Trader's Leap (Liaden Universe Book 23)

by Sharon Lee

  It had therefore seemed best, after discussion, not to tax the Healers of Millsap with questions when what was wanted—were answers.

  So, Priscilla had stayed with the ship—their reserve force, as she styled it, in the unlikely event that the Healers of Millsap proved to be pirates or brigands—while Lina accompanied the wounded Healer and the Emergent in need of Sorting.

  It was perfectly straightforward, he told himself, not for the first, or even the sixth, time. Nonetheless, his stomach, foolish organ, remained unsettled.

  As if she had heard his ruminations, Lina turned her head and smiled at him briefly. It might have reassured him, if he hadn’t known her for so long that her smiles hid no secrets from him.

  Lina was worried, too.

  Shan sighed.

  * * *

  Padi kept her attention on the window as the omnibus made its awkward way down the track and the boring port moved past.

  Really, she thought, how could they put up with all this . . . greyness? Would it have done any harm to have painted the occasional building red, or even pale blue?

  She bit her lip. Ordinarily, she liked to explore ports, though she preferred walking to port transport. Ordinarily, she would have dismissed the grey-on-grey color scheme as local custom, but today . . .

  Today, she wished she were back on the Passage, even if the only thing she had to occupy herself with were exercises to help her become better acquainted with her gift.

  She was not at all certain that she wanted strange Healers . . . looking at her. She had expressed this to Lina, who had agreed that it was very natural to feel uneasy. She had also said that no one would hurt her, and if someone did hurt her, she was to say so, immediately, for nothing the Healers would be doing during their examinations ought to be in the least uncomfortable.

  Which did not . . . precisely . . . address Padi’s unease. One could not See oneself—not in that way. At least, she hadn’t yet discovered in her private explorations any sort of interior mirror where she might regard this . . . brightness that was her talent.

  She had received the impression, however, that it was not . . . quite . . . pleasing. That it was too bright—that had been said, though followed with a hasty reassurance that new talent often arrived in a burst of energy that might dazzle Healer eyes.

  Unfortunately, she had begun to receive the impression that her brightness ought to have started to subside by now—and that this was not the case.

  Aside all that, she had glimpsed in Lina’s reticence to answer certain questions regarding Padi’s specific gift, that it had become . . . misshapen, perhaps, as a result of her mistaken attempt to keep it locked away.

  So, she wished—she very much wished—that she might dispense with the Healers altogether. Father, of course, must have an examination to be certain, among other things, that his heir had not hurt him in what she now knew to have been a foolhardy attempt to help him.

  “I believe I see our stop,” Father said.

  Padi blinked out of her thoughts, and leaned closer to the window.

  This section of the port boasted perhaps half-a-dozen dormitories, grab-a-bites, bars, restaurants, what might have been a house of pleasure, and another half-dozen general supply houses. And here, Padi saw, someone among the shopkeepers or the hosts had heard of paint, though they might have done well to coordinate the colors. Still, that was a small thing, and after the tedium of the journey through the warehousing and office districts, to come upon this small area was rather like stumbling into a meadow of wildflowers after wandering the desert.

  The Healer Hall—she saw it immediately, situated on the corner of a small street between the hospitality and retail areas, as if no one could quite decide on its function. It was a modest ’crete square surrounded by a fence. Both the building and the fence were painted a soft, pleasing shade of pink, and the front yard, which at ho— on Liad would have been a modest garden, was here artfully decorated with bright mosaic sculptures, many with wind-catchers at the apex.

  The wind-catchers, Padi thought, might have been an exercise in wishcraft, which might or not be an actual dramliz craft. It was sometimes difficult for her to know when Priscilla was having a joke.

  In any case, the wind-catchers were catching no wind today, their blades as still as the petals of the flowers they were perhaps meant to counterfeit.

  The omnibus groaned to a halt. Two seats ahead, Third Mate Dil Nem Tiazan, who made one of their security pair today, rose and moved toward the hatch.

  Lina followed him, Padi following her, then Father, and Karna Tivit, the second of their security pair, bringing up the rear.

  Karna’s feet had scarcely touched the pavement when the door shut, and the omnibus rolled off, groaning loudly. The five of them stood for a moment, orienting themselves to the bright, windless day, before confronting the glittering front garden.

  “Well,” Lina said briskly after a long moment had passed and no one of them had made a move toward the gate. “We are well arrived. Let us allow the Hall to know that we are here.”

  * * *

  The door was opened by a plump boy with curly yellow hair and soft grey eyes. He was dressed in an emerald green tunic and bright red pants, which was, Padi thought, certainly understandable, given the larger port environment, but perhaps a trifle too bold in terms of the House he served.

  “Good-day to you,” Lina said, from her position at the front of their group—the order being Lina at center, Father a step behind and to her right; Padi to his left, looking over Lina’s shoulder.

  “I am Lina Faaldom, Healer on Dutiful Passage, come with my clients to confer with the elders.”

  The boy . . . said nothing. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were looking into a very bright light.

  “I had sent a message ahead,” Lina said, and Padi had the impression that she had subtly done . . . something, which had the happy effect of bringing the doorkeeper’s attention back to her.

  “Yes, Healer!” he said, suddenly brisk. “We have been looking for you, and for your clients. May the House know the identity of these two persons below you?”

  That was not as rude as it sounded. Dil Nem and Karna were standing on the path at the bottom of the short stairs so as not to crowd the door, while at the same time bearing witness to all that was said and done.

  “Those are our security team,” Lina said calmly.

  The doorkeeper frowned somewhat.

  “Those who do not seek Healing are not admitted to the House,” he said.

  Which, Padi thought, was rude.

  Father shifted slightly, drawing the boy’s eyes to him.

  “At Solcintra Hall, where Healer Faaldom and I trained, kin, colleagues, and comrades of those come to seek Healing were allowed to wait in the inner garden, where they did not disturb the House.”

  He paused. The boy inclined his head.

  “Sir,” he said hastily. “I—of course, your oathsworn may enjoy the comfort of our garden. It is the House from which . . . the work . . . ”

  “I understand entirely,” Father assured him gently, and added, “At Solcintra Hall, light refreshment is provided to those who wait. If that is not the custom here, perhaps you will advise us on the proper way to have a tray sent over from one of the restaurants nearby?”

  The boy . . . blinked.

  “Sir,” he said, after a moment. “I am at a loss. The seniors await, and we ought not tarry longer. If you will permit, I will call my second to show your oathsworn to the garden, while I guide you to my elders. Once that is done, I will find from the Hall manager what the custom is in the matter of guests in the garden, and I myself will see that everything proper is done.”

  Father inclined his head, and produced a quarter-cantra, which he held out to the doorkeeper.

  “If it should be that the Hall’s custom does not permit of light refreshment, please do send for a tray from the restaurant you favor most, of those just there.”

  He used his chin to po
int down the street.

  The boy hesitated a moment before he took the coin with a small bow.

  “A moment, Gentles, if you please,” he murmured, and stepped back from the door. Padi heard him speak, very briefly—the name of his second, perhaps, for a shadow moved in the hallway, and a girl some years younger than the doorkeeper, also yellow-haired but wearing pale blue tunic and pants, came forward to bow.

  Father stepped closer to Padi and the girl padded lightly past them, down the stairs to where Dil Nem and Karna waited. Padi turned her head slightly and saw the girl bow again, everything that was polite, from a younger to elders.

  Her voice was soft and pretty, somehow seeming to match the light blue of her garments.

  “I am Yissi, an apprentice in the House. I will be pleased to take you to the garden, Gentles. It is a very nice garden, quite the best on Millsapport. Everyone says so.”

  It was not, Padi thought, a very high bar, but she hoped their security would be tolerably comfortable.

  “Thank you, young Healer,” Dil Nem said in his punctilious way. “My comrade and I will be very pleased to enjoy the comforts of the garden.”

  “Please,” she said, “follow me.”

  She stepped ’round them, toward the side of the house, Karna following. Dil Nem paused a moment to look up the stairs, catching Father’s eye.

  “Sir?” he murmured.

  “As ever, Dil Nem,” Father murmured, and Padi saw the dour Third Mate smile slightly before he turned to follow the others.

  “If the Healer and her clients will follow me, please,” the doorkeeper said. “The elders are waiting.”

  II

  They were guided down a short hall to a room that erred on the side of austerity. Shan would have preferred a more parlorlike setting, if only to soothe Padi’s sensibilities, but a glance at her face gave him to understand that she had expected an examination room, and found this austere little area worthy of an appreciative lift of eyebrows.

  Shan sighed. Padi, he recalled, had never before been in a Healer Hall. She had not expected a consultation parlor holding comfortable chairs and small comforts, or anything other than a room set up to host the business negotiations of traders.

  The Healers of Millsap had met those very modest expectations, and Shan supposed he ought to be grateful.

  “Master Healer Ferin, Healer Osit, here is Healer Lina Faaldom of the Dutiful Passage, with her clients, Healer Shan yos’Galan, and Emergent Padi yos’Galan.”

  Master Healer Ferin was female and grey-haired; her eyes were stern blue. Healer Osit was some years younger than Shan, male, and possessed of a pair of merry brown eyes. Both rose and bowed welcome. Shan bowed, and Lina did, and Padi. Healer Ferin dismissed their escort.

  “Please, sit,” she said coolly, “and let us become acquainted with your situations.”

  There was a small but important concession to the traditional comfort of the consultation parlor—a tea service sat in the center of the table. Healer Osit poured for them all—Healer Ferin’s cup first, his own, then Lina’s, Shan’s, and Padi’s. Apparently, the Healers of Millsapport did not honor those in need as guests of the House, but as petitioners for favor.

  That, Shan thought, was interesting.

  He accepted his cup with a small bow of the head. A moment later, Padi accepted hers with a murmured word of thanks.

  Comfort dispensed, Healer Osit sat down. Healer Ferin raised her cup to sip, all doing the same. Teacups returned to the tabletop, and the elder Healer looked to Lina.

  “We understand from your correspondence that you bring us two clients for assessment, with a request that we consult with you in their proper treatment.”

  She moved a hand, indicating Shan and Padi without actually looking at them.

  “Is there a reason, Healer, that you chose not to shield the Emergent?”

  “There is,” Lina said composedly. “She resisted the arrival of her gift to the point of building a wall to separate herself from its fullness. I hesitate to subject her to another walling away until she is Sorted.”

  “One doubts that there can be a Sorting,” Healer Ferin said. “She is altogether too chaotic. For the sake of those who are less overbearing, but more orderly of mind, she should be shielded.”

  Shan felt Padi shift beside him, and dared a look at the side of her face, which was entirely without expression.

  Oh, dear, he thought.

  “If I am discommoding the Healers,” she said, stringently calm, “I will happily remove myself from the meeting, and wait with our oathsworn in the garden.”

  “If that is the best you are able to do, in respect of your elders,” Healer Ferin began—and Healer Osit spoke quickly.

  “If I might make the attempt, Master Healer? She is very bright and—disparate—but I believe I discern a line which may be worked upon. I will attempt to demonstrate a simple shield, which she may be able to reproduce. It will naturally fall to Healer Faaldom to instruct her in best practice.”

  “Very well,” Healer Ferin said, sharply dismissive of both Padi and her colleague. “Take her down the hall. If I am to examine this wounded Healer with any amount of understanding, I must have my Sight clear.”

  “Yes.” Healer Osit stood. “Emergent yos’Galan. Pray attend me. We may at the very least show you how to properly care for your colleagues.”

  Padi looked to Lina.

  Lina, who had access to all of her talent, and presumably had taken the full measure of these, their colleagues, nodded at Padi.

  “We had discussed how bright you seem to me, when I look at you with my Eyes wide open. Healer Ferin must make a detailed examination of Healer yos’Galan, which will require her to be most fully open.”

  “And I will distract her, if I remain,” Padi finished, low-voiced. “I understand. I in no way wish to impede the Healer’s examination.” She rose and inclined her head. “Master Osit, I am at your command.”

  Shan let his breath out, and extended a hand to touch hers reassuringly, he hoped. She looked into his eyes and smiled slightly, then moved away from the table to follow the Healer from the room.

  * * *

  The door closed. Healer Ferin sighed.

  “Now,” she said, “let us consider what we have here, Healer yos’Galan. I See that you have forensic shielding in place. That is very wise. However, in order to observe the damage you have taken, and form a diagnosis, I must be allowed inside your shields.

  “Open to me, if you please.”

  Ice ran Shan’s veins; his breath stopped in his chest, while his heart slammed into overdrive.

  Open to me!

  The sound of Tarona Rusk’s voice in Command mode, the lash of her will, slicing open his forearm.

  “What have we here?” He heard the question at a distance, beyond the pounding of his heart. “Panic? Healer Faaldom, is this a usual response?”

  “It is atypical.” Lina’s voice was clear, calm. “I believe it may be associated with his other wounds. There was an attempt at forceful entry, using physical torture as an incentive.”

  “You have examined him since this episode?”

  “I have, but we are long known to each other. You, on the other hand—”

  “Yes, I see. Another stranger demanding entry—the horror surfaces once more.”

  Shan’s breath broke free in a gasp that was nearly a sob. Instinctively, he reached for Healspace—and found that he was . . . not blocked. Not quite blocked. But met.

  And held.

  Warmth flowed between that soft connection; warmth, and an offer of assistance.

  “I think you know, Healer,” the voice that was not Lina’s said, “that to attempt Healspace at this moment is likely not in your best interest. We have here myself, Ferin, a master in our craft. I have pledged my assistance to your colleague, whom you trust; so much I may See, though you hold your shields close. I also See that you are exhausted in spirit, which is in turn trying you physically. If you will open your sh
ields, I may learn what you have endured, and how we might ease you.”

  “Shan,” Lina said, from quite nearby. “I am here; I am watching. This our colleague is none such as she who harmed you.”

  No, of course, she wasn’t. They had spoken about this at length, he and Priscilla, and Lina. The spike of terror had surprised him as much as it had surprised the others. Having such horror hidden even from himself—it would not do, if he intended to resume as a Healer, once his strength was returned. No. He had worked with past-trauma victims, who had no idea that panic still lived in their souls. Left unHealed, such lurking horror had the power to warp a soul, bend honor, break kindness . . .

  He breathed in, carefully, accepting the warmth offered by Healer Ferin, using it to calm the last of the panic. He considered the labor of his lungs, the beat of his heart . . . and finding all within normal ranges, he formed the thought and deliberately opened his shields.

  There was a long, long moment of profound silence. With his shields down, Shan could see the other Healer’s dismay, taste her shock.

  “Healer yos’Galan,” said Healer Ferin at last, her voice rough. “You have endured much. Primary linkages were cut—cut much too close to the fabric of your soul! I see rebound lacerations, bruising, and . . . the scorch marks of another will . . . ”

  She sat back, and Shan tasted her disgust.

  “Healer yos’Galan, I must know: What did you do, to deserve this—this carnage?”

  He took a hard breath, forcing himself to answer evenly.

  “I Healed a dramliza of considerable power of the damage which had perverted her gift and made her the willing puppet of evil.”

  “She fought your intervention.”

  “She did, yes. As I had fought against her attempted rape.” He sighed, suddenly weary. “I tricked her. But I Healed her. And when I was done, I was spent unto death. In her turn, she Healed me, thus proving my treatment effective.”

  Another silence, then Healer Ferin’s voice again, controlled and tasting of steel.

  “That the severed links have reestablished themselves is well. The lacerations have been slower to heal, and the bruising is still livid—indicative, perhaps, of your general state of low energy. I may do something for you there, Healer, if you permit.”