The dirt road had now become more worn, and it was easy to see that it was used more frequently. The dry, hot plains had become greener, and now there were trees, but there was also rain. It spattered the dirt road, and we left deep gashes and puddles behind us.

At the time, I was huddled in my cloak against the persistent rain when I heard a fierce cry. I looked up to see a small rider and another one charging at us. As they drew closer, I realized one was a grinning man, and the other was Naro.

It hadn’t taken long for Cleaver’s men to notice Naro’s skill as a tracker, and he had sent them ahead of the column to scout on many occasions. Now the two galloped towards us as if the devil chased and nipped at their very heels.

Behind them, I saw another two men, and even from a distance and amidst clouds of dust, I could see their bright purple and yellow churchmen tabards. Arrows flew past Naro and the grinning man, but the pursuers didn't aim true, and the arrows flew wide.

“Onward!” Cleaver bellowed, and we moved towards the two men who had been chasing Naro and the grinning man.

The two men saw us, but they had gone too far in pursuit to chase Naro and the grinning man. By the time they managed to turn their horses around, we were upon them, and the company had encircled them on all sides. The two men circled nervously on their horses, both with swords drawn, as they looked at us.

Then one of the men stiffened. I turned to see what he was looking at, and I saw that Tuale had come up beside Cleaver and me. Tuale met the man’s eyes, and he shook his head.

Suddenly, both men kicked their horses forward towards Tuale. Cleaver’s horse reared, and the big man almost fell off. But the hooves of his great beast kicked one of the men off his horse, and the other nearly fell off his own mount as the two horses struggled next to each other with nowhere to go.

The man got to his feet and looked up at me. Then he pulled a knife and moved to slice my legs.

I grabbed the hilt of my sword and managed to parry the quick attack with the scabbard. But I was surprised by the attack, and my reflexive movement didn’t help my balance. The momentum of defending myself caused me to fall off my own horse, and then I lay before the desperate man with his own blade. He stabbed his knife down at me but I rolled away.

I struggled to my feet and faced the man. I looked around, some part of me wondering where my help was. But none of Cleaver’s men looked concerned. Most of them were cheering or making bets on the fight itself. Coins were being passed around, and anger formed a tight knot in my stomach as I realized what was happening. The men were betting on who would win the fight.

The churchman must have realized this was his last chance to live because he moved forward again. He poked forward with the tip of his blade, and I jumped back. But he was quick, and he slid forward and sliced again at my left side.

This time, I wasn’t fast enough, and the man’s blade sliced into the side of my stomach. It went deep, and I felt an immediate hotness as the cold metal blade parted the flesh of my stomach. Blood pooled from the massive wound, and I could do nothing but stare as the man withdrew the blade.

There was no laughing or cheering now. I looked down and couldn’t believe what I saw there. I didn’t know how I was still standing, and then I realized I wasn’t.

I winced as Theodmon screamed inside my head, “Use your gift!”

“What?” I said. It was hard to speak, and I coughed out blood. It was in my throat, on my face, and my stomach was starting to feel cold. I put a hand to my stomach and pressed against it in a vain attempt to stop the blood. Pain shot through my gut in an intensity that I didn’t know was possible.

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My vision was beginning to blur, but I saw Cleaver get off his horse. He walked up to the man without any hesitation and struck his cleaver into the man’s neck. The man looked confused and tried to swing at Cleaver with his sword. But the movement had no force at all, and Cleaver took the blade and hit the pommel of the sword into the man’s forehead. He crumpled to the ground, and Cleaver took out his weapon and looked at me.

“Sorry about that, lad. It's been a long time since we had a child in the ranks. Forgot you couldn't fight, is all.” There was disappointment in his cold eyes, and it hurt me to see him, as a man, look down upon me.

“But we took care of this one. And what do we do to the other one, lads?” Cleaver looked up at his band of men who still sat on their horses. An argument broke out as the men tried to decide what to do with the other churchmen. I saw Tuale staring at me, and then he looked down at my stomach. The blood still ran, and I could feel it soaking the insides of my pants.

“You must save yourself, child.” Theodmon’s voice rang loud and stern in my head. There was no disappointment there. It was just instruction. This time, there was something about it that was different. It wasn't as if I was listening to him; it was as if I was being compelled.

I felt my body respond to his words, and the pain seemed to recede from my consciousness. I could still feel the blood leaking from my gut, and I was sure the blade had cut halfway through my stomach. But it was as if it was a minor thing—instead of something that had begun to blind my vision with pain.

As I got up and walked to the other Churchman, I could feel the men around Cleaver growing quiet. I saw Cleaver frown as I passed him, and I felt his eyes on my back. I knew the man thought I was as good as dead, and I thought I would be soon as well.

The Churchman saw me advancing towards him and raised his guard. As I got closer, he snarled and whipped his blade at me. My right hand twitched, and my arm moved with the blade still in it. I had forgotten I still held it. I parried the blow and slid my sword past it in a strange angular gesture that felt totally unfamiliar. The man must have been taken aback by my quick movement, so he didn’t have time to bring up his sword to defend himself. I plunged the sword as hard as I could into the man’s chest.

The sword pierced his skin as if there was nothing there, and the blade went through him and out the other side of his back. I leaned against the man as we stood there, and I clutched at him for balance. Then I pushed away from the man, and he fell back down to the ground with the sword still in him.

I struggled to stay on my feet as the pain returned. I felt a wave of nausea as I turned, and a cheer went up from Cleaver’s men. They laughed at what I had done. I saw one of Cleaver’s men pass a coin to another as a bet was settled. Then I saw the same man's face light up with horror as he pointed with a limp finger at something behind me.

The Churchman I had killed had been a small man. Not young, but a smaller, heftier fellow of plain looks. Now, the same man was back, but it was not the same man at all. Blood still stained his tunic, and a huge gash could be seen through the torn cloth.

But the sword was no longer sticking out of his chest; it was held in his hand. And his entire demeanor had completely changed. The man's chin was tilted slightly upward, and his eyes were narrowed as if he was appraising the world to decide if it could tell him something he didn't already know.

He strode over to me and put a hand on my stomach. Then he applied pressure, and the pain made me gasp. Blood came out of my mouth and covered his tunic. Then, an intense heat seared into the side of my stomach, and I realized I could feel the inside of my stomach moving.

I looked down, and I could see the flesh mending. It was as if the process of healing had been sped up tenfold. Something about the unnatural sight of moving flesh horrified me, and I screamed.

Then, as soon as it had begun, the pain was gone, and I stared at my stomach. It was if I had never been stabbed--and there wasn’t even a scar. My throat felt raw from screaming, and I stared down, not believing that I was no longer dying.

“Well, I’ll be fucked,” Cleaver stared at me and then the churchman who had healed me, his eyes flicking down to the cut in his chest and back up to his face

The man put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed lightly. He looked into my eyes, and without knowing how, I recognized him. It was no longer churchmen. It was my father. Theodmon. It was strange seeing the voice in my head come from another face and another voice.

Theodmon winked at me. Even if he was not in my head anymore, I had the strange sensation that he had read my thoughts. He turned to Cleaver and the rest of the men. Most of them had moved back a good ten feet and Cleaver stared at the man.

“Who the fuck are you?” He looked back and forth between Theodmon and me.

“His father.”