Chapter 821: Healing (Patreon)

Brilliant white radiance blazed through the cavern, emanating from Merzhin’s hand as he applied pressure to Birger’s stump. A joyful noise arose, sounding like a hundred voices—filling the air with song from the celestial planes and the cavern with choral harmony. The melody built, deep and powerful like a tidal wave breaking against the shoreline.

Everyone near, but Alex and Baelin, moved aside, giving the Saint and giants space.

“Gah!” Drestra shrunk back.

“Me eyes!” Cedric cried.

“I can’t see!” Hart shielded his vision.

“By my ancestors!” Birger clutched his leg.

“Father!” Bjorgrund screamed. “Are you alright!”

“I think so!” the old giant shouted. “Don’t worry, son!”

Merzhin’s voice joined the choral song as his power poured into the leg.

The others took another step back, the Saint of Uldar…no, of Thameland, unleashed the full might of his Mark.

Birger’s flesh rippled like water beneath Merzhin’s touch.

“Yesss…” Alex hissed.

Scars slowly smoothed and shifted.

Damaged skin seemed to creep, then bulge.

And grow.

“What in the name of every ancestor…of every firbolg that ever lived?” Briger shouted. “It feels…it hurts, but it feels wonderful! I can feel it growing! I can feel it growing!”

“Father! I don’t believe it!” Bjorgrund cried.

Merzhin’s eyes were clamped shut. One hand clasped the other, and between them, the symbol of the Traveller. Deep inside, Alex felt her power stirring.

“Fascinating…”  Baelin mused, his goat-like eyes fixed on Birger’s leg. “A miracle of such magnitude takes time, it is never quick…in all of the times I have seen it performed, I have never witnessed a limb grow as quickly.”

He looked at Cedric. “How much power is our small friend channelling? I understand you can feel divinity?”

“Feels like ‘e jus’ dropped th’bloody sun in the middle o’ this cave!” Cedric shouted over the choral song. “If I tried doin’ what ‘es doin’, m’soul woulda been ripped t’shreds! I never felt so much power comin’ off’a ‘im before! Merzhin! Ya alright? Merzhin?”

But the Saint was lost in his miracle, humming the song…as Alex realised his breathing was following a pattern he knew well.

As the young holy man sang, his breaths changed in length, varying between long inhalations, to periods of silence. They matched the song’s rhythm seamlessly, and a pleased Alex smiled as he followed them.

‘Four seconds in,’ the General of Thameland thought. ‘Then hold for a count of seven, then exhale for eight. He’s using the grounding exercise as part of his miracle. By the Traveller, he caught on quick!”

 Combining the breathing technique with the hymn, Merzhin was creating a new limb for Birger, the left leg visibly and rapidly growing before their eyes. The stump lengthened, swelling and regenerating, forming a new calf muscle. 

Long absent muscles appeared, taking shape around a shin bone pressing against the skin.

“This is truly remarkable,” Baelin said.

“It is, isn't it?” Alex agreed in wonder.

“This process would take weeks normally, but—at the rate the lower leg is growing—it should be complete within minutes. Roughly twelve, if my estimate is correct,” Baelin predicted.

“Incredible!” Alex cried.

Bjorgrund and Birger had fallen silent, watching in awe as time quickly passed. The old giant’s lower leg continued to lengthen. 

His new calf was almost fully formed, and the tibia and fibula bones were solidifying. There came a wet, unsettling sound as the skin at the end of the stump shifted; an uneven mound of throbbing flesh formed. “No…no way,” Birger muttered.

His flesh was transforming, new structures were forming: small bones, tendons and ligaments were rapidly knitting together. 

Alex gasped at what he was witnessing.

“Father…” Claygon cried. “Is that…is that…”

“My foot!” Birger shouted. “My foot’s come back!” 

The flesh ball had taken on the shape of a bare foot, a left foot, matching the length and width of Birger’s other one, complete with wiggling toes.

Its skin was ruddy in colour—as blood rushed beneath the surface—but soon, all redness faded, replaced by the pale hue of the rest of his skin. An intense ray of light pulsed from Merzhin’s healing hand, bestowing life energy onto Birger’s left leg from knee to toes. 

The giant grunted, a cramp suddenly gripping his calf…he reached down to massage it, but the pain instantly faded. All bright light surrounding Merzhin’s hands followed, shimmering, flickering and abruptly dying at the same moment the choral song did.

The Saint’s eyes flew open. “In the name of Thameland and the Traveller, it is done.”

The cavern was as still as death, all eyes were on Birger’s left leg, on what Merzhin had done.

Bjorgrund’s eyes grew unfocused, his body wavered, and with a heavy thump, the young giant’s legs gave out, dropping him to his knees beside his father’s chair. 

“I cannot…Are you happy, father? Your leg’s whole again,” he murmured.

Birger was watching his leg guardedly, as though afraid it would disappear. Tears streamed down his face as his expressions ranged from disbelief, to shock, to fear, then awe. He slowly leaned forward, pulling the boot from his right foot and examining both feet in wonder.

The giant wiggled the toes of one foot.

Then the other.

“I…” he breathed. “Son, please. Can you help me up?”

Bjorgrund, his face now slick with tears, quickly pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand to his father. The older giant accepted it and—using the chair and his son’s strong arm—stood.

His crutch slipped from its place against the chair, clattering to the cavern floor.

There it lay, unneeded.

Birger put his full weight on both feet, unsteadily, wavering in place. He teetered this way and that.

“Father, are you alright?” Bjorgrund asked.

“I am, I am better than alright!” Birger was laughing now. Giddy, joyful laughter. It was not the laughter of a tired old man. He leaned to his right, then his left. He was quickly growing steadier so he firmly planted both feet on the cold floor, laughing all the while.

He raised his right foot, and stepped forward, holding on to his son.

He wavered again, as his full weight rested on his left leg, but he neither stopped nor collapsed, then he took his first step with his new left leg. The sharp sensation of cold stone struck him like a slap when his barefoot touched the floor, but he stayed in place for a time, seemingly savouring the feeling before taking another step with his right leg. This one was steadier.

His left again, even steadier.

He released Bjorgrund’s hand.

Another step. Then another.

A grin spread across his face, his eyes brightened.

His steps gained a bounce, turning lighter, steadier, more confident. Soon, his gait became comfortable. Even graceful. 

The old giant shook with excitement.

And, with a great whooping cry of joy, he leapt in the air, landing on the balls of his feet, and shot from the cave, running along the path, his laughter booming through the woods.

“Shite, look at ‘im go!” Cedric shouted, leading the others out of the cave and into the open air.

The old firbolg was laughing, sprinting through the clearing with the energy of a youngster, lapping it in moments with his enormous strides. Suddenly, he stopped, throwing himself forward and cartwheeling to the middle of the clearing.

“What the hells?” Thundar shouted. “You ever see an old man move like that?”

“Yes!” Baelin’s tone dripped acid.

“Move like that?” Birger laughed. “Like that? You call that moving? Let me show ya something!”

He stretched, then began singing and clapping his hands to the beat of a lively tune, his deep voice ringing out with its clear melody and then, the rejuvenated firbolg began dancing.

And by all the hells, could he dance.

His movements flowed from one to the other, liquid, smooth and artistic. He was as light on his feet as a hare and just as agile.

“In my day, I was a terror across every ballroom and tavern all over the northlands!” Birger shouted. “A terror I tell you! Folk loved me! Folk envied me, especially the men! Husbands would clutch their wives just a little closer when I danced! Not that it bloody helped them!”

“Too much information, father!” Bjorgrund turned red.

“We’re old,” Baelin sniffed. “Not dead.”

“You! I like you!” Birger pointed at the chancellor, finishing his dance with a flourish and a jig. “That’s right, we’re not dead! Faaaar from it! You see me, Kelda? You see me, son? Birger’s back!”

The old giant looked around, his eyes found Merzhin and he rushed to the Saint, falling to one knee and lowering his head. “Thank you. I owe you so much. Whenever you might need me, I’ll be there. My own two feet will carry me to your side!”

Bjorgrund went to them, also falling to one knee before the Saint. “That goes for me too. My father lost his leg saving my life and now you’ve given it back to him! I swear to you Saint Merzhin, I’ll aid you in any way I can!”

Merzhin turned red as he waved his hands in front of him. “P-please, it is not me you should be praising, but the Traveller, Hannah. …As well as Alex, he too made this possible.”

“Still, we owe you,” Birger insisted. “And we will see the debt repaid one day.”

Merzhin turned, looking more uncomfortable. A small, relieved smile played on his lips, even as he looked away from the two grateful giants.

“I-I appreciate your kind words,” he mumbled quickly, looking at the other Heroes. “But what’s truly important is that the rest of you must unlock your full/ strength as well.”

“Yes,” Drestra agreed. “If you could regenerate a limb in minutes, then what else can you do…what else could we all do if our full potential is unlocked? Damn you, Uldar! Damn you for playing games with us. If we’d had full power from the beginning, the Ravener wouldn’t have stood a chance!”

“Yeah, and that’s just what he wanted! But, too bad for him; we know now,” Alex said. “Whatever the Ravener does, unlocking these Marks…is going to be our priority.” 

“Aye, that it should be,” Cedric said, a longing in his eyes. “Wit’ that kind o’ power, we’ll stand a better chance agin’ anythin’ the Ravener kin send our way.”

“It’s probably gonna pull out all of its tricks, like it did in the bad old days,” Hart said. “But we’ll have our own power from the bad old days to punish it with.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “I can hardly wait to see what kinda power our new Marks give us…and we can also use this new development to help Hannah.” He snapped his fingers. “How about if we tell the high priest about this evolution, and he can tell his priests that we’re stronger now ‘cos the Traveller’s done this for us in Uldar’s name.  That should spread word of her even faster…maybe we could ask him to announce that she led us to a cache of Uldar’s weapons that he wants us to use in his name to stop the Ravener for good. Hold on, he could also announce the General at the same time! He could say that it’s a new Mark that the Traveller helped Uldar make!”

“That would make you into a living symbol of her aid and power,” Merzhin said, nodding with approval. “That’s clever.”

“Perfect.” Alex clapped then rubbed his hands together. “Then it’s settled, we focus on unlocking the full potential of everyone’s Mark.” He looked at Professor Jules, Baelin and Isolde. “Could I impose on you to handle the alchemical solutions for the Ravener? To complete them while I work with the Heroes?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Roth,” Professor Jules said. “You cannot be in multiple places at once: so we shall carry on without you.”

“Indeed,” Baelin said.

“Of course,” Isolde agreed.

“Then it’s time to resume our training,” Alex turned his attention to Drestra, Hart and Cedric. “I’ll need to meet with each of you individually and teach you a skill that’s outside your specialty—one that’ll enhance what you do. Then, I touch your Marks, and that should complete the process.”

Cedric clapped. “Sounds like a bloody beautiful plan. Who’re y’gonna be startin’ wit’?”

Alex thought for a moment. “Who wants to go first?”

Drestra’s hand shot up.

“Ach, yer faster than me,” Cedric complained.

“I can wait for my turn,” Hart said quickly. “But, I call next!”

“Oh, come on!” Cedric shouted. “Y’jus’ said y’could wait, Hart!”

“Then it’s settled,” Alex ignored him, looking at Drestra. “Alright, my friend. Let’s get you finished up with casting spells without speaking, we’ll throw in some serious mana manipulation training as well, and by the time we’re finished? You’ll be a terror.”

He grinned.

“We’ll all be.”


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Author's Note

Hello forty-two cool fools, almighty chosen, wise sages, and mighty champions! Thank you for your support!


And so Birger had become a terror once again! And we get regeneration closer to the actual spell's speed from D&D/Pathfinder. Regeneration is such an interesting power to me. It's one of the reasons I enjoyed what I read of Azarinth Healer.

Alrighty folks, cya Tuesday!