The Healers' Road

by S E Robertson

  Agna chuckled, biting her lip, and rifled through the Yanweian book. “Eisaru,” she read, her voice ironing out the tones like a stereotypical foreigner in a slapstick play. Thank you. Despite her clumsiness, the sound of her voice in his own tongue grabbed him in the gut. She was trying. She was trying to meet him halfway. She was still here. That was all that mattered.

  Agna: Aspirations

  The traveling musicians put down their instruments to a round of applause. Performing near the fire had left all of them perspiring in rivers. They took seats in the circle, setting their instruments aside, fanning themselves and picking up the passed bottles.

  Agna clapped politely and glanced aside at her companion. The music had helped his mood a little. He caught her eye and even smiled faintly. Agna couldn’t ignore the fear lurking in the back of her mind. She’d known for a long time that he could fall prey to his melancholy at any moment. Knowing how far his melancholy went and the weapons with which it armed itself only added color and detail to her nightmare. But for now, sitting by the bonfire despite the lingering summer heat, surrounded by the other merchants, they would be all right.

  “The northwest canal spur is going to fail,” announced one of the merchants, a spare man who dealt in odds and ends.

  Vociel, the carpenter, waved him off. “It’s been what, four years?”

  “Three,” someone corrected.

  “Three, fine. It’s lasted three years. Wildern has been shipping lumber down to Vertal twice as fast as they used to send it around the coast, and it’s in better shape when it gets there. Ten times as fast as going overland. The mills and the builders are churning out profits on both ends. Where’s the failure in that?”

  “In depending too much on the influence of one company in the entire Northwest.”

  Agna detected a marked increase in the number of people pretending not to watch her and Keifon. The Benevolent Union, then? She’d heard a few passing remarks against the Benevolent Union, which struck her as strange. It was hard to imagine what they held against hospitals and schools.

  The dealer continued. “As the Bennies go, so goes Wildern now. That’s just not wise.”

  Several other voices rose. “The Benevolent Union is just about as likely to fold as the damn Council, and you know it.”

  “Less. The Bennies can’t go to war.”

  “Oh, can’t they.”

  “I didn’t say fold, I said where they go. If they decide one day to pack up all their money and go back south, where does that leave everyone else?”

  “Logging like they always did,” Vociel remarked sourly. “Except now they have a canal.”

  “No, no, they’ve built up too far. If half the town is empty—”

  A livestock dealer blew a stream of smoke toward the fire. “The Benevolents aren’t half the town anymore, and besides, people’ve started shipping trade over the border.”

  “To the—” The speaker stumbled nervously, darting a glance toward Keifon. “To the Yanweians?”

  Another passed a bottle of wine around the circle. “Through the blasted mountains?”

  “I’m telling you, it’s happening. Not much, yet. But bring all that Union money up to the border and somebody starts thinking of how to multiply it. They have routes—”

  “Six months out of a year.”

  “You wait. They’ll find a way. Get some earthbreakers up there…”

  “Earthbreakers can’t move an entire mountain, just crack it. You still need an army of people to haul it away.”

  Keifon had leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, listening. Agna tilted her head toward the debate. “What do you think?”

  He spoke quietly, only to her. “Hm. Wildern and Ceien aren’t really that far apart, mapwise. If they cut out a decent road through the mountains, it could turn into a good trade route.”

  “Ceien,” Agna mused. “That’s… where your daughter lives, isn’t it?”

  “Mmhm. And Eri’s family.” He chewed his lip. Agna left well enough alone; he seemed calm.

  She ignored the discussion and watched the movement of light, the shadows it cast on skin and fabric, and the shifting contours of a gesturing arm or a grimacing jaw. Life drawing had never been her forte. It was a shame; she could have done so many sketches tonight. Of course, she had never considered herself any good at drawing plants, either.

  Your lines are sound, dear, you just need practice. She remembered her mother pacing through the library. It was her idea to send Agna to art school. Her father had, in the end, thrown his vote in with Agna’s dream of the Academy.

  She’d never intended to make art. And what she drew and sent to Lina wasn’t the same sort of thing as the art that her father sought for his clients. – What she would seek for her own clients, soon enough. Less than a year, now. Had she learned anything that mattered? She and Marco wrote back and forth about Kaveran art, and the fact that most artists here were amateurs. She’d heard that in Vertal and Prisa the market was robust enough to support professional painters, but not any further north.

  She was still learning, she reminded herself. She was learning about healing and art, and about how to fit them together. She wasn’t done yet.

  “Are you glad you came here?” she asked, watching the fire.

  Keifon looked up from the flames. “Hm. …I am. Except for being away from Nachi for so long. Otherwise… I am. It’s…” He trailed off, shifting his position on the log seat, hunching forward meditatively.

  “It’s gotten better,” Agna offered.

  “Yeah. …Are you glad you came? I mean, I guess not. You’ve said that.”

  “No, I’m…” Agna sighed. If she’d stayed at home and found a placement at a hospital or a country shrine, she wouldn’t have this intermittent pain in her back or need to know as much about water-borne diseases or know so many moderately insulting words for foreigners in Kaveran. She would be surrounded by family and peers who understood her and respected her talents. She would achieve more, gain recognition, and be appreciated for her hard work and her natural skill. She could secure a position on the board of a hospital, or open a gallery on the side as she completed her obligation to the Academy. She wouldn’t waste any time before continuing her life’s goals.

  Still.

  Her patients respected her talents as much as any patients in Nessiny would. She could just as easily be surrounded by rivals or bullies or layabouts who expected her to pick up their slack. If the Academy had harbored all of those, she could find them anywhere. She had been lucky, in the end, when it came to colleagues.

  She had learned things about Kaveran art that she would never have learned at home – things that no one might have considered before, because no one with her particular background had come here. Few of the healers and swordmasters that the Academy sent were affiliated with the art world, after all. She had been uniquely placed, despite her original intentions.

  Keifon waited for her answer. Agna took in the circle of merchants, the camp beyond, and all of the sleeping villages and half-familiar cities beyond that. Even when – if? – she went back, she would be changed by her time here. She would carry it with her.

  “I am glad I came,” she said at last. “Some things more than others. You and Nelle and Laris, absolutely. I would be a different person without you. Even though things didn’t work out—” She cut herself off before she could choke up fully. She hadn’t intended to fall through that trapdoor this time. She cleared her throat, and knew that he would not think less of her for the waver in her voice. “Even then.”

  Keifon squeezed her shoulder gently. “I’m glad you found some good in it. Even if it’s hard.”

  Agna nodded, not quite trusting her voice yet.

  Half a year had passed since her decision to stay, when she had vowed to improve her situation on the road and make the most of her assignment. There was more work to be done. She and Marco slowly circled something in their letters, drawing closer to undiscovered shores. Sh
e only had to keep moving and keep an open mind.

  And what about her companion? He was so resigned to everything hopeless and ruined in his life, but she would not let him succumb. If she could find a way, so could he. She couldn’t solve his problems for him, but a solution had to exist for him if he would only stop refusing to look.

  If she insisted, he would resist. She had to approach it sidelong, even if her ruse became obvious afterward.

  She kept her eyes on the flames. “I think that if I could practice healing, be involved in art somehow, and travel sometimes, I’d have everything I wanted.” A fourth goal hit her in the chest, and she crossed her arms. “And, well. Have some friends around. That’s important.”

  Keifon nodded. “Hm. You can do all of those things.”

  “How about you?”

  She saw the temptation flash through his eyes to duck the question, to turn it into a weak joke. But he looked into the bonfire’s embers and gathered his thoughts.

  Keifon counted his goals one by one on his fingers. “I want to see Nachi. Even if it isn’t all of the time. I want to get married and have some more children. Not a lot. Two or three. And I want to be a better medic. Or even study to be a doctor, with a permanent practice. Someday.” He looked at the three fingers he’d extended and slowly added a fourth. “Stay sober. Stay healthy. And—like you said.” He opened his hand, but did not name the fifth thought.

  “You can do all of that, too,” Agna said.

  He shrugged. “I think I’d need to leave the Army to study. I’ve learned everything they need a medic to know.”

  “Will they let you leave?”

  “Hn. Under certain circumstances.” He shifted, sitting cross-legged on the log. “I can petition to have my contract with the Benevolent Union extended to match my obligation to the Army. The Union would own me then, instead. But there are more options with them.”

  “Like… going to the University in Prisa?”

  “I can’t afford that. And it’s too far from Nachi.”

  Agna sighed. He seemed determined to refuse any path she found. “Is there somewhere to study in Ceien?”

  Keifon considered this. “Apprenticing with a medical practice. It’s slow, but I could afford it.” He leaned on his hand, slanting away from her. “But I’d rather not live in Ceien. I know it’s wrong of me to say that. Even though Nachi is there. It’s – it’s complicated.”

  “Kazi,” Agna said softly. “I know.” She shoved down her vicarious anger at this man that she had never met and would never meet. Keifon was trying to make things right, and he still let Kazi’s ghost chain him down.

  Keifon opened and closed his hands. He seemed about to jump up and pace. “And – other things. Not just him. I don’t think. It’s – my old life, too. Going back and being the person I was at home.”

  Agna remembered the cold-eyed stranger who had once shared her tent. “I think you’ve changed.”

  Keifon laughed quietly, looking away. She recognized his standard reaction to flattery. “Thank you. I mean… thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Still. I don’t want to go back to my old life.”

  “So… how about somewhere in between? How about the new trade route? Would that make it easier to visit?”

  Keifon fell silent, chewing on his lip. “Wildern.”

  “Yeah. Or Laketon – you liked Laketon, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. …But Wildern is closer.” He fell silent, thinking. Agna drew patterns in the dust with her toe. What was she doing? Solving his problems, fine, but Wildern? She had been the one with the foolish fondness for Wildern. It wouldn’t accomplish anything to push him to move there in her stead.

  “Well,” she said, breaking their bubble of silence amid the camp’s chatter. “Maybe you can visit Ceien when we’re out near Wildern. See how the trip goes, back and forth.”

  “I couldn’t do that to you, make you keep up the clinic by yourself.”

  Agna rolled her neck, growling under her breath. “I could, though. Let me decide that. How long would it be?”

  Keifon made a complicated motion with his fingers that seemed to help him calculate the distance. He blew out a breath. “Six days’ ride from Wildern to Ceien, in good weather, on the new road.”

  “Well, it isn’t that snowy when we reach Wildern. Right?”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Agna caught her breath as he thought over her suggestion. There was an odd, shivery, warm feeling somewhere under her ribs, and she could feel a flush high on her cheeks. This was a real plan that could do so much good for him, if he would only take her offer. He could see his daughter again, after he’d given up on seeing her for years. This was real, Agna thought. It was adult and huge and terrifying. Taking the tiniest chip away from that mountain made her feel invincible.

  “I think it could be done,” Keifon said at last. “If I left early. So I could get north and then back before it snows.”

  Agna danced in her seat, and Keifon looked over at her and cracked a nervous smile. “I’ll have to write to Eri first, too,” he said. “To make sure it’s all right with her.”

  “Fine, fine, but—!” Agna leaped up, unable to sit anymore, and Keifon followed her. Silhouetted against the fire, he stood and watched. She spun into the dark, toward home, toward nowhere. It didn’t matter.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t think you understand how…”

  She pulled him along. “I do. I know.”

  Keifon: Waiting

  Keifon waited until dark to approach Edann’s campsite. The rest of the caravan had known about them – had come up with working theories about them, at least – for nearly a year, but Edann preferred meeting after dark. The wine, or his eyesight, or secrecy; Keifon wasn’t sure. It was a small concession to make.

  “Hey.”

  Edann looked up from his book. A guarded fatigue lurked behind his eyes, and his movements as he stood were slow and loose. More tired than drunk, though. Keifon calculated his mental state as Edann gained his feet. That was important. He only had the beginning of his speech, his opening argument, plotted out in his head. The rest depended on Edann’s reaction and his own ability to hold onto his temper. If Edann had turned out more drunk than tired, he would have given up.

  “Evening. Not long; I’d like some sleep.”

  “Mmn. Actually… I’d like to talk.”

  “Tch.” Leaving the bottle and taking the book, Edann climbed to the bed of the wagon. Keifon followed, and dropped the curtains as Edann lit a lamp. The canvas enclosed them in a slab of stuffy air, but Keifon was thankful for what little privacy they could claim.

  Edann put his book away and flicked his fingers at Keifon, go ahead.

  “I’ve been thinking. About my plans, about what I’m doing after this.” His muscles tensed; he needed to pace, an impossibility in the precise puzzle that was Edann’s living space. “I’m thinking about transferring to Wildern, to the Benevolent Union base. Serving out my contract there.”

  Edann did not vary his careful pose of slightly impatient forbearance. The urge to give up and kiss that look off his face flared in Keifon’s gut, but he forced it back down. Not now. If this went badly, not again. Edann’s favor was not as fragile a thing as he liked to make it seem. He had stayed with Keifon for a year, after all, complaining about his sentimentality and his religiosity and his upbringing all the way. Still, he had stayed. So far. Keifon suspected that he approached Edann’s limit now.

  The silence soured between them. “And?” Edann prompted.

  “A-and I wondered – I thought you should know.”

  Edann rolled his eyes. Fighting attraction and irritation in equal measure, Keifon flexed his jaw and took a seat on top of a crate of inventory. “Don’t you ever think about leaving the circuit?”

  The apothecary drew a long sigh as he unbuttoned his shirt cuffs. “And this is what, a heartfelt declaration of our intentions? Since when is that part of the deal? Because it isn’t.” His voice har
dened, and Keifon felt a spike of ice slide under his heart. “I’ve been perfectly clear about the terms. You aren’t going to change them unilaterally. I don’t do heartfelt declarations, and I don’t do happily ever after.”

  Keifon’s fingers clenched on his knees. “I’m not changing anything. I just wanted to know what your thoughts were.”

  “I don’t see how that’s your business,” Edann grumbled.

  An old, old wash of hot rage swept through Keifon’s heart, as familiar as his own name. He was on his feet, towering over Edann’s lounging form. “Do I mean anything to you?” he cried, knowing that his Kaveran was harder to understand when he was upset, knowing that he would lose the words entirely before long. Not that it mattered, because no one was listening. “Do I mean anything to you at all, after a whole year?”

  Edann slowly straightened, his back flat against a packing crate. His face was set, his pale eyes cold as the moon. “You’re an excellent distraction.”

  A wordless cry tore from Keifon’s throat, half laugh, half sob. “Fuck you.”

  “I told you at the outset,” Edann stated. Keifon thought he heard something behind it, but that might have been his own despair. “The first night. I told you the terms. I’m not the one who got all sentimental.”

  Keifon spun futilely, denied the space to pace. The boards creaked under his feet. “Treated you like a person, you mean. Like a human being with a soul. Yeah. I’m trying to.”

  Edann’s voice quickened. “Your decision. Your problem. Don’t throw this on me like it’s my fault.”

  “I’m not throwing anything,” Keifon retorted, and realized that he was shouting. He growled and unclenched his fists, willing himself to relax, to change course. This would lead nowhere. Edann was hurting him, but Edann was good at that. It was how he countered being hurt himself. He liked to pretend that no one knew, that Keifon had never figured it out. The thought of Edann being hurt evaporated his anger. As infuriating as his lover could be, Keifon did not want to hurt him.