by Bekah Clark
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2017
Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
Cover art by: Daniela Owergoor: http://dani-owergoor.deviantart.com/
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
I hope you…
Chapter One
The winds whipped around me, causing a few loose strands of my flame-red hair to cut across my eyes as I made my way up the trail I had taken so many times before. It was not so much a trail as a small worn path up the mountain that existed because I traveled it so often, just as my mother had before me. This particular slope was the only one that grew telgan root. Telgan root was good for a digestive, and I liked to have it on hand for Old Widow Mae. A short laugh slipped out of me as I thought of the unappreciative grunt she’d give me when she got the digestive next. Not that she was any different from the rest of the village folk. My laugh stopped and I gave a little huff of frustration.
My mother had been the previous healer and her mother had been before her. My great-grandmother had moved to this village from far away. War had driven her search for somewhere peaceful. I couldn’t blame her. The drive to heal those gravely injured was powerful, and the consequence of too many healings was a danger. Living in a land during war must have been difficult, at best. The need to heal must have been agony.
I paused and took a deep breath as I let my eyes roam over this particular part of the mountain. My heart swelled at the beauty of it, with the swirling wildflowers of yellow, red, blue, and white dancing in the rough winds that always churned around Mount Caden. The air up here was cool, sweet, and clean. Whenever I arrived on this strip of land, I would always feel both free and at peace. But that freedom and peace did not quell the surge of loneliness in my heart.
Purposefully striding further into the clearing, I turned to gaze down at my village home. Nestled between two rivers, Vella’s red walls and roofs were a stark contrast to the rich greens of the area. The people believed the color red protected them from the various so-called monsters and demons that dwelled in the mountains. If there were such things, they never once came out and bothered me. And though I would never say it to anyone, I very much doubted the deep red would save them.
A sardonic laugh slipped out of my lips as I thought of the last time I had been called to heal someone. When I arrived, I could see that everyone in the house wore dark red except the patient, who stared up at me with wide, fearful eyes of blue. When his gaze met my jade eyes, he had trembled violently as dread took over his face. In the village, people only had brown or blue eyes. The green ran exclusively in my family, a so-called sign of our witch heritage. And then, of course, there was the flame red of my hair. When I was little, the other children would tease me by claiming that my true father was a demon and not the honorable Constable Jorn. When I’d looked into that young man’s eyes, I realized people still thought that.
Despite what I knew of their story, how my mother managed to get my father to marry her in this village of fools eluded me. At twenty-two, marriage was no longer an option for me. Girls in my village were all married before they turned nineteen. I had come to accept that my family line would end with me. Even though I was sure there were a couple of men in the village whom I could tempt for a night or two, I would not add being fatherless to the list of crimes any child of mine would carry. Besides, the thought of sharing my bed with a man who thought of me as a demon’s offspring was unappealing.
Shaking my head to clear my mind, I turned back to my task. The mountainside was full of numerous plants, so I toiled meticulously as I gathered telgan roots, fae flowers, and various other herbs and wild fruits that I used in the many items I sold as the town’s herbalist. Because of my heritage, they denied me the lofty term apothecary. It didn’t matter because everyone knew my goods were the best. And those items were how I made the money I needed to survive. True healings I did for free. I felt compelled to save lives when I could feel their pain. The items I made as an herbalist complemented my healings as well as provided several beauty aids.
I labored for a few hours before I started to make my way down the mountain and across the small footbridge to the red walls of my village. Just inside the gates, I nodded to Constable Kean. He was my uncle, my father’s brother. His gruff nod in reply showed he still had not warmed to me. My father had been away from the village when his horse threw him and he died. Kean blamed it on his association with my mother. A few months later, my mother, Aren, took her own life out of grief. She did it while I was gathering herbs a few miles away and was long dead by the time I returned home. Even my gifts could not bring back the dead.
Although I couldn’t understand such a choice, I didn’t blame her. How could I? Not when such a rare bond had existed between their two souls. They had been True Mates, and her grief was more intense than she could bear. Even my love wasn’t enough to replace the loss of my father. A sigh escaped my lips. If my True Mate existed, he was not in this village. I would have known by now. Even though it would be difficult to come together, I often let myself believe that if we could have, I would be happy—and not so alone.
Letting out a sharp breath, I shook my head. None of that wallowing, I warned myself, that path leads to madness. I had my work and it was fulfilling. Just the other week, I’d fixed little Eesa’s ankle. People bought my teas, potions, lotions, and creams, and even if they were not grateful, they were happy with the results. It was a simple life of genuinely helping people.
After entering my warm little home, I took a deep, calming breath and walked to the table where I worked. Sorting out the multitude of plants, I separated them by kind before I began to prepare them. Singing to myself, I secured the herbs I wanted to dry into little bundles to hang. Those I needed to use fresh, I placed in the various baskets I had. I jumped at a sudden, loud banging on my door. “Come in,” I called out. It was
unusual for someone to come in the front door, and my heart skipped a beat in worry.
Lidia, the finest seamstress in the village, entered in a rush. “Zianya! It’s Kiara. She just gave birth before her time. The baby is fine, but she won’t stop bleeding!”
Heart thundering with worry for the young, new mother, I dashed out the door and down the lane. Kiara lived several blocks down, and I put a rush into my legs, wanting to make it in time. When I burst into the house, I could hear the healthy wail of a newborn, but I could feel the dark coils of impending death. I dashed into the room, where the dark-haired midwife glared at me. Senna had never liked me because she thought I took business from her. I didn’t understand why because I never assisted in births. “There’s nothing to be done,” Senna said gravely. “You may as well leave, girl.”
As long as I’d known her, Senna never said my name. I growled at her, “For shame. You know that I can save her.”
Senna spat at me, “She doesn’t need a witch. She needs to die with her soul intact!”
My need to touch Kiara and heal her was overwhelming, but I fought it, and that fight caused a little stab of pain to run through me. No matter how much I wanted to heal Kiara, I couldn’t do such a thing if her mother would not let me. Fortunately, Senna was not her mother.
Turning my eyes to the wide ones of Jeen, I pressed, “I can save your daughter. Do you want your grandchild growing up without her because of foolish superstition spouted by an old woman whose biggest problem with me is that she thinks I take her business? I am not a witch. I’m a healer. You grew up with my mother—was she evil?”
Jeen met my eyes and then she nodded grimly. “Stand aside, Senna. Zianya can save my daughter.”
“But she’s—”
“Stand aside!”
As Senna walked by, her deep blue eyes pierced me as she snarled, “I still say you’re a witch.”
I brushed by her without another look and sat beside Kiara. My fingers tenderly stroked back her lovely blonde locks. I made soft, comforting sounds as I let my power sink into her and take her pain from her. She relaxed, and everyone in the room took a breath. Kiara opened her brown eyes and looked at me with a fearful gaze. Putting reassurance into a gentle smile, I stroked her hair again. She relaxed further, and I let the warmth of my healing spread down into her abdomen where the bleeding just didn’t want to cease. Pieces of me slipped away, weakening my body as they wove into her and knit together all the areas where she bled. I trembled as the energy left me. Finally, I relaxed. Her body was well, and I knew she would live. Leaning back, my eyes ran over Kiara, who was softly sleeping. Sweat sprung out on my forehead as I pushed back my own need to collapse. I raised my eyes to her mother.
“Let her rest. She’ll need plenty of that, and water. Her blood needs to rebuild, but she will live. Come by the shop in the morning and I’ll get you a tea that will help promote new blood. If she takes it, she should not nurse the child for at least a full day after she consumes it. Perhaps a wet nurse could be used during that time. I do recommend she take it because her recovery will be much improved.”
“You just want to sell your wares,” Senna hissed. Ignoring her, I braced myself for the weakness that was bound to take me, and rose. Despite that, a shiver coursed through me. Time was slipping away, and there wasn’t much of it before I wouldn’t be able to stand.
“She’ll heal either way, but she’ll be stronger faster if she takes the tea.”
Jeen shook her head. “She won’t need it.”
That would have been it, but I’d seen that expression in people’s eyes before. Now she was saying she wouldn’t come—but she would. Schooling my face into one of neutrality, I gave a quick nod and made my way toward the door. A quiver ran through me, and I faltered before catching myself on the doorframe because I knew no one else would. They all knew a healing took it out of me. One time after a healing, I collapsed in the street. Everyone knew where my home was, everyone knew my door was always open. No one helped me back to my home. They left me there to wake in the morning, freezing and dirty. I’d had to drink a lot of cold-soothe tea after that.
Stumbling along down the road, I wished Kiara lived closer to me. The toll was chasing me, and I wanted to make it back to my home before it took me. As I made my way, I wished the other midwife, Xel, had been there. The younger woman was more open-minded about my healing. I collapsed just outside my door. Fighting the urge to just rest in the street again, I pushed myself to rise and make my way into my home. Once inside, I stumbled along to the patients’ room on the first floor. My loft bedroom was too difficult for me to get to at this point. Crumpling onto the bed, sweet oblivion took me.
That night I dreamed of a man with emerald eyes. He was tall, powerful—and even though I saw his eyes, I could not make out his face. I felt drawn to him and didn’t understand why. As I was about to ask him who he was in the dream, I awoke to the sound of banging on the back door. A deep groan escaped my lips as I tried to focus on waking up. With great effort, I rose and made my way out of the room and around the large, old farm table that was cluttered with most of my herbs. Opening the large, red-painted oak door, I was not surprised to find Jeen standing there in a red cloak, hood low, glancing around to make sure no one saw her.
I smiled. “Come in.”
She looked me over with critical eyes.
I meekly said, “Sorry about my appearance. A healing takes it out of me.” My stomach took that opportunity to grumble loudly. Heat filled my cheeks as I made my way to the boxes of teas I had prepared just last week. There were certain preparations I always kept on hand, and this tea for Kiara was one of them. Grabbing a large, blue glass jar, I filled it with some tea from the box and then I went back over to Jeen.
“Ten, please.”
“Ten anstals? Really?” She frowned at me. Some people thought that because I healed for free, my herbs should be free or, at least, very cheap.
“I’m sorry, but it’s a lot of work to get those particular leaves and prepare them properly. This will help her recover faster.” If I didn’t hold to my price, word would get out and soon everyone would demand cheaper prices. I couldn’t afford to live like that. Besides, she knew my goods worked. Jeen had come to me a few years ago when Kiara’s face had broken out with acne. She was trying to marry off her daughter, and she didn’t want to ruin her chances for a good match. My salve had her cleared up in less than a week. Since then, Kiara always bought creams and potions from me. Jeen was a little less willing. But she knew it would work.
Grumbling, she handed me the money and took the tea. She opened the door, eyes darting around as she yanked her hood lower on her head, and stole out, moving quickly down the back alley.
Shaking my head, I closed the door and made my way into the kitchen. From the icebox, I pulled out some cold chicken from the night before. Starvation won over my desire to make a sandwich, and I devoured the entire remaining chicken straight from the container. Post healings, two things occurred: a deep need for sleep and then a deep need for food. If I didn’t have both, I feared what would happen to me. Once the chicken was gone, I found myself still hungry, so I checked my large iron woodstove—which was still warm from the remaining coals—and added some fuel to it. I put a cast iron pan on the cooktop and grabbed my bread. I made it myself with wild wheat, seeds, and herbs. Cutting into it, I covered one side thick in butter and set two slices into the pan. Then, I got a kettle going so that I could make some teilen tea, a restorative.
Once I was full and feeling like my usual self, I cleaned the kitchen and then washed up. Dressing in my gray cotton skirt and plain white shirt, I got to work once again on separating the herbs. The day went by as it normally did. Every so often, someone would knock on the back door and buy one of my wares. I silently begged the Spirits that no one would require a healing that day. If someone did come by, I wouldn’t be able to resist the need to heal them. I knew if I did, I’d exhaust myself at the very least. Too many healing
s were just unhealthy for any healer.
When the ninth hour of the day arrived, the bells of the Temple of Caden reverberated through the village and everyone was required to go because it was the fourth day of the week. Letting out a deep groan, I hardened myself as I put my work away. I loathed going to the temple. The people of the village worshipped the Spirit of the mountain, but if he was truly some powerful Spirit, I didn’t understand what such a powerful being wanted. Did the Spirit even care about the people of this village? He might have, but his priest was Senna’s husband and he often made his sermons about avoiding the snare of witches. He never said me, but I knew that was what he meant. The only people in the village who called me witch to my face were the priest, Colm, and his wife, Senna. Every other person in the village either had experienced a healing or knew someone healed by my mother or me. So even though they feared us and avoided associating with us, they wanted us around to save them.
The temple was the largest building in the village in the center of town and had a triangular layout with the podium taking up one point within. Not only was its roof deep red, but the entire exterior was. The point was that evil could not pass into a building that was red. For that very reason, my great-grandmother had painted our doorways red to prove she was not evil. Sometimes I think those doors saved our family more than once.
Inside the temple, wood beams painted red held up the massive structure. The walls were a bright white, and the pews were a dark red. I sat toward the back in my usual spot. Silently, I watched everyone else as they made their way toward the front. Fear darkened their eyes when they'd cast their gaze on me. It didn’t matter because as long as I walked into this temple and sat on these red pews, the priest could not point me out as a witch during a sermon. After all, how did I get into the temple if I were evil?
Colm started droning on. I tried not to listen to him. It was more of the same: stay away from evil, praise the Great Spirit Caden for his protection, and keep the mind and body pure. Today he added the importance of shunning witches, while not naming me specifically. No doubt at Senna’s prompting. Such a thing always occurred right after a healing. For a day, my sales would be low, and then people would forget. Good thing most people did their business in the morning, before Colm’s sanctimonious discourses.