by Rin Chupeco
“Purchase half a dozen of the largest pots they have. There are a few more essentials I need that might be harder to find. Silver needles and thread, a mortar and pestle, some small vials to put medicine in.” I reached into my bag and drew out several poultices.
“You knew why Khalad left the palace, didn’t you? He and the Old Forger always open their doors to the sick around this time of the month.”
“Khalad prides himself on being both a healer and a forger. I wasn’t expecting this many patients though.”
Kalen smiled, his eyes softening. “Write them down. There’s an apothecary nearby.”
“Can you find clean water?”
“There is a fresh stream that runs through the eastern district. It’s near the Deathseekers’ barracks, and they see to its maintenance.”
“Thank you. Fox, clear some space and find wood for kindling. Likh, make a fire where he shows you.”
“What do you intend to do, Lady Tea?” the younger boy asked.
“Khalad has too many people to see. Perhaps I can whittle down the number.” I looked at Althy, who was looking wordlessly back at me. “Althy? Is something wrong?”
“Merely looking at one of my better achievements,” the older asha said gravely. “Move over and make some room for me.”
Kalen returned promptly and departed again with a longer list of items. I filled two of the largest pots with water, setting them atop the fires Likh and Fox tended. Once the water boiled, Althy placed the instruments into the second pot and ladled some of the liquid into a smaller bowl. I plunged both my hands into the bowl, gritting my teeth at the scalding heat. Some of the people watched us warily but did not protest.
“Princess Inessa, would you mind grinding these herbs?”
“I’ve never ground anything before,” the girl said dubiously.
“Place them inside this bowl, Your Highness,” Fox said quietly, “and pound them with the mortar until they are as fine as you can make them. I’ll show you how.”
The princess hesitated, looked back at the crowd, then nodded.
Councilor Ludvig rolled up his sleeves. “I worked as a healer’s apprentice in my younger days,” he said. “This brings back memories.”
I approached the old woman who had called out and the young girl with her. “She has food poisoning,” I said, watching her heartsglass pulse yellow.
“Are you an apothecary, milady?”
“A bone witch,” I said honestly. “Her fever will grow worse before you can expect treatment. Let me help.”
“I do not have much money to spare…”
“I ask for nothing.”
The woman cast an agonized glance at the long line of people before her and nodded.
I led them to the space Fox had cleared, took up the ground herbs Princess Inessa made, and placed them inside a metal bowl. I ladled hot water into it, then poured it all through a sieve. A little of its contents I poured into a vial and handed it to the old woman. “She must drink everything,” I instructed. “Boil two spoonfuls from this pack in a glass of water, and have her drink it every two hours for the next eight. She should be fine by morning.”
“Bless you, miss!” the old woman said, nearly crying, clasping the small vial to her chest. The young girl no longer looked as ill, pink creeping back into her heartsglass.
There were people who decided against leaving the line, but there were many others, tired of waiting, who approached Althy and me for help. Together, we prescribed treatments for horserash, persistent coughs, small chills, and migraines. Althy set splints and stitched open wounds, and I wrapped sores and cuts in clean bandages. Kalen was constantly coming and going, leaving us new vials, herbs, and gauze. Likh and Fox manned the growing number of fires where pots boiled and smoked, the former stoking them with well-placed runes and the latter maintaining their heat. Both stopped to assist us when we needed bones set. Princess Inessa had grown proficient with the mortar and pestle, grinding at the wooden bowl with gusto.
I worked on a dislocated shoulder, Councilor Ludvig holding the man in place and Inessa waiting with clean bandages, her face turning pale with every crack and pop.
“Red limebeet?” someone asked.
“Yes,” I said, looking up. The crowd had thinned noticeably, and the half dozen people remaining stepped to one side to allow Khalad closer. Dark shadows lined his eyes, and he looked wan.
“Have you been treating patients all morning?” I demanded.
“And all of last night. I wondered why the number I have seen to seemed less than the number I’d observed outside.”
Likh rose with a clean towel and gently wiped Khalad’s face. Blushing hard, he sat back down as the forger smiled his thanks.
“We would have offered assistance had you told us,” Althy admonished him.
“I didn’t think about that,” Khalad said meekly. “I’ve always done things on my own.”
“Well, get used to us.” With a sharp jerk, I snapped the man’s shoulder back in place, the patient’s cries muffled by the clean rag I had forced on him. Inessa swayed. Fox placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her, and she leaned into him.
“Keep all weight off for at least a week,” I told the man. “Drink this to ease the pain.”
Inessa had let go of Fox but did not move away. Kalen was watching me, no longer angry as he’d been the day before but still oddly cryptic.
“Did you bring the heartsglass?” Khalad asked Princess Inessa.
“Well, I… Yes.” The girl started to take it out.
“Not here.” Khalad glanced around. “My home isn’t much, but I’d prefer we do this inside.”
“Do your hands hurt?” Fox asked quietly as the others followed Khalad.
“The herbs make it sting,” Inessa confessed ruefully. “My cuts haven’t fully healed yet.”
Fox took some leftover poultice and rubbed it on her palms. Inessa’s heartsglass glowed. Memories flickered through my brother’s bond, of conversations and laughter, of him rubbing her fingers when she complained about the cold and lifting them to kiss.
Fox froze. Inessa froze. Without thinking, my brother had been lifting her bruised hands toward his mouth.
Shaking, Inessa quickly let go. I hurried inside, not wanting to show them how much I’d seen.
• • •
To call it a house was an overstatement; Khalad’s home had only one room that could barely accommodate us all. Glass cabinets filled with bottles lined the walls. Some vials had labels, like Loss and Grieving and Childbirth, which presented more questions than answers. There was a curious sign plastered against the lone window—
GUILT—1 sigloi
MELANCHOLY—2 sigloi
LONGING—4 sigloi
A table, two small chairs, and two narrow cots were the extent of the decor. A few loose stones served as paperweights, some carefully balanced over the others. Both forgers share similar habits, I thought, remembering Khalad’s pyramid of pebbles at the inn in Odalia.
“But you’re both Heartforgers!” Princess Inessa burst out, shying away from the meager furniture like it was corrosive to the touch.
“He offers his services for free, Your Highness,” Althy pointed out. “He derives no income from treating ailments since he does not charge for them.”
“There must be over two hundred bottles in here,” I marveled.
“My mother should be treating you better than this, Khalad!” Inessa was still in disbelief. “I will not sit back and allow an Odalian prince to live in such squalor.”
“We refused her offer. Three times. We charged exorbitant heartsglass prices for the rich snobs Master didn’t like, as part of the Heartforgers’ oath, but he gave most of it to charity. He said he’d rather live like one of Her Majesty’s poorest citizens so she’d occasionally remember to treat them better.”
“But that doesn’t apply to you!”
“It does. I took the vow too, remember? If he’d been here, my master wouldn’t have welcomed you in, Your Highness. He would’ve turned you out on your rears and then laughed about the irony over tea.”
“And you’ve been keeping house for him while he’s away?”
“We mostly treat the sick here, like today. I’m only an apprentice, but the demand’s so high, he lets me do my own projects.” A shadow crossed Khalad’s face. He played with the pile of paperweights. “We were knee deep in orders, and it really wasn’t a good time for him to leave. But he insisted it was important.”
“It was,” Councilor Ludvig murmured. “The sleeping sickness—the forger said it was caused by a strange rune. One he’d never seen before.”
“None of the runes in the Faceless’s book speak of sleeping sicknesses,” Althy said.
“Perhaps he left a clue to the cure somewhere around here?” Princess Inessa took out one of the largest vials from the cabinet, a purple container with “Sad Sleep” written across its surface.
“Your Highness, please don’t touch any of the—”
Inessa pulled the cork free. I was immediately assaulted by visions of—
—a young woman, weeping by the grave of her betrothed, laying flowers upon the—
Khalad snatched the bottle out of Inessa’s hands and hastily stoppered it. “Careful, Inessa! It took months to find this!”
“What was that?” Likh asked, swaying on his feet. “I thought I was…kneeling on a grave…”
“Inessa,” Althy admonished. “This is Khalad’s home. It is discourteous of you to take things without his permission. This is not the palace where you can do as you see fit without repercussions.”
The First Daughter’s shoulders slumped. “I apologize, Khalad. I just feel…helpless. Is there nothing we can do for Kance?”
“I’d like another look at his heartsglass.” Khalad squinted at it. “See here? There’s an empty space between his heartbeats. It’s small and very easy to miss, but I’m not mistaken.”
“I don’t see anything,” Likh confessed.
“I do,” I said. “He’s right, but I wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t pointed it out.”
“I told Lady Tea and Sir Fox how the victims of this sickness are descendants of each of the Five Great Heroes. Something was taken from them—Master called it an urvan, the soul.”
“A soul?” Kalen sounded skeptical.
“It’s the essence of who you are, so to speak. It’s your memories that define and shape your soul, mold it into the person you are. Drawing Heartsrune nourishes your soul further. People have longer lifespans with heartsglass, are less prone to diseases.”
“I don’t know much about repairing and making heartsglass,” Princess Inessa confessed, “but why would anyone want to steal a soul?”
“According to the Faceless’s book, it’s an important ingredient for making lightsglass, which in turn can create shadowglass. And with their victims asleep and unresisting, heartsglass won’t fade. Without knowing where the Five Heroes’ graves lie, taking their descendants’ urvan is the next best choice.”
The white-haired boy gestured at the bottles behind him. “Why do you think the master and I spent years collecting them? They are to us what cloth and silk are to ateliers, what herbs and spices are to apothecaries. Souls remain, even when our heartsglass have been taken. But take away the soul and I can do nothing. What good is a heartsglass if memories can’t form around a soul to make them real?”
“Excuse me? Master Khalad?” A young boy peeked in, flustered by the crowd inside. “I saw your sign and was wondering… Broke me mum’s good vase by accident, and she’s all put out. I was hoping I could get her something nice, but if you’re busy…”
“That’s all right, Jobie. Let’s get your ma a new vase.” The forger gestured at us to keep our silence. The young boy sat down, and Khalad produced an empty vial. “Don’t be so nervous, Jobie,” the white-haired boy said soothingly. “You’ve done this enough times before.”
“I know, but it gets me worried every time. Can’t you take my worry with my guilt too?”
“Close your eyes. You’ll feel more relaxed that way.”
The forger traced two of his fingers across his forehead before withdrawing. A small strand of something thicker than smoke and heavier than fog curled around them. He tipped it into an empty vial, and I caught the faintest whiff: Jobie looking stricken, hovering over a shattered vase on the floor. But Khalad pushed the cork in, and the image was gone.
“It’s done, Jobie.”
The boy slid off the chair, grinning. “I feel much better!”
“Do you remember anything?” the forger asked. “Do you remember the vase?”
“The vase? What vase?” Jobie frowned, trying to remember. “Buying me mum a vase, wasn’t I?” he asked, after a moment.
“That’s right, Jobie. Here’s the money for it.”
“Don’t know what Mum needs with two vases. She’s got a perfectly good one at home.” Shaking his head, the boy left.
“I had no idea you could do that,” Likh breathed.
“It’s easier than it looks.” Khalad took out a heartsglass from a cupboard. Its colors were faded, not quite as clear as they should be.
“I don’t have enough of my own memories to create heartsglass for everyone who needs them. The master and I can’t pay much, but the people here are grateful for every bit we can give. Guilt’s a popular ingredient. Everyone’s always looking to unburden their guilt. It’s the other emotions people have trouble parting with. Happiness, always. Even sadness. Most people don’t want to part with their sadness, surprisingly enough. You’d think it was the opposite. Guilt is cheaper, but I try to give a fair price.”
“Old memories for new,” I echoed quietly, thinking about the ones I had given to Khalad over the last couple of years. How many of them had he used for new heartsglass? I had never thought to ask before, but seeing his workshop made me wonder. Would his patients remember traces of the memories I’d supplied? Of dancing around my father’s forge, of curling up by his feet as he told me stories? Of me as a child, sitting on Fox’s shoulders as he raced through the streets, my brothers and sisters giving chase? And what about my time at the Willows? When they fell in love, would that love bear a trace of my crush on the prince? My friendships with Mykaela and Polaire and everyone else? Would their nightmares come with raised skeletons or three-headed dragons?
“This is for an old man who lives a few streets down who is suffering from dementia,” Khalad continued. “I’m building him a new heartsglass. Can’t do much with his mind—old age will do that. But I’ve placed some happy memories here: of being loved by a wife and by children. There’re some sad ones to balance everything out and then guilt that goes well enough as conscience. Each heartsglass is different. You can’t fit people with the same heartsglass every time.”
“But they’re not his memories,” Fox said. “Won’t he remember a different wife, different children?”
“That’s the beauty of forging. You don’t always need the memory itself, just the emotions that go along with it. Memory’s always been tricky—you think you remember a brown dog with a white spot on its nose, but years later, when your mind isn’t as sharp, you could easily believe it was a white dog with a brown spot. He’ll be confused for a day or two, but his own memories will reassert themselves and take their shape. Those old memories I’d bought will be gone, of course. It’s why I keep the newest memories for a while, to make sure those who sold them won’t have a change of heart and want them back, though most of them have trouble remembering what they’d sold.”
“Did it help?” I found myself asking. “My memories?”
“Absolutely,” Khalad promised, almost reverently. “You helped a lot of people,
Tea, and they know. I made sure of it.”
“You’re doing good work,” Likh was wide eyed with admiration.
“I’m still an apprentice,” the forger said, smiling. “But I’ve managed complicated hearts on my own. People think Master’s an old codger, but he’s really kind.”
“I’m going to do you both better,” Princess Inessa said. “Kalen, please return to the palace. Tell the commander I require the sturdiest wagon he can find, enough horses to pull it, and two dozen of his best soldiers.”
“What are you planning?” the Deathseeker asked her.
The First Daughter set her jaw. “Odalia will be after you, Khalad, and your small house will make a poor defense. You don’t know your master’s cure, but our enemies don’t know that. You will be safer in the palace, so I am bringing all your tools with you.”
“Master won’t like that.”
“Your master isn’t here, Khalad. That’s part of the problem.”
The army made its move at dawn, approaching the unguarded gates. Despite being heavily outnumbered, the Daanorian soldiers in the palace began their preparations to repulse the enemy, their bravery shining brighter than armor.
Lord Kalen drew their leaders aside, speaking to them in their language. The men looked uncertainly at him and then at each other.
“They will not be fighting today,” the Dark asha said from behind me. “My daeva will be more than adequate for the task.”
“But they draw too close to the palace.” I did not believe that the incoming army would spare the Daanorian civilians the way the bone witch had, and the daeva were too large to be careful should the city be overrun.
The smile she shot in my direction was almost cruel. “You forget that I too have an army.”
Her hands drifted lazily, sketching runes I could not see. The wind died for a few brief moments, and a strange hush fell over the palace, extending out toward the city and past the gates.
An earthquake rocked Santiang, the force pitching me to the floor.