The Opal-Eyed Cleric Maiden

What hidden power does the local healer have?

  Max awoke with a start. She looked around the eclectically cobbled together little room, found herself on a simple bed and her mortal injury was nowhere to be found. She poked her stomach, expecting to feel pain, but she felt naught at all. 
  This was very confusing for Max. She’d been running for her life last she remembered, then felt that cold metal blade tear through her abdomen, rupturing organs and severing connections, both physical and ethereal. There was no way she imagined all that. She was a soldier; soldier’s aren’t known to be imaginative. 
  Max groaned stiffly, her muscles sore from the rigorous activity she’d put them through the day (or so) before. 
  “What’s the point of training if it doesn’t prepare you for running for your life?” She grumbled, throwing her legs over the side of the cot in slow-motion. It took a bit of stretching to work out the stiffness to the point that she could walk around with relative effectiveness. Max still felt like she looked like a broken marionette. 
  Hunger urged her outside and into the blinding daylight. She leaned heavily on the un-sanded doorframe, peering through near-closed eyes at her surroundings. 
  Max observed that she was in a rebel stronghold built from the remains of a centuries-old castle and whatever they could scrape together to create a visual miss-mash of clumsy but effective architectural vomit. 
  Her eyes surveyed the tightly-packed little area, at all the dirty faces crowded around doorways and booths and in streets and by stables and in the towers lining the perimeter wall. Warriors, homemakers, children, people of all ages and occupations were abound in this little space, all here of their own volition and desire. 
  And then there was Max, a warrior here not of desire, but of necessity. It was a simple, easy choice; join the rebels or join the dead. Max was in no hurry to see her relatives in Heaven, so join the rebels she did. Luckily, she made it far enough into their territory before incurring her injury. Otherwise, she might have been explaining herself to her Creator right then. 
  “Oh, hey!” Someone exclaimed, the sound startling the wary soldier. She turned to see a young man bounding excitedly up to her. “Look at you! Like you never got stabbed at all!” He smiled brightly; several other faces turned toward Max, filing up to join the youth. 
  “Oh, yes, she looks wonderful!”
  “Oni did it again.”
  “She’s getting better, don’t you think?”
  “Oh, yes! A few months ago and this poor girl never would’ve made it through.”
  “So good to see her improving.”
  “Indeed.”
  Max’s head swam as she tried to follow the conversations surrounding her, flowing over and around like hasty quicksilver. 
  “I’m sorry,” Max said, holding up her hands to halt the speaking strangers. “Can someone tell me what happened? I don’t seem to remember.”
  This was met by a chorus of empathetic cooing and quiet (mostly sympathetic) comments. 
  “Oh, you poor dear!” Someone proclaimed from the back. “Joshua, why don’t you tell her what happened?”
  “What? Why me?” Presumably-Joshua asked. He waved off the chirping encouragements with mild irritation and embarrassment, turning instead to face Max. It was the young man who had first spoken and drawn the crowd. 
  “Do tell, Joshua,” she beckoned. 
  “You came into our territory yesterday,” Joshua informed her. “Our outer guards saw the nemesis attack you and they went on the offensive. Me and my brother Jude were sent to retrieve Oni and bring her to the outskirts. She fixed you up right then and there and we all brought you back into the stronghold here. And, uh, that’s it. That’s the story.”
  “Who’s Oni?” Max inquired. The crowd suddenly fell silent, a reverent energy pervaded the hearts of the people gathered, intoxicating them with it’s holiness. They all smiled. 
  “Oni is our Cleric Maiden,” the boy named Joshua explained, also smiling. These warm, peaceful, contented smiles unnerved Max somewhat. The words Joshua had uttered also upset her. 
  “You have a Cleric Maiden?” She inquired, her voice easily betraying her disbelief. “My whole legion couldn’t get a Cleric Maiden!”
  “How about I take you to Oni,” Joshua offered. “She will explain everything.”
  Max, though nervous, was also curious and elated. It was a failing of hers; curiosity. 
  The crowd moved her, a chunk of driftwood on a meandering but persistent river, flowing and moving steadily through the streets of the stronghold, collecting more droplets as it followed a well-worn course. Max let them take her, their voices gently reaffirming each other’s statements, each one speaking of the miracles and mercy of their beloved, holy, blessed Maiden. Max listened, soaking up their stories while trying to remain objective and unbiased. 
  Finally, the end appeared. Where Max had assumed there would be a gold-adorned throne perched atop a large pedestal in the center of the stronghold; there was, instead, a meager collection of benches and stools upon which various people sat, displaying a wide variety of ailments. The first to catch Max’s eye was a man who appeared to be suffering from an acute case of leprosy. Her heart twinged with sympathy while her body instinctively jerked back. 
  “Don’t worry about Old Tom, there,” someone said, as if reading her very mind. 
  “How’d he get so bad?” Max found herself asking. She tried not to stare, to look at the others on the benches and stools awaiting their turn to be cured. There was a young child with a cloth over his eyes, a woman with a broken arm, a soldier with the twitches, two little boys that looked sick to their stomachs, a man with burns on his hands…
  “Old Tom lived up in the mountains. He’s been a leper his whole life. When he heard about Oni, he came down, found us. He hasn’t worked up the courage to actually stay and see her yet. Runs off when she comes out of the castle there.” The speaker pointed at a distant door. 
  “Why’s he scared?” Max wondered aloud, knowing that the answers she’d get were pure speculation. 
  “He don’t know no other way to be,” some one new replied, the voice gruff, the owner unseen. People in the crowd nodded solemnly. 
  Max stared at the man called Old Tom. His body was wrought with disease, his one eye was dead and pale as that of a boiled fish. His hands were gnarled and root-like, his skin was dark and covered in horrifying growths, fungal and bulbous. Despite the many terrible things Max had seen in war, the sight of Old Tom was heavily disturbing. 
  “Look!” someone shouted, pointing at a door in the castle ruins. The door in question was opening on silent hinges and Max felt the crowd tense and the air grow dense with anticipation. 
  Max stood on her toes, peering out past shoulders and heads to see what everyone was looking at. 
  Max’s breath caught in her throat as the Cleric Maiden appeared in the doorway. She was so beautiful! Tall and graceful, she wore a pure white robe that sparkled and glowed in the sunlight. Her black hair was worn up, decorated and bejeweled with fanciful pins and clips in an extravagant arrangement. On either side of the Maiden walked darkly-clad giants, their size alone a menacing weapon to keep onlookers at bay. The Cleric Maiden approached the people sitting on the benches and stools, her face was calm and serene, benevolent. Old Tom was fidgeting in his seat, clenching and unclenching his disfigured hands. 
  Oni stopped in the center of the circle. Max noted the vast number of people were entirely silent, respectful, with only one or two out of every dozen making little, subtle noises of joy. It was a forest of warm bodies. 
  Max watched as the Cleric Maiden’s almond-shaped eyes surveyed her patients and the crowd gathered. When her eyes met Max’s, they gleamed and glistened in a way that was entrancing. Opal. Her eyes were opals! Swirling blues and greens and cosmic depths lived inside her head. 
   Old Tom jumped up, trembling. Oni’s opal eyes turned on him, seemingly latching onto his miserable soul, holding him there under a magic vice grip only Old Tom could feel. He froze, staring back at her. The crowd held their collective breath. Finally! Finally, Old Tom would be cured, he would be saved from the suffering that life had inflicted upon him.
  Oni the Cleric Maiden walked over to him, her strides long and smooth, elegant but natural. Max watched, her own breathing had stopped as she prepared herself to witness a miracle. Oni laid a hand on Old Tom’s shoulder. The man visibly winced at her touch. 
  What happened next, Max found nearly impossible to describe in total accuracy. Tom gasped, falling to his knees and hugging himself as he doubled over in apparent pain. The crowd shifted uneasily as the man let out a horrifying scream; Oni dropped to one knee herself to keep her hands on the violently shaking man’s shoulders. Max smelled something like burning hair fill her nose as the Cleric Maiden worked her magic. As Tom shook, it appeared that his skin cracked and split, sloughing off in large, hard chunks; his raggedy clothing smoked and smoldered under the heat of the healing, themselves being burned away as the treatment progressed, freeing previously trapped dead skin slabs to fall from his body. Tom screamed again as his metamorphosis finalized, his dead eye poured from the socket like so much runny egg yolk, replaced by a strong, new organ as yet unseeing the light of reality. 
  Oni gently put her arms around the unrecognizable man, whispering something in his freshly reborn ear. When she pulled away, standing, the crowd gasped in unison. Old Tom was indeed healed, but more than that. He had been totally renewed! What had once been a crippled, decrepit old wretch was now a prime-aged, healthy, smooth-skinned man! Old Tom stood on shaky legs, his newly hatched body was weak and unsteady. With a motion, Oni sent one of her giants to assist Tom, draping a cloak around his shoulders. He was led off into the stronghold, the crowd parting respectfully, quietly, to let him pass. 
  A silent sigh permeated the assembled fellows, a sound made by one who has just completed an arduous task. Max felt almost sick. The chunks of what had been Old Tom were still laying on the ground at the foot of the bench. The smell of healing, the hot residue… Max just felt so detached from what she had known as reality before. Seeing Old Tom become a whole new man was unnerving, like seeing an opera singer before the performance and then during the performance, with the makeup and the costumes transforming them into a different person. Max watched with unseeing eyes as the Cleric Maiden went around the circle, helping each individual patient that had come to see her. Their treatments weren’t nearly as traumatizing as that of the terribly afflicted Old Tom, with the exception of the little blind boy. His eyes poured from the sockets as well, replaced with tender new orbs that needed special care for a few days. The others were much quicker, the heat and scent of healing was less intense, the procedure much quicker. 
  The whole thing was over in a matter of about 20 minutes. People dispersed, going back to their business and lives and tasks and duties while Joshua guided the still-curious Max up to the resting Oni. She was sitting on a bench, her back straight and her eyes closed, hands folded in her lap. The second giant had returned by now and they stood as silent sentinels at her sides. 
  “Oni?” Joshua inquired gently. “May we approach?”
  “You may.” Oni inhaled deeply before opening her eyes, the color and splendor had dulled therein. Max stepped forward. Oni smiled at her. “Oh, hello. I remember you.” Oni stood, clasping her hands together in front of her chest before bowing to Max. 
  Max bowed back hastily, uncertain what to do. 
  Oni straightened and dropped her hands back to her sides, disappearing within the long robe’s sleeves. 
  “It’s nice to meet you.” 
  “Nice to meet you, too,” Max replied awkwardly. The holy splendor of the Cleric Maiden made her feel very small and worthless. 
  “You needn’t be nervous,” Oni assured her. “I’m not as godlike as these people make me out to be.”
  “What?”
  “I’m still human. My name is Oni, what’s yours?”
  “Wha�" um, I’m Maxine, but everybody calls me Max.”
  “Good to make your acquaintance, Max.” Oni gestured for the soldier to follow her. “Thank you, Joshua. Tell Jude I said ‘Hello’.”
  “Thank you, Maiden!” Joshua chirped happily, waving as he ran off. “See ya, Max!” Max waved instinctively before she really knew what she was doing. The tall Cleric Maiden smiled as she, Max, and her bodyguards began walking towards the entrance to the castle. 
  “It’s good to see you moving, Max. It was a rather nasty wound you had.”
  “Yeah, I can barely remember where it was. You did a good job.”
  “Thanks, I’ve had lots of practice.” Oni led Max up a very old staircase to an open walkway linking two stone towers together. She pointed out at the horizon. “I washed up over there. I was on my way to serve at the behest of the king of Dust Closer when my ship was hijacked by pirates. I jumped overboard rather than be a toy for criminal filth. I most certainly would've died a very sad and pointless death had these people not found me. Their doctor was dead so a nursemaid was left in charge of me. She recognized my, at the time, limited gifts of Maidenhood and told the others. They worship me, Max. It’s dreadfully humbling to be a faulty god. When I first started to try and apply my gifts to the needy folks here, I was terrible. Could barely fix a splinter. I felt so unworthy of their love, their adoration. But they didn’t give up on me, Max. They were so patient and kind and understanding. I owe them my life a hundred times over. Which is why I have dedicated my powers to their cause.”
  Oni paused a moment.
  “I’ve learned many things about myself while I’ve been here, Max. Things that may frighten the people of the world. Forbidden magic, I fear, has come into my possession. I intend to use it against the nemesis, to save these people. You had best be certain of your loyalties before then, because I will not spare you should you endanger my people.”
  “I owe these people my life, too, Lady Maiden,” Max said, swallowing dryly. Something about the opal eyes and the frosted voice of this woman gave her momentary pause. “I cannot go back to my legion regardless.”
  “Will you swear your allegiance to us?”
  “…Yes. I will. I do.”
  “Excellent. The nemesis will attack at the end of this week. We read the documents you were carrying. We are ready to defend ourselves, Max. Are you prepared to join us?”
  “Yes, I’ll fight. I’m a soldier, I’m good at that.”
  Oni smirked.
  “Indeed you are, Max. Indeed you are.”

  The night of the attack came swiftly upon them. In the intervening days, almost one hundred new rebels joined at the healing touch of the Cleric Maiden. She was immensely persuasive and charismatic and people were quick to pledge their allegiances in return for a favor, though Oni never demanded their loyalty for her services. She merely asked them to think about it. Old Tom had joined the ranks, his body was still too frail to do much but he could talk, speak of the wonders and miracles of the Cleric Maiden, of her love and benevolence, her generosity. Tom was quite the spokesperson. 
  Max had grown to like the people of the stronghold; they were generous and caring and united despite their differences. The one thing that gave her pause, that upset the little fire in the back of her mind, was Oni. Max had glimpsed something frightening in Oni, something dark, deeply rooted and angry. Max worried that the Cleric Maiden might be festering low in the soul, nurturing an old wound into a cancerous sore. 
  She didn’t dare mention her fears to anyone. To question a god is to invite death at the hands of that god’s worshipers. 
  Max remained friendly and cordial with Oni and her giants. Despite that nagging inclination against her, Oni’s charm began to wear down Max’s walls of suspicion. It was difficult to distrust someone who saved your life, after all. 
  The whole stronghold was ready now, archers perched atop crumbling towers and along the wall walks and refurbished machicolations; farmers, merchants, warriors alike were armed with whatever was available, from swords to pitchforks to heavy pans. The children and homemakers were on alert with supplies, medicines and bandages and fresh arrows for the archers. Everyone was ready for one serious fight. Thanks to Max, they had an idea of the size of the army they were against and the weaponry and battlements they might likely use. 
  Oni waited above the main gate, standing bright and luminous as the North Star. She wore a simple white gown, designed to cling at strategic positions and allow maximum movement of the wearer. A utilitarian garment. Her giants stood beside her, bearing huge red shields that easily shrouded any man that stood behind them. 
  Max stood beside the giants, at Oni’s behest. She wanted Max to call out to the army, request their surrender in a voice and tongue they’d recognize. She did just that when the sound of war drums shook the wooden trestles and platforms beneath their feet and the smell of a thousand torches burning reached their noses. Tiny dots of light appeared at the top of the hill, still within the recesses of the forest. Max requested their surrender once, twice, thrice before the nemesis moved again, the many feet pounding in rhythm to the drums. 
  As they got closer, the residents of the stronghold grew wary; the force they saw approaching was massive and glimmering in metal armor. They were outmatched, dreadfully so. 
  Oni lifted her arms, her black hair flowed down her back loose and mysterious. She spoke, her voice loud and commanding.
  “Legion of the nemesis!” she proclaimed, her presence and tone halted the oncoming army. “You will not prevail! Turn back now, or face the dark, forgotten powers of a Cleric Maiden.”
  The army had a myriad of reactions; some chuckled, some shifted nervously, a few took a hesitant step backwards, but none ran. Max felt a little disappointed in her former brothers and sisters. She glanced at Oni’s face, the Maiden’s eyes were dark and cloudy, gleaming with a hateful light.
  “Very well!” she declared. Her arms still outstretched, she splayed her fingers wide, pointing at every end of the legion below. She inhaled deeply and Max smelled something… acidic, toxic, almost like pure alcohol. A sharp, stinging smell that triggered her gag reflex. 
  Then came the cold. A rolling chill, pouring in concentrated waves from Oni’s body, it was the kind of cold that made one’s bones hurt. The cold was poisonous, deadly, murderous and unstoppable. Max shivered, as did all others within her visual range, and beyond; the chill crawled and snuck into the body, past the clothing and the heat of the torches. Unnatural was this cold, forbidden and best forgotten. The army below shuddered, quaked; the terrible cold washed over them in hard, angry waves, pummeling them with greater force than any natural winter’s wrath. 
  Max watched as the soldiers below began falling to their knees, shivering and clutching themselves as the menacing force assailed their bodies, worked it’s way beneath their skin, ate at their bones and froze their marrow. 
  Then the shrieking started. In the darkness, one could see the people on the ground, curling up like dead spiders as the malicious power of Oni’s will went about it’s task. They were dying, but it wasn’t as simple as just death. Max could feel it, somehow… The cold, it carried all the pain of before; the diseases, the malformations, the defects, the scars, the wounds, the infections and the curses and hexes and viruses that had afflicted the poor souls this opal-eyed Cleric Maiden had healed in blessed heat. She had absorbed these things, kept them in her heart, her mind, hidden away in her atoms and now this knowledge was spewed forth, this collection of maladies and misfortunes was being deposited in bulk onto the shoulders of the nemesis. 
  In calm horror, the rebels watched as the army sprouted buboes and sores; their skin cracked and bled, pus and other unnamable liquids oozed from sourceless wounds as the afflicted screamed in agony and begged for death. Diseases and conditions that normally took days, months, years to end transpired in minutes, ravaging those human bodies with terrifying swiftness, leaving undead husks of bone and rotted meat on the field. 
  The screaming was cacophonous. The sound filled the ears and minds of all those who heard it. Never again would they wish to hear such a sound, never smell the cold death fumes of still-living bodies as they putrified and decayed a few meters away. 
  Max turned to look at Oni. She wore a face of great serenity with a dash of pleasure, as if she was finally free of some secret burden. Max felt her stomach turn in knots as the screaming continued. She grimaced in fear, realizing the truly devastating power of a healer gone mad; the unspoken power of a Cleric Maiden. 
  Madness and enlightenment go hand in hand, she mused. How odd. But which was the woman standing beside her? 
  The screaming continued.

END