| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
.
| Written by JR Tomlin / Artwork by Lee Kuruganti |
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| Seeds of Healing |
Zalista dropped her saddlebags, and hurried to the window. Something she had sensed in the innkeeper when he
handed her the key had made her pulse with alarm. But there was no sign of her pursuers. A boy curried her sweat-
lathered horse in the empty stableyard. Its head drooped in exhaustion after her pell-mell ride across Frenich.
She slammed the shutters together and shoved the bar into the slots. Leaning her head against the wooden slats, she
closed her eyes. She needed a moment, that was all, just a moment. . .
She jerked upright. Goddess, had she fallen asleep standing up? If she didn’t have sleep and hot food she’d never
reach home. Three times, groggy from lack of sleep, she had nearly fallen from the saddle. The last miles were a blur.
She wouldn’t let them catch her. She wouldn’t. The thought of her death she could stand, but not failing in her task.
Muzzy-headed, she tried to think. She scurried back to the door and turned the wrought iron key in the lock. It
wouldn’t hold against a determined assault. She scanned the room: a rough wooden table where her meal awaited,
two ladder-back chairs, and the narrow bed. There was nothing else.
She pulled one of the chairs across the room to jam under the door handle. Wait. She should hide the pouch with
the seeds. Under the mattress wasn’t much of a hiding place, but she didn’t see anywhere better.
Kneeling beside the bed in the half-light, she untied the tiny leather pouch from her belt. Power pulsed within. Three
seeds about the same shape as acorns. Only once, before she stole them, had she been near them, years ago when
she was a child.
Even fifteen years since, she still felt a surge of horror when she remembered the guards running into the temple
followed by wails and shouts to hurry. She looked up at the man who had grasped her hand to lead her to safety,
tall and grave. They’d herded the acolytes together. It had confused her. How could they have lost the battle?
“They’re dead, child,” the guard said when she tried to pull away to run back.
The army and all of the priestesses had been over-run and butchered. The guards fled the temple with the children,
first into the dark forest, unwelcoming to any not of the goddess. She remembered panther screams behind them as
they fled, but if they were pursued, she never knew it.
Zalista shoved the pouch a little way under the mattress. She could reach it easily if she had to run. She scrubbed at
her face. If only her mind would work properly.
The other priestesses tried to stop her when she left the safety of the mountain valley, but she had to do it—the
sacrifice had to be made. Her people needed the power within the seeds, and as the trees grew, so would her
people. The healing she and the others new priestesses could channel would cure the sickness sweeping the land.
Plague and hunger had taken their toll under the heel of their conquerors. A new grove would sooth the grief of loss.
It would give them the courage to endure.
She shuddered when she thought of what she’d done—the guard stroking her body as she simpered up at him, flask
of drugged wine in her hands. He wasn’t the first. She’d made her act as a whore convincing.
Goddess forgive me, she prayed. She couldn’t regret what she’d done yet her soul ached, as though a thousand
baths wouldn’t scour away the filth. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth. Would she
ever feel clean again?
She swayed on her feet and caught the edge of the table. Her stomach growled at the scent of meat, onions and
carrots wafting up from the stew where the innkeeper had left it.
She pulled off the napkin that covered the bowl. Her mouth watered, but she suspected this had more to do with
her hunger and endless days in the saddle than the stew itself. She had paused only to rest her horse and gobble
down some travel biscuits. Now she needed to recover her strength.
She forced herself to take her time as she savored each bite. She sopped up the last bit of gravy with the slice of
dark bread. Sighing, she leaned back in the chair. Too full to move, she decided to sit up for a few minutes before
she crawled between the covers.
Home… Sleeping at home would be wonderful. In the green and moist valley, a waterfall veiled one end. Wild
roses bloomed and sent up a sweet scent…
Zalista’s eyes flew open. Her arm was numb where she'd cradled her head on the table. Had a sound awakened
her? She tried to breathe softly. She mustn’t make a sound.
A scraping sound came from the window. Her heart hammered. She forced a whimper back with her hand, biting
down hard on her knuckles. She’d barred the shutters. No one could get in.
Something moving between the cracks of the shutters caught a glint of moonlight. The bar thudded to the floor.
She jumped to her feet, knocking the chair over with a clatter. Clapping her hands over her mouth, she forced back
a scream.
The shutters swung open. A shadowy shape slipped through the window backlit by the faint light of the crescent
moon. She fumbled in her pocket for the key as she dashed for the door.
"Help! Someone!" She barged into the chair she'd jammed under the handle and grabbed it to shove out of the way.
The key wasn't in her pocket. She must have left it on the table, but now the dark shape blocked her way.
She fumbled for the knife sheathed at her waist and jerked it free. Her hands shook as she held it in front of her.
"Don't.” How body shook with tremors. “Don’t come any closer. Stay back." As if in a nightmare, everything
slowed.
He chuckled. "You won't use that. You can't."
She shuddered. He made her think of a snake, smooth and sinuous.
She backed against the door and raised the knife higher, gripping it hard in her sweat-slick hands. "I will.” She tried
to make her voice low and threatening, yet it wavered. “Get out.”
He laughed.
Dear Goddess, he was enjoying this. Just like the other men had, when she'd had to pretend, when she'd done all
those things...
"I don't mind if you fight, lambkin. It's more fun."
"Don't touch me." She lunged at him, slashing the knife at his throat.
He grabbed her and twisted her arm behind her. A thin, hard hand crushed her wrist. The knife clattered to the
floor. She gasped in pain. With his other hand, he jerked her against him.
“Where are they?" he said. "If you tell me, I won't hurt you."
"No." She thrashed, wedging her free arm shove against his chest, but he had her squeezed against him. A pulse of
agony surged up her arm as he twisted her wrist again. It had to be broken.
He backed toward the bed a slow step at a time, dragging her with him. "I'll find them when I'm finished with you
then." He jerked her even harder against him. His chest shook with an almost silent laugh.
She thrust frantically against his chest as she jerked and twisted within his grip.
His push sent her sprawling onto the bed. She landed on her throbbing hand. Her vision spun.
He was on top of her, pulling at her top. She could feel his tongue on her neck as he licked up to her ear. She
couldn't help the whimper. She closed her eyes. Think, damn you.
He pried her legs apart with a knee and she tightened her muscles.
Hatred raged in him and fury. Where his body pressed against her she felt it. The rage soaked into her, made her
dizzy. Her stomach heaved. She swallowed back a mouthful of burning bile.
She had to reach them. The seeds. Could she remember how to let them use her? She’d been a child when the
priestesses had shown her—before they were killed.
She tried to cut off his fury. How could she think when he flooded her with his feelings like that? She wriggled closer
to the edge of the bed. Don't let him notice, please.
"That's right. Struggle, lambkin." He had pushed her top back and his teeth sunk into her shoulder. She sucked in a
breath at the stab of pain.
Her fingers slipped past the coverlet and under the mattress. She could almost reach them. Oh, please... Their
power while seeds wasn't that strong. She had to touch them. She pushed and thrashed and squirmed an inch closer
to the edge of the bed.
"What're you doing?" he said as he knotted his fingers into her hair and jerked.
Her fingers slid into the little bag, and she went limp with relief. She touched the seeds and clamped her other hand
onto his neck. Power roared through her. A flood of green light sparked around them. She gasped. It crackled and
scorched through her body as it flowed into him.
Then the images hit her—rushed at her. She squeezed her eyelids tight. She snarled at the beatings—at the ache in
his empty belly ached—at the way rough hands held him down and ripped away his innocence. Her snarl twisted
into a sob, as he became what he hated and feared. The first woman he forced—a knife grasped in his hand while
he waited in an alley, his blood pounding with fear. With a moan, Zalista reached to stop the suffering.
His fingers still tangled in her hair, he jerked and nearly pulled it out by the roots.
"No!" he screamed.
His back arched and his whole body shook. Zalista fought to keep her grip as he thrashed. Sweat poured down his
face and dripped onto hers.
Another flash of heat and light surged over her. She sucked in her breath, and it was like breathing flames. She
moaned, but she couldn't stop now. She was too close. She had to succeed. He had to be healed.
His whole body shook with tremors. He growled as he pushed away from her to roll onto his back. She clutched
the bag of seeds to her chest, and held onto him with the other hand, rolling with him.
He convulsed. His arms and legs shook the bed with their tremors. His body twisted, and he thrashed his head back
and forth, sweat spattering. His breath grated in his throat.
At last, his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell still. The fingers of one of his hands twitched.
Panting, Zalista let go. She scooted away from him as fast as she could. Her hand trembled as she pressed it to her
mouth. Sweat ran down her face. She sat on the edge of the bed and held her head. What had happened? Healing
had never hurt her so. It always tired her, but this had burned through her entire being.
But before she had healed with her own small power. So much knowledge had been lost. Was it supposed to be
like that when you healed with the power of the Goddess?
He groaned and everything in her screamed to run. She stood and tucked the bag into her pocket. Taking a deep
breath, she closed her eyes and reached for her center. Her breathing slowed. She smiled for the first time in weeks.
Odd, how peaceful she felt.
Now, what to do about him? Her hand shook, but she reached to touch his forehead. It was still slick with sweat.
He moaned, his body twitching.
She jerked her away. He should be safe to be near now, but she felt like she was touching a mad dog.
His eyes flew open, glittering in a shaft of moonlight. "Oh, God." He rolled away from her across the bed and
dropped onto the floor. "Don't touch me."
He scuttled to press his back against the wall.
Zalista felt a laugh well up at the idea of his repeating her plea back to her.
"Oh, God," he said again. He gagged. "What did I do? What's happened?" His voice was that of the lost child he
had been.
She eased around the corner of the bed with her good hand raised, palm outward. "I'm not going to touch you.
You're all right."
"This doesn't... I can't..." He closed his eyes and took a long shuddering breath.
She sat on the corner of the bed as she cradled her injured wrist. "I used my power—well, mostly I borrowed it—
but I healed you. Your mind that is. From the things you did. From the things they did to you." She shuddered at the
memory of what had turned him into a killer, of what he had suffered. Then of what he had done to others.
"You changed me." His voice was raspy and ragged.
"No. Just let you be something closer to what you were meant to be." She gave him a long, hard look. "I couldn’t
heal what you had done."
"Magic. What else did you do? Bind me?”
"Goddess, no." She'd sooner keep the rabid dog he'd reminded her of. Yet, the lost child in his voice made her
chest ache. So that was what it meant to be a true healer. She shook her head in confusion. "I have to wrap my
wrist. Can't cure myself."
"A patrol’s a half-day behind me, you know. I thought I'd steal the march—get the reward for myself." He leaned
against the wall in the space between it and the bed, his dark eyes glowing in the faint moonlight.
She pulled a light shirt out of her saddle bags at the foot of the bed then used one hand and her teeth to tear off a
strip. "Then I’d better get this bandaged. What you do now is up to you." Her eyes narrowed as she studied him.
What would he do? In a strange way, she had killed the man he had been. "Murder won't be so easy for you now.
You won't like it."
It was hard to wrap her right wrist, but she had to. There was still a long two day ride into the forest. The king’s
troops never went past the edge. They said there wasn’t anything worth chasing, but she knew that they feared it.
There she’d be safe.
The pain eased in her hand. She looked at her wrist. It should be swelling and not better. She flexed her fingers. It
wasn’t swollen at all.
The man sat with his fingers grasping his hair, his body still shuddering as he stared into the dark. “I’d put all that out
of my mind. Now it’s back—thanks to you.” He glared at her.
She fumbled with the strip of white cloth. “Then you’ll have to find some way to deal with it. A better way than
making yourself a monster like them, I hope. But it’s up to you. You’re not a child now. You do have a choice.”
She knew her voice sounded hard but her mind had seen too much of what he had done, however she might pity the
child’s suffering.
“My choice... Yes, I suppose.” He propped a hand against the wall as he lurched to his feet and looked down at
her. “You really think this is healing? Ripping my insides open like that?”
“I shouldn’t care. You were going to rape and kill me. But, yes, it’s a healing if you let it be.” She leaned forward to
look into his face. Tears pricked at her eyes. “It can be. Let yourself be what was meant. Stop doing what they did
to you.”
"I'm no one’s tame puppy. Not yours. Not anyone’s."
She snorted. "No one would mistake you for that."
He stepped toward her, stumbled a little and held out his hand. "Here. Give me that." He took the makeshift
bandage.
She shook her head. “Thank the Goddess, no need to wrap it.” She gave a little laugh. “I suppose in a way I owe
you a thanks, too. The power of the seeds going through me to you apparently healed me as well. That’s something
I have to think on.”
What other knowledge had been lost with the slaughtered priestesses? She and the others had so much yet to
learn—so much they would be able to do once they learned it.
“Healed your hand, you mean?”
She smiled a little with no intention of saying what inside her had needed healing. She wouldn’t share with him, even
healed as he was, how getting those seeds had soiled her soul. “That and something more.”
“Then you can travel.” He jerked his chin toward the open shutters of the window he had entered. "The innkeeper
knows, so we’ll go the way I came. Come on. I’ll get you away. I’ll do that much for you."
***
Zalista breathed in deeply. The scent of pines and wild roses wrapped around her. The meadow spread out before
her was dotted with the flowers. The surrounding pine forest thrust into the sky, dark and threatening to any who
were strangers to its secrets. They’d dashed for its protection a week ago. At the edge of the forest, she’d watched
his back as he rode away. Her chest had hurt a little at his leaving. In a way, he’d made her a true healer. Then she’
d ridden though the forest and into the valley hidden deep in the foothills.
Here the precious seeds and the trees that would sprout from them would be safe. She and her sister priestesses
would tend them as they grew and spread their healing. It would take time. At first, it would only be in this valley but
as they become larger and stronger, their healing would spread. As they grew, she and her sisters would learn anew
to use their power. So much to learn.
Another priestess stood only a few paces away cradling one of the seeds in her cupped hands. At an angle from
them stood another with a third seed. At Zalista’s nod, they knelt with her and thrust the acorn-like seeds through
the cover of flowers into the black dirt.
Power surged between the seeds from one to another; green lightning crackled and sparked. Zalista sighed in
satisfaction as she stood.
At her feet a fragile shoot thrust its way through the tangle of wild roses, an ebon-black stem topped with two
unfurling emerald leaves.
She lifted her face to the warm sun. “They’ve accepted their planting.”
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