Baleeah grabbed Indenuel’s hand, a strange gesture but one he would allow. “My grandami is this way.”
Indenuel walked among them, saw the mistrust in their eyes, saw them lingering on his fine clothes and carriage. As soon as their eyes fell on Tolomon they bowed, backing away, whimpering. Tolomon did nothing to discourage their actions.
Indenuel allowed Baleeah to take him closer to the wall of the city. He didn’t even know Oraminians lived here in Santollia City. He thought only Santollians lived here. Which meant there were no rich Oraminians at all here. Or probably anywhere.
Once again, his clothes, his hair, his cleanliness felt like a costume, but now among the poorest of the poor, they were a costume for a different reason. They saw the costume and assumed it was his whole life, when really, he had more in common with them than they knew. The poor and the outcasts of society.
Tolomon kept a hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes darting every which way. More than a few Oraminians followed behind them, giving them a healthy distance because of Tolomon.
“She’s in here,” Baleeah said, letting go of Indenuel’s hand to a small area covered by a blanket that looked dirtier than the ground it was trying to protect. An older woman with gray hair was on the ground, curled in a ball, her forehead covered in sweat, her eyes closed and sunken in with a dirty cloth covering a small section of her hair. The cloth looked like it had some sort of meaning, since Baleeah’s grandmother wasn’t the only woman with a cloth around her hair.
Baleeah knelt beside the older woman, saying something in Oraminian as she shook her shoulder. The older woman cracked an eye open. Baleeah talked again, gesturing toward Indenuel. The woman stared at him, and Indenuel gave a pathetic wave.
The woman said something to Baleeah, the Oraminian language rolling out of her mouth.
“What’s she saying?” Indenuel asked Baleeah.
“I told her I brought you, but she apparently just wanted me to leave so she could take a nap in peace for once.”
More Oraminians approached, curious. Tolomon’s fingers curled against the hilt of his sword, but he did nothing.
“Tell her I’m actually here, and I’d like to heal her if I can,” Indenuel said.
Baleeah translated what Indenuel said. The older woman shook her head, her tone harsh as she told Baleeah everything on her mind before the exhaustion became too much and she closed her eyes.
“She doesn’t attend Sabbath worship. She doesn’t recite the evening prayers every night, and she has no intention of doing either,” Baleeah said, looking embarrassed.
Indenuel frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s the questions the High Elders ask before they’re allowed to heal us,” Baleeah said.
Indenuel blinked a few more times. He remembered Martin asking those questions, but he didn’t realize this is what he meant when he asked them. Indenuel turned his head to Tolomon, who was far too busy scanning the group of poor now surrounding Indenuel, Baleeah, and her grandmother.
“My grandami was banned from attending your church because she kept asking too many questions. And the translators kept messing up what she wanted to say, and I wasn’t allowed to translate her questions. She’d rather talk with other Oraminians about the word of God.”
“I’ve never seen any Oraminians at the Cathedral,” Indenuel said.
“We have a special service right at dawn on the first of the week, so the nobility doesn’t have to see us,” Baleeah said.
Indenuel’s nod was numb before he took off his jacket and tossed it toward Tolomon. It was way too hot out here. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt as he knelt in front of Baleeah’s grandmother.
“I want you to translate exactly what I’m about to say. Are you ready?” Baleeah nodded. “Say: I don’t give a damn where you go to church. I’m just going to heal you anyway.”
Baleeah stared at Indenuel, her eyes wide. “I thought the High Elder’s need to know the extent of our faith before we are healed.”
“I’m not a High Elder,” Indenuel said. Baleeah still hesitated, looking nervous. “Well?”
“Grandami might slap me for swearing,” Baleeah said.
Indenuel smiled. “Alright, you can take that out.”
Baleeah nodded again before translating this to her grandami. The older woman cracked open her eyes again, looking confused, staring at Indenuel like this was some sort of trick. Indenuel finished rolling up his sleeves before he reached over and touched her temples. He closed his eyes, searching through what he understood about a physical body. It was a bad illness, a contagious one, traveling through the refugee camp. Many have already died. No one had mentioned this to Indenuel.
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He refused to let his anger get in the way. It was hard not to. The city simply placed these refugees in a corner of the city and denied them treatment for those who didn’t attend Sabbath Worship. The anger built to a danger point, but he forced himself to push it down. He had learned his lesson last week. Anger made it easier to use corruption, and he couldn’t do that.
He reached through, gathering the illness ravaging the woman’s body. He collected it in her chest before reaching out a final time with as much healing power as he could to dissolve it.
The old woman gasped and sat up, eyes wide. Indenuel released his hold, looking at her. Baleeah began to sob as she hugged her grandami. The woman hugged Baleeah for a moment before breaking away and getting to her feet. She began chatting with Baleeah as though there was no sign of illness in the first place. Baleeah answered back, drying her tears quickly. Indenuel got up, brushing his pants. He turned to see the crowd had tripled while he had healed Baleeah’s grandmother.
“Indenuel.” There was a warning in Tolomon’s tone that made him nervous. They were toward the back of the refugee camp, and he couldn’t see his carriage with all the people crowded around, but when he saw their faces, he couldn’t feel the fear Tolomon did.
A woman approached, also wearing one of the rags around her hair, looking frightened, her Oraminian speech tumbling out of her mouth, betraying a high level of fright. A bearded Oraminian man stood beside her, the same look of concern.
“Baleeah?” Indenuel asked, this time not wanting to turn his back to the crowd.
“Yes, Eskmenmar?” the little girl asked.
“Can you translate?”
Baleeah listened to the woman and the man, and more people added to what was being said. Baleeah took it all in. “This couple’s three-year-old is sick with the same illness. A lot of them have it or know people who have it. They’ve all been turned away from the Cathedral and cannot receive healing from the priests, let alone the High Elders.”
Indenuel nodded, trying not to let the anger show on his face. What cruelty was the church showing these people?
“Baleeah, can you come with me to translate? Or does your grandami need you?” Indenuel asked.
Baleeah turned to her grandmother and spoke some words with her. The tone started off light enough, but soon dissolved into what sounded like a fight. Indenuel waited, wondering if the King’s Court had an official translator he could send for.
“She said I can come,” Baleeah said after the fight finished.
Indenuel’s gaze bounced from Baleeah to her grandmother. “Did she?”
“Fine, she’s mad because I didn’t finish my chores, but I told her I neglected them to get you, and my sisters are capable of helping anyway, and this is important.”
Indenuel couldn’t stop the smile on his face. “How do you say thank you in Oraminian?”
“Shrbriadi,” Baleeah said.
Indenuel cleared his throat and gave Baleeah’s grandmother a bow fit for royalty. “Shrbriadi."
The old woman replied with a string of words that sounded neither pleasant nor gracious. Indenuel glanced at Baleeah. “Do I want to know what she said?”
“She said to have me back by dinner.”
Indenuel smiled again before taking Baleeah by the elbow and standing in front of the woman. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting. Take me to your child.”
Baleeah translated as the woman began to weep, mumbling something. “She keeps saying she doesn’t go to church.”
“Tell her I don’t care. Tell them all I really don’t care. The only way they are not going to get healed is if God Himself forbids me to stop, and so far, He’s staying in Heaven.”
Baleeah nodded, then shouted Indenuel’s words to the group. There were tears of joy and a bubble of excitement among them. Indenuel bowed to the woman, trying to be as respectful to her as he would a noblewoman. The woman reached forward and took Indenuel’s hand, leading him over to her sick child. Indenuel resisted the urge to let go. Clearly the Oraminian culture was different. This is how they lead people. In his culture, this kind of touch between a man and a woman was only reserved when they were betrothed or married. However, he was among Oraminians, and if this was part of their culture, then he would respect it.
Tolomon reluctantly followed.
***
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Martin said.
Navir poked his head inside before walking farther in. “You’ve had your lesson with Indenuel, then?”
“Yes, yes. Finished before lunch,” Martin said.
Navir looked confused as he sat himself down on the chair opposite Martin’s desk. “So early? I thought it would take longer to sort through what the corruption did to him.”
“I did too, honestly,” Martin said, leaning back a bit. “But his powers are fine.”
Navir stared at Martin, not speaking, mulling this over. “That’s concerning.”
“I think it’s marvelous. He truly is a powerful individual.”
Navir shook his head. “He’s done this before. Used his corruption and covered it up quickly.”
“No, not cover up. I would more say taken the necessary steps to rid himself of the evil as quickly as possible. It is an admirable part of his character.”
Navir placed his hand under his chin, shaking his head. “We can’t know for sure. How long has he used his corruption and done this?”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is it’s gone. I checked him twice. His body is free of corruption.”
Navir about opened his mouth to speak when he froze. He slipped off his shoes and placed them firm on the ground. Martin waited, watching as Navir’s eyes moved around as he used his powers.
The door opened and a guard came in with a letter. Navir stood and took the paper, reading it fast.
“What’s going on?” Martin asked, sensing the fear in Navir.
“Tolomon and Indenuel. They never made it back home to lunch. The tree talkers are searching everywhere in the city for him, but they can’t find him.”
Martin gasped, his thoughts of a more paternal nature. Indenuel wasn’t even twenty. Though technically a man, Martin still saw him as a boy, and a scared one at that.
Navir threw his shoes back on before heading out of the Cathedral. Martin followed, concerned for the boy. They went to the nearest tree beside the Cathedral and Navir touched its bark, closing his eyes. Martin waited, beginning to pace as Navir’s eyes moved behind his lids.
“What should we do, sir?” the guard asked Martin.
“Keep this quiet for now. Don’t let the general public know. If he’s in the city, Navir will find him. If not, we’ll have to organize a search part and-”
“He’s in the refugee camp,” Navir said, opening his eyes.
“Is he alive?” Martin asked.
“Yes. He and Tolomon are there. You speak Oraminian, right?”
“Yes,” Martin said.
“Take as many guards as you need to feel safe and get him back. Once he’s back, keep him in his rooms until we find out why he was there,” Navir said.
Martin bowed. “It will be done.”