Stain's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

The whole quarter knew his weakness now. Stain could not outrun that. So he climbed to the ruined tower on the salt-crusted hill, where a healer kept to himself. Thoraze Lich had tended broken runners before, people said. Stain found him inside, grinding crystals into powder, his crimson robe hiding pale white scales. The healer did not look up. A ball of soft light hovered near the cracked dome, lighting the dust. "My left leg stiffens in long races," Stain said. "Everyone saw it. I need it fixed before the grand race." Thoraze set down the pestle. His purple feathers stayed flat. "Legs hold fear. Not just muscle." He pointed outside. "Pond first. Then mud. Soak both. Speak the words I give you." He led Stain to a steaming pond ringed with ferns and bright gems. "Stand in. Say the healing litany." He spoke the words once, short and plain, and made Stain repeat them. Stain stepped into the hot water. It bit his stiff leg. He recited the lines. The glowing orb drifted from the tower and circled him, warm as a second sun. A rainbow beetle crawled to the pond's rim and stopped, watching, a thin string trailing from one leg. Stain spoke the litany again. The ache in his leg loosened. The water pulled the tight knots apart. The orb turned slow circles overhead, and he matched his breath to it. For the first time in days, the fear in his chest eased. "Now the mud," Thoraze said. Beside the pond sat a broad volcanic basin, its surface bubbling, raw crystals around its scarred rim. Thoraze gave him a different set of words, a hymn for the mud. "This one is for what you hold back," he said. "Say it until you believe it." Stain lowered himself in. Warm mud closed over his legs. He spoke the hymn. At first the words felt empty. He thought of Cruelpap's finger pointing at his shaking leg. He thought of the keeper's silence. He said the hymn louder. Something in his chest broke loose. His eyes stung. The orb pressed close, glowing against the mud's steam. The beetle crawled to the basin's edge, following him, as if it would not leave his side. When Stain climbed out, his leg felt new. He flexed it. No burn. No stiffness. He ran a wide loop around the tower, then another, then a third. His stride stayed long and clean to the end. The weakness was gone. Thoraze watched from the doorway. "The leg will hold now." He paused. "The ritual works. It restores what is lost." His purple feathers lifted, just slightly. Stain caught the look in those large eyes and understood. The healer wanted something restored too. "Then I owe you," Stain said. "Name it." Thoraze was quiet a long moment. "Later," he said. "Go train. Win your race." Stain ran home on legs that no longer failed him. His weakness was healed. But he had made a debt he could not yet see the size of.