Prologue
Dr.
Rond watched the
surging crowd outside the hospital gates. Waving, pushing, shoving,
shouting
people, all trying to get into the hospital. Most of them wanted just a
glimpse
of The Healer but a good number wanted to touch him – or better yet, be
touched
by him – in hopes of being cured of one malady or another. Often they
were
cured. Dr. Rond shook his head in wonder at the placebo power that
surrounded
this man.
The
extra security
forces necessitated by the presence of The Healer within the hospital
had
initially given him second thoughts about the wisdom of inviting him
here. But
after seeing the wonders he had achieved with the resident victims of
the
horrors, he congratulated himself on the decision.
He
turned his back
to the window and looked across the room. The Healer was at work on
another
horrors victim, a middle-aged male this time.
Quite
a
figure,
this
man
called
The
Healer.
A
flamestone
slung
at
his
throat,
yellow-gold
skin
on
his
left
hand,
and
atop
the
clutter
of
his
dark
brown
hair,
a
patch
of
snowy
white.
He
was sitting
opposite the patient, hands resting on the man’s knees, head bowed as
if
dozing. Sweat broke out on his brow and his eyelids twitched. The
tableau
persisted for some minutes, then was shattered by a groan from the
patient as
he suddenly lurched to his feet and looked around.
“Wh...
where
am
I?”
Attendants
glided
from
the
corners,
and
with
gentle
support
and
reassuring
words
led
him
away.
Dr.
Rond
watched
him
go.
More
conventional
modes
of
therapy
could
now
be
used
to
rehabilitate
him
completely.
But
The
Healer
had
made
the
all-important
initial
[1]
breakthrough:
A
man
who
had
been
totally
unable
to
react
to
external
stimuli
for
seven
standard
years
was
now asking where he was.
Dr.
Rond shook his
head again, this time in admiration, and returned his attention to The
Healer,
who was slumped in his chair.
What a burden to have such a gift,
he thought. It seems to be taking
its toll. On a number of occasions he had noticed The
Healer’s
habit of
muttering to himself. Perhaps The Healer was himself psychologically
deranged.
Perhaps there lay the key to his unique talent. Between patients he
seemed to
withdraw completely, muttering now and again and gazing at a fixed
point in
space. At this moment, The Healer’s thoughts seemed to be hundreds of
years and
hundreds of millions of kilometers away. [2]
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