Healer's Touch

by Deb E Howell

  “Hey. My cousin just died. A cousin I loved as a brother. Not like that.” She narrowed her eyes back. “I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances. So I forgot who’s in charge. String me up. But after I deliver this lot. You wanna see Braph mad? I’ve seen Braph mad. You don’t wanna see Braph mad.” And you better hurry up or I swear I’ll be bringing Jonas back using your ghi, so help me.

  The men looked at each other, uncertain.

  “This really him?”

  Llew nodded, fighting the urge to yell and scream at them to leave them be. Time was running out.

  The men smirked at each other, then threw the cover back over Jonas’ body.

  “The Syakaran’s dead,” said the first man.

  “Braph doesn’t mind if you spread the news, either,” said Llew. To Turhmos, Jonas is dead.

  Laughing and smiling, the men mounted their horses and rode on.

  Watching the men go, she stepped in beside Jonas and touched his cheek. She tried to give him just enough ghi to return to him life, but while her fingers tingled against his skin, nothing happened. He didn’t breathe, and when she checked his throat, there was no pulse.

  She bolted around him and to her horse.

  “Run!” she yelled to Hisham. “We don’t have much time.”

  “He’s dead?” Hisham asked incredulously.

  Llew didn’t answer. She kicked her horse forward, dragging Jonas’ horse behind her, begging the pallet to stay attached, and for Jonas to remain tied on it. They couldn’t afford anything else to go wrong – there simply wasn’t time.

  They galloped down the road and trotted the horses into the clearing where the tree stood. The grass and the uneven ground bounced the pallets behind the riderless horses. Llew wished she could hear Jonas complain about it, but both he and Cassidy remained silent. The white tree called to Llew, but there was something else there, some trepidation, something like nervousness. Could a tree have such emotions? Or were they Llew’s own?

  “An Ajnai tree . . . ” Hisham’s awed voice trailed off as they reined in.

  “You know what it is?”

  “Turhmos used to be covered in them, until our ancestors – Kara – swept through the country cutting them down. I thought they were all gone.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we cut them all down.” He looked at her as if she belonged in an asylum.

  “No. I meant, why did they cut them down?”

  “Oh. To remove the Aenuk source of power, of course. At the time, they didn’t realise Aenuks could use anything to heal from. It was . . . ” He struggled to make the admission. “Probably our greatest mistake.”

  Llew didn’t feel inclined to disagree.

  She swung down from her horse. “Help me get him to the tree.”

  They untied Jonas and lifted him from the pallet.

  “You may have noticed the similarity between the colour of the tree and Jonas’ knife.” She had indeed. “The handle and–” He raised his eyebrows, inviting her to see the funny side “–the blade’s core are Ajnai wood.”

  No wonder the tree had seemed to withdraw from the knife: it recognised it for what it was. And now she had brought a Karan and a Syakaran to it. She hoped it would accept the task she was about to ask of it.

  Standing at its base, she looked straight up into the canopy.

  “Please,” she pleaded. “I’ve been through shit. I lost my pa.” She looked down briefly, but she couldn’t tell the tree she’d killed her pa. The admission simply wouldn’t come, though she suspected she didn’t need to make it. She could feel the tree inside her head. Its disapproval bore down on her like a father realising his daughter’s date to the parish dance wasn’t a regular church attendee.

  “Please, I ne– I want him. A lot. And I have had the worst couple of days. Can’t I have something?”

  She concentrated on all Jonas had done for her, fighting for her, not killing her when he could have done so with ease, comforting her when she didn’t deserve it . . .

  The tree probed back, travelling through her memories since she had met Jonas. Llew remembered a drunken dance, cuddles by the Stelt river, and– Her cheeks flushed. It saw everything. Its awareness moved from her mind down through the rest of her. At first she thought it was looking for an extension of what it had learnt via her memories, as it slid down her body, down, down, but then it stopped at her belly and lingered.

  The tree’s consciousness pulled back, and then was no longer inside her. Its attitude toward her was altered, and no longer did it watch with apprehension. It seemed almost to be laughing at her. There was still a wariness as the tree regarded Hisham, though it was balanced by a trust in Llew.

  She knelt beside Jonas’ lifeless body and pulled his vest and shirt from him, trying not to look at those weeping wounds. Then she sat against the tree, opened the top buttons of her shirt and pulled him into her so that his head flopped on her shoulder. She wrapped one bare arm across his quivering, infection-riddled chest, and his back pressed against the small V she had exposed of her own chest. She reached the other hand behind her to connect with the tree’s trunk. More ghi than she thought she had ever channelled in her life flowed through her and into Jonas. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t even feel taxing. Her body offered as much resistance to the ghi as a sieve to fine white flour.

  The holes in his chest and abdomen shrunk; two small metal balls popped out and rolled to the ground; His skin closed; it smoothed, and scars that had been there for years disappeared.

  The black sweeps of tattoo wavered.

  “No!” Llew gasped in horror. The tattoo settled, untouched.

  While the tattoo saddened and angered Jonas because of the events occurring while he had been getting it done, Llew loved it. And, she suspected, Jonas did too on some level. He’d had it done for a reason. It represented family even if he thought it had cost him his.

  In a matter of seconds, the rush subsided.

  She sat a while holding him. He was warm but not clammy, and his chest rose and fell under her arm. She realised she’d never felt this way about anyone before. When she had first pursued him, it had in part been to prevent him turning on her and killing her. When she had realised he wouldn’t, she had been flattered, if in denial as to how she felt about it. But the last week had brought everything into focus. Those she’d loved had never really walked out on her. Her father had left to save her; her mother never had a choice. And Jonas had come after her.

  All these years she’d thought no one truly loved her and suddenly these lessons had come one after the other. Her shoulders shook with her sobs. She cried for the girl, Llewella, who’d lost her faith in love.

  Jonas stirred. His head lifted from her shoulder and he took in their surroundings, his state of undress and the arm clutching him tight. He turned his head to Llewella behind him and his muscles relaxed. He gave her a smile before resuming his confused assessment of the situation before him. She released him and he sat up, rubbing his hands over the skin where Braph’s bullets had pierced him. The only evidence of their having taken residence in his body was the dry blood now flaking from him with each pass of his hands. Then he stood, twisting this way and that, looking over one shoulder, then the other, and down each arm. Then a hand went to the place under his jaw where the hand-print scar was – had been. The skin was smooth.

  “How did you–?”

  “Brother!” Hisham caught Jonas in a hug. Jonas hesitantly patted Hisham’s back in reply to his friend’s enthusiasm and Llewella wondered if he was aware that he’d been dead twice in little less than a day. Still locked in the embrace, he half-rolled his eyes at the fuss being made and gave Llew a small smile of gratitude. He knew; but he may not have realised how close he’d come to death being permanent.

  “Hisham,” Llewella called for the Karan’s attention.

  He pulled away from Jonas, a little sheepish now.

  “Cassidy.”

  Hisham’s brows dipped.

 
; “We have to try.”

  Jonas headed to the blond man’s body, oblivious of the tragedy before him.

  “He’s cold.” Jonas looked from Hisham to Llewella.

  “He passed overnight,” said Hisham.

  Jonas looked up at the sky.

  “But that’s been–”

  “Hours. We know.”

  “We have to try,” Llewella repeated.

  “Where’s Al?” Jonas picked Cassidy up behind the shoulders.

  “He left,” said Hisham, lifting Cassidy’s feet.

  Llewella leaned against the tree and the men lay Cassidy against her so that he was positioned as Jonas had been. It had to work. She had made a mistake, and should have been up in the middle of the night, checking her patients, both of them. Some healer she made. But she had the tree now. The tree could let her do anything. She’d already saved Jonas.

  Before Hisham stepped away, she grabbed his wrist. He stopped, confused. Llew touched the tree trunk, but the same barrier that had always been there when she’d tried to heal Jonas in the past was still there. So, she couldn’t heal Kara. Only Jonas. She released Hisham, quirking her lips in apology, then pulled Cassidy to her and slipped a hand inside his shirt, making skin-on-skin contact.

  Nothing happened.

  She waited.

  She looked up to the branches far above and pleaded. The tree was silent, its presence gone. Not gone: hiding.

  Llewella sat clinging to the cool body with the tree trunk behind her for several minutes, waiting for something to happen that in her bones she knew wouldn’t happen. But she couldn’t give up, she just couldn’t. Not yet. She should’ve got up in the night to check. Why hadn’t she got up in the night to check? How could she have slept while Jonas fought an infection and Cassidy slipped away? She should’ve woken. She should’ve–

  “Llew.”

  She blinked the tears away at Jonas’ third utterance. He and Hisham were trying to lift Cassidy from her, but her arm was locked tightly around him. Jonas pried her fingers from Cassidy’s chest and, with a gentle smile, moved her arm from him. Then he pulled her up into his arms and held her.

  She didn’t cry any more. She couldn’t change the past. All she could do was never forget, and not let it happen again. She had the power to save lives, and so she must, without endangering others.

  Jonas let her go when Hisham went to lift Cassidy onto his horse. Hisham was still suffering from the wound in his shoulder and that lift was causing him trouble. They untied the makeshift pallets. Cassidy’s comfort, or lack thereof, was of little concern now. But they would return him to his family in Brurun; it was the least they could do.

  The bedrolls used to make the pallets were worn, torn and grubby but, with Alvaro’s bedroll, they still had three between them. Llew found herself hoping Alvaro was safe.

  She felt something at her back. The tree had come out of itself again and was urging her on. Go to him, it seemed to say, though Llew suspected it had more to do with her own desires than what the tree wanted. But then, unbidden, memories flooded her mind, and she was blushing again, and wondering just how much a tree understood about people.

  “I saved your tattoo; I hope you don’t mind,” she said as she approached the men and horses.

  “Huh?” Jonas looked down at the black swirls. He ran a hand over part of his belly where a long scar had once been.

  “The tree thought it needed to heal it. But I stopped it.”

  Jonas looked up at the tree properly for the first time.

  “An Ajnai,” said Hisham.

  “I thought they were all gone,” said Jonas. Then he turned to Llew. “Is that how you . . . ” He waved his hands, silhouetting himself.

  Llew shook her head. “I couldn’t heal Hisham. I think the tree just allows me to heal without killing other things.” She sensed the hurt feelings at her use of the word “just” and lowered her eyes in apology. “I mean, I think we need to replant them. Grow more.” She felt a warm glow of encouragement. “And I don’t think Aenuks fight for Turhmos by choice, and we should figure out a way to free them, and my mother. I want to save her. And, I think I–” She stopped. She had both men’s attention. She wondered if now was the right time. Perhaps she should wait till she and Jonas were alone. But no. She had to say it now. Especially now she’d done all the set-up.

  “I think I–” –might be pregnant. “–should go to Quaver.” She couldn’t say it. “With you.” Her voice trailed off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “You can’t wear those.” Hisham pointed at Jonas.

  Jonas looked down at his knives.

  “I bet half of Turhmos thinks you’re dead by now. Best if we keep it that way. But you riding through the country looking like . . . well, you, and dressing like, well, you, isn’t going to keep the illusion long. Hopefully, we won’t strike problems that need easy access to them, anyway.”

  “Hopefully,” Jonas grumbled and began removing the vest. He looked at Llewella, his gaze travelling down to her hip and the empty knife belt she still wore, and back up again.

  Llew swallowed. “Braph took it.”

  Jonas’ face clouded.

  “I stuck it in him.” One of Jonas’ eyebrows shot up. “I should have pulled it out. I’m sorry, I thought he was dead.” Stupid, Llew. Neither a good soldier nor a good healer do you make.

  “He didn’t give it to them last time,” said Hisham. “He had it, what, fourteen years, and he never passed it on. I’m not sayin’ I know how he thinks, but–”

  “Who would he give it to?”

  “You’re aware of the knife’s effect on Aenuks?” Hisham asked.

  “I used it to escape Braph.”

  Jonas nodded approvingly, and Hisham looked surprised for a moment. “Well, imagine a whole army of Aenuks with wounds like that.”

  Llew’s blood ran cold. A whole army of Aenuks with non-fatal wounds they couldn’t heal by magic. Everything they touched would perish.

  “I don’t know about you, but I think two Kara going into the heart of Turhmos’ military without a Syakaran knife, when the enemy could very well have one and use it to great effect, is kind of dumb,” said Hisham.

  Jonas looked at Hisham. He wanted to leave Turhmos, but he also wanted to deal with his brother, and to get his knife back. Hisham shrugged.

  “And he killed you once already.” Llew threw in her two cinqa. “I won’t risk that again.” Everything she wanted to achieve would be best done with a plan, and that plan needed to be made without the threat of imminent capture or death. Plus, she’d made that promise to Merrid.

  Jonas nodded. “You’re right. It’s too dangerous.”

  All three of them relaxed.

  “And you need a new shirt. Again.” Hisham rested an elbow on his horse’s saddle. “While Turhmos celebrates your demise, its clothing industry is sure gonna miss you. And we should cut your hair.”

  Jonas stopped in the process of shoving a couple of knives into his belt and shook his head.

  “Yes,” said Hisham. “Your likeness is too well known. Anything to make this journey safer . . . ”

  Jonas jutted out his jaw, fighting down his temper. Then he threw a knife to Hisham, folded his arms, and waited.

  Llew looked up at the tree, bidding it farewell. Then she noticed something: a collection of seed pods dangling at the end of spindly twigs. She didn’t recall them being there previously. But they must have been, they couldn’t just appear from nowhere. She walked back to the tree and, much to the men’s surprise and horror, she clambered up the trunk and shuffled along a branch until she could reach what she was after. She pulled a couple of bunches of the pods from the branch before shimmying back down the trunk and returning, triumphant.

  Hisham had hacked off the bulk of the length of Jonas’ hair and Llew was surprised by the effect the new look had on her. She’d always thought there was something about the way Jonas’ hair framed his face that appealed, but the short, spiky style made
him look younger: or perhaps simply his age.

  Her face must have given everything away, because Jonas’ expression switched from a dark scowl to neutral in an instant, then the corners of his mouth lifted.

  Llew felt sick. Before her stood her rapist’s lookalike.

  Jonas’ face fell. “Llew?”

  She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t move. She could hardly breathe. Jonas took a step toward her, but as his fingers brushed her shoulder she lashed out, swiping his arm aside. She stood there, mouth open. It wasn’t Braph, so why was her skin crawling? Damn Braph. Damn Braph!

  Jonas was confused and hurt; and then he understood.

  “What did he do to you?” He had already guessed, and the tremor in his voice gave it away. “He is a dead man a thousand times over.”

  An explosive laughed escaped Llew. “And then some.” And then she let the rest burst forth. “Maybe he’s already dead,” she said between giggles. “Maybe– Maybe he got up only to die a mile down the road.” She cackled. Cackled! Ha! She reverted to giggles and knelt down, unable to maintain her balance amid the laughter as hysteria took over. She saw Jonas watching her with cautious relief mixed with shock. That expression was like nothing she’d ever seen on Braph’s face. Because he isn’t Braph.

  Gradually she got control and stopped laughing, and let her eyes travel the length of Jonas, up, then down, catching her breath and almost losing it again, but this time not from laughter. She wanted him. She wanted him at his most vulnerable, naked, giving himself to her. His power would be hers: and she would be no better than Braph. It was almost funny. She’d heard people talk about making love before. Did people actually do that? Or did it always come down to power? Who had it, who wanted it, and who had the guile to take it.

  Hisham stood by his horse, ready to leave. He flicked his gaze between Jonas and Llew. It was obvious he thought Llew was crazy. That made Llew laugh even harder. Maybe she was crazy. She’d been on her own so long she didn’t understand how people worked any more. And just when she thought things were as they should be, something had to go and undo it all. She would have cried if she hadn’t cried so many tears in the last few days. What more was there but to laugh? But she was laughed out, too. Hand on her aching stomach muscles, she heaved a sigh. She was spent.