Healer of Surflex

By Sue Raymond and Lady Laindora

Kerlia has fought to survive even before she was born because of the prophesy a child will destroy Kernel's hold over the kingdom by healing the kingdom. Kernel's minions search for the healer as his wizards strive to design the ultimate weapon. The minions almost capture Kerlia in the forest however she escapes by being transported to the fairy realm to begin her training to control her healing power. Kerlia must control her powers soon to protect those she loves. Can a mere child stand against the evil that has brought so many men to their knees?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sue Raymond
• Release date: Feb 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507083932

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Pomelia’s moans of anguish woke Terian out of a deep sleep. He groggily rose upon one elbow and searched for his wife in the dim shadows of their thatched cottage. She moaned again, and he focused in on her huddled form at the edge of the hearth. The embers of last night’s fire gave a faint glow as it bathed her creamy complexion in a pale red hue.

He rose swiftly, spanning the space between them and crouched beside her. Terian caressed her face and brushed back the satiny black curly hair. Her light brown eyes filled to the brim with tears.

Pomelia what’s wrong?

It’s not fair! We’re kind, gentle, loving people, not like the miller or the innkeeper. They charge unfair prices, stealing from those of the idle minded and still God blessed them with children. God, what have we done to deserve this punishment? She lifted her hands soaked with blood.

The metallic scent of blood mingled with the smoking ash of the fire as it filtered through his nostrils, exploding in the recesses of his brain.

Terian’s heart caved in, Pomelia had miscarried again. He gently picked her up and cradled her against his rock hard chest. Terian went over to the bed and sat her on the edge, removing her soiled gown and used it to wipe off most of the blood from her body.

He remorsefully returned to the hearth, lovingly shrouding the tiny form in the bloody gown to hide their son from his wife’s view. Tears crept down the leathery cheeks as he covered the perfectly formed face.

Terian laid the tiny body by the basin then poured cool water from the large pitcher in the basin. He gathered clean cloths taking the basin back to the bed and sat it on the floor in front of Pomelia.

Terian searched Pomelia’s eyes for any evidence of life behind them. She moaned softly at Terian’s gentle touch in spite of his rough, callous hands as he methodically bathed her and cleansed her body with prayer and water. As Terian dressed her in a clean woolen gown, she was unable to even lift her arms. He laid her against the down tick pillows then covered her with their heavy quilt to guard her from the chill of the night.

Terian picked up the basin and left through the back door to go the well at his blacksmith shop. There he disposed of the basin’s content and cleaned it before he returned to the cottage. He returned the basin to the stand.

Pomelia no longer moaned. Sounds of light breath in sleep wafted from their bed. Terian prayed, Thank you Lord for sending sleep to Pomelia. That is the best thing for her so she won’t dwell on our devastating loss. Forgive her blasphemy, for it was her grief wailing, not her faith in You. Please give me the strength to endure the mourning period and Pomelia’s sharp tongue as she again deals with the loss of another child. She is, as she stated, a kind and gentle soul. Find it in Your heart to grant her heart’s desire of a strong, healthy child.

He cradled his shrouded son, and left quietly to make sure the door did not creak to wake Pomelia from her rest. The dogs were not even awake to snap at his heels as he trudged up the winding cobblestone lane toward the main street past the still darkened cottages of his neighbors. Every step Terian took oppressed his soul. Grief racked his massive frame with this fifth loss. Doubt penetrated his heart that God would bless them with an heir. It seemed the prophecy of the local soothsayer would hold true.

Terian forbade Pomelia from seeking advice from the old crone after her first miscarriage. Pomelia, however, secretly visited her while he was away at the castle at Congor’s request to discuss the new designs for the battle armor for the king’s warriors. Congor was the king’s man of arms and chief counselor.

Terian returned to find Pomelia had given the old soothsayer a month’s worth of wages for a mixture of foul, musky herbs that were to be made into a drink and drank before each session of intimacy as they chanted to a small gross ebony carving of a fertility deity.

Terian’s rage exploded and for the first time in his life, he wanted to raise his hand to another human. He snatched the herbs and carving and heaved them into the flames of his forge. Pomelia ran wailing into the cottage. He pumped the bellows to engorge the flames and eradicated the abominations out of existence. He turned his frustration to his hammer and anvil. Terian shaped a pile of metal into various sizes of breastplates. The anvil’s clang echoed off the walls of the village cottages.

Several hours later, the shuffled tap of the soothsayer’s steps and cane interrupted him. She stood in the doorway, weaving heavily against the twisted knarred cane.

Be gone, hag! There is no welcome at my hearth for you or your abominable deities. Leave my wife and me in peace before I dispatch you in my forge, as I did your graven image and poison. The warning rumbled through the rafters of the shop and stable, causing the nesting doves to take reckless flight in fear.

She cackled with delight over Terian’s raging frustration. She crooned and leaned against her cane as she pointed a gnarled finger at him, "I’m not frightened of your ravings against me as one of the pathetic doves roosting in your rafters. Your wife came to me, begging me for my help, since your god wasn’t strong enough to hold a child within her womb full term to deliver a healthy son. I warned her if you had an inkling that she was going to be using my help, your pride in your worthless god would compel you to destroy her plans, dashing her desires for a son.

You’ve done exactly as I foretold. Because of your blasphemy against Kernel, Pomelia will continue to try, but will never give you a live heir until Kernel claims her also, leaving you wallowing in your pride for your pitiful, minute god for the rest of your miserable life.

Terian could stand no more of her threats. He hurled his hammer at the old crone’s balding scraps of hair, Leave Pomelia alone. My God is greater than anything you can carve, witch.

She disappeared, cackling, We will see blacksmith, we will see.

The hammer embedded itself in the massive oak door frame.

Terian’s mind swirled in self-doubt mixed with guilt that indeed these tragedies could have been diverted if he had cooperated with Pomelia’s plan, instead of relying on his faith in God. They could have five healthy sons if he had chosen differently.

The soothsayer’s cackle echoed throughout his soul, mocked his faith with ‘We’ll see blacksmith, we’ll see!’ With every step he took, it tried to divert him from his destiny. Soon every muscle in his body strained against his will, wanting Terian to stop, turn aside to the gnarled, vine covered trail that lead to the soothsayer’s tumbled down hovel, and beg her to lift her curse.

Still he stayed true to the course as it led Terian humbly through the village past cottage after cottage filled with slumbering children. He arrived at the ornate iron gate he designed with love. Terian lifted the heavy latch and pushed the gate inward. The gate groaned and shattered the stillness of the night. It woke the rectory guard dog. It bayed loudly at his approach.

A chorus of howls joined the guard dog’s baying seconds later. A light blinked on in the rectory window as the vicar groggily met Terian at the door. He held his lamp high in front of him to see who was at the rectory this late at night. The beam of light barely radiated through the darkness and revealed a hazy, gigantic form moving among the tombstones toward the rectory.

Quiet whelp, before you wake the whole village with your baying. I’m awake. Who’s there? Terian, Terian is that you? The vicar called out and peered in the darkness. Terian, why have you come at such an ungodly hour? What are you carrying?

Terian’s heavy shuffled steps mingled with the baying hound. It sent an eerie chill running through the vicar’s soul. Terian came into view cradling the bloody shrouded parcel tightly against his chest. Blood coated his chest and forearms. Terian kissed the cradled shroud. He held it out to the vicar, his chocolate brown eyes swollen under his knitted brow. Strands of silver glittered among the mass of ebony hair that four years ago had none. Terian’s tawny skin now held a sallow glow. Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked.

His voice rumbled full of sorrow, Pomelia miscarried another son. I need you to prepare my son for burial, as Pomelia is incapable to perform the necessary cleaning ceremony. I’ll be in the chapel.

The vicar quaked as he reached out and took the shrouded infant from the grieving father. He passed it to his wife with the lantern, who arrived behind him for the needed ceremony. Yes, yes go ahead Terian. I’ll dress and go to Pomelia. She needs to be cleansed, then I’ll be back to prepare your son. He reassured Terian as he shooed Terian through the rectory to the chapel.

No, there is no need to bother Pomelia. She is resting.

The vicar drew back at the rebuff, Terian, you know the cleansing ritual must be performed within an hour of the birth to ensure the mother’s health.

An iron grip slammed around the pastor’s forearm and painfully halted his progress. I said, leave her be. Do you think I am incapable of performing the cleansing ritual correctly after four previous miscarriages? She is fine. Sleep is what she requires now. It is our son’s body that needs attention.

The vicar winched in pain, Terian, my arm, you’re crushing my arm!

Terian immediately released his grip and muttered his apologies. Sorry, just let her sleep, please, then went into the chapel. He moved slowly up the aisle to the altar. He lit two candles. He knelt deep in prayer. The vicar closed the door and left Terian in privacy to wrestle with his sorrow.

Moans of anguish escaped Terian’s trembling lips. Tears streamed along the crevasses of the sun-stained face. They soaked his chest and left trails through the caked blood. It pooled on the floor around his knees. His mind could only scream repeatedly, Why, God? His body was racked in grief at failing his wife once more, enforcing her fears of the soothsayer’s prophecy.

Streams of light filtered through the altar’s stained glass window. It cast a rainbow of color across the crumpled man. It grew in intensity, bathing Terian in its warmth.

Terian, a soft unseen voice shattered the silence, Terian, rise.

Terian slowly lifted his head. His swollen, bloodshot eyes dimly focused on the blurry shape behind the altar in front of the stained glass window. Leave me in peace. I need solitude, not company.

Terian, rise, and hear the Words of God, for He has heard and felt your sorrow.

Terian wiped his eyes with the back of his hand to clear the tears from his eyes. Terian tried to identify the intruder of his solitude. His eyes concentrated enough to view a tall, well-formed man, clothed in iridescent robes. The man lifted up his hand for Terian to obey him.

Terian shook his head, I beg of you, leave me in peace.

A brilliant light burst forth from the man and caused Terian to shield his eyes from the blinding light, "Terian, rise, for God has granted you His mercy. I am Moryx, messenger of God." his voice reverberated throughout every molecule of Terian.

Terian raised his massive frame. It quaked in fear then he collapsed in a heap, Forgive me Lord, for I’m but an unschooled oaf in the midst of grievous sorrow.

Moryx unfurled a magnificent set of wings and arched them high over his chiseled bronze features, Do not bow before me, for I am not God. Rise, Terian and view God’s glory through me.

Terian rose, shielded his eyes, his legs quivered, barely able to hold him erect. Who am I that God has felt my sorrow, and has mercy upon me?

You are who you are, no more, no less. God has chosen you to bear His healer to aid in the war against the evil ravaging Surflex. She will aid God’s warrior to free your kingdom from the evil grip that is tightening its coils around the kingdom’s soul.

A daughter, God will bless me with a daughter? Forgive me; but wouldn’t a son be a better candidate for a warrior of God? A daughter may not be strong enough to carry out God’s plan for freedom.

Moryx’s wings spread out filling the space behind the altar. They blotted out everything else. "God has chosen His champion already to fight the battle with evil. Your daughter must heal the sorrow caused from the ensuing battle. To allow her to reach her full potential there is much preparation. There will be no other midwife but you to bring her into the world. You will wear calfskin gloves at all times in dealing with your daughter. She is not to be touched without gloved hands. Her mother or a wet nurse will not nurse her, for she will be unable to control the healing powers until she reaches maturity. It would drain her life force during the healing.

You shall teach your daughter how to be genial and merciful. You shall show her how to love those who despise her, those who fear and envy her power. Keep her secret well, even from Pomelia, for even her mother will try to use her power for her own selfish desires.

Terian fell to his knees, his hands clasped together and begged for leniency, Please don’t condemn my child to a life without contact with another living soul. Every living thing craves contact with others. She couldn’t live without being able to feel another’s embrace.

Moryx’s stern angelic features softened, God knows of her need for contact and is not unfeeling. She may touch any animal bare handed, no matter the species. They will have no fear of her and will serve her slightest wish even unto death. Go now, for Pomelia is now awakened and the time of your son’s burial is at hand.

Terian rose as Moryx vanished. He left the chapel and made his way home to collect his wife for their son’s burial. A large strip of silver hair hanging down in Terain’s eyes glistened in the dawn’s rose-colored light, a constant reminder to Terian of his conversation with Moryx.

CHAPTER 2

The cloaked figure moved steadily through the narrow abandoned inner streets of Surflex’s castle. It carried the squirming bundle carefully in its arms. The chained mastiff rose and growled as the intruder approach its master’s door. A wave of the intruder’s hand silenced the mastiff. It cowered and whimpered against the inner wall as far as the chain would allow. The intruder gently laid the squirming bundle upon the door stoop. He glanced at the bundle then over at the mastiff.

Guard him well mastiff, for he is destined for great things. He stared up at the glimmering starry night; his cloak’s hood fell off his head revealing Moryx. It is done as You wish, my Lord. I have delivered the infant as You instructed, although I do not fully understand how, without a mother’s nurture, he will achieve the correct balance needed to complete the task You have set before him.

He drew back the cloak, unfurled his wings and launched skyward unseen by the sentries. The mastiff whimpered as it watched Moryx disappear in the night sky. It turned its attention to the squirming bundle left behind.

CHAPTER 3

Congor trudged slowly home. The war council had taken far longer than anyone expected. Scouts reported the slow amassing of the rival wizards of the kingdom that meant pending war was inevitable. The ambassador that the king sent failed to return at the allotted time. Rumors rippled throughout the kingdom, everything from the ambassador joining the ranks of the wizards to being tortured before they sacrificed him to Kernel.

Congor was capable to protect the kingdom from every previous threat. However, this new threat was different. Swords and steel were not effective against sorcery. The council threw one suggestion out after another, none of them worth pursuing.

He turned up the narrow lane toward his home expecting the usual growl in greeting from the chained mastiff. Silence met him, which caused him to halt. He quickly unsheathed his sword, and psyched himself for the pending trouble that waited for him. The moon disappeared behind a thick blanket of clouds and clothed him in darkness. Congor advanced down the darkened lane, poised for any attack. In the gloom of the door, the mastiff’s shape huddled on the door stoop. Whimpers escaped from the mastiff at Congor’s approach.

Congor surveyed the lane, but found nothing lurking in the shadows to cause the abnormal behavior from the mastiff. He arrived at the door. The dog whimpered and bobbed its head slightly from side to side. Congor sighed disgustedly and knelt to investigate what ailed the mastiff. The mastiff raised its head. There, hanging from its lip and ear was a bundled infant gurgling happily.

Congor laid his sword down on the steps and pried the infant’s fists from the suffering mastiff. The infant wailed as the mastiff quickly retreated beyond the infant’s grasp. Congor awkwardly fumbled the infant to the crook of his arm. He stood, retrieved his sword, and sheathed it. He glared at the cowardly mastiff. What good are you if you can’t even protect yourself from a helpless infant?

He unlocked the heavy door and gave it a shove. It slammed against the wall. It bounced back at him from the force of the blow. He caught it as he entered and slammed it shut. He trudged up the darkened hallway to the fireplace in the great room. He laid his wailing bundle upon the edge of the hearth as he set about laying a fire to take the chill out of the room.

Once the fire ignited, he turned his attention to the infant, only to find it had wiggled free from its blankets and disappeared into the shadows. Congor snatched up the blankets. A folded paper fell free to the hearth. He snatched it up, threw the blankets and note roughly on the stand beside his chair. His eyes swept the room. His hand on the hilt of his sword, he prepared himself against an attack from a wizard.

He cursed at his gullibility; taken in so easily by such an obvious ruse as a waif on his doorstep. The mastiff’s actions should have instantaneously burnt wizardry in his brain. He spotted a slight movement under his chair. A mouse shot out from under it and scurried into the hallway. The infant scooted slowly in pursuit of its quarry. The infant stopped and turned its attention now toward the flickering flames beyond the hearth. The flames reflected in its eyes, glowed with fearlessness, and ignored Congor as it came closer the fire.

Congor snatched it up as it reached over the hearth for the glowing embers that fell from the grate. The infant wailed, startled as its quarry escaped its grasp once more. Congor collapsed in his chair. He cradled the infant in the crook of his left arm, held his knitted forehead in his right hand. He let loose with a frustrated rumble of anger. The infant ceased its wailing at the rumble and cooed contently, its eyes locked on to Congor’s grizzly features.

Congor grunted and the infant erupted in a fit of laughter. It reached playfully for Congor’s beard. Congor ignored the attempt, turned his attention to the folded scrap of paper lying on the table. He flipped it open to reveal:

You are the chosen guardian of Balkyn. Teach him the ways of war. Make sure he masters all weaponry. Teach him to be courageously gallant and loyal to the kingdom against the ensuing battle with the wizards of Kernel. Channel his fearlessness. Curb the recklessness caused by it, so Balkyn reaches his full potential for God.

Congor crumbled the paper and heaved it into the flames. It slammed into the logs and sent tiny sparks flying. It tumbled down the logs through the grate to the edge of the hearth. Its edges scorched but did not burn.

He bellowed for his manservant. When Congor received no answer, he stormed into the hallway, carrying the laughing infant. The more he bellowed, the greater the laughter erupted from the infant.

His manservant appeared in the dimly lit hall. He held a candle high over his head with one hand and held his robe shut with the other.

Begging your pardon, sire, I didn’t hear you arrive. I’ll get you something to eat then draw you a hot bath. Bless my soul, what have you got, sire? He mumbled, rubbed the sleep from his tired old eyes at the spectacle before him.

Congor growled, Belay the food and bath, take this squirming waif down to the village rectory and leave it there. I have no time to fool with an infant while such peril prowls the kingdom’s borders.

He tried to pawn off the infant. As soon as the servant touched the child, the infant stopped its laughter, grabbed two fists full of Congor’s gray beard. It wailed at such a high pitch the servant clamped his hands over his ears to minimize the wails that pounded through his brain.

Get this banshee off me! Congor rumbled, tried to dislodge the infant’s grip without loss of chunks of facial hair or dropping it.

With Congor’s rumble, the infant ceased its wail, reverted to laughter while maintaining death grips in Congor’s beard. The laughter instantaneously changed to an ear piercing wail as it gripped firmer into Congor’s beard each time the servant touched the infant. No matter what they tried, they could not detach the infant from his beard. Soon the mastiff’s howls joined the wails.

Congor utterly roared, Forget the infant, and just shut that blasted dog up before they wake the whole castle with their caterwauling. I’ll decide what to do with this creature in the morning. After shutting up that blasted dog, find a wet nurse to feed this creature so I can get some rest.

The infant quieted in Congor’s arm, released one of his holds on the beard. It snuggled to the barrel chest, sucked its fist and fell asleep as it listened to the steady heartbeat and rumbled disgust in Congor’s voice.

When the sevant returned with the nurse, he found Congor slumped in the chair, alseep. The infant was snuggled deeply in the crook of his arm using Congor’s massive hand as a cover.

CHAPTER 4

Kerlia arrived as spring’s first fragrant blossoms of Lainalacenest trailing up the side of the stable wall burst forth, filling the air with sweet odors and blotted out the musky smells from the stable. Terian cleansed her, wrapped her in a soft blanket made of calfskin. She stared silently at his every movement through deep, emerald green eyes. Nothing Terian tried produced a sound from her blood red lips. Her eyes filled with tears. However, not a peep uttered from her tiny-pursed lips.

Terian cradled her preciously in his arm. He kissed his gloved fingers, pressed them gently to her lips. Flames of wispy red hair downed her forehead. Her ivory skin glistened in contrast to the brown calfskin blanket. He rose and went over to Pomelia lying against the pillows at the head of the bed. He leaned Kerlia down for her inspection. Terian beamed, full of pride. Pomelia, darling, see God hasn’t forsakened us. He has given us a beautiful, healthy daughter. Kerlia’s beautiful.

Pomelia’s reflection in the early morning light darkened at the mention of a daughter. Her eyes turned cold and unyielding, her body stiffened. Her lips thinned to nothing, curled back over her teeth in a snarl.

"Idiot! God has indeed forsaken me! He mocks my hopes of having sons by sending me a worthless daughter and took back my sons each time I was able to persuade Kernel to give me one. I want nothing to do with God or the worthless thing in your arms. Throw it out of this cottage, for I’ll not waste my energy suckling it! Throw it out and give me my son the soothsayer promised me because Kernel was pleased with my sacrifices. Here, give it to me and I’ll take it to the soothsayer to sacrifice on Kernel’s altar. Then Kernel will present me with my son as promised!" She viciously snatched at the calfskin blanket.

Terian leapt back from the horrid creature Pomelia had become, her limbs twisted unnaturally, her eyes sunk into her face, turning into ebony spheres. Her creamy skin turned into a wrinkled, greenish yellow mass clinging to her bones.

Terian heard the sinister mocking, See, Blacksmith. See, Pomelia is no more as I forewarned you and your foolish stubborn pride in your worthless god. Kernel has claimed her. He will do the same to the wiggling weakling in your arms. Kernel already took its voice. Kernel will claim it as he did its mother. There is nothing you or your worthless god can do to stop it. The soothsayer materialized on the other side of the bed. Her wrinkled face ridiculed Terian’s faith, mimicked the horror within his soul.

The wiggling mass that was once Pomelia swung its withered head away from Terian and the baby, toward the soothsayer. Its lips curled back over its teeth into a hideous snarl. Why, it croaked, "Why has Kernel done this to me? I faithfully followed your instructions. I took the herbs. I forsook God because Kernel promised what God refused to grant. I drugged Terian’s