kaolin fire presents :: writing :: fiction

"TheHealer"

words

Gusag Mod's feet traced the path that he'd taken every birthday for the last fifteen years. Perhaps the gods would grant him a companion this time. His eyes stayed alert to natural dangers while his stomach stayed alert to its complaints. Fasting for three days never got any easier. Perhaps if he were an ascetic who did it frequently, but he was not.

The first time he traveled the woods searching for the magical center, he'd bungled the journey to the point of not even arriving within the day. He'd performed the ritual in any case. It had done nothing. Every time for the last fourteen years, as he studied and perfected his forms, it had done nothing. He did not despair, though. Gusag Mod had been raised to honor stubborness. He had been raised to understand the body. Understand and honor. And the human body was nothing if not stubborn. As the body, so the spirit.

Approaching the clearing, he opened his awareness to the standing waves of energy about him. Overlapping his natural vision and the supernatural awareness, he located the precise node. It roamed over the years but generally remained within the clearing. This year it centered on an oak tree. That made things more difficult.

Assuring himself there was no one around, he began his preparations. Ground talc was spread about the base of the tree in a circle, starting from the north and traveling in a clockwise pattern. He then stripped naked, clenched a knife in his teeth, and climbed the tree, wincing as the rough bark scraped his skin but otherwise ignoring discomfort. He was glad he'd been born in the summer, though at the altitude it was cold enough in any case.

The sun was precisely halfway through the sky. He'd been born a quarter of the day past noon. Now was a good time to begin.

Wind rustled through the leaves and whorled around him. It was energy. He hummed low, mimicking the wind, attuning to it. He hummed low, letting his mind disperse to the cardinal directions. His hand took the knife from between his teeth and began to carve symbols in his flesh: his sun sign, his rising sign, the houses of his birth. The blade traveled through unscarred skin, dripping a resin that nourished the damaged material. Head slumped, his mind floated on the wind, innervating the talc powder ringing the tree, spreading it and being spread at once over miles of forest.

* * *

A presence lifted his head and filled it once again with his mind. A presence! Gusag looked around and was momentarily surprised to find himself in a tree. He was cold. He was slightly off balance.

Gusag caught himself on his way down with one hand, pulling his shoulder out of the socket and pulling a loud curse from his mouth. Below him was a sharp bark followed by a whimper. Holding on tight, he looked down. A large puppy scratched at the tree and looked pityingly up at him. He could feel another pair of eyes watching him as well. Reaching up with his good arm, he clambered into a position from which he could climb down safely without making any sudden moves.

He lowered himself and dropped the last three inches softly, landing on a small clump of sharp twigs. He held his tongue. The puppy was still there. He reached out a bloody hand to it which was summarily sniffed and then licked. The puppy sat down, expectant.

Gusag looked around but could not catch the presence he felt. There was every chance that this was his familiar. There was every chance that the other was. He didn't want to search the other for fear of losing this one. Tentatively, he sent a mental probe to the puppy, *Hello?*

The reply was loud and rang in his head. *Hello! Friend!*

This was the one. After fifteen years, he had found his soulmate. He bit his lip to keep from jumping up and down and chortling with joy. He reached his hand out to the puppy again, and scritched it behind the ears. It jumped with its forelegs upon his chest and he staggered back under the friendly attack. He really needed to put his clothes on and finish the spell to heal his wounds. He was very tired. He needed to take the puppy home. The puppy. *What is your name?*

There was a pause. *I am you!* The cry seemed subtly different, but he couldn't be sure if he was just tired and overextended.

*What is your name?* He asked again.

*Friend! Hello!*

"Friend, eh?" he mumbled aloud, and recoiled at the sound of his voice. It was a harsh and unnatural thing in the forest's majesty. *Well, Friend, we must go home. I will find a proper name for you.*

The puppy wagged his tail.

* * *

Returning home, he decided first to rest: a simple salve to catalyze the resin in his wounds, some food in his belly to help his body heal, then straight to bed. The puppy jumped on his bed with him and curled up at his feet.

* * *

He was... he was trapped. Flying? He was. He had died. He was flying back in time. *Gusag*, he heard. *Gusag Mod.* He looked around but could not see. He could not feel his form; he felt as if he had projected beyond his form. He saw himself sleeping on this bed from the perspective of his feet. That was a very disorienting perspective. Dizziness overcame him and he dreamed no more.

* * *

Morning left him with an aching body but a healthy one. His wounds had closed and the pain was hardly even a memory. *Most of last night is hardly a memory,* he mused.

*Friend! Hello!*

Gusag smiled. *Friend, hello. Today I find you a proper name. And work on my studies. I fear the plague may visit my village soon.*

The puppy whined.

*Don't worry, I'm sure the antidote will not be too difficult. I have a bit of diseased flesh to practice upon.*

The puppy whined again.

*Oh, and I'm sure that we can go out and play some time today,* he laughed.

The puppy barked and bounced around playfully, wagging his tail.

*Not just now, not just now. First I need to eat. And I suspect you need to eat as well. Go on, then. Come back when the sun is high, and we will walk together. I will have a proper name for you, then.*

The puppy cast about and then bounded away and out the door. Gusag pulled himself a chair and sat down to a bowl of boiled oats. He ate them slowly, thinking about his companion. He was still in a state of shock -- while he had never given up hope he still had not in the specific expected success. His mind could not stay focused on just that, though. His dreams had been disturbing, whatever they were. And he really wasn't all that close to a cure for the plague, necessarily. He had ideas, but any one of them could work, or none of them could work, and only testing and luck would give him ideas. But first, he really needed a name for the puppy. 'Friend' was not going to cut it.

'Friend' was a start, though. Perhaps an anagram, or some mystical relationship. Either would be proper, really... or simply another language. Surely something from one of the languages he knew would sound proper. He shook his head. Maybe not. 'Self' popped into his head from nowhere. That could work. Something like that, maybe. A familiar was, after all, an extension of the self. A friend by definition, except for those overly touched by the moon. *Or money lenders,* he laughed to himself. *Al-Remse... Self friend.* It was a bit much for a dog. He stumbled over it, even in his head. *Remse. Friend.* Somehow, from this angle of attack, that seemed sufficient. *Remse.*

A bark upset his musing and he turned to see the puppy shivering with excitement, staring at him. "Remse," he said out loud, trying it out. Remse barked twice. *Remse. I suppose that must be your name. And now that I've accidentally called you back from your roaming, I should take you out myself.* Remse dashed out the door, and he ambled along after, forgetting both the oatmeal and his problems.

* * *

That night his problems haunted him. He was no closer to a cure than he had been previously; if anything, further from it. His trials had left him with nothing left to try, and nothing to show for them. He prayed to the gods that he would find an answer in the night when he was more receptive. Gusag would not give up, but right now he was running in place simply to keep a vestige of momentum.

* * *

I'm... trapped. I'm... I'm not trapped. I'm a dog. I'm a dog. I can feel an arrow entering my chest, my blood slowly fading, feeding the ground. I'm not a dog, I only have two feet on the ground. I'm myself! My self is self. I'm ... Gusag. Gusag Mod. I'm going to die. I can feel my feet slipping from under me. I was traveling somewhere. It's important. It's important that I not die, because a village is depending on me. I'm dead.

* * *

His dreams were not helping. In the morning he was restless and still tired. Remse was as bouncy as ever. *Remse, down, down boy. Down. I'm really not in the mood. Go play, okay? Go. I have work to do.*

Remse was tugging at his trousers. *Friend! Hello! Come!*

*I can't, I really need to find an answer to this problem. The plague could come by any day now and my village needs to be ready for it. The plague could already have visited them, in fact! Every moment counts!*

Remse uttered a low growl, not letting go of his trousers. *Friend!* There was a sense of urgency in the puppy's call.

"Well, I suppose I don't have any leads as it is. Perhaps the walk will do me some good." *Remse, friend. We go, lead on*

Remse bounded out the door, and he slowly followed after. They traveled for several hours as he racked his brain for an answer. His mood lightened slowly as the day warmed, but still he could not shake a slight fog of despair.

A burst of barking shocked him out of self pity. *What is it?*

*Dead!*

He walked over to Remse and found him nosing around a bloated squirrel. "You caught a squirrel, did you? Good boy." *Good boy.* Remse batted at the squirrel putting it at his feet. "I don't need offereings..." *Good boy.* He shook his head. There seemed something wrong with the squirrel. There was blood in its eyes and its fur was mangy. *Plague! Back, Remse! Back! GOOD DOG!* "I'd not seen it this advanced. This may give me some insight into its progress, and that could just be what I needed... just what I needed..." *GOOD DOG,* he bubbled, and headed home at a joyous and healthy pace.

* * ** * *--

That night, he had the answer; he could go into the village the next day. His prayer to the gods had apparently been answered, and he marveled at the vehicle of it. *Remse, how did you know? How could you know?*

*Friend. Self!*

"What?" A snippet of dream dropped into his head. He remembered his death. He remembered being a dog. "Are you me, really? Really me? But... I exist now. And you exist now. We can't both be me... unless we're one at the same time, but you seem to be... you seem to know things that I don't, so we can't be, can we? I must be fevered myself, I can't be making sense." *Are you me?*

*Friend!* Remse barked happily.

"But if you're me... then I'm going to die. Of course, I've always known I was going to die, but I haven't really... have I? I'm all confused. While being a helpful critter, you're not very explanatory."

*Friend!* Remse barked happily.

"Maybe I can get into that mind of yours and see for myself..." He began to humm, finding the right pitch: something between a growl and a bark, but a constant tone only slightly grating. Soon the sound transcended his vocal cords and hummed with the energy about him. The puppy's fur stood on end but it seemed completely at peace. The point between growl and bark was the tension of excited happiness for Remse. Gusag strengthened the dog mind's essence until it was loud enough for him to read.

There was nothing there but dog.

"I must be imagining things. I'm definitely reading too much into some strange dreams. Tomorrow, we'll get this potion to the village. A swallow per person should have them fine, and probably enough for their livestock and pets as well. I better not be imagining this." He smiled. He was sure he wasn't imagining the effects of the potion. The rest he left up in the air. Perhaps it would solve itself as well.

* * ** * *--

*Remse! Good morning! Let us off to the village.* He smiled, and there was a bounce in his step as he leapt off of his bed. Remse seemed oddly recalcitrant. *Come on, boy! Come on!* "Ya mangy mutt," he joked. "Shake a leg!" Remse just sat in the corner and whined. "Ah, then stay for all I care. It'll be a good journey regardless." He donned his finest travelling clothes and filled a sack with bottles of his potion, slining it over his back.

He headed down towards the village. Remse followed a hundred paces behind.

A mile out from the village he came across a small armed caravan.

"Hallo the caravan! Where come ye from and where travel ye?" He delighted in the archaic formality.

"Stay your distance," replied the guard leader. "We have a group traveling from a plague village to somewhere safe. One of them has come down with it and we're none of us sure what that means. Stay your distance!"

"I can help! I'm the healer of the area, and I was just heading in to the village yonder to deliver a remedy. I'm sure some can be spared for you and your men and the people you travel with."

"We can not guarantee your safety if you come among us, but if your remedy works then you have nothing to fear and we will reward you most generously. It is our lives at stake, after all."

He walked into the group, which stopped at his approach. "I ask no reward, the village provides well for me. It does me well to help any that I can." He dosed them each a sip of his potion. For the sick one he added a slight incantation as well, to slow the disease and speed the potion. The group was astounded by her miraculous recovery, and did their best to shower him with gifts. He accepted a few coins with the intention of giving them to needy in his village, and headed off again. Remse kept the hundred pace gap, looking left and right and staying off of the road. Gusag ignored the strange behaviour.

Suddenly, a pain burst through his chest. He looked down to see a barbed tip pushing through his tunic. An arrow, from behind. He stumbled round, looking for the attacker. He opened his mouth to cast a spell to steady himself and stay the bleeding, but he couldn't do more than cough blood. He let his self separate from his body slightly, trying to hold on to life while searching out his attacker. Behind him. Behind him. He sensed someone walking towards him, scampering cautiously towards him. He couldn't hold on.

He felt his formless form caught in a maelstrom. He was a dog. He was in a dog. He was a dog. He was shrinking. His senses were dimming...

* * *

He felt pain. He cried. He couldn't see. He was suckling. He was fighting with seven others, suckling on a nipple and receiving warm sustenance. All he could hear was the lusty suckling of newborn pups. He was a newborn pup.

He couldn't think....

Warm. Buzz. Buzz. His hackles rose. An annoying buzz was calling him. He tried to follow it but he could hardly walk; he would fall down and a pair of jaws would lift him up and move him back into the pile of warmth. He ignored the buzz and found contentment.

* * *

A year later he felt the buzz again. It was definitely a call. Somehow, he felt a part of him was missing. He whined to his mother.

She nudged him in the direction of the call. He followed it and she followed him. He came to a clearing and looked back at her. She barked softly at him to go. The call was stronger. It was... coming from up a tree. He jumped his forelegs up onto the trunk of the tree and looked up. There was a strange creature up in the tree.

The figure wobbled and fell. He felt a sharp pain in his right foreleg and he barked loudly, startled. The figure dangled from a branch and looked down. He whined.

The figure scrambled down accruing only slightly more pain. *Hello?* it asked.

A wave of happiness washed over him. *Hello! Friend!* He looked at the creature's face. Something seemed wrong. Something in the back of his head was trying to push itself out...

*What is your name?*

*I am you!* he cried, recognizing the face as his own. His own. He wasn't that creature. That was a strange creature. Friendly. Strange.

The creature didn't seem to understand, in any case. Neither did he, so that was okay. The creature didn't seem disturbed. *What is your name?*

*Friend! Hello!*

The creature made some strange sounds with its mouth. *Well, Friend, we must go home. I will find a proper name for you.*

He wagged his tail. Things were going to be okay.

* * *

The highwayman walked up to the fallen mage. "Let's see what pickings we have, here. Should be something good, I saw you trading with that armed caravan. If you look like you've got good enough goods, I may just go back and see if I can't take them out. At the least, it would be nice to have a horse again." He coughed and spat; blood was mixed with the phlegm. "I wish these demons would leave me be already. I don't have time for them."

He rolled the body over and found the purse. He counted out the three coins in there and cursed his luck. "You're dressed awfully well to just be carrying these three coins. I hope what you were trading's worth a sight more. Maybe you were simply a horrible attempt at a merchant." He opened the sack.

"Potions!? Bah! What can I do with potions? No wonder you got no money for them, you sick man. Nobody takes highly to salesmen of snake oil. They must've smelled you for a rat, but I don't see why they let you go." He kicked the dead body and jangled the coins in his hand contemplatively.

* * *

Things were not okay. He had just died. He had just seen himself die. He had felt the pain of the arrow go through his chest a second time, though more distant. He was... he was his dog! And it was time to revenge himself.

He leapt upon the highwayman, knocking the startled man to the ground, and ripped his throat out. The blood... tasted wrong. He leapt back.

The highwayman grasped at his missing throat, eyes bugging, thrashed, and lay still.

Remse looked at the man and looked at the sack. The village had to get that sack. And by the taste of it, he needed some as well. Hopefully they would think of that. Hopefully they would know what to do with the potions. He could feel his intelligence fading again, and realized that that would be the last of his incarnation as that man. Man thoughts were to leave him. He could assign himself a task though. He would carry the potions to the village. He was a good dog.