Healing
#3 of The Summoner and The Summoned
"Where is she?!"
Marak drops the bundle in his arms, running forward toward where his sister is... was... standing. He had never seen something like this - she had vanished, as if a puff of fog. Mora just stares in shock at where her daughter was standing just moments before. The crowd seemed oblivious. They had seen the important part, and now it was time to party. Only Marak and the shamans had noticed. They gather around the spot in stunned silence, glancing around as if they hoped another of their number might have an answer to this mystery.
They are not kept in suspense for long. A scant 30 seconds after vanishing, a shimmer appears in the air where she had vanished. Then, Matala is standing amongst the group, almost as if she had never vanished. She stands still for a moment, a strangled yelp escaping her mouth. The smell of singed hair and burnt flesh reaches the nose of the assembled shamans, and Matala collapses to her knees, whining in pain.
Marak drops to his knees and wraps his arms around his sister. She winces for a moment as he touches a burn... but her need for comfort quickly outweighs the pain and she leans in to him, accepting the embrace. "Matala, what happened? You... you just disappeared. Completely vanished!"
The wolfess starts speaking, but breaks into a fit of coughing. Kneeling down by her daughter, Mora looks the younger wolf in the eyes, before turning to her son. "Marak, pick her up and carry her home. She needs medicine for whatever caused these burns, and she needs rest. We can worry about answers after that."
The younger sibling paces in front of the door to his sister's room. He hadn't been able to sleep, but he was also no healer, just another of the village's many hunters, so he hadn't been permitted to see her since they had gotten her into the house. The High Shaman at his age had needed rest, and had returned to his own hut after seeing that Matala was being tended to; Mora and a couple of the other shamans had stayed, applying ointment to the burns and giving the youngest member of their group a calming tea, which had put her to sleep. After a few hours, only Mora was left watching over her daughter.
Left with nothing to do but wait, Marak fills his time with pacing, pausing every few laps to listen for any signs that his sister is stirring. While he was younger, he still felt a strong urge to protect his family, and he needed to know how this happened. Was it a freak accident? Was there something he could do to help? Was there someone to blame?
He hears a muffled voice through the door. "Marak, fetch some drinking water." Thankfully to finally have something to do, he grabs a water skin and darts outside, filling it in the family's rain barrel, before heading back inside and entering Matala's room. She normally slept in a hammock, although it had put too much pressure on the burns; instead, all the skins had been gathered from around the house and piled in the middle of her floor. Her new red garments were laying in tatters in the corner. The shamans had needed to cut them away while treating her burns, as it had been too painful to try to undress her.
She looked much better today. The lines etched in her skin were still raw and red, but no longer blistered and bleeding, the Elder Shaman having permitted the use of some of his most rare and valuable balms to be sure his youngest apprentice healed properly. Her eyes were open, and she smiled faintly when she saw Marak enter the room. She speaks faintly, "Sorry to worry you, brother."
Nodding to her son Mora takes the water skin from Marak, helping Matala sit up and lifting the skin to her lips so that she could drink. Marak kneels down next to his sister, desperate to find out more. "The last thing I want is for you to worry about me. How are you doing? What happened?"
The younger wolfess shakes her head. "The marks are sore, but nothing like last night. I guess they match the lines that were painted on?"
Mora nods. "Yes, they exactly follow the lines. Adolan went back with the High Shaman and brought his scroll back while you were sleeping to compare. But such a thing has never happened before. Do you remember anything?"
Matala hesitates for a moment, then nods. "I wish I didn't, but I do remember. Everything started going dark here, then I woke up... I'm not sure where. A large building made of wood, like those the humans build. There was someone there, a woman with a book, and... some sort of magic circle? I couldn't..."
She's interrupted by her brother. "Woman? Describe her. If she's the one who did this to you, I'll hunt her down and..."
Mora grabs her son by the ear and gives a sharp tug, bringing him to quick silence. "It's your sister's turn to speak. Save your questions until she's finished." His ears and tail droop submissively to the older wolf and he nods, turning back to Matala.
"I think the woman was an elf, and I do think she was the one responsible. I didn't get a good enough look at her to really describe her, though. So... I couldn't step past this circle drawn on the floor, at least at first. All the sound from outside was also really quiet. Then the woman read something from the book. Then... well, everything was fire for a few seconds, but the circle turned off. I tried to pounce on her, to stop her from doing anything else." She shudders at the memory, tears forming in her eyes. "Then, worse than the fire. Something else was there and attacked me from behind. I should be dead, but instead I came back to the village."
Mora leans forward and protectively hugs her daughter. "It'll be alright, sweetie. We'll do whatever we can to make sure you don't get hurt again. You just rest and get better. The rest of us will look into it, see if we can find out more about the runes or what they might have done."
Matala healed steadily under the ministrations of the shamans, and was back on her feet in only a couple of days. The burns had healed, but the marks had not. Her skin now bore dark lines, and the slight fuzz of fur starting to grow back in was similarly discolored.
Matala's incident had not stopped the day to day life of the village, and once she was healed, she leapt back into her role as shaman. It served well to keep her mind off, at least generally. The new dark lines through her light fur were obvious even to the inattentive, and the extra attention was unwelcome. Some of the villages also seemed to have developed a distrust. Rumors had spread that something had happened that night, and while no one knew the details, lack of detail did little to deter idle whispers.
The High Shaman had taken responsibility for researching his young disciple's condition. Most of the wolven were not literate, but it was expected that any shaman be able to read the written language of the common tongue. He had a small collection of books and scrolls, collected by trade or as spoils of war and raiding, and set himself to study those he did not already know by heart.
His research finally started bearing fruit after a week, finding an old document buried at the bottom of a chest that he'd never bothered reading before, as it seemed like little more than an old trade contract. The details, however, showed it to be far more significant. The contract had been made generations before with an old wizard - a pact of mutual protection. It had also been the original source of the runic markings that had since become a matter of nothing more than ritual. It bound a wolven protector to the wizard's service, whom he could call in times of need.
While the old wizard had long since passed away, barely a legend even in the High Shaman's youth, it seemed his magic was still effective. Perhaps another mage had stumbled upon his work, or had done something similar enough to bind to the old runes. Either way, the wizard's tower still stood unoccupied, and probably contained his work. Perhaps one of the shaman could find something there to break this binding.
Rolling the parchment up, he hears shouts from outside his hut. Picking up his staff and slowly shuffling outside, he sees a small crowd has gathered. He cracks the tip of his staff on the ground, the sharp report bringing the crowd to a quick silence. "By the gods of the forest, what is going on here? You all sound as if you're about to start a riot."
A female wolf clutching a child is the first to speak. "She's a witch! With those marks, she must be! She..."
She's shouted down by another member of the crowd. "I've known her since she was a pup, and she ain't got an evil bone in her body, you old..."
The crowd devolves to shouting again. With a sigh, the High Shaman again taps his staff; the crowd calms, although noticeably slower this time. "Let's try this again. You", he points to an older wolf he knows to be reliable. "You tell me what happened."
The old grey fur steps forward. "Didn't be seeing it myself, but heard there's strange magic happening with Shamaness Matala. First those strange marks, then while she's out treating Latrea's kid's cough", he points his thumb toward the female wolf who had been so quick to accuse Matala, "they say she just up and vanished. There one moment, and gone the next. Can't no one find her."