by J. K. Barber
The extra set of celestial hands showed Katya how to seamlessly seal the bone by weaving the energy like one would a suture, but with stitches so small that the naked eye could never see them. Lady Amara demonstrated the technique, and then let Katya try. As soon as they had sewn the bone together, the stitches faded and the bone was solid again. Katya released the energy from around the animal, letting it dissipate back into the world around her.
The sorceress blinked her eyes open. She felt sweat thick upon her brow. Lady Amara, with her hands on top of Katya’s and her body in the middle of the larger woman’s arms, smiled up at her and then shooed the raccoon away. It quickly scampered away on a healed paw.
“Well done, Katya,” the Nhyme matron said. “You gathered just the right amount of energy.”
Katya beamed happily, saying, “I just provided the energy and helped a little. You did most of the healing. That was amazing to witness… to feel!”
“You learn quickly. You are proof that humans have come a long way since I was last among them,” Lady Amara winked at her. “You still have much to learn, however. That was a relatively easy task. Disease takes a lot more energy and finesse. Also, it takes time to recognize when to let the person or animal you are healing go, when it is simply their time. We Nhyme don’t like to play Great Mother.”
“I feel like an adept again,” Katya sighed. “I haven’t sweat like this while casting in some time.”
Lady Amara laughed heartily. Then her face became thoughtful. She and Katya lounged under the forest canopy for a few quiet minutes, listening to wind rustle through the trees and the animals busy themselves about them. The leaves had grown a deeper green, even in the three days Katya had spent with the Nhyme, gaining a rich luster. Spring was indeed here.
“Katya, it saddens me that I can’t teach you to cure disease, like the one your mother seems to have, in only a few days. You can pull and channel the power easily enough, but you haven’t the experience with healing yet. It would take years to teach you,” the Nhyme woman frowned.
The young woman regarded her warmly. “I know, but with a little more practice I can at least help Niko heal.”
Lady Amara nodded, flexing her feet as she held them, her arms hugging her knees. “Just remember never to be rushed. Never force the energy while healing, as you appear to do when using it as a weapon. You could do more harm than good.”
“I never thought about my use of energy like that. It makes sense, but it never entered my mind to try to use it to heal directly. In Snowhaven, for a raw wound we have potions, magically imbued liquids that rapidly increase the healing properties of the herb used to make them. However, curing disease or mending bone is beyond their ability. They are mainly created to keep someone from bleeding to death, until such a time as the rest of their wounds can be properly tended.”
Lady Amara’s brows knit in concern, as she put her tiny hand over Katya’s. “What a violent place this Snowhaven must be where people are hurt so often that you would need potions like that.”
“Oh no,” Katya responded. “It’s not like that all the time. However, in the spring when the passes melt and clear, we are often attacked by ice orcs. They are savage territorial beasts that seek to pillage our home or take us as slaves or… food.” Katya stumbled over the last word, the thought obviously disturbing her.
Lady Amara’s expression turned from one of concern to horror. “What fouls beasts,” she said. “Can they not find food in their own forests?”
“The Frozen March is a harsh land of snow and ice,” the young sorceress responded. “It is an unforgiving place where food is scarce.”
Katya pondered a bit more, fumbling with her robes out of nervous habit. Lady Amara was quiet as well, digesting what Katya had told her of the world beyond Blodwood. The sorceress straightened suddenly and regarded the Nhyme woman eye to eye.
“I will keep practicing and do my best to become more skilled at the healing you have taught me today,” Katya said, her voice full of hope. “I would hate to hurt someone I am trying to heal.” Letting her back curve again into a more relaxed position, she continued, “It makes sense that Nhyme are such good healers, because your hands are so small. Those stitches you used... I’d feel all clumsy trying to repeat what you did.”
Lady Amara laughed lightly, almost a girlish giggle, “You’ll get the hang of it. It is good you have some experience with herbs and healing through your potions. The way we heal is simply a little more intimate. Just try to think smaller.” She winked and flew to Katya’s shoulder, the Nhymes’ favorite new spot to hang out. “Let’s get back to town shall we?”
Katya nodded and gathered her robes, so she wouldn’t trip on the hem as she stood. She also used extra care, so she didn’t toss Lady Amara off her shoulder, and her head would not spin as it had the last few days. She turned and looked to the North with longing, sighed, and turned south, heading back to the Nhyme village with smooth strides.
Chapter 16
“What do you mean she’s not south of us anymore?” Jared asked, louder than he had intended. Several of the soldiers in the area, enjoying their evening meal outside, turned their heads to where Sasha and Jared were sitting, eating their own dinner.
The trip to Bridgetown had been uneventful. Corvan had developed a slight fever but his wound had stayed closed. Unfortunately, he had not regained consciousness, yet and that had both Talas and Jared worried. They had changed the dressing on his wound twice before reaching Bridgetown, but the army medic stationed with the king’s regiment had insisted on looking at the wound. The young man was impressed with the old soldier’s work, asking him where he had learned to stitch up men like that. Talas had simply shrugged and mumbled something about being on too many battlefields. After Jared had relayed the ingredients in the salve he had used to treat Corvan’s wound to the healer, he had been unceremoniously ushered out of the infirmary along with the rest of them. Ruharc had protested, having traveled with Corvan the longest, but Sasha had laid a hand on the Easterner’s shoulder and led him out into the night air under the pretense of finding something to eat.
The swordswoman now sat on the ground next to Jared, with the uninjured members of the caravan guard around them as they finished off a surprisingly good stew prepared by the camp cook. The other guards were closer than the soldiers, but they were at enough of a distance to respect Jared and Sasha’s privacy. She had seemed to want to talk to the woodsman privately, since they had arrived in town, and the others had sensed that.
Calling Bridgetown a town was a bit of a misnomer; the entire settlement consisted of essentially four buildings. There was the permanent barracks of the King’s Sixth Regiment, a stout but simple building for housing the soldiers. Alongside this was a larger, more open structure that served as the soldiers’ eating area, meeting hall and indoor training area on the rare occasion that the commanding officer decided that the weather was too inclement to train out of doors. Talas had assured the rest of the caravan guard that such an event was as rare as “finding hair on a frog.”
Across the road from these large structures were the commanding officer’s small personal cottage and the stable. The stable master was also the Sixth’s smith, and he lived above the forge, which was attached to the stable. The only other domiciles of note were a couple of covered wagons, temporary homes belonging to the soldiers’ families. They were set farther up the road from the army camp and looked like they had been there for quite a while; the grass beneath them had grown quite high, where the ragged looking mules and nags that milled around the wagons had not been able to reach. The people who lived in the wagons peddled their wares to whoever rode or sailed by.
Bridgetown was the connecting settlement from the Tradeway that lead from Binford’s Bluff to the fishing village of Suttendale. The Bloodwood River that flowed through Bridgetown ran from the far north, passing by Mica and running all the way to Suttendale. Sometimes crates were offloaded in Bridgetown to be carried by wagon south an
d slightly east towards Suttendale. The river branched about a day’s journey to the southwest. One fork ran south near the edge of Bloodwood Forest, which many believed to be haunted. The other fork ran west, directly into the dark wood itself. This led Jared’s thoughts back to what Sasha had just said.
“Like I just told you,” Sasha said, as she leaned closer to Jared, in a quiet but obviously frustrated tone of voice. She had waited until the soldiers’ attention returned to their own meals, aided by a withering glance from the young swordswoman. “The... draw,” Sasha’s voice stumbled over the word. “The feeling is no longer coming directly from the South. The original pull has not changed,” Sasha spooned the last of her meal into her mouth and then set the wooden bowl aside, “…but, Katya is now south and west of us, or more to the point, we are north and east of her, since I don’t think she’s moved.” As she spoke, more and more uncertainty showed upon her face.
Jared thought back on the events that had led him to where he was now. He was sitting in the middle of a regiment of the King’s Army, guarding a caravan that had been attacked two nights ago by the Great Mother only knew what, and preparing to follow the mystical compass of a young woman who was all of about two weeks out of the village of her birth. He sighed heavily and set aside his own bowl.
“Southwest of here, you say?” Jared asked.
“Yes. How many times do I have to say that?” Sasha’s voice cracked again, and her hand went to her throat. The jagged scar on her cheek, healed but still evident, turned a darker red with the swordswoman’s anger.
“Do you have the slightest idea what is southwest of us right now?” The woodsman asked.
“Well, right now I see a bridge, a river and a whole lot of night.” Sasha’s voice was thick with sarcasm, as she tilted her head towards the wide stone bridge that spanned the river.
Jared ignored her reply and answered his own question. “Southwest of here is the Bloodwood. Do you have any idea what that is?” Sasha began to open her mouth to reply, but he continued on, his voice growing in volume with every word. “No, of course you don’t, or you wouldn’t be so nonchalantly suggesting we go there. The Bloodwood,” Jared ranted, garnering the looks of those around him, “is only the most haunted place in the Kingdom of Illyander, maybe in the whole of the world.” He reigned in his loudness, anxious under the scrutiny of his peers. “Sasha…” he said more coolly, “People… no not just people… whole parties of warriors have gone into the Bloodwood, only to come out screaming less than two days later. The place is cursed.” Jared subconsciously made a warding sign with his right hand. “The trees whisper to you, the wind assaults you, tossing branches and leaves about, striking you from all sides. Even the animals themselves don’t act natural. It’s almost as if they’re possessed by evil spirits the way they cavort around, acting in ways that the Great Mother never intended.” Several of the Traders from the caravan crossed their middle and ring fingers at the mention of possession. Others in the area rubbed talismans that hung from their necks, either openly or under their shirts.
“Well,” Sasha said, after Jared finished his tirade. “Have you ever personally been there?”
Jared felt his eyes grow even wider. “No! I have never been to the Frozen March either, but that doesn’t mean I want to go there.”
“Then how do you know it’s cursed?” Sasha asked.
Jared threw up his hands. “You’re right. I don’t personally know it’s cursed. I, also, don’t personally know that if I take a burning log from that fire and press it to my flesh it will burn. I’m just taking it on faith.”
Jared looked around at the assembled peoples, soldiers, caravan guards, and Traders, all were staring at him. “What?” He shouted at them. Everyone quickly turned away. The soldiers grumbled under their breath but slowly returned their attention to their meals or other conversations. Only the rest of the guard, Talas, Ruharc and Gabe continued to look at him. Talas’ eyes held a reproachful look for Jared, which caused the woodsman to wince. He looked back to Sasha who continued to stare defiantly at him.
“Well, haunted or not,” Sasha whispered, again her voice cracking from injury or emotion Jared could not tell, “…that is where I am headed. That is where I need to go.” Sasha rose to her full height, a look of hurt and fury in her eyes. “And if you were a man of your word, you would go with me.” She turned and strode off into the night towards the caravan wagons.
Jared fished his pipe and tobacco from his pouch but found he was too angry to pack the bowl. Talas stood, walked over to the woodsman, and sat beside him. Taking the pipe from Jared’s fumbling fingers, the older man filled the pipe and handed it back. Taking an ignited twig from the fire, Jared lit his pipe and took several long relaxing puffs before Talas spoke.
“Got you all tied up in knots, doesn’t she?” The older man stated more than asked. Jared started to mouth some feeble protest, but Talas stopped him with an upraised hand. “Listen son, I’m not going to tell you how to handle her. The Mother knows, if I understood women in the slightest, I wouldn’t be out here in the wilderness selling my sword at my age. I’d be sitting on my front porch, fat and happy, surrounded by chubby grandchildren.” Jared saw Talas’ eyes drift off, as though momentarily haunted by either a memory or a dream. The old soldier returned his attention to the younger man. “I’m also not going to sit here and argue her point for her.”
“Then why are you here?” Jared asked harshly, immediately regretting his words. Talas just shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that...”
“No need to explain son,” Talas said, cutting the woodsman off with a wave of his hand. “I’ve seen the many different ways a girl like that,” the veteran pointed his thumb in the direction in which Sasha had stormed off, “can get a boy like you worked up.” Talas smiled knowingly, and Jared felt the blood rise in his face. He hoped the dim light of the fire would mask his coloring.
“Let me just give you two bits of advice,” the veteran offered. “First, we’ll never understand what makes women act the way they do, it’s a mystery that the Great Mother blessed them and cursed us with, so don’t let it get you so bent.” Talas chuckled. “I know, easier said than done, but trust me it will save you trouble in the long run.”
Jared smiled and asked, “And the second?”
Talas’ face turned more serious, as he looked fully into Jared’s eyes. “If you gave your word, you have to keep it. It’s really the only thing that separates us from the other beasts that crawl across the Mother’s bosom.” Something about the way the older man said it, almost like a benediction, caught Jared’s attention and made him sit up a little straighter.
Jared decided to play a hunch, replying hesitantly, “It’s not the only thing, now is it... priest?” Jared said the last word quietly, as a whisper that he knew no one else would be able to hear.
Talas’ eyes showed no reaction, as he returned his attention to the fire. He was quiet for a short time, before speaking again. “That was many moons ago,” he said softly. “Much has changed since then... but some things haven’t.” Turning his head again, he regarded Jared, his face somehow softer than it was before. “Promises are what make us human, regardless of whatever gifts the Great Mother may have bestowed upon us.” Talas’ gaze moved meaningfully to Hoarfrost, as the horse pawed the ground with her hooves, and then back to the woodsman.
Jared’s face turned to stone. “I’m afraid I have no idea to what you’re referring.” Jared did his best to keep all expression from his countenance. He wondered what the old veteran suspected about him and his abilities. Jared looked furtively around the gathering. No one seemed to have heard Talas’ words.
Jared remained silent, studying Talas’ face in the dim light. His thoughts immediately raced with ways to slip out of camp that night. Before dawn, I could be miles away and no one would be able to find me again, he deliberated. But that would mean I would have to leave Sasha behind, and Talas’ words regarding a promise stung at my heart.
Sasha was the one who wanted to head into the Bloodwood. Maybe I could convince her to leave earlier than she had planned, like tonight. She wouldn’t slow me down much, but I don’t know if I could slip her past the guards in the middle of the night.
This was a post of the King’s Army, patrols and pickets would be out. He was fairly certain he could make it, but he didn’t know about Sasha. She had gotten the drop on him thought that first night in his camp. Jared’s mind raced with ways to escape before the first rays of dawn, but they all hung up on Sasha. Then, there was the added complication of Hoarfrost. He knew that Sasha would not leave the horse behind if she could help it, and she wouldn’t understand the need for speed or stealth, unless he told her why he had to leave... No, he wouldn’t. I can’t, he told himself.
“Don’t worry, my son,” Talas’ said, his face now strangely soothing, as his words drew back Jared’s attention. “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”
Jared showed no expression. He wondered how much the former priest knew about his talents and how. Some people understood about Jared’s ability to speak with and borrow traits from animals, but those people were few and far between. Most simply feared his kind and kept their distance. Then, there were those who felt that Jared’s gift marked him as touched by some great evil. These zealots had been known to burn people like Jared alive, to purify them from the Great Mother’s world, at least that is what Sirus had told him. Jared wondered which type the former priest was and if this holy man, turned warrior, could be trusted.
“Rest easy, child,” Talas said, seeming to sense Jared’s unease, his voice falling into a strange comforting cadence as though he still wore the robes of his former office. “You have nothing to fear from me. I simply recognize the Mother’s touch when I see it. I mean you no harm.”