Far From Home
(This is intended more as snap-shots of the Gathering than a cohesive story)
Trembling knuckles turned white as they gripped the staff resting between Cosaint's knees. Outside the walls of the High Healer's Tent, the sounds or armour being settled into place and weapons being secured into sheaths could be clearly heard. The Lions were preparing to march into battle, preparing to roar their defiance to the Dark Alliance...and he wasn't going with them.
A thousand doubts warred within his mind. By what right did he withhold his aid from the battlefield? By the same right you gave it in the first place, came the response but it sounded hollow to him. Now, when he should be overjoyed at a chance not to march into another senselessly violent clash, we could only think of what his absence might mean. What if the Vipers do bring in poison and you aren't there to keep them away from the Healers' lines? Who will be left to co-ordinate the Healers' guards without you, and will they have the necessary patience and restraint for the job? What if, what if...
It would have been easier if people hadn't understood. Though he lacked the will to fight anymore, he almost wished that someone would have objected to his withdrawl. That someone could have demanded that he do his duty and take the field. Maybe then he could have lost himself in anger that they would deny his wishes. But as it always had been, and always should be, the decision had been left to him.
Are you strong enough? he asked himself. You have trained for years, now tell me - are you strong enough to stand by your own decisions? It was a cruel joke. Thousands would complain that no-one understood their decisions in life, and here he sat crippled by kindness. Chareos, expressing regret that he would lose the asset of his presence on the battle-field, but affirming that it was his choice. Fraoch, surprising him by stating that everyone in Armengar is free to make that decision. And then, most shocking of all, was Caoimhe. He could see the resigned look on her face even now, and the almost tender tone in her voice.
"Cosaint, the last thing we need is for you to have a crisis of conscience out there on the battlefield. If you feel you can't do it..."
Well I'm having that crisis now Caoimhe. For five years and more he had given his services and hated every minute of it. Through a year of peace he had wondered what he would do if war came again. And here, at the Gathering of Nations, he was getting his answer.
The flaps of the tent drew back and Midir strode into the tent, one hand removing his hat and the other dragging through his ruffled hair. "Well," he said brightly "it's certainly been an exciting weekend. I think it went well, don't you?" Fighting back an incredlous smile which threatened to crack his dark mood, Cosaint replied as he had so many times that weekend. "Can't I ever get you to take anything seriously?"
Looking up into the face of the Healer, he saw only cheerful bright humour in his face and yet knew that there was far more than that to his words. Curse you Midir the fond condemnation brushed away all thoughts of the coming battle, you're more trouble to me than you are worth.
*****
Casting about desperately for the distinctive hat which adorned the healer's head, his eyes fixed on it just in time to see Midir collapsing in a heap to the ground. Before he knew it he was running, his leg pumping furiously and his heart pounding through the sudden tightness in his chest.
So, let me get this straight. came a discordantly calm voice in his mind. You've spent hours lecturing the Heart on not acting the hero, and you've just finished instructing every Armengarian you can find to stay together and move back to the safety of the camp, and now here you are charging off by yourself after one lone healer in the midst of a group of Trannies.
Gritting his teeth, Cosaint just ran faster. A quick glance over his shoulder told him that there were others with him, and in his flustered state he couldn't even remember if he'd called for backup or not. Skidding to a halt in front of a startled looking group of Drow, he quickly scanned Midir's body for injuries, while the other Armengarians formed a defensive ring around them. He barely had time to register how efficiently his countrymen were dealing with the threat before relief flooded over him that the High Healer seemed to just be unconscious.
Still confused over the Drow's inaction, he hefted Midir's limp body and issued a swift order he hoped no-one would realise he didn't have the authority to issue - "Everybody, back to the camp, now! Stay in groups - no-one is to be left alone." Fuildubh flittered by in front of him and issued a few sharp slaps to Midir's face, and suddenly the burden on Cosaint's shoulders lessened as Midir started to come round and take his own weight.
"They have Bashu in their camp" panted Midir as they ran towards the camp. "And they'll have us aswell if we don't move" snapped Cosaint in reply. "Come on."
The were falling badly behind, and could see the other Armengarians streaming in the gates ahead of them. Pockets of fighting were still scattered around the no mans land between camps, though no-one seemed entirely sure who they should be fighting. So caught up was he in hoping no brawls would spill across their escape route, Cosaint almost didn't notice Midir pulling off to one side.
Lying in the grass, the still form of Chareos was guarded by Aine. Even as they approached, she was struck down before her assailants were driven off by another nameless group. Footsore now, they churned up the hill to where a new figure crouched over the High Protector, chanting words which sang with life energy.
"See to Aine" Cosaint panted, knowing the words were redundant. Of all the Healers he'd worked with, Midir didn't need prompting. Yet it was calming to say something. A flash of movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see the High Protector being dragged over the wall by his rescuer, leaving them very much alone with a new group advancing on them.
"Change of plan" he grunted as he hoisted Aine up, "run now, heal later".
On the run again, and Cosaint couldn't help wishing he had taken more time to memorise the features of Chareos' benofactor. He would have words with someone who would rescue the Warlord, but leave the Healer who had protected him as fodder. You mean like you left Bashu, another unwelcome intrusion. Shut up! was the best rebuke he could come up with as he fervently hoped Kianna could sort it all out.
*****
Colours swirled in front of Cosaint's eyes and a nameless immensity pressed in on his mind. Beneath him, eternity yawned and threatened to swallow him whole. Then the immensity fled, and suddenly he was back by the ritual circle with an all-consuming need to run screaming through him.
Pushing through the crowds which poured away from the voidgate, he felt some measure of order return to his mind only to be struck by a new wave of panic. The last thing he remembered was Midir and Rua hitting the ground within the ritual circle, just before everything went wrong. In an instant, everything he'd heard about how dangerous rituals could be came flooding back to him and he cast desperately around for some sign of them. Pushing against the crowd, his progress gradually became easier as more and more people realised that the fear which drove them no longer pressed against their minds.
And there they were. Looking shook but otherwise none the worse for wear, they were heading towards Caoimhe who stood like a rock gathering the Armengarians to her.
Now that he knew they were safe, the fullness of his fear finally hit him. When he thought them lost, his world had nearly crashed around him. Stopping for a moment to compose himself, he gulped in large quantities of cold air until his breathing was steady again and his vision had stopped shaking. Then very calmly, he made his way back over to the rest of the Armengarians and slipped in beside Midir.
"Sooo, you've just freed Mordredd?"
"Yeah, I think so." Midir's typical lack of apparent concern shone through.
"Tell me that's a good thing"
The Healer considered for a moment. "Well, I don't think it's a bad thing"
Under the circumstances, it was the best answer he was going to get.
*****
It's official he thought, Midir, Fionnuala and Rua doing rituals together is bad news.
Admitedly, there was nothing about the current situation which could be actually ascribed to the ritual just past, but coming as it did only minutes after another quarter hour of waiting for everything to go horribly wrong, Cosaint was willing to let such points of logic slip.
The host of undead stood motionless before the Lion's gate. Behind them, a company of Vipers brandished weapons at any Lions still stuck outside as the assembled Armengarians tried to slip past them. As they watched, the Praetorian Balou rose after being healed for the second time and launched himself into a fray of his own making only to be cut down again.
Absently wondering when he'd inherited Midir's sense of humour, Cosaint leaned over and whispered in his ear.
"I think we may have to institute that emergency healing plan sooner than we thought."
"Are you sure you'd be comfortable slicing up people's legs?"
"It's not violence, it's preventative surgery"
The part of Cosaint's mind which should have been horrified at the his own words was busily formulating theories on stupidity.
*****
It was quiet amongst the tents of the camp as Cosaint and Chareos walked along. For the first time, he felt truly comfortable talking to the Farseeker. His talk with Madra earlier had led him to realise something that he had known for years - they were just people too, with the same worries and joys as everyone else. Knowing this, he didn't have to call on any relaxation techniques or build up any fortress of calm about himself - he could just talk to him.
"The worrying thing is Chareos, that I am seeing the same problems here as at home. Everyone spoke in such glowing terms of the Lions, it's almost like I was expecting this perfect society. Well, it's not here."
"It's a tough time for them Cosaint. For the last few years, they have been the butt of the agressions of other nations. They are bound to be a little overly reactive. There's nothing to be done but for people to act as an example of something better. Eventually sense will prevail. I've convinced of it."
"Ah" Cosaint hesitated slightly, "then you quite possibly wouldn't want to know that Fraoch has taken Cluamhach and Alvar on a drunken raid to steal the Vipers' Death Mat."
Never had he seen the colour drain from anybody's face so quickly.
*****
A hundred faces watched him as he formed the next words. Light hearted banter had been swept away, and incredulity seemed to mar many faces. On one of the thrones, Prince Mog watched appraisingly, and a few spaces to his left Mirririth seemed to consider every nuance of what was being said.
"But all I have seen is an excuse for cowardice and stupidity. An unwillingness to take responsibility for your own actions." Cosaint's voice rang out with a confidence he had never felt while addressing his own people. Now he just had to hope that he survived to celebrate his new found oratorial prowess.
The silence from those around him was unnerving as he finished speaking. Had he gotten through to them? Did they listen? Would his words be dismissed as the ravings of an insane dissident? No clue was forthcoming from the assembled Lions.
The rest of the muster washed over him as he tried to make sense of the people who would shortly be his countrymen. He nearly wept when he looked up and saw the painted face of Crow regarding him and his hand extended. He had been heard. It may have been only one for now, but it was enough to hope.
*****
An explosion rent the air like thunder and he knew that it had started. Around him, the camp was eerily silent save for the distant sound of battle drums. Midir had left to consult with the Guilds concerning further training while almost everyone else had taken to the field.
And if nothing else, why aren't you at least watching over him? He had no reply. The shaking that still claimed his legs was enough to let him know that he would be no deterent right now should anyone attack the High Healer.
Silently, he sat down again to wait news of the returning forces. After that, it would be time to return to Armengar, and a whole new chapter in his life. Closing his eyes, he prayed that everyone would return to witness it.
*****
Faces swam into view as the transport circle deposited them back on Amnor. Around him, returnees surged forward to greet their loved ones. Numbly, Cosaint eased his way passed them and made for the streets of Armengar.
He was back. He was back where he had spent his entire life, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.
"Cosaint, would you like to come away with me on one of my ships? See the world?" Driden's question of two nights previous haunted him. He probably could. As a civilian, what was there to stop him?
It was a question he didn't need to answer. He would stop him. Being a civilian might be a new liberation for the others, but Cosaint had only been in the military proper a short time and knew that duty didn't require rank.
Slowly making his way through the winding streets, he finally stopped before a door like any other. Pushing it open, he stepped inside into a narrow entrance hall, and quietly made his way to the large chamber beyond. The smell of varnished wood struck his nostrils again, and old memories cam flooding back as he descended the steps.
A middle ages man stood awaiting him, an expectant look on his face.
"A Dheor, I have failed!"
Finally the dam broke, and through the dampness on his cheeks his face split into a smile matched only by that of his teacher.
by Fergal O Brien
