Chapter One
The Way of the Healers
Much is
demanded of a Healer and inner peace is her only reward. She must seek neither
power nor wealth. To walk in the Way is difficult and not all who try will succeed.
When a
Healer names a man as Chosen, she must leave
the House for she must think only of her craft and those who need her care. If
she elects to depart, her knowledge of the healing arts will be stripped from
her mind. She will be left with only those skills known to commoners who do not
follow the Way.
Jindera
left the herb storage hut and strode toward the cottage. Clouds dimmed the
morning sun, then slid away. The leaves of the oka trees rustled in the summer
breeze and the mingled scents of herbals and seasonings swirled around her. The
coming of clouds meant a storm approached, but she felt certain no rain would
fall this day.
Would the
medicinals she would brew from the herbals she’d selected be of any help? She
could only hope. All night, she’d fought the fever raging through her mother’s
body and had seen no change.
“Mama, why
did you leave the Healers’ House?” Her
mother could have remained and raised her children with the sons and daughters
of the other Healers. On his tenth birthday, Jindera’s twin would have been
sent to his father. But Jindera’s mother had chosen to leave. Love for a man
had been her reason.
Tears
blurred Jindera’s sight. She had loved her father dearly. His death seven
lunars before had brought sadness to a home where love had ruled.
Rays of
sunlight glinted on the golden stones of the cottage and brightened the dull
yellow of the thatch. Jindera hurried along the garden paths that meandered
among the beds of herbals and seasonings.
The plants
flourished. Lajin’s touch, she thought. Her brother had only to tend any ailing
plant and it thrived. She paused at the cottage door and peered along the road
from the village. Her twin should return soon with the staples he’d gone to
fetch.
The stench
of illness pervaded the room where her mother lay on a narrow cot. Jindera’s
breath caught. For a moment, she thought her mother had left this plane without
the blessing to release her.
Holding
back a sob, Jindera fled to the kitchen to blend a fever potion. She carried
the mug of steaming liquid to the sick room and spooned the medicinal into her
mother’s mouth. A drop or two fell on the linen sheet and spread like the tears
Jindera held inside. She inhaled deeply. She had to hold grief and fear at bay.
When the mug was empty, she rested her head on the edge of the mattress and
prayed the remedy would work.
She jerked
awake. How long had she slept? The light in the room told her ’twas near
midday.
The rasp of
labored breathing filled her ears. She felt her own breaths fall into the same
pattern. She raised her head and turned toward the door. Where was Lajin? She
tried to reach him on the inner path where they could speak in secret. Flight. Fear.
What had happened to him? Her hands and body shook. His fear or hers?
Jindera
rose and looked outside. The fragrant scents of the garden brought a welcome calmness
to her troubled spirit. ’Twas a false hope. If Mama dies, what will Lajin and I
do? Having but sixteen years, they weren’t old enough to hold the land.
She heard a
rasping cough and turned back to the cot. Her mother’s eyes were open. A wave
of hope spread through Jindera. “Mama.”
“Leave. You.
Lajin. Go soon. Danger comes.”
“We can’t
leave you without saying the blessing.”
“Must.” Racking spasms shook her mother’s body.
“Mama,
don’t talk.”
“Must. Once.
Three sisters.”
Jindera
listened to her mother’s halting words. A grandsire who was a Master Wizard. Mama
born on the desert and leaving with her older sister for a Healers’ House. How
her two sisters wanted power and schemed to obtain control of others. One who
had talent. One who had none. Mama who had talent and wanted love.
“Ralor. Comes.
He hurt. You. Lajin. No Healers’ House. Not good.”
“Mama, be
still.” Jindera pressed her hands
against her mother’s shoulders.
“Starflowers.
For Ralor. Make tea. He sleep. Then flee. Remember, danger from Healers.”
Jindera
chewed on her lower lip to keep from crying. The door opened and for an
instant, she feared her father’s brother had arrived. The garden, the
guardianship, the cottage would pass to him and to the one the Healers sent to
tend the garden. The door opened. She turned.
Lajin stood
in the doorway. His flushed face and panting breaths told her he’d been running.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Black
robes in the village. Taking boys. What will I do if they come here?”
Jindera
shivered. The Wizards would learn about Lajin’s talent for nurturing plants. They
would take him. “You must flee to the forest and hide. Go now.”
He knelt on
the other side of the cot. “Not until we say the blessing.”
“Son. Daughter.
Go.”
Jindera
grasped her mother’s hand. Lajin took the other. “Mama.”
The heavy
breathing slowed, then stopped. Had she willed her death?
Jindera’s
voice joined Lajin’s. “Fare well, Mother. May the sun shine on your days and
the moons light your nights. Let your shade depart and do not hover between this
plane and the next.”
Jindera met
her brother’s gaze. “You must go. I’ll follow.”
“The grave
must be dug.”
“Lajin, why
do you linger? You heard Mama. You must go.”
The door of
the cottage slammed against the wall. Jindera saw the man in the doorway and shivered.
Her uncle
grasped the frame. “So she’s passed. The land and you are mine.” His slurred speech spoke of drunkenness. He
pointed to Lajin. “Boy, dig the grave. I would see her in the earth before
sunset. Should have time before they come.”
“Who comes?” Jindera asked.
“Wizards,” Ralor
said.
“Why?” Lajin asked.
Ralor
laughed. “For you. Do you think I want to live with one who in time will
challenge me for the land? The Healers usually send their elderly to spend
their last years in a garden. Such a one would be no threat. Girl, to the
kitchen. I would eat.”
Jindera
sought her twin on the inner path. Go to the forest. I’ll fetch the packs. When
he’s at his meal, I’ll follow.
Lajin shook
his head. I’ll see Mama in the earth before I leave.
Why must
you be so stubborn? Your pack will be at the kitchen door. Take it and flee before ’tis too late.
She hurried
to the kitchen and pulled the soup kettle from the warming shelf. She hung it
over the fire. In the pantry, she grabbed the packs she and Lajin had prepared
and tossed them into the yard. On a cutting board, she put roast antel, cheese,
bread and the last of the appa pie.
“Uncle, the
food is ready.” She dished the soup and
filled a mug with kaf.
After she
finished serving Ralor, she slipped out the back door and lugged the packs to
where Lajin dug the grave. “Go now.”
He lifted a
shovel of dirt. “Not ’til Mama lies beside Papa. We’ll go tonight when Uncle’s
sleeping.”
“How can
you be so sure he won’t hear us creep from the loft? What if the Wizards come? Mama
is beyond our care. She bade us leave.” Jindera’s
hands clenched. Why didn’t he feel afraid?
“If they
come, I’ll hide.” Lajin continued to dig.
“Mayhaps Uncle lies and ’tis tragon speaking.”
Jindera
frowned. Ralor had been drunk. “Then I must go into the forest.”
“Why?”
“To gather
starflowers to make sure he sleeps.” She
grabbed her brother’s shoulders. “I wish you’d leave now. I have the feeling
trouble comes.” She groaned. He had that
stubborn look she hated.
“We go
together.” He jammed the shovel into the
earth.
She saw the
tear-tracks on his face. He grieved, too, but his eyes showed a determination
to have his way. “Come with me.”
He shook
his head. “When I’m finished and Uncle sleeps.”
She wanted
to thump him on the head, though what good would a blow do? When he had these
stubborn notions, there was no way to move him. “Take care. I won’t be long. Mama
told me things you should know.’
She ran
toward the line of dark trees. Something puzzled her. Where had Ralor gotten
the coins to buy tragon? Since her father’s death, her uncle had lived at the
cottage and earned enough from the sale of milk and eggs to buy brew. Had he
some scheme involving the garden? Once he was named land holder, one third of
the herbals and seasonings would be his. She and Lajin would be little more
than servants. But her uncle had said the Wizards were coming. Didn’t Ralor
know her twin was the one with Mama’s touch with plants? Jindera sighed. She wished she’d
been blessed with the talent. Her abilities lay in the blending of herbals into
medicinals and knowing what an ailing person needed. Mama had called her a
Healer born. Yet she knew without training, she couldn’t practice except in the
village. Her parents had refused to send her to a Healers’ House and her mother’s
learning had been blocked when she’d left the Way.
As the dim
light of the forest surrounded her, Jindera set aside her grief and scented the
air for the dulcet yet spicy aroma of starflowers. She needed enough blossoms
to brew a sleeping tea so she and Lajin could escape.
In a small
clearing where sunlight dappled the surface of a pond, she found clusters of
the pale flowers. With care not to pull the roots from the ground, she
collected a bunch. The aroma soothed her grief.
For a
moment, she leaned against an oka and breathed the scent. Where would she and
Lajin find a refuge? Though Mama had cautioned against the Healers was there
another choice? Any Healers’ House would take her, but her twin was too old. Since
the Houses were located in towns, she wondered if he could find work nearby. His
ability to coax plants to provide rich harvests should excite any farmer.
Jindera
straightened and started back to the garden. As she neared the forest’s edge,
she heard shouts.
Jindera,
help me. They want to take me. Lajin’s plea on the inner path startled her.
She stumbled and nearly fell.
Who?
Black
robes.
In order to
see what occurred, she dropped the starflowers and climbed an oka. She saw
Lajin struggling with several black-robed men. Don’t fight. I’ll follow and
help you escape.
Now. Help
me before they make me one of them.
Stay
calm. I’m coming.
No. Flee.
’Tis you…”
Lajin’s
voice ceased abruptly. With a suddenness that made her gasp, pain shot through
her head. Feeling dizzy, Jindera clung to the rough bole of the tree. Where was
her twin? She couldn’t see or hear him. He couldn’t be dead.
The Wizards
mounted their horned horses. As they rode away, she climbed to the ground. Not
caring that she trampled the plants, she ran across the herb beds. She stumbled
over her uncle’s body and nearly toppled into the grave. Tendrils of smoke rose
from the house. She grabbed the packs.
“Girl, help
me. They lied.”
“Who,
Uncle?” She dropped the packs and knelt
beside him.
“Black
robes. Bought me tragon. Asked about you and your brother. Took him and wanted
you. Told them no. One stabbed me.” He
groaned.
She
examined the gaping abdominal wound and noted the pool of blood around him. She
had neither the knowledge nor the skill to mend the torn flesh. “I can’t do
anything. I’ll run to the village for help.”
She swallowed several times to keep from losing her morning meal.
“Too late.” His moan rose to a scream that died in a
whimper.
With a
whoosh, the thatch of the cottage blossomed with flames. Long fingers of fire
thrust into the air. Showers of sparks took flight.
Jindera
tried to drag her uncle away. She fell into the grave. When she crawled out, he
was dead. Bits of burning thatch fell on the paving stones. Would the garden
take fire?
She grabbed
the packs and ran. At the edge of the garden, she turned. The flames had died. A
pillar of black smoke stained the sky. Jindera collapsed on the ground. Everyone
and everything that had been hers was gone. She rested her head against her
bent knees. Exhaustion swamped her.
Come.
A voice on
the inner path. Lajin?
Come.
Not her
twin. The voice repeated the command. Where? The order was the only
answer. Who wanted her? She couldn’t abandon her twin. She rose, wavered and
nearly fell. She had to find a place to sleep. Then she would decide where to
go.
She looked
around. The clouds seemed heavier. Would the storm begin this night?
The fire
hadn’t spread beyond the stones separating the herb and seasoning beds from the
cottage. The herb hut on the far side of the garden had been spared. So had the
meadow where the antels grazed. With leaden steps, she made her way to the one
room building.
Jindera
burrowed beneath a pile of sacks. Lajin!
Still no response. He lived. She would know if he’d left this plane. When
she woke, she would search out the Wizards and steal her brother from them. Soft
tears began and continued until she slept.
* * *
The Code of the Merchants’ Guild
Once the
fee is paid, a boy must be apprenticed to four experienced peddlers. One who
deals in cloth. One who deals in all manner of foodstuffs. One involved with
jewelry, gems and household wares. One who deals with herbals and seasonings. Next,
the boy must serve as a journeyman. Should he succeed in all his ventures and
pay off his debts, he can buy into the Guild and open a shop in one of the
towns. If he fails, he will remain a journeyman.
Corin
hitched the four ponies to the cart. Yesterday, rather than continue past
sunset to reach a village, he’d spent the night at the crossroads. He poured
the remainder of kaf into his mug and drank. This was a popular spot for
travelers to camp. There was a rude shelter and a fire circle large enough for
a spit. He wasn’t sure how many kils he would have to travel to reach his
destination. He’d only come this way once before with his first mentor.
After
dousing the fire he’d used to cook his meals, Corin stored his pack, blanket
and cooking gear in the narrow sleeping space. He thought of the rumors he’d
heard in Pala that portended changes he hoped to see and telling of events he
wouldn’t believe until he met someone who had witnessed them.
The hopeful
rumors included tales of the White Jewel being found and a new Queen for Earda,
of the Black Jewel destroyed in an arcane battle and the Master Wizards dead. Then
there were the dire reports stating the White Jewel had been destroyed and the Wizards
now ruled Earda.
He shrugged.
Did it matter who ruled? He’d seen no differences during the lunars he since
he’d begun his trip as a journeyman. He’d been forced to avoid too many black
robes, especially in this area.
Once more,
he heard his mother’s voice. ’Twas all of her he had for remembrance other than
a picture of her broken and bloody body. “Wizards are evil. Made me a slave. Don’t
let them near you for part of you is theirs. They’ll know. Beware for there are
Wizards who don’t wear the robes and who hide among the people.”
Corin
climbed to the seat and flicked the driving reins to set the team on the way. He
prayed he would meet no black robes along the road. ’’Twouldn't matter to them
that he was in bond to the Merchants’ Guild. Because of his age, they would
test him for talents.
When the
team clopped at a steady pace, Corin thought about his plans. Beyond the next
village was a garden where a former Healer and her Chosen
grew herbals and seasonings.
He’d always
planned to return once he was on his own. Four years had passed since his
mentor had bargained with the couple for part of their harvest. They’d sold him
what didn’t belong to the village or the Healers. The peddler had been able to
open a shop in Quato and leave the road.
Corin’s
palm itched in anticipation of the profits he would gain. If he entered Pala or
Quato with a wide selection of seasonings, he would pay his debt for the cart,
ponies and supplies. In two or three years, he could open a shop in Pala. He
even had a location selected. The shop fronted the busy market square.
The steady
thud of the team’s hooves against the hard-packed surface of the dirt road
coupled with the swaying movement of the cart lulled him into a dream state. The
thundering sound of an approaching party startled him. Some band of men rode in
haste. Guards? Bandits?
When the
first rider came into view, Corin shuddered. He had time to get off the road,
but not enough to hide from the black robes. He pulled the wide brim of his hat
low and hunched his shoulders so he would appear older. Near a stand of
evergreens, he halted the cart and waited for the band of Wizards to pass. Their
black steeds, the horns dyed red, raised clouds of dust.
Corin touched
the blade of the knife he kept on the seat. He flexed his upper arms. The
concealed stilettos were primed for action. Rather than surrender to the Wizards,
he would force a fight and pray for death.
“They are
evil, my son. I would not let them claim you. ’Tis why we live like this.”
Their home
had been a hovel. Their clothes and food gleaned from trash heaps. What they
couldn’t use had been traded or sold in the seconds’ shops.
Corin
watched the parade of horned horses. He noticed the unrobed young men riding on
pack horses. His eyes narrowed. A third unrobed boy was held in front of one of
the riders. His head lolled. Had he been fool enough to attack a Wizard? Why
hadn’t they killed him? That was the usual reward for defiance.
When all
but two riders had passed the cart, Corin felt a surge of relief. If he’d been
in Pala where streets twisted and alleys abounded, he could have escaped and
even removed one or two of the group of Wizards. His years on the city streets
had given him knowledge of every escape route. Out here, he stood no chance.
The pair of
Wizards wheeled their mounts and rode toward the cart. Corin froze. Every
instinct called for flight. He hunched his shoulders until his back was bowed.
“Peddler,
what tribute have you for us?”
“T...tragon.
Ch...cheese.
Cl...cloth.” His voice quavered like
that of an old man.
“Unlock
your wares.”
Corin slid
from the seat. Tremors spread from his hands to his legs. He nearly fell. He
fumbled with the lock and finally opened the trading side, then propped the
wooden gate so it formed an awning.
“Old man,
we won’t harm you. Just take a few things.”
The man grasped two flasks of tragon and passed them to the second man. He
examined the cheese and shook his head. He lifted four more bottles of the
liquor. “Just this. Got prime cheese at the village. Left you two flasks. Thank
me.”
“Th...thanks.” Corin swallowed. Tragon was the most
expensive of the items he’d stocked and good for trading for food and coins. At
least they hadn’t thought to look for his hoard. Those coins had been saved to
trade for seasonings.
The Wizards
packed the flasks in their saddlebags and mounted. Corin clung to the cart. His
knees buckled and he slid to the ground. Laughter rose from the Wizards. Corin
pulled to his feet. Better laughter than being taken like those three boys. He
felt pity for the trio.
The air
smelled of old smoke and blood. What had happened? Corin didn’t want to know.
He locked
the cart. Once he climbed on the seat, he grasped the long knife. He stared
after the troop until they were out of sight and the dust raised by their
steeds had settled.
He eased
his team onto the road and flicked the reins. Where were the black robes bound?
He wasn’t traveling in their direction. For that he was thankful. He tested the
hidden stilettos by flexing the muscles of his upper arms. The hilts slid into
his hands. The blades were thin and razor-sharp, but he gained little comfort
from their presence. The knives were useless in a face-to-face confrontation. They’d
been crafted for attacks from hidden places.
Corin
gulped a breath. If the Wizards had seen him as a youth, he would have been
forced to join them. They would have discovered his talent, the one he’d used
but once on someone other than himself.
Guilt and
sorrow flashed into his thoughts along with memories of that dreadful day. He’d
been eight. He and his mother had been scavenging when a party of black robes
had found them. His mother had screamed for him to hide and he’d obeyed. He’d
listened to her agonizing cries and the sound of their fists.
After the Wizards
had gone, he’d crept from his hiding place and found her broken and bleeding
body. He’d been too young to understand what to do. He’d straightened and
mended her bones, but he hadn’t known the loss of blood was more dangerous to
life.
Tears
flowed over his cheeks. He’d failed, but even a Healer might not have saved
her.
As the sun
moved to late afternoon, he reached the village. He halted the cart beside the
tavern and unhitched the ponies. Once they were in the grazing pen, he took one
of the remaining flasks of tragon and relocked the cart. He’d had no midday
meal. The nausea caused by his encounter with the Wizards had finally passed
and he was hungry.
When he
entered the tavern, the buzz of voices in the dark smoky room halted. Corin
studied the sullen faces and strode to the bar.
The burly
barkeep leaned on the counter. “Your pleasure?”
Corin held
out the tragon flask. “Trade this for a meal and a few coins.”
His
announcement seemed to loosen the tongues of the villagers. The whisper of
conversation became a roar. The barkeep took the flask, drew the cork. He
sniffed, then tasted a drop. “Prime. I’ll buy. Have you more?”
“Just one
flask,” Corin said. “Had six more. Black robes stopped me and took the rest of
my supply.”
“Mine, too.” The man spat on the floor. “Took two boys
from the village and one from the garden. Good riddance to one of the village
boys. Nothing but trouble. Fire setter. How’d they miss you?”
Corin
pulled his hat low and hunched his shoulders. “Was so scared I shook. Guess
they thought I was old.”
“Or their
sniffer wasn’t with them.” The barkeep
slid a stack of silver and copper coins across the bar. “Take a table. Food’s
plain and hot. To drink?”
“A brew and
kaf to follow. Pass the word I’ll open the cart for trade after I eat.”
Before
long, his meal arrived. Savory stew, bread and a semi-soft cheese with the kaf
and appa tart. Corin waved away seconds, then left to open for business.
First, he
hid the coins in his stash. The early customers were older women. They
purchased pins, needles and thread. Several bought lengths of sheepsilk.
One of the
women arrived with two of the cheeses he’d had at the tavern. “Would you have
kaf beans?”
He nodded. “And
chokla leaves. Several varieties of tea, too.”
“Weight for
weight?”
After
hefting the cheese, he shook his head. “Would leave me with little kaf to
trade.” He put his scale on the counter
and scooped four measures of beans into the pan. He put them in a sack and
weighed the cheese. “I’ll add two measures of tea and one of chokla.”
She nodded.
“Done. And for the other cheese. How much cloth?”
Corin
closed his eyes. The cheese was delicious and he could sell it at a tavern in
some other village. He pulled three bolts from the stores. “A length of each.”
“Three
lengths of this one.” She pointed to a
blue with white embroidered flowers.
“Agreed.”
Soon men
appeared to examine his supply of tools. Young girls bought ribbons and
trinkets. Children came for sweets and toys. By the time first moon rose, the
customers were gone. He stored the coins and traded items in the bins.
Not bad, he
thought as he lay on his sleep mat. Surely he had enough coins to purchase a
stock of seasonings. Even if he hadn’t a large enough supply for one of the
city markets, he could sell them along his route and return to purchase more.
The next
morning after he broke his fast at the tavern, he left the village. He hoped to
persuade the holder of the garden to allow him first selection for three years.
That would give him a good hoard when he made his move to a shop. By then he
would be twenty-one. He grinned. Few Guild members began so young.
As he
rounded a bend in the road, he gasped. What had happened here? The thatch roof
of the stone cottage was gone. Soot-blackened rafters showed and black stained
the stones. A heavy aroma of burned wood and cloth hung in the air.
Corin urged
the skittish ponies onto the paving stones beside the cottage. After hitching
them to a fence railing, he stared at the remains. Had anyone survived? He
approached and peered through a window where a partially burned shutter allowed
him to see into the house.
Had the
black robes done this? The gossips said they’d taken a boy from here. Had there
been trouble?
What now,
he wondered. He rounded a corner of the house. Beds of plants spread toward the
forest. A windfall, except he had no idea what they were. His experience with
growing things tended toward weeds seeking purchase in the dirt between the
cobblestones of Pala’s streets. Once he’d seen a well-appointed garden of a
Guild leader, but that had gained him no knowledge.
He started
toward the garden. When he came upon a man sprawled near a grave, he shuddered.
Someone had killed this man. He dragged the body to the hole and managed to
maneuver the corpse inside. He lifted the shovel and spread dirt over the body.
“I don’t
know who you were,” Corin said. “I don’t know who killed you. I’ll not say the
blessing to help you pass from this plain to the next until the man who took
your life is dead. Seek and torment him.”
When he
finished the burial, Corin studied the garden. The stone hut in the far corner
caught his attention. ’Twas there the peddler had selected herbals and
seasonings. Corin grinned. Surely he would recognize the seasonings by their
taste or smell. If fortune favored him, he could raid the hut and be on his
way.
