Wasting: The Book of Maladies

by D. K. Holmberg

  There was a certain familiarity to what they used. Not the vials or the bowls holding them—those were far nicer than anything they would have had in the apothecary—but the cut of the leaves and the choice of berries or grasses… With healing, even the cutting could matter. That was something his father had always told him.

  He took the offered sheet of paper, recognizing the quality and the texture as similar to the one she’d had with her when he’d healed her before. That strange paper had required blood ink to write. Why would she try to give him paper?

  “I don’t think it will matter if I document her symptoms,” he said.

  A smile spread across her face, so out of place in this room where illness lingered and death chased. “It does. All you have to do is write them down.”

  “Sam—”

  “This is what they’re after, Alec. They want this paper because there is something special about it. They call it easar paper. I don’t fully understand, but you’ve discovered the secret to writing on it. And it has power.”

  “Power?”

  She nodded. “When you write on it. You figured out the secret.”

  “It was blood. That’s not really a secret.”

  “You wrote on similar paper that night. Did anything unusual happen?”

  “You mean other than you running out of the apothecary? Or the man who must have been chasing you who came and burned the place to the ground?”

  Sam touched her shoulder, rubbing the spot Alec knew the crossbow bolt had pierced. There had been a poison on it, and hadn’t the man been surprised that she had survived?

  “You asked if there was anything strange that happened?”

  Sam nodded.

  “You.”

  Sam stopped pacing and faced him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now you’re saying I’m strange?”

  “Not like that, but what happened with you was strange. You’d lost a lot of blood and there was poison in the arrow.”

  “Bolt.”

  He shook his head. “I used a salve that would have helped the skin heal, but it really shouldn’t have made a difference when it came to the poison. But here you are. Still alive.”

  Sam pulled her shirt back and looked where the bolt had gone in. She tugged her shirt back, moving the cloak to the side so he could see. The skin was clear, free from any sign of the injury, from any scar. “That’s what I’m talking about. The paper has power. It healed me.”

  He gasped and hurried over to her.

  That shouldn’t be. There should be some sort of evidence of the wound, even if it were subtle. He might have stitched her well, but he had still stitched her. No one healed that quickly, or even more alarming, with no sign of the original injury. No one other than Sam.

  He touched her skin, noting it smooth and warm. “How?” he asked her.

  She met his eyes, and he realized he was still holding on to her shoulder, cupping it gently. He pulled his hand away, and Sam gave him an amused expression.

  “There’s magic in the paper. That’s why they want it back.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Sam shrugged. “I don’t, either. Was I the only one you wrote about?”

  He thought about what he’d written on the page. There had been Hyp’s symptoms—which he and his father had long thought were more imagined than real—and then Mrs. Rubbles.

  He recalled being somewhat surprised by her improvement. When he saw her after the fire, she was quite hale. Strong.

  She had come to him initially with concern about a glandular issue. Alec had offered her what help he could think of, enough to tide her over until his father returned, but she had recovered far more than he would have expected. Even the achiness of her joints had seemed to calm… but hadn’t he written about that, as well?

  He eyed this new piece of blank paper with surprise.

  Could that have made a difference?

  Alec didn’t believe in the old stories of magic, and didn’t believe in anything but what he could observe, and what he could test, but what if Sam was right about this?

  If it could help the princess, did he dare not try?

  “There was something, wasn’t there?” Sam asked.

  He nodded slowly. “Other than you, I documented symptoms of two others.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “I only saw one of them after I did, but she was better.”

  “Better?”

  He looked over and saw her studying him, a line in her furrowed brow as she did, and he nodded. “Better.”

  He unfolded the paper carefully and made his way to the table next to the princess. Alec shifted everything on the table, moving it all to the side so he had room to work. A scrap of paper had been tucked beneath one of the plates, and he stuffed it into his pocket to look at later. Likely, it was the physickers’ notes. “I’ll need a pen,” he said.

  “There are none,” Sam said, speaking over his shoulder.

  “I can’t do this without… Let me have one of those sticks you used,” he said.

  Sam shrugged and pulled one of the narrow lengths of carved wood from her pocket, handing it to him. Alec ran his thumb along the edge. All he needed was something that would write on the page. For that matter, he could use his finger if needed, but that wouldn’t be neat enough. This should work.

  “Your knife.”

  He held his hand out, and Sam passed her knife over to him. It was a strange blade, with a hook on the end, but sharp. The metal was a dull black, as if she’d left it in a fire for too long, charring the surface. Alec took the bowl that sat on the table and tipped out the flasn berries that had been in there. They wouldn’t have done anything for the princess, anyway. They left a dark stain along the inside of the bowl.

  Holding his hand over the bowl, he ran the knife across his palm, wincing as he did. Blood pooled in his palm, and he tipped that into the bowl, letting it run out.

  With his other hand, he dipped the stick into the blood. This time, he wouldn’t dilute it. There would be no purpose, not when it had seemed like the blood itself had been the critical ingredient rather than anything else. He pulled the stick free and brought it to the page.

  As he wrote, he held his breath.

  Princess Lyasanna Anders. Wasting. Thinning hair, sunken cheeks…

  The words formed on the page, but began to fade, not holding as they had before.

  “Kyza! What are you doing differently?” Sam asked.

  “Nothing. When I wrote on the other page before, I used blood.”

  “Your blood?”

  “It was mine…” Alec frowned. Had it been only his blood? He’d wiped the page with the cloth that had been stained with Sam’s blood, too. Could that be the key? “Not mine. Yours.” He turned to her. “Hold out your hand.”

  Sam shook her head. “What are you going to do?”

  “If this works, and we can save your brother—”

  “You need to save the princess first. Then she can save my brother.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

  “Why do you think my blood matters?”

  “Because it matters. When I did this before, maybe it wasn’t my blood but yours. It was an accident, but it worked. And now we need to try it again.”

  “We. Sounds more like me.”

  Alec pointed to the blood congealing across his palm. “I already tried my blood. It doesn’t work.”

  Sam held her hand out and turned away.

  “It will hurt only for a minute.”

  “That’s not it. I don’t like blood.”

  Alec suppressed a smile as he made a quick slice across her palm. To her credit, she barely flinched. When enough blood pooled, he tipped the bowl to the side, emptying his blood from it, and let hers drip inside where it mixed with his. After two dozen drops, there was enough for him to work with, and he clenched her hand into a fist.

  Working quickly, he started the same way as he had before, beginning with the princ
ess’s name.

  Princess Lyasanna Anders. Wasting disease. No external source. Skin intact, but cheeks sunken and muscle has deteriorated.

  Alec waited, watching to see if the ink would hold.

  A moment passed. Then another. And another.

  The blood remained on the page.

  “It worked!” Sam said.

  Alec smiled. It had worked.

  “Why was my blood important?”

  He had no answer for that. “What do I do?”

  Sam shrugged. “Do the same as you did the last time. What was that?”

  “Nothing more than documenting what I observed.”

  “Then do that.”

  Alec stared at the princess a moment and then began writing once more.

  There is a heavy odor of necrosis, but none evident. I question whether this is an internal illness, as none is visible. Heart is regular, and her lungs are without rattle or wheeze. Skin is thinning, and there is a faint discoloration to it, though one I would not expect from blood loss.

  “Alec?”

  He noted an urgency in Sam’s voice as he continued documenting.

  Attempts have been made with willowleaf, episth paste, flasn berries…

  “Alec!”

  He looked up then, holding the makeshift pen above the page as he did. “What is it?”

  “How much longer will this take?”

  “I don’t know what I did the last time. I’m trying to document everything I can. If it works… Why?”

  She nodded to the door, and that was when he noticed a soft thudding against it.

  They were about to have others join them.

  23

  The First Augmentations

  The change to the stillness of the room came suddenly. Sam listened as the steady scratching of the wood splinter moved along the page, trying not to think about what it meant that her blood had been the key to the writing remaining on the page. Had Marin known that when she asked her to break into the highborn house and steal it in the first place? Sam now recalled Marin’s words that first night by the canal when she wasn’t the best person for this and that Sam was a good fit to go after it. Why? Had she known it when she tried to help Sam escape before the brutes arrived?

  Alec studied both the page and the princess with equal attention. He wore a determined expression, and every so often would pause, raising the end of the splinter to his mouth before resuming. Words flowed in her blood across the page, formed in a neat script, and remained there.

  None of that had disturbed the quiet of the room.

  No, that had come as he continued to work and as someone appeared at the door to the princess’s room. From the way she heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and the heavy breathing that drifted through, she feared the brutes had found them.

  And all she had was her knife.

  With the crossbow, she would have been more capable of defending them, but even with that, she wasn’t sure it would have protected her enough from the brutes. They were strong, and they were quick, and she was simply inexperienced when it came to more than brawling.

  It had taken a few tries to get Alec’s attention off the princess and the paper, but the puzzled look on his face faded as he seemed to realize they had company. “Try to hurry,” she urged.

  If this worked—and Sam was not sure that it would—they would need to work as quickly as possible to save the princess. If she woke, then they could explain what happened, and share with her why they’d broken in. Maybe they’d have time to explain the Thelns and how Tray had nothing to do with them, that neither of them were Theln sympathizers.

  Sam stood near the edge of the princess’s bed. Had the smell gotten better, or had she gotten to the point where she no longer noticed it anymore? Probably the latter. Alec claimed she would get used to it, and as much as the smell disgusted her, she suspected he was right about that.

  The door sprang open.

  Sam took a step back as the brutes entered.

  Not just one, but three.

  Two carried crossbows, and the memory of the last time she’d been shot stuck with her, regardless of the fact that Alec had healed her. Poison. That was what Marin had said, and a kind that would be particularly fatal.

  The other was the brute who’d questioned her when she’d been captured in the highborn house. He carried a long sword, and his eyes narrowed as he flicked his gaze from Sam to Alec.

  There would be no questioning here. From the looks on their faces, the brutes had come to kill.

  “Did you think you could hide from me? I warned you that I can smell you,” the brute said.

  “Come on. I don’t stink that bad,” she said, trying to decide what she would do.

  The others held their crossbows ready, but didn’t aim them.

  Alec would be no help for her here. He might have saved her—twice—but he wasn’t a fighter. And she might know how to fight, but she was out-armed and out-muscled. Even if the princess woke, there wouldn’t be anything she could do to save them.

  Had she come this far to fail?

  Maybe there was one other thing they could try.

  “Alec,” she said in a whisper, drawing his attention to her, “if what you write on the page comes true, see if there’s anything you can try.”

  He blinked and looked over at her. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know! Write that these three die or something.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t—”

  “Then give me the ability to stop them.”

  He stared at her then turned back to the page.

  Sam rounded the bed and put herself between the princess and the brutes. If nothing else, she could stop them from reaching Alec. Maybe not stop, but delay.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  The lead brute glared at her. “Years of waiting will end today. Vengeance will be mine. You have been an interesting diversion, but a diversion, nonetheless. Now move as I claim my prize.”

  He waved his hand, and one of the brutes aimed his crossbow at her.

  Sam spun, jumping and sweeping her leg around, kicking it as he fired. The bolt sailed high, striking the ceiling and sinking into the stone.

  She kicked, and the man fell backward, but bounced back to his feet quickly.

  The other aimed his crossbow, this time at Alec.

  Sam jumped, but she wouldn’t be fast enough to reach it.

  Alec wasn’t sure what Sam expected him to do. He couldn’t harm another—that went against everything that he’d trained for with his father—but could he try something else as she suggested?

  He still wasn’t sure he believed the paper had special powers, but he had healed her, and then there was Mrs. Rubbles…

  Sam needs speed and strength.

  He wrote it as quickly as he could, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he did.

  It wouldn’t work. How could it? There wasn’t any real magic in the world, and what she suggested required magic.

  But what had healed her? Not his salve. That wouldn’t have worked nearly as well as what he’d seen. Could there be magic that had healed her?

  What if he documented as if he were recording her symptoms? Would that matter?

  He watched as Sam kicked the crossbow out of one of the massive man’s hands, but the man bounced up faster than he would have expected possible. Given his size, there was no way that Sam could overpower him. At best, she would manage to delay them.

  Compared to the others, reflexes are delayed. Strength diminished. Endurance low. Expect metham seeds to help with energy, and epigen leaves could help with reflexes.

  Alec didn’t know if anything he added now even made a difference. Probably not, but if there was anything to the paper and if it could help, he needed to try.

  He looked up in time to see a crossbow pointed at him. The massive man holding it fired. Alec was frozen, unable to move.

  Sam jumped, reaching for the crossbow as the brute fire
d it. There was no way she could reach it in time. Kyza, but she hoped Alec was smart enough to get down!

  The jump carried her soaring across the room, farther than she should have gone. She saw the bolt streaking through the air and kicked at it, diverting it back toward the brute now looking at her with a strained expression on his face.

  The bolt changed direction and soared toward him, catching him in the neck.

  He went down in a spray of blood.

  Sam landed, making a point of not looking at the man, trying to keep from vomiting.

  Looking back, she saw Alec watching her, his eyes wide. At least he was alive.

  But… how?

  How had she managed to reach the crossbow in time to save him? The brute had to have been five paces from her, and then she had managed to kick the bolt out of the air. Not only kick it, but redirect it with enough force to take down the man down?

  “A fully trained Kaver. I thought we had moved fast enough to avoid them,” the brute with a sword said. He swiped toward her, and Sam jumped back, barely moving fast enough.

  The brute swung again, and she rolled, noticing the other crossbow brute aiming once again at Alec. Not her. That had to be important.

  As she rolled, she reached into her boot and pulled her mother’s knife out. She flung it at the crossbow brute. He was the danger to Alec. The other brute came at her.

  The knife sailed true, whistling through the air.

  The brute seemed to notice, but too slowly.

  He ducked, but she’d compensated for that. The knife struck him in the eye.

  Sam turned her attention to the last brute, mostly to avoid looking at the blood spilling from the other two. He stepped back, swinging his sword more cautiously now, eyeing her with something bordering on concern.

  “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up,” she said to Alec.

  The brute smiled. “Perhaps not fully trained.”

  Swinging with more speed and energy than she would have believed possible for a man his size, he jumped at her.

  Sam rolled again, but she wouldn’t be fast enough to avoid him for long.