Cousin of the Sea
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Eryk left the Infirmary, full of screams and blood, nearly blind with rage. The hyperactive human
fledgling, Eketh, had just run in to inform him that the Cleric would not come. Cadric Cleric looked
devastated at the news, Navyn merely disappointed, but their frustration only added to Eryk’s fury.
The Cleric would come. He would see to it.
He was sick of it. Sick of the Cleric’s need to hide away from every one, to leave others to suffer
because he was too selfish in his use of the talents the gods had given him. It was no secret to Eryk
what the Cleric had been doing with Cadvyr and Veryd. He would see to their needs, but only because
they responded to him, and didn’t mind that he used more than his hands when he tended their wings.
Neither of them was in pain; the Cleric could use his Talent to make them feel better, even extraordinary,
and reap the benefits of their good feelings for himself. The Cleric didn’t see things that way, and why
would his patients complain when they felt so good?
Eryk ignored the little voice inside his head that told him he was the reason for the Cleric’s behavior
and why he spent his time exclusively with two wounded, needy Seraphs. Eryk refused to give the
Cleric nothing, not his time, his energy or emotion until the Cleric could care for himself. Three years in
Sakkireth had not been able to wean him from Maddren’s side, and now he was making up for absence
of his grandfather with the best and worst Seraphs from Bryn’a’matyr.
Lord of the Wind. When would the Cleric learn that he didn’t need to depend on others? When
would he come to terms with the fact that he had his gift for a reason that was not because he was
cursed?
He opened the door to Veryd’s tiny chamber without bothering to knock. They were sitting together
on the cot, the Cleric looking half-drunk with rapport. He pulled out of it as soon as he saw Eryk,
removing his hands as suddenly as if he’d been caught with arrenswort again. He looked just as guilty.
Veryd watched him with dry amusement. “Pardon me, Veryd, but I must speak to the Cleric—
alone.” Eryk crossed his arms and spread his wings a little, a gesture that terrified the Cleric. He went a
little pale before he shook his head and stood up to his bondmate.
"No. I know what you came for, and I’m not going. I can sense it from here, if I try. Navyn and
Cadric can take care of it.”
It took all of Eryk’s strength to keep from pouncing on him right then. “I would speak with you,
Cleric, now.” He used a favorite trick of Maddren’s, altering his voice so that the Cleric had no choice
but to obey him. The human followed, miserable, as Eryk went into the adjoining room.
Before Nadeer even had a chance to blink Eryk grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shook him
violently. “What has gotten into you?” he screamed. “They’re dying, and you won’t even lift a finger to
help them!”
Nadeer found himself paralyzed at Eryk’s fury. “You don’t understand,” he finally managed to utter,
“you don’t know what it feels like--“
“Like hell I don’t. I can feel everything you do, Cleric, it’s not just the other way around. I wish
your grandfather were here so he could give you another good dunking. Do you want to create more
spirits to join J’ket?”
“Eryk--let me go--“
“You can’t help my brother. Fine. But there are two Seraphs—no, four, with their unborn fledglings--
down there dying and Navyn can’t do anything else for them. Do you want their blood on your hands?”
“No, dammit, leave me alone!” Nadeer managed to wrench himself free from Eryk’s strong grip,
ripping his shirt in the process. “No more blood, no more pain--“
“You won’t use your skills on those who really need your help. Instead, you spend time sating
yourself with a failure and a traitor. Is it because they’re the only ones who ask nothing from you, need
nothing from you, so you’re more ready to give it? They are the reason I won’t give in to you, Cleric.
You’re too damn dependent on everyone around you and you won’t take responsibility for yourself.”
Nadeer slipped down to the ground. Eryk didn’t bother to catch him. “They’re not—I don’t—“
“What are you afraid of besides a little pain you know how to control? I don’t understand. You
haven’t killed anyone because of your neglect, no one has suffered because of your abilities. Jakketh’s
death wasn’t your fault. You’ve been a part of me for nearly four years and even I don’t understand
why you’re afraid of yourself, why you won’t use the talent you were born with. I thought that Lerryn
had helped you with that. You spent enough time with him and Josie after—”
“But what I learned from Lerryn was different,” the Cleric said as Eryk gripped his shoulder through his
torn shirt, nails pricking painfully into his unprotected skin. “I’m not as strong as you are, Eryk. I fail
more often than I succeed. No more blood, no more pain, no more death.” The Cleric shivered as Eryk’
s nails dug deeper.
“Yes, there’s blood and pain--it’s how we all come into the world, Cleric. I don’t understand why
you’re afraid; everyone you’ve touched has benefited from it. You haven’t hurt anyone and you haven’t
killed anyone. No one could have saved Jeth. He knew what would happen when he initiated that Link;
Maddren and the Healers both told you that.”
The Cleric choked off his reply and turned away from the Seraph. Through their bond, Eryk could
feel his despair, his disappointment. Disjointed thoughts raced through the Cleric’s mind, thoughts that
Eryk usually tuned out because of their repetitiveness. Never good enough, no more pain, leave me
alone, he’ll never accept me, he’s a fine one to speak about being dependant on people after the way he
clung to Cadvyr as a fledgling—
Eryk cut off his rapport as the Cleric’s thoughts ran far too close to the truth. Cursing to himself
silently, he tried the one tactic he had not used to reach his bondmate. Forgoing his dignity, he knelt by
the Cleric. “Please, Nadeer. Please help my kin.”
The Cleric turned to look at Eryk, eyes wide in disbelief. It was one of the few times he actually said
“please” for anything, and the first time either of them could recall that he had used the Cleric’s name. It
was those two simple words that put a lid on the Cleric’s despair and self-doubt and locked them away
to deal with at a later time.
“All right, Eryk. I’ll go. For you.” Nadeer’s voice was flat without emotion.
“No, Cleric,” Eryk said, pulling his bondmate to his feet before he began to rummage for an old shirt
more appropriate for working in the Infirmary, “you’ll go for you.”
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fledgling, Eketh, had just run in to inform him that the Cleric would not come. Cadric Cleric looked
devastated at the news, Navyn merely disappointed, but their frustration only added to Eryk’s fury.
The Cleric would come. He would see to it.
He was sick of it. Sick of the Cleric’s need to hide away from every one, to leave others to suffer
because he was too selfish in his use of the talents the gods had given him. It was no secret to Eryk
what the Cleric had been doing with Cadvyr and Veryd. He would see to their needs, but only because
they responded to him, and didn’t mind that he used more than his hands when he tended their wings.
Neither of them was in pain; the Cleric could use his Talent to make them feel better, even extraordinary,
and reap the benefits of their good feelings for himself. The Cleric didn’t see things that way, and why
would his patients complain when they felt so good?
Eryk ignored the little voice inside his head that told him he was the reason for the Cleric’s behavior
and why he spent his time exclusively with two wounded, needy Seraphs. Eryk refused to give the
Cleric nothing, not his time, his energy or emotion until the Cleric could care for himself. Three years in
Sakkireth had not been able to wean him from Maddren’s side, and now he was making up for absence
of his grandfather with the best and worst Seraphs from Bryn’a’matyr.
Lord of the Wind. When would the Cleric learn that he didn’t need to depend on others? When
would he come to terms with the fact that he had his gift for a reason that was not because he was
cursed?
He opened the door to Veryd’s tiny chamber without bothering to knock. They were sitting together
on the cot, the Cleric looking half-drunk with rapport. He pulled out of it as soon as he saw Eryk,
removing his hands as suddenly as if he’d been caught with arrenswort again. He looked just as guilty.
Veryd watched him with dry amusement. “Pardon me, Veryd, but I must speak to the Cleric—
alone.” Eryk crossed his arms and spread his wings a little, a gesture that terrified the Cleric. He went a
little pale before he shook his head and stood up to his bondmate.
"No. I know what you came for, and I’m not going. I can sense it from here, if I try. Navyn and
Cadric can take care of it.”
It took all of Eryk’s strength to keep from pouncing on him right then. “I would speak with you,
Cleric, now.” He used a favorite trick of Maddren’s, altering his voice so that the Cleric had no choice
but to obey him. The human followed, miserable, as Eryk went into the adjoining room.
Before Nadeer even had a chance to blink Eryk grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shook him
violently. “What has gotten into you?” he screamed. “They’re dying, and you won’t even lift a finger to
help them!”
Nadeer found himself paralyzed at Eryk’s fury. “You don’t understand,” he finally managed to utter,
“you don’t know what it feels like--“
“Like hell I don’t. I can feel everything you do, Cleric, it’s not just the other way around. I wish
your grandfather were here so he could give you another good dunking. Do you want to create more
spirits to join J’ket?”
“Eryk--let me go--“
“You can’t help my brother. Fine. But there are two Seraphs—no, four, with their unborn fledglings--
down there dying and Navyn can’t do anything else for them. Do you want their blood on your hands?”
“No, dammit, leave me alone!” Nadeer managed to wrench himself free from Eryk’s strong grip,
ripping his shirt in the process. “No more blood, no more pain--“
“You won’t use your skills on those who really need your help. Instead, you spend time sating
yourself with a failure and a traitor. Is it because they’re the only ones who ask nothing from you, need
nothing from you, so you’re more ready to give it? They are the reason I won’t give in to you, Cleric.
You’re too damn dependent on everyone around you and you won’t take responsibility for yourself.”
Nadeer slipped down to the ground. Eryk didn’t bother to catch him. “They’re not—I don’t—“
“What are you afraid of besides a little pain you know how to control? I don’t understand. You
haven’t killed anyone because of your neglect, no one has suffered because of your abilities. Jakketh’s
death wasn’t your fault. You’ve been a part of me for nearly four years and even I don’t understand
why you’re afraid of yourself, why you won’t use the talent you were born with. I thought that Lerryn
had helped you with that. You spent enough time with him and Josie after—”
“But what I learned from Lerryn was different,” the Cleric said as Eryk gripped his shoulder through his
torn shirt, nails pricking painfully into his unprotected skin. “I’m not as strong as you are, Eryk. I fail
more often than I succeed. No more blood, no more pain, no more death.” The Cleric shivered as Eryk’
s nails dug deeper.
“Yes, there’s blood and pain--it’s how we all come into the world, Cleric. I don’t understand why
you’re afraid; everyone you’ve touched has benefited from it. You haven’t hurt anyone and you haven’t
killed anyone. No one could have saved Jeth. He knew what would happen when he initiated that Link;
Maddren and the Healers both told you that.”
The Cleric choked off his reply and turned away from the Seraph. Through their bond, Eryk could
feel his despair, his disappointment. Disjointed thoughts raced through the Cleric’s mind, thoughts that
Eryk usually tuned out because of their repetitiveness. Never good enough, no more pain, leave me
alone, he’ll never accept me, he’s a fine one to speak about being dependant on people after the way he
clung to Cadvyr as a fledgling—
Eryk cut off his rapport as the Cleric’s thoughts ran far too close to the truth. Cursing to himself
silently, he tried the one tactic he had not used to reach his bondmate. Forgoing his dignity, he knelt by
the Cleric. “Please, Nadeer. Please help my kin.”
The Cleric turned to look at Eryk, eyes wide in disbelief. It was one of the few times he actually said
“please” for anything, and the first time either of them could recall that he had used the Cleric’s name. It
was those two simple words that put a lid on the Cleric’s despair and self-doubt and locked them away
to deal with at a later time.
“All right, Eryk. I’ll go. For you.” Nadeer’s voice was flat without emotion.
“No, Cleric,” Eryk said, pulling his bondmate to his feet before he began to rummage for an old shirt
more appropriate for working in the Infirmary, “you’ll go for you.”
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