The Healer's Touch

The storm started suddenly, lasting for hours. The rain began to subside into a steady, meditative drip. The lighting moved off, becoming a beacon in the distance, lighting the estate with an eerie blue glow. The wolves finally stopped howling and the estate was finally at peace.

Aromatic candles flickered in the window. Long tapers quietly dripped, making discrete patterns in the wax. The ink, drying on the paper, reflected the light with a soft iridescent glow; it resembled fresh blood as the quill scratched the flawless, white paper. The hand stopped, absorbing the silence. At last, true thoughts can emerge.

Ebony became sick of the noise the beasts made especially the newborn pups. Even though he loved, or seemed to love, all life, he preferred the less barbaric nature of humans. Rather, of civilized humans.

Lightning flashed in the dark. The pen slid across the paper as Ebony, startled, jumped. Was that a shadow on the wall? Must be one of the guards. He was getting sick of the slaves here. Their minds were just empty holes that absorbed nothing. One slave caught his eye as fairly intelligent, hence her position in the estate. Mistress Colt once asked why he was so critical of the others.

"It's simple really, I only expect what I can produce...no more...no less. Master Damascus almost trained me to become a master, and I would not have stopped him. Until I met you, of course."

"Yes, yes. You were as much a gift to me as I was to you," she calmly replied. "It seems odd though, that Damascus would take such a liking to a slave. But I suppose it is because you are so similar in personality."

Ebony returned to his journal, slowly etching the day's accounts. He reflected on his observations. Looking back, he projected his thoughts on Crimson, the Mistress' primary slave. He did not know why, but he felt compassion towards this intelligent human being, and sometimes wished that she were his mistress.

Slate, the barbaric fool, was distracting the mistress. The idiot stopped whatever he was doing long enough to allow Mistress Colt to interrupt us. We came close to being punished. When she turned away my gaze pierced Slate's eyes like a dagger. His muscular body shuddered as if I clasped his heart with ice-cold hands. At that moment I wanted to rip his heart out. I don't understand what the Mistress sees in him. He is an unfocused, mutinous, clumsy, arrogant beast li...

A quiet rap at the door interrupted Ebony's quill. Uncertain if he imagined the sound, he arose, wondering what time it was. He grabbed his bright yellow robe to cover his naked body. Not like they haven't seen me. Suddenly, he thought it might be Crimson. His body reacted to the thought, causing his posture to rise. In anticipation, he let his robe fall open as he rushed to the door to greet the urgent rapping.

He opened the door, slowly, holding back his desire to tear it down, grab her voluptuous body and kiss her passionately. In his struggling he was thrown off balance and the door flew open blowing out the candles.

The darkness seemed to envelop all sound. Ebony's chest heaved from passion, desire, and fear. Lightning illuminated the chamber, holding itself over a black pile in his doorway.

Slate!

Ebony forgot about his concealed body as he struggled to hear the breath of the sack in his threshold. He could see a dark liquid flowing from the unmistakable black robes of the Beast Master. His Healer instincts flew into autopilot. As he struggled to carry the body, he noticed the shredded cloth, and the skin underneath. These marks were not made by one of the wolves, but by a feline?! As he moved to call the guards he felt his robes being pulled toward the carcass.

"Please..." Slate struggled to form the words as blood flowed from his mouth. "Don't call...them." He tried to pull himself closer to Ebony. "You must...heal me. I need to protect...the...cubs." These last words trailed off as he collapsed and Ebony struggled to discern them.

As Ebony dragged the body across the floor, Garnet, one of the guards passed by the door. He peered into the room and saw the tattered black robes. "They got another one, eh Ebony? I feel kinda sad, he seemed to have..."

"Silence!" Ebony commanded in his calm voice. "He was not hurt by them. Something else is out there." The strong guard helped the frail looking healer lift the body onto his table. "Take two guards, quietly, to the pens and check on the pups. Mistress Colt will not see to him dying because of your failure. Something got within the walls. Keep it quiet for I believe he has lessened the situation. Hurry!"

"Yes, sir." Garnet ran towards the guardhouse.

"Now, lets see what we have." Ebony tore off the remains of the cloak, revealing Slate's naked, shattered body. Blood seeped everywhere. As he cleaned the wounds, he noticed a trace of toxin. He finished and took a sample of the blood. "Hmm. A rabid feline. I don't know if you are more brave, or stupid my friend. Fortunately for you, I have a remedy for just this purpose. Unfortunately, I don't know if I am too late."

He grabbed various beakers and began mixing the herbs and chemicals inside them, chanting as he did so. Satisfied with his concoction, he began massaging them into Slate's wounds, feeling the texture of his muscles. He worked his delicate hands over Slates neck, his chest, and paused at his left breast. The largest wound on the body crossed the left pectoral, slicing the muscle in half. The tear stretched from the upper right, through the middle, and off to the side. How did he grab me with that arm? This man is more devoted than I presumed.

The balm slowly pulled the skin and muscle tissues back together. Ebony ran his hands down the chest slowly working the balm into the cuts. As the tissue came together, the blood foamed, extracting the toxins and regenerating the skin.

As the chest continued to redevelop its once defined structure, Ebony moved to the legs. He massaged the front and back of the legs where the feline tore through the muscles and almost severed the bones. As the legs healed, Ebony moved to the head.

He gently caressed the soft skin of Slates face, noticing the scratch under his left eye. As he kneaded the cheek, he slowly bent down toward the bloody lips.

"Now I see why Mistress loves you." He whispered, his lips, inches from Slates. "Your barbaric dedication makes you appear simple and foolish. Yet, at the same time, your loyalty expresses a bond that could never be broken, or replaced. Your love for her wolves almost exceeds her own. You will be greatly remembered for your valor, even if she does not find out." He bent lower, his lips pressing against Slate's. He pressed firmly, feeling each crack in the once-whole lips. He began to taste blood, warm and sweet, yet slightly bitter. He began to separate the lips to taste the blood firsthand.

"Ebony!" Garnet pounded on the door. "Open the door! You must come, quickly!"

This better be good! Regaining his composure, he wiped the blood from his lips, and opened the door. Garnet's tattered, mud covered robes were enhanced by the two burly guards behind him. "Are you forgetting that you never intrude upon a healer while he is work...!" He stopped realizing that the two guards were holding the carcass of a giant, white tiger; it's neck was broken; it's legs snapped, multiple times, and the once-white pelt, stained red from blood. "Where the hell did this come from?"

"We humbly apologize, sir," Garnet briefly bowed his head, followed by the men behind him. "We found this between the wolf-pens and Slate's domicile. The wolves were pacing around it, and it took us a while to get to it. It was cold when we found it. Eventually, they let us remove it. Apparently, it came from just beyond the west wall. It must have tried to attack the pups, which were nursing. Slate was either watching them, or heard the commotion, defended them, and won. I suppose. Is he all right?"

"He will be if you leave me alone. Mistress will not hear of this from any of you. Skin the beast; create a trophy for our hero. Burn the rest. This beast is rabid and must not be consumed. Were any of them harmed?"

"Not that we could tell."

"Good. Go now. Awaken one of the healers and inform them of the situation. Tell them they need to check on the wolves, especially the pups. Warn them they must be weary of possible resistance. Though they know most of our scents by now, this situation may have aroused their suspicions. Inform them that they too must be silent. It is Slate's position alone to disclose this with anyone, especially Mistress Colt." He closed the door after the men left. Turning around he glanced at the body on the table. His face gleaming with inspiration; "You are not allowed to die. I will not be punished for allowing it to happen!"

He gathered more balm for his task. "Not since Damascus have I touched another man," he said with a smirk, recalling days long past. "If they came to me, I would send them to another healer. Consider yourself fortunate, my friend, for I will succeed where they would fail to have tried."

He resumed his work on Slate's face, working the balm into the skin as it reformed the delicate features. "Your body receives this balm very well, as I hope it will receive all the treatments. No healer, but myself, has been able to use it to its full potential. And not all patients have been able to reap its full benefits."

A shadow moved across the wall and stopped. A blue cloaked figure peered in the window, watching the healer as he massaged the dark skin of the Beast-Master. The yellow-robed healer did not notice, but continued to converse with the seemingly lifeless form. His hands gently caressed the face, and moved down the bloodstained cheeks. His hands were followed by an eager mouth, kissing the forehead, eyes, cheeks, and finally fell upon the cracked lips. The blue-clad figure gasped, as Ebony tasted the sour balm as it mixed with the sweet blood. Her chest began to heave from her deep breaths as he forced his tongue between Slate's red lips.

He pulled back; admiring his work as the balm closed the wounds on the cheeks, and healed the lips, making them soft and full again. "Some have been known to scar from their wounds, I can see that your body will not. Though your mind will never erase the severity of this night's ordeal, your body will not exhibit the trophies of your valor." Again, he kissed the full, red lips swallowing the remains of the blood. His hands moved down to the neck, which had but little more than a few scratches, perhaps from the jaws of it's assailant. A set of four puncture wounds, evenly matched, showed that the beasts jaw had been wrapped around the throat, ready to finish what was left of the battle.

For a moment, the great healer doubted his skills, and feared that his patient would not last through the night. Even as he did so, he remembered the words of his Master to never doubt, only hope, and believe. "Doubt leads to failure, failure leads to punishment. You do not have the power to fail if you do not believe in failure," Damascus' voice rang through his mind. "Though these talents require skill, they also require determination. If you want your patient to live, they will. If you do not, they will die." As the voice echoed in his distant mind, Ebony slowly pulled off his own robe; his body reacting to the cool after-rain breeze that flowed through the window. He felt his energy being drained by the heavy cloth.

His hands moved across the chest feeling the skin as it melded together. The shredded pectoral also became whole, flawless, and perfect. Equipping his mouth with a shattered piece of ice, following his hands as his tongue followed his lips. The balm became sweet as honey as it finished its task and displaced the toxin. He recalled many times when he used the chemical on another body, a female body. He recalled how her body would respond to his touch, similar to Slate's response. How it would jolt as the cold ran through it; the skin tensed and the hairs stood erect, failing to protect the body from the intense cold.

Ebony ran his hands down the well-defined body, feeling each muscle as they responded to his every touch. He had not much cared about the texture of a man's body, but for some reason, felt compelled to survey this specimen to very minute detail. His hands moved over the fresh cuts as they transformed to scars, then complete, unflawed skin. He admired both his work, as well as the dedication and work that went into sculpting the body before him. He took more of the balm and massaged the arms, delicate, yet strong. Strong enough to break the neck of a rabid tiger!

Ebony glanced down the flaccid body. The chest and legs were almost completely repaired. Slates face, frozen in a state of agony, contained a line drawn down his cheek. The hair was matted to his face with sweat and blood. The neck, almost bare of marks, had a small cut that dissipated with each moment. He rolled the body over and looked at the shredded back. He imagined the deadly embrace of the two beasts as they struggled for their lives, one a powerful creature with razor-sharp claws, the other a barehanded man with determination, valor, and a hint of insanity. The claws dug into the back at an angle, holding the man close to the beast while it bit into the neck and flailed at the legs. The beast's massive arms raked across the back tearing the skin, and pulling it away from the muscle. As the healer imagined this gruesome sight he rubbed a fresh batch of balm upon the skin, watching the frothy procedure again.

As the wounds finished their transformation Ebony soaked a white towel in the wash basin. He watched the body glisten in the candlelight as the flames reflected on the yellowish resin upon the skin. The soft, wet towel moved down the body, gently gathering the thick chemical. As his hands moved the towel, it's white color metamorphosed to amber from the mixture of blood and residue. Occasionally, he would rinse the towel and continue until the body was cleaned.

The hooded figure watched his every motion with admiration. I wonder if he looked at me like that while I was on that table so many times. Her soft, blue eyes reflected the flames as she watched the towel move down the body, lapping the mixture delicately. Unconsciously, her hands moved down her body, mirroring what she saw. She slowly unbuttoned her cloak, revealing her soft, tender skin. Pink lines emphasized her penance from an earlier spout with her mistress. They outlined her warm, supple breasts, as they became gorged with blood. Her hands moved along her skin, caressing her body as if it were another's. As her passions rose the rain began to fall lightly upon her, melting as it touched her. The smell of the rain mixed with her own scents and increased the flame burning inside as she watched the man begin kissing the back lying on his table.

Ebony listened as the soft, melodic rain danced on the roof of his chateau. "Now for some warmth to your cold skin, and to see if we were quick enough." He said to his patient, with a warm smile. He opened his cabinet and pulled a small black vial with artistic ruins written upon the label. He opened the vial and poured a small amount upon his hands. Rubbing his hands in a circular motion he warmed the liquid as the liquid heated his skin. He began rubbing the lotion upon Slate's back, chanting in an ancient, melodic language as he did so. The cold skin began to warm as he moved down the back. Ebony used this time to relieve tension that had become built up from intense labor. Even as he did so, the body, as if awakening from a deep sleep, began moaning with pain, and pleasure. The body heaved as each breath filled and emptied the lungs.

Slate began opening his eyes and yelped at the dim candlelight, and the pain from his previously inept body. He realized where he was and who was touching him. Struggling to speak he could only produce simple moans and grunts. Finally, realizing his state, he gave in to his weakness and allowed the healer to continue his work.

Ebony moved his hands to the lower back concentrating on the center area near the spine. He lightened his touch as he realized his patient was conscious. His chants diminished into the air as he slowed his words. "Do not resist. Your body is weak from your ordeal, and must rest. Close your eyes and allow yourself to enjoy this moment. I commend you, but your valor will not leave the mouths of those who know without your initiative." Ebony resumed his massage as the lotion seared the skin, bringing warmth and color back to the paleness. Slate lifted his head as if to speak. "Do not fear. The wolves are unharmed, and the beast is dead. Now relax, and sleep if you choose."

Slate closed his eyes, reflecting on the visions of the night. His moans echoed through the silence as Ebony's hands began to massage his tight buttocks. His mind, filled with images of what had transpired, could not resist the primal instincts of what he was feeling. Trying to resist, his skin tightened, his muscles flexed; and his blood, no longer flowing out the body, accumulated wherever the soft lips touched; his concentration broke as the pink, velvet tongue lapped the nectar from his thighs. How could someone who despises me give me such pleasure?!

Ebony moved down, noticing the reactions of his patient, wondering what was going on in his mind. As he reached the swollen calves, he stood, removing his hands, and stepped back to admire his work. As he did, a thought entered his mind. "Why did you choose me? You have been seeing another healer for your other wounds have you not?"

Startled by the question, Slate rolled onto his back, his slick, hard body glistening in the candlelight. "Yes, but I do not know anyone but you who could have done what you have." He paused, considering the next move as if this were a chess match. After a few moments of pensive silence Slate began moving off the table.

"What are you doing?"

"I cannot thank you enough for what you did, and perhaps in time I will be able to repay my debt to you. If you are finished with me, I feel I should be leaving now." A brief silence, a stalemate... "Unless there is more that you require of me," he added with a final note.

"I feel it would be better if you stayed under my supervision for the evening. Perhaps we could mend the wounds we may have," pausing, Ebony bites his bottom lip in frustration, "inadvertently caused each other. Although this is a recommendation, a request, not a command."

A bolt of lightening flickered in the back ground, highlighting the hidden figure. Her cloak hung heavily from the rain off her shoulders exposing her body, dripping with sweat and rain; her long, blonde hair draping over her shoulders, barely concealing her supple breasts. Her hands quivered with anticipation as they continued to massage her body, one hand on her thigh, the other penetrating her navel. Quietly, she moaned as she waited for the reply.

Slate waited a moment to comment, weighing the options in his mind. Finally, making a decision, he slid off the table, and gliding towards Ebony began, "As tempting as the offer is, I feel the Mistress does not trust me entirely. I feel it is my duty to her, and to myself that I check on my friends, and their pups." He pressed his body against Ebony's, feeling the warmth, the pulse, and the erection; embracing him, he whispered, "I will assume the offer will still be available at a later date." As he pulled away slowly, considering his decision, he glanced down for a moment, admiring what he saw.

Ebony, noticing the hesitation, stepped forward, embracing Slate's oil-laced body. He pressed his lips against the dark-skinned cheek, moving towards the red lips. As the two men, holding each other close kissed for what seemed like hours, locking tongues, the shadowed figure collapsed to her knees. After a moment of blissful recovery, she pulled herself up to her feet, content to see that the bodies were still locked together.