The old man sat on the bed opposite the Seer, peering in the gloom at her unblemished face. He sighed and pushed himself off the bed, walking to where she lay still and unresponsive.
Quintal, j’ark and Tirielle watched in silence.
Gently, he pulled aside the blindfold which kept the red light at bay. He made no sound as the light from her eyes lit the room. Nor did he jump back, fearful of being infected. He looked deeper into her eyes and stood.
“Open the curtains, lady. I cannot work in this light.”
“I dare not. She does not like the light,” said Tirielle in reply. It was true, whenever they had opened the curtains the girl’s breathing became more laboured, her body often contorting in some unimaginable agony that bound her deeply inside her body, insensible to the world. Sometimes, with the light on her, she had opened her eyes and spoken. Often her words were confused and little point could be discerned, but sometimes she spoke again of the Myridium, as she had done when she was under the ministrations of the rahkens. Only once had she spoken of the crossroads. Tirielle did not know what either meant, and the Sard were none wiser on the subject.
“It is not her that does not like the light, it is her infection. Open the curtains and trust that I know what I am doing.”
Reluctantly, Tirielle pulled back the curtains and daylight flooded into the room. The light from the girl’s eyes darkened for a moment, then returned blazing against the sunlight. Still the old man did not pull back, but he held the Seer’s hand kindly as she began tossing and turning. He whispered to her in his gnarly voice, and for some reason it seemed to sooth her. Her thrashing subsided, and the light from her eyes retreated, returning to what for her was a natural kaleidoscope of colours.
“She is a Seer.”
Quintal held Tirielle back from saying anything. “She may be, at that. What do you plan to do about it?”
“Fear not, I will tell no one. I am a physician, not a snout. I hold no love of the Protectorate, and I know them for what they are. I have seen their work, healed their work, too many times to tell on an innocent. This too, is their work.”
“Can you do anything for her?” asked Quintal. If he was suspicious of the old man, he didn’t betray it with his voice. His tones were calm and reasonable, as they always were.
“I might, at that. This is a Protectorate disease, one that infests them and brings them power. The red light is a symptom, and in them it is accompanied by a ten-fold increase in power. It is unnatural in this girl. It does not belong here, and perhaps, because of that, I can banish it from her. But I make no promises.” He smiled sadly, showing his yellowed teeth. “But I work in private. Physicians have their secrets, too.”
“I’ll not leave her alone,” said Tirielle firmly.
“You can, and you will. I will not work with you looking over my shoulder, pretty lady. I fear the distraction would be too much for my ancient heart.”
“Come, Tirielle, leave the man to work. She is in safe hands.”
Reluctantly, Tirielle allowed herself to be led from the room. The Physician ignored them, as if he had already dismissed them from his mind, and peered once again into the Seer’s blighted eyes.