The Assassin and the Sorceress Ch. 06

Even more impressive, the Oculus could see the logic of how by bone was supposed to go together. Though my flesh was astoundingly complex and rapidly changing, I was able to distinguish the structural elements of my bone, a rigid scaffolding surrounding the living, moving parts of the bone. This I could fix. Still, I hesitated. This was my own body! It is not a natural thing to alter one's own flesh: not with a knife, not with thread and needle, and not even with magic. It was a risky endeavor.

Even so, the pain was starting to become unbearable. I took a deep breath, and prepared myself. I gave the command. The Oculus immediately began to repair the fracture, mending the broken edges back together as they should have been.

In barely a second it was done. I looked the bone up and down, closely inspecting it for any unconnected fragments, but neither my mind nor the Oculus found anything amiss. I opened up my eyes to inspect my arm with my natural senses. My arm was still swollen and tender, but when I touched it, that sudden, agonizing pain did not appear. It was just the dull pain of the bruised flesh. I found my arm could support my weight again.

An uncontrollable smile appeared on my face! I had done it! I had just healed a fractured bone in an instant! This power was amazing, and this was just the first hour! What miracles would I be able to perform with practice?

"Oh, Verus, thank you! Thank you!" I shouted to the woods. Could he hear me? Well, he seemed to know about things that happened outside of his cave, so he probably did hear me.

My attention turned back to my forearm. Though the bone had healed, the bruising was still severe. I wondered if I could fix that, too. Mending the hairline fracture in my bone had been simple enough, but this posed an entirely different problem. Not only was my living flesh staggeringly more complex, but the pieces were in a constant state of motion. It couldn't go back together the way it had been, because it had already changed too much. What if I got something wrong? What if I reconstructed my flesh in such a way that it couldn't live? I would much rather have a bruise that would heal in time than inviable flesh that would rot and fall off my body.

But, no, some part of me knew that wouldn't happen. I had made the worms' bodies flawlessly, even the larger one I had invented. The problem was something else, that spark of life that had been missing. I thought it out carefully with the Oculus' powerful mind. I calculated how all my planned alterations would pan out, how they would interact with my already living body. I went through a few scenarios, several ways I thought to go about healing my battered flesh. Actually, it wasn't several ways; it was literally millions. It only seemed like a small number to the mind that happened to be doing the thinking. In almost every one of these plans, most imperfections would have been healed by the body, rearranged into the way my body wanted it. After all, I already had that spark of life within me. Though I could not create it, it would easily spread into what flesh I created for it to fill.

I had analyzed too much. I put my faith in the Oculus, and I let it do its work. I commanded it, and it did not fail me.

Leaking blood vessels sealed up. Torn fibers reconnected. Tiny, beautifully intricate components of my flesh that I couldn't name and could barely describe reorganized themselves into their ideal configurations. It took some time, but after a minute or two it was done. I let go of the Oculus' mind, returning my own mind to normal. As I looked at my forearm where I had worked, I was in awe! My wrist had nearly snapped in half just that morning, but now there was almost no trace of the injury, like my mother had never hit me! I pressed the area with my thumb and felt no pain or soreness at all! I was completely healed!

I was ecstatic! I had mended my own flesh as easily sewing a ripped seam shut again! I could work flesh like a blacksmith worked steel, and this was only my first day with the Oculus!

I fixed the rest of the wounds Mother had given me that morning. It seemed like tricky work at first, but I got used to it very quickly. I was always such a fast learner! No wonder Verus had chosen me! When that was all finished, I fixed a few other imperfections: some cuts and scrapes from earlier, a couple of pimples on my face, and whatever other minor blemishes I could find.

What else could I do with it? If I could fix my damaged flesh, could I improve it, too? Maybe I could make myself stronger, or more beautiful! I could become the prettiest girl in Ash! Surely, Joseph would want me then.

I held off on those improvements for the moment, however. Seeing with the Oculus was not like seeing with my own eyes. The Oculus, despite its vast intelligence, had no soul. Though it could see function to a good degree, it could not see beauty the way human eyes could. I would want to get a mirror first.

I spent the rest of the afternoon practicing with the Oculus in the woods. I lifted objects with my mind, I created, I destroyed. I was God, or at least the god of the woods around me. I made sculptures out of rock, letting the stone grow to fill up the form I had in my mind. I gave birds new color patterns, creating living works of art never before seen in nature. I opened up a large oak and created a little hollow for myself, while allowing the tree to thrive still.

I picked up objects with my mind and invented little games to play. I practiced hitting targets with magically thrown rocks, and I could throw them hard! Before long I realized I could levitate myself just as easily as a rock, though I was too frightened to fly too high or too fast just yet.

I explored my new powers long into the day, with little concept of time. Finally, when I noticed the lengthening shadows, I realized how long I had been out there. It would be night soon, so perhaps it was time to return home. In fact, I was eager to! I had undone what my mother had done to me, and I could just as easily undo anything else short of murder that she might do to me. I felt like her power over me was diminishing. I didn't need to fear her anymore! It felt like a great burden had been removed from my shoulders, one that had been with me so long I couldn't remember having ever been without it. For the first time in my life, I was not afraid to go home!

On my walk home, I couldn't help but fantasize what sorts of things I could do to her when I got back. I knew I could obliterate her body in an instant, will her away forever, but why would I do that? No, murdering her would be silly since she wasn't a threat anymore.

So what would I do to her? I thought of several ways I could use my powers against her until she was groveling at my feet, begging for her life. The next time she came at me with the fire poker I could throw her back with a wave of force, or maybe break her arm, or just lift her into the air and hold her there. Strangely, none of these fantasies pleased me. They just left me feeling guilty and empty. So what would I do to her when I got home?

***

The sun was setting by the time I got back home. The town was mostly quiet, and the few people that did see me didn't bother to ask about the strange stone I was carrying. As absorbed in my thoughts as I was, I don't imagine I would have responded anyway. I was nervous. Despite a nice, long walk to sort out my thoughts, I still didn't know what I wanted to say to my mother. I knew I wanted to keep my powers a secret, but that was it.

She was always home at this time of night, probably in her rocking chair by the fireplace. Would we just ignore each other like we usually did when I came home from an adventure in the woods? What if father was there? Did I even want him to be there when I confronted her? I didn't know. All I knew was that I wanted to talk to her, to tell her what a terrible mother she had been, to finally be able to tell her without fear how I had felt my whole life. But would I have the courage?

As I turned the final corner and started walking down my street, my heart started pounding. That confidence I had found in the woods had all but vanished now that it was upon me. But she had no power over me! Why was I still afraid?

I finally saw our house, looked at the front door that I knew I must pass through. I stopped walking, though I hadn't told my feet to do that. I wanted to turn around and run back to the cave, or to anywhere, really. I just wanted to retreat until I knew what I wanted to do once I saw her again.

No! It wouldn't matter if I waited an hour, or a day, or even ten years. I knew that no amount of waiting could make me feel any better about what I had to do. Now was the time. I swallowed hard, then forced myself to take another step, and then another. I walked slowly and dreadfully towards our front door.

"Be with me, Verus..." I whispered to myself. "Don't do this for me; this is something I have to do myself. Just... I don't know. Just be with me. And believe in me."

I was finally in front of the door. It was the last thing between me and the woman that had almost killed me today. I knew I had to go through. Holding the Oculus in my left hand, I raised my shaking right hand to the latch. I could hear my heart thumping in my chest as loud as thunder. I felt sick to my stomach. After taking a deep breath, I clicked the latch and opened the door.

My eyes adjusted to the orange firelight coming from the hearth. There was my mother, sitting in her rocking chair as I expected. But something was different than how I had imagined it, how it had been every time before that. Was it her posture, the way she was sitting? Her elbows were resting on her knees, her head hanging low over her lap. The rocking chair was unusually still. I almost pitied her.

I shut the door behind me and just stood there for what might have been over a minute in utter silence. Neither my mother nor I said a single word. That was not unusual at all, yet something was so vastly different from any time before.

"Mother..." I forced myself to say after an eternity. My cracking voice sounded so weak and pitiful, yet it broke the silence like a thunderclap all the same.

"Morgana, I..." she started to respond, but it was like she didn't know what to say either. Her voice shocked me even more than my own had. I thought I heard sadness.

She turned around to look at me, something she usually only did when she was angry at me. Her eyes darted briefly toward the Oculus in my hand, but she seemed to pay it little mind. It was me her eyes were focused on. What I saw in her eyes mirrored what I heard in her voice. Not just sadness, but guilt! I could see the sheer remorse for what she had done. She noticed the Oculus in my hands and gazed at it for a while, but said nothing about it. Finally she spoke again.

"You know I do what I do because I love you. You may hate me for it, but everything I have done has been to help you."

Her words couldn't have belied her emotions any worse. Was it even me she was trying to lie to at this point anymore, or just herself? Suddenly, I found the words coming to me. For what may have been the first time in my life, I spoke with conviction.

"You could have killed me today, Mother." It felt so empowering to finally be able to speak plainly to her!

"I wouldn't have killed you. But that act I caught you in was an abomination. You could burn in hell for something like that! I was just so terrified for you! I had to do something, anything, to keep you from doing it again. Anything. Even if I had killed you, it wouldn't have hurt you as badly as you were hurting yourself. I can't send your immortal soul to hell for eternity. But that's what you were doing!"

"You cracked my bones! And I saw no terror in your eyes as you brutalized me. That was wrath, plain and simple. What about your own sins? What are you going to find in this 'hereafter' if you can't even admit to yours? And you did almost kill me. That swing that broke my wrist was AIMED AT MY HEAD! There's no greater sin than murder!" When I had said 'aimed at my head,' a calm rage started to come over my voice. But I didn't feel I was losing control or conviction.

"Broke your wrist? If that's true, what are you doing here? Go to the healer!"

"It's already been treated, but don't worry about that now. You... were... aiming... for... my... HEAD! Had I not thrown my wrist in the way, you would have killed me! Do you understand that?"

She was staring straight at the floor, now. Frantic thoughts seemed to be racing through her head. Suddenly her face hardened, as if she had finally wrestled reason back into the dusty old box where she keeps it locked up in the attic of her mind.

"Don't you understand that's beyond the point? Yes, I admit I may have beaten you too hard, but I'm only human. Better that than to punish you too softly and have you repeat the sins that will condemn your soul!"

It was hopeless.

"I'm going to tell Father what you did."

"Tell him! Because I'm going to tell you what I caught you doing before I chastised you! That horrible perversion, wretched in the eyes of almighty God! Which one of us do you think he's going to be able to look in the eye again? Me... Or you? Or shall we call this a done deal? Maybe we should spare him the shame of having to know what transpired in this house today: you defiling yourself with our hard-earned food in our own kitchen! You committed a grievous sin against nature, and I punished you for it. What more is there to tell?"

"I will tell father. And whatever he decides to do with you, we will do. You are a danger to me. You're a danger to both of us! I've seen you hit him, too! It might be you won't live in this house anymore."

"What? Nonsense! Banish the only brains in this household? He wouldn't ever conceive such a thing."

"Wouldn't do it? Or lacks the courage to? That's why I'm going to speak to him without you there. I'm going to tell him how you beat me with the fire poker. And then I'm going to tell him that whatever he decides is best for his family is what will happen. I'm a grown woman now, and you can't go against both of us together."

I waited for her response, but all I got was a desperate, disbelieving look. There was a touch of fear in her eyes. Anger kept trying to overcome that fear, but finally, fear seemed to be winning out.

"Listen, if I erred in how hard I should have punished you, then I am sorry. I admit it. I should have used the broomstick instead of the poker, but you HAD to be punished in order for you to change your ways! Don't you understand? Yes, I committed a sin of imperfect judgement, but that's better than..."

"Listen to me, Mother!" I interrupted, commandingly. "You... could... have... killed me! 'Bad judgement' is hardly an excuse. And I don't trust you to never do it again. If you are truly repentant, you will do whatever is best for your own family. I could report what you've done to the guards and have you thrown in the dungeon were all who attempt murder go! But I don't want to do that. I..."

I paused when I realized I was starting to cry just a little bit. My vision blurred slightly as tears built up in my eyes. I felt my lips quivering and that tightness in my throat. But I still had control of myself. When I continued speaking, it was every bit as intentional as I could have wished.

"I love you, Mother! I don't want you to go away! But I won't hesitate to do it if it comes to my own safety! And Father's, too!"

The fear in her eyes was unmistakable now. I had never seen her express any emotion except anger before. I almost felt guilty for making her afraid, but I reminded myself to stay strong.

"ENOUGH!" she screamed at me, but said nothing further.

We stared at each other awkwardly for a moment. She was still fuming, looking for words, but she couldn't seem to think of anything further to say to me. Suddenly, she turned and went into her bedroom without another word. I thought of following her to press the issue. She was already on the retreat from me, so why not corner her until I got a confession out of her? I decided against it, though. We had broken enough ground tonight already. I would let her think it over alone.

And so it was that when Father returned home later that night, smelling of ale like usual, he found not Mother sitting by the fire waiting for him, but his beloved daughter. He was a little bit tipsy, but he was a far cry from drunk, and appeared to have his wits about him. This was a blessing. If there was ever a moment in my life when I might dare suspect there was a just God, it was right then.

"Mother beat me today," I said, simply, as soon as he had bid me good evening.

"Hmm," he responded simply, as if he thought I were simply trying to make conversation with him. I suppose I can't fault him; this was far from the first time she had been handy with either of us.

"Father... she beat me badly. Very badly. I was scared. For my life." I was starting to weep now. Tears were beginning to well up in my eyes, and my voice was quivering. "She could have killed me!" I added. My lips shook as I held my breath, waiting for his response.

Father was starting to realize how serious this was. He had stopped in his tracks, jaw agape.

"What? What happened? What did she do to you?" he asked. The concern I heard in his voice was genuine. Simply hearing that started to heal my shattered heart. It gave me the courage to tell him the whole story. And yes, telling the story took more courage than anything I had ever done before. I desperately wanted not to. But I knew I had to.

I also knew I could leave nothing out. Though I was embarrassed, I admitted with some hesitation how I had shirked my chores to pleasure myself in the very room in which we now sat. I said it like I was confessing a crime, and it certainly felt that way as I said it. To my surprise, he didn't seem to care. He only laughed knowingly, as if he were just as guilty of that sin. I only neglected to tell him about the item I had used to commit the deed. He would probably find out from Mother, and I was okay with that. Somehow, and with great fortune, I was okay with that.

Then I explained how Mother had started to beat me, still naked, when she had found me. I explained how she had picked up the iron poker and bludgeoned me with it over and over again. His mouth fell open once again in horror as I told the story in complete detail. It was burned into my memory, and I had no trouble recalling every blow.

"She could have killed you!" he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of rage and horror. "Yes, she could have killed you," he repeated, as it finally dawned on him how true my words had been.

"I know, Father."

"Let me see what she did. Oh, you poor girl."

I realized perhaps I should have waited to heal my wounds. I briefly thought about recreating the wounds, but decided not to. He started to doubt my story as soon as I could not produce a mark on my body. I almost told him about my new powers, but quickly decided against that, too.

"My wounds healed remarkably fast. I had them treated, but never mind that. Go speak with Mother and ask her if she denies a single thing I have said tonight. And if she denies it, Joseph and his father, the butcher, saw my wounds when they were fresh. You can ask them."

"No, I believe you for now. I'll talk to her."

"Father?"

"Yes, dear?"

"What should we do?"

"I... I don't know yet."

"You can't let her do it again."

"How? She's so damn willful. She hasn't listened to a thing I've said in years."

"Please, Father..."

He looked at me hopelessly. Maybe I could encourage him. I had spoken to my mother from the bottom of my heart, and had accomplished things I thought were impossible. Maybe if I spoke the same way to him...