Chapter Four

Caelan turned around too fast, nearly lost his balance as his knees went wobbly on him, and sat heavily on the bed to save himself from falling. For a few seconds he was so dizzy he had to grip the side of the bed; then his head cleared again. Breathing hard, he wiped sweat from his face.

The door opened quietly. Inwardly Caelan groaned, and he forced himself to lift his head. “Orlo, I—”

It was not Orlo who returned, but the healer. For the first time the man stepped into the light where Caelan could see him clearly. It was Agel. His cousin and boyhood friend, whom Caelan had not seen since being expelled from Rieschelhold, the school of healing arts.

Agel... the steady, dependable one ... grown to manhood now ... more gaunt and austere than handsome. His face had the etched clarity of an ascetic. He stood tall and still, his hands folded out of sight in the wide sleeves of his white robe.

Caelan lost his breath. Thoughts tumbled through his mind without making sense. He had believed he would never see any of his family again, yet now he had found Agel. It was a miracle, a return of hope.

Consumed with happiness, Caelan smiled and tried to speak. But his throat choked up, and unmanly tears blurred his vision. Caelan averted his face sharply, struggling to master himself.

Agel’s hand settled gently on his shoulder. “You are overwrought,” he said. “Rest and let the healing finish.”

Caelan gripped Agel’s hand in both of his. “I cannot believe you are here,” he said in Trau, his words running  eagerly over each other. “I have often thought of you, wondered how you did and where you were. And now, to find you here, in Imperia, is—”

“Rest,” Agel said. His voice remained calm and serene. He continued to speak in Lingua, and his hand lay slack in Caelan’s grip. “Loss of temper destroys the balance of harmony, and healing cannot finish. I should have denied you all visitors until you were stronger.”

Caelan stared at him. There was no joy, no recognition in Agel’s face. When Caelan’s fingers loosened, Agel withdrew his hand and tucked it back inside his sleeve. Caelan’s happiness faded, to be replaced by sharp hurt.

“Don’t you know me?” he whispered. “Cousin, I am—”

“Yes, Caelan, I know you.”

Caelan waited, yearning for more, but Agel said nothing. His eyes betrayed nothing. It was as though Beva had returned—cold, detached, unfeeling. Agel was living in severance, too distant to touch.

“Is there nothing you will say?” Caelan asked hoarsely.

“You should lie down and sleep.”

“Damn you!” Caelan shouted. He shoved himself furiously to his feet.

Agel blinked and took an involuntary step back.

That angered Caelan more. “How in Gault’s name can you do this to me? We were friends, the closest. We grew up together. We were—Is there nothing left between us? Nothing? You are all the family I have left. Can you not even say ‘well met’ to me? Can you not give me something?”

Agel’s expression did not change. He met Caelan’s eyes steadily. “What would you have me say?”

“Oh, something like ‘Caelan, I’m relieved to find you alive. Caelan, I’m glad to see you. Caelan, let us sit a while and talk of old times.’ Something along those lines. Nothing too emotional. I wouldn’t want you to lose harmony.”

Agel might have been a stone. He watched Caelan lurch to the foot of the bed and grab a bedpost for support. He did not move.

“Discussing the past is unproductive,” he said. “The events have occurred. They cannot be undone. As for regrets, they are a waste of time. You chose the course of your life, as I have chosen mine.”

“I did not choose this!” Caelan said violently. “Gods, do you think I crawled into the city and begged them to make a slave of me?”

Agel turned his head and gazed about the luxurious room. Compared to a Trau home, the place looked too full of furniture, too gaudy; it would be considered excessive and wasteful. Caelan frowned, but it was Agel who spoke next:

“Slavery seems to have its rewards. You have done well for yourself here.”

Caelan gasped, but even as memories of floggings, nights spent crouched in filthy straw, long hours of brutal drills, and the grim realities of arena combat flashed through his mind, he realized he could not explain anything to Agel. His cousin had already judged him by these surroundings, and would never believe anything else.

Pride lifted Caelan’s chin. “Yes,” he said tightly. “I have done well. I have a master who rewards me when I please him. I have a roof over my head. I have the security of knowing I will be fed and clothed. Even my slave chain is made of gold. Isn’t it pretty?”

“You have the gifts of healing,” Agel said in a stern voice. “So much talent and potential, and you wasted it all. Worse, you have put your gifts into the hands of evil. You use severance to kill, do you not?”

The unexpected attack left Caelan silent.

“To do so is an abomination,” Agel said. “An abhorrence to all life. The citizens of Imperia worship you. They throw coins and flowers at you in tribute. “The mighty warrior Caelan,’ they cry. How greatly would they cheer you if they knew the truth? That it is not with the sword that you slay your victims, but with your talent?”

Agel’s unjust accusations stung Caelan. Years ago, when they were young boys, Agel had been fair and open-minded, but the teachers at Rieschelhold had obviously erased those qualities from him. Now he was petty and prejudiced. He had prejudged Caelan, and his disapproval hurt.

Before Caelan could say anything, Agel continued in that same soft, relentless voice:

“The deaths of your many victims is like a dirty cloak over you. When I look at you from severance, I see you in shadow, vague and obscured. You are tainted and foul.” He paused a moment, his lips tight as he assessed Caelan. “You even use sevaisin, do you not? I can tell it is entwined about you.”

Repulsion filled his eyes. “It has always been forbidden. Where did you come by it? Who taught you such evil? In the memory of your father and all he stood for, how can you?”

Caelan sighed. All his life he had struggled between the two extremes of his unwanted gifts. Severance, the cold isolation, and sevaisin, the joining of life to life. No man should be able to do both, yet he could. The struggle to keep them balanced, the struggle to keep himself from going mad between them at times, seemed harder and harder. He feared himself, feared what might befall him if he ever gave way. Which side of him would eventually win? Yet, for now, he had no means of saving himself except to practice the very principles of balance so revered in Trau. He often felt like a man walking the crumbling edge of a precipice, with no solid ground ahead of him.

No one had ever known his secret, except his father, who had called him a monster. And now Agel knew also. His condemnation showed plainly in his face.

“Please,” Caelan said softly. “Try to understand ...”

“Sevaisin is forbidden!” Agel snapped. “Why did you seek such a thing? Why did you study it?”

“I didn’t—”

“Was it to dishonor your father’s memory? Was it to stain his accomplishments, all he stood for? Has this been your purpose?”

Caelan’s temper slipped. “You said to let the past lie. My father is dead. Why should I seek to dishonor a dead man?”

“What other reason could you have to willingly pursue such a course of study?”

“I didn’t study sevaisin!” Caelan shouted. “I was born with it, just as I was born with severance.”

“No one has both!”

“I do!”

They glared at each other, both tight-lipped and pale. Agel’s eyes slowly widened. He looked increasingly alarmed.

At last, Caelan thought in satisfaction. He had managed to break through his cousin’s icy reserve. There was nothing like shock to destroy the harmony.

Agel’s gaze flickered toward the door.

“You can’t run and tell the elders,” Caelan said. “Traulanders are scarce in this city. There is no one to scourge me because of your accusations. There is no one to sever me or to put me out in the wilderness to wander. No one in Imperia cares. Half the citizens don’t believe in either sevaisin or severance. The rest follow observances that truly are abominations. The city is a melting pot of cultures and beliefs. You will have to get used to that.”

“What is to be done with you?” Agel said despairingly.

“Nothing. I am what I am.”

Agel frowned. He seemed to be trying to regain his composure, although he still looked shaken. “You are much changed in the years since we last saw each other. You have grown harsh and cynical. You jest about evil with an air of worldly sophistication. You commit unspeakable acts, then ask me to accept you. I used to think you would grow out of your rebelliousness and settle into a useful life. Instead, you kill for the amusement of others. You are an entertainer of the vilest kind. I cannot begin to comprehend what you are.”

Now it was Caelan’s turn to be made of stone. He stared at his cousin and felt only coldness. “It is time for you to go.”

Agel looked jolted. “My work is unfinished.”

“I don’t want you. Go.”

Agel’s expression smoothed into something tight and unreadable. “It is not a question of your choice. Your master has requested my services on your behalf. The fact that you are so difficult to heal is—”

“Tell him I’m too difficult. You’ve done all you can. Get out.”

“I will not lie. And I am not finished.”

“You are if I refuse you,” Caelan said, clenching his fists. His head was throbbing, and he was beginning to feel faintly nauseous. The pain came seeping back. “Go back to wherever you came from and stand there looking wise, mysterious, and foreign. I’ll take my chances with the arena physician.”

His harsh, sarcastic tone slid off Agel without effect. “I am newly appointed to the imperial court,” Agel said with a trace of pride. “The emperor gave his gracious permission that I should attend you. However undeserving, you have been honored, and I will not shirk my responsibilities no matter what private opinions I hold.”

Caelan frowned. He thought Agel had hurt him all that was possible. He realized how wrong he was. As long as he still cared for his cousin, he would go on being hurt again and again. “You really hate me, don’t you?”

“Hatred is the antithesis of balance,” Agel replied.

“All right, then. You’ve made yourself clear enough. You consider me a monster and an abomination. Not original, but then you always wanted to imitate my father. What do you feel, if not hatred?” He leaned forward and glared at Agel. “Fear?”

“Disappointment,” Agel said without flinching.

Caelan’s frown deepened. The anger in him deflated, leaving him hollow and tired. As a reunion, this was a nightmare. Lectures . .. disapproval... disappointment. It never changed. He’d been a fool to want to return to Trau. He told himself now he would never go back. As for Agel, there would be no future meetings with him if Caelan could help it.

Lifting his chin, Caelan squared himself and faced his cousin. “I, too, am disappointed,” he said, holding his voice hard to avoid giving away his emotions. “I thought, despite everything that has befallen us, we could still hold our friendship.”

Agel met his gaze. “You are the one who turned away from our friendship. We had everything planned together, but you ran away from Rieschelhold, putting yourself and everyone in jeopardy that night. You did all that you could to get yourself expelled. You even broke our bond. I wept for you as you walked through the gates, turning your back on the greatest calling a man can follow. But I have not wept for you since. And I will not forgive you now. I see you clearly, Caelan E’non, for what you represent. I do not like it, and I will not keep friendship with you, not even for the sake of the blood we share.”

Caelan felt frozen. Every word was like a blow, and despite his anger and disappointment he had no defenses with which to shield himself.

“The road of life has turns we do not always foresee,” he said. “I am glad your road has always been so simple and straight. Mine has not been, and probably will never be. All I know is that I must stay true to myself, not to what other people planned for me. I have only one final statement for you, and then we will be finished with our candor. We need never speak to each other again.

“After the bone-breaking labor and the whippings and the insubstantial food ... after the sweating nightmares and the shakes ... I used to lie awake at night and think of my loved ones. I would think of Lea and the servants ... and even Father. I would think of their deaths, my grief burning a hole in me. And I would comfort myself that you were alive and well. I would tell myself that I wasn’t completely lost in this nightmare, that someday I would regain my freedom. Someday I would return to Trau and find you, my remaining kinsman. My family. I told myself I hadn’t lost quite everything. You were a small, precious part of my hope.” Caelan managed a twisted grimace of a smile and shrugged. “I never imagined you would be like this. Still condemning me after all these years because I rejected what you wanted for yourself. Can’t the jealousy and envy have an end?”

“I see no reason for jealousy here.” Appearing unmoved by what Caelan had said, Agel made a slight gesture at the room. “The things you value have no interest for me.”

“Envy, then,” Caelan said harshly. “Every time Beva spoke to me, you were green with it.”

“I wanted what he gave you.”

“You have it,” Caelan said. “You’re the healer, not me. You wear the white robe. I don’t. You are good at the art, as good as my father was. You have his skills, his abilities. You took the court appointment he refused. You have succeeded in emulating him. You will be even more famous than he. Let the envy go, Agel. Accept me for what I am. Please.”

“A killer? How can I accept that?”

Caelan shut his eyes and gave up. He’d bared his soul to this man and been spurned. It was pointless to keep trying.

“You are as foolhardy and reckless as ever,” Agel was saying. “I saw yesterday’s contest—”

Startled, Caelan opened his eyes wide. “You? I don’t believe it.”

“You were too stubborn yesterday to give up, and you are as stubborn as ever in refusing to cooperate today in what is good for you.”

“Oh, so you do remember a few things about me.” Caelan said sarcastically.

Agel did not flinch. “I remember everything.”

“And you don’t care, do you? You’re so perfect now, so severed. You can remain detached despite what happened at E’nonhold. Everyone was slaughtered in the raid. My home was burned to the ground. You used to wish it could be your home too. Now you don’t care.”

“To grieve for the hold does not bring it back,” Agel said. “To grieve for Uncle Beva does not restore him to life. Do you wish me to join the inner confusion you live in? What purpose would that serve? I have my work, which is to heal. It is enough for me.”

“You’re just like Father,” Caelan said bitterly.

“Thank you. That is high praise.”

“No, it’s insult!” Caelan screamed at him. “You fool. My father and his stupid philosophy opened the hold to destruction. He let his own servants die. He stood like a stupid moag and let Thyzarenes slit his throat. It could have all been prevented, and he would not act!”

“Uncle Beva lived by his beliefs. If he also died by his beliefs, then he did so with dignity and honor. I will not debate the principles of harmony and balance with you,” Agel said sternly.

“Why did you have to stop being human? Why can’t you be a healer and still care?”

“I care that you have undone my work,” Agel said. “Has the pain returned?”

Agony throbbed in Caelan’s side. He frowned, certain he would rather die than let Agel near him again.

“Lie down,” Agel told him. “We must begin again.”

Caelan shook his head. “Please,” he said. “Please be the Agel I once knew.”

“Let the past lie where it is,” Agel said. “I live in the present. My task is to tend your hurts.”

“I can tend my own hurts,” Caelan retorted. “I—”

Pain covered him in a sheet of grayness. He sagged against the bedpost, robbed of breath and sense for a moment.

When he regained awareness, he found Agel gripping his elbow and steering him back to bed. Caelan did not want him, but had nothing left with which to drive his cousin away. He found himself suddenly spent by his emotions.

Agel was gentle and ministering, but the icy barrier remained between them. Caelan let Agel work, but nothing could heal the wound inside. For all his principles regarding peace and tranquility, Agel had inflicted the harshest blow. No mere stab would could surpass it.

It was as though his father had come to life again. If pride had not choked him so, Caelan would have wept.