The Healer, page 26
“You mean I can’t simply stop by for a quick hello?” he said, forcing a grin.
The tears fell. “No, my son.”
“Why?”
“Twice I’ve been graced by a Vovnik healer, yes? It is prideful of me to desire the gift a third time . . . and it would be wrong for you to offer.”
Duly chastened but accepting the admonition, Chris felt as if his heart would rip in two. Swallowing hard, he whispered, “Good-bye then, Father.”
Llewellyn nodded, unable to voice his last farewell.
As they drove away, Chris glanced back at the Church of St. Nicholas and the small cottage beside it. Father Llewellyn stood in the rectory doorway, solemnly making the sign of the cross while weeping like a child.
Michael drove Chris straight to Cardiff International Airport. It was the third time Chris made the trip from Trellech to the Welsh Capital, but it was not any easier. He wrestled tear-filled eyes and a lump in his throat the entire way. Michael softly hummed church hymns, as if trying to soothe Chris’s raw emotions. The man was completely tone deaf, but Chris appreciated the effort. He held the Dial in his hands and let his mind fill with fond memories rather than future ambiguities. It was his only comfort.
* * *
Chris packed Nick’s walking staff in a box with bubble wrap he bought at a FedEx kiosk in the airport, and he checked the package in with his luggage. He paid for it with money still in his wallet. Curiously, he didn’t remember having so much in there. The Dial rested in his pocket. He continued to wonder when and how he’d be prompted to use it. He hoped it’d be obvious. Subtle hints were never his forte; a brick to the side of the head was more to his liking. Nick had said something about a still, small voice. The adage was in the Old Testament somewhere. The voice of the Lord isn’t always in a rushing wind, a trembling earthquake, or a billowing fire. Quite often it’s merely a still, small voice.
Would he be in tune enough to hear it?
Michael walked him to the airline counter and showed the attendant a reservation slip. The woman processed the boarding pass without pause, verifying the name on it with Chris’s passport. No problem.
After they stepped away from the counter, Michael offered Chris a crushing handshake, turned, and left him standing alone in the terminal.
“Good-bye,” Chris said to the quiet man’s back.
Chris quickly located his gate and sought out a vending machine. One of the selections was Day’s Pale Dry Ginger Ale. He chuckled to himself, thinking back to the owners of the Black Boar pub. If they only knew what the Dial—a rune stone and a talisman, they’d called it—actually did.
Waiting for his flight to board, Chris felt his phone buzz. The ID read HMP Cardiff.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Pendragon? This is Warden Flanders speaking. Have I caught you at a bad time?”
“No, sir. What can I do for you?”
“There’s something I just can’t stop wondering about. Your eye, sir. How is it? The left one that was so inflamed last night.”
Chris’s brows pulled together. “Fine, thank you. Why do you ask?”
“Because so is Ezekiel Athens’s eye—the one that’s been useless for twenty-five years now. There’s no longer any scarring or discoloration, and his vision is 20-20. Curious that, isn’t it?” His tone was frank and only mildly accusatory.
Chris knew he’d been discovered, but he didn’t feel threatened by it. Flanders seemed more inquisitive than judgmental, and Chris was pretty certain he only wanted clarification. “Yes, that is curious. But it’s great news too, don’t you think?”
“Oh, it’s downright miraculous news, if you take my meaning. Care to enlighten me on what really happened in that cell?”
Chris hesitated, unsure of what—if anything—to say. There was no question the warden suspected he had somehow healed E.Z.’s bad eye. Still, Chris couldn’t just brazenly admit to that. Part of his charge as a Vovnik was to remain anonymous. “I’m not sure what you—”
“I saw you put your hand on Mr. Athens’s head that night. Then I saw you whisper something to him. Why did you do that, Mr. Pendragon?”
Chris shied from the answer. Why did he do it? The old man hadn’t asked to be healed. He accepted his injury as punishment for his wrong deed. And yet Chris had felt justified—even prompted—to heal him because he had shown true, humble, sincere repentance. Perhaps it was merely a way of showing compassion.
“I just said good-bye.”
“No, I can’t accept that. You did more than say good-bye, sir. Was it some kind of witchcraft—some black magic of some sort?”
Chris took a deep breath. “Okay, look. You believe in spiritual gifts, don’t you, Mr. Flanders? You quoted scripture to me, and your wall plaque indicates you’re a spiritual man.”
There was pensive hesitation on the other end of the line. Then, “Yes, I believe in gifts of the Spirit.”
“So do you really think it was witchcraft that healed Ezekiel Athens?”
A longer, deeper silence prevailed this time. Chris waited patiently until he heard his flight number announced over the loudspeakers. “I’m sorry, Mr. Flanders, but my flight’s just been called. Thank you for updating me on E.Z.’s condition. I’m very happy for him. You have a nice day, sir.”
“Wait! Please. Who—who are you?” the warden nearly begged.
“I’m just a man, Mr. Flanders. A man with a gift he suddenly found himself burdened with, a gift that even he can’t explain. I hope to be able to someday, but until that time, I wish to remain anonymous, if it’s all the same to you.”
Chris heard the warden draw a stuttering breath and let it out slowly. “I understand,” he said. “Thank you, Christian. Thank you for strengthening my faith in mankind. That’s not easy to do, considering the people I deal with daily.”
“It’s been my pleasure.”
He ended the call with an unexpected realization: It had been his pleasure to heal Ezekiel. A real joy, in fact. Like a second epiphany, the insight lifted him from his chair with surprising exuberance. His melancholy and self-doubt seemed to vanish like a puff of murky smoke. This calling, this destiny of his wasn’t the burden he’d previously thought it was. His gift could not only help others, it could actually bring him true happiness too.
He started laughing giddily. Waiting passengers cast concerned and amused glances his way—which made him laugh even more. He was making a spectacle of himself, but he didn’t care. Suddenly, all was right in his life.
Chapter 56
Chris’s flight across the Atlantic was fraught with a bizarre mix of wistfulness and happiness. He was happy about the epiphany he’d received. His confidence was high; it buoyed him up tremendously. But he was reticent to be leaving a country he truly loved. He regretted not being able to spend more time exploring castles, researching legends, and unearthing genealogy. But those were desires from a former life, a life that now seemed decades old, a life he could never go back to.
As he waited for his connecting flight at LaGuardia, Chris casually watched the throngs of passengers coming and going. How many had sicknesses he could heal? How many were worthy of healing? Should he heal those people who suffered from self-inflicted ailments, such as lung cancer from smoking, drug addiction from illegal consumption or prescription abuse, or a sexually transmitted disease from a rash act driven by desire? Did they deserve the gift? It seemed more of a judgment call, but then thoughts of Ezekiel Athens filled his mind. The man deserved what he got; however, his case was unique because he was truly penitent. He recognized his sin and was willing to pay the full price for it.
In the end, Chris didn’t feel prompted to heal anyone in the airport. He heard no still, small voice. Perhaps he was too tired. Although his body felt strong and ready to climb mountains, emotionally he was shattered. Secretly, he hoped he wouldn’t be called on to heal anyone until after he got home and had a chance to rest and reflect, to plan and prepare.
He scoffed noisily. Plan for what? Prepare for when? In certain ways, his life was now as fanciful as the legends and myths he had studied. Legends were generally embellishments or misinterpretations of actual events. And yet there was no misinterpreting what Chris had experienced. He had a shard from the Dial of Ahaz. He knew what it was and what it did. He still wasn’t sure how it worked, but that no longer seemed to matter. He had been adopted into the family of Myddfai. He could heal, just as many of the Righteous Thirty-Six before him. The question that continually plagued him was, Why him? Maybe someday that would become clear too. Maybe.
After Chris had his boarding pass scanned, he entered the plane. Finding his seat in coach, he settled in next to the window. As a number of passengers jostled by, a young boy stood staring at him from the aisle. The kid looked to be about eight or nine—the same age as Nigel—but with brown eyes and closely-shorn hair. He wore a light-blue T-shirt with a big pink boxing glove pictured on it. A caption read: I’m going to beat it!
“Hi,” the boy said with a disarming smile.
“Hey,” Chris responded.
“That’s my seat,” he said, pointing to the center chair in the row of three.
Only then did Chris realize his satchel was still sitting there. “Oops, sorry,” he said, quickly removing it and storing it under the seat in front of him.
As the boy took his seat, a woman—undoubtedly the boy’s mother—sat in the aisle seat next to him. She looked to be in her late thirties, attractive, but with dark circles poorly hidden under makeup around her eyes.
“My name is Kaylee,” the child said. “What’s yours?”
Wait, Chris thought. She’s not a boy? Only then did he notice tiny, flower-capped posts in each ear. The mom seemed fairly traditional—loosely styled hair, conservative clothes. He wondered why she would allow her daughter to buzz her hair. And then it came to him. His heart immediately went out to her.
“My name’s Chris. I’m very pleased to meet you.”
“This is my mom,” the girl said cheerily. “Her name is Kristen.”
Chris gave a friendly half-wave. “Hi.”
Kristen smiled and said hi. She had a lovely smile pinched by fatigue. Kaylee’s smile was impish and full of life, but it too held traces of an inner conflict.
The backstory was clear. They were traveling to or from some cancer treatment center. Chris recognized the small bump beneath the neck of Kaylee’s tee as a medication port.
As the plane sealed up and prepared for departure, fresh pangs of remorse assaulted Chris. He’d been unable to save Kathryn’s mother from cancer. The little girl beside him would be a constant reminder of that failure the entire flight.
When they were at cruising altitude and allowed to unfasten their seat belts, Kaylee leaned over the armrest to see out the window. Chris smiled and shifted to allow her a better view. Poor girl—
It hit him suddenly—a surge of compassion that nearly took his breath away. Its intensity and clarity were overwhelming. He knew what he must do, but the bitter memory of Lona Ingledew caused doubt to encircle his heart. He knew he should do it, but could he?
Nobly thru white fog hath I led. It was a test of faith. It would always be a test of faith. Father Llewellyn had said faith was like a muscle; it needed exercise to be strong. So be it, Chris thought, again feeling a surge of affirmation.
“Excuse me, Kristen?” he said, adopting his best smile. “Would you mind if I switched seats with Kaylee during the flight so she can see out the window?”
The mother seemed surprised that he would offer such a consideration.
“Oh yes, Mom, please oh please oh please?”
“Okay, okay,” she chuckled. “That’s very kind of you, Chris. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” he said.
They all stood and moved into the aisle then reentered with Kaylee at the window and Chris in the middle. After buckling in again, Kristen said, “Thank you. That’s very generous.”
He waved it away. “My pleasure. I remember being a kid. The window seat is a make-or-break deal.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t I know it. I have to book these flights on a last-minute basis, and window seats are usually the first ones to go.”
“Last minute?” he asked with a tilt of his head. He was trying to assess the extent of Kaylee’s cancer without asking directly.
“Bone marrow transplant,” Kristen said softly, nodding toward her daughter. “We’re fighting leukemia. Matching bone marrows is not as easy as matching blood types. When a compatible one shows up, they call us for immediate transfusion. It hasn’t worked yet, but we keep going back. This was number four.”
Her eyes moistened as she spoke. Chris could tell it wasn’t easy for her to remain stoic. The woman was at her breaking point, which meant Kaylee’s prognosis wasn’t good. His heart filled with compassion for both of them.
“So . . . to or from this time?”
“From. Back to Salt Lake from Johns Hopkins.”
“Well, she’s a brave girl, a fighter.”
“Thank you, Chris. You’re very kind. But she’s a tornado. I can’t keep up with her. She’s not afraid to try anything. Says she wants to be a doctor.” Her forced cheerfulness didn’t fully cover her grief. She looked away and quickly wiped at her eyes. “Do you have children?”
“Oh no,” he chuckled. “Haven’t found a woman crazy enough to marry me yet.”
She smiled appropriately. “Well, it won’t be long, I’m sure. You’re attractive and very kind. What do you do for a living?”
“I, um . . . I teach history at Gonzaga University. That’s what repels women. I’m clinically boring.”
She tipped her head back and laughed. “And you have a great sense of humor.”
“Thanks. Hey listen, I know this is very sensitive and personal, but mind if I ask about the therapy? I come from a medical family.”
“With AML? It’s pretty brutal. We’ve done several rounds of chemo and radiation, and three previous rounds of bone marrow infusion. I—” Her voice caught. She turned away again.
“It’s okay,” Chris said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No. I’m sorry,” she said, touching his wrist. “I should be used to this by now.”
“Hard thing to get used to. Was this your first trip to Johns Hopkins?”
“Yes. The first bone marrow was done at the Huntsman Center in Salt Lake, one at Seattle Children’s Hospital, and one at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester.”
“Well,” he said, stretching his arms forward with a groan. “I’ve heard they’re very good at Johns Hopkins. I bet it’ll take this time. You should rest. I’ll let you know if Kaylee wants to try skydiving or asks to fly the plane.”
She chuckled again and tipped her seat back. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
Within minutes, Chris could hear the deep breathing signifying sleep from Kristen. Kaylee was still glued to the window. The sky was clear and offered a gorgeous view of the Great Lakes.
“Hey, Kaylee. Do you know what lake that is?”
“Um, Michigan?”
“Yes, good job,” he praised. “So what’s that big city along the shore?”
“Um . . . I don’t know.”
“Do you think it could be Chicago?”
“Yeah, probably.”
Chris shifted so he could point at landmarks out the window—and put his hand across the nape of her neck. “You know the tallest building in America is in Chicago?”
“Cooool,” she said.
“Tell me if you can see it when we pass over.”
He closed his eyes and cleared his mind of all things except this innocent little girl with terminal cancer. His empathy swelled for her. She had so much to get out of life and so much to give. Holding the Dial in his other hand, he concentrated on leukemia—all he knew about it anyway, which sadly wasn’t much. It affected the white blood cells; something about the bone marrow producing too many immature cells that destroy the mature ones. He imagined Kaylee’s bone marrow developing properly and functioning exactly the way it was supposed to. He pictured her immune system strengthening, her muscles regaining tonicity, her ultra-short, auburn hair becoming as full as her mother’s. Then he silently repeated the words: Through faith thy will be done.
The hand on her neck began to tingle. Then a sudden, intense wash of pain coursed through him. His joints ached and burned. His muscles twinged and seized. Unbelievable weakness inundated his body, making him glad he was sitting. He fought a welling urge to throw up, but he kept on imagining Kaylee in full health, silently repeating, Please God, heal this child. Through faith thy will be done. Then, finally, the pain began to subside.
He sat back and reclined his seat. After catching his breath, he said, “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna follow your mom’s example and take a nap, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, still gazing out the window.
“How do you feel?” he asked hesitantly.
“Fine.”
A typical nine-year-old response. But Chris didn’t need any more confirmation than that. Kaylee was fine. He knew it. She’d remain “fine” and cancer-free the rest of her life. And that thought made him smile.
Chapter 57
Kaylee and Chris switched seats again when the captain flashed the fasten-your-seat-belt sign. Kristen asked her daughter all kinds of questions about what she’d seen, and Kaylee was only too happy to supply the answers.
“Chris said we flew past the tallest building in America,” she chimed. “But we must have flown over it, because I didn’t see it at all.”
“Well, it’s not that tall,” her mother laughed. She then smiled at Chris and mouthed thank you.
He grinned and nodded. You have no idea.
Chris felt immense satisfaction, knowing what he’d done. Remarkably, the last thing he wanted was to gloat or seek glory. His was a gift to be shared, not hoarded or used for personal gain. Plus, he really hadn’t done anything; a higher power had healed the young girl. He was merely a means to an end. And he was perfectly fine with that.
