by Janice Hardy
The Healing Wars: Book I
The Shifter
Janice Hardy
For Thomas Hardy and Harlan Ellison.
Only one knows why.
Contents
Map
One
Stealing eggs is a lot harder than stealing the whole…
Two
The Elder stared down at me, looking as solid as…
Three
Strength left my legs, and I flopped into the weeds…
Four
“Don’t hurt me,” a low voice said matter-of-factly, as if…
Five
“Wait!” I called after Enzie, but she was already running…
Six
We left the Sanctuary and turned right, toward one of…
Seven
I got as far as the bridge before I stumbled…
Eight
The League had never looked so mean.
Nine
“Are you a Healer or not?”
Ten
No! It couldn’t be true. Curling into a ball and…
Eleven
“Punctual as well as smart,” Zertanik said as the clock…
Twelve
Agony swiped my knees out from under me. I collapsed…
Thirteen
I couldn’t fail here. Tali wasn’t safe. Danello and the…
Fourteen
“What do we do now?” Soek whispered, his gaze darting…
Fifteen
We hit the guards. I landed dead center on one…
Sixteen
“Nya!”
Seventeen
“They’re alive?” I repeated, wanting to believe it, but afraid…
Eighteen
Moving with the mob was a lot easier than fighting…
Nineteen
“Danello!” I dove forward as he collapsed, catching him before…
Twenty
Had my anger poisoned the pynvium?
Twenty-one
Everyone raced forward and grabbed a cot, dragging them away…
Twenty-two
I gripped the arms of my chair. They couldn’t prove…
Twenty-three
Pain exploded from the Slab, slamming me back against a…
Twenty-four
“So I told him I’d be delighted to empty it…
Twenty-five
Danello carried me out. No matter how hard I tried,…
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Map
ONE
Stealing eggs is a lot harder than stealing the whole chicken. With chickens, you just grab a hen, stuff her in a sack, and make your escape. But for eggs, you have to stick your hand under a sleeping chicken. Chickens don’t like this. They wake all spooked and start pecking holes in your arm, or your face, if it’s close. And they squawk something terrible.
The trick is to wake the chicken first, then go for the eggs. I’m embarrassed to say how long it took me to figure this out.
“Good morning, little hen,” I sang softly. The chicken blinked awake and cocked her head at me. She didn’t get to squawking, just flapped her wings a bit as I lifted her off the nest, and she’d settle down once I tucked her under my arm. I’d overheard that trick from a couple of boys I’d unloaded fish with last week.
A voice came from beside me. “Don’t move.”
Two words I didn’t want to hear with someone else’s chicken under my arm.
I froze. The chicken didn’t. Her scaly feet flailed toward the eggs that should have been my breakfast. I looked up at a cute night guard not much older than me, perhaps sixteen. The night was more humid than usual, but a slight breeze blew his sand-pale hair. A soldier’s cut, but a month or two grown out.
Stay calm, stay alert. As Grannyma used to say, if you’re caught with the cake, you might as well offer them a piece. Not sure how that applied to chickens, though.
“Join me for breakfast when your shift ends?” I asked. Sunrise was two hours away.
He smiled but aimed his rapier at my chest anyway. It was nice to have a handsome boy smile at me in the moonlight, but his was a sad, sorry-only-doing-my-job smile. I’d learned to tell the difference between smiles a lot faster than I’d figured out the egg thing.
“So, Heclar,” he said over his shoulder, “you do have a thief. Guess I was wrong.”
Rancher Heclar strutted into view, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the chicken trying to peck me—ruffled, sharp beaked, and beady eyed. He harrumphed and set his fists against his hips. “I told you crocodiles weren’t getting them.”
“I’m no chicken thief,” I said quickly.
“Then what’s that?” The night guard flicked his rapier tip toward the chicken and smiled again. Friendlier this time, but his deep brown eyes had twitched when he bent his wrist.
“A chicken.” I blew a stray feather off my chin and peered closer. His knuckles were white from too tight a grip on so light a weapon. That had to mean joint pain, maybe even knuckleburn, though he wasn’t old enough for it. The painful joint infection usually hit older dockworkers. I guess that’s why he had a crummy job guarding chickens instead of aristocrats. My luck hadn’t been that great either.
“Look,” I said, “I wasn’t going to steal her. She was blocking the eggs.”
The night guard nodded like he understood and turned to Heclar. “She’s just hungry. Maybe you could let her go with a warning?”
“Arrest her, you idiot! She’ll get fed in Dorsta.”
Dorsta? I gulped. “Listen, two eggs for breakfast is hardly worth prison—”
“Thieves belong in prison!”
I jerked back and my foot squished into chicken crap. Lots of it. It dripped out from every coop in the row. There had to be at least sixty filthy coops along the lakeside half of the isle alone. “I’ll work off the eggs. What about two eggs for every row of coops I clean?”
“You’ll only steal three.”
“Not if he watches me.” I tipped my head at the night guard. I could handle the smell if I had cute company while I worked. He might even get extra pay out of it, which could earn me some goodwill if we ever bumped into each other in the early-morning moonlight again. “How about one egg per row?”
The night guard pursed his lips and nodded. “Pretty good deal there.”
“Arrest her already!”
I heaved the chicken. She squawked, flapping and scratching in a panic. The night guard yelped and dropped the rapier. I ran like hell.
“Stop! Thief!”
Self-righteous ranchers I could outrun, even on their own property, but the night guard? His hands might be bad, but his feet—and reflexes—worked just fine.
I rounded a stack of broken coops an arm-swipe faster than he did. Without slowing, I dodged left, cutting up a corn-littered row of coops running parallel to Farm-Market Canal. It gained me a few paces, but he had the reach on my short legs. No chance of outrunning him on a straightaway.
Swerving right, I yanked an empty market crate off one of the coops. It clattered to the ground between me and the night guard.
“Aah!” A thud and a crack, followed by impressive swearing.
I risked a glance behind. Broken crate pieces lay scattered across the row. The night guard limped a little, but it hadn’t slowed him much. I’d gained only another few paces.
The row split ahead, cutting through the waist-high coops like the canals that crisscrossed Geveg. I veered left toward Farm-Market Bridge, my side throbbing hard. Forget making it off the isle. I wasn’t going to make it off the ranch.
More market crates blocked the row a dozen paces from the bridge. The crates were knee high a
nd a pace wide, with tendrils of loose, twisted wire sticking up like lakeweed. Didn’t Heclar ever clean his property? I cleared the crates a step before the night guard. His fingers raked the back of my shirt and snagged the hem. I stumbled, arms flailing, reaching for anything to stop my fall.
The ground did it for me.
I sucked back the breath I’d lost and inhaled a lungful of dust and feathers. The night guard crashed over the crates a choking gasp later and hit the ground beside me. Dried corn flew out of the crate and speckled the ground.
I hacked up grime while he swore and grabbed his leg. He’d left a pretty good chunk of his shin on one of the crates, and his bent ankle looked sprained for sure, maybe broken.
He glanced at me and chuckled wryly. “Just go.”
I dragged myself upright but didn’t run. He’d lose his job over me, and I’d guess he didn’t have many options left if he was working for a cheap like Heclar. I knelt and grabbed his hands, my thumbs tight against his knuckles, and drew.
For an instant, our hands flared tingly hot from the healing. He gasped, I groaned, then his pain was in my hands. I left the bad leg. It was a good excuse for letting me go, and Saints willing, he’d keep his job. If he didn’t, then at least I’d healed his hands. It was hard enough for native Gevegians to find work these days, and bad hands sure wouldn’t help.
Knuckles aching, I turned away before he realized what I’d done. It wasn’t the first time I’d healed someone out of pity, but I tried not to do it often. Folks tended to ask questions I didn’t want to answer.
I took a step forward, but something large blocked my escape. Heclar! He swung at my head and I ducked, but not fast enough.
Pain dug into my temple and I thudded back to the ground. Heclar floated in the silver flecks dancing around my eyes, a blue-black pynvium club in his hand.
That cleared me straight. I was lucky he was so cheap that he’d only hit me with it instead of flashing it at me. The weapon was too black to be pure pynvium, but blue enough to hold a lot of pain. I didn’t want it flashed in my direction any more than I wanted to go to prison.
He sneered and pointed the club at me. “Stinking thieves, both of ya.”
Without thinking, I grabbed the night guard’s shin and drew, knitting bone and yanking every hurt, every sting from his ankle. His pain ran down my arm, seared my leg, and chewed around my own ankle. Yep. Definitely broken. My stomach rolled, but there was nothing in it to toss up.
I seized Heclar’s leg with my free hand and pushed. The agony the night guard hadn’t revealed raced up my other side and poured out my tingling fingers into Heclar. I caught myself before I gave him the knuckleburn. That would make his hands clench, and a hard, sudden grip on the pynvium club might be the enchantment’s trigger. Be just my luck to accidentally set it off.
Heclar screamed loud enough to wake the Saints. To be truthful, it was worse than he deserved, but sending me to prison for eggs I hadn’t yet stolen was worse than I deserved too. The Saints are funny that way.
It still didn’t justify what I’d done. What I’d promised to never do again. But life was easy when I’d made that promise—not the constant struggle it was now. And it got harder every day.
I left both men lying in chicken feed and feathers and sprinted for safety. Just five paces to the exit, then another five to Farm-Market Bridge. Once I crossed the bridge, I’d be off the isle and in the market district on Geveg’s main island, where it was easier to hide. If I didn’t pass out first.
At the foot of the bridge, two boys in Healers’ League green were staring at me in wonder. I skidded to a stop and glanced over my shoulder. I had a clear view of the night guard and the blubbering rancher. The boys had seen me shift for sure.
“How did you do that?” one boy asked. He was tall and skinny, but with hard eyes for a boy so young. Too young to be an apprentice. A ward, then. The war had left Geveg with plenty of us orphans about.
“I didn’t…do anything.” Breathing took more effort than I had. I held my side as I edged past them, checking for mentors or the cloying escorts who stuck to wards like reed sap. If either had seen me shift pain—I shuddered.
“Yes, you did!” The other boy nodded his head, and his red hair fell into his eyes. He shoved it back with a freckled hand. “You shifted pain. We saw you!”
“No, I didn’t…I stabbed him in the foot…with a nail.” I leaned forward, hands on my knees. The silver flecks were back at the edge of my vision, sneaking up on me from the sides. “If you look close…you can still see the blood.”
“Elder Len said shifting pain was just a myth, but you really did it, didn’t you?”
I wasn’t sure which Saint covered luck, but I must’ve snubbed her big at some point in my fifteen years. “You boys better get back to the League…before the Luminary finds out you sneaked free to go wandering.”
Both paled when I mentioned the Luminary. We got a new one every three years, like some rite of passage the Duke’s Healers had to go through to prove their worth. The new Luminary was Baseeri, of course, and like all Baseeri who held positions that should have been held by Gevegians, no one liked him. He’d been here only a few months, but already everyone feared him. He ran the League without compassion, and if you crossed him, you didn’t stand a chance at getting healed if you needed it. You or your family.
“You don’t want to get into trouble, do you?”
“No!”
I placed a finger to my lips. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
They nodded hard enough to bounce their eyeballs out of their heads, but boys that age can’t keep a secret. By morning, the whole League would know about this.
Tali was going to kill me.
“Oh, Nya, how could you?”
Tali used Mama’s disappointed face. Chin tucked in, her wide brown eyes all puppylike, lips pursed, and frowning at the same time. Mama had done it better.
“Would you rather I’d gone to prison?”
“Of course not.”
“Then sink it. What’s done is done and—”
“—I can’t change it none,” she finished for me.
I had three years on her, which usually gave me implied authority, but since joining the League, she’d been forgetting who the big sister was. Hard to do with only the two of us left, but she managed.
“Be grateful I got away.” I flopped backward into green floor pillows. Tali sat on the edge of her bed dressed in her Healer’s apprentice uniform, her white underdress neatly pressed and her short green vest buttoned. A sunbeam from the small window above poured over her, making the braided silver loop on her shoulder sparkle.
The door to Tali’s dorm room was shut, but not sound-tight. Shuffling feet and excited giggles drifted in as the other apprentices readied for class. Morning rounds were about to start, and I had work to find if I wanted to eat today. Tali sneaked some food out for me when she could, but the League rationed it and they watched the wards and apprentices real careful at mealtimes—especially if they were Gevegian. Hungry or not, I wasn’t about to let her risk her apprenticeship for me any more than I had to, and I needed a bigger favor than breakfast.
“Are you on this morning?” I asked, wiggling my toes in the sunbeam.
Tali nodded but didn’t look at me. I think stealing the heals scared her more than stealing food, though getting caught in the dining hall was a lot more likely.
“Could you?” I lifted my aching hands. The pain from the night guard’s knuckleburn made me useless for all but hauling, and I couldn’t carry enough on my back to be worth the money.
“Sure, come here.”
I scooted over and she took my hands. Heat blossomed and the ache vanished, tucked safely in Tali’s knuckles. She’d keep it there until some aristocrat paid the League to get rid of his own pain, then dump both into the Slab. It was risky sneaking the pain past the League Seniors, but I couldn’t dump my pain into the Slab even if I could get to it.
The Slab wasn’t
its real name, but that’s what all the apprentices and low cords called it. Its real name was something like Healing Quality High-Enchanted Pynvium, which didn’t have the same flair at all. I’d never actually seen it, not even when Mama was alive, but Tali said it was pure pynvium, ocean blue and the size of a bale of hay. I could eat for the rest of my life with what the Luminary must’ve paid the enchanters for it.
Tali flexed her fingers and winced. “You could have sold that to the pain merchants, you know.”
I huffed. The pain merchants weren’t quite thieves, but they paid so little for pain, it was practically stealing it. Before I was born, they used to charge folks for healing just like the League did, but they’d discovered they got more pain if they offered to pay for it. They made their money now from using that pain to enchant their trinkets and weapons, which they then sold to Baseeri aristocrats for a lot more than they’d gotten by healing folks.
Of course, there were drawbacks to this.
Since they didn’t hire trained healers anymore, you could never be sure you’d actually get healed if you went to them. Some of their Takers just took your pain and left what was wrong if they didn’t know how to heal it. Only folks with no other choice went to them now, and I’d seen my share of “mysterious deaths” among the poor and desperate. You saw just as many limps and crippled limbs from bad merchant healing as you did from war wounds.
I was almost desperate enough to go to them, but I had other reasons to keep my distance. “Too risky. What if they’d sensed I was a Taker and wondered why I didn’t dump it myself?”
“Not that many can sense. You’re one of the few I know who isn’t an Elder.”
That talent still didn’t buy me breakfast. I’d trade it fast as fright to sense pynvium like she could; to feel the “call and draw of the metal,” as Tali had pounded into my head over the summer, trying to get my skill to work right. She’d just turned twelve, and we’d thought to join the League together. Turn us both from untrained Takers into real Healers and live a good life. The League was one of the few Baseeri-run places that accepted Gevegians. Both sides had lost so many healers in the war, and there just weren’t enough trained ones to go around these days.