MY HEALER

Luther’s POV It takes five years to prove to oneself that one can live without the people who once made-up their world. I came into their Pack angry and humiliated. I had always told myself I would rather starve in the wilderness than bow down to Lucas and the wolves who stood by while all that I should have had was given to my brother. Revenge was the only thing that seemed firm enough to stand on at the time, but time can temper the hottest of feelings. This was a gradual process, as the resentment developed into something more useful. I learned that rage could win a fight, but it can't keep a purpose going. Patience, discipline and the ability to withstand long periods of uncertainty were all necessary attributes of purpose. I learned all three from rogue life. The wilderness left all bare, no titles to stand behind, no elders to arbitrate conflicts, and no family name to respect. A wolf was measured by what he could take and what he could give. Some of the rogues were cruel and some were desperate, and most did not trust anyone but themselves. But even in these broken lives there was a language of strength. I learned to speak it fluently. At first, it was just about surviving. I wandered alone, slept on my heels, and thought of the future that I wanted to secure. Other miscreants, however, started to creep into my life as the months became years. Others came because they heard my name. I saw others come after watching me fight. Some remained, for they saw in me something they had lost long ago: direction. I didn't ask them to follow me. Still, they did. We created something special for rogues. Not a pack, for none of us was ready to trust that word, but a loose bond ruled by merit and loyalty, not fear. We hunted together, trained together, and protected each other from other groups that came into our area. Men whose lives had been lived from day to day, started talking about the future as if they had some. I encouraged that. I didn't say this out loud very often, but I was creating a haven and more. I was collecting wolves who trusted me, wolves who would come with me when I would return to take what Lucas had. Halric was the first to realize this. Older than most of us, scarred in body and temperament, and with the annoying knack of knowing what we like to keep to ourselves. “You're teaching them to fight like soldiers,” he said one evening as we watched a bunch of younger rogues practice a little combat. I gave him a waterskin and sat down next to him on a downed log. “Would you prefer them to be like scavengers?” He took a sip before he replied. “Scavengers survive.” “Soldiers win.” He had a slight smile at the corner of his mouth, “So what would you like to win?” I looked at the wolves in the clearing, their motions growing more synchronized after months of unremitting practice. I didn't say anything for a long time. Finally, I replied what I knew to be true, but not enough to believe. “Everything.” Halric studied me, then nodded, as though it was what he had always thought. My body became hardened and my mind became sharp over the years. I was more powerful than I ever had been, unlike in the Pack, where politics was more important than merit. Here weakness was revealed readily and met with severe punishment. The life of the rogue was brutally honest, and I had come to respect that. I felt like I was going somewhere, not just running from what had gone before me; for the first time since my exile. Soon my body started to turn against me. The symptoms began with headaches. In the beginning they were easy to shrug off: simple, subtle beats that came after exercise and went away by morning. I said to myself, “They must be exhausted, I am exhausted, let's wait until I am, and then maybe they will be.” It had been my companion for a long time, and I wasn't going to give it meaning. However, the headaches did not go away. Within a few weeks they worsened and I had fevers, and my limbs were heavy and my skin hot. My senses were going haywire. One day after another, every sound seemed magnified, the forest itself felt deafening. On other days my vision went hazy, and I had to lean on the nearest tree to clear my vision before the world righted itself. I told no one. It's a hard habit to get rid of. It came out at a sparring session. I was up against one of our best fighters, a wide-shouldered rogue who had been getting better by the day, Darian. There were a few quick exchanges, which neither of us had an advantage. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain behind my eyes. The clearing spun. My legs gave way under me. I don't remember much else before the darkness came upon me except that Darian was yelling my name. When I came back to myself, I was in my tent with a cool cloth on my forehead. There, Halric sat, his face set in a grimace. “How long?” I asked. “Two days.” I was not as comfortable with the answer as I wanted to be. I wanted to sit up and I almost fell. Halric steadied me. “Easy.” “What happened?” He hesitated. “You tell me.” I had no answer. The next few days were even worse. The fever rolled in, and it was more intense than the previous one. I wandered through the night, my sleep restless, with a strange jumble of images and sensations that I couldn't understand. Walking across camp even during the day would leave me gasping for breath. Our healers tried all the cures they could. It did not work with herbs, poultices or tinctures. One night, Halric came into my tent with an untouched bowl of broth and placed it down. “There's nothing we can do,” he replied. I looked at the canvas roof above my head, “So, it is here I suppose I shall die,” “That is not something that you believe.” I turned my head toward him. “What exactly do you suggest?” He held my gaze. “Go back.” The words fell as a punch. I had dreamed for years of coming back to the Pack as leader of an army, more powerful than those who had banished me. I never thought I'd be crawling back as a sick man asking for help. “No,” I said. Halric folded his arms. “If so, brace yourself for the repercussions.” I wanted to protest, but it was already a struggle to breathe. In my heart I felt he was correct. Whatever was ailing me was beyond the scope of our rogues' treatment. They had healers, they had knowledge, they had infrastructure, we didn't. Returning meant humiliation. Refusing meant death. It took three days to reach Pack territory. When we arrived at the border, I was using all my will to stand up. I resisted each step and felt a sense of weakness in each of my limbs, but I did not want Halric to help me. I would go back on my own if I had to face my past. The guards recognized me at once. A look of shock and a glimmer of curiosity passed over their faces. “I have to see the Alpha,” I said. One of them looked at me as if not quite sure that he had heard. They quickly spoke amongst each other before leading me to the Pack center. There was nothing changed and there was everything changed. The same streets slithered among familiar buildings. It was the same fragrances that still hung in the air. But I was no longer part of any of it. As we walked, wolves came out of their homes, whispers following us. There were expressions of surprise and contempt. Some seemed like they were almost pleased. News travels quickly in a Pack. As I arrived in the Alpha house, everyone knew that I was back. Standing in the center of the room were advisors and warriors, with Lucas standing there. He seemed more relaxed, more confident and more mature in a role that was mine. We didn't say anything for a while. Then a ghostly smile appeared on his face. “Well, this is surprising,” he spoke. “I need treatment,” I said and I didn't have to mince my words. Slowly, I went down the steps, and he studied me with the careful interest of a man who is considering a helpful opportunity. “You have to be very desperate.” “If it weren't for that, I wouldn't be here.” I responded. He circled me once, and saw the fever in my eyes, and the weakness I could no longer hide. Finally, he came to a halt in front of me, his face concealing the smile of satisfaction. “Come on, I'll help you,” he said, “It's on one condition.” I waited. “You will stay in this Pack and do nothing of your own, no rank, no privilege, no claim to your former status.” He spoke clearly and purposefully. “You will be treated as the lowest ranked wolf in this Pack”. There was a murmur among those present. Lucas fixed me with a stare, knowing exactly what he wanted. Not asking. Demanding. Five years of suffering. Five years of development of strength and purpose. Five years of telling myself that I would come back when I wanted to, on my own terms. Everything had come down to this moment. Pride called out to me to turn and walk away but my body told me that I couldn't have that again. I raised my head and looked at my brother's eyes. “I accept.” The room was silent. His smile grew deeper, “Excellent,” he said. He walked over to the wolves that had gathered around him and spoke in a calm and authoritative tone. “Make quarters in the omega barracks.” The omega barracks were the place of the lowest-ranking wolves of the Pack, the ones that had no status, influence or dignity. I had once passed those quarters without giving them a second thought. Now they were mine. Two warriors came forward to lead me away and I could smell victory in my brother's scent. Lucas had not only welcomed me home, but he had put me in the place he wanted. Under his walls, under his rule, and under his strength, and in the most vulnerable position. For the first time since the border, I thought to myself that my sickness may not be the worst threat I carried back.