Finding the Way and Other Tales of Valdemar

by Mercedes Lackey

  The first visit was to the infirmary behind the Healer’s house, to the most ill. There were eleven in all, with only two or three who seemed to be farther along the progression of the illness than Herald Kindo, but among the eleven there was little to differentiate degrees of sickness. All had boils spread over large portions of their skin, fevers, and ragged, raspy breathing. Washing her hands carefully, Shia centered herself and, thinking of the peace of her herb room in Breyburn, wrapped her Shield of calm stillness around her Gift.

  Entering the first small sickroom, she released a tiny portion of her Gift to swirl around her right hand. Holding that hand just above the young man’s head, she sent a silver tendril of her essence into his body, questing through flesh and bone, seeking out anything that had gone wrong within him. The boils were first to her awareness, a seemingly simple infection that appeared as dark spots to her Healing Sight. She resisted the temptation to use her Gift to draw the boy’s waning strength together to push them out, instead sinking her focus deeper. His lungs were also darkly spotted, and she saw a swelling like water in the lungs—but then her Sight noted something else. In his blood, tiny spots rode throughout his body.

  This was not in the notes that the Healer of Norflank had left. Had they been missed, these tiny shadows among the larger? Looking at the rest of the young man’s organs, Shia found more spots of infection, but none that surprised her in size or location. Visiting each sickroom in turn, she repeated her search.

  At the end of the building, in the makeshift room for Herald Eodan, she finished under Sjien’s watchful eye. She had seen the same thing in each patient, varying only in the size and thickness of distribution of the spots. Drawing her Gift back into herself, Shia sat back on her heels, racking her brain for everything she knew about illnesses of the blood. It was so little, and fear clawed at her, her will faltering at the thought of facing so many, so ill, alone.

  :Not alone, Chosen. Never again alone.: A wave of strength rippled through her from Eodan, and she smiled despite her apprehension.

  :You and Trin have to tell Domar that it’s in their blood. I won’t know if it starts there until I see those who are less sick. But those who are most ill, it’s in the blood, not just the skin and the lungs.:

  By now, Curana had come to the infirmary, and she helped Shia dose the eleven with her newly steeped herbs and more sleeptea. With her Healing Sight, Shia had noted three of the sick, along with Herald Kindo, whose lungs and organs were nearly covered with the spots of infections, and to their draughts she added one of the strongest herbs for pain that she had brought with her.

  :I do not know that I can do anything more than ease their pain,: she Mindspoke to Eodan.

  :Then you will have given them more than they have had this last week or more, Chosen,: he replied, his Mindvoice unusually somber. :Domar assures me that your information is relayed to the Healers that follow us.:

  Taking the larger flask of her decoction and an herb-pack, Shia stepped out the door of the shadowy infirmary into the brilliant sun. Closing her eyes, she tipped her face up to feel the warmth soak into her skin and bones, savoring the strength of it. Eodan brushed up behind her, and she leaned against him for a moment, seizing a brief enjoyment of the day before going to the rest of the sick.

  Although every fiber within her cried out to tend Teo first, Shia worked her way around the makeshift infirmary, using her silvery Healing Sight to assess the progress of the illness within each patient. Even so, she could not help but be aware of where he was, and how many more she had to care for before she would approach him.

  Teo was lost in fever when she came to the side of his pallet, but he lay still and a faint hint of a smile flickered across his face. Kneeling beside him, before she even extended her Healing Sight beneath his skin, relief swept through her, for she somehow knew that his blood would be clear. She studied his lungs and blood with the same thoroughness, however, and her own breathing relaxed at last when she saw no spots of infection other than the boils themselves.

  :Trin?: Shia Mindspoke softly, confident that his Companion would be nearby and listening for her.

  :Yes?: came the anxious reply.

  :He will be well. His blood shows no signs of it, and I will not let him fail now.:

  A burst of gratitude was Trin’s response, and Shia smiled as she continued around the great hall. When she had completed her circle of the building, she stepped outside to where Eodan stood waiting for her. Leaning against him, feeling him sharing his strength to restore her, she closed her eyes with relief. Of all of the patients here, none had shown signs of the spots in their blood. Although many of the townsfolk stayed away from the sick, she was glad to see that some came with broth and porridge for those who were awake and had appetite. And nearly all who had survived the boils either remained to help Curana, or came each day to see if anything was needed.

  “What now, Herald-Healer?” Curana had followed Shia, and she waited, wiping her hands on the small towel she had tucked through her belt.

  “I am neither Herald nor Healer yet, Curana,” Shia said with a faint smile. “But now we wait to see how the sick respond to the new herbs.” And we wait for the real Healers to come, she finished in her head.

  :Had your training begun in the time it could have, you would be nearly both.: Eodan’s Mindvoice held a strange note of regret.

  :Then I would not have been your Chosen, and I would not wish for that.:

  Eodan was silent, but he rubbed his head against her shoulder until she scratched behind his ears, each of them lost for a moment in other thoughts.

  For several days, she continued to minister to the sick in much the same manner, steeping her herbs each night and dosing them out, with other medicines drawn from her dwindling stores. More of the people began to recover from the boils, although she was not sure if it was her herbs or their own natural resistance to sickness. At the very least, the infections did not seem to be spreading through the blood and the lungs of those in the town hall, although many, including Teo, stayed fevered. And more people got sick, but with her herbs she seemed to be able to keep the new cases of illness at the boil stage, where the patients had the best chance of recovering on their own.

  On the fifth afternoon, one of the sickest patients at the Healer’s infirmary, the one who had shown the most spots over her lungs and inner organs, succumbed to the illness. Standing by the shallow grave as the acolyte of Kernos gave a blessing on the woman’s soul was the longest respite Shia had taken from monitoring the sick since she had come to Norflank.

  I pray to Kernos the Healers get here soon, she thought. Eodan can Mindspeak the Companion with them, so they’re not too far, but we went off the road so much, he can’t tell how close they are. Even one more death is too great, for this town has lost so many. She joined the rest of the villagers in throwing a handful of earth over the wrapped body, then returned to the Healer’s infirmary to check the remaining ten serious patients.

  Most, the ones with fewer spots in their blood, were no worse than they had been when she had first examined them nearly a week ago, but no better, either. Herald Kindo and two others, a young girl and a man of middle years, who had been nearly as infection-filled as the woman just buried, now had more signs of the dark spotting throughout their bodies. With a sinking certainty, Shia knew that she would have to use her barely trained Gift for more than just Seeing the illness within them.

  Carefully Shielding herself in calm stillness, she knelt beside the first of the three, the young girl, and this time sent a green tendril of her Gift into the child’s body, connecting herself with the girl’s energy, first feeling the girl’s heartbeat as well as her own, then, more faintly, the girl’s faltering natural ability to heal. Instead of just observing the spots in the child’s blood, she wrapped her Gift around them, trying to trap them and draw them together, then channeled the girl’s natural healing strength at them until the dark spots faded, dwindled and disappeared. With slow care, Shia unkn
it her Gift from the girl’s energy, step by step releasing the strands that connected the two of them, until all of her Gift was once again behind her Shields. She swayed, touching her hand to the floor to steady herself, glad that she was already on her knees.

  :Have a care or you will lose yourself, Chosen,: Eodan warned from his favorite post outside the walls of the infirmary.

  :Don’t they always say that the first one is the hardest?: she responded, her Mindvoice faint in her own head. :I hope that for once they’re right.: She gathered a silver tendril of her Gift and sent it back through the girl’s body, searching out the spots of infection. Although her skin and lungs still showed heavy darkness, her blood now looked clear, and she even seemed to be more comfortable on her cot.

  Shia brought the tiny bit of her Gift back into herself and, reaching for her herbs, gave the child two doses—one of her herb concoction, and another of the purple-flowered plant that seemed to strengthen the body’s own natural healing. Then, she repeated the process in the next chamber before moving to Herald Kindo’s sickroom.

  As usual, Sjien lay beside him, although now at least Shia had insisted that straw be brought in for her comfort, dust in the air be damned. The Companion maintained her constant watch, although her Herald had grown so weak Shia doubted he could even use his Gift, much less spread chaos far and wide with it.

  “He’s getting worse, Companion Sjien, so I ask your permission to use my Gift for him.”

  The Companion rose and looked Shia up and down, then finally nodded her head and shifted to stand away from the Herald’s cot.

  “Thank you,” Shia said, sinking to her knees and breaking a tiny opening in her Shields, extending the green tendril of her Gift down into the older Herald’s form.

  After days of concentrated use of her Gift, even just her Healing Sight, weariness had sunk into Shia’s mind, and this time it was more difficult for her to mesh her Gift with the Herald’s energy. The pulse of his healing ability was so weak, it took greater effort for her to find it and twine her Gift with it. When at last she succeeded and turned her attention to the spots of infection in his blood, their number and size dismayed her, but her own words rang in her head. I will do everything I can to save him. To save both of them.

  Slowly, much more slowly than before, she sent her Gift through the Herald’s blood, trying to wrap her power around the myriad spots and channel the Herald’s energy toward them. Time and again, she made the attempt, but always some spots slipped away from the grasp of her Gift, and each time her weariness dragged at her, sapping her focus.

  “You shall not have him,” she muttered, not even aware that she had spoken aloud until she felt a flood of strength washing through her. It was like what Eodan had given her over these last days, but different, and Shia realized that Sjien had pressed her nose against her back and was sharing her own energy.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, and with renewed determination returned her attention to the ailing Herald. This time, with his Companion connected to her, she was able to capture the last of the spots in his blood, but she knew that the Herald’s natural healing ability was too weakened to fight out all of the infection elsewhere in his body. Fueled by his Companion’s power, she recklessly spent her own Gift to destroy the remaining spots, and when she was sure his blood and lungs were clear, she released the connection between them. His Companion continued to support her as she gave the Herald more of her herbs, until Eodan nosed his way into the now-crowded room and passed some of his own strength into her, helping her to stand.

  “I don’t know if it will be enough,” she said to Sjien, “but it’s everything I can do for him.” Wavering more than a little, she left the infirmary, clinging to Eodan’s mane for support.

  Ignoring Eodan’s protests that she needed to rest, she started to walk down the road to the town hall. She wasn’t even aware of taking steps, of moving; she only knew that she needed to be there.

  Reaching the makeshift infirmary, she brushed past a startled Curana into the room, while Eodan craned his neck through the door to watch her. Sinking to the ground beside Teo’s pallet, she reached out a quivering hand and placed it gently on his shoulder, closing her eyes and taking her first deep breath since leaving Herald Kindo’s side.

  “Shia?” Teo’s voice was weak, and Shia’s eyes flew open to meet his. He smiled faintly, his brown eyes clear of fever. “I thought I sensed—how is it you are here?”

  Shia opened her mouth to answer, but sudden exhaustion caught her before she could form a word and she swayed. She would have collapsed atop him, had not strong hands grasped her and guided her to the empty pallet beside his.

  “You need to rest—you know that is the first lesson of Healing. You will do no one any good if you over-extend your Gift like that again,” Healer Sereth’s crisp voice broke through the exhausted haze fogging Shia’s mind, and she forced her eyes open.

  “How did you . . . ?” she whispered.

  “I rode ahead. The others will be here in a few days. Your Eodan has relayed enough through Herald Fionna’s Companion that I can start working.” The older woman gave her a smile. “You succeeded, Shia. You gave us time. Now,” she said, holding up her hand to forestall any other questions, “it is time for you to rest, if I have to dose you with sleeptea myself.” When it was obvious that Shia would not disobey, Sereth whirled and left the town hall, gesturing to Curana to follow her.

  Shia closed her mouth, and her eyes followed a moment later as she fell into dreamless sleep.

  In the open doorway, the two Companions nudged next to each other, curving their necks together as they looked into the room. Teo shifted onto his side to look at Shia, a wondering expression drifting across his face, reaching out to interlace his fingers with hers, and she smiled as she slept.

  Songs of a Certain Sort

  Brenda Cooper

  Two flame-haired women created colorful moving points against frost-dusted hills and a nearly frozen tree. They wore red and green, the red a bit of a clash with Rhiannon’s hair, and the green a perfect complement to Dionne’s green eyes. The only other movement in the scene was the stamping and shifting of two bay horses’ feet and the flash of two yellow-breasted warblers flitting through swelling buds on bare branches.

  Dionne stretched her arms up above her head, hands clasped, stretching. “I hope those birds mean spring’s finally going to show up.”

  Rhiannon glanced up from the thin ropes she was using to tie her gittern—securely tucked in a lined case—onto the back of her horse, Chocolate. “At least we’ll be going downhill today, and likely we’ll find more cover tonight.

  “And firewood. Maybe that’ll put you in a better mood.”

  Rhiannon stopped part way through a knot and turned to face her twin. “Once more, I am not in a bad mood.” The gittern case slipped. She glared and muttered, “Except I’ll have to start this all over.”

  “See?”

  Rhiannon sighed and didn’t say anything at all for the next few moments.

  Part way down the second hill, they came to a spot wide enough to ride side by side. Dionne spoke up again. “Give over. You’ve been a grump ever since we stopped at Mile Creek, and that was a nice stay in a good inn for two days. You even got to listen to someone else sing. So I don’t get it.”

  Rhiannon shook her head. “You wouldn’t get it.”

  “Try me.”

  “It’s selfish. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Dionne let out a disgusted sigh. “It’s selfish to be in this mood and not share.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Didn’t you like the music?”

  “They sang two of Crystal’s songs.”

  Dionne was silent for a moment. “Oh. I thought you’d stopped letting that worry you. You’ve only been out of Bardic three years. Besides, we’ve not been in Haven for a year. Maybe they’re singing your songs in taverns all over town.”

  “Fat chance.”

  “I bet it’
s true.”

  Rhiannon shook her head and adjusted her scarf to let a little more of her face free even in the cold. “Look. Healers don’t need to prove anything to the world. But me? I’ll never be a Master Bard if I don’t get some songs into the common lexicon.”

  “I know, you want a ‘certain sort’ of song. Relax. I hear they come when you don’t expect them.”

  “Soon would be good.”

  “Given I can’t help you with that today, what would cheer you up?”

  Rhiannon looked around at the winter-struck grass that lined the path, only occasionally punctuated with the tiniest bit of bright green. “A few flowers would do it.” She pulled Chocolate to a stop, and pointed down. “Is that a footprint?”

  Dionne looked around carefully, checking for unexpected humans. “I can’t imagine people on foot out here in the cold.” She urged her horse, Lily, forward and examined another track, this one a clear imprint of a boot in a muddy spot beside the trail. “It’s almost two days’ ride to Lookingfall.”

  Rhiannon smiled mischievously. “They’re small tracks. Looks like women’s boots. Let’s follow them.”

  “We might be late to meet Paula and her new Trainee.”

  “Lookingfall won’t mind Heralds for an extra day.”

  The trail proved fairly easy to follow even when the boot tracks diverged from the main trail and headed up. From the top of a small hill, they looked down into a pocket valley hugged by rising hills in all directions. A waterfall spilled into the valley on the right and became a slow-moving stream lined with trees.

  Stream and trees alike were cut by a home made rock and wood and mud barrier complete with a walkway around the top. From this height, they could see inside the walls. There were at least five houses, a few corrals, some horses and smaller stock. The air smelled of cook-fires and dung.