The Healers' Road

by S E Robertson

  “Um...” Agna began, and did not know how to finish. The host plunked a mug in front of each of them and bustled on to distribute drinks to the party at the next table.

  This isn’t my kind of thing.

  Did you come here to spend time with me, or to pick up boys?

  Is this fun to you?

  She couldn’t say anything that would pull Nelle’s attention back to her side of the table. Worse, Agna saw a couple of the young men glancing her way. No, no, no, never in a thousand years. Not here, not now, not ever. Nelle could have them all. Agna had left all of that behind at the Academy – the growing amusement, the snide comments, the underhanded tricks, and finally the willful blindness to her existence. She was done with boys.

  “Nelle – hey – I’m sorry.” Agna stumbled to her feet, kicking her chair over onto the packed dirt. She ducked to right it and backed away from the table. “Have fun. I don’t really – I’ll see you later.” She left her friend to her admirers and fled into the mob of strangers outside.

  Nelle hadn’t abandoned her. Agna could have joined in, could have tried to make conversation with those boys. She didn’t even have to drink if she didn’t want to; she just had to join in. It wasn’t Nelle’s fault. Agna knew this, and tried to convince her heart that it was true.

  She could come halfway around the world, join a new organization, call herself a full-fledged healer, venture out on her own, and even lose the travel funds that her parents had sent with her – and she had never quite left the Academy behind. Not the good parts, for which she was thankful: her learning, her dedication to her craft, even the echoes of the faith that the Academy espoused. And not the other parts – the gossip, the unspoken but crucially important social rules, and the sense that for some amorphous and unchangeable reason, she simply did not belong here.

  Agna passed the food and drink stalls, including more open-air beer gardens like the one that Nelle had colonized. She poked at a few of the handicrafts stalls, finding nothing that appealed to her and painfully aware that she could not spare the funds to buy anything anyway. She convinced herself that every shopkeeper knew how low she had sunk.

  Agna ducked out of yet another stall full of woven bags and hats into the flow of foot traffic, heading back toward the camp. The crowd shifted to reveal a figure in a deep red uniform with tall black boots, striding through the festival. Agna stopped short, and he halted in front of her. The Yanweian inclined his head coolly.

  He had fastened his quartered shield pin onto his jacket, along with other insignias in gold – numbers, Yanweian script characters, the crossed lines of the medical aid symbol, and the sword-and-shield of the Daranite church. He wore his knife at his hip, on a dark leather belt with a polished buckle. Agna closed her mouth, since she had nothing to say. He stood with a poise that she had never seen in him before. She had seen this uniform before; it was as familiar as any uniform of a foreign army, something from paintings and in history books. She had never seen it on him before. It was something alien, something adult, something that invested him with a new power. And she had been intimidated by some ruffian boys from a nowhere town in the mountains.

  She groped after words, any words, forgetting to lift her eyes from the buttons over his chest. “I, uh. I thought your army wore those wheat-colored uniforms.”

  “Mmn. That’s the combat uniform, and for drills. This is the formal one, for ceremonies.”

  “Ceremonies?”

  “At the church, for the Resurrection.” He couldn’t conceal the pride in his voice. The army and its patron god represented both his profession and his religion, after all. It was an important day for him. He belonged here, more than anyone else, although his uniform was as foreign here as it would have been in Murio.

  She thought about going with him. It would be comforting to be with someone she knew, albeit someone whom she could barely stand. But she wouldn’t be welcome there, either. She was an unbeliever and a foreigner twice over, and the Yanweian hated her. She wanted to ask him what the ceremony was like and what his insignias meant. She knew a bit about the Daranite faith – just enough to make him snap at her and tell her how ignorant she was. He didn’t respect her enough to help her understand. He never would, because she wasn’t like him.

  The words were out before she’d decided to speak. “Well. If you need to kill anyone in your ceremony, I’m sure it’ll do.”

  “...What?”

  “Darano is a death god, isn’t he?” she found herself saying, heart racing, before she had a chance to stop herself.

  “No. He is not.” His voice had gone cold. She knew this tone. She understood this tone. She understood it more than her dawning curiosity and her desperate need for companionship. “He is the god of power and justice, and—”

  “War,” Agna interrupted. “What do you do in war other than kill?”

  “Darano is not only a war god,” the Yanweian insisted. “That’s a gross oversimplification—”

  Agna crossed her arms tight across her chest. “Right. Think about what you worship some time.”

  “I do,” he snapped. “Something beyond myself.” He stormed past her and was gone in the crowd. She could see him receding, his deep red coat flashing between the milling bodies, cutting through the fairground toward the center of the town.

  Agna wandered around the festival for a little while longer, and ignored Nelle when she called out from her gang of merrymakers. She drifted away from the fairground, slinking back to the quiet camp in defeat. She had already written to everyone who cared about her, and all of them were far away. She found chores and attacked them until every meager thing she owned was clean and organized. Her arm ached. She ignored the Yanweian when he slunk in that night. She didn’t apologize. There was no point.

  Laris: Agna

  While the herds were out in the pasture, Artal gave Laris a few hours free to go to the summer caravan market. Tuca had already gone with some head of cattle to sell, so the ranch’s business with the market was covered. Artal’s son Gawin, along with the dogs, was left to oversee Laris’s section of the herds. Gawin perched on a fence, swinging his feet as Laris left the ranch behind him.

  Laris turned toward home when he reached the Square. He couldn’t help but wash up a little and change. Caravan market days were some of his favorite times of year. There were so many people from distant places and so many new things to see. He’d been out in the sun all day, and it wouldn’t do to go out to the market smelling like mud and sweat. They could make fun of him when he went back; he didn’t care. He wasn’t dressing up, anyway, no matter what they said – just changing into clean clothes. Properly outfitted, Laris filled his money pouch with enough coin for a checkup at the Benevolent Union clinic and a few books.

  When he poked his head into the Benevolent Union tent, two new healers were attending to Laketoners – Feldon’s mother, who worked in the Northfield dairy, and Yuta’s youngest sister, who had to be about fourteen by now. The healers turned, and Laris waved a little. “I’m sorry. I can come back later—”

  “I’ll be done in a few minutes, no need.” It was the man who spoke, in a Yanweian accent. It was a little different from most of the accents Laris knew from the Yanweian families on the west end of town. Maybe he was newly immigrated.

  The other healer smiled and turned to Yuta’s younger sister. She was a girl, also young – Laris’s age, or something close to it. She wore the same brown robes as the other healers he knew, Solei in the winter and Faran and Linn, who had been the summer healers for half his lifetime. She was as pale as they were, too. And although he wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, he could tell when she spoke to Yuta’s sister that her accent was Nessinian. Laris hadn’t met a Nessinian healer his own age before. They said that Wildern had more Nessinian healers now, owing to the new Benevolent Union base, but Laris hadn’t been to Wildern in a few years.

  He wondered what it was like to come here from so far away, to travel around the country with the caravan,
meeting new people every day. Probably exciting, and probably a little bit terrifying. And the healers were all so knowledgeable, about all sorts of things besides medicine. He’d always thought that it came from being older and well-traveled, and it made him feel a little strange to think about a girl his own age who had learned all of those things.

  Feldon’s mother stood and thanked the Yanweian healer, and they talked about payment for a bit. The Nessinian healer, glancing over her shoulder, looked into Laris’s eyes for a second. Laris froze, his heart thumping. She looked away. There might have been a faint pink blush across her cheek. She sat in profile to him, so it was hard to tell.

  She was cute, Laris thought, and wished that he could un-notice that. She could tell him all kinds of fascinating things.

  “Ready?” Laris jumped. The Yanweian healer had turned to him. Feldon’s mother was gone. In just a moment’s time, in which Laris scrambled for words, the Yanweian healer looked him over. Looked back at the Nessinian healer, who ignored him. And the friendly, almost flirting tone clicked into something else, like the tumblers of a lock falling home. “Or you can wait.”

  “N-no, I’m sorry.” Laris dove into the seat on the Yanweian healer’s side. From here he could see the Nessinian healer’s face clearly, and tried and tried and tried not to stare. She did not look back at him. Not at all.

  Hopeless. Hopeless. Hopeless. Yuta’s sister giggled. The Yanweian healer listened to Laris’s lungs and heart while he tried to get a hold of himself.

  “Relax,” the Yanweian healer said, with a rueful smile.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Yuta’s sister got up and gave a little bow. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  The Nessinian healer smiled, pushing her hair behind one ear. The Yanweian healer was asking Laris questions about his health now, and he tried to answer. The Nessinian healer discussed payment with Yuta’s sister, standing near the door. She wasn’t very tall. Laris wanted to talk with her. That was all. All right, maybe his imagination was suggesting other things – but mostly he just wanted to ask about her travels and about the Academy where she’d learned healing. Hopeless. And, listening to him stumble and flail, she’d narrow her eyes at him, or laugh, and then –

  And then the caravan would move on.

  Laris got control of his breathing, at least, as the Yanweian healer felt his stomach and limbs and asked him more questions. Laris watched over his head as the Nessinian healer wrote something in a little book and rose, lingering. Laris smiled at her, feeling as though he might drown. He knew she was watching. She could hate him if she wanted to.

  She blushed deeper, he saw it. Then, hesitantly, she smiled back.

  “I’m done here,” the Yanweian healer said. “May I have your name?”

  “Um. Laris. Laris Sona.”

  He wrote it in another little book. “Keifon the Medic, by the way.” He made the greeting wave, and Laris remembered to return it. Without meaning to, Laris looked back to the Nessinian healer.

  “Agna Despana,” she said. “Second-order healer of the Church of the Divine Balance.” And so she had a name.

  The Yanweian healer, Keifon, told him the cost for the checkup, and Laris dug into his money pouch for the fee. He had more than enough for a few books, but that wasn’t much on his mind at the moment.

  Elsa, the weaver’s apprentice, poked her head into the tent. “Oh, hi, Laris.”

  “Hi, Elsa.”

  The Yanweian healer whirled around to greet her, warm and welcoming once again. “May I help you?”

  Laris got up from the examination chair. The Nessinian healer – Agna – hung back, near the desk on the other side of the tent. He could say hello to her now, and ask her something. If he weren’t so hopeless and dull, he could charmingly ask her to spin tales of her adventures. He could ask her out for a drink or to dinner.

  She cocked her head. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Um. I-I just.” Her head only reached his chest. He felt ungainly and thick. “You’re new to the caravan, aren’t you?”

  “Oh. Yes, I – we started in Vertal in the spring.”

  “Mm. Um, you’re from Nessiny? How do you like Kavera?”

  She might have stiffened just a little. Here it came. She would be annoyed with him for asking so many questions. Laris thought he might be sick. “Well. I came here to carry out the Benevolent Union’s mission. That’s the important thing.”

  “Oh.” That didn’t give him much to talk about. He needed to think of something. “How – how did you learn healing? Did you go to that school in Nessiny?” She almost turned away, half looking toward the desk and her notebook. “I’m sorry. If I’m interrupting you, I can go.”

  She turned back to him, regaining her dignified air. “It’s all right. I – did go to the Academy, yes. It’s the best place in the world to train as an energy healer.”

  “Oh. I thought so. That’s where the last set of summer healers said they learned. And the one winter healer. She’s like you—” He held his hands out, the way the healers did – “but she’s, um, kind of old and-and not very cute.” Panic rose in his nerves as he realized what he’d said. “Not that – I mean, she’s nice. And everything.”

  “...I see.” She was quiet and still. He didn’t mean to disparage Solei, who had always been kind to him; and he didn’t mean to say...that yet. “I never met the other healers on the circuit,” she said. “The Benevolent Union just sent us to replace the last pair.”

  “Oh. Well.” She hadn’t taken offense after all. “I-I’m glad they did.”

  She watched him for a second. “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome. Um.” He didn’t mean to laugh, but it came out anyway, and he knew that he was blushing. But she hadn’t told him to go, and although she seemed a little – suspicious, maybe – she was listening. “So, what – um – what other things do you like to do?”

  Her politeness wavered into confusion. “Err...me?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “I... well, I like reading,” she said slowly, “and philosophy, and I’ve been studying Kaveran plants since I came here. And drawing them. My sister is an herbalist, so I promised to send notes back home.”

  Laris wanted to ask her to come with him to the bookseller’s stall. But that would be too forward, too clumsy. “That’s – I – um. I, uh. That’s really interesting. I mean, I know you’re really smart, you’d have to be to go to the Academy, I mean–” I want to know what you’ve seen, I want to – Laris swallowed. And before he knew it, it was out. “I’m – I’m going over to the bookseller’s next, would you – be interested in – um, coming with me? If you want to.”

  Agna blinked, and took a fraction of a step back. And then all at once her face closed up and her eyes went distant. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I have to stay here.”

  “All right. That’s all right, I didn’t mean to – um. I should – I should go. Will you be here tomorrow?” He knew it wasn’t the last market day. It was a stupid question.

  A puzzled little frown crossed her face. “Yes, we’ll be here.”

  “A-all right.” He managed a smile, and her expression softened. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

  “I suppose so.”

  He bowed his head, she nodded, and Laris left the tent. For the rest of his break he looked through books and knickknacks, cooking implements and hunting knives and carpets that he didn’t want or couldn’t afford yet, and through all of it he couldn’t stop thinking about her. They teased him when he got back to work, but it wasn’t about his clothes.

  Agna: Laris

  When they were about to close on the second day, the local boy, Laris, reappeared. Agna looked up from her logbook. “Hello, again. Can I help you with something?”

  “N-no, not especially.” He lingered in the door, as though uncertain whether he could come in at closing time.

  “Oh. ...All right.” She finished the last entry for the day, blotted the page, and packed up her p
en and ink. Behind her, the medic shuffled bottles and vials around his medical kit. The tiny glass clinks broke the silence.

  “Uh... did you have a good day?”

  A vague unease settled in Agna’s heart. Where was this going? What sorts of tricks did boys play here? Laris didn’t seem the type, based on their brief introduction. Did he want to be friends? They’d be on the road in another day. Agna glanced at the Yanweian, who paid no attention. It was up to her to answer, then. “I suppose so. There haven’t been many major problems, which is good. And we’re glad to meet people from this area.”

  “Mm.” Laris fidgeted with the doorway, running his thumb along the edge of the canvas. “I’m – I’m glad I could meet you, too.”

  She tried to smile at Laris and tried to figure out when the ax would fall. He had no composure at all. Whenever he did eventually start insulting her, it wouldn’t sting as much. Agna fought hard against the impulse to step a little closer and ask what he had bought at the bookseller’s yesterday; in turn, that impulse fought against the urge to shake him and demand that he stop this game he was playing.

  “...Thank you, Laris.”

  He almost laughed, as though relieved. She wished that they could have a seat, maybe by the fire. She wanted to stop his fidgeting. She wanted to ask him about what he liked, what people did out here in the back of beyond, apart from – apart from elaborate mind-games with passing foreigners.

  “I can finish packing up here if you’d like to go,” the medic offered quietly.

  “No, that’s fine. I’m in no hurry,” she said. Laris made a slight sound – surprised, or disappointed. She couldn’t decide to walk out of there, because Laris might walk beside her and talk. He might finally spring the trap, or he might – or she might – stop being ridiculous, just stop. She had plenty of practice in ignoring her racing heart.

  “She may be smart, but she can be dense sometimes.”

  She spun around on the Yanweian. “What?”