however, not all the muscles were yet repaired. That would require several tendays, perhaps months. A cloth, saturated with unguent, lay across Endymion’s genitals, but Archibald could see the outline of the rebuilt organs.

Later, Larry sat with Endymion, now asleep, while Archibald and Arthur talked quietly in a corner of the courtyard.

“His testicles were burned away…the new ones…will they function completely?” Archibald asked.

“Yes,” Arthur replied. “Although the genitals were perhaps the most difficult part of the healing. Fortunately, his body produced stem cells…undifferentiated cells…okay; trust me on this…his body made the things that I needed to help it recreate even that part of itself. I can’t take credit for it…he did it himself, really.”

Archibald nodded, accepting if not understanding what Arthur had said. Then he continued, “There’s been talk in the town. Eisenstein had sold shares in the caravan…people were expecting to be paid when it arrived and the goods it carried were sold in the market. Of course, since it never arrived, Eisenstein had no obligation to pay…the people who had shares knew that, and while some may have grumbled, that’s the risk they took. However, someone overheard someone else grumbling, and then someone else, and they got together and discovered that Eisenstein had sold the caravan twice over—and more. When it all comes out, I suspect we’ll find that he sold the caravan at least three times. At first it appeared he lost as much as 500 crowns, but now it looks like he made over 2,000 crowns…and he may get to keep it, if he’s not found. He disappeared before anyone thought to arrest him…”

“Do you think he arranged for the caravan to be attacked?” Arthur asked.

“It’s the only explanation that makes sense. Well, not the only one, but the best one. If the caravan had arrived, he’d never have been able to pay off all the shareholders. If he’d disappeared before the news of the attack, I’d suspect he were just a thief. But he didn’t disappear until at least two days after the news, which makes me think he’s a thief and a murderer. There’s no proof, though. Has Endymion said anything? And, Endymion’s family thinks he died in the attack…don’t you think we should tell them that he’s alive and here, being healed?”

They heard a gasp, and the sound of running feet. Archibald gestured. “Arty …it was Arty. Come quickly.”

Arty had run to his mother. Archibald and Arthur found them before Arty had been able to spread the news.

“Arty, it’s true. Arthur’s patient is your friend Endymion. Arthur promised Endymion that he’d not to tell anyone but me how badly Endymion had been hurt. It’s my fault that you know something that you shouldn’t know. Will you promise…at least try…not to tell anyone?” Archibald asked his nephew.

“Why? We all thought he was dead…Ernest cried himself to sleep when he heard. We all cried.”

“How did you hear? Who brought that news?” Sarah demanded.

“Farmer Bradford, when he brought the honey jars back,” Arthur answered. “We wondered why you said nothing…”

“Arty, there are two reasons not to tell. First, Endymion may be in danger. He witnessed the attack, and he might be able to identify the attackers. If the attackers found out that he was still alive, they might try to kill him.”

“The bees wouldn’t let them,” Arty said. He seemed very confident.

“Maybe, maybe not,” his mother said. “The people who attacked the caravan used magic…and might use magic against the bees.”

“The second reason is that Endymion has asked that no one know…that’s his wish,” Archibald said. “You love Endymion don’t you?” At the boy’s nod, he continued, “Then on that love I ask you to keep this secret.”

Mutely, Arty agreed.

A tenday later, Robert and Arty took honey to First Market. They returned from town bearing grim news. While Robert comforted his wife, Arty told Arthur. “Archibald is dead. Killed, according to the Master Guildmaster, by a mage—one Tumlin—who had been expelled from the college some years ago on Archibald’s evidence. Archibald left letters accusing the same mage of being involved in the attack on the caravan. Tumlin has disappeared. Father doesn’t know that it’s Endymion, but now Mother will have to tell him, and he will know that we’re in danger.”

Robert came to the room where Endymion was healing, and beckoned to Arthur. Arthur looked at Endymion, and then stepped outside, following Robert a few paces down the hallway. “I was angry at you,” Robert began, “for bringing grief and danger to my family. But while we rode home from town, Arty reasoned with me. He made me see that it was not you, but our own neighbors—the caravan master and the mage—who were responsible. He made me see that you were our benefactors, rather than the burden I had supposed. I thank you for that. My own son taught me wisdom. I thank you for that, too.”

Before Arthur could reply, Robert turned and walked away. Funny guy, Arthur thought. He is uncomfortable with his emotions, and finds it hard to feel—or express—gratitude.

*****

The household was asleep. Even the bees were dormant. The moon had set. High clouds dimmed the light from the stars and the two lone Bright Wanderers that were in the sky. The seven men left their horses tethered to trees some distance down the road, and crept silently toward the gate. The mage’s lackeys led the way, swords in hand. The mage began gathering magic.

As they approached the house, one lackey slapped his neck. “Ow! What the…”

“Quiet, fool,” the mage hissed.

Another lackey cursed and slapped at his face with both hands. “It’s the bees!” he said.

The mage snarled when a bee stung his ankle and spoiled the spell he’d been preparing. Rather than the concentrated destruction he’d planned, he released magic in a ragged blast that did little more than stun the bees near him. He swung his arms briskly, re-gathering magic.

Within the farm, the noise created when the mage released the first charge of magic woke Arthur. He hurriedly shook Harry, next to him. “Harry, wake up. The farm is under attack!”

“Attack? What do you mean? Who…?” The boys’ voices—and their bodies—tumbled over each other as they woke—all except Endymion and Larry, who were sleeping in another room. Arty lit a lantern.

“Someone just attacked with magic. They’re close…in the lane leading to the house,” Arthur said.

“But the bees…” Ernest began, to be interrupted by Arthur.

“I think the magic was aimed at the bees,” he said.

Arty, the oldest tween, quickly took charge. “Lawrence, go wake Father. Tell him we are under attack and that the bees may have been stunned. Douglas, you and Richard go to the next room. Wake up Larry, and tell him. Then you stay there. You hear me? This is not play time.” The children mutely nodded.

By this time, the boys had donned trousers, boots, and sword belts. “Gary, please go with Arty; George, stay with me. Watch my back,” Arthur said.

*****

Sensing no one close to the door, Arthur opened it quickly. He stepped out, followed by George and two tweens, Harry and John. Behind them, a clatter of swords and thump of running feet signaled the arming of the rest of the household.

George gestured for quiet. Arthur stood, looking for a disturbance in the field that would indicate the presence of a mage. There, he thought. He’s gathering magic. Now he’s stopped. No time… Arthur stopped thinking and reacted. Pulling strands of magic together with his mind, he built a shield between himself and the mage. Then he turned to George, “Arrow ready? He will be outlined in light for a moment…shoot the instant you see that.”

Without waiting for the boy’s reply, Arthur gathered the faint light from the cloudy sky and directed it toward the mage. So harmless was the light that the mage didn’t even detect its presence until it met the field surrounding his body and glowed a garish red. The mage quickly wiped the light away. He did not hear or see the two arrows that raced toward him, striking his stomach and chest within a split second of one another. The man crumpled to the ground.

The mage’s lackeys hesitated long enough for Harry and John to reach them. Arthur and George were close behind, followed by others of the household. A brief skirmish sent sounds of sword clashing on sword before the lackeys turned and ran—into a wall of enraged bees. Arthur held George back. “The bees don’t know us. Even if they did, they’re pretty angry, now.”

Harry stood beside Arthur and George. “You’re right,” he said, his voice flat. “See? Father and the others are not going into the fields. They’re just making sure the raiders can’t get back in.”

The screams of the lackeys lasted for only a few minutes.

*****

Arthur stood over the moaning hulk that was the mage. “Did you burn the caravan of the merchant Eisenstein? Did you kill Archibald? How did you know to attack this farm? I will have the answers.”

The mage gasped and choked. Air whistled from one of the wounds. Blood bubbled from his mouth. “Curse you…” he stuttered.

Arthur bent down and placed his hand flat against the sucking wound. The arrow protruded from between his fingers. The seal was not perfect, but the ghastly whistling stopped. “You can breathe now, can’t you? Answer the questions.”

The mage gasped. His voice was stronger, more sure. “No, it was not I who called Mage Fire on the Caravan. Archibald accused me…unjustly…as he’d done before. He attacked me. I saw his sister’s face, and the boy’s…Endymion…in his eyes. I had to kill him to defend myself. We came to offer protection to the survivor when we were attacked. You’re a healer, do your duty.”

Arthur removed his hand from the man’s chest and stepped back. “Yes, thank you for reminding me of my duty.” He turned and walked away. Everything the man had said was a lie.

“Is he dead?” George asked.

Arthur nodded. “Yes. But you did not kill him.”

“I don’t understand,” George said. “Harry and I fired at the same time. There were two wounds, either of which would be fatal.”

“Both could have been healed, but I would not do that, George,” Arthur said. “His death is on my hands, not yours.”

*****

“The mage who brought the fire on the caravan is dead,” Arthur said. “He can no longer hurt you.”

“Truly?” Endymion whispered.

“Truly,” Arthur said.

“I saw him…I saw into his eyes…I knew it was he, and he knew I had seen,” the boy said. “I was afraid…”

“You need not fear, now,” Arthur said. Except the merchant. Eisenstein. Where is he?