Tainted Gift
by Silk
[email protected]
copyright 1995

Rashin looked down from his high vantage point onto the chaos of the battlefield below. Men, women, warriors, knights, nobles and peasants fought in a whirling mass of bodies and horses. Great Death rode among them not caring what they were in life and took any that she cared to.

The enemy had been victorous. Only moments before they had routed the Armies of Helatus and had been driving them from the field of battle. Now, as Rashin looked on... they died. He had seen men die many ways this day, some with dignity, some with blood curdling cries of fear, but there was no word for the slaughter below that was happening now. And he prayed there never would be.
 

The battle that his enemy had first started to win, which he knew his people had been losing only moments ago, had turned and his people's greatest enemy were now the losers and he could see there would be no more change of tide in this battle. It was over.

A great ring of death. Magical fire fueled by the will of a single person, a woman, his love, and his wife, encircling the entire Army of Talasia. Slowly...oh so slowing creeping inward upon itself, burning to cinders the outter troops and causing unending chaos and panic within. All this in desperation and grief for the dying Helatusians. And there was no end in sight, no way to stop it. It could end in minutes or hours, maybe even days. Then and only then would Rashin would grieve.

He sighed heavily and turned away, making his way back to the Helatus encampment. As he passed wounded and dying soldiers, all he could think of was that it could have been worse. But was the price worth it? Doubtless the husbands and wives of the survivors would say yes, but Rashin would rather die himself then say so.

Entering the Healers' tent, no one would look him in the eye. He made his way to the back towards an enclosed area set off from the rest. Pulling aside the door hanging and he quickly strode inside away from the sharp pitying eyes of his people. The scene that met him was the same as when he had left and would stay with him forever.

His only love, bright of eye, dark raven hair, tall, lithe with the pace of a lioness, quick of mind, mighty in magic, and full of passion and poetry sat in her chair, surrounded by a few avialable healers trying for a cure that had never been found before. Her hands once soft as petals, now clasped like talons of a vulture upon the chairarm. Her face, once the object of his dreams and poems, now grew more and more gaunt as hours past. Even now he could smell the sweet perfume that was her hair, but could see it was now frail and brittle as straw.

The healers with their own kind of magic, tried not to touch her. Not out of a fear of hurting her, but out of fear for themselves, expecting her to pass to them her ailment, even though they knew it wasn't contagious.

The Taint. Extremely rare among the magically gifted and only found in a few cases per generation.

Rashins' fist slammed against his thigh. It didn't have to be this way, he thought to himself.

The only cure for this disease was to not use their gift once it was known that a mage was Tainted. It was hard. Rashin himself was a strong mage and couldn't fathom not using his gift. It was a part of him...a part of his soul. That was one of the things he loved about her the most. Her strength and determination.

Since the age of sixteen she had had the Taint and she had never used her magical gifts since, even though in the deepest night while laying next to Rashin, she had admitted she had come close a time or two.

Rashin sighed deeply and stepped close to her chair. She was fading fast now. The magic that was Tainted within her could not be controlled or stopped. It would stop only when her heart stopped. A mage with the Taint only used their gift once.

His heart breaking, he knew she could not hear him, being so immersed in her magic and the Taint within it, but still he knelt beside her, wrapping his strong arms around her wasting frame and leaning close. He whispered his love to her. That she was his sun, his moon, his heart. He whispered that the pain would end soon and that there should be no fear going beyond. He whispered to her till his voice grew raspy and then kept whispering on. The words did not matter much he thought, only his voice.

Time passed. What hour it was or what day, he knew not. Someone brought him food several times but he ignored it. Time seemed to pass slow but as it passed the changes within her grew more and more pronouced. He thought he was told once that the enemy was finally destroyed, but he barely heard. He did not have to be told that the fires still burned. For her heart still beated.

Finally the end came. So quietly. He held her as she collasped. And did he imagine it or was there a brief flash of recognition and love in her eyes before they closed forever. Tears streaming down his face he gathered the too light burden in his arms and held it close. With slow shaky steps he stepped outside and strode though the tent past the faces of his troops. The priestess' came, but he would not relieve himself of his burden to them. He washed and prepare the body himself, exepting no help from others. He led the prayers and lit the pyre that had been prepared ontop of the hill where he had stood and watched the holocaust rage below. He stayed as the flames burned and the smoke took his love to the waiting arms of the gods. He stayed as night fell and the stars came out. He stayed as his people grew tired and slowing left, until he stood alone. He stayed as the wind took the remaining ashes away to fertilize the lands and renew life.

Finally when he could stand no more he came down the hill. His tent, his guards awaited him, but he ignored them all and with his head down and heart heavy he entered a white tent that was set next to his own. He crept past the servants who wept silently..and stood next to the cradle within the inner sanctuary. He kissed the newborn lightly on the head , being careful not to wake her.

He knew this princess, the only reminder of his beloved queen now, would never want for love or affection from him. She would grow to the crown he would someday leave her. A crown to a nation, that with a heavy sacrifice, would be renewed with life. A land with an enemy next to them who would not dare come against them for many generations. A land that though was beutiful and full of bounty, was lessened in that beauty without its queen. Rashin, King of Helatus, smiled lightly apon the sleeping princess and was glad he had her.

But was the price worth it?

The End

Note~

I wrote this story actually in 1995 or 1994 I think. (I lost all of my copies of it, except where I ended up posting it on the web for a MUD magazine called Barren Realms where I used to hang out alot.) I've revised it and reposted it here on my site for your enjoyment.

I was considering reposting this as an Amazon story, but the only ones with magic in the Xenaverse are the gods, and these are definately mortals here. Anyway hope you liked it.

Silk
revised and reposted 4/4/98