The Empath
857 Words
The Empath~
Isobel Callan
Glenayre, Aleron
Back at Glenayre, Isobel sat stroking Rusty’s head while Daor Ranald stitched Calum’s arm. The collie licked her hand and twitched his tail. When Seth first lowered him to the blanket, he whimpered and tried to stand, but his legs gave out beneath him.
Ashlon lay stretched out on one of the long tables. Ranald had given him enough laudanum to keep him asleep for hours. She was relieved to put off dealing with any more of Ashlon’s speaking.
Seth returned from the barracks, his face grim.
“I sent men back to the glade. They’ll take the bodies to Rock Larnoch.”
“And Lothor can explain what they were doing at Glenayre.” Calum threw back another aurello shot as Ranald stitched his arm.
“No need. A tenant rode in with a complaint. He said brigands wearing Camran colors drove a herd of cattle through his barley field. Trampled the crop. Left the herd.”
“Makes no sense,” said Calum. “Reivers leaving the cows behind.”
“Lothor’s telling me he knows Rogart’s gone.”
“Not likely, my lord,” said Ranald. “Lord Lothor has his hands full in Jorendon addressing His Grace’s charges. I’m curious about the bear, though. You say it attacked the boy?”
“That’s how it looked,” said Calum. “Reivers went to make mischief and left the boy at the camp. A cooking fire. The scent of a meal must have drawn the bear.”
“Perhaps,” said Ranald. “Unusual behavior, though. I’d like to examine the remains.”
“I told Dooly he could have the carcass,” said Seth. “The farmer who lost the barley.”
“That’s hefty compensation,” said Calum. “The pelt alone is worth more than the barley.”
“He’s welcome to it,” said Isobel. “I don’t want it brought here.” She ran her hand along the collie’s back. A prickle in her fingertips made her pull back.
“Bolt is flying word of the attack to Dundarien,” said Seth. “Pigeons are on their way to Windermere and Eyton. My father will get word to Tavish.”
“Should give Lothor pause,” said Calum, “to have all of Aleron and Iverach watching him.”
Ranald patted Calum on the back. “You’re done. Let me see the dog.”
“Give him something to let him go easy, Daor.” Seth crouched to scratch Rusty’s ears. “He hasn’t gotten up since I laid him here.”
Rusty’s chest rose and fell with the shallow rhythm of sleep. Tears stung Isobel’s eyes as she stroked his ears. She’d grown fond of the blue-eyed collie that was always at her husband’s side. She rested her hand on his flank. Warmth crept up through her palm.
“Please, let Ranald try,” she said.
“Isobel, he’s hurting,” said Seth. “Don’t make this any harder.”
“Give him time. Give me time. Please, Seth.”
The nagging little notion grew more insistent. She could. Somehow, she knew she could, and she refused to let doubt dissuade her. She combed her fingers through Rusty’s long coat. She closed her eyes and felt.
As her palm passed over the dog’s belly, a dull soreness crept up her arm. Her hands slid down his back, and her fingers stung with the ache of a deep bruise. When she brushed over his hind legs, heat scalded her skin. She gasped as broken bone raked torn flesh. She skimmed her fingers over his front legs, his skull, and once more down his spine.
How do I convince them?
Isobel curled her hands to her chest. She lifted her head and sought the clear grey eyes she’d come to love. She remembered the first time she’d heard his mind speak to hers, on the seawalk at Monaughty. He’d asked her to trust him. She thought she’d imagined it then.
“Now, you trust me, Seth.”
His eyes widened. A tentative reply reached back.
“I do.”
She drew a steadying breath and turned to Ranald.
“He has breaks in both hind legs,” she said. “Clean breaks, not splintered, not too close to joints. No fractures in his skull or spine. A few cuts need stitching, but he isn’t bleeding inside. He hurts, but he will mend if we help him.”
Ranald frowned. “How can you know this?”
“Can you use laudanum on a dog?” she asked, ignoring his question because she had no answer.
“I’ve used a mild tincture on children. Should work the same.”
“All you’d lose is the time it takes to try.” Calum lent his support.
“We can set the breaks together,” she said. “I guide you, and you set them. I’ll know if they’re well joined.”
“My lady, he’s a dog. He’ll chew off any splints I put on him.”
“No, he won’t, not if Seth tells him to leave them be.”
Ranald peered over his rims, waiting for Seth’s affirmation.
“She’s right. He’ll mind.”
“Most unusual.” The perpetually curious daor bit the lure of a challenge like a hungry trout. “Fascinating, actually. Could a bond allow…” Ranald’s musings continued while his hands followed Isobel’s guidance with the skill and speed of the finest daor in Innis.
An hour later, Ranald stepped back from his work, satisfied they had set the collie’s broken legs well enough he’d have use of them again. Calum dozed with his long legs sprawled over the arms of a chair. Seth sat, fidgeted, and got up to pace some more.
“Fascinating,” Ranald repeated for the hundredth time since sitting down beside her. She suppressed an urge to shake him. He honestly must find a new word.
“You sense the injuries through your hands. It’s really quite—”
“Remarkable.” Ashlon sat upright on the table, dangling his good leg.
“Ashlon, you’re speaking,” she said. “I mean, aloud. The usual way.”
“Because now I can do either. My vow served its purpose,” he thought back, his unspoken reply as clear in her mind as if he’d spoken aloud. “My lord, may I name Lady Isobel’s talent for the daor?”
“I wish someone would,” said Seth. “I’m at a loss to explain much else today.”
“She is an empath,” said Ashlon. “A remarkable empath.”
Chapter 43
- Writer
