“It has been around for as long as the Udynea Empire. Probably back before we were even truly an empire. The foreskin is removed when a boy is…” Darshan scrunched his face in thought. “Thirteen? Fourteen years of age. When rather varies by city. I was done when I was twelve.”
As one, the rest of the group hissed in sympathy, grasping or covering their privates.
Hamish winced right alongside the others, certain everything had just attempted to retract right up inside him. The mere thought of letting a blade anywhere near that region… “Ouch.”
His lover laughed. “Yes. Although, not for long if one has access to a healer or has been in training long enough to acquire innate healing as I had.”
Hamish hadn’t seen any healing beyond what had been used upon himself. He had heard tales of the plague that’d happened a few years before either him or his siblings were born. So many lives had fallen to the sickness by the time his grandfather had allowed the Tirglasian spellsters to leave their cloisters. Once magic had intervened, the plague had ground to a halt faster than a dry waterwheel, but what had intrigued him was how the stories explained the utter lack of fear those spellsters were rumoured to have shown. They spent days surrounded by death and illness and never once felt the slightest bit unwell.
“Then, wouldnae it just have grown back?” Gordon asked.
“No?” Darshan arched a brow at the man. “Healing magic does not work in such a fashion. It uses the body’s natural ability, just expediting the process. That is, typically, why scarring still occurs. Given that neither humans, dwarves nor elves can regrow severed parts like a lizard, the best the body’s capable of in such a circumstance is the usual crude method of knitting everything together. Scarring and all.”
“I dinnae see any sc—” Hamish said before catching himself, his cheeks burning. No one here minded that he liked men, but being so free with his tongue in their company could mean a slip up back home.
Out the corner of his eye, he caught Zurron’s sly smile. “I bet you’ve had a good long look,” he snickered, his grin widening when Hamish splashed him.
Darshan cleared his throat. If he had heard the elf, he made no indication. “The one thing the healing magic does well is reduce most marks to a few fine lines, if it does not mend seamlessly. As you can no doubt tell, the latter is a far more common outcome.” He indicated the shoulder that had been shot only five days prior, which showed no sign of the injury. “I could show you all the full effect on a more noticeable part, if you would like?”
Hamish shook his head before anyone could suggest otherwise. “We’ve all seen healing before.” Granted, in his case, only when he had been the patient. “You mentioned something about it being innate?” He had thought all healing was instinctual, whether there was magic involved or not, just that the non-magical type was far slower and didn’t always save the life it was trying to mend.
His lover frowned and Hamish scrunched deeper into the water. Had he asked something he shouldn’t have? He would be the first to admit how woefully ignorant he was in what information could be shared, especially around magic.
“It is harder to explain to those lacking the ability.” Darshan gave a considering hum. “Once there has been a certain—” He waved his hand, the right words clearly escaping him. “Healing magic is an intimate skill. It requires sufficient training and understanding of how the body works—not to mention constant usage of the ability and all that. It is through that training that the body begins to draw upon magic to heal injuries without conscious thought.”
“Handy,” Sean murmured. “I suppose, being aware your magic can mend any injury makes taking the reckless option less dangerous.”
Darshan’s lips twisted wryly. “Not really. There are exceptions to most things and healing has its limits. Whilst comforting in some situations, the magic cannot differentiate between a simple pricked finger and a broken leg, reacting with the same urgency either way.” He shrugged, rippling the water. “It is but one of the immutable norms, much like elemental magic must obey certain rules.”
“Such as?” Hamish coaxed. His lover had seemingly relaxed, talking about a topic obviously a great deal more pleasant than their previous one. If Hamish was capable of keeping the conversation going in the same direction, then the others would likely forget too.
“Fire requires heat, air and fuel if not feeding off a spellster’s magical energy. The apparent conjuring of water from nothing is little more than the act of drawing moisture from the air—rather tricky in dry climates. That sort of thing.”
“I dinnae—” Hamish fell silent, just like the rest of the men. He likely wore the same considering frown as well.
Darshan chuckled, submerging himself until the laughter became just bubbles burbling beneath the hook of his nose. “Do not tell me you all thought magic happened just like that.” He snapped his fingers, flicking droplets in all directions.
But that was it. Hamish had given no thought towards how spellsters created the terrors and miracles they performed. Likely no more so than their ancestors had the day they bound and cloistered their once-revered chiefs. Magic was a thing best left alone.
Forgotten.
He shouldn’t be intrigued by the idea of watching Darshan display more of his abilities. Nae after seeing just how dangerous the man could become when riled.
~~~
They continued to bathe in relative silence, the heads of the other men no doubt swimming with new information. The quiet suited Darshan just fine as it enabled him to turn his focus to the cloister. Whilst it clung rather impressively to the side of the cliff, the building looked to be the size of the academy him and his
