by Imogen Elvis
“Don’t come any closer. I mean it.”
Now Briar heard the voice again, she was struck by how young it sounded. This was no hard-bitten soldier with scores of winters etched into his face, or even a seasoned man from the town, guarding the docks against further attacks. This sounded like a young boy.
“Why?” Finbar asked.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” a second voice called. If the first speaker was young, this one was barely more than a child, their words trembling, as if they were trying their hardest to be brave, but couldn’t quite hide their fear.
“Captain Finbar of the trade vessel the Done Wishin’. We’re due in port on a cargo delivery. The dockmaster, Alax should be expecting us.
For a moment, there was silence. And then, the door to one of the nearby houses cracked open, and a young boy, who couldn’t have been more than ten, came creeping out. He was followed by a second, slightly older boy, probably fourteen or so. He wore a blue soldier’s coat that hung off his shoulders, and fell almost to his knees, making him seem much smaller than he actually was. The edges of the jacket were singed, and the once vibrant blue was now a dirty grey in patches.
“Captain Finbar?” the younger boy said, hesitantly.
The captain frowned. “Tirian? Where’s your father?”
“He’s… I don’t know.” The boy’s chin wobbled for a moment, and he clenched his fists. “I bet he’s still hiding until he’s sure it’s safe.”
“Tirian. Wait.” The older boy drew to a stop several paces away.
“But I know Captain Finbar,” Tirian said.
“Mistress Tempe said-”
“They’re not dangerous.” Tirian folded his arms and stuck out his chin. “My father-”
“Your father’s not here.” The older boy’s voice was harsh. “And Mistress Tempe trusted us to guard the docks.”
“Why don’t you take us to Mistress Tempe and we can talk to her. Tirian knows me. So does the mistress,” the captain suggested.
The two boys exchanged a look, and even Tirian looked a bit uncertain. But finally, the older boy nodded. “Alright. I’ll take you to the mistress. But your crew has to stay on the ship.” He deepened his voice on the last words as if trying to appear older and more menacing than he actually was.
Finbar nodded tersely. “If that’s what you want.” Briar wasn’t sure what the boys could have done if the captain had chosen not to do as they asked, but she was grateful he was being patient with them.
The two boys stepped apart, talking in quiet, rapid voices. When they stepped apart, Tirian settled himself cross-legged on the boards of the jetty, watching the Done Wishin’, while the older boy gestured for the group to follow him.
“This way. The mistress’ll be in the square.”
Inside the town, the destruction that met them was all too familiar to Briar. The group passed empty buildings, their walls scorched, and interiors savaged by fire. Piles of rubble, crushed into tiny fragments, lay heaped on the ground, and they had to pick their way over thick roots, which pushed up through the bare earth of the streets, crumbling the ground around them. Occasionally they had to duck under a huge loop of thick root that twisted above the street. Briar gazed up at one of these roots. At least one powerful plant singer had been here, she was certain of that.
Occasionally, Briar caught glimpses of townspeople digging through the rubble of homes, gathering their scattered belongings into their arms, and hauling stones and splintered wood out of the way. Here and there, teams shored up the walls of the less damaged houses, or hacked away at the thick roots and clinging vines with axes and saws. These people worked in silence, their faces dirty and set in a grim mask. Briar curled her fingers around her medallion. She’d seen this all before, and the memories cut deep.
Finally, the road opened into what Briar assumed was the main square. It was a welcome change from the oppressive silence and destruction in the streets. Several cooking fires burned in the centre of this open space, well away from the buildings. A few old women tended to these, stirring bubbling pots that hung over the flames, or kneading dough, talking amongst themselves quietly, grey heads bent over their tasks. Children darted here and there, not playing, but delivering items, a hammer, a jug of water, a message.
It was, of course, the healing tent that Briar’s eyes were drawn to. A large canvas shade had been erected against the wall of one of the buildings, forming a neat shelter. A second look suggested that it was actually made from a salvaged ship’s sail and some lengths of rope from the dock. Inside the tent, Briar counted at least a dozen people lying on makeshift cots. Two women stepped carefully between them, stopping to give this person a sip of water or tuck the blankets more securely around that one, grave, but tender.
“Where’s the mistress?” Finbar said. “I don’t have all day.”
“She’s over there.” The boy pointed to an older woman, talking with a weather-beaten man wearing a stone mason’s tools at his belt.
If it weren’t for the boy, Briar wouldn’t have immediately picked this woman out as the mistress. Instead of the long, grey habit magicians of the Order usually wore, Briar included, Mistress Tempe was dressed in a short, grey tunic, leggings and long boots. Her hair was pulled back into a thick rope of a braid that hung down her back. She moved briskly, not displaying any of the magicians’ usual slow tranquillity. Only the silver medallion wrought with the image of the Crystal Tree, which hung in the centre of her chest, marked her out as a magician.
“Mistress Tempe.” The boy jogged on ahead of them, his oversized blue jacket flapping around him like ragged wings.
“What is it Caleb?” the mistress asked, breaking off her conversation at his approach.
“A boat docked,” Caleb said, a little breathlessly. “I know you said that no one was to come into the town, but Tirian knew the captain. We weren’t sure what to do, so I brought them to you.”
“Thank you. That was the right thing to do. I’ll deal with it from here.” Mistress Tempe paused for a moment, her eyes taking in each person in turn as if she was memorising every detail of their faces before she spoke. “Captain Finbar. Well met. I didn’t realise you were due so soon.”
“Every second month, same as ever,” Finbar said. “Though by the looks of things, we might not have come at a good time.” He glanced around the square.
“Perhaps not. But you are here, so we shall do our best. What’s in your cargo?”
“Food supplies mostly.” Finbar reeled off a list of things he was carrying, including dried beans and cured meat.
Mistress Tempe nodded. “You and your crew can unload your goods. I’ll send some of our people to transport it to the warehouse.”
“And our payment?” Finbar tipped his head to one side.
“You’ll be paid in full, as always.”
“The warehouse is still standing?” Briar frowned. “I thought it would have been destroyed in the attack.”
“Luckily for us, it was untouched,” Mistress Tempe said.
Lucky indeed. But odd. If someone attacked the town intending to cripple it, they would have taken out every major building, including the town hall, the warehouses, and any other building they relied on. And yet, for everything that had been destroyed, the warehouse was still standing? It didn’t make sense.
As Finbar and Micah discussed the details of their payment and delivery with the mistress, Briar’s attention wandered around the square, watching the survivors as they came and went, hauling building supplies, fetching drinks, preparing food, or talking quietly with their family and friends. They were subdued, but there was a sense of purpose as if these people had accepted what happened, and were focusing on getting their lives back into order.
In the healing tent, one of the two women who tended to the injured knelt next to the bed of a young woman, whose face was the colour of ash. She held the girl’s hand, her head bowed and her shoulders drooping, the picture of grief. The other woman stood behind her com
panion, resting a hand on her shoulder. Briar frowned and stepped away from the rest of the group. Kade glanced after her but made no move to stop her as she headed for the tent.
Ducking under the low hanging edge of the sailcloth, it was immediately apparent that something was terribly wrong. The injured girl’s breath was shallow and ragged and made a weird gurgling sound in her throat as she struggled to draw in air. Briar peered around the two women, then stifled a gasp as she caught sight of a mass of blood-stained bandages wrapped around the girl’s throat, soaked through.
The younger woman whirled around, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“What happened?” Briar couldn’t tear her eyes away from the injured girl.
The older of the two women, her face creased into deep lines of age, and her long, tousled braid completely white, pressed her bloodless lips together, shaking her head. She stroked the back of the girl’s hand with her thumb and lowered her eyes.
It was the younger woman who answered. “Mae got caught in a snare of roots and vines, with some of the others. She was the only one to make it out. It’s a miracle she’s still alive.” Her face saddened. “I don’t know for how long though. She’s fading.”
“Don’t say that,” the older woman snapped. “She’s going to be alright.”
“Mae is her granddaughter,” the younger woman said in a low voice. “We’ve done everything we can for her, but I’m not sure it’s enough. Her wounds…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. My name is Kitaara. I’m in charge of this tent. How can I help you?”
“Well, actually I came hoping that I could help you.” Briar took a deep breath. “I’m a soul singer, and I am trained to heal.”
“You’re a magician?” The older woman lifted her eyes, suddenly bright with hope, and fixed them on Briar’s face. “Can you heal my granddaughter?”
“Maybe,” Briar said cautiously. “It depends on how badly she is injured.”
Kitaara pursed her lips. “Are you sure, Levine?”
“This girl is a healer and a magician. If there’s a chance she can help Mae-” Levine pressed her lips together and met Briar’s eyes. “Please. Heal her.”
“If there’s anything that can be done, then I’ll do it,” Briar said. “But I can’t promise it will work. If she’s too close to death, I might not be able to save her.” She needed Levine to understand this before she even tried to heal the injured girl. There was so much that her magic could do, but it still had its limitations. If Mae was on the edge of death, even soul song couldn’t save her now.
“I accept that. But isn’t it better to try?” Levine’s voice was fierce enough, but the fear in her eyes was deep enough to drown in. She shifted aside, letting Briar take her place at Mae’s side. “Please.”
Briar settled herself cross-legged on the ground and took Mae’s limp hand in hers, before closing her eyes. She braced herself against the agonising pain she knew would hit the moment she connected with the life song. Everyone had a life song, as personal to them as their fingerprints, the musical embodiment of a soul. Only soul singers like Briar could hear them, much less sing them, but when she did, she could, among other things, heal people.
Mae’s song should have been strong and regular, an unending melody spinning on forever. Instead, it was barely a whisper, thready and uneven, first slowing to a crawl, now speeding along with an enormous jolt to catch up. Notes were missing from the long chains of harmony, and the whole thing felt like it was ever so slowly spinning away into the dark distance. But, for all its ragged edges and uncertainties, there was one thing Briar was sure of as she listened to the life song. She could heal Mae.
Briar listened to the song for a while, making sure she had the thread of melody firmly fixed in her mind before she finally opened her lips and joined it, singing in a wordless hum. The moment she sang the first notes, Mae’s pain fell on her like an avalanche, ripping through her throat. Phantom blood oozed from her neck, and she struggled to keep singing in the face of the ghostly, suffocating blood and the intense pain that rippled through her with every breath she took. Clenching her free hand, Briar held on until every last ounce of agony was captured in her own body.
Only then did she tap into her magic, sending it flooding through the song, her voice quivering with pain. Her skin shivered with the tingle of magic as it flowed from her, through the music that bound them together, and into Mae. As it did so, the pain from Mae’s terrible injuries faded, little by little until the magic washed it away completely.
Finally, Briar stopped singing, letting the song, now lively and vibrant as it should have been, fade from her mind. Opening her eyes, she blinked hard, disoriented by the sudden brightness of the world around her. She released Mae’s hand and sat back with a bump, her head spinning with the effort. That should be enough to save her.
“Will she be alright?” Levine asked. “Could you heal her?”
“I think so.” Briar watched Mae’s face anxiously. She should be waking up. Any moment now-
Mae’s eyelids fluttered. She murmured indistinct words, and her head rolled gently to the side. Her laboured breathing had eased and the sick wet sound of sucking blood had vanished. Briar scooted back, letting Levine take her place at the girl’s side.
“Mae? Mae, can you hear me?” Levine clasped her granddaughter’s hand, breathless with anticipation.
The girl blinked and swallowed, then opened her eyes fully to stare up into her grandmother’s face. “Grandmama? Where am I? Wh-what happened?” She licked her lips.
“Hush. Lie still. You were injured, but you’re better now,” Levine said gently. She stroked her granddaughter’s hair back from the girl’s face with gentle fingers. “You’re alright.”
“Injured?” Mae lifted a hand to her throat and brushed her fingers over the blood-soaked bandages, still warm and sticky from her recent wounds. She pulled at them, her movements suddenly growing frantic, tearing at the wrappings. Levine gently pushed her hands out of the way and unwound the bandage. She and Kitaara both stared at the skin that was revealed. Where once there must have been a mass of open wounds and seeping blood, now there was nothing but pale skin and faded white scars that would forever show where Mae had been injured.
“You’re alright.” Levine’s voice shook a little, and tears glimmered at the corners of her eyes. It was as if, until she saw the healed scars, she hadn’t quite dared to believe that Mae was really well again.
“What happened?” Mae asked. “I was with Gail and Saraia, coming home. Someone was singing and then…” She turned wide, worried eyes up to her grandmother. “Where are they? Are they alright?”
Levine pressed her lips together and pulled her granddaughter close in a hug without answering. Kitaara said before that Mae was the only survivor of those caught by the plants. Gail and Saraia, whoever they were, weren’t quite so lucky. A lump formed in Briar’s throat at the thought, and she turned away to give them a moment of privacy.
Kitaara regarded Briar with her head cocked to one side. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. Thank you for your kindness.” She paused. “Would you-” she hesitated again, then carried on in a rush, “All these people here, they’re the ones who were hurt the worst in the attack. Most of the others we’ve managed to bandage, or sew back together, and get them on their feet again. But there’s so little we can do for these, other than make them comfortable and watch over them. I know it’s asking a lot, and you owe us nothing, but would you help them too?”
“Of course.” How could Briar not? She couldn’t just turn a blind eye to these people, who needed her help so desperately, not when she could do something to help them. Her magic was a gift to be shared. Briar climbed to her feet. “Show me where to begin.”
Briar wasn’t sure how long it took her to heal all the people in the tent. What she did know was that, by the time she finished the final song, her head spun, and her stomach twisted itself into tight knots. She sat
still, hands pressed to the ground, waiting for the world to settle around her, breathing deeply. It wasn’t that she’d never healed that many people in a row before. But the difference was that every one of these people had life-threatening injuries. The pain was enough to make her sick, let alone the amount of magic it took to heal them. But every single one of the twelve patients stepped out of the tent on their own, and she was quietly proud of that fact.
“You look like you could do with a drink.” Mistress Tempe stepped in under the edge of the tent and offered Briar a mug of water.
Scrambling to her feet, Briar bowed her head in respect. “Mistress.”
“Drink.”
Briar sipped greedily, the cool water soothing her dry, scratchy throat. Her voice might be hoarse after all those healings, but one look at the empty cots made it all worthwhile.
“Take a walk with me,” the mistress said, once Briar had finished her drink.
They stepped out of the tent together, leaving Kitaara to finish folding the blankets and tidying away the cots, now no one needed them. The sun slipped behind the buildings, and the grey haze of dusk filled the air. People congregated by the cooking fires as the gathering darkness put a stop to their work. Was it really evening already?
At first, the mistress simply walked in silence, and Briar was happy to follow at her side, letting the fresh air clear the fog from her head. But finally, Mistress Tempe said, “I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for us. You’ve achieved more this afternoon than we’ve been able to do in two days.”
Briar shrugged a little awkwardly. “I didn’t do much. Kitaara was already taking such good care of them.”
“But she couldn’t have healed them. Not in the way you can.”
“It’s my duty,” Briar said simply. “To serve and heal, wherever I can.”
The mistress raised an eyebrow. “You’ve certainly had the tenets of the Order drilled into you well. But you deserve thanks nonetheless. Kindness is more important than ever right now, and yours saved lives today. Those people have been through the worst.”
