Healer's Touch

by Deb E Howell

  She sat back, puffed out a sigh, wiped her eyes dry with the back of her hand and sniffed back the next wave of tears. “I won’t let you down, Pa.”

  * * *

  She stumbled through the trees, away from the morning sun, hopeful that she was heading towards Brurun, and barely able to see through her tears. Then she noticed something. She wasn’t just running. She was running faster than she’d ever run before. She was fast. She didn’t know how, but she was super-fast. She kept running into trees. After only a couple hours of sleep, fatigued by grief, vision blurred by tears, her brain simply could not deal with the speed at which obstacles came at her. But with every bare-footed step, she simply healed each bruise and graze. Llew ran on.

  After half an hour or so, she crossed the border from death into a living landscape again. Half an hour of super-speed running: the area must have been huge. As heartbreaking as it was to fly past the dead bodies of a hundred or more animals, from rabbits to hedgehogs to birds, it was a relief not to see another dead person. She fought back the niggling feeling that she’d only seen a small fraction of the destruction she had caused. She had to run. If she was caught, how much more killing would happen, either at her hands or as a result of the power obtained from her?

  She ran for several days, mostly under forest cover. The sun-starved floor offered enough bare ground that her trail of death wouldn’t give her path away, and she didn’t have to worry about running into (literally, the speed she travelled) other people as she might have on the roads. As the evenings encroached, she selected the barest patch of ground and cleared it of all living material, even pulling out shallow roots that might be linked with others beneath the surface. It was impossible not to leave signs of her passage, and either she left patches of death or wide clearings where she slept.

  She lost count of the days since she’d left Braph’s, but she was sure that was because she was hungry and tired, not because Braph had control of her. It felt different. Still, her hand went to the knife handle. She would risk it all not to return to Braph’s.

  As yet another evening set in with her racing across the Turhmos back country, she was not only hungry and tired, but very, very thirsty. She had drunk at a river about a day out from the city, but nothing since. Each step was an effort. One more step and she tripped on her own feet, falling face-first into the grass. She had to keep going. A patch of dead grass spread out from her.

  She was still hungry and thirsty, but her muscles no longer suffered the effects of fatigue. She picked herself up and forged on, until before her there stood a farm house, in the front yard of which was a well. She rubbed her eyes and it was still there. She pushed herself forward, running for the sweet water.

  The house seemed quiet. She climbed the fence and went straight to the well, dumped the bucket over the side and watched the rope unwind violently behind the plummeting weight. It stopped and she waited, allowing the wooden bucket to fill with enough water to weigh it down, then she hauled on the rope, scooped up the bucket and drank deeply.

  “What’re you doin’ there?”

  Llew nearly choked on the water.

  “Technically, that’s thievin’, that is.”

  She put the bucket down and wiped her mouth, slowly turning to face the speaker. He was middle-aged and wore overalls that clung snugly to his round belly. If he had been a woman, he might have given the impression of being pregnant. He was balding, and the hair on either side of his head was grey, almost white. Despite the fact that he was holding a large pitchfork, he didn’t look threatening.

  And he’d said ‘technically’”. He knew the difference between out-and-out theft and survival.

  “I’m sorry, mister. I was just so thirsty.” Llew wiped her mouth again and then wiped her hands on her dress.

  “You look more ’n thirsty. Come on, the missus is about to put dinner on. You should come in, have somethin’ to eat.”

  Llew stared at the man. Was he being serious? He was inviting her to stay for dinner. She eyed him suspiciously, Braph’s visit to her room still very fresh and very raw.

  The man turned for the house, leaving her to decide whether or not to follow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Llew entered the farmhouse kitchen and nearly burst into tears. It was homely and small, with a central table surrounded by work benches and a range that was surely always well-banked at this time of year. The house was warm and fit exactly into her idealised memories of her early life in Quaver. If she’d been hoping to find safety within the borders of Turhmos, this is what it would look like. She didn’t drop her guard, though. Every kitchen knife, every pot and pan was scrutinised. They all could be turned into weapons; who converted them would be a matter of reflexes.

  “Well now, who’s this?” The woman bustling amongst the cupboards looked round when Llew entered. She didn’t seem at all surprised by the appearance of the girl at her door. She was a fine featured woman, and lean; the homely women Llew had encountered around Cheer tended toward portliness. Her hair was still dark and she had it tied back in a bun. Her blue eyes were piercing, bringing Cassidy to mind.

  “I found her taking a drink at the well.” The man leaned the pitchfork outside on the porch and stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind him.

  If anything went wrong, now she had a door to worry about, too.

  “She’s in need of a good meal.” The man patted his own stomach in demonstration.

  “You are a kind man, Ard, which is why I love you.” The second part barely sounded tacked on. The woman’s smile was not unkind, but hinted that her husband may have made a habit of bringing in strays. To Llew she said, “Come, you must wash up.”

  Wanting to believe the best of these people – desperately in need of some human goodness in the world – Llew followed her to a pantry in which stood a basin and jug of water on a shelf.

  “Oh, dear. What happened there?”

  Llew froze, her hands half raised.

  Turning her hand to look at it properly, for perhaps the first time in a couple of days, Llew saw what the woman had seen: the cut was inflamed, and wept a milky pus. She’d never had an infection before.

  The woman reached out, and Llew snatched her hands back.

  “It’s okay. I– I’m fine. I’ll just be on my way.” She backed out of the cupboard and toward the door. It was just the two of them in the kitchen. Ard had disappeared into the adjoining room, trusting Llew with his wife. Stupid man. She was dangerous, especially with a wound inflicted by a Syakaran knife.

  The woman looked at Llew properly for the first time, and gaped.

  “What are you running from, child?” The woman’s tone was soft and unthreatening, but Llew couldn’t tell if it was genuine.

  “Nothing.” She was nearly to the door. She turned to face it and reached for the door handle.

  “My best friend was a Syaenuk.”

  Llew froze.

  The woman knew what Llew was. What in hell would she do now?

  “Her family was free, unknown to the Turhmos authorities for generations. They never crossed the border for fear they would be found out if they tried, and instead they settled to farming life. But when she was a young girl, she fell in love.”

  Llew turned as the woman went to a drawer and pulled on a pair of gloves. She returned to the cupboard and poured some water from the jug into a small saucepan, which she settled on the stove.

  “Her eye was caught by a young Aenuk soldier, who passed this way a few times during training exercises. One day, we helped him escape. He stole away under cover of the forest, and we helped him hide until his squad was well away. Her parents weren’t happy at all. But they could hardly turn this boy away now, could they?” The woman smiled at the memory, stirring the water absently. “They lived as cousins for a while. I think they nearly managed a year. But, eventually, they couldn’t wait any longer, and eloped.” The woman fished a clean cloth from a cupboard and sunk it in the water as the first boiling bubble
s broke the surface. “I would get letters from all over, even Quaver for a time. The last I heard, she was still in Quaver with her husband and young daughter. But that was a long time ago, more than a decade . . . ”

  The familiarity of the woman’s tale was overwhelming Llew.

  “What was her name?”

  “Orinia.”

  Llew gaped at the woman. “My mother . . . ” She’d figured that, but now she knew.

  A smile crept onto the woman’s face. “My, it is a small world. Come, child. Let me clean that wound, and then you must stay for that meal Ard promised.”

  Though still wary, Llew let her guard ease. She sat at the table and tentatively held out her reddened hand for the woman to examine and sponge clean with hot water.

  “And how is it that you come to have a Syakaran knife? The one that inflicted this wound, would be my guess.”

  “It–” Llew decided there was little point lying to these people. “It belongs to a friend of mine.”

  The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “Friend?”

  Llew nodded. “Syakaran.” She’d said it before she considered whether or not it was safe to mention in the heart of Turhmos. She watched the woman closely for a reaction, some sign that she didn’t like what she’d heard. Llew didn’t think the woman’s eyebrows could go any higher, but there they went.

  “And, yet you live . . . ” The woman looked awestruck. “A powerful friend to have.”

  Llew had thought they would view Jonas with distaste. All she had heard about Turhmos was how they loved their Aenuks and loathed Jonas for what he had done. But these heartland folk, these farmers, simply recognised the power of the Syakara and Syaenuks without judgement.

  “I’m Merrid, by the way.” The woman smiled warmly.

  “Llew.”

  “Llew? Llewella, wasn’t it?”

  Llew smiled in return. Then the smile faded. “They have her,” she said. “Turhmos has my mother.” And I killed my father. She blinked back the tears that threatened and Merrid gave her a sympathetic look, but said nothing. They settled into silence as Merrid concentrated on flushing out Llew’s wound and then strapping it up, her gloves keeping her safe from connecting with Llew’s skin. With the hand bandaged, Merrid placed a glove-encased hand on Llew’s wrist.

  “Of course you want her back, it’s only natural.” Llew looked up into the woman’s eyes. “You clearly have friends in high places, and that gives me confidence that you will succeed.” Merrid’s words brought the start of a smile to Llew’s lips. “But you won’t get her back on your own, and if there’s one thing your mother would want me to say to you, it is this: get out. Get out of Turhmos.”

  Llew shrank back from the intensity in the woman’s eyes. She nodded.

  “I don’t know how I can thank you.”

  “Rest here tonight, and then you must get out of Turhmos. It’s what Orinia wanted for you. She never wanted you here.”

  Llew nodded again. Still, with her father dead, and having experienced what her mother must have gone through in her years with Braph, never mind what she must have been going through while a captive of Turhmos itself, Llew wanted her back more than ever.

  They shared a solid, simple meal of stew and roasted vegetables, and after dinner and clean-up, Merrid sat Llew back down at the table and brought out the letters Orinia had written to her between escaping Turhmos and disappearing in Quaver. The letters from Quaver had always taken a long time to arrive, there being no direct mail system between the two countries. Everything had to go through intermediary addresses in Brurun.

  Llew valued the chance to relive her memories of her mother, and so many of her own experiences were written down, in her mother’s stylish handwriting, for Merrid to share. She blinked back tears all night. At one point, Merrid even drew her into a warm hug and Llew allowed herself the indulgence of fully accepting comfort and support. It had been too long since she had been mothered like that.

  She wondered if she should turn down the offer of a bed. It would cost her time, but the chance to sleep in a real bed was just too enticing to forgo. Besides, it wouldn’t leave a patch of death for Braph to trace.

  They rose early the following morning and Merrid filled Llew up on a hearty breakfast of dense bread and fatty bacon. Llew negotiated for Ard to give her one of his old shirts and a pair of trousers he likely could no longer fit anyway, and Merrid gave her an old, but comfortable pair of shoes. Modesty aside, it reduced the area of Llew’s exposed skin, protecting Turhmos from Llew as much as it hid Llew from the wrong kind of attention.

  Merrid gave Llew more food to carry with her, and she and Ard bade Llew good luck, making her promise to get safely to Brurun.

  “Llewella?” Merrid pushed herself from the frame of the farmhouse door, her voice shaking with uncertainty.

  Llew cocked her head at the woman.

  “We didn’t tell you last night, because we wanted you to have a good night’s sleep behind you . . . And if you’re sure he’s your friend . . . ”

  Llew’s mouth went dry. There was only one friend they had discussed.

  “We want you to get safely out of Turhmos as fast as possible. It’s what your parents would want. It’s what we want for you.”

  Spit it out, woman.

  “A group of men stopped by the other day.”

  A group of men? Jonas, Cassidy and Alvaro?

  “They were headed for Hinden.”

  “That’s about a day and a half’s ride north-north-east,” Ard supplied.

  Hope welled in Llew. Her friends had come to find her! It must have shown on her face because Merrid’s lit up in a small smile and she mouthed: “Go.”

  Llew thanked them profusely and ran from their property, heading north-north-east, her heart, and stomach, full for the first time in several days.

  She reached Hinden by late afternoon and swallowed her fear of being recognised enough to ask after her friends. It took a while to find someone who had seen them, and that person didn’t know where the group had been heading, but more enquiries soon gave her the information she needed. The nearest town was just under a day’s ride away, less than that with Llew’s new turn of speed.

  She was keen to run again, but restrained herself until she was well clear of the town, and then she sprinted as fast as she could for as long as she could: which wasn’t so long, as she had only stopped for a light lunch and she’d been running hard all day. Her body was fatigued. She took a moment to lean against a tree, briefly forgetting her need to avoid touching living things. Instead of the usual tingle, though, a rush of life leapt across the skin of her wrist. Startled, she jumped back.

  The tree showed no outward sign of her having touched it. She hadn’t burned its thin, white bark as she had done to every other tree she’d touched since leaving Braph’s. And her injured hand felt different. She opened and closed it several times. There was no tightness to the skin. No tingle. No sting.

  She untied and unwound the bandage and stared at the smooth, unblemished skin. There was no cut, no infection. Just her skin.

  She looked up at the leaves above in awe and wonder. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything more beautiful. The tree teemed with life – the branches were thick with birds’ nests, and the air thrilled with the constant babble that had struck up above as soon as she’d touched the trunk. Unbidden, she felt an outpouring of love for the huge, ancient plant. Surprising herself, she threw her arms wide, embraced the tree and wept. It was like meeting her entire family all at once, and each and every one of them welcomed her with unconditional love. It was overwhelming. It was magnificent.

  Birds fluttered into the tops of the tree above her, rustling leaves and shaking small branches, while others set off on their errands. It wasn’t warm enough for much in the way of insect activity, and the air was silent apart from a gentle breeze brushing leaf tips and grasses.

  Llew breathed the fresh air deep into her lungs. She was whole.

  Some time later she
managed to break the trance and reluctantly stepped back from the tree. Something about the colour of it struck her, and she pulled Jonas’ knife from its holster and held it up between her and the trunk. They were a perfect match. But she also sensed the tree recoiling from the weapon, as though she were somehow mentally connected to it; so she returned it to her hip. There was something about this tree, the knife, and Llew’s heritage, but she wasn’t in a position to investigate it right then. When – not if, when – she made it back to Brurun, she would ask Anya about those books of hers.

  Then she was hammering the tree with her fists and crying. Why hadn’t she come across one like it sooner? Why did she have to find it after she’d killed her father? She didn’t mean any of the punishment, and it was ineffectual, but she dished it out until she was blinded by tears, and then collapsed to its roots. Where were you?

  Mumbling an apology for her behaviour, she crossed her legs, sat and pulled some bread and cold meat from the bundle Merrid had given her, and ate, leaning against the trunk. It may have been bizarre to admit in the heart of Turhmos, but Llew felt as though she was home. But there was only a couple of hours of daylight left in which to run. She apologised for having to leave, having to keep running. She was still in Turhmos, her friends were close, she had to go. Sorry.

  She was talking to a tree.

  Llew felt the healthiest she had since landing in Turhmos. She had food in her belly, and perhaps still enough for breakfast, and she was whole. Now she ran with a smile on her face. So far she hadn’t seen Braph nor any Turhmos soldiers behind her and she knew her friends were somewhere ahead. With her added turn of speed, her confidence that she would make it safely out of Turhmos grew. Overflowing with that sense of wellbeing, she turned back to the tree. From this distance, it seemed to be waving at her across the meadow. She raised her arms, sending a final embrace, and rejoiced at the lack of pursuers. She turned and entered the next forest.

  * * *