The Healers' Home

  One of Kazi’s hands fell to his shoulder, squeezing gently. “I didn’t want you to give it up. I didn’t want that life, but I knew it mattered to you.”

  “Thank you. And I know your revolution means the world to you. If you can trust me, I’ll take that as an honor. I know it’s hard for you.” Keifon let himself lean back, just far enough to let his head touch Kazi’s stomach. “We need to trust one another, a little while longer. We’re not friends anymore. We’re not anything anymore. But we’ll get through this. I still think it was wrong for you to come to me, but I stand by my decision to take you in. Don’t let me regret it.”

  He felt Kazi’s fingertips move near his hairline. One more chance to let his knees turn wobbly. One more betrayal of nerves and blood. Kazi took a deep breath and stepped away, taking the warmth of his touch with him. “I won’t let you regret it. And — and someday they’ll tell stories of you, Kei. Helping the cause in a dark hour.”

  A bitter chuckle rattled up from his chest, and he rubbed his eyes. “Save it. Just… clean up the blasted apartment if you’re going to hang around all day. Make yourself useful.”

  “Fine. That’s fair.” The floorboards creaked as Kazi shifted his weight.

  Keifon wouldn’t turn around, not yet. He picked up his fork. Dinner, such that it was, wasn’t quite cold yet. It would keep them alive for another day. And one of these days, the messengers from Nijin would come with their capitulation, or the police would knock on his door, or winter would end. Until then, they’d keep moving.

  He heard a soft scrape behind him. Kazi leaned over his shoulder to refill his water glass, and only nodded at his thanks. He rounded the table to take the opposite seat. His pride would heal. It wasn’t Keifon’s responsibility to soothe it, not anymore, if it ever was. They’d hold onto this tenuous peace for a while longer.

  Agna: Reprieve

  Outside a town that thrived on the sale of wheat and the lodging of travelers along the great western road, the carriage company caught up with the Golden Caravan. The Caravan had begun its long winter leg between Wildern and Vertal, slowly stitching together the western farming communities on its way south.

  In her room in yet another inn, Agna woke early, shivering as she dressed in as many layers as she could pull onto her body. She left her canvas sign rolled up and lashed to her backpack, and packed a few things in her shoulder bag. One day off. That was all she asked. One day to herself. One visit with a friend. She bought toast and tea in the inn, but hardly tasted it.

  Just before dawn, the Golden Caravan’s dozens of carriages and wagons had set up just outside town in a fenced campsite. The outlines of the roofs were blurred by fluffy snow, and the flags and banners hung still. Agna hunched her shoulders under her thin cloak and quickened her steps along the least snowy of the wheel ruts. Had Vociel and Baran found any of the Wildern hardwood they’d always coveted, or was the lumber market in disarray? What miracles would Masa serve from his mess tent, daring winter to cramp his culinary style? Would it be wrong to search through Wayron’s book stall when she had crates full of Nessinian books waiting to be unpacked? But above all, warming her body despite the knife-sharp wind, she wondered: was Nelle faring well? It seemed impossible that she wouldn’t; Nelle could bear anything.

  It seemed, when she passed through the open gates, that only a few of the tents and stalls had opened for business at this early hour. The tent where she and Keifon had worked together stood front and center, unlit, its door tied down to keep the wind out.

  It was just as well. She wasn’t sure she wanted to pay her respects to the new healers. She had a strange, not quite settled feeling in her middle, thinking about someone else taking over their clinic. It was only right, and the Benevolent Union needed to keep their mission going. Still, it felt not entirely unlike finding out that her parents had rented out her home. Too many things had changed in the last few months. She didn’t need to seek out one more.

  Though they had pulled up stakes and roved the roads of Kavera, the Golden Caravan campsite assembled itself in the same way in each place. And so, though she had not visited the caravan for the better part of a year, Agna weaved expertly between the rows to find her friend’s home.

  Nelle’s wagon was intricately painted with scrolling lines and twining vines. Candlelight cast leafy silhouettes against the curtains covering its windows. Agna ran up the three stairs to the door at the back and knocked, remembering to hop out of the door’s swinging radius.

  “Not open yet! Stop back in an hour, all right? Plenty of other stalls open!”

  “Nelle? It’s Agna.”

  The wagon’s wheels creaked as its occupant crossed the floor. The door whooshed open, sending the falling snow flying. Agna’s chest squeezed. Nelle had wrapped herself in a thick quilted robe and slippers. Her curly mass of hair was wrapped up in a ribbon, which was hastily tied and askew, as though she’d been interrupted halfway through her morning routine. She let out a whistle-squeal-scream and leaped down the stairs despite the snow to crush Agna in a hug.

  “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Nessiny! Go back, it’s blasted cold here!”

  Agna allowed herself a laugh. It was tinged with hysteria, but it was the most sincere she’d had since her dinner with Lina and Letta and Marco. “Couldn’t stay away,” she said, with what air she could pull in through Nelle’s vice grip.

  “Come in, then, my feet are freezing.” Nelle finally stepped away, waving Agna before her into the wagon. Agna climbed the stairs, and Nelle shut the door behind them. The wagon was a bubble of warm air, heated by a little stove that vented through a pipe to the outside. Nelle shucked off the robe, revealing her winter working outfit of layered sweaters and wool pants. She began to move books and boxes of inventory out of the way to clear another seat.

  Agna sniffled in the sudden heat, trying not to sneeze from the spicy scent of drying herbs. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “Seriously, though, why are you back already? Thought you weren’t due till spring.” Nelle waved at the stool she’d unearthed, and Agna sat, pulling her cloak closer around her. Nelle perched on the edge of her bed, which was still unfolded from the wall.

  “My visit wasn’t the greatest.” After the first sentence, the next was easier. “It was good to see my family, but… I had to deal with that business with my father and the agency. Mostly I argued with him, trying to convince him that I should come back to Wildern.”

  Nelle gave a constrained nod. She untied the ribbon and separated her curls with her fingers to begin a loose braid. “And, how’d it go? What’d you decide?”

  “I barely decided anything. Bad options as far as the eye could see.” She untied the cloak’s laces and let it crumple behind her. “You remember my pen pal from Murio? Marco. The one who would pretty much have the same job as me, if I’d stayed home, except for my aunt instead of my father.”

  “Right, that one. Go on.”

  Chewing her lip, Agna considered how far to delve into the mess. Nelle wouldn’t think ill of her. If anything, she’d brush off the importance of what Agna had done. It seemed like an aggravating and comforting prospect, simultaneously. “Well. He was in a difficult position, because of issues with his family. And I was in a difficult position, because I needed somebody to take my place in Murio so I could come back. And the only way to get out of both situations was a merger.” She caught herself as the dodging word left her mouth. “A, you know, a political marriage. Sort of thing.”

  “Meaning what, exactly?”

  “Um.” This was not working on any level. “If he married a Despana and took the name, he wouldn’t be obligated to his family anymore. And my father could pass his company to someone with our name who actually wanted it.”

  Nelle’s hands froze midway along her braid. “You literally got married. To each other.”

  “Sort of, yeah. Not in any real way.” Except legal and technical.

  “Are you kidding me?”

&
nbsp; Agna crossed her arms. “I didn’t say I was happy about it. It was the only way to get out of staying in Nessiny for the rest of my life.”

  “That’s outright barbaric, lady. Is he nice in person, at least?” Nelle hastily finished the braid, tied it off, and tossed it over her shoulder.

  “Oh, yes. If things were different, I think we would have been friends.”

  “But not now? What kind of sense does that make?”

  “Well—” She let her breath go, lacking any words to fill it. “He’s staying behind in Murio. Besides, it’s too awkward now. What am I supposed to say?”

  “Same thing you would’ve said! Hi, how’s the weather in Nessiny, it’s snowing again here. You know how to write letters.”

  “Hi, fake husband, how’s the weather in Nessiny?” Even forced into a flat, sarcastic tone, even in Kaveran, the word made her voice shake. “Can we please talk about something else? I’ve been trying not to feel horrible about this, and this isn’t helping.”

  “Sorry.” Nelle pursed her lips and reached for some hairpins on her side table, to secure some of her escaping tendrils. “You came in through Vertal, I assume? How’s that trip been?”

  Agna felt her shoulders unclench. “Busy. Cold. I’ve been healing for some extra money and food to send to Wildern. The transit company goes a lot faster than the caravan, just overnight stops most of the time, but I’ve had a chance to get a little done here and there.”

  “Yeah? That’s big of you. They could use it, though. When we came through, things were mostly all right, but news hasn’t been good since then.”

  How was Kei?, Agna ached to ask. It pushed against her ribs as though she were a sealed pot over a fire. Was he getting along all right by himself? Did he seem happy? Did he miss her? — She stuffed it all down. No use in asking Nelle to stop talking about one boy only to talk about another. “Were you there before or after the strike started?”

  “Same time. Some ‘round here think they expected us to carry the news for them. Go tell the world of our great deeds, and all. Tch.” Nelle stood up from her bed and moved one of the boxes toward the door. “Word got out anyway. It’s just the Golden Damn Caravan isn’t your messenger.”

  Agna smirked. At least Nelle was still Nelle. “Hey, can I help with that?”

  “Yeah, if you want. Just getting ready to open.”

  Moving might help this restlessness, after all. She climbed off the stool, gathered her fallen cloak and fastened it around her neck. “Tell me what to carry and I’ll get it.”

  Between the two of them, they lugged half a dozen wooden boxes of wares outside. Nelle unstrapped the folding awning from the underside of her wagon. On all sides, the merchants and makers raised their canopies and tents, struck up their fires to fend off the cold, and set out their goods. Agna glanced up at the underside of the clouds. The sun would be no help in telling the time today. She had until noon, when the carriage company rolled out. She wanted to search the caravan’s stalls for whatever she could send back to Wildern.

  In the meantime, there was too much she wanted to talk about, too much she needed. Agna gritted her teeth, resisting the longing to say Take me with you. She’d never loved living on the road, but she understood it. She was familiar with its pitfalls. What waited for her in Wildern was another matter: the uncertainty of the city’s situation, the uncertainty of what she’d find at home, and the uncertainty of what it would bring out in her. Trying to avoid the latter was fruitless, in any case. Rejoining the caravan would mean more running, and running didn’t work.

  She stood behind the stack of Nelle’s inventory, which was piled as high as her chest. “Did you — when you visited Wildern, did you see the new building?”

  Nelle turned, and her eyes narrowed just enough, between skepticism and amusement. “Yep. Nice place. I look forward to seeing it once you’ve got the gallery finished. Your boy gave me the grand tour.”

  “He’s not — ugh.” She didn’t mean it, anyway, and Agna was more irritated by her own reflexive defensiveness than by Nelle’s phrasing.

  “Not that way, no. Not that it matters to him, far as I can tell.” Nelle propped the ends of the awning’s supports in the snow, angling the poles out from her body like a furled flag. She went on more quietly, so that her words would be swallowed by background chatter and the rap of hammers to anyone else. “He’s doing all right, y’know. Misses you so much it’s painful to see. But he’s trying. Doing all right for himself. Had me and his friend Bargi over for dinner and cards. Really nice night.”

  “That’s — that’s good. I’m glad you could do that.” Agna brushed away some of the fluffy snowflakes on the hood and shoulders of her cloak.

  “Thought we’d write a bit, keep in touch while you were gone. Traded a few letters so far. Advice on his windowboxes, and all.” Nelle watched her as if gauging her reaction. Her dark eyes caught the light from the lines of torches along the campsite’s aisles.

  He liked Nelle, Agna thought. He always had. It was good for him to try and make more friends, even if they weren’t nearby. She’d always worried that he didn’t talk to anyone but her and Dr. Rushu and Father Tufari, and occasional letters to his daughter. She nodded, fully aware that her reaction was slow and that Nelle could probably read her mind as the seconds ticked past. “That’s good. He could stand to keep in touch with more people, I think.”

  “That’s the idea. So.” Nelle unwound the canopy from around its poles and held one of the poles out for Agna to hold. “You told him you’re coming, right?”

  “No. Not yet.” She had no idea what to say to him. Dear Keifon, I’m on my way. And I’ve got a humiliating thing to tell you.

  “Suit yourself.” Nelle folded down a set of struts from the pole she held. Agna followed suit on her side. It was something to occupy her hands, at least. “Things’ll be all right, don’t worry.”

  “I hope so.” Every day brought her closer to the home she’d fought so hard to keep. Her front stairs and the rows of jars in the cupboard and her own hearth had begun to seem like more than a half-remembered dream.

  Nelle planted the support pole in the ground and stretched to fasten the opposite corner of the canopy to a hook on the side of her wagon. She crossed under the drooping canvas to secure the corner on Agna’s side and to check the placement of the upright. “That’ll do it. Thanks.”

  As she helped Nelle to set up her table, Agna felt a twinge of encouragement. She could make this turn out right. One defeat, one harsh compromise, wasn’t the end. “Oh hey, before I go shopping, I wanted to show you something.”

  “Yeah?”

  Her hand fell protectively to the shoulder bag under her cloak. “Remember those drawings I made while we were traveling? Of the medicinal plants?”

  “Sure, of course.” Nelle closed the box she’d just opened.

  “Well. My sister gathered them all and put them together for me.” She flipped back her cloak to reach the bag’s flap and pulled out the bound volumes. Now that the awning was up, it was safe to lay them out on the table, out of the snow. She and Nelle stood shoulder to shoulder, shielding the pages from the wind as they flipped through the sketches.

  Nelle tapped the corner of one of the pages. “Yeah, yeah, I remember you asking me about this one. I sent you over to Mrs. Bosti in Black Bend, and you said—”

  Agna groaned. “Oh, yeah. She had a lot of good information, but she talked very loudly and very slowly because she thought she was being ever so polite to the poor foreigner. Ugh.”

  As they traded memories over the drawings, the activity in the camp grew. When they were two-thirds of the way through the second volume, Nelle broke away to make a sale out of one of her crates. Agna tried to stay out of the way.

  “Should I clear out and let you get set up?”

  Nelle turned to the books. “Don’t you move. I have customers every day, they’ll keep coming.”

  “If you say so.” She leaned across the table to read the next page
upside-down.

  “Your work is beautiful, by the way. You planning on showing this at your gallery?”

  “Oh — no, I don’t think so.” Agna chewed her lip. Lina had said the same thing, but she and Nelle were herbalists, not artists. “They’re reference material, not art. It would be like an exhibition of medical diagrams.”

  Turning another page, Nelle shrugged. “Yeah, but most people don’t want to look at somebody’s guts, and they do like looking at plants. So there’s that.”

  “I suppose so. I’ll think about it.”

  The drawings’ arc closed in on Vertal, in her second spring in the country. She’d begun to draw in color, to loosen up her lines. There had been fewer failures thrown into the campfire, fewer squawks of Hey, I thought that one was fine from Keifon. Nelle closed the back cover and carefully turned over the stack so that Agna could clip them together. “Thanks for sharing,” she said. “I want to see them framed up someday.”

  “We’ll see.” Maybe she could decorate the house with them. That would be nice, come to think of it. They’d remind her and Keifon of their travels together. Agna packed the volumes into her bag.

  “So,” Nelle said.

  Agna fought back a spasm in her throat. It would be nearly a year before the Golden Caravan came through Wildern again. But that was the way of the world, wasn’t it. She wouldn’t see her sister or her parents for years. They’d all write, and hope that they’d meet again. “It was good to see you.”

  Nelle’s smile lifted Agna’s spirits. “Same. Send more letters now that you’re back, hear me?”

  “Of course.” She gave Nelle a tight hug, their breath steaming together. As they parted, Agna wiped her eyes. “Oh, and I have some herbs for you, but they’re packed up with my stuff from Nessiny. I didn’t think about running into you. I’ll ship them once I get unpacked.”

  “Hah. Sure, I can wait. Thanks, anyway.”

  “See you.” She waved and moved her feet along the packed snow toward the familiar aisles of stalls. Just a few more stops, a few more chances to put out her sign and gather donations and to do whatever she could to help. Only a few more chances to try and figure out what to say and who to be once she returned. It was a project, after all. She’d do her best.