Chapter 11
The two high-pitched screams were so muffled, they sounded like they came from miles away. I listened for a loud splash, but heard nothing. Master Galleon melted into the darkness.
“Are they—gone?” I choked.
Charles, his face looking like ashes, nodded.
“I think so. They have fallen into the etheric depths.”
That sounded bad enough. I didn’t want to know what that was. I looked down at Jorland. His face looked like boiling oil. His shirt had gotten ripped open, and I saw the same horrible wound run all the way down his chest. I pressed my thumb over his wrist to feel for his pulse. It was there, but it was awfully weak.
“We have to take Jorland to the Guild,” I said.
“After what he did to us?” asked Maranissa.
Good question. I’d heard the words “Love your enemy” all my life, and I’d read them more times than I could count. I’ve tried following those words when kids at school shove me around or shut me out of their circles. I can’t say I’m good at loving kids like that; I just do the best I can. Jorland was worse than most anybody else I’d run into, but here he was, stretched out in front of me, a wounded, dying kid. That’s all I could think of at that horrible moment.
“My vow does not allow exceptions for awful people,” I said in a dead voice. “Get under my cape and I will try to take us to the our guild hall.”
I don’t know how I managed to sing the song that brought us to the guildhall with my voice so choked up, but I managed to get something out of my mouth, enough to make the Archives of Gifted Lore fade away. I pictured the guildhall as clearly as I could so as to aim myself and my friends to it, and I kept the song churning while we were in the in-between place. Suddenly, I rammed into something that just about took the wind out of me. If it was just me, I might have given up and let myself float in nowhere for the rest of my short life. After all, the quest was lost, and there wasn’t much sense in hanging around anywhere. But I had five people depending on me, one of them seriously injured, and I wasn’t about to let them down. My breath had gotten so short, I could only sing in small gasps, but I sang what I could, and it was enough. The barrier softened until it felt as soft as a feather, and I felt it carrying me the rest of the way until we all landed gently on a carpet. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a dark brown owl flying up from me and landing on Masteress Oldham’s shoulder.
“Skies and clouds above! What happened?” yelled Lucy.
“The injured boy must be taken to the nearest healing station,” said Master McDermott, as he slid Jorland out of my arms.
“I think Nathaniel’s singing has already softened the most acute points of his wounds,” said Preston.
“Yes,” said Masteress Oldham, “it takes a gift of great strength to accomplish so much healing in transit, and at the same time, to reach Natasha’s ear so that she could bring him and his fellow travelers through an impenetrable barrier.”
Master McDermott whisked Jorland away. Natasha looked down at me from Masteress Oldham’s shoulder, his green eyes demanding an act of gratitude from me. I was only too glad to stroke the owl’s breast feathers where I knew he liked it best. A few other people in the Guild of Gifted Healers appeared, among them Master Medwick and Masteress Jakelyn.
“What are all these people, not of our guild, doing here?” Master Medwick fumed, while other guild members looked at me and my friends with puzzled and worried faces.
“I suggest you try asking Nathaniel kindly who they are,” said Preston. “He had a rough journey getting here.”
“Much rougher than ever it should have been, thanks to a barrier that had no business being where it was,” Masteress Oldham remarked.
I collapsed down to the floor, crying so hard, I couldn’t have said a word to save my life. The inscription of the healing chant was lost, Mirry and Denny were lost, the healing quest was lost. Many people were going to die because I had failed. Pollo spoke up for me when he realized I couldn’t. He introduced himself, Charles and Maranissa, and then told Masteress Oldham and the other assembled members of the guild the whole story of my time in the choir school and the harrowing journey through the Archives of Gifted Lore. It was painful for me to hear again how Master Lesentrange refused to teach me the healing chant. When Pollo got to the end and told our listeners how Denny tried to steal the inscription for Master Galleon, I wished I could drown out the sounds by covering my ears, but knew I couldn’t. Some guild members, especially Master McDermott, looked sympathetic. Some looked bewildered by the whole story, and some, like Master Medwick glowered at me so fiercely I felt I was being turned into dust. The four young people, who didn’t seem to like me before, smiled with the satisfaction kids get when somebody falls flat on his face.
“Nathaniel,” said Masteress Oldham, “your accomplishments are surpassingly remarkable if all the things Pollo has said are true.”
“They are true,” Charles affirmed.
“But the healing quest is lost,” Lucy complained. “Why didn’t you come here and tell us that Master Lesentrange wouldn’t help you? We could have worked something out without losing the inscription.”
“I feared that Nathaniel would not be able to get through the strengthened quarantine,” said Pollo.
“Pollo most likely speaks the truth,” said Masteress Oldham. “I tried to attend the last Mass Day by etheric image, but even in that form, I could not get through the forces keeping me away.”
“Then why didn’t you come here as soon as you got into the Archives?” Master Medwick asked.
I had no answer to that. Neither did any of the rest of us. I folded myself up and waited to be sent back to the pharmacy where Mary Ann would most likely have another prescription for me to deliver somewhere.
“I didn’t think of that,” said Charles. “I suppose I should have. We just—just wanted to get the inscription so badly—and I thought we could do it. I’ve never had half as bad a time in the Archives before.”
“I can’t imagine doing half as well in your place,” said Preston.
“You should have known that a bunch of apprentices such as you were out of your depth,” said Master Medwick. “If you were as dedicated to obedience as you say you are dedicated to this quest of yours, you would have swallowed your youthful pride and come straight here. Then you wouldn’t have gotten one boy injured and two boys lost to the etheric depths. Their lives press down on your irresponsible shoulders.”
“I wish we’d been wise enough to guess how hard some people would make this quest,” said Master McDermott.
“Now that the foolish singing quest of Nathaniel Hawthorne Brown is lost,” said Masteress Jakelyn, “perhaps we can all give our best effort to the spell I am on the verge of perfecting,” said Masteress Jakelyn.
“Nathaniel,” said Masteress Oldham, “I am so sorry that you have suffered so badly for putting so much heart into what we asked you to do.”
I was too devastated to let the kind words of Preston and Masteress Oldham sink in. I felt that I was going to stay in that numb state forever. I hardly noticed when the shadow of a man’s gray cape passed over me.
“So there is my wayward runaway apprentice!” yelled a man in a gray cape who had to be Master Fintchel.
Charles shrank at the sight of him and Preston put a protective arm around him.
“Charles Worthington has been of valuable service to our Gifted Healer, Nathaniel Hawthorn Brown, on his healing quest,” said Masteress Oldham in reply.
“Charles Worthington has broken an ordinance imposed on all who use the Archives of Gifted Lore that was implemented for the safety of us all!” Master Fintchel charged.
“And he has corrupted an apprentice of ours with his foolish pride,” added Master Medwick.
I wasn’t in the frame of mind for getting a good look at the man, but I have a vague memory that he was tall, thin, and that he had long gray hair and spectacles resting on his nose.
“And what ordinance was that?” asked Masteress Oldham.
“An ordinance against either importing or exporting anything having to do with the smothering pestilence,” Master Fintchel replied.
“How stupid an ordinance can a guild make?” yelled Lucy.
“It is up to the Guild of Gifted Archivists to protect all Gifted people from knowledge that can destroy,” Master Fintchel explained. “Charles, I repudiate your apprenticeship to me and I hereby relieve you of your cape.”
Lucy threw herself in front of Charles and Preston raised his cape in a protective gesture. Charles was whimpering, as spiritless as me to fight back.
“How care you de-cape an apprentice who has done a far greater work than you will ever do if you live for three lifetimes?” Lucy raged.
“Has Charles Worthington broken any vows that he took as a Gifted Archivist?” asked Masteress Oldham.
“He—has broken—well, not any vows, but—he has broken a most important ordinance!” Master Fintchel spluttered.
“Charles Worthington can not be de-caped if he has not broken any of his vows to your guild,” said Masteress Oldham in a voice as taut as a wire. “Since you repudiate your highly worthy apprentice, I accept him into my service in the Guild of Gifted Healers.”
“Masteress Oldham!” cried Master Medwick, “it is not for our guild to take in the recalcitrant members of other guilds!”
Before anybody could reply to that, another man came into the hall yelling, “One of your guild members has committed an act of outrageous violence against my son!”
“Jorland was doing fine by the time we got him to the Guild’s House of Healing,” said Master McDermott.
“But my boy should never have needed to be taken to your House of Healing!” cried the hefty man as he flung his scarlet cape in a shower of spark about the Oathtaking Hall.
“Your son would never have needed to be taken to the Guild’s House of Healing if he had not participated in an attack against a Gifted Healer who was on a healing quest,” said Preston.
“My son was attacked by your Gifted Healer when he was defending his friend who had found a healing inscription that would have delivered us from the strangling pestilence!” charged Jorland’s father.
“Ah! So, Nathaniel has crowned his disobedience and insolence with flagrantly violating his vow of non-violence!” cried Mater Medwick.
“The fire jets were shot out of the keyboard of Master Harold Galleon,” said Pollo.
“Not according to my son, they weren’t!” bellowed the man.
“I will not stand by and allow you to accuse our Gifted Healer, Nathaniel, of an act of violence that he did not commit!” Lucy yelled in the face of Jorland’s father. “And I will not stand by and allow you to speak of Nathaniel in such terms when he is the one who carried your son to this hall, after he had begun the healing process with his Gifted Singing while he was bringing him to us!”
Once again, Lucy had me confused. After yelling my head off for failing the quest, she was sticking up for me against all comers as if I was the best thing since the discovery of penicillin.
“Am I seeing with my own eyes the boy who destroyed my son?” yelled a woman in a yellow cape with a voice that pierced my ears like a pair of knitting needles.
“Please state your complaint plainly,” said Masteress Oldham.
“My complaint,” the woman shrieked, raising her voice to greater heights, “is that this apprentice of yours took my son on a highly dangerous quest, which he had no capability of fulfilling, and my son fell into the etheric depths, never to return!”
“Mirry participated in the quest as a matter of choice, did he not?” asked Preston.
“He did,” Pollo confirmed.
“How can you talk about a foolish boy’s choice when he has been enslaved by a friendship where he will do anything asked of him, no matter how foolish, no matter how dangerous, no matter how life-threatening, no matter how soul-threatening!” yelled Mirry’s mother.
“Would you like to join us in a quest to find your son?” Masteress Oldham asked.
“Is it true that my son, Denny, has fallen to the etheric depths?” asked another woman.
Her quiet voice was a relief from the screaming of Jorland’s father and Mirry’s mother, but her tone grated like sand rubbing against my face.
“From what we have been told,” said Master Medwick, “it is true that Denny has fallen into the etheric depths thanks to the irresponsible actions of our apprentice who will be suitably and permanently disciplined.”
“Will you please tell me exactly what happened?” asked Denny’s mother.
Once again, Pollo undertook the task of telling that part of our horrible story. As I listened, I stole a glance at Denny’s mother. She had long black hair and a sharp-looking face.
“Do I have your story right, that Denny and Mirry were both holding the inscription of the healing chant when they fell?” Denny’s mother asked.
“You have heard rightly,” Pollo replied.
Denny’s mother sighed deeply.
“Denny was Mirry’s best friend until this boy came along.”
I knew she meant me. What could I say?
“If this boy had not come along, my son would be alive and healthy and singing like a bird in the choir!” Mirry’s mother yelled.
“This boy turned most of the boys in the choir against my son and then tried to kill him!” Jorland’s father yelled.
“Nathaniel Hawthorne Brown has just murdered all of my choirboys!”
That outcry silenced all my other accusers. Standing in the middle of the Guildhall with tears streaming down his face was Master Milo Lesentrange.
“Will you please explain how our Gifted Healer, who is a Gifted Singer, could possibly have killed any of your boys?” Masteress Oldham asked him, her face grim.
“I had all of my boys protected against the smothering pestilence until he came along!” the choirmaster yelled while stabbing his finger at my face. “I strengthened the quarantine after he broke through it the first time and I hoped he would have the sense to be content with developing his astounding Singing Gift. But not this boy! He had to sneak our through the Archives of Gifted Lore! I should have known enough to collect all the music I needed and closed that off, too! No sooner did your Gifted so-called Healer break down the protective barrier, then Tomko was pestilenced. Before I could excuse him from rehearsal, three more boys collapsed before my eyes, pestilenced as well! Now, every single boy in the choir is lying in bed, desperately gasping for his next breath of air!”
This was too much. I buried my face in my arms and wished I could sink into the etheric depths with Mirry and Denny and never have to think about anything ever again.
“Is Denson, then, pestilenced as well?” Pollo asked Master Lesentrange.
“Denson, true to his duty of master chorister, chased after the pestilencing so-called Gifted Healer and his fellow traitors like you,” Master Lesentrange answered, “but he could not catch you in time. As soon as he finished giving me his report, I took him away before he got pestilenced as well.”
“Under the circumstances,” said Master McDermott, “will you dissolve the barrier to the extent that one or two of us can come to your boys and help you tend to them?”
“I can’t bear to see my boys die!” the choirmaster bawled. “There is no further damage you can do that you haven’t done already. The chorister’s cottage is yours for the taking.”
“Would you care to assist on the quest to recover Mirry, Denny, and the inscription of the healing chant?” Masteress Oldham asked Master Lesentrange.
The question was lost in the accusations that poured over my aching head from all directions. I curled up into a tighter ball than I was already, and hardly noticed when somebody, or two or three somebodies, held my hand or touched my shoulder. Lucy and Maranissa added their voices to the din and, somewhere along the line, another voice entered the fray. I was so deafened by all the shouting that I hardly knew what was happening when a cool tumbler found its way into my hands.
“Drink it, you’ll feel better,” a woman yelled at me.
If left to myself, I would probably have let the tumbler stay on my lap until the world came to an end, but somebody, or two somebodies guided the tumbler to my lips and a heavy, cool liquid, something like a milk shake, eased its way down my throat. When the woman yelled at Maranissa for running off with me, I knew it was Masteress Carrasima come to add her twenty cents of invective against me.
“I’m staying with Nathaniel if he needs me,” I heard Maranissa say.
“I believe that we will have further need of Maranissa in our healing quest,” Masteress Oldham said.
“I wish you all the fulfillment the quest can offer you,” yelled Masteress Carrasima. “Nathaniel, are you feeling better?”
I gave myself a second to let my ears recover from the assault of her voice. I had to admit that I felt a little less horrible after taking the drink. I nodded when I still couldn’t get any words out, and I handed the empty tumbler back to Masteress Carrasima.
“In gratitude for what Nathaniel Hawthorne Brown has accomplished so far,” yelled Masteress Carrasima, “I gift the Guild of Gifted Healers with this platter of food. I think it is wonderful of all of you to come here and offer him your support after what he has suffered on your behalf.”
She presented the platter to me first. I had hardly any appetite, but with Maranissa giving me that look of hers, I didn’t dare refuse to take one of the pastries offered me. One bite, and my appetite got stronger, in spite of everything that had just happened. Then Masteress Carrasima passed the platter around to everybody else, and they all took at least one pastry, even Master Medwick, much as he glowered at me the whole time. By the time Masteress Carassima had made her rounds and disappeared, leaving Maranissa with me, most everybody else had also left, leaving Master Medwick and Masteress Jakelyn and some of their supporters and the group that had rallied around Masteress Oldham.
“Should I—should I go—home?” I stammered as fresh tears choked my voice all over again.
“You may go anywhere you like,” said Masteress Oldham quietly. “But first, let me ask you this: Do you wish to join the quest to rescue Mirry and Denny, and to bring back the inscription for the healing chant?”
This time nobody drowned out the question and I could hear it. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I looked up at Masteress Oldham whose face was blurred by my tears.
“Is it—possible?” I asked.
“Yes, it is possible,” Masteress Oldham answered. “It is difficult and it is dangerous. We could lose more than we have lost already. But it is possible, and it is our only hope.”