Mark Anthony - Tower of Doom

"Why shouldn't I go?" Wort whispered angrily. "What's the harm in it?"

The dry voice echoed in his mind. Monsters do not walk with angels.

"I don't have to listen to you," he snarled. "You are not my master!" The voice repeated its message, but Wort clamped his hands to his ears and dashed back down the stairs.

"What's wrong. Wort?" Mika asked, concern clouding her violet eyes. "Were you arguing with someone up there?"

He shook his head. "No," he said hoarsely. "Let's go."

That afternoon found them walking together through a grove not far fronrj the keep. The trees were bare with the lateness of the year, and the ground was a crisp, crackling carpet of russet, crimson, and dark sienna.

"This looks like a good spot for lunch," said Mika when they reached the mossy bank of a brook. The jagged stump of a dead tree stood beside the brook. Only a few dark, twisted branches still ciung to the gnarled, moss-covered trunk. "What an interesting old tree. I bet once it was the tallest tree in the forest." She started to set down the straw basket.

Wort shook his head, suddenly feeling uneasy. "No, not here," he whispered. "This is a sad place. Can we go somewhere else?"

Mika regarded him with serious eyes. "Of course, Wort."

They wound up in the center of a small glade. Mika pulled bread, cheese, dried fruit, and a clay jug of wine from the basket. As they ate, Wort was once again amazed that one so fair as she would deign to be friends with one as monstrous as himself. It was like a miracle. Of course, weren't angels accustomed to performing miracles? After they had eaten, Mika coaxed chattering gray squirrels into plucking raisins from her hand. Then she made Wort give it a try. His big, clumsy hand shaking, he held out a palm full of dried fruit. A squirrel approached tentatively through rustling leaves. The creature regarded Wort with bright eyes, then scurried forward to snatch a raisin from his hand before hopping away.

"It… it didn't fear me!" Wort said in amazement.

"Why should it, Wort?" Mika asked, puzzled.

Wort almost spoke the words. Because I have killed, Doctor. He shook his head and said nothing.

For a time, Mika took her basket and collected herbs useful for her healing craft while Wort explored among the trees. In a small hollow he was surprised to discover a flower blooming despite the lateness of the season. He did not know its name, but its petals were the same dusky lavender as Mika's eyes. Thinking it would give her joy, he reached down to pluck the bloom. Then he cried out in sudden pain.

Mika rushed toward him. "Wort, what is it?"

Shaking his hand, he dropped the flower. He could see a long thorn protruding from its stem, wet with blood. "The flower. It… it pricked me."

"Here, let me see."

Gently, Mika took his hand and turned it over. Blood welled up freely from a deep puncture. She examined it critically, then took several of the leaves she had gathered and crushed them into a ball. She held the fragrant compress against Wort's wound. Instantly the fiery pain vanished. From the pocket of her dress, Mika pulled out a pale purple handkerchief and deftly bound it around his hand with a neat knot. "That should do the trick."

Wort flexed his fingers. "Thank you, my lady," he said in a low, shy voice.

Mika frowned at this. Suddenly a flicker of realization crossed her face. "That's where I've heard it before," she said.

"What?" he asked in trepidation.

"Your voice, Wort. I've told you that your voice is beautiful, and it is. But I've also had the strange feeling that I've heard a voice just like it somewhere before. I only just now realized where." She studied his features carefully, then nodded. "Yes. Now that I take a closer look, the resemblance is clear." The doctor took a deep breath. "You are Baron Caidin's brother, aren't you Wort?"

Slowly, almost painfully, he nodded. "How is it that you know my brother?" he asked warily.

She turned away with a shrug. "Oh, we've met briefly once or twice." The doctor turned to face him. There was a sadness in her eyes. " Wort… it hardly seems like the name of a baron's son."

"They say… they say my mother called me Wor- ren when I was a baby. She didn't live very long after my birth." Anger tinged his voice as he dredged up the dark memories. "You see, something went wrong the night I was born. She ripped deep inside, and I… I came out misshapen. The midwife thought me cursed because I was not formed right. She wanted to put me outside in the cold to die. My mother forced the Old Baron to swear I would not be killed. He gave her his word… and then she died."

"She was a courageous woman, your mother," Mika said Firmly. "Was she the Old Baron's wife?"

Wort shook his head. "No, my mother was his mistress. Caidin was born about the same time I was, to the baroness-though she too died in childbirth. Caidin was the Old Baron's legitimate heir, while I… I was his bastard." Wort had never told this tale to anyone before. The words seemed to gush out of him.

"After my mother died, no one wanted to care for me. But though I knew he despised me-despised the fact that his offspring could be so terribly deformed-the Old Baron was a man of some honor, and he did not forget the fact that his blood ran in my veins. He saw to it that i was cared for, though mostly by servants who were threatened with death if they neglected their jobs. As long as I can remember, I was called not Worren, but Wort." He shrugged as if none of this mattered anymore. "I suppose it's a good name for a hunchback."

He went on glumly. "When we were children, everyone adored Caidin. How could they not? Even then he was strong and handsome and smart. I loved him just as much as the others. Probably more. As for myself… well, you can imagine how the other children regarded me. In the end, I found it was better to keep to the tower, with my pigeons, and my bells." Wort fell silent.

Finally Mika spoke softly. "Worren. I like that name. It's gentle-just like you."

Wort shook his head. What could he say? That she was indeed an angel he had no doubt. Slowly, she reached out to touch his shoulder.

"Wort, I know that once I made you angry by saying that I could… help you. But I want you to know something. You don't have to live with your affliction forever."

He cringed, but this time he did not lash out at her. There was too much compassion in her voice.

The doctor went on earnestly. "More than once I've operated to correct clubfoot. I don't think this is so very different." He felt her fingers running lightly over his humped shoulder. "There seem to be extra spurs of bone protruding from some of your vertebrae." Her hands followed the contorted curve of his spine. "Yes, that's it. And the ligaments along the right side are too short and too tight. I might be able to cut some of them to release the tension. It might take several operations. There would be some pain, and a fair amount of work afterward to stretch and lengthen the muscles. Nor do I think we could straighten your back entirely, but…"

Wort dared to breathe the words. "But what?"

"I think, with time, I could heal your back." Mika gripped his hand. "Let me help you… Worren."

Wort opened his mouth, but he truly did not know what to say. Quickly she pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "No, don't give me an answer. Just think about for a while." She leaned forward and fleetingly brushed her lips across his cheek in a kiss. After a moment she turned and picked up her basket. "I'm going to search for a few more herbs. Fire- spur berries should just be getting ripe by now."

As she wandered off among the trees, Wort gazed after her in mute shock. For a long time he sat numbly on the ground, like one struck by lightning. Could he truly be healed? Once again the words he had heard in the belfry drifted through his mind. Monsters do not walk with angels…