Children of the Healer

by Barbara Ann Wright

  Perhaps this was normal with infants? The new hair seemed lighter than the first. Maybe infants shed many coats before they grew their true color. She sucked her teeth, wondering what this new color would be, wondering if it would set him even further apart from his fellow drushka. What would they think of her tribe of one?

  Shiv searched in the pouch at her waist and found some berries she had been saving. Quickly, she chewed then spat the juices in her hands. She rubbed them softly along his scalp, turning the tips of the new buds red again. She would find a way to ask Reach, but until then, she would help him hide.

  * * *

  When the new day dawned, Pool took to her little cupola of bark halfway up her massive tree. Slivers of wood held her to the trunk as she commanded the tree to walk, and she took comfort in its familiar rhythms. Undulating roots propelled it over the ground while its branches swung to balance it. It took only a fraction of her attention. After two hundred years as a queen, moving her tree was as a flick of the wrist.

  Her mind played over her tribe. Most of them looked ahead. They would reach Gale this day, and many wondered what would become of them there. They had ventured from the swamp because it was no longer safe for them in their home. After the last attack by the old drushka, Pool realized that the Shi would never let them go. She wanted all the queens under her sway.

  They had ventured on to the plains because Cordelia Sa Ross and her people were banished by their Storm Lord, and Pool had already seen how their fates were intertwined. The Storm Lord had no love for the drushka either. Merging with Sa’s tribe had seemed the wisest course, and now Pool thought of them as members of her tribe, too. She could even touch Sa’s mind, and she could hear Simon Lazlo through the tree, through her drushka. Two human leaders tied to her; her people thought of them only as family, but Pool had learned how to think deeper, how to see the best course for her people’s survival along with her affection.

  Most of her people were excited to be venturing closer to the swamp. They hoped to return to it someday, but the Shi had a long life in front of her, and who knew what her successors would think? And Pool herself might not live that much longer. She needed something more stable for her tribe, and she did not know if they could find that in the swamp. It could be that they could find peace living so close to the human settlement with the Storm Lord dead. She doubted the queens would bring their massive trees outside of the swamp itself, and without them, the humans might be able to resist an attack, especially with Pool by their side.

  She sensed some agitation among her people, worry for their future. And she sensed a pall of anguish and knew at once who it was: the parents of Lyshus, the young tribesman of her daughter.

  She had not foreseen that the child would attach solely to Shiv. Blood alone should not have merged them. A queen had to open her mind to new tribemates and draw them in, a queen’s power Pool had never shown Shiv. It had seemed to happen between the two automatically, a worrying thought.

  At first, Pool had been surprised that her daughter denied her access to Lyshus’s mind, but on further reflection, it made sense. Pool would not let another queen communicate mind-to-mind with her drushka. Why should Shiv be any different? But she had never had someone under her branches that was not bonded to her. Even in the old days, when drushka could go from queen to queen, they first underwent a ritual of bonding where they drank their new queen’s blood and bonded to her mind. No one took such a move lightly.

  Now, though, Shiv’s mind circled Lyshus’s like a thorn wall. They spent nearly every moment together. The pull of a tribe of one had to be great indeed. But the anguish of the parents was a rotten hole among Pool’s drushka. She tried to send them soothing waves, but she knew they missed their child. Maybe they should switch their allegiance to Shiv; then they could all be together.

  Pool could not help sneering at the thought. She had kept the same tribe for hundreds of years, generations upon generations. She could remember the ancestors of all of her drushka, and she did not want to give any over. If she had been part of the old drushka, she would not have been so attached. She would have moved trees, gotten new tribes, switched members as mates were bonded and children left the branches to find adventure with another queen.

  Pool sighed at her own hypocrisy. She wanted to stay free, had taken the lessons humans had taught her and rebelled against her own people, but she wanted everyone else to follow her rule. She did not want her daughter to have a larger tribe if it meant taking drushka from Pool herself. She sent her mind over the rest of her drushka again, trying to lose herself in their anticipation. She would deal with Shiv and her tribe of one soon enough, when things were settled. She chuckled; this was what humans called denial.

  She felt a twinge at the edge of her consciousness, another drushka out on the plains. She thought at first it was Nettle returned, but no, Pool did not know this mind, and it stood between her and Gale. He was not hers, so she could not delve into his thoughts directly, not as the Shi could. She reached with her telepathic call, searching for another queen, but there was none nearby.

  Without a word, she sent some of her people to fetch this lone drushka. He had to know she would sense him. She searched again for others but found only one. What did he hope to do? A spy? A messenger? A bloom of hope wanted her to believe he was a renegade, running from the old drushka. If one went, many would follow.

  But better to be cautious. She sent a message to Simon Lazlo, asking him to bring Liam. The three of them descended from her tree as her drushka brought the spy through the long grass. Simon and Liam seemed in charge of the humans in Sa’s absence, though Pool still thought of the humans as hers, and she knew they would obey her, especially where drushkan matters were concerned.

  “Why would one of the old drushka be way out here?” Simon asked.

  “And only one,” she said.

  Liam rubbed his hands over his long brown hair. Several strands had escaped the tail he tied them in, and the dark spots beneath his eyes said he had not been sleeping well, if Pool remembered her human expressions correctly. She knew her daughter was not spending much time with him. It had to be hurting his feelings. Perhaps he could convince Shiv that it was better to open herself and her tribe to Pool.

  She shook her head and put that worry away for now.

  “There could be more in Gale,” Liam said, hands resting on top of his head.

  “Great,” Simon said, his sigh turning the words to sarcasm. He looked more at peace than Pool ever remembered, even when he had emerged from his pod. Then he had been focused and angry, if calm. With his dark blond hair, he could have passed for drushka at a distance, though he was a bit on the pale side, and no drushka had his blue eyes. Liam’s green eyes were almost as deep as her own, as Shiv’s.

  “There is only one way to know.” Pool turned as her drushka brought the spy out of the grass. He walked meekly, head down in her presence. His long yellow braids swung around his head. She stepped close, towering over him, over all her drushka. She grabbed his chin and made him look at her, though his silver eyes tried to shift away. He was young, barely older than her daughter. He let his chin rest still, signaling obedience.

  “Your name?” she asked, keeping her voice low and soothing.

  He licked his lips. “Sest.”

  She turned his head back and forth. The whorls in his face carried a hint of yellow across his silvery skin. “Named for the sunrise. I see it.”

  He swallowed but did not move. If she wished to kill him, he would stand and wait obediently. Was this the only kind of drushka the queens bred now? She liked to think her drushka would spit in the eyes of their captors, queens or no.

  “Your queen?”

  “Yunshi.”

  “The sixth,” Pool said. She had been among those Pool had fought in the swamp. She shuddered as she remembered how dominated they had all been by the Shi’s mind. They were not themselves anymore, just pale copies of the Shi, puppets. “Why are you here?”
/>   “To see if you would come for the humans.”

  Pool took a deep breath. Liam knew a little drushkan, but Simon would be ignorant of all they said. “And what has happened to the humans?”

  “The Shi knew you would return to help them. If you did not come on your own, I was to find you and tell you they were in danger.”

  So the Shi had done something to the humans of Gale. Did that mean they were now dead? “Shawness,” she said to Simon in the human language. “Can you read his emotions?”

  Simon frowned at Sest. “I’m not well-versed in reading drushka, but he seems…fine. Passive.”

  His mind taken over by the Shi? At the moment, it did not matter. “What did the Shi do to the humans?”

  “The poison she gave them has run its course.”

  Pool sucked her teeth. “Dead?”

  “Soon.”

  Pool gestured for her drushka to take Sest into the branches. “We must hurry to Gale. The old Shi has poisoned its people. Reach told me she thought our human captives smelled differently. Perhaps they left their home just in time to escape the worst of the poison.”

  “I’ll tell Horace to give the humans another check,” Simon said.

  The branches lifted everyone, and Pool commanded the tree to move faster before she had Sest brought to her again.

  “Do you wish to come into my branches, young one?” she asked him.

  For the first time, his face twitched as if someone was trying to break through. “Your branches? What…what of my queen?”

  “I will help your queen.” She wondered if Yunshi acted like this: nearly asleep until given a command by the Shi, like a toy waiting to be given life by a child. The thought had Pool grinding her teeth. It was clear the old drushka would not leave the humans alone, would not leave her alone. They would force a fight no matter how far she roamed.

  Sest’s face still had not settled, and he seemed in anguish. “I want…”

  Pool reached into her belt and drew the little knife Shiv had once made. She cut the pad of her thumb and held it out, letting it be his choice.

  Sest stared at the golden blood that curved around Pool’s hand, rocking back and forth before he lunged forward and crammed her thumb into his mouth.

  It was not the ceremony she remembered, but it would do for now. She pressed their foreheads together and opened her mind to him. As her blood passed into his body, his mind opened, too. She drew him in and made him part of her. He looked at her in wonder.

  “Ahya,” she said with a smile. “You are mine. Now, tell me all you know.”

  Chapter Three

  Cordelia called another halt so she could rest her aching thighs. The ossors seemed as if they appreciated stopping, too. Each of them was drooling, heads drooping and mandibles slack. Fajir huffed impatiently, but she knew more about ossors than Cordelia; she had to know how tired they looked.

  “What’s the plan?” Cordelia asked as she stretched. “We keep asking until we find your guy, then what?”

  Fajir stared into the distance and said nothing.

  Cordelia sighed, going through arguments in her head. She rubbed her forehead as a headache began to build. “What if he’s already dead?”

  Fajir shrugged. “There are always more.”

  Cordelia shook her head. “No killing innocents.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Why don’t you? I know you care what happens to your own people. What about other innocent people?” She breathed deep, trying to get her temper under control.

  Fajir glared. “The vermin killed—”

  “No, one of them did the killing.” It would be so much easier to grab Fajir and beat some fucking sense into her, but Cordelia kept her fists down. For now. “And you could have gone on this revenge quest long before now, but you didn’t.”

  “The Lords commanded—”

  “Bullshit!” She vaguely realized she was yelling. Her legs were sore, she wanted to go home, and she did not want to help kill some random plains dweller she’d never met. She didn’t know if she could sway Fajir, and she was quickly losing the will to try. Liam had been right. She should have told Fajir to fuck off.

  Nico stepped up. “Seren Fajir couldn’t go on this hunt alone, and no one offered to come with her before.”

  “Fuck that,” Cordelia said. “She could have suggested it. I know you would have gone with her. Why did she have to wait and bother me?”

  Fajir’s hand flexed near her sword, and she had thunder in her gaze. Cordelia’s temper yielded like dust before the storm. If Fajir wanted a beating…

  Cordelia sauntered around Nico. “Oh, I think I get it. You didn’t go after Halaan’s killer because you didn’t want your pain to be over; you’d gotten a taste for killing.” She pointed a finger at Fajir’s chest. “So when I offered to help, you couldn’t turn me down without giving away your bloodlust. Well, now your vengeance quest is going to end, Fajir. Either you accept your partner’s death now, go home, and find some peace, or you kill your Engali, but then you won’t have an excuse to kill anyone else.” She cocked her head. “Or are you planning to walk into an Engali camp with your sword out and go down swinging? I won’t help you kill yourself like a coward.”

  Nico took a step, but Nettle said, “Let them fight.”

  Cordelia didn’t know if she meant with words or swords, but it was past time for either.

  Fajir’s hand twitched again, her expression stony. But the flush creeping up her neck and around her ears spoke volumes. She was moments from a meltdown.

  “I lost people,” Cordelia said. “And I couldn’t get revenge in the moment because others were depending on me, but no one needed you, Fajir. Am I right, and you didn’t want this to be over?” She leaned forward. “Or maybe you never really loved Halaan at all.”

  Fajir drew her sword and lunged, putting her shoulder behind the blow. Cordelia drew and blocked, but the effort sent tremors through her wrists.

  “Finally!” Cordelia yelled. The whole world could change, and she’d still appreciate a good fight, though the look on Fajir’s face said it wasn’t anywhere near good-natured. That was okay. Cordelia wanted her mad, worn out. Then she might listen.

  Fajir came on again, one swing after another. As Cordelia blocked but didn’t counterattack, Fajir’s face contorted, her lips open in a snarl. She huffed and panted, her blows still precise for all their madness.

  Cordelia stayed ahead and slowly began to counter, hitting as hard as Fajir, forcing her to give ground. With one massive swing, Cordelia forced Fajir’s arms to the side and stepped forward, punching her hard in the gut.

  Fajir staggered, gasping. She kept her sword up and pressed her free hand to her stomach, using wild swings to keep Cordelia at bay. And when Cordelia blocked and stepped to the side, Fajir kicked, catching Cordelia’s thigh with bruising force. Cordelia rolled before she could drop. She came up on one knee and slashed. When Fajir dipped her sword to block, Cordelia caught her blade and turned it to the side and out, tearing Fajir’s sword from her grasp and flinging it into the grass.

  “Finished?” Cordelia asked, standing.

  Fajir leaned on her knees and breathed hard.

  Cordelia gestured to the plains with her blade. “I only—”

  Fajir leapt, one hand grabbing for Cordelia’s hip, and the other reaching for her wrist. Cordelia staggered, and Fajir kicked, sending them both to the ground with bone-shaking force. Fajir knocked Cordelia’s wrist against a stone, sending pain spiking through her fingers, but her blade remained in her grasp, held by tiny wooden tendrils.

  Fajir gawked. “What is this?”

  With a laugh, Cordelia released the tendrils and tossed the blade away. “Now we’re talking.”

  Fajir punched her in the chin, and stars danced in Cordelia’s eyes, her teeth rattling as pain ricocheted through her jaw. She wrapped her legs around Fajir and rolled. With a yelp, Fajir pummeled Cordelia’s back and shoulders but couldn’t stop the momentum as Cor
delia rolled on top.

  “My turn.” Cordelia jabbed her hard in the face, making her head rock back and splitting her lip. Fajir’s eyelids fluttered, but she still tried to swing. Cordelia reared slightly and dropped on Fajir’s chest, making the air whoosh from her lungs a second time.

  With a gasp, Fajir went limp. Cordelia stood. She heard movement behind her and held up a hand. “I won’t hit her while she’s down.” She trusted Nettle to stop Nico if it came to it; she didn’t want this to turn into a full-scale battle.

  Fajir struggled into a sitting position, one hand on her belly, the other on her face.

  “Finished?” Cordelia asked.

  She nodded.

  “Feel better?”

  Fajir glared before wiping her bloody lip on one sleeve, leaving a smear of red. “You provoked me to make me feel better?”

  Cordelia shrugged and retrieved both their blades. “There are only two good cures for relieving tension, or so Liam always says. And you’re cute, but I didn’t want to suggest the second way.”

  Fajir frowned, either not getting the joke or not caring for it. “I love Halaan.”

  Cordelia knelt in front of her. Nico and Nettle had returned to the ossors, leaving them alone. “I know.”

  “You can’t know. I love him as if he was here now and not a memory.”

  Cordelia sighed and sat, laying Fajir’s sword across her knees. “And if you kill his murderer, he’s really dead. I get it.”

  She looked at Cordelia with tears standing in her gray eyes, mirroring the tattoos on her cheeks.

  “So don’t do it,” Cordelia said with a shrug. “Do what you’re supposed to: patrol the villages, keep the raiders away, and make sure no one else dies like he did. Then you’d be honoring his memory.”

  Fajir took a shuddering breath. “Halaan’s killer will never murder another if he is dead.”

  “If you’re going to stop all the accidental deaths in the world, you’re going to be very busy.” She shook her head, remembering how she’d felt after the Storm Lord had been killed. She’d thought she’d be happy, but she’d been tired of all the violence and ready for a nap.