The Blue Pearl

Bedona thought Tristan was dead when Moswen first fished him out of the river. With icy blue skin and unmoving that he was.

Moswen set him softly on the dry sand by Bedona. His dirty wet clothes from previous day were washed of blood. But other than a small bruise on his forehead and the cut to his right, there didn't seem to be any other injuries.

Moswen tore off his shirt to reveal his bony torso. The blue veins spread across his now exposed c.h.e.s.t like a net under his pale skin. And despite the utter appearance of a bloodless cadaver, the slow rise and fall of his c.h.e.s.t proved that he was indeed alive. His wound right below his ribs was also bleeding, if slightly. Judging by the looks of it, Bedona suspected that the cut was done by a sword. And she had a very good guess of who it was.

Why would Ava do this? Why would she try to kill Tristan after everything or even fail at it?

The many questions scampered all over in her mind. They bounced off the walls of her thoughts and created a chaotic mass of clouds in her head. But the answers were not inside her but Tristan's. So she focused and tried to put them aside and just look at what was in front of her.

Tristan may be alive for now but he was still very close to death's door. Blood loss the deep wound and divine knew how long he was in the water. But she had a feeling that Moswen would not let anything happen to Tristan. She was certain that there was something between Moswen and Tristan.

The urgency and panic she saw in Moswen's eyes was not just from the good of his heart. There was a history between the two, a relationship that Moswen was somewhat trying to hide. His previous questions… now that she thought about it, were of someone who was quite familiar with the place. The man who had said had spent the last few years under a rock. And had to be true too to not know about Pearl or Sharak. It was not arrogance to think that everyone would know of her guild. Even when not being part of the guild anymore, she knew that the only way one would not hear of Pearl or Sharak was that they were too far away from civilization.

Moswen rubbed his hands and put his massive palm on the boy's c.h.e.s.t and then forehead. He was slow and methodical, a healer's touch Bedona was mildly familiar with. Despite the urgency in his eyes, his movements were patient and steady and it spoke of years of experience. He had enough confidence that the boy would be safe under his care. It was her chance, the chance to watch a master healer at work.

Moswen sat crossed legged by Tristan's side. Bedona too shifted and was sitting in a mirrored position on the other side of him. Moswen looked at her but didn't say anything. Bedona, just content on watching for now also waited silently.

The two just sat with Tristan's prone form laying in between them. Bedona was wondering if Moswen was going to do anything when the giant lifted his hand. His massive palm facing toward him, she almost wondered if it was a signal for her. But the golden markings appearing in front of it in the air suggested otherwise. She felt magic, but it was different than what she was used to know. Like a foreign language she was used to hearing but didn't know what they meant. It had never happened to her before. Magic no matter how grand or strange, always seemed like they spoke the same basic language. With different accent and tone but the fundamentals were always the same. But this was not like them.

She watched fascinated as a circle of marks were formed. They too were familiar but nothing she readily recognized or looked like similar to something she knew. A thin ring of flat gold was formed encircled by the marks and then more markings appeared in a circular space inside it. Same unfamiliar markings. The process repeated two more times, with four rings or markings and three of gold. Moswen's hand twitched slightly to his right and the rings started turning in alternative direction.

They sounded like tiny wind chimes that tickled her ears. Pleasant but sharp. Small but powerful. Moswen removed his hand and rested it on his knees and stared on the rotating rings. Bedona too did the same, hoping to see if something came out of it. And something did. As the time passed, the rings started rotating independently, changing direction and pace as they pleased. Moswen's frowned with gradually deepened as he read the motions of the floating rings.

Then after a long moment of her watching the ring dumbly, they finally faded. She looked up at Moswen who didn't look satisfied, and even somewhat angry. It was difficult to tell with his face hidden by the shaggy hair and his extreme features.

Meanwhile color was returning to Tristan. She hadn't even felt Moswen do anything directly on Tristan. And yet, the boy was undoubtedly recovering. There was no preparation, no active spell casting, no oiling or using potion so that the Tristan wouldn't get poisoned by magic. All the healing she had seen so far were complicated affairs. Requiring a great deal of care and intricate spell casting along with other physical preparations if the case was risky.

Magic was an unnatural form of healing. An outside force that hastened what the body would already do if given proper care and time. And pushing it too far often led to magic poisoning, which was often dangerous if not fatal. A secret from general people but a well-known saying among the learned went that 'amateur healers killed more critically wounded patients than the injury themselves'. It was just the patients would be already in too much damage that the true cause was never proven. A true and experienced healer who knew his work didn't take chances. They didn't start with their spells. They would use the potions, oils, and herbs to stabilize. So that if anything at least they wouldn't make the situation worse. Only when everything was set up properly and they knew exactly what was going on and what needed to be done, did they finally use their 'Magic'.

An arm was made for Bedona under a couple of hours. Such an operation should have taken days if not weeks. Despite not being her field she knew enough about it to be sure. Re-growing a whole arm out of nothing, out in nowhere, sitting under the n.a.k.e.d sun and surrounded by nothing but sand and water, Moswen had already did something that would be otherwise impossible. A different brand of magic than what she was used to. Not a different school but a whole different kind, like discovering new species.

And they didn't have to wait long. Tristan's eyes fluttered soon after he was healed. Seeing that Moswen twitched but otherwise managed to stay still.

Eyes dull and pupils diluted, Tristan looked to be in daze as he looked his left and right without moving his head. They went over Bedona, not even registering her presence and then stopped on Moswen. Moswen leaned slightly forward and looked directly into them but remained silent. Tristan's face was twitching, his cheek muscles and lips, individually, no relation to each other they worked in a disconcerting spasm. They were creasing over his face as the muscles contorted, part by part in a very unnatural and macabre way. So much so that it took a long Moment for Bedona to realize they were forming smile. A wide and creepy one. She looked at Moswen to see if he was equally disturbed but the man only looked fascinated like seeing an interesting pattern on a rock.

Tristan's eyes closed as soon as the face was done and then he giggled. A short and feminine a laugh that she knew was not Tristan's voice.

"Moseiweinnnnn…!" He cried delighted and shrill and out of nowhere, in a small explosion of sand Moswen's massive hand was on Tristan's tiny neck, ready to crush it like a cracker under his palm.