Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [114]
“My son,” Beva’s voice said.
I am not your son! Caelan wanted to shout. Instead, he forced back the quarrelsome words.
“Father,” he said.
“You have come, seeking knowledge.”
“I have come, to save a life.”
“I do not live,” Beva said, wavering for a moment. “I do not heal.”
“Give me the knowledge,” Caelan asked.
Beva stared at him a long, long while. “My knowledge was offered to you when I lived. You refused it.”
“I know.”
“I gave you many chances, my son. You were my only son, my one hope of living on, of seeing my skills continue. You refused me.”
“Yes.”
“I am spirit now. I am severed.”
“I—I need you.” Caelan had to struggle over a lump in his throat to say the words. Since the Choven had told him the truth, he had felt nothing for Beva. Now he had to beg, and it came hard. “I need the knowledge to save this man.”
“You refused all knowledge. You were disrobed. You would not be taught.”
“Not by the masters of Rieschelhold, no,” Caelan said through his teeth.
“Not by me. You refused the purging after the wind spirits mauled you. Would you refuse it again?”
Caelan sank to his knees, unable to hold Albain any longer. The man was growing so heavy. Caelan’s arms were trembling from fatigue, or perhaps from fear.
His mouth was too dry. He had to swallow twice before he could answer Beva’s question. “I—I will not refuse.”
To be purged was to have his mind ripped from him, sifted through by a master healer such as Beva, and replaced. Many who were purged never regained their sanity. Those who survived were forever changed. They became slower of wit, duller of spirit. Beva’s intention to purge his own son had been the final straw that drove Caelan to run away from home. He had never forgiven his father for wanting to do such a thing to him, and now Beva’s spirit still clung to that same horrifying goal.
“Come closer, Caelan,” Beva’s spirit said to him.
Caelan tried, but he could not lift Albain from the ground. The old man lay ashen and limp in his arms.
“I can’t come to you,” Caelan said. “You must come to me.”
Beva’s face wavered and vanished, only to reappear much closer. Caelan found himself breathing too hard and fast. He could barely maintain severance, yet he knew without control he would be lost.
“Help this man,” Caelan said desperately. “Give me the knowledge to heal him.”
“What did I tell you once about severance?” Beva asked.
Caelan struggled to think. His wits wanted to flee like rats from water. “You said it is the taking away. You take away disease or injury. You bring the void, and wellness fills it.”
“Yes. You remembered well.”
“How do I bring wellness to this man?” Caelan asked. He prayed that Beva’s spirit would become interested in Albain’s injuries, that the old compassion would take over. Healing others was like an addiction for him. Never had he refused to help anyone. Even if he ultimately lost a patient, it was not for lack of trying.
“Look at this man, Father. Tell me what to do.”
“Will you take the purging, my son?”
Caelan sighed. “I said that I would.”
“Will you take it now?”
“No. The man must be healed first.”
“If you will be purged, I will give you the knowledge you request.”
It seemed they had made the bargain twice already, but Caelan nodded again. “Yes. I agree to your terms. We heal this man, and then I am yours.”
Beva came even closer until his disembodied face hovered right over Caelan. “I must enter you. You will take my spirit. You will accept me. You will become me.”
“Sevaisin,” Caelan whispered, dry-mouthed.
“The way it was intended, not the idle sharing you have done.”
Caelan felt the sting of Beva’s criticism and sighed. Even his father’s spirit had to lecture him about something.
“From birth you were difficult,” Beva continued. “You always had to do things your way. I could show you nothing. You resisted training, resisted the ways of harmony. You were too much their creation, and not enough mine. They gave me my son,