The Healers' Road

by S E Robertson

  His sleep was deep, and his dreams were as ordered as any dreams. He woke for the last time and got back to work.

  Agna: Strategy

  They played sevens after dinner, warming their hands over the brazier between turns, careful not to singe the cards. Agna railed about a certain patient and the nerve that might lead one to insult two representatives of the Benevolent Union in their hearing. His views were becoming antiquated, anyway; in the cities everyone accepted that the Benevolent Union employed agents from all countries and all faiths.

  Keifon did not return her ire, picking his cards calmly, and before long she ran out of momentum. There were more interesting things to talk about, anyway. She wouldn’t let that old fool waste any more of her attention.

  “The decorations were nice,” she offered at last.

  “Mmn. They were.”

  “Do they decorate like that in Yanwei? The pine boughs seem more fitting for Eytra than Tufar.” The Feast of Eytra lined up with New Year’s, on the other hand, and by that time of year, there were other plants and flowers to use as decoration.

  Keifon rearranged his hand. “We do use pine if we can afford it. It all has to be shipped in from the southwest, though. Usually it’s paper chains and things like that for the Golden Anniversary.”

  “Which is the anniversary of... bringing the idea of writing to mortals?”

  “Yes.” He was smiling a little. “I think you’d rather like Tufarian scholarship, if you wanted to read any.”

  “I may, someday. I did read a little in school, but just the basics.”

  After three rounds, Agna had won two, and Keifon capitulated to the terms of clearing the snow off the campsite for the next two days. The tent had grown cozy, and Agna shed her blanket from her shoulders.

  “Do you mind if I practice for a while?” Keifon’s hand lay on the lute case.

  “Go ahead,” Agna shrugged. She basked over the brazier, luxuriating in the warmth at the tips of her fingers. She had the beginnings of a sketch in her case; that would be a pleasant way to pass the rest of the evening. And she could feel her fingers. That always helped.

  Agna unpacked her drawing materials as Keifon pulled out the lute. She twiddled a pencil as she looked over the sketch and considered the next steps. Keifon cradled his instrument in his lap, adjusting the screws on the neck. He plucked one string and leaned his ear toward the lute, listening for some change that Agna couldn’t hear. Agna was reminded of Lina, squinting at some bit of glassware – or even the Blackhall doctors, with their beloved gadgets.

  “Sorry.”

  “Hm?” Agna looked up from the sketch.

  Keifon clicked his tongue fretfully. “It’s kind of out of tune. The cold, I think.”

  “Oh.” She wondered why he’d apologized. “That’s bad?”

  “Nn. Fixable. Not good, over the long term.” His hand spread over the belly of the instrument. “Changes in temperature and humidity can warp the wood over time. It can’t be helped, right now. I worry. That’s all.”

  “I see.”

  His attention shifted back to the strings and his careful testing, if that was the proper word for it. Agna doubted it was the right word. Tuning, she thought. He’d said it was out of tune. She strengthened the main lines, warming up her hand. Keifon’s repetitive pings began to melt into something flowing and cohesive. Apparently he had fixed the problem.

  Agna watched his fingers on the strings, forgetting herself. Keifon paid no attention to her, absorbed in concentration and in the intricate patterns of muscle memory. And expression, she supposed. It was an art. There were no words to this song, and so she didn’t know what he meant to say through the music. But his expression and his posture were relaxed.

  Agna reset her grip on the pencil, letting the sound flow through her. She tried to relax the muscles in her neck. Would he be offended if he realized how little she understood? She didn’t mind that he wasn’t interested in art. It was difficult to explain things to him sometimes, but she didn’t take it as an affront. Maybe it was the same in this case. She hoped he wouldn’t mind if she watched him at his craft. She didn’t mind when he watched her draw.

  The music stopped, hanging on the air until the piles of blankets soaked it up. Keifon looked up, and Agna was ready with a smile. “That was lovely.”

  “Thank you. I learned it from Baran at the bonfire a while back. It’s a Kaveran lullaby.”

  Agna imagined the mountainous toymaker crooning a lullaby to Keifon, and hid a smirk in her hand. It was a sweet image, for all that. “You’ve picked up a lot of Kaveran songs at this point, then?”

  “Hmn, a few. Half a dozen that I can remember by rote. I’d like to learn more.” He returned to the lute, lacing the quiet with light, sweet notes. Agna sketched some more contours to bring the rock and stream into relief, and outlined the first shadows before reaching for her charcoal. The brazier’s heat glowed all along her side. She paused to tuck her blanket around her feet.

  It was nice, working in parallel like this. They each had separate pursuits, and each didn’t fully understand the other, but Agna felt a sense of camaraderie, of shared creativity. It was a private thing, this space that they had built and shared. She felt welcome here, and calm, and safe.

  If it would be like this from now on, it wouldn’t be so bad. The ground under her was as hard as it had ever been, the wind was cold outside, and she was sick beyond death of root vegetables and dried mushrooms. She and Keifon got tired and hungry and cold, snapped at one another sometimes, and grumbled about the chores they’d wagered over cards. But they still played, and they did what needed to be done. They shared the burden, and over time, day to day life had ceased to be an uphill battle.

  That was why she had decided to renegotiate her contract in Vertal, after all, she recalled. It wasn’t the mission, and it wasn’t the patients. It was the stupid feud with Keifon, and the everyday slog of chores and cooking and living out of a tent. She had become used to most of that over time. And so there was no reason to stop now.

  A little chill, unrelated to the cold, prickled down her back. She didn’t have to leave.

  She wasn’t sure whether this mission represented the greatest need, as the Church of the Divine Balance would define it. But it was an immediate need, and she knew that she was equal to the task. She was of real use on this mission. Her skills and her knowledge were valued and needed. She and Keifon couldn’t help everyone in every circumstance. But they were doing good things for the people out there. She had learned more than she ever dreamed, and continued to learn every day. She had met more people than she ever knew existed in the world. She had, after long bouts of stupidity, found a new friend.

  And more than that, she thought. A familiar flutter in her middle heralded the memory of Laris. She could visit him again when the caravan came past Laketon. And she could tell him that she’d stuck it out, that she was resourceful and resolute.

  What would Rone have done? He would have done what he was told, of course. He would see the need for the Church’s help, and do whatever he could. But Agna wasn’t Rone, either. She wasn’t a true servant of the Church. Rone might accept turnips and lumpy ground and cold feet and ungrateful patients in the service of the Church. Agna would complain, and then rebel.

  She had beaten the cold, after all. She had strategized and budgeted, even with the restrictions of her limited income, and now she and Keifon slept warm every night. She could tackle the other things that held her back. And then there would be no question that staying would be worth it.

  Sleeping was one thing. She didn’t sleep as well as she liked out here. She had gotten used to the bedroll most of the time, but there had to be an alternative. She had seen other arrangements, glimpsed in the doorways of the merchants’ tents. Edann had a feather mattress in his cart – that would be too bulky to wrangle as they packed up. Nelle had a bed that folded against the wall, which would only work in an enclosed wagon. Still...

  “Looks lik
e it’s going well.”

  Agna’s spiral of machinations halted. The tent was quiet. Keifon had leaned over to look at her sketch. She focused; the shading wasn’t too bad for having been drawn semi-consciously. “Oh. I guess so. – I was thinking about something else, actually.”

  “Hm. Must be inspiring.”

  Agna set her charcoal down, and then set the lap desk aside. “I was thinking. Do you think it would be too difficult to pack up and move those folding cot frames, like Vociel makes? The ones that work kind of like the clinic chairs, with canvas.”

  “Too difficult for... who? Whom?”

  “For us. I’m thinking about getting better equipment. It would be a good investment.”

  Keifon hesitantly put his lute down. “Uh... I’m not sure I agree. It’s only for a few months.”

  “Oh – well – I was thinking about staying on. So do you think we could pack up and move them?”

  “W-wait, wait. Here, with – with the caravan?”

  “Yeah. I have another year on my contract.”

  “...Oh. I... that’s... that’s great. I didn’t know you were considering that.” He kneaded the back of his neck – the muscles, not the torque, Agna noticed. “Um, so I don’t think that a cot frame would be too heavy. It might be a little – what’s the word I mean. Unwieldy. It’d take up a lot of space on the wagon, too. But if you want to, we can make it work.”

  “Do you think they’d fit under the seats?”

  “Hmm. Probably.”

  “That might work, then.” Agna nibbled a fingernail. “I’ll talk to Vociel before we head out. Just for a bit. I don’t know what she charges for them.”

  “Mmn.”

  “And if you don’t want to spend the money, that’s all right, but I think it would be good for both of us to sleep better. Besides, I’d feel weird if you were still on the ground.” Agna laughed unconvincingly, realizing as she did that Keifon wasn’t following the conversation. “...What is it?”

  Keifon hunched up, hugging his knees. “I just... I have to soak this in for a minute. That’s all.”

  “What...”

  He didn’t look at her, talking into his crossed arms. “I mean, all this time, I always had to remind myself that you’d be gone soon. Work together, but don’t... And I just... we have another chance, now. That’s... I don’t want to waste that.”

  Agna was sure that her face was hotter than the burning charcoal in the brazier. “Well... it’s worth it,” she fumbled. “We’re helping people.” He hadn’t been talking about the mission. He didn’t sound like that when he talked about the mission. But it was the one safe path that she could find. Agna ran back toward her original track of thought, before he had detoured into these uncertain thickets. “I was thinking about improving our standard of living for the next year. You see what I mean?”

  He unknotted his posture, settling into his relaxed position. “Yes. Bed frames.”

  “Right. And... maybe cooking. Not that your cooking is bad! Just that I think I could learn some more variety. I just know how to make a few things. And a more varied diet would be good for us.”

  “Hmm. That’s a good point.”

  “So... I guess I’ll ask around, see what everyone else does, get some ideas. Or...oh! Do you think there are books about campfire cooking?”

  Keifon returned her smile. “I bet there are.”

  Agna wiggled in her nest of blankets. “And then it’ll hardly be like camping at all. Except for the bugs, and carrying everything we own, and everything else, but still...” Hearing him laugh compounded her excitement. They would work together and make things better. They were good at that, she and Keifon. She was beginning to look forward to the second year.

  Keifon: The Tourist

  Keifon cut through Prisa’s Foreign Quarter and into the neighboring district. A few more questions, posed to street-corner vendors and lounging elders in porchside rocking chairs, led him to the church.

  The Church of Darano in the Meadowside neighborhood was as outwardly stolid as a hospital or a school. A series of signs led him through the dim corridors inside to the sanctuary. A small group of men and women gathered with a priest at the front of the sanctuary, discussing scriptures, and a few solitary worshippers were scattered among the rest of the benches. Keifon passed them to make his offering and kneel at the altar.

  After a brief prayer, he found a seat and paged through the Kaveran prayer book slotted in the back of the next bench. The words were unfamiliar, the names of the gods spelled in strange letters, but the meanings behind them were the same. The foreign prayers and Kaveran faces on the statues did not change the gods’ true natures. They were here, he reminded himself, just as much as they were in Yanwei. They were everywhere, they were all, and they watched over him. They still heard his prayers.

  He hadn’t visited a Daranite church since the Feast of the Resurrection, the better part of a year ago. He had prayed enough since he’d come to Kavera. Most of the time. It was best to visit churches when he could, though, to hear the priests speak and to stay in touch with other believers. That had been difficult. He had never been much inclined to carry out those obligations back home, either. He had found solace in private prayer. He had studied the scriptures and reflected on them until he understood as well as he could. To face other people was less comforting.

  He replaced the book. Yanwei was far away now, despite the glimpses of familiar script in some of the store windows in the Foreign Quarter. He was in Kavera now, as the itinerant medic of the Benevolent Union as well as the infantryman of the Yanweian National Army. He was both of these things, in layers, and whether or not he could return home when it was over, he would carry this time with him. It had begun to change him, to bend his growth. The people of Kavera and the experiences that he’d had here had changed him. Agna had changed him. Edann had changed him. Being away from home had changed him. Kazi had said that this assignment would be good for him. He had been right, in the end.

  The thought of Kazi cut through him, but he kept breathing. It was the echo of pain – beginning to be a scar, not a wound. Or a scab, at least. The thought of this sent panic crowding into his throat, and he pulled his hand away from the torque and tightened his fingers in Darano’s prayer sign. Kazi was beginning to be a part of his past, not a missing part of his present. Keifon let this thought fill him. He let the fear come, and let it fail to slay him. He wasn’t going to see Kazi again. He would never listen to one of Kazi’s political harangues in an inn room with the fire blazing behind him. He would never catch Kazi’s private smile from across the barracks. Keifon had to live without him. He was beginning to think that he could.

  Darano wasn’t the proper god to address on the topic of heartbreak, even though Keifon and Kazi were dedicated to Darano’s service. Keifon prayed for strength instead, and for the clarity of judgment to find the right course. The gods had sent him here for a reason, and he would trust them to guide him until he found and fulfilled his purpose. He wasn’t merely running from Kazi, obeying Kazi’s order. He had found too much meaning here to reduce his assignment to that.

  Keifon left the church and walked south, at right angles to the campsite. He had a few hours till nightfall. He could visit Edann, though Edann would probably seek out one of the bars in Prisa, and he knew that Keifon would not join him. They had found such understandings in their intricately circumscribed relationship. Keifon wasn’t sure he was in the right frame of mind tonight, in any case. He wanted to talk about the upcoming year, and Edann resisted talking about the future or his feelings. He would talk about politics or books or the other people in the caravan, but he would always carve out that circle of silence at their center.

  Agna would talk if he wanted to talk. She would listen, and do her best to understand. That was another new aspect of his life. He seemed to have won the respect that he’d craved so badly. He’d won Agna’s trust, trading it for his own, though it had terrified him at first to do so.

 
; And now she would stay for another year. He tried not to think of it as staying with him for another year. She was re-dedicating herself to the cause. That was all. But the thought warmed him. They worked well together now, and he enjoyed her company, their card games and their conversations. Maybe someday they would grow to be friends. It wasn’t a preposterous idea anymore.

  On the way through the Foreign Quarter, Keifon browsed through a few book stores and looked over clothes and camping gear. He went back to the campsite empty-handed and at peace.

  Agna: Celebration

  The Foreign Quarter was rather charming, Agna decided. She had meandered through the bookstores and spice shops and clothiers until her feet ached. Now, stretched out in the tent with the lamp at her head and one of her new books in hand, she could rest and reflect.

  Perhaps it was worth examining the fact that Prisa had a Foreign Quarter at all – Murio had plenty of immigrants, but it didn’t have one place to put them all. A lot of Islanders lived on Shortrun Road, and what Yanweians they had lived way past the river, but they didn’t have to. ...She was probably overthinking it. Surely foreigners didn’t have to live in the Foreign Quarter. Still, it was a little worrying, even though it made it convenient to shop for Nessinian spices and books. She hoped that Keifon would find something to his liking there.

  He came back without having bought anything, disappointing Agna’s curiosity, but insisted that he’d had a good day out. “Have you eaten yet?”

  Agna shrugged. “Nah. Had lunch out, but not dinner. In a bit, I think.”

  “Mmn. Hang on.” He vanished, and Agna resumed her book on Kaveran history.

  Keifon returned with a dark glass bottle and two crocks of food, wrapped in linen napkins. Without comment, he uncorked the bottle, filled their cups, and handed one to her. His mouth was set in a little half-smile, and Agna felt herself echoing it.