Martin headed toward Nathaniel. “Adosina, Derio, the trees. Calm them before it spreads.”

They obeyed, placing their hands against the barks of the trees to calm the corruption inside them. Martin knelt beside Nathaniel. Rosa held his hand, stroking his hair. Martin closed his eyes as he touched Nathaniel’s temples. There wasn’t a hint of corruption. He worked fast, healing the damage to the brain, coaxing it back to its natural state. The hit on the head was bad, but not above Martin’s skill. He went to the nose, fusing the broken bones and returning the blood to normal. The cheekbone and cuts healed quickly, the blood flow calming, stopping the forming of bruises.

Nathaniel’s eyes snapped open, and he let go of his son’s temples. He sat up too quickly, almost falling back down again as he held his head.

“Easy, Nathaniel,” Rosa said.

“Where is he?” Nathaniel asked. Martin looked around, expecting to see Indenuel, but he was nowhere to be found. Martin stood, once again taking in the camp. Adosina still had her eyes closed as her palm was flat against a tree. The other servants were focused on Nathaniel.

“He’s run away,” Derio said, closing his eyes. “Heading due east.”

Martin walked over to a carriage, unhitching the horses. “Father, let me,” Nathaniel said, only on his feet because Rosa was helping him.

“Get something to eat and rest,” Martin said as Derio helped him unhitch the two horses. “Besides, he might not want to see you.”

“And he’ll want to see you?” Nathaniel asked.

Martin didn’t answer as he and Derio mounted their horses and broke through the circle of carriages and raced into the woods.

They had gone surprisingly far before Derio slowed his horse down and pointed toward a base of a tree a few yards ahead. Now that the horses had stopped, Martin could hear the quiet sobbing emanating from the tree. Martin dismounted.

“Indenuel?” Martin whispered, approaching the tree. He heard the quiet sobbing, saw the poor boy curled at the base of the tree. “Let me help.”

He gasped, backing farther up the tree. “No, no. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

He acted like a cornered, frightened animal. Martin knelt, his hand out, doing everything in his power to let him see he was not mad. “It’s alright, Indenuel. Nathaniel is fine. Everyone is fine.”

He remained curled at the base of the tree; mistrust clear in his paranoid eyes. It was then that Martin noticed a deep cut in the boy’s leg he tried to hide. Indenuel must have been burning through a lot of adrenaline to have come this far on such an injury. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he tried to move away from Martin. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“I know. You are not in trouble.”

“I’m sorry,” Indenuel repeated.

“It was an accident,” Martin assured him, still not touching him. He didn’t dare use his healing powers on Indenuel’s mind yet. With this state of panic, a person needed to work on calming themselves down. If he used his powers, Indenuel would feel calm until the healing was gone, then he would revert right back to this state. “Shh,” Martin said as though trying to calm a skittish horse. “No one is mad at you.”

Indenuel covered his face and sobbed, apologizing repeatedly. Martin inched forward, placing a hand on Indenuel’s shoulder. The boy stiffened at his touch as Martin continually assured him it was alright.

“Your leg is hurt,” Martin said over his sobs. “Would you like me to heal it?”

He gave a nod, still covering his face. Martin touched the wound, closing his eyes as the skin stitched together again. Even though tree talking wasn’t his power, he sensed corruption burning in the boy. “Good as new. No harm done.”

He gave another nod, not looking at Martin. There was still fresh blood around the wound, but Martin chose to ignore it. “Am I going to be arrested?” Indenuel asked.

“No, of course not,” Martin said.

“I used the corruptive powers,” Indenuel said. “I hurt him. I have the mark.”

“The mark?” Martin asked.

Indenuel hesitated before pulling his shirt down enough for Martin to see a faint red line. “The first time was instinctual,” Indenuel said quietly. “The second time intentional. I’m sorry. I couldn’t let him fall from that height.”

“This has happened before, hasn’t it? Where you’ve intentionally used the corruptive powers?” Martin asked. Indenuel nodded, still not looking at Martin. “This is why your town had all those rumors about Lucia being a witch.” Indenuel closed his eyes, brows furrowed, another fresh wave of tears falling down his cheeks. “It’s alright, Indenuel. Red is not black. You touched the devil’s powers, but you did not commit. This can still be forgiven.”

“I didn’t mean to. I panicked. I never wanted him to get hurt.”

“I know. Which is why this is so faint. An hour’s meditation will remove this mark, unless you would like me to remove it for you.”

Indenuel finally turned his gaze toward Martin. “You can remove it? I thought it was only Speakers to the Dead who could get rid of a mark of the devil.”

“I’m a healer, am I not?”

Indenuel looked surprised at this, then looked away. “Don’t I need to confess?”

“You have been. Constantly. Ever since I’ve approached you.”

“Don’t you need to lock me away in a dungeon to monitor me to make sure I don’t use the corruptive powers again?” Indenuel asked.

“Only if it doesn’t come off. And judging by the light color, it will,” Martin said. “Did your village ever find you with a red mark?” Indenuel shook his head, again doing his best to not look at Martin. “But it would happen? You would have the red mark?” Indenuel hesitated before nodding. “Often?” Indenuel finally looked at Martin. The regret was clear in his face. Martin gave a firm nod. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

Martin lifted Indenuel’s shirt, closing his eyes as he placed his finger on the red mark on Indenuel’s shoulder. As he suspected, the hold of the devil wasn’t much. His finger easily glided over the mark, destroying the corruption inside, the red lines fading under his power. In no time at all, the five lines disappeared from Indenuel’s chest.

“How would you get rid of the mark before?” Martin asked.

“Meditation. Staying away from people. Not getting angry when my mother took the fall,” Indenuel said quietly.

Martin got up and extended his hand. Indenuel hesitated before he reached for it and pulled himself up. “You are not in trouble,” he said again as he led him over to Derio and the other horse. “It seems like you’ve run on instinct for a long time in protecting yourself. This needs to be unlearned so you don’t use your corruptive powers anymore.” Indenuel nodded numbly. “Would you like to ride the horse?”

He shook his head. Martin took the reins to guide his horse as they made their way back to the camp.

***

Indenuel walked back with Martin, head bowed, trying to sort through his emotions. There was still a part of him that wanted to argue his guilt. Martin knew this had happened often, and yet here he was, entering the camp again, being near his family members.

“Welcome back,” Nathaniel said.

“Sorry,” Indenuel said almost at the same time.

He smiled, then pointed to his face. “No harm done.” Indenuel tried to smile but could still see the dried blood Nathaniel couldn’t reach with a rag. Nathaniel placed a hand on his shoulder, leading him a bit away from the others. He braced himself for a smack or a punch for what he did. Maybe harsh punishment like a list of things he needed to clean. He even expected Nathaniel to start screaming at him, even though he never sensed that in his character.

“What happened today was you being pushed passed your limits. Only you know your limits, and you have the power to stop before you reach past that point, even if we’ve only practiced for a few blows. Knowing what you can and cannot handle is another aspect of sword fighting.” Indenuel said nothing, only nodded. “Go get some lunch, we’re about to pack up and head out.”

Nathaniel had been far too kind to him, especially considering what he’d done. He kept his head bowed as he walked toward the servants, trying to avoid Rosa and her boys. He noticed Adosina still at the tree, her palm flat against it, her eyes closed. Indenuel stopped before heading over to her.

“I’m sorry, Api, this last tree is very corrupted,” Adosina said, her eyes still closed. “I’ve never felt such corruption before.”

“Adosina,” Indenuel said, mainly to help her realize it was him.

Her eyes snapped open, her cheeks reddening. “Oh. Forgive me, Indenuel. I didn’t realize it was you. I’ve been using all my power to try and-”

Indenuel cut her off by placing his flat palm against the bark of the tree. He closed his eyes, sensing the black corruption in it. The essence of the tree cowered in fear, unsure and frightened about what it had done.

Calm, Indenuel said to the tree.

The tree tried to listen. It wanted to be calm, but someone had broken its will.

He let the tree into his memories, let it see that it was him. He was so sorry, he hadn’t thought things through. The tree drank the memories in, sensed the forgiveness, willed Indenuel to take the corruption away. He gathered it together before helping the tree dissolve it.

He opened his eyes and released his hold on the tree. Adosina was still there, watching him closely. He brushed his hands.

“You are powerful,” Adosina said.

“That’s not the kind of power I want.”

“Not the corruption kind, but the kind willing to heal your own mistakes.”

Indenuel looked down at his hands again. There weren’t any bits of bark stuck in them, but he continued to brush them together to give himself something to do.

“It never should have happened.” He glanced at Nathaniel, who was sitting down while he talked with Rosa and Martin.

“I assure you, my brother is fine. In his line of work, I bet he’s been far closer to death than he’s willing to admit to us. Yes, what happened here was concerning, but we can all see how guilty you feel about it. You’re taking the right steps to make it better.”

Indenuel nodded as a servant handed him a plate of rice and beans. “Thanks,” he said, both to the servant and to Adosina.

Adosina smiled before excusing herself and joining Martin, Rosa, and Nathaniel.

***

Indenuel excused himself early that evening. He didn’t see any disappointment in the crowd, only the awe, but he still felt guilty about slipping away.

The inn workers prepared a bath for him. He kept himself away until they were done, bowing and scurrying away.

Indenuel sunk into the bath, then closed his eyes and curled into a ball, coming to terms with what had happened. He used the corruptive powers in front of everyone, including Martin, a High Elder, and by the end of the day everyone acted as though it hadn’t happened. Sure, Rosa still shot an occasional cautious eye toward him, but even she was glad he was alright.

He didn’t trust any of it. Maybe he should, but he couldn’t. Either they were all being far too nice to him, or they didn’t realize what happened. Somehow he doubted the second one.

What bothered him was he clearly had the mark on his chest, and Martin brushed it off as easily as he had healed him. It was not what Indenuel expected at all. Considering how harsh the villagers had been to him, he expected something from a High Elder. After all, he had the mark of the devil on him, however faint it was. Maybe it was his paranoia, but he could not trust their kindness.

He took a deep breath before sinking under the water. It surrounded him, getting into his hair and enveloping his body before he sat up and took a breath. He made sure the blood from his leg washed off. Made sure there was no reminder of what happened. A troubling thought trickled into his mind as he wiped the water from his face. They were kind to him because he was the Warrior. Would Martin have acted the same toward Indenuel if he wasn’t?

***

Martin waited on his chair as Derio finished explaining to the High Elders what happened that afternoon. He requested a special session to be gathered, which meant Derio would help the messages to be sent as quickly as possible. It was more difficult to have a conversation like this since Derio was Martin’s servant and not a member of the High Elders, but they would simply avoid certain topics. And Navir, being the strongest tree talker in Santollia, was able to keep this line private, shutting out anyone who might try to sneak in.

Derio wrote out the conversation sent from Navir. Martin held the bottle of ink and candle near him as he wrote the reply with his quill before passing the paper.

This is deeply concerning behavior.

Martin wrote his response. When dealing with a tree talker, the easiest way was to write things down to make sure they knew how best to portray the information. If anything, Navir could use the trees to dig through Derio’s memories of the written response if needed.

He hasn’t used the corruptive powers since I picked him up, but I do agree it is more than I expected.

Derio passed the information along the trees, on the priority line to Santollia City. Navir was in the Cathedral itself getting this information to give to the other High Elders, while Martin and Derio were outside on chairs in the back of the inn in the dead of night.

He should be punished. Martin couldn’t tell which one of the High Elders wrote that, but it didn’t matter. It was probably Navir himself. He always believed in rules and consequences.

I won’t punish him. Not for this, Martin wrote. It was true. From what he saw, he deliberately used the corruptive powers to save Nathaniel’s life. It wasn’t good to use the corruptive powers at all, but his’s heart was in the right place.

Using the corruptive powers too much could corrode the God-given gifts. Those gifts need to be strong if he is to win the war, the High Elders wrote.

As far as I am aware, his tree talking ability is as strong as ever. I am not worried, Martin wrote back.

Alert us next time he uses any corruptive powers, no matter how small. You can keep an eye on him while you travel, but once you reach the city, it will be a lot harder. We need to know if there’s a pattern.

Derio held the bottle of ink and candle for Martin as he scratched out his reply with his quill. I honestly believe this is a rare occurrence.

Derio transferred the information through the trees. Martin remembered Indenuel’s confession. This was not a rare occurrence in Indenuel’s life. He remembered in Mountain Pass how the tree whacked Andres in the back of the head. There might have been other innocent things like that. Martin wasn’t sure. He wouldn’t dig unless it happened again.

Derio wrote down the reply, and Martin took the paper.

Keep an eye on him, nonetheless. He is bringing hope to Santollia, and the devil wants to stop him.

“He feels the meeting is done, sir,” Derio said.

Martin nodded. “Alright. Thank you, Derio.”

Derio released his hold from the tree as Martin picked up the candle. He walked over to a small stream before lighting the corner of the paper on fire. He didn’t leave until the page was in ashes.