The Healer

  As the hooded figure of Tendo Reborion made its way, staff in hand along the river bank, the wind was carrying yellow and brown leaves from the trees behind him and scattering them over the freshly ploughed fields to his right. A stone’s throw ahead of him huddle the dozen or so wooden huts that together formed the village of Birchaven. It was market day and a handful of stalls lined either side of the cart track that cut through the village. Reborion could see that business was slow for the traders, maybe it had something to do with the ominous black clouds rolling in over the forest behind him. As he glanced back over his shoulder, the wind drew back his hood to reveal the face beneath. It wasn’t the shaggy blonde beard that Reborion wanted to conceal, neither was it his deep blue eyes, it was the pale blue colour of his face that he did not wish the villagers to see. Quickly, he pulled the hood forwards again so that his face was fully shadowed. His hands were a more normal flesh colour. Some of the traders shouted greetings to him as he entered the village but he ignored them, making his way to the spice trader, a rotund man in heavy furs. He peered into the man’s cart.

  "Good, I’ll take four cloves of garlic," he said in a slow croaky voice as he produced a leather pouch from somewhere beneath his cloak.

  "One silver coin then sir," chirped the trader trying to smile at the face beneath the hood.

  Reborion paused, "what?"

  The trader was about to repeat the price when an armoured man on horseback, thundered into the village. The villagers scooped up their young children and retreated into their huts. The rider removed his helmet to reveal a clean shaven face, brown hair was flattened onto the man’s head.

  "Let all who want to live, listen well!" roared the man.

  The people faltered as they were trying to hide. There were whispers of recognition.

  "Why it’s Argel’s boy Hondor come back to us!"

  "The Baron is riding this way and he aims to burn this village to the ground. Every last man, woman and child will be slaughtered! We must flee into Birchaven Wood, to the caves at the centre." At this, the villagers sprang into action gathering what belongs they could carry whilst the traders started packing up shop.

  "One silver coin it is then," said Reborion grabbing the trader’s arm as he gathered up his spices. The trader shrugged him off, grunting at him. Reborion grabbed him again, "I must have that garlic." At this the grader thrust the cloves into Reborion’s hand and grabbed the silver coin.

  Pulling his hood forwards against the wind, Reborion hastened back north along the cart track ahead of the first few villagers. Half walking, half running he continued for a mile or so along the track. Meanwhile the sky had darkened considerably and the first few cold spots of rain were falling. Glancing back at the refugees coming up behind him, Reborion pushed through the bushes and into Birchaven Wood. Once hidden by the foliage, he broke into a lurching run, inadvertently kicking up fallen leaves as he did so. After a few minutes of weaving through the silver birch trunks, he arrived at the foot of a rocky hillock. The trees gave way to thick bushes at it’s base. Reborion ran to the opposite side and glanced quickly around. Then he pushed aside a holly bush with his staff to reveal an opening in the rock. He plunged into the gap and the undergrowth closed behind him. In the darkness, Reborion struck a flint and lit a lantern, which he placed high in a crevice. The chamber was long, roughly the size of two carts set end to end. It was furnished with two chairs and a long table, crudely fashioned from wooden branches. A plethora of assorted bottles and vials littered the place. Reborion laid his staff against the wall and hung his cloak on it. The green tunic he had on was once fine, but was now tattered and dirty. He turned back towards the entrance and remained motionless for a few moments. Then he went over to the table where a black pot the size of a man’s head, sat amidst an array of glass vials. He carefully moved the pot to the side and reached for an ornate marble pestle and mortar. He then produced the four cloves of garlic and proceeded to crush them. As he worked he would occasionally pause to listen. After some time, he put down the pestle and carefully poured the juice that had been produced from the garlic into the black pot. Suddenly he heard voices from outside. Quickly, he doused his lantern and went to the entrance. Through the holly branches, he could see the villagers rushing by as they headed deeper into the wood. He watched until the renegade knight, Hondor rode past, bringing up the rear. When they were out of earshot, Reborion relit his lantern and went back to the pot. He grabbed a black iron ladle and stirred. Occasionally he would lift the ladle up and let the contents pour darkly, back into the pot. Then he put the ladle down and closing his eyes, he held his right hand over the pot. He breathed in deeply and then uttered a series of strange syllables. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked down into the pot. With a trembling hand he lifted the ladle to his lips. He quickly took a gulp and put the ladle back. His pale blue face contorted for an instant as he went over to a chair and slowly sat down. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. For a while everything was still in the cave, only the flickering of the lantern caused the shadows to dance. Suddenly a twig cracked somewhere. Reborion’s eye snapped open wide. He hurriedly went over to the pot, jammed a lid onto it and hid it in a crevice. To completely conceal it, he moved a stone over it. The holly bush was suddenly pulled back and the dim grey daylight streamed in. A burly soldier entered, holding a burning torch. For a moment he stood blinking, but when he saw Reborion, he flinched and drew his sword.

  "I’m not with the villagers," croaked Reborion.

  The soldier ignored him and called out "Get in here, quick!" Two more soldiers appeared. Reborion tried to convince them that he was harmless, but they advanced on him, swords drawn. They slashed him cutting his forearm to the bone as he held up his arms to protect himself. He screamed as a blade sank into his stomach. The soldiers stood back as he collapsed onto his table and then onto the leaf covered ground. Then the three of them upturned the table, smashed whatever they could and left.

  Reborion opened his eyes. His lantern was still burning. Quickly, he reached to his stomach and slowly, his blonde beard cracked into a grin. He lifted up his shirt and wiped away the fresh blood. All that remained of the mortal wound was a pale pink scar on his torso. It was the same with the slashes on his forearm. Chuckling, he got to his feet and looked around him. Abruptly, his smile disappeared, he scrambled over to where he’d hidden the pot. The stone was still in place, he pushed it aside and his chuckling resumed. Fishing around in the debris and pulled out a leather wineskin. He carefully decanted the thick dark liquid from the pot into the wineskin. Salvaging what he could, he threw some supplies into a leather rucksack, grabbed his cloak and staff and left.

  Outside, it was raining and there was no one in sight. He headed back east towards the cart track and the river. As he reached the track, he saw one of the women from the village running with a small child in her arms. He crouched behind some nettles. Suddenly a soldier on horseback came charging into view, sword drawn. The blade caught her high in the back and bit deeply. Woman and child fell forward into the mud. The soldier dismounted and quickly ran them both through with his sword before getting back onto his horse, ignoring the screams and riding off without looking back. Reborion found that he could not tear his eyes away from the child as the woman tried to shelter it from the rain with her body and stroked it’s head. Suddenly he found himself running over to the pair. They were no longer screaming now. He laid one hand on the child’s head and the other on the woman’s. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and uttered more strange syllables. Slowly the woman sat up, then the child got up and reached out to her. She swept it into her arms, laughing and sobbing at the same time. Then she turned to Reborion.

  "You are the Hooded One from the wood. We owe you a debt that can never be repaid sir," she said solemnly.

  "You’ll both be fine now, lets get off the track before more soldiers come."  Reborion led the way back to his cave. Inside, the lantern was still lit. The woman glanced around at the destruction.

  "You should both be safe here, they’ve already been," croaked Reborion.

  "Thank you, for everything," said the woman, stroking the child who was staring wide-eyed at the hooded figure before it. Reborion grunted and made to leave. "You must helm them, please!" the woman grabbed his sleeve. Reborion turned back to her. "My husband and the others, they’re surrounded at the rocks in the centre of the wood." Reborion glanced at the woman then at the child. Their large, dark eyes were glistening in the flickering light. Silent for a few moments, he then drew a deep breath.

  "Alright," he said quietly. "Stay here, I will return with your husband."

  As Reborion crouched in the shrubbery around the giant rock formation at the centre of the wood, he could see riders on guard amongst the boulders. There was shouting and screaming echoing from a large cave in the side of the rock. He watched for a while. There were four men, two of them sat on their horses and the other two had dismounted and were stood facing into the cave. He was just about to get to his feet when an arrow flew from the foliage and took one of the mounted men in the back. As their comrade toppled off his horse, the others dived for cover behind the rocks. One of the soldiers returned fire with a crossbow. The bolt disappeared into the bushes. Then the other two soldiers dashed from cover, running stooped over in an attempt to flank their unseen attacker. They both made it to the bushes without being shot at. Suddenly a man with a long bow ran from the bushes, retreating away from the soldiers. A crossbow bolt took him low in the back and he fell to the ground. He got to his feet again and staggered on, but he two soldiers caught him and ran him through with their swords. They left him bleeding to death and returned to the cave. Reborion sneaked over to the dying archer, got out his wineskin and poured some of the liquid into one of his stab wounds. After a few moments, the man sat up, checked himself over and looked up in amazement and the hooded figure before him.

  "Until this time tomorrow, you will immediately heal from almost any wound," said Reborion.

  "I am Argel Shatterblade, I owe you a great debt Hooded One," said the archer solemnly. He was a wiry man with short, brown hair, greying at the sides.

  "Tendo Reborion."

  The pair sneaked back to the cave to find the three soldiers now positioned partially inside the cave. Shatterblade took careful aim and when he fired, the crossbow wielder dropped, an arrow buried in his chest. Again the remaining soldiers took cover. Shatterblade drew a knife, then he and Reborion charged into the cave mouth. There was a brief struggle where Reborion and Shatterblade were wounded badly, but managed to overcome the soldiers. With all of the soldiers out of action, they took a few moments respite whilst their wounds healed. The cave opening was actually the start of a large winding tunnel and the sound of more fighting could be heard coming from somewhere further inside. As they made their way into the cave, then came upon half a dozen bodies littering the tunnel. Shatterblade pointed to one of the bodies, "he is one of us," he said, looking over at Reborion. Reborion examined the body, "I can do nothing for this man, he is already dead." They rounded a corner and arrived at the battle scene. The baron stood in his suite of armour at the rear while his soldiers filled the tunnel ahead of him. At the front, the fighting could be glimpsed. Suddenly there was a great cry. The soldiers scattered aside as two armour-plated figures came crashing through. They were locked in mortal combat.

  "Hondor," whispered Shatterblade, "my son."

  Reborion nodded. Hondor’s sword glowed with a strange blue light as he plunged it through the steel breast plate of his adversary. Before he could withdraw his blade, the baron was upon him, his sword glowing the colour of a rust red sky. Hondor dodged the first attack, but the second slashed through his shoulder guard and he screamed. Suddenly Argel Shatterblade sprang forward and crashed into the baron, causing him to stagger only slightly whilst the archer bounced off like a twig against a tree trunk. The baron turned and stabbed Argel through the chest. It was then that Reborion ran over to Hondor, wineskin in hand.

  "Quickly, drink!"

  Hondor glanced from his father to Reborion and then took off his helmet. He grabbed the wineskin and took a gulp. Suddenly Reborion felt something strike his back. He looked down to see the red glowing blade of the baron protruding from his stomach. The pain caused him to black out at that point.

  When he came round Hondor and Argel were on their feet with some other villagers, in the middle of a cramped melee with the baron and his soldiers. Reborion got to his feet, brandishing his staff and jabbed a soldier in the face with it. The battle was chaotic. Mainly due to the fact that Hondor, Argel and Reborion kept on getting back up after being knocked down, the baron’s soldiers fell one by one. Then, only baron Ironbrawn remained. Hondor hefted his sword and squared up to him.

  "I trusted you Hondor Shatterblade!" he hissed.

  "It is you who have betrayed your people, but no more," said Hondor through gritted teeth. The fight was a clumsy affair, with both men swing wildly and taking chunks out of the tunnel walls. Eventually, Hondor’s sword glanced off the baron’s helmet and knocked it off. Hondor managed to smash a steel clad elbow into the baron’s face causing him to reel. Then Hondor’s blue sword pierced the baron’s breastplate and he sank to his knees. Hondor withdrew his sword and the baron toppled forward, face down onto the earth.

  Reborion had gone around healing those that could be healed and then he, Hondor and the villagers trekked the two miles back to their burned village. They set up makeshift shelters amongst the ruins and scavenged enough food so that the whole village could eat together. That day, Tendo Reborion, the Hooded One, became Tendo Reborion, Healer of Birchaven.