The Healer's Rain

Odaise Gaelach

This is a fairly long short-story (weighing in at a little over 4502 words).

Please leave any comments and criticism that you have. I want to write better stories, and it's the best way for me to learn.

But above all, please enjoy.

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The Healer’s Rain

It had been almost eight years since Vyola chose to live her life as a healer. She always worked hard at everything she did, be it mending cuts, folding deep gashes together, curing minor illnesses or deadly infections. She had seen agony, fevers, chills, burns, blood, broken bones, abnormal growths, severed limbs... some of the most horrible things that a person could see. But healing was her love. It was her life. She never wanted to give it up, no matter what.
Yet, in all her years and despite all her experience, she had never come across a disease quite like the one that she saw now.
The patient was lying asleep in his bed when she visited him. He was a young man of thirty, barely a year older than Vyola. He was suffering from something that closely resembled the common flu; coughing, shivering, fever, weakness... everything that a case of the flu would have.
But Vyola folded back a corner of his sheets and gently pulled up his sleeve. There was a light red mark either on or under his skin (she honestly couldn’t tell). It encircled his wrist and travelled a little up his arm, just stopping below the elbow. It looked like a rash but it wasn’t because it didn’t itch like a rash does.
She frowned and folded the quilt back over him again. She flickered through her healing book for how to cure the red-mark illness. It read:
Same cure for common influenza.
Vyola bit her lip and frowned more when she saw the entry. Somehow she doubted that the common influenza cure would work. Nevertheless she laid her hands onto him, one onto the head and the other onto the neck at the pulse, and muttered the healing spell. There was a familiar burning feeling across her palms and when she lifted them away two red hand shapes remained on the man’s skin. They would disappear again in a few minutes.
The healer bathed her own scorched hands in a bowl of water before she unfurled a towel and poured vitalising powders of yellow and green over the cloth. She folded and dipped it into the water for a moment then placed the towel balm, still dripping, upon the man’s forehead.
“Will he be all right?” a voice said.
Behind Vyola the man’s wife was standing, observing her progress like a teacher over a pupil, even though she knew nothing about healing. She held a little two-year-old boy in her arms.
When Vyola saw him she immediately thought of Dera when she saw him.
“I said will-“
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning to check on him,” Vyola replied kindly but firmly. She carefully packed up all her things into her knapsack, then bowed gracefully to the wife before leaving the house.

The city of Cereyllic was a wide, sprawling place full of narrow streets and spinning alleys. This city first started as a remote trading outpost, then inns were built for travellers to rest in. Some travellers decided to settle here and built houses of their own. Then one day a woman called Xerxes established the Healer’s Guild. Over the hundreds of years since then the city had boomed and grown until there were over a million people living in it, Vyola being one of them. It stretched over four square miles in area, and even a district was a lengthy walk.
It was only when the sun had set and the streets were dark and deserted that Vyola healed her last patient and had finished her duties. The night air was freezing as she walked home. She could see icicles forming on the stone buildings and her breath became a swirling white cloud before her. She had a coat half-wrapped around her; her left arm was completely bare. It was part of the rules of the Healer’s Guild for all healers to show their star at all times.
Vyola gingerly placed a hand on her upper arm where her own star was. It was a five-spurred star, made from thick black threads, carefully bound together and stitched through her skin. It was the unmistakable brand of a healer.
Finally Vyola reached her small home. All that her body wanted was some food and some sleep.
And as she opened the door her heart tingled, for there were candles burning brightly inside and she could smell stew.
She entered the living room and closed the door behind her. Suddenly she heard tiny footsteps across the floor and something grabbed on tightly to her leg.
Vyola smiled and picked up the small boy that was hugging her calf.
“Hello Dera,” she said sweetly and kissed him on the cheek. “Did you miss me?”
“Yeah!”
“I missed you two sweetie,” she cooed and kissed him again. “Where’s daddy?”
The small two-year-old pointed a finger at the kitchen. Vyola carried the child into the kitchen where the rich smell of stew instantly washed over her.
Bresham was kneeling on the floor, stirring the pot over a fire. Vyola heard her stomach rumble hungrily and Bresham glanced back at her.
“Hi. Fancy some stew?”
“Of course. You cooked it, didn’t you?”
Bresham laughed, put down the lathe, and lifted Dera from her.
“You should take it easy,” he noted. “You don’t look too well.”
“I will, I will, I promise,” she responded hastily. But they both knew that she wouldn’t.
“Where’s Lorane?” she added to change the subject.
“She’s gone to visit a friend but she’ll be back soon enough. We’ll eat when she comes back.”
Vyola nodded and went to the bathroom to wash her hands and face. There were still dots of dried blood on her hands and clothes.
As she washed she gazed at herself in the mirror. Part of her agreed with Bresham; she looked terrible. Her short black hair was a ruffled disarray. There were large bags under her pale blue eyes. She was only twenty-eight but she felt as if she were fifty.
She sighed and slapped the star on her left arm. She swore an oath to heal and give help to whoever needed it, no matter how tired or hungry she was. And she was going to keep it.

Lorane returned home a few minutes later and Dera ran to greet her too. When she picked him up she noticed Vyola sitting in a chair. She was sound asleep. Not even Dera’s playful shouting could wake her.
Bresham came out of the kitchen with a large plate of steaming hot stew.
“Hi,” he whispered.
Lorane put Dera back down, whispered, “Hi,” back to Bresham and then hugged and kissed him.
“How’s Vyola?” she asked.
“The same as usual. She’s overworking herself horribly...” and he gently put the stew down on the table beside Vyola.
“You say anything to her?”
“She doesn’t listen to me,” Bresham replied. “Even when we were children she never did. I know that she’s my little sister and I should be taking care of her but if she doesn’t listen then there’s nothing I can do. I can’t even remember the last time that she took a break from the Guild...”
“Maybe if you kept pestering at her to take a break then she will.”
Bresham chuckled quietly.
“That won’t work. Vyola loves being a healer too much. She loves taking care of people and helping them. She’s got no husband or family except for us. Healing people is what keeps her going... But if she continues on like this then healing is going to be the death of her.”
With that he gently shook her shoulder and called her. Vyola twitched and stirred and finally sprung awake.
“What time is it?” she asked, stretching and yawning widely.
“Time to eat,” Bresham replied. “Eat your stew and go to bed.”

Odaise Gaelach

Dawn’s gentle light shone all across Cereyllic. It covered the districts and avenues in an orange light, flowed through the windows of the house, into the small room and onto the bed, onto the woman that was sleeping there. It prickled at her closed eyes and she frowned and turned over. Her body still ached for sleep.
But the glow of the dawn was too irresistible to ignore. Vyola woke up slowly, groggily and feeling the familiar pains in her stiff and tired joints. Her body begged for another few minutes sleep but like clockwork she stood up out of bed. She washed and changed and made sure that her things were in order. As soon as she had everything she needed she slung her heavy knapsack over her shoulder and wobbled slightly at its weight. Then she snuck out of her room, careful not to disturb Bresham or Lorane or Dera. She stopped for a minute to have some bread and orange juice and then she silently disappeared out the door.
Outside was cold with the fresh morning breeze. Vyola remembered to keep her left arm uncovered, as were the rules of the Guild. The first person that she was going to visit was the young man with the red-mark illness that she had healed yesterday.
She was well wrapped up against the chilly air but it wasn’t long before she started shivering. He she got an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach and she realised that it wasn’t the cold that was giving her goosebumps. Something was wrong. Something had happened last night...
As soon as she saw the crowd of people outside the man’s house Vyola knew that he was dead. Everyone in the throng was wearing black, and they were talking quietly and sombrely to each other. There was a wreath of black ivy hanging on the door of the house.
Immediately she wrapped some cloth around her star and walked back the way she came, away from the mourners. It was uncommon but not unusual for healers to be attacked by the grieving family and friends. Vyola had nearly been lynched once before and she didn’t want it to happen again.
Fortunately no one noticed her and she managed to get away safely. As soon as she was sure that she was far enough away she uncovered her star again.
Vyola suddenly felt very tired and her legs gave way. She fell back down onto a doorstep, put her head in her hands and tried to stop herself from shaking. She had seen many people die over the years, both young and old, and she sat by the beds of many of them as their lives came to an end. She had learned to control her thoughts but death still gave her a chill. Sometimes she couldn’t always stop it. Someday it would be her lying in the bed, her hands clutching the person near her. Until at last her head falls back onto her pillows, just like it always is. Then her sleepy eyes close, she takes a deep breath and her fingers let go...
Vyola sat there for a while until her trembling subsided enough for her to stand up and walk again. There were still people that needed to be healed, and she was going to heal them

Three weeks had passed since the young man died from the red-mark illness. Over a hundred people more had died from it, and many more were already infected and dying. Vyola had been by the side of twenty people as they too passed away.
And, for the first time since the Healer’s Guild started three hundred years ago, they couldn’t cure the illness. It had grown into an epidemic, spreading to nearly every corner of the city. Everyone was scared. People fled their homes and left everything that they owned.
The Healer’s Guild itself was in chaos. No healer had contracted the disease yet but many feared that it was only a matter of time and there had already been several desertions.
A few days ago the city council had issued the Guild with an ultimatum: either cure the illness or the council would bring infected people outside the city to be killed and their bodies burned. It was a desperate solution to a desperate situation.
Every week inside the expansive, exquisite Guild hall there was a meeting where members came to discuss various things like the running of the Guild, cures for diseases, and all number of tedious things that Vyola usually dozed through.
Today she was half awake, half asleep in her chair. There were fifty people at the meeting (the Guild had over four hundred members, but only those that had completed the pilgrimage could attend the meetings) and each of them had the right to voice their thoughts, though only the Guild Head alone made the final decision.
Vyola was one of the last people in attendance to be asked today so she slept as best as she could in her chair. She had been working longer and harder than ever before. Her list of patients had grown considerably in the three weeks and she was constantly harassed by people in the street to stop and look at any little cut or scratch or rash that they had, just to be sure that it wasn’t the red-mark illness. And Vyola did stop and look at them; she was a healer after all, and healers couldn’t refuse anyone who asked for their help.
There were some nights that she only got home after everyone had gone to bed. Often she was woken up in the middle of the night to inspect a little red bump that was appearing on a person’s skin. It only took a moment to inspect the redness but an hour to convince the person that it wasn’t the illness.
Last night Vyola didn’t get any sleep at all. She had been up all night with patients and only finished her work at dawn, when she had to start all over again. And she kept working until the meeting was called at noon. She was exhausted.
“Lady Vyola. Lady Vyola!”
Something poked her and she woke up with a start. Everyone at the meeting was staring at her as she blinked again and again.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ve just been a little tired lately...”
“That’s understandable,” the Guild Head nodded. “We would like to hear your opinions on the red-mark illness and how to cure it.”
Vyola suddenly woke up fully and she felt a little crackle of excitement on her skin and through her heart.
“Your Grace,” she said standing up and speaking smoothly, “fellow healers. I understand what I’m about to say is forbidden, and against all morals and guides of Xerxes and the Healer’s Guild. Yet it is, I believe, the only realistic choice that we have left. If we want to save the lives of the infected people then we must summon the healer’s rain.”
The instant she finished her sentence there was a burst of shocked whispering among everyone in the hall.
“SILENCE!”
The Guild Head was suddenly standing up. His knuckles and face were completely pale. He looked as though he was having a heart attack but he was completely overtaken by fury. He had screamed at everyone and now he continued to scream at her.
“Silence Lady Vyola or I will have you expelled from the Guild and your star torn from your arm!”
There was a deadly silence. Vyola knew that the Guild Head was serious in his threat so she didn’t say another word. She just jammed her lips together, sat down and stared at her lap.
“May we have the next suggestion please?” the Head Healer said, his voice calm again but his body still shaking.

Vyola returned home late again that night. All that she wanted to do was to sleep, to pretend that the epidemic had only been a nightmare and that she’d wake up and everything would be okay again.
She entered the house and lit the candle beside the door. Shadows danced and flickered in the dark room. There were no other lights to be seen, so everyone must be in bed.
Vyola was so tired that she thought about sleeping in her chair tonight. She only had a second to think though, for Lorane suddenly rushed out of her bedroom and stood rigidly before Vyola. In the candlelight Vyola was stunned to see tears streaming down Lorane’s face.
“Where were you?” she whispered before running back into the bedroom once again. Vyola followed her.
Inside Lorane was standing over Bresham with a hand over her mouth. Bresham was lying in his bed, completely still. For a horrible moment Vyola thought that he was dead, but when she lit the bedside candle she saw that she was merely asleep. Confused, Vyola glanced at Lorane, then back at Bresham. He was sleeping peacefully th-
“Oh no,” Vyola said. “Oh please no...”
She had spotted a mark on Bresham’s neck. A bloody red patch, as if his skin had been painted. Vyola knew without a doubt that it was red-mark illness, and she felt her spirit crumble and fall apart like an old wall. She sank to her knees and cried.
Lorane put an arm around her shoulders and tried to comfort Vyola. Her anguished sobs woke Bresham and he tried to tell her that it was all right. But neither could stop her from weeping until Vyola finally cried herself into a deep, unconscious sleep. There was a little puddle of tears on the floor at her knees.
Lorane gently put Vyola’s arm around her shoulders, lifted her up and brought her to her own bed. Vyola’s eyelids fluttered a little but she turned over and stayed fast asleep.
Lorane draped a blanket over the shattered healer before returning to Bresham’s bedside again.

Odaise Gaelach

Vyola woke before dawn had even broken. The night was still hanging outside like a veil. The streets would be deserted, and she wouldn’t be disturbed at the statue...
It took a few minutes for her to compose herself. She had to be strong for Bresham’s sake. She had to... as a healer... for her brother...
Vyola made up her mind. She searched for her knapsack and discovered that it wasn’t there. Of course, she had left it by the front door when she came in last night.
She pulled herself out of bed, feeling refreshed again from her night’s sleep. She needed to be.
When Vyola entered the living room Lorane was already there. She was carrying Dera up and down the room. She looked as though she barely slept last night.
I know how that feels... Vyola thought to herself.
“How is he?” she asked.
“Resting,” Lorane replied.
“How are you?” Vyola asked frowning slightly.
“Fine,” was the answer though she looked worried sick.
“Okay. You want anything to eat or drink?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Vyola went into the kitchen, and a minute later came out with a glass of orange juice.
“Listen,” Vyola rubbed her eye, then a cheek and her chin. “Myself and a few other healers think that we know how to heal the illness.”
Lorane’s eyes widened with shock.
“How?!”
“There is a ritual that we can perform, and it can summon something called the healer’s rain. It’s the most pure and powerful healing force in the universe and everyone who’s touched by it will be cured, even if they have the red-mark illness...”
She paused to finish her orange juice.
“Listen. I’m going to meet the rest of the group at the statue in the city centre now. I think that it’s going to be a bright, sunny day. But there still might be natural rain today. So when it does start raining Bresham must get outside into it as quickly as possible. Do this every time that it rains until he’s cured. Promise me that you’ll help him.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring him outside whenever it rains.”
“Promise me.”
Vyola was very anxious for this promise. Lorane saw that curing her brother meant everything to Vyola.
“I promise.”
Vyola sighed and smiled. She said her thanks and goodbye to Lorane, gave a kiss and a hug to Dera, picked up her knapsack and left the house.

Vyola ran as quickly as she could towards the statue at the very centre of Cereyllic. It was the best place to summon the healer’s rain; hopefully, the rainfall would spread out over the whole city.
She stopped for a moment to cover her star. She couldn’t stop for anyone.

Five minutes later Dera was asleep in his cot. Lorane tiptoed around her bed and even though she didn’t make a noise Bresham still woke up and glanced up at her.
“Is it dawn yet?” he asked weakly and tiredly.
“Not yet my love. Not long though.”
“Where’s Vyola... I want to talk to her.”
“She’s gone to the statue at the city centre. She’s got a group of healers together and they’re going to cure everyone.”
“What? How?”
“They’re going to perform some ritual that’ll summon the healer’s rain. When it-“
Suddenly Bresham lifted a leg out of bed and tried to sit up.
“I’ve got to stop her...”
But he was weak and Lorane easily managed to push him back down again.
“Honey? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Stop her, please... stop her...”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Stop my sister, please!”
Bresham was on the verge of panicking though Lorane had no idea why. If Vyola was going to cure him then what could be wrong? But there was an edge, an urgency in Bresham’s voice that she never heard before.
“I’ll stop her! I’ll stop her! Keep yourself calm. I’ll bring her back.”
Bresham stopped panicking though his eyes were still wide with anxiety.
Lorane left Bresham behind and ran out the door, then sprinted down the alley after Vyola.

Vyola was sitting on the paving stones alone. She was sorry to have to lie to Lorane, but it was the only way. Vyola had to summon the rain alone.
Before her was the grand, towering statue of Xerxes. Xerxes was a woman and the founder of the Healer’s Guild. Vyola knew that she was breaking one of the most fundamental rules of the Guild, one that Xerxes herself had set down.
But it had to be done. People needed to be cured and Vyola could cure them.
In her mind she had a picture of Bresham and Lorane together, both smiling and holding the two-year-old Dera. They could be a family again. Vyola just had to summon the healer’s rain. Doing so would require every ounce of strength and will she had. But she knew that she could do it.
Before she did so, though, she wanted to pray to Xerxes for a moment. She was Vyola’s hero, and Vyola felt that she had to explain to her why she was defying her like this. Why it was necessary...
She took her knapsack off her back and put it down. And then she remembered to uncover her star again, giving the thick black threads a gentle rub. She bowed down to the statue once before clasping her hands together and beginning to pray...

Lorane was fatigued but she still ran up the granite steps that led to the statue of Xerxes. All the while she wondered about the ritual. What could it be that was so dangerous? Lorane really didn’t know much about the Healer’s Guild, though Vyola would often talk to Bresham about it-
“Ahh!”
Lorane lost her footing and slipped. Her hands and knees painfully crashed into the stone steps and she could feel her skin tearing. But she shunned the pain and continued on rushing up the steps.
When she reached the top she saw Vyola there alone. She was sitting on the ground, with her head bowed forward. She was praying.
Lorane dashed forward at her when suddenly Vyola toppled backwards. Lorane caught her and saw the gleaming metal at her waist.
Vyola’s eyes were half-closed. Her lips were in a soft smile though her face was tense with pain. Her hands were closed tight around the bloody knife that was stuck in her belly. A dark red stain had spread on her robes around the blade.
Please make it stop, it hurts so much...
Then she slowly blinked, and she stared up at Lorane. For a moment she could see her picture of all three of them again, happy and together, before the image was drowned in a sea of pain.
Lorane saw the blink and her heart leapt. Vyola was alive! She took Vyola’s hands away from the knife and realised with horror that it was one of her knives, stolen from the kitchen of her own home.
She pulled the blade out from inside Vyola, placed a hand over the wound and pressed down on it to try and stop the bleeding.
Lorane raised her head and shouted for help when a little drop of water suddenly landed on her face beneath her eye. It felt nice, comforting somehow. Then another hit her face. And another, until the crystal-clear dawn had suddenly started raining.
Lorane’s bare, bleeding hands felt hot somehow, and when she looked at them she saw that the cuts from her fall had closed up again. This is the healer’s rain? she wondered.
She was still cradling Vyola with one arm. Her pale blue eyes were unblinking in the stream of rain around her. Her lips were no longer smiling. Her mouth was slightly open, her face was stiff with pain. She had suffered horribly before she finally died. Her black hair was soon soaking with rainwater.
Lorane’s clothes and hands were stained with blood, but she still stayed holding Vyola’s body.

Bresham saw the rain streaming down his window and he knew that the worst had happened. Vyola explained to him long ago that whenever a healer died their soul ascended up into the sky and the clouds above, and then it was blessed with an overwhelming purity before it descended back down to the ground again as rain. It was known as the healer’s rain.
Bresham summoned all the strength he had and sat up out of bed. He was going to accept his sister’s last gift to him. He picked up the still sleeping Dera and carried him outside. As the rain splashed and flowed over his skin he felt a little stronger. The red marks felt like they were being burned by the water, and they burned and burned until they disappeared at last and he was cured. Vyola had healed him.

Over an hour later it was still raining all over Cereyllic. When the city guards and the Guild Head ascended the steps to the statue of Xerxes they found two women; one alive and one dead.
The living woman was still cradling and crying beside the body, her bitter tears falling freely like the sweet rain all around her.

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fade2black

I will read it eventually, but there's a world cup match on now. Let me tell you though, I love that title.

Odaise Gaelach

fade2black wrote:

I will read it eventually, but there's a world cup match on now. Let me tell you though, I love that title.

Thanks! Glad you liked the title!

Matt Holck

I was moved by the emotions of the story

I liked the detail of healers mark
because it was so unusual
you may want to add more descriptions along that line

I liked the story

Odaise Gaelach

Matt Holck wrote:

I was moved by the emotions of the story

I liked the detail of healers mark
because it was so unusual
you may want to add more descriptions along that line

I liked the story

I'm really glad that you liked it Matt.

I'll add in more detail about the healer's star. Thanks for the suggestion, I really appreciate it.

Matt Holck

epp
a meant such detail for other objects

Odaise Gaelach

Matt Holck wrote:

epp
a meant such detail for other objects

Ah, so you mean other details about what it means to be a member of the Healer's Guild? Like special robes that Vyola or any other healer would have to wear?

Matt Holck

indeed
it is your story

Peter McC

Hi Odaise Gaelach, thanks for posting your short story. I really enjoyed it and felt compelled to comment.

I found the story to be well rendered, particularly the section were Vyola comes home. The description of the welcoming home and happy family was convincing and 3 dimensional. Also, I think you carried her growing fatigue through the story well.

A couple of things didn’t sit right with me though. Bresham was stirring the stew over an open fire, and Vyola entered an indoor bathroom, splashed water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror. These two elements didn’t match up for me. The house relies on candles for light at night and uses an open fire for cooking but has an indoor bathroom with running water (I presumed anyway) and a mirror. I could picture a medicine cabinet, rubber duck and a Triton 300 shower in the bathroom too. Cereyllic seemed a 18th century or post apocalyptic to me. Even if there once was running water to every house I doubt that would still be the case.

The star stitched into Vyola’s arm didn’t work for me either. I think by their very nature, healers wouldn’t subject themselves to painful mutilation of that extreme. It does make for a cool visual but that’s all. Even a tattoo (traditional tribal thing) would make more sense.

The concept of the healer’s soul raining down a great healing power is nice. The sick brother and the danger of the child being infected gave good motivation for the ultimate and final hero act. Really liked that!

I hope you take my criticism constructively. I’m writing a fiction story of a similar vein and only wish my efforts were as believable and well rendered as yours.

Thanks again and looking forward to your next story.

Matt Holck

I thought the embroidary beneth the skin was a sign of skill

Odaise Gaelach

Thank you very much for reading the story Peter, and for giving me some constructive criticism. I'm glad that you enjoyed reading it.

Peter McC wrote:

These two elements didn’t match up for me. The house relies on candles for light at night and uses an open fire for cooking but has an indoor bathroom with running water (I presumed anyway) and a mirror.

I see what you mean... okay, what if Vyola took the water from a bucket or a basin?

Vyola nodded and went to the bathroom to wash her hands and face. There were still dots of dried blood on her hands and clothes.
She splashed some water from a bucket onto her face and gazed at herself in the mirror. Part of her agreed with Bresham; she looked terrible.

By the way, best of luck in your own story. I hope that it works out well for you. I started writing The Healer's Rain in January, and it was completely different to what it ended up as. Just make your story as good as you want it to be, and don't give up!

Peter McC wrote:

The star stitched into Vyola’s arm didn’t work for me either. I think by their very nature, healers wouldn’t subject themselves to painful mutilation of that extreme.

Matt Holck wrote:

I thought the embroidary beneth the skin was a sign of skill

I thought that the star was a symbol of empathy. That healers know what it's like to be in pain, and they can sympathise with their patients' suffering.

That's only my interpretation though. The Healer's Guild definitely did it for a reason. I'm just not too sure what it is.

Cu_Ifrinn

I really enjoyed reading that. (It's now 1.11Am, sorry if I sound lathargic) Anyhow, I liked the idea of the embroidered mark on her arm and interperated as you intended. The only critisim I have really (because this is an awsome story) is Bresham's description of the way the healer's rain works(second last paragraph). It seems a little fanciful but all things like that are hard to make convincing, personally I would leave a description of the process out all together. Leave it up to the reader. I think it would still work without it.

Awsome read! Well done. *applause*

Demetrius

I liked your story very much OP. The idea of self-sacrifice for one you love does play well for me. This healer of yours really cares less for herself than for other people, the puriest form of the Hipocratic oath. She is a giver rather than a reciever.

Odaise Gaelach

I'm thrilled that you both liked it, Cu_Ifrinn and Demetrius.

Cu_Ifrinn wrote:

The only critisim I have really (because this is an awsome story) is Bresham's description of the way the healer's rain works(second last paragraph). It seems a little fanciful but all things like that are hard to make convincing, personally I would leave a description of the process out all together. Leave it up to the reader. I think it would still work without it.

I understand that it seems a little bit crude. But I think that the paragraph kinda makes the bridge between a healer's death and the rain. Plus, it also explains why Bresham was so scared when Lorane told him about Vyola summoning the healer's rain. He knew what was going to happen.

But still, thanks for the comment. I really do appreciate it from you and from everyone else too. Usually I post my stories in another forum, and there I'm lucky if I even get one comment on them. I think that I'll post all my other stories here from now on...

takola

That truly is a great read odaise! You have the ability to take the reader into the world you create and that is a rare quality! (IMO Anyway! ) I love the description of the happy family. You really made the bond between brother and sister obvious and real.

You should definitely post your stories here. It's a pleasure reading them!!!

Odaise Gaelach

takola wrote:

That truly is a great read odaise! You have the ability to take the reader into the world you create and that is a rare quality! (IMO Anyway! ) I love the description of the happy family. You really made the bond between brother and sister obvious and real.

You should definitely post your stories here. It's a pleasure reading them!!!

Thanks very much for reading the story, and I'm pleased that you liked it so much.

Usually it takes me about a month or so to write and redraft a short story. Hopefully it won't be too long until I finish another one.

But until then, please enjoy The Surprise and the Secret.

Peter McC

Thanks for the words of encouragement OG and thanks for the new shortstory. I’m going to make time over the weekend to read it.

The Bollox

I would be very interested in reading the other short stories you have written and posted on that other forum, could you supply a link, or make threads with the stories in them?

also I agree with Cu_Ifrinn, I think it would work better if you left out the description of how the rain works

Odaise Gaelach

Marts wrote:

I would be very interested in reading the other short stories you have written and posted on that other forum, could you supply a link, or make threads with the stories in them?

Well, in total I've got another six stories finished (not counting the Surprise and the Secret).

I'm nearly finished another story now, so when I have that one done I'll post it up along with one of my older stories. Sound good?

Marts wrote:

also I agree with Cu_Ifrinn, I think it would work better if you left out the description of how the rain works

Hmm... I said that I would keep that paragraph in the story, but now I'm not so sure... maybe I should take it out...

The Bollox

cheers about the other stories.

It is completly upto you concerning the description. I know it can be hard leaving stuff out that you feel you want to show your readers but just can't seem to find the right phrasing or whatever

Odaise Gaelach

Marts wrote:

It is completly upto you concerning the description. I know it can be hard leaving stuff out that you feel you want to show your readers but just can't seem to find the right phrasing or whatever

Yeah... you see... Remember when he started to panic when Lorane told him that Vyola was going to summon the rain? For that to happen, Bresham would need to know that when a healer dies then the rain follows. And it makes the bridge between the death of a healer and the rain.

Maybe removing the description about the healer's soul and all that, and instead putting in something else would make it work out...

Bresham saw the rain streaming down his window and he knew that the worst had happened. When the last Guild Head died many years ago it rained like this. Vyola explained to him that it always happened whenever a healer died. "Healers never stop trying to heal people, even when they die. It's known as the healer’s rain."
Bresham summoned all the strength he had and sat up out of bed.

Gahh! That's rubbish. But it might be decent enough, given enough time and thought.