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“Can we help him?” she begged.
“I’ve already called for help,” he answered.
Soon some birds began to circle above—vultures. She grew ill, thinking about them coming down and goring him with their beaks. Her insides were sick and haunted.
“Look up,” the Seneschal said, nodding to the tree line.
Then she saw him. It was a Bhikhu, gliding along the tips of the trees, floating above. Relief surged inside her. The Vaettir noticed the birds and altered direction, seeing the crumpled man far below. With a rush of breath, the Bhikhu dropped from the sky and ran up to Shion’s body. He was middle-aged, with just a frosting of silver in the stubble on his head. He approached Shion cautiously, his expression twisting with disgust at the grotesque wounds.
Phae clenched the Seneschal’s arm, watching with growing horror. The Bhikhu stared at him, gazing at the half-dead man. Then he knelt and offered a prayer in the Vaettir tongue, which Phae didn’t understand. He looked with pity at Shion and then departed, floating away.
Phae stared at him, wanting to shriek with frustration. “Where is he going? To get help? He didn’t even touch him to see if he was alive!”
The Seneschal shook his head. “The injuries made him squeamish. He realized how much blood he would get on himself attempting to help. Watch and wait.”
The day passed to afternoon. Somehow, it went by more quickly than what she was used to. She could see the arc of the sun in the sky, feeling the world sigh and breathe around her. The shadows stretched and changed. The vultures descended and began poking at the body with their hooked beaks. Shion let out a groan of pain and anger and the birds scattered in fear. They returned again a short while later, bobbing and hopping to get near him again. They started to pick at him again.
The Seneschal waved his fingers at them and the vultures all turned to look at him. One by one, they bowed their necks and then flapped their wings and left.
“They saw you!” Phae said, surprised. “You were here all along? When he suffered?”
“I have been here before and I will come here again,” he said softly. “Many from Mirrowen visit this moment in time. Each one who comes scatters the vultures. That is something he could not do for himself.”
“But surely you can heal him,” Phae said, feeling desperate to do something to help.
“Of course,” the Seneschal replied. “What you must understand, child, is that when I intervene in the world, it is not just to benefit the life of a specific individual. I intervene to stop the chaos from swallowing the world. Suffering is important. It teaches so much in a little bit of time. In much wisdom there is much grief. And those who increase knowledge also increase sorrow. He was given a great gift of knowledge when he visited the Dryad tree. With knowledge comes suffering. They are connected.”
“But what good will it do?”
The Seneschal smiled, a tear in his eye. “What good indeed. Wait and see, child. Wait and see. When your father fled the Scourgelands, he was going to die. Shirikant had unleashed his many hosts seeking to destroy him, to prevent him from success. Merinda Druidecht gave her life to help preserve his, but it was not enough. The hunters would have caught and killed them both. There was a storm that came and drenched their scent, making them invisible.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “I commanded a spirit to summon the storm, Phae. Your father always believed it was random luck that had preserved him. He could not hear the whispers then. He was not like Isic.” The Seneschal nodded to the crumpled body.
As Phae turned back, she saw that twilight was upon them. Shion had not stirred or moved at all. He was unconscious, sprawled amidst the grasses like a black stain. She saw a man approaching on the road holding a walking staff. She sighed with relief, seeing the Druidecht approach.
From the belly of the woods, a huge roar sounded. With night drawing near, the Fear Liath had begun to hunt again. One of its victims had escaped. She could feel its anger permeating the aether. Its senses were sharp and the trail of blood was only too easy to follow.
The Druidecht stiffened at the sound. He saw Shion’s body in the path. Instead of walking toward him, he darted around, casting a nervous look into the dark forest. He hugged his cloak tighter, looking back once at the fallen man, but he didn’t stop.
“No,” Phae said in horror. “He’s a Druidecht! He can summon a spirit to heal. No! Why isn’t he stopping?”
“Fear is a powerful motivator,” the Seneschal replied. “He heard my whisper and responded to it, coming down the road as I bid him to. But the cry of the Fear Liath overwhelmed him. He’ll feel guilty about it later, and then spend the rest of his life wondering whatever happened to the dead man in the road he had walked past. He’ll stop listening to the whispers and eventually forsake his life as a Druidecht. Guilt is a Finder. It hunts and tracks us down, no matter how far we run. His is a sad tale, but you will learn it later. Watch and see.”
