[Omen of the Witchblade] Start of Book 2 | Chapter 105 - The Next Step

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Mel woke up in complete darkness, on a cold, hard slab.

Son of a bitch, not again, she thought to herself.

The difference between this time and the last became immediately apparent when she could hardly budge the heavy form lying on top of her.

The relief that Mel wasn’t trapped in a hellish time loop was short-lived, however.

“Quickly, now,” a calm maternal voice spoke. “The lycan is priority. Her wounds are dire. I’ll take the Champion Leader.”

Like hell you will! Mel didn’t know what was going on, but she wasn’t about to let somebody take her. The last thing she remembered was the Convocation trial ending and everything going black as she tried to lug Gwen to safety.

Mel kept herself still on the cold slab until she could feel Gwen’s body pulled off her. She waited a beat or two, guessing that their captors would be expecting her to wake up.

The sound of slippered feet sliding on stone alerted Mel’s enhanced senses to the woman’s proximity. Mel opened her eyes and lashed out, moving in a blur.

Mel snapped out one hand, grabbing the older elf’s wrist. Probably a terra elf, judging by her dark features. Not that it mattered. Mel was still going to fight like their lives depended on it.

Twisting on the slab, Mel launched a kick straight for the elf’s middle to bend her double.

Still holding onto her wrist, Mel twisted and vaulted off the table until she landed on the elf’s back, sending her into the floor with a bone rattling crack! that echoed in the small room.

Wrenching her arm back, Mel pressed her knee harder into the elf’s spine. “I’ll break it off if you don’t tell them to stop!” Spittle flew from Mel’s frenzied lips.

Instead of fear, the grunt of pain, or anger, the elf beneath her laughed.

She laughed!

“My, you are quite the specimen, Mel,” the elf said as if she wasn’t face down on the floor.

“I’m not a specimen!”

The woman chuckled deeply. “I misspoke. We mean you and Gwen no harm, Mel. We are the medical team administered at the end of all Convocation trials. We cannot leave Gwen to perish, so I am afraid that we cannot acquiesce to your request.”

With no more effort than stretching, the elf broke Mel’s hold and was on her feet with Mel grasped by her arms as gently as if she was a fragile bird.

“My name is Sae’mir,” the woman said with a smile. Her voice was just as rich and maternal as before, but now there was an undercurrent of warning. “I know you must be scared and angry. It is to be expected, especially of a Champion who has survived so much. However, I cannot allow you to get in the way of a patient’s treatment. I will sedate you if you force my hand, but I would rather not handle a Champion so roughly.”

Mel didn’t trust easily. Especially not after surviving every threat and danger in the Convocation’s remnant trial for two months. Aggression had served her well.

That was how Mel won, after all. There was no telling what the rules were here. The trial had been survival of the fittest.

This place might seem like a normalized society, but could actually be something inherently more sinister.

Mel still didn’t like being called a specimen.

Sae’mir’s dark chocolate eyes studied Mel’s emerald green for a long moment. “May we treat you and your friend?”

“Where are the others?” Mel asked. She refused to break eye contact. She was seeing eye-to-eye with Sae’mir, which meant that her feet were dangling off the ground by nearly half a foot.

Not that she let that bother her. Mel’s compact five-foot frame was nothing less than a model of efficiency in her eyes. It was everybody else that was freakishly tall.

“Thomas and…Heath, was it?” Sae’mir glanced to the side.

“Yes, Matron,” a man’s voice answered. “Thomas is in Ward C and Heath is in Triage A-Two.”

Mel watched as Sae’mir’s black brow quirked in surprise. “Ward C?”

“We have reason to believe the attack was mental and corrupting in nature, Matron.”

“Very well,” Sae’mir said. She turned with a sad smile on Mel. “I am going to let you down now. You have several wounds that need administering, and your friend is far worse off.”

Mel appreciated that Sae’mir waited until Mel nodded before setting her back down on the floor.

At Sae’mir’s instruction, Mel hopped up onto the slab of stone and allowed the healer to look over her. The woman looked like she was going to some sort of ball or black-tie event, not a nurse or doctor.

Her age was hard to pin down. She looked old, but only in and around the eyes. Sae’mir’s deeply bronzed skin was nearly flawless, yet despite that, she had a deep age to her. You never would have mistaken her for a girl in her twenties, but beyond that was anybody’s guess.

Mel immediately wondered what rank Sae’mir was.

Higher than mine, that’s for damn sure. She’s also skilled enough to hold it in check. I can’t even feel her presence as a Copper, much less whatever she is.

As Sae’mir examined Mel’s many wounds, she healed them with a deft hand that would have made anything Mel experienced at Brookmoors look like barbarism.

All throughout the procedure, Sae’mir let Mel know what she was doing, why, and where she was going to touch her before she did.

Yeah, yeah, I get it, Mel thought. You think I’m some skittish animal.

Mel didn’t want to ask about her missing memories. Partly because having any of these people mess with her head was just asking for something suspicious to happen.

For a moment, she thought Sae’mir was going to mention it. She studied Mel intently, as if she could see her broken memories. Thankfully, Sae’mir didn’t broach the subject.

The most common way she healed was placing the heel of her palm on Mel’s forehead and touching two fingers to the wound. It created some sort of conduit that tickled and itched in equal measure.

Before Mel’s eyes, her many cuts, bruises, and even a broken bone or two she had nearly forgotten about were all healed.

On the other slab, four white-robed men and women were tending to Gwen. Her wounds were far more severe, but they were no less skilled than Sae’mir. Three talked quietly amongst themselves while the fourth held Gwen’s head gently in two hands.

A cloudy, pale mist enveloped Gwen’s head.

“An anesthetic,” Sae’mir explained, watching Mel.

“What you did to me didn’t hurt,” Mel pointed out.

“Your injuries were not severe. Sometimes it is worth it to cause pain if we can save the life. You do not know how close your friend’s journey came to an untimely end.”

One of the healers let out a deep sigh. She looked up brightly at Mel and Sae’mir. “I’ve managed to cleanse [Death’s Door]. She’ll be okay.”

Mel felt a squeeze of guilt around her heart. She had been the one to send transformed Gwen after those monsters. But if Mel hadn’t, Thomas might have died. Or Charlie could have been killed by Gwen for trying to heal him.

Sae’mir turned back to Mel. “You see? All will be well.”

“What about Thomas? You seemed awfully surprised about that.”

“Observant as well!” Sae’mir grinned. “We’ll make a Sovereign out of you yet, girl!”

Mel frowned, but before she could ask her what that meant, Sae’mir answered her question, “Corruption is something the Holy See takes very seriously. Every Worldshard has some, and it is our duty to seek it out and expunge it wherever we can. Your friend was attacked with subtly corrupting magic from a Darkshard. Do you know what that is?”

“Unfortunately.” Darkshards were hopeless bastions of death and dismay. A Darkshard was a no-go. You didn’t travel there unless you wanted to die. Even experienced Realmwalkers didn’t tempt fate. Nobody ever came back.

“An oddity,” Sae’mir said, “because both stitched Shards were classified as standard Worldshards. Hardly even Dimshards by most metrics.”

The Covenant I ran into certainly acted like they were from a Darkshard, Mel thought to herself.

“However, your friend will be fine. Unless he willingly steeped himself in corruption, there is no reason to worry. We only want to make sure all our new guests are healthy and hale before accepting them with open arms.”

“You’ve got a weird way of showing it if you put everybody through a trial like that,” Mel said sharply.

Sae’mir chuckled. It was a deep, rich and velvety sound. “My, you are full of fire and ember! You must think us monsters to subject so many of your people to trials. Know that it was not our choice or intent. You could no more blame the people of a welcoming country for the storm that batters their shores as you arrive.”

“Fine,” Mel snapped. “Then your System is ass.”

For once, Sae’mir didn’t seem to have an answer to that. After a moment to compose herself, she said, “Colorful as the Prism Desert as well!” Sae’mir shook her head. “You misunderstand. Only those deemed fit or desirous of competition are drafted into the Convocation. The System…is not nice, but it is fair. The young, the old, families, the infirm, all the people who could not or would not wish to fight, avoided the Convocation entirely.”

Mel wasn’t sure if she believed her, but then again, she didn’t see any wrinkly old people, anybody obviously sick, or little kids anywhere in the trial. How many babies and toddlers would have gotten their shit absolutely wrecked by some Dire Hamster?

It was hard not to laugh about that imagery.

“Something funny?”

Mel shook her head. “So what now?

Sae’mir folded her hands over her opulent robes. “Well, I dare say that life is about to get very hectic and interesting for you.”

“Because I won?” Mel guessed.

“Precisely. This entire tower is devoted specifically to winners and their teams.”

“Winners get free healthcare while the losers bleed out in a back alley?”

“By the Graces!” Sae’mir shook her head. “To be so young and have so much anger…no, Mel. The winners are often those with the worst injuries. That is what makes them winners. They are willing to go that extra step that others are too afraid to take. We are here to make sure that such bravery does not go to waste. However, no matter how small the injury, anybody–within or without the Convocation–is able to come to the Holy See for healing. We turn none away.”

Mel waited for her to launch into a religious rant or a pitch for Mel to join, but there was nothing.

Gwen woke up, much to the doctors’ surprise. Her silver eyes wildly darted around. “What’s going on? Where’s Thomas and Mel?! Who the fuck are you?”

Mel could already see the impending violence, bodies flying into the air and all that, but when Gwen saw Mel standing there, she calmed down. Mostly. The doctors talked to her in hushed, reassuring tones. To her credit, she didn’t try to leave the bed.

“We have counseling available,” Sae’mir said, stepping back and turning to address both women. “And, of course, if you wish to abstain from further trials, you may. As Champions, you have far more options than others. The offers from the various Grand Orders for promotional work would see you live a long life of leisure and plenty in some of the best garden realms the Shardrune has to offer.”

“And if we don’t want to give up?” Mel asked.

Sae’mir’s grin grew three sizes. “Then you will drown in offers of coin, prestige, and adoration. If you wish, the Holy See could help you with your choices. No strings attached.”

Mel could see it now. The Holy See got in first, buttered people up by healing them and making them healthy, then began to color everything through the lens that made them look best.

It was a good racket, Mel had to admit.

“What’s in it for you?”

“The fewer people succumb to predatory actions by unscrupulous individuals, the better for us all,” Sae’mir explained. “Whether you choose to take the offer or not is your choice and yours alone.” She pulled out a thin flat crystal the size of her thumb. “Should you change your mind, you can always contact me.”

Mel took it, but didn’t bother to look at it as Sae’mir gathered up the doctors and walked to the room’s only exit. Before she left, Mel said, “You didn’t answer my question.”

Sae’mir paused and turned around.

“What’s in it for you, personally?” Mel reiterated.

The older woman shared a secretive smile and said, “Connections, my dear.”

She turned and left, leaving Gwen and Mel alone in the spartan room of stone.