Radiation, p.6
Radiation, page 6
part #2 of Of Cats And Dragons Series
As the sky began darkening, Omen grew nervous that night would find the three of them without shelter. He'd run through several scenarios in his mind. He still had the heavy tarps that Etar had provided. If night came, he could rig a makeshift tent for the three of them. Seems like the best option. He supposed it would be possible to hold a shield over them using his psionics.
But I'm not sure how long I could keep a psionic shield up. I've gotten much better but I've never held one that long. He'd only ever used the stronger shielding patterns in battle to block momentary blows to his body. Maintaining a long-term shield through an entire night was not something he'd ever practiced.
I use the third Medzin Pattern in battle — but this would be domestic use against elemental forces. He tried to reason out the proper pattern. That means I would use one of the Asric Patterns to shield from the elements — but I only know the first and it's only meant to last for a few minutes. He'd never bothered learning any of the more advanced Asric Patterns as they'd seemed too tame — too boring.
I really have to start listening to my father when he's trying to teach me things!
The light was fading, and the wind had turned cold when they finally reached the craggy rock. "It's getting late, Tormy," Omen called worriedly to the cat who was scrambling purposefully up the hillside. "Maybe we should set up a tent."
"We is almost there, Omy," Tormy called down to him, seeming unconcerned with the approaching nightfall. "I is hearing the forest!"
"The forest?" Omen called. "You mean you can hear the rift?" Omen had no idea how to find the rift in time and space himself — he hadn't even seen the one Etar had shoved them both through. His nose stuffed up, he tried to scent the air. Nothing but dust and dirt.
"I is smartinessness!" the cat assured him.
The large cat climbed over several rocks and then leaped toward one cracked rocky surface. When the cat vanished from sight, Omen rushed after him. Instantly, he landed back in the middle of the forest with a loud oomph. Relief washed over him like a wave of warm water. Back where we started. Did Tormy know we could have gone back at any time? I just assumed the portal closed behind us.
Night had been approaching back in Kyr's world, but in the forest it was just past dawn, the blue sky brightly lit with golden sunlight, the cluster of pine, cedar and birch trees still fresh with morning dew. The sound of songbirds was enchanting after the endless moan of the empty wind, but it was the overwhelming pulse of magic that flooded through Omen's body that gave him immeasurable joy. Hadn't realized how much I missed that! He breathed deeply, letting the magical aura of his world flow into him.
Omen heard Kyr gasp.
The boy had raised his skeletal hands above his head as if trying to reach the blue sky. Omen paused to take in the sight. Seeing the sky and the forest after centuries of nothing . . . He must be ready to burst.
It was late in the winter season, spring nearly upon them, and though there were still signs of the cold — patches of snow on the ground, frost in the air — life was flowering all around them. Winter had always seemed lifeless to Omen, void of the vitality of the other seasons. But after the bleakness of a dead land, he could see now how false that impression was.
The evergreen trees blazed vibrantly against the clear sky, and there were numerous flourishing plants of every shade of green around them. The long verdant stalks and lilac flowers of blooming crocuses grew right at their feet.
Smiling at the wonder on the boy's face, Omen lifted Kyr from Tormy's saddle, guessing he'd want to investigate further. Kyr's legs gave out beneath him as Omen set him down on the ground. The child sank into the dirt of the forest floor and dug his fingers into the fallen pine needles before laying his head down against the ground amid the colorful blooms.
"He is liking the flowers," Tormy told Omen. "I is saying flowers is smelling nice."
Which was true — Tormy had spent a great deal of their journey talking about plants and their various smells, but Omen was quite certain Kyr had not understood any of it.
"Omen." Etar's voice startled all three of them. Kyr shrieked in fright and dove at Tormy, scrambling between the cat's two front paws and wrapping his thin arms around Tormy's right front leg, hiding himself in the dense belly fur. Perplexed, Tormy leaned his head down and peered upside down at the boy.
Both surprised and relieved that Etar was still there, Omen turned to see his older brother standing next to a tall pine tree. Etar's gaze was fixed on Kyr, a mixture of grief and pity in his expression as he studied the boy.
"I have a lot of questions—" Omen began only to be cut off by a sharp look from Etar.
"Not now," Etar insisted, urgency in his tone. "No time. It's not safe. You must take him home — to your home. Quickly. Introduce him to 7."
"What . . . Why—" Omen began, only to be cut off again.
"I'll explain later. There is no time." Etar waved his hand past the three of them. Instantly the forest began fading.
A moment later Omen found himself standing on the glowing Cypher Rune transfer portal in his father's office in Melia. Tormy stood beside him, Kyr still hidden behind the cat's front legs.
He could see his father seated at his desk beyond the portal's alcove. 7's golden hair shone in the bright morning sunlight filtering in through the large window behind him, and his heterochromatic eyes — one blue, one dark — widened at the sight of the three of them.
Etar's magic must have bypassed the portal's warning bells.
"Hi, Dad," Omen said simply.
"Omen?" 7 exclaimed and rose to his feet. "The warnings didn't sound!"
He would hate that. Doesn't want people randomly teleporting into his office.
7 moved around his desk. "Wow, you've come home dirty before . . . but this . . ." He shook his head.
Omen glanced at Tormy. The cat's orange and white fur was almost completely grey with a heavy coating of ash, his nose and eyes crusty with black grime. The pieces of cloth wrapped around his paws were beyond filthy. Omen guessed he didn't look much better.
"That's it!" a rich, husky voice protested. The slender form of his mother, Avarice, stood in the doorway of the office, silver eyes flashing. Dressed in a gown of dark blue, her long black hair braided loosely and pinned up by gem encrusted clips, she had her hands on her hips, her face set in a frown of distaste. "I'm putting cleaning spells on all the doorways and portals into this house. What on earth do you two think—"
The sound of terrified whimpering coming from behind Tormy's paws stopped Avarice's words as both she and 7 realized at the same moment that Omen and Tormy had not arrived alone.
"I is thinking that Kyr is being very frightenednessness," Tormy stated, peering between his own front paws where Kyr was hiding. Omen quickly knelt down and held out his hand to the boy.
"Kyr," he said softly. "It's all right. You're safe. This is my home."
He heard his mother hiss in shock at his words, and knew it was the language he had spoken that had startled her.
"Was that Kahdess?" she demanded sharply.
Omen threw her an apologetic look. "It's the only language he speaks."
Avarice made a warding gesture with her right hand, shaking her head firmly. "You'll bring the wrath of the dead down on this house — and we've got enough enemies as it is!"
He didn't really think speaking Kahdess would bring the wrath of the dead down on them. Then again, my mother knows more about curses and magic than most people.
"Don't have a choice — it really is all he knows."
7 approached the cat and crouched down to study the small form hiding in Tormy's fur. "Are you going to introduce us, Omen?" Though his voice was deceptively mild, Omen could see that his father was actually quite alarmed by the boy's appearance — what little he could see of it.
"This is Kyr," Omen explained. "My brother." How many people get to say things like that to their parents? I'm forever introducing them to brothers they are not related to. With Omen's complicated bloodline, all of them had become used to the oddity of new relatives appearing at random intervals.
"Cerioth?" 7 asked, since it was equally possible he'd have an unknown brother from his faerie bloodline, the Deldanos.
Omen quickly recapped where he'd found Kyr, and why the child was in such frightful condition. Both 7 and Avarice listened silently, and Omen could see the growing horror in their eyes when he explained the years the boy had spent without food, water or company. He doubted his mother understood what he said about the technology of Kyr's world, but his father certainly did, and Avarice understood the concept of being burned by both fire and acid.
"Well . . ." Avarice said when Omen was done, looking out of sorts. She cast her gaze around the room as if searching for something to do, at a loss in light of the story. "Why don't I clean the three of you—" She raised her hands to cast a powerful cleaning cantrip, a swirl of energy gathering around her.
7 stopped her, placing a hand on one of her raised arms. "I'm not sure that is a good idea," he explained. "Some of those rags look like they are stuck to his skin — particularly his scalp. You'll likely scour off what little flesh he still has with a spell. The rags will have to be soaked off."
Omen grimaced at the thought. This won't be pleasant . . . But it has to be done. The sooner we can heal Kyr, the better.
"Well then," Avarice amended. "All three of you into the baths, and I'll see about getting that boy something to eat."
"Hurrah! Lunch!" Tormy exclaimed happily, his filthy whiskers flaring as his ears perked forward.
"Bath first," Avarice insisted, but Tormy shook his head stubbornly. He lashed his tail back and forth.
"I is not going into the water," the cat insisted, only to receive a dark glower from Avarice, which he endured for about half a second before wilting. His ears drooped pathetically. "I is going into the water," he sighed.
Satisfied, Avarice left the room.
"Come on, Kyr," Omen encouraged, hand held out. It took some doing, but Kyr finally took hold of his hand. Omen lifted him up, figuring it would be easier to carry the boy. Kyr weighed very little, and the constant trembling of his small form was worrisome. Not sure if he can walk right now.
While Daenoth Manor had private bathing suites off most of the main bedrooms, the lower level was made up of a huge subterranean bathing chamber with open baths large enough to hold even a rambunctious Tormy.
7 followed, calling to several servants and sending them ahead to fill the pools with hot water. All the manor's servants were practiced at bathing the large cat.
The water was already pouring in from numerous spouts when they entered the baths. The sound of rushing water and the rising steam caused Kyr to tremble all the harder.
Gleaming lamps illuminated the stone room and brightened the surface of the four large sunken pools of water. Steam, perfumed with exotic oils, billowed about them.
Tormy balked at entering the largest pool, but a quick psionic shove from Omen's father had the cat sitting grumpily in the water an instant later.
Three young servants approached to begin the arduous task of washing all of Tormy's filthy fur. While the servants glanced curiously at Kyr, none of them said anything, taking care to avert their eyes when the boy looked up.
Omen sat Kyr down on a bench near one of the pools. It had obviously been a long time since the boy had seen so much water, and he stared in disbelief at the flowing liquid and the clouds of steam forming above them. The water pouring in through the ornamented spouts was heated by rare sun stones, and the baths were stocked with soaps and oils.
Remembering the starkness of Kyr's world, Omen saw through new eyes the wealth and casual magic that ran their home. I am so lucky. He looked at his father. My parents provide all of this . . . for me. For us.
7 collected one of the larger jars of oil from a shelf and added more to the water of the nearest pool. As the steam began to clear Omen's dust-choked senses, he thought he smelled jasmine. He's worried about Kyr's skin. It's so fragile.
While the rags draped around Kyr's body were easily removed, Omen discovered that beneath them were more bandage-like wrappings — strips of foul-smelling cloth tied around the child's skeletal form that were stuck fast by years of dirt and seeping wounds. Like Tormy, Kyr had been wearing layers of cloth around his feet that acted as boots, but the crusty rag-boots too were stuck to his skin. Omen could easily remove only the top layer of bandaging.
The rest will have to be soaked off.
When Omen lifted him up, the boy bellowed frantically, his pitch climbing higher and higher as he tried to scramble away from the water. Omen put him down again gently, ignoring Kyr's out-of-control flailing even as the boy's bony hand slapped the side of his head.
"Get in first," 7 suggested.
Omen stripped down and climbed into the pool, urging Kyr to follow. Kyr calmed at the sight of Omen standing uninjured in the water. The boy hesitantly touched the surface, and did not protest as 7 lifted him carefully and lowered him into the pool.
The child's eyes widened as he sank down into the water against the edge of the bath. He raised his hands to stare at the droplets dripping from his fingers before sticking them into his mouth to taste the liquid. The soap and oil made him pull a face, and Omen quickly reached out to remove the fingers from his mouth, shaking his head.
The boy slapped the top of the water and then grinned joyfully, slapping it again and again as if in complete disbelief. Despite Kyr's blackened teeth and skeletal appearance, Omen had to smile at the obvious happiness sparkling in those violet eyes and the unexpectedly childish mannerisms. The boy looked as pleased as he had when he'd shown Omen the small weed back in his desolate world.
7 removed his own boots and seated himself at the edge of the pool to help carefully peel the rags away from Kyr's body. While Omen didn't know how much Kyr actually understood, the boy did not fight or protest. Even when one of the rags he unwound from Kyr's left arm took off a strip of skin, leaving a bloody, oozing wound, the child just stared at his bare, bleeding arm and said nothing. He gave no indication he felt any pain.
Alarmed, Omen glanced at his father who just took Kyr's arm into his hands and focused his gaze. Omen felt the faint hum of power in the air as his father directed his psionics toward the boy's wound. Slowly, the damaged flesh began to regrow and smooth, knitting itself back together.
That at least got a reaction out of Kyr. The boy clutched his head, mouth agape, and stared up at 7 in alarm.
Kyr can feel that. Which means he must have the potential for psionics. Someone without any abilities wouldn't be able to feel anything.
Omen pulled Kyr's hand away from his head before he could injure himself by clawing at his brain.
"We're going to have to teach him how to shield his mind," his father said, pausing momentarily to wait for the boy to calm down.
"It's all right, Kyr," Omen assured him quickly in Kahdess. "It's just magic. My father is a . . ." He searched for the proper word, glancing up at his father in confusion. "There is no word for healer in Kahdess," he stated in Melian.
"The dead don't need healing," 7 replied, still waiting while Omen tried to explain further.
"He's going to fix . . . stop the bleeding," Omen continued. Kyr's large, soulful eyes watched him with a sense of trust that Omen found both reassuring and humbling. "Make it stop hurting. He's . . ." Again he struggled for a good word.
"Father?" Kyr asked simply in Kahdess, the first word he'd spoken in a long while.
Omen smiled. "Yes, he's my father." And that, it seemed, was enough for Kyr, and he relaxed and looked expectantly back at 7. Omen couldn't help but think of the image of the family carved into the stones of Kyr's small shelter and wondered if he could still remember something from the time before his world had gone to ruin.
The wave of power surrounding 7 grew again as he continued healing the boy's arm. Omen trusted his father to heal whatever he could.
"His pain threshold is extraordinary," 7 commented mildly, speaking in Melian and modulating his tone softly so that the boy calmed further. "But I'm going to numb his nerve endings — no sense in making him suffer needlessly."
I should get him to show me how to do that, Omen thought as he continued removing the rags — taking care to soak them first so that they sloughed off instead of having to be pulled free.
The water around them quickly turned black with dirt, old blood and grime. But the servants efficiently set the drains and the spouts so that the water drained out and refilled constantly. When Omen began to pour water over the boy's head, he could see that Kyr's tangled hair was a pale golden blond under all the dirt. But the constant damage to his scalp by the acidic rain had left his skull raw and oozing, and he and 7 ended up having to cut away the matted mess of hair and rags.
"No saving the hair I'm afraid," 7 told Omen.
Kyr was still playing with the water, running his fingers over the surface and making waves that moved across the pool and back again. He looked blithely unconcerned with the state of his hair.
"I don't think he really has any sense of vanity," Omen replied. "He refers to himself as 'the thing that crawls.'"
7's brow furrowed as he continued cutting. "The poor boy," he muttered as he peeled off long tangled strands of hair and knotted rags and tossed them aside for the servants to clean up.
When Kyr was at last free of all the filthy rags, his skin healed and cleaned, the true state of Kyr's emaciated form became obvious. Omen's first assessment of a pile of dried sticks was more accurate than he wanted to admit. The boy was nothing more than fragile skin stretched over bones — no flesh at all remaining. He looked like a living skeleton.
Kyr's teeth were the last things 7 cleaned, coaxing the boy to open his mouth. 7 threw a powerful cleaning cantrip on the blackened teeth that had the child gasping in shock. Kyr stuck his fingers into his mouth and rubbed his gums. Eventually, however, he grinned up at both Omen and 7 — showing off a pearly white smile in that fragile bald skull that had both 7 and Omen smiling back at him.
