The First Protector ec-2 Read online

  "And I am Ma'el," said the old man.

  'There is no need," said the boy, "for one such as you to know my name."

  "May-ell?" said Declan. He looked at the stiff, angry face of the boy for a moment, then went on, "A name can be a proud or a shameful thing. If you do not give it I will not know which."

  "Ma'el," the old man corrected him gently, and quickly before the boy could respond he went on, "and this one calls himself Sean. My hand light is nigh to expiring and I must wait for it to renew its life. Let us move to the fire."

  A few minutes later Declan was seated crosslegged and as close to the light and heat of the fire as he could bear while the boy busied himself with boiling a pan of water in which lay strips of torn cloth, a small, bone needle, and what looked like a length of fine catgut already threaded onto it. An apprentice healer he might be, Declan thought, but the boy had been taught the habits of cleanliness. Ma'el brought two sharpened, divided branches from the wagon which he pushed into the ground on opposite sides of the fire, and within a few minutes there was a large wood fowl, already plucked and gutted, rotating on a spit between them. The smell of the roasting bird was causing his stomach to remind him noisily that it was empty. His mouth was still watering when the boy tipped the boiling water from the pan onto the ground to allow the needle and dressing to cool, then held the top of Declan's head and chin between his small hands to look closely at the torn cheek.

  'The cuts have bled themselves clean," said the boy in a strangely mature and self-assured voice, glancing across briefly at Ma'el. "No poultices or ointments will be needed to draw dirt or poisons from the wound and slow the healing. Seven, maybe eight stitches will suffice… You, hold still!"

  Declan held his head still, teeth pressed tightly together and neck muscles tensed against the expected pain. But it was not as bad as he had expected. Although Sean was young and could not therefore be a fully tutored apprentice healer, the boy's hands were deft and sure and even gentle in their touch. Declan felt scarcely any pain at all and he began to relax. The work ended with a soft, sharp-smelling pad which, the boy said, contained herbs that would speed the healing, being applied to cover the closed wounds. A long strip of clean cloth was wound vertically around his head and chin to hold the covering firmly in position.

  For the first time he was beginning to feel grateful and well-disposed towards young Sean, but the feeling lasted only until the boy spoke.

  "You may eat now," Sean said, putting aside his materials. "Do not wolf the food or you will loosen the dressings and open the wound again. I'm presuming that an unmannerly ruffian like you is capable of eating in small mouthfuls?"

  "Guard your own mouth, boy," said Declan sharply, "or I'll loosen a few of its teeth."

  "Be at peace," said Ma'el, "and use your mouths for eating."

  The old man's tone was chiding, gentle, and soft but, Declan thought with a small shiver, it also carried within it the quality of quiet confidence and authority found only in a commander of men. With persons such as this the habit of command, and of obedience to those commands, was instinctive. Declan stopped speaking. So, apart from the few words needed during the carving and separation of the wood fowl, did the boy.

  "Declan," said Ma'el, breaking a long silence, "we shall return to my wagon now. Sean takes his rest under the awning over the driving bench, which is wide and softly padded. He will bring you blankets so that you may sleep by the warmth of the dying fire-"

  "I shall not sleep," Declan broke in. 'There is little danger of the robbers coming back this night. Sean wounded one and I cut another, very deeply 1 think, and they did not have the look of nor did they act like the bravest of men. The small chance of them returning troubles me not, and I feel sure that both of you can sleep in safety."

  "You have a listening look, Declan," said Ma'el. "Is there something else that is troubling you?"

  He nodded, and began, "There is a sound among the trees…"

  "I hear it, too," Sean broke in. "It's like the low, uneven whining of a wounded animal. Perhaps it is the prey of a wolf or fox who escaped its attacker, but perhaps not with its life."

  "It is not an animal," said Declan.

  He climbed to his feet, pleased that the fire's warmth had taken the stiffness out of his limbs, and checked the free movement of the shortsword in its scabbard. He stepped around the fire and strode toward the trees, saying over his shoulder, "Stay here. I will look to it."

  At once he heard the light sound of Sean's footsteps behind him. He turned to speak sharply to the boy only to find that Ma'el was following him as well. One word from me, he thought irritably, and they do as they like.

  He followed the sound until they came to the base of a tall tree whose gnarled branches had been left blackened and leafless by a lightning strike so that bright moonlight shone down on the white face and figure of the leader of the robbers whose back was to the thick trunk. There was no sight or sound of his men who, as Declan had guessed they would, had deserted him. Thick, drying blood covered the sides of the other's mouth and darkened the gray streaks that had been in his beard, and the ground under and around him was also saturated by a dark and widening stain. His axe lay in the grass several paces away and both of his hands and forearms were pressed tightly against his middle. Declan stepped closer.

  The man must have heard him because the moaning ceased. He opened his eyes, looked up at Declan and started to speak but coughed blood instead. A moment passed and he tried again.

  "Please," he said. "End it."

  Before Declan could reply, Sean moved forward, quickly went down on one knee beside the man, and said gently, "Ease your mind, I am a healer."

  The boy lifted the man's arms and hands clear of his belly and placed them at his sides, then peeled back the blood-soaked clothing to bare the chest and stomach. It was a long, deep, transverse wound that gaped open to reveal the man's entrails, many of which had been severed and were sliding wetly onto the ground. There was a strong smell of excrement. Declan heard the boy's sharp intake of breath before he looked up at him and said angrily, "You made a bloody mess of this one."

  Declan wanted to tell him that the man had tried to make a bloody mess of him, and had nearly succeeded, but he held his tongue because he knew that this was not the time for logical argument. Sean had turned away to look at Ma'el.

  "You are a great wizard, master," he said in a pleading voice. "I have seen you work wonders, near miracles with your magic and charms. Can you…?"

  Sean's words trailed away into silence because Ma'el was shaking his head.

  "Both of you withdraw to the wagon," Declan said firmly. "This will not be a pleasant sight for the eyes of the young or the old."

  While their footfalls faded with distance he stared down at the leader of the robbers, a cruel and violent man laid low. His intention had been to slay the tinkers and Declan did not like him for that, but neither did he hate him enough to let the man suffer for hours or days of continuing agony from such a terrible belly wound that he could have no hope of surviving. Declan's eyes moved upward to the other's face as he grasped the hilt of his gladius in both hands with the point hovering above the man's body.

  "Are you certain in your mind about this?" he said.

  The man nodded slowly.

  "Are there last words you would speak?" said Declan quietly.

  The man opened his mouth, coughed blood again for a moment then shook his head. Declan raised his sword high and drove the sharp, broad point into the middle of the other's bared chest.

  He caught up with the other two just before they reached the wagon. Ma'el's face was impassive as usual, Sean's showed anger, and neither of them spoke to him.

  "If you carry a pick and shovel," said Declan, pointing at the wagon. "I would borrow them."

  The old man climbed to the driving seat, ducked below the awning, and as he moved between the heavy curtain of animal skins behind it, a light much brighter than that of the moon shone briefly from insi
de the wagon. A moment later he emerged with the implements Declan had requested and with them two unequal lengths of yellow, planed wood. He gave Declan the pick and shovel, but before passing down the pieces of wood he held the shorter one transversely across the longer, closed his large, soft eyes for a moment and then handed them to him joined together as one single, crossed shape.

  "How did you do that, master?" said Sean, excitedly asking the question that Declan was about to ask. "My family have always followed the Druidic teachings, but I've heard tell of that symbol. They say that it is reverenced and used on their grave markers by a religious sect that is gaining support in the Mediterranean nations and there are a few even in Hibernia. They call themselves the Followers of the Christus. Are you also a…?"

  "I am not…" Ma'el began gently.

  "Nor I," Declan broke in, shaking the joined wood. "What means this?"

  "They are the followers of a Jewish lawgiver and prophet," Sean replied in the voice of one who is anxious to impress others with his knowledge. "He was gentle and taught the ways of meekness and love and respect between all men." He pointed to the wooden cross in Declan's hand. "For teaching that dreadful heresy, three centuries ago the Romans nailed him to a tree."

  "… but I was interested in his teachings," Ma'el went on as if the others had not spoken, "because among other things he taught that there was a life after this one. I regretted his shameful and unjust death and that I was prevented from meeting and talking with him, but…"

  "Do you think," said Declan in a disbelieving voice as he gestured with the cross toward the trees, "that the leader of the robbers was one of these followers? Considering his violent and bloody plans for you, surely that is most unlikely?"

  "… the Christus preached of the existence of a supreme being who knew all things because he himself had made all things," Ma'el continued gently, "and who was all-powerful and, withal, was understanding and compassionate with all of his creatures. My feeling is that the dead robber may have need of such a benign and forgiving being."

  Without another word Declan walked slowly toward the trees, the pick and shovel handles gripped in one hand and the wooden cross in the other. He was no longer feeling cold but twice he gave a small shiver of wonder.

  The first time was when he took a very close look at the grave marker. The join between the vertical and horizontal pieces was smooth and without a hairline crack showing, and it was work of a degree of excellence that would make a master carpenter proud. But Ma'el had used no tools, instead he had merely closed his eyes and pressed the two pieces of wood together. Many times Declan had watched so-called wizards and magicians practicing their craft at country markets or for the amusement of the highborn, where the onlookers had gasped or shouted with wonder at their tricks and tossed coins or bought the magic potions that were on sale afterward. But this simple joining of wood was a quieter and much more wondrous form of magic because he was holding it in his own hands and there was no trickery involved.

  –

  The second shiver was when he remembered the old man's words about the Christus who had died over three centuries ago. Ma'el had not said that the holy man had died before he was born or when he was too young to travel to meet him. Instead he had said that he regretted that something had prevented them from meeting and talking together as Ma'el had wanted. Surely that meant that old man and the Christus had been alive at the same time.

  Just how old, Declan wondered, was this old man supposed to be?

  When the work of burying the robber leader was done, he returned to the others to find that all was silent Ma'el was inside the wagon and Sean was stretched along the driving bench and breathing evenly underneath his blankets. Declan laid down the pick and shovel silently and moved back to the dying fire.

  For a long time he sat crosslegged with Ma'el's blankets draped around his shoulders, warm and tired and comfortable but with his mind too busy for any thought of sleep. It was not the thought of the robbers coming back that disturbed his mind; they were a craven bunch who would prefer to rob less dangerous victims, but thoughts about the strange people he had met and saved: the old, old magician of power, and his young apprentice healer and servant who seemed to know many more things than a boy of his age should be able to comprehend.

  Declan did not know whether he stopped drinking about them before or after he fell asleep. But suddenly he was looking at the gray and white ashes of the dead fire, the sun was rising in a cloudless sky above the trees in whose branches birds were singing, and an ungentle foot was kicking him in the back.

  "For someone who was supposed to remain wakeful all night," said Sean, looking down at him with an expression of disfavor, "you make the most horrendous sounds while you are not sleeping."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Excerpt from Ma'el Report. Day 112,538…

  It had gone much better than I thought it would, and my feeling of pleasure is only slightly diluted by the knowledge that my recent choice of inaction, apart from the use of a nonviolent hand light which helped save my servant's life and that of the new one if he chooses to join me. But it is becoming increasingly difficult, even for the most respected scientist member of the Synod, to remain unfeeling where the subjects of his report are concerned.

  "Until my assignment to this planet I could not have believed that a species with so many handicaps could exist, much less continue to survive and develop a rudimentary technology as well as a wide range of variant social systems. They have no ability to view their own future, either as individuals or racial groups, unlike the gifted among the Taelon who can see hours or days or, in flashes, even years ahead if they themselves should be personally involved in the events to come. The people of Earth have knowledge only of the past and present while the future remains a dark curtain through which they stumble blindly from second to second, although a few of the more intelligent specimens are able to use the experience and information gathered from their past to predict, very inaccurately, their future.

  "By Taelon standards they are pitifully underdeveloped both socially and scientifically, and a scientist of my standing must not become emotionally involved with specimens under examination.

  "I allowed that to happen during the second century of my visit, and many specimens died needlessly and the continued survival of the whole species had been placed at risk until my peripheral experiment with mind-altering substances was corrected. I do not want to repeat such mistakes.

  "But today's decision is a minor one, merely whether or not I should reveal my advanced technology behind my chart, and perhaps risk frightening both of them into flight, or to hide it from them by telling only a small part of the truth.

  "Moral cowardice dictates that I choose the latter course…"

  –

  As soon as Declan climbed to his feet he saw that another fire had been kindled several paces away, probably at Ma'el's insistence so that Sean's preparations for the morning meal would not interrupt his rest. A kindly and considerate old man, he thought as he sat down across from the two of them, and one he had decided that he would not willingly offend in either word or deed.

  Ma'el pointed at a bowl and platters that were close to Declan's hand and then at the pot of gruel that was bubbling over the fire. In his gentle voice he asked, "You are hungry?"

  "Always," said Declan, smiling.

  He ladled hot gruel into his bowl and spooned it carefully into his mouth, feeling its heat warming his body right down to his toes. The platter contained a few pieces of heavy, pleasantly spiced bread which, despite their small size, seemed to fill him to such repletion that his belly had scarcely room for the large, yellow apple with the blush of pink on it that followed.

  No apple should look and taste so fresh and crisp and juicy this late in the year, he knew, when most of the autumn fruit in store was expected to be either drying up or rotten, yet this one tasted as if it had been picked that morning. He finished it slowly and without speaking a word, thinking this was anot
her small but very real piece of magic to add to the old man's strange hand light and his seamless wooden cross. Finally he gave a contented sigh and looked up at Ma'el.

  "My thanks for your hospitality," he said. "Should I take my leave of you now?"

  "Yes," said Sean firmly.

  Ma'el ignored the boy and his large, soft eyes rested on Declan for a moment, then he said, "Without the food I promised you, do you wish to leave us now?"

  It was Declan's turn to be silent as he remembered his original plan to rob this old man and boy of their food and possessions, and the strange change of mind that had caused him to defend them instead, and the even stranger things that had happened as a result of his doing that. He shook his head violently, but it was partly in an effort to still this confusion and shake some sense into his mind. Ma'el waited silently for him to speak.

  "I would be grateful for the food you promised," he replied finally, "but it is not of great importance. I think it is knowledge that I now seek. Who are you, Ma'el? What are you?"

  "Declan," said Ma'el gently, "if I was to give you the knowledge you seek, which I may never do, you would first have to earn my trust over many years as my servant and protector…"

  "No!" Sean broke in sharply. In a quieter voice the boy went on, "You already have a protector in me. I lack the height and thick-muscled arms and the bloody long-axe of this one, but I can advise you about the country and its often coarse and ill-tempered people and, with the help of your magic and my skills, keep you safe. You have no need of another. This one is of a kind with the people against whom you promised me protection. I have the feeling that he, too, is a robber, but one who changed his mind because he thought there would be more profit in defending than in attacking us. But he could change his mind again, and kill us at a time of his own choosing. Give him the promised food and send him hence!"

  Declan remained silent. It would do him no good to make a denial when the others would disbelieve every word he would say, especially when the accusation was partly true.