[DL-G/T/D] Loose Ends


NRPG: Interwarren posts are a headache for time. I am
deliberately not putting times down, please help me
fit them into the correct places, thanks. I know, for instance,
that Ash goes before Gerald, but I did that for artistic
license and dramatic impact :)

Also, there's a number of tags I need to pick up, but
I'm behind on this so I'll address them in a separate Daere
post.


**********************************************

	(Daere's Gerald)

They burst into the air over the warren, and Gerald was
taken aback by the confusion that reigned in the skies.
What could possibly have sitrred things up so?

<Random!! I am Random!> his dragon called. He dipped and
swerved in response to a cluster of dragons that im-
mediately winged towards them. <It's no good, everyone
is too excited.> Seconds later, he added, <I don't believe
it. This can't be true.>

*What? Were wraiths here?*

<No, they have attacked a warren called Geode to the north.
They were organized, like an army. Riders were sent from
here to help. There are many wounded.>

Was this what Nye meant by knowing the time to heal? 
Gerald frowned as they took an abrupt dive. 

<I must drop you off, my heart. If you are going to do 
anything, you'd better do it soon. I think we're going to 
be mobbed by dragons and riders.>

*Even in this chaos?*

<What did you expect? Our arrival is causing a stir, to say 
the least. Did you think we would be forgotten so soon?>

*No, I guess not. We may ruin things simply by showing up.
Then again, I want to help. Can you drop me off so that no
one can see?*

<Not exactly, but you won't be disturbed for at least a few
minutes.> There was a bump as Random backwinged and landed,
and Gerald rushed to unstrap himself and slide to the ground.
Within seconds, his dragon was a dwindling green dot in the
sky, a multicolored ribbon of dragons converging on him.

<Random, I said!! I'll explain everything!>

Gerald crossed to the Medical Center, the stone building looming 
over him, and shook his head. This trip was a disaster, no matter 
how one sliced it. A faint breeze rustled his long hair, bringing
with it the scents of burning wood and the smell of antiseptic. 
He shuddered with the chill of it and entered.

********************************

	(Telnor's Ash`chenon)

medics! Someone shouted, although he could only make it
out faintly. There was a terrible ringing in his ears and
the damnable feeling of needing to hold his guts in with
his hands. 

Why were they trying so hard? He was dead, there was no doubt.
No chance to save him. He had felt the wraith leave.

Or did he? With all the nightmares that had been flicking
through his head, there was no telling what was real and what
wasn't. Images of the battle, the wraith leaving, ripping him
open, drowning in the fire of a dragon...weird dreams. Strange
dreams. They couldn't be real. Just the last fading images of a
dying mind. Funny, he hadn't expected the end to be like this.

Funny also, that the end hadn't come yet. Hands came to him in
his nightmare, pressed against him, tried to pull his arms away.
He fought them, but it was worse than useless; the hands 
overpowered him and immobilized him. A corollary to his life, 
then. Useless. He fought, cried (or so he thought), but it was an 
intermidable amount of time before the hands left him alone. The 
worst of the ache was gone, but the ringing in his ears remained, 
and he couldn't move. This is it, he thought. Finally, to know 
peace.

****************************

	(Gerald)

He wandered through the medical center, not knowing what
miracle prevented people from stopping everything and 
gaping at him. Perhaps his white and gold robes marked him
as a healer, perhaps not; whatever the reason, he was left 
unmolested as he went from bed to bed.

He didn't have the slightest clue what he was supposed to be
doing.

Sure, there were the injured, and wherever he went he could see
their need; here was a broken arm, there was a gut wound, 
there a brain injury. His mind catalouged as he went, and it
didn't even occur to him that he had never learned medicine,
much less be able to diagnose perfectly with a glance. Their
need came to him automatically, subconsciously, and as
person after person presented themselves to his search, he
felt the growing ache of frustration.

What in the hells was he supposed to do?

There was no desire to bandage someone or talk to 
them or even pray. No desire to pick up surgical tools and
operate. No desire to stitch or even administer drugs. 
Nothing. 

Finally, he wandered into a private room to confront the 
most injured person by far. An old-looking grey haired man
lay sprawled on a bed as if he was some limp discarded rag doll.
He was covered in bandages, and it was obvious that a lot
of work had been done to him, even some form of healing.
Still, his need screamed out to Gerald so loudly that he
winced. His chest had been literally exploded outward, and
the patchwork job that had been done to him did little more than
close the would and keep his organs going.

What was he to do? This was it. This man would die without
help. And he didn't know how. Hesitantly, shyly, Gerald crossed 
the room and put his hand on the man's chest, as if to verify 
that life still existed in this hollow shell.

There was the hiss of sharply indrawn breath, but Gerald 
couldn't be sure if it was his or the man's. It was as if 
someone had lit a lamp in his head. He saw organs, felt 
their function, saw the wounds, and he knew how it had been
done. Wraith. Hellspawn. There was the stink of it everywhere,
like it had fused to the man permaenently. There were older
wounds, to be sure, and many scars-gods, so many scars-
but over it all was the pain and the stench of something unclean,
some kind of taint, or even-

Yes, that was it. Some of it was coming from the man himself. 
Fascinated, Gerald probed further. Yes. Now he understood.
Whatever power Nye had awakened in him, it was based in the
power to read or feel emotion. Gerald probed, pushed, exploring
every fiber of the man's body and psyche, until he felt himself
starting to fray away into nothingness.

Panicking, he tried to pull away, but it was too late. Gods he
had gone too far and now he was gone and there was just
this hybrid of him and the man-

-and he felt the taint of the thing that had been inside him/them
like the ache of a rotten tooth. He felt the enormity of the pain 
in his chest, which drugs had only been able to muffle slightly.
He felt the numbness of shock giving way to the hell of pain, and
the knowledge that he was going to die suffering and cowering
like a child. Everything ruined, all the good he had brought
chewed upon and spat in his face. 

Useless....

Who had this man been? What had he done? Gods, the sadness
in him rivalled anything that he had seen or heard of in stories
and songs. And still, there was this frustration, the need to heal 
and his total ignorance of how to do so. And now he was trapped 
in this body

TAKE THE PAIN, a voice said within him.

What?

TAKE THE PAIN WITHIN YOU.

No. No no no no

*This* was a *gift*? This? Do the thing he had not been able
to do in his former life? Have the strength to take *this* pain?
It couldn't be done. His mind rebelled.

No!!


THERE IS NO CHOICE.


This wasn't a gift, it was a nightmare. To heal someone else, 
he had to be that person, become that person. Take every kind
of hurt and mental anguish that victim had within himself. *Feel*
every bit of their pain. It would take far more than he had.

But even as he thought this, he knew it for a lie. He *did* have 
strength. Perhaps he had it all along, and turned away from it
when he lay dying, when the choice had been his and his alone.

Now he had no choice. This was the price for his life. This is 
what the goddess Nye had picked him for. She would not
have done so, he reasoned, if he could not handle it. 

So...he concentrated. He fought, he tried, he knit bone and sinew
with his thought, repaired nerves, cleaned up the internal 
bleeding, and all the while used every bit of his concentration
to keep away the pain while doing it. Slowly, under his care, the
man's life expectancy grew from minutes, to hours, to days,
years, and finally the man's alotted span. He left the mind alone,
knowing that he might attempt such a feat of mental healing
someday but for now that skill was far beyond him. His 
consciousness swept over the body, checking, fixing, improving,
not getting everything but the lion's share would be done.
Finally, he felt the body around him settle, and he was satisfied. 
The man was healed. However, he was still trapped. He
fretted, exhausted, until finally something like an eye in his
awareness simply closed, and he drained back into his own
body.

He heard a gasp. He looked up, heard the hiss of a sword being
drawn, and felt the tip if it against his throat. Hatred sparked in
the eyes of the woman holding it.

"Get away from him," she said, quietly.

<Um, Gerald?>

*Not now,* he thought. 

<Can't help it. You need to know. A *lot* of people are coming
your way. I explained the best I could, but->

*It's okay.*

The sword tip left his throat, and he looked to see that someone
had pulled the woman away,  ah, gods no-

Not Jayleigh yet. Not now. Was he cursed?

"It's all right," she said to the other woman. "He won't hurt
Ash'chenon."

He forced a smile onto his face, probably far out of place, but
it was the only thing he could do. 

"Hello, Jayleigh," he said. 

She took a step, then crumpled to the floor. Stooping quickly, 
Gerald picked her up and hefted her. Yes, just unconscious.
Blood had drained from certain places and she would wake
up soon without his help. 

Then again, it would be best if she didn't do that waking on 
the floor. He headed for the doorway, only to be confronted
by a small knot of riders, headed by Ja'ks. The latter had
his sword out and pointed towards them.

<See? I told you.>

*And it's okay, Random. Really.*

<The old Gerald wouldn't have said that.>

*How about that.*

Ja'ks was looking at the scene, and by this time the 
woman had her sword out, too. Gerald shook his head.
"There's no need for that. It will only make things worse."

Ja'ks was shaking his head. "I don't care who, or even
what you are, but you're not taking her away from us."

"I'm no angel, Ja'ks. Or a devil. Just me."

"That's not possible. I was there! You're dead. You're 
ashes are scattered-"

"That doesn't matter, Ja'ks. I was given another chance.
Have Sprarroe talk to Random. It's really me."

"I already have, that's why I'm here." There was a huge 
pause, as each man tried vainly to come up with something
to say. Finally, "Gerald? Is it really you?"

Gerald held out his arms, and two riders came to take 
Jayleigh from him. He sighed, then said, "A funny thing 
happened on the way to my funeral..." 

**************************

	(Phaedra of Geode)

When she woke, it was so *cold*. A welcome change from
the blistering inferno she had created to save her warren. 
It took her only a second to realize that she couldn't see.

She started, tried to sit up, her hands clawing at her eyes;
hands held her, pushed her back, and she yelped at the 
contact. Her skin hurt fiercely, like she had a tremendous
sunburn.

"Easy, now," Cygnus' voice soothed. "You don't need to be
getting up yet."

"I can't see," she said. "Where did they put me? Where are
the wraiths? Where's Melith?!?"

"Relax. You're at Daere, where they're waiting to find a 
healer for you. You've already been treated with burn salve,
you look like a lobster. Melith is waiting for you at Daere,
and we had a time keeping her from destroying the warren
when we wanted to take you here."

"Why did you leave her at Geode with the wraiths? Are you
crazy?!"

"No, no. The wraith army was in retreat. Not a rout, but then
again we have to take our blessings where we can get them.
You saved us with that little stunt, Warrenlady. If the coal 
bins had been cut off it would have been all over."

"And the commander? The man who tried to kill me? Did
he get away, too?"

"No, but the wraith inside him did. He was hellspawn."

"I don't believe you. Where is his body?"

"Why, so that you can take your revenge on a corpse?
Grow up, Phaedra. He's beyond your reach."

"You didn't sit there and see him order a hundred wraiths
to assassinate you, Cygnus. If he's dead and gone, I 
want to see his body."

"It's...missing."

"Great." Phaedra sank back onto the pillow. "Just great."

"One of the legendary warrenladies would be more worried
about her people than her revenge, I think."

"Stick to your songs and your legends, bard. Leave my
business to me. Why can't I see?"

"Bandages. The salve would have been bad for your eyes."
The voice sounded cold and formal, now.

Phaedra sighed. "I'm sorry, Cygnus. Im hurt and I'm testy 
and my success is cold comfort after seeing so many of 
my riders killed."

"It would have been more, I think, without your help."

"Perhaps. I just want to see the man responsible."
She sat up again with a major effort. "Help me get
these bandages off, would you? I want to see."

"I don't think that's wise."

"Are you a healer?"

"Well, no, but-"

"But nothing. Help me or I'll do it myself. What's with all the
commotion down the hall?"

"From what I've heard, someone unlooked-for has returned.
He's some kind of healer."

"A healer? That's just what I need."

"Phaedra, no! What are you doing? Get back in bed! He'll be
here to see you, not the other way around!"

The bandages finally came off, and Phaedra squinted 
against the harsh light. "Ouch. Look, I need a healer, and
we need to get back so that I can attend to Melith and 
see how much of my warren is left. Help me."

"All right, all right. Lean on me."

The glare was receding, and blinking furiously, Phaedra could 
see the small crowd and the tall blond man talking earnestly 
about some religion, and the woman in the room ignoring him
because she was attending-

Him. HIM.

And Phaedra was moving and screaming and running to 
claw out the eyes of the man who had hurt her, or break
his neck, or *some*thing. With all her will she called the
fire, tried to shape it, tried to reduce the man to a cinder,
but nothing happened. It was like she had burned herself
out in her monumental effort. Hands pulled at her, but she
would not be denied. She clawed at the man, screaming for
his death, and she ignored the sting of the needle in her
efforts until the drug overwhelmed her and she passed out.

***********************

	(Ash`chenon)

He awoke, his hand snaking out in reflex to stop the person
putting whatever it was on his face. It stung. There was a 
cry, and the figure withdrew. He tried to move, tried to 
follow up, but someone moved to hold him down. It was 
just as well; he was overcome with a wracking fit of 
coughing, and didn't want to think about what it was that
came up. Then he was engulfed in a hug.

"You're alive. Gods, you're alive."

"Who-" he began, then sat back. "Tahlaya. You're here."
He slid his hands over his eyes. "I had perhaps the 
worst dream ever. I was with Dirk and we were ambushed...."
He looked at his mate, with tears in her eyes, and took a 
look at the busy medical center. 

"It's true, isn't it? All of it. Where are we?"

"Daere."

"Gods..." His mind flashed ahead. "If this is true, we need 
to get out of here. Now. Fast. Someone's going to think 
about reprisals, and whether or not I deserve it, the time
is not right. I need help."

"You're not going anywhere."

"Yes, I am. Now. We have to go. I can rest when we get
to Telnor."

"No."

"Damn it, will you listen to me? People will know I'm here.
At least in Telnor they have to go through some semblance
of a trial. Here, I'm fair game. Why, anyone from Geode-"

"Their warrenlady has already tried. She's tied up in a 
bed, still thrashing around, calling for your death,
saying we're all against her."

"She won't be alone, Laya. Getting out of here is smart. 
I can rest in Telnor."

"I'm not going to let you-"

"Look, how did I get here?"

"We teleported."

"And I was in much worse shape, yes?"

"Yes." She was almost crying, now.

"Then I can handle going back. I'm tougher than I look,
you know. I'm not going to survive all this just to die on 
the way home."

*************************************

(next morning)

The older woman, her breath clouding slightly in the cold,
hardly had time to slide off her dragon before being met.

"You are the Warrenlady, Jayleigh?" 

"Yes, I am."

"My name is Vignette."

"The Dragonlady of the lost warrens, yes. 'Troy told me
that you were here."

Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. "We don't think we're lost,
dear." Jayleigh chuckled with her.

"How is Phaedra?"

"Not very good, I'm afraid. Physically, she's a little burned,
but-"

"I understand that 'but' all too well, Jayleigh. Is she calm
now?"

"Yes, she's sedated. Would you like to see her?"

"I'd like to do more than that, child. I need to take her back
with me."

"But-"

"I understand that 'but', too. Would it help to explain that
I can provide the help that she needs?
I have a mindhealer at my warren, one that has been 
treating her junior queenrider for some time now. I think 
that he could help her."

"Both queenriders?"

"Sadly, it's true. I don't know what is happening in that
warren, but I intend to fix it. In the meantime, I intend 
for Phaedra to get whatever help she needs to get better."

"What can we do?"

"Nothing, child, just let me take her back. Back home."

*********************************

NRPG: Whew, that was a long one.

Daere: I'll attend to the next post soon and pick up my tags.
Telnor: Ash and Laya are back, do what you will...
Geode: I guess that's it. I'm going to retire the warren to
an NPC-status. Perhaps some other time, we'll pick 
it back up if there's time and interest. 



Allen Veazey
wolf@dbtech.net

"And in these days
when darkness falls early
and people rush home 
to the ones they love
you better take a fool's advice
and take care of your own
for one day they're here, next day they're gone."
	-Don Henley, New York Minute

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