The Last Empath of Doctsland

by Leah Putz

  The Last Empath of Doctsland

  Leah Putz

  Copyright © 2020 by Leah Putz

  Artwork: Adobe Stock: © grandfailure

  Design: Services for Authors

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Crooked Cat/darkstroke except for brief quotations used for promotion or in reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are used fictitiously.

  First Dark Edition, darkstroke. 2020

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  something nice will happen.

  To my parents, who always encouraged me to keep writing.

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to Amelia for the help on the title, Karin for being my idea sounding board, to Renee ( @cursedcatcus on Instagram) for her incredible work on the map, and to darkstroke for taking a chance on this debut author!

  About the Author

  Leah Putz has been writing for as long as she can remember. Filling notebooks in school, writing on the scrap paper stolen from her mom’s desk at work, and even producing a short story in 7th grade, distributed to family and friends. She writes almost as often as she reads.

  The Last Empath of Doctsland is her first novel. She set out to create a fantasy story featuring the key character types she missed when reading stories in the genre, notably strong women, people of color, and LGBTQ+ characters.

  She lives and works in Minnesota, spending her free time either hanging out with her dog Frodo, or travelling as much as possible.

  The Last Empath of Doctsland

  Dearest Counsellors,

  Please find here the account of our journey, as written by myself and the lady Lisalya Manyeo. We hope it may offer explanation for my sudden disappearance, as well as the loss of many strong and true Doctsland soldiers. I shall accept any punishment you see fit to place upon me, including the confiscation of my crown.

  Most Sincerely,

  Prince Viktor of Doctsland

  Chapter One

  Lisalya

  “Lisalya. Lisalya!” My mother’s voice startled me awake, though I hadn’t even realized I was sleeping. The excitement of the townspeople had kept me up most of last night, so I had spent the morning in an exhausted daze. I’d headed to the outskirts of the town, where a well was situated on top of a hill. Upon arrival I must have sat down and accidentally drifted off. Floating at the bottom of the well, the bucket sat waiting. “Did you fall asleep?” Ma asked, concern heavy in her voice and her strong brow. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

  Standing, I swept away any grass that had stuck to my backside and cringed at how damp it was. The danger of sitting on the ground in such a rainy country - the grass is always wet. “I’m fine. Sorry, I know the water was needed.”

  “It’s alright,” she replied, pulling the bucket up. “I guess I’m just relieved you’ve gotten at least some rest this week.”

  She was right in assuming this little nap by the well is the most rest I’ve received since the queen died. The whole village was bubbling with nerves and excitement, so much so that it crept beyond the limits of the town center and reached me in our home on the outskirts. Though I merely felt the hysteria, I could easily predict what they were all thinking. When will the prince be coronated? What will it be like to have such a young, seemingly debaucherous ruler? Will he tour the country, as other new rulers have done in the past? Will he come here? None of these questions were anything I cared to know the answer to. Who ruled this country had never really affected our small, lakeside village, so why should I care if the queen died, or if her enigma of a step-son was going to be King? Why does anyone care?

  Unfortunately, regardless of my feelings about the monarchy, I couldn’t help what anyone else was feeling, or to stop their emotions from filtering into my mind. One of the biggest burdens of being an empath (and apparently the only empath in this country) was that when big events happened like this, everyone started buzzing and it would be impossible to shut their voices off. Mother would usually be hovering over me during times like these, anxiously trying to make sure I’m okay, but I’d learned to try to keep my distance from people. The farther the distance, the easier it would be to drown them out.

  “When we get back, set the water by the fire. Your grandmother needs to boil it.” My mother’s voice stirred me out of my reverie, during which she’d already secured the bucket to her horse’s reins and mounted. I hopped onto my horse and we began to make our way back towards the village.

  “What is she making again?” I asked as we rode.

  “Pa got nicked by a stray arrow when he was hunting. She has to disinfect and seal the wound. I’m surprised you haven’t felt it yet. We must still be too far away.”

  As if on cue, a sharp pain began to sear through my calf, growing stronger as we approached our home. Typically, I would only feel faint senses of people’s injuries. My empathic abilities weren’t as strong as the empaths of old, who could feel everything from everyone, but I was thankful for that. I would have certainly lost my mind. However, I did feel, acutely, the pain of those I loved. The familial bond strengthened my mind’s connection to them.

  Ma must have noticed the grimace I had tried to hide. With the sympathetic gaze she often adorned, she replied, “I’m sorry, love. Hopefully it will be short lived. I don’t imagine it will take your grandmother long to heal him.”

  I smiled, hoping to ease her mind. It was never easy for her to know I have to bear the pain of others. “No, surely not.”

  The rest of the journey was spent in silence, my mother choosing not to speak in an effort to allow me space to focus. As we approached, the excitement of the villagers grew louder, and I felt myself nearly vibrating with their curiosity. I shifted in my saddle uncomfortably as the feeling grew to be too much, and pain began to pierce my temples. I tried to tune them out using a technique I had developed for myself as a child to help me sleep, or to just give me some peace of mind. A deep breath, eyes closed, focusing on the tangible sounds of the world around me. The wind through the curled black and white strands of my hair, the hooves of our horses hitting the ground, the water sloshing back and forth in the bucket, the villagers greeting us. The villagers greeting us. My eyes snapped open as I heard real voices speaking, greeting. We had arrived back into town.

  I put my head down as we rode through the village towards our home, having never been very comfortable with the level of fame, or infamy, rather that my family gained since my birth. The Manyeo women had always been known to be powerful, descended from an ancient line of witches. Magic flew through our veins as thick as blood. But when rumors began to spread of my abilities as an empath, our name became even more renowned. The empathic power was thought to have died out hundreds of years ago, when the last known empath went mad due to the force of her abilities, and she took her own life before she could pass on the trait to any children. That extinction ended with my birth, however.

  I brushed my thoughts aside as we came up to the house. Ma dismounted immediately with the water and bolted inside the house, her concern for Pa’s wound obvious. I wasn’t as worried. Though the pain was sharp, I could feel it was probably not deep. And grandmother could fix almost anything. This would be an easy session for her. After dismounting, I grabbed the reins of both horses, leading them into the pasture behind our family’s house.

  Grandmother was still waiting for the wa
ter to boil by the time I strolled through the front door. Pa sat right beside her with his leg outstretched and trousers rolled up past his right knee. “How did this even happen?” I asked as I made my way towards them in the atrium. I took a seat across the small fire that was boiling the water.

  Pa looked up and grinned, stretching his sun tanned face. “Ah, it’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

  I rolled my eyes, but smiled back nonetheless, “It hurts a bit more than ‘just a scratch.’”

  Sighing, he leaned back on his elbows as my grandmother began to wipe the wound with a damp cloth in preparation for her healing spell. “Just a stray arrow. Kid that isn’t so good at aiming tried to go for a rabbit, nicked my leg in the process. I think he probably feels worse than I do about it.”

  I couldn’t help but widen my grin at my father’s genial nature. Of course he wouldn’t have held it against the person that had accidentally shot him, though plenty of others would. Closing my eyes, I let his sensations flow over me, to feel exactly how he felt about the occurrence. As suspected, I felt no hint of anger from him. There was some mild irritation and an obvious throb in his leg, but that was already beginning to soothe as Grandmother’s magic and herbs worked together to heal her son.

  “Hey!” My eyes snapped open to look at him at his exclamation. Though he wasn’t ‘gifted’ with magic the way his mother and his daughter were, he was the only person that could ever sense when I was prodding into his feelings; a small glimmer of the magic that blessed the women of his blood. “I know that look. Get out of my feelings.” He meant to sound affronted, but couldn’t mask the glint of amusement in his voice, or in his eyes.

  Grinning sheepishly, I held my hands up. “Sorry, Pa. Won’t happen again.”

  It was his turn to roll his eyes. “We both know it will, you nosy thing.”

  I mirrored his exclamation. “Hey!” He didn’t respond, but his shoulders shook with laughter and I couldn’t help but reciprocate.

  Finally Grandmother spoke, wiping a stray grey hair out of her face, clearly tired of our antics. “Are you two done? I’m not finished yet and it’s a little hard when you’re squiggling around like a toddler.” She held two boiled leaves over the wound, pushing them into his skin and painting around their edges with her reed.

  He grimaced, frowning. “Sorry, Ma. It’s Lis’ fault.” I scoffed, earning a wink and a chuckle from him.

  “Really Pa, you ought to be more careful.”

  “She’s right, you know.” I turned at the sound of my mother’s voice to see her strolling in from the hall, carrying a dry cloth for bandaging as soon as grandmother was done with her spell. She had piled her black hair atop her head and changed into her typical pink house dress. “You should be more careful. You're not twenty anymore. It’s not as easy to heal older flesh.”

  “Sheesh, love, you make it sound so delicate,” Pa replied sarcastically. “I’m not dying, and fifty is not that old.”

  “I know, I know.” Ma took a seat beside Grandma, holding the bandage cloth close. “And I know this isn’t particularly your fault.”

  “Finally! Someone is making some sense!” he exclaimed as I bit my lip to hold back a giggle.

  “But! It could easily have been. You are a bit too reckless for your age. It’s time you learned to take it easy. Why were you even out hunting today? We have plenty of food and you know it’s been tough on Lisalya since the queen died.”

  “Ma-” I began, but Pa cut me off.

  “That is true, I didn’t need to be out. But it’s fun to go out. And Lis can take care of herself.”

  Ma’s gaze turned sharp at his argument. “She fell asleep at the well.”

  He turned to face me. “Is that true? Have you been getting that little sleep?”

  Shrugging, I tried to make light of it, hoping they wouldn’t get too worried about me. “It’s just a little hard to sleep here, so close to everyone.”

  “Can’t you do that ‘turn off’ thing you do with us sometimes?” Pa asked.

  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Twenty-three years of knowing me and he still didn’t get it sometimes. “Pa-” I started before my mother cut in.

  “Really Regin. She has explained this to you possibly a hundred times. She can block out particular people, but only a handful at a time, and she has to consciously select the people she wants to silence. When the whole town is in an uproar, including visitors she doesn’t know, there’s nothing she can do.”

  “Right, right, I remember. Sorry,” he said, standing and stretching his leg. Ma huffed before heading into the kitchen while Pa turned back towards Grandmother. “All finished? That was quick.”

  “Yes, all finished. It was not deep, as you know, so it was quick work,” Grandmother replied before turning towards me as she wiped her sweating hands on her apron. “Lisalya, I do wish you would get more involved in healings.” I opened my mouth to object but she silenced me. “I know the bulk of your skills lie in your empathic abilities, but that doesn’t mean you cannot also heal. Healers’ blood is strong in your veins, it’s what our family is known for. You must learn to harness that part of your power before my time is through.”

  “I have a long while before that happens, Grandmother.”

  She sighed, clearly as fed up with having this conversation as I was. It wasn’t sticking. I knew I needed to carry on with the healing practice once she passed, but somehow accepting that meant I had to face the fact that she was getting older. At some point, she wouldn’t be around anymore. It was something I wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge, and for some reason pushing off learning to heal felt like keeping her alive and well forever.

  Ma came into the atrium from the kitchen. She was holding a large pot full of beans, peppers, and other vegetables. “As long as you already have a fire going out here, I’ll just cook dinner over it.” She halted, dark eyes so similar to my own widening as they flitted from face to face, trying to read the room and sensing the tension. “What were you talking about?” She asked, trying to lighten the mood, while also getting to the root of the discussion. As the only member of the family not ‘blessed’ with any gifts, she always was often the voice of reason and mediator.

  “Ma is trying to get Lis to learn how to heal again,” Pa explained.

  Now it was my mother’s turn to sigh. “Lis, do you want to be a healer?”

  Her question startled me. I don’t think anyone had ever asked me before. It had always just been assumed that was what I would do, whether I had wanted to or not. “I-” I began, but hesitated, not sure how to respond.

  She knelt beside me, taking my hands in hers and looking into my eyes, searching them for truth. “If you don’t want to learn to be a healer, if that isn’t what you want to do with your life, you don’t have to.”

  My heart swelled. I knew that my mother cared enough to give me the choice no one in my family had ever had, the choice to do whatever I want. But being now faced with the choice, I didn’t know what I wanted. “I- I’m not sure.”

  “You’re not sure?” Grandmother spoke up, the rage barely concealed in her voice. “Everyone in this town relies on this family. When somebody is injured or sick, we help them. We save them. And we are the only ones in these parts who can. People travel for hours, from all over the country for our help.” I bit my lip, holding back tears that threatened to spill onto my cheeks.

  “Ma, don’t pressure her. She already has enough of that with feeling what everyone around her feels.” He was right. I could feel the guilt and pity from both of my parents, as well as the fury radiating off grandmother.

  “I want to help people as we always have. I do. I just… I don’t know.”

  After a long hesitation, Grandmother spoke, her voice a bit gentler. “You don’t feel ready?” she asked.

  I shook my head, words seeming unnecessary when she had already articulated what I was feeling.

  She paused before sighing again. “The son of one of the fishermen tripped and fell as h
e was playing with his friends. It seems he has a broken arm and his knees are quite scratched up.”

  “Um. Alright?” I said, furrowing my brow in confusion, not sure why she was telling me this.

  “He’s coming in an hour. Will you at least entertain the idea of assisting me with his healing? No-” she continued, before I could interject my objection. “No more than your parents do. But perhaps being present during a healing for someone other than yourself or your parents will help. Over time, you will begin to remember what you see me do. It will become natural to you.”

  I stared into the fire, taking my time to mull it over. “Alright. I’ll do it. I’ll help you heal the fisherman’s boy.”

  She grinned, and I couldn’t help but send a small smile back her way. “Wonderful, my dear.” She stood, and I noticed with a slight panic for the first time that she moved a bit slower than she ever had before. Flickers of light from the fire danced across her dark skin as she made her way past it to her bundle of herbs in the corner. She picked out a few and handed them to me. “Now, go fetch me five more bundles of each of these. You’ll find some at the shop in town, the berryroot and sage to be exact. The rest you’ll see at the edge of the forest. People don’t use those for cooking, so no one thinks they’re important enough to harvest and sell.”

  I stared down at the collection of greens and deep purples in my hands. “What are those called?”

  “They’re known most commonly as dragonshearth and thimbleweed,” Grandmother said absentmindedly. She’d shifted her focus to organizing the herbs she currently had and cleaning up the corner she kept all of her supplies in. She worked most often in the atrium of the house as its center location made it easy to collect something from any other room. She also felt that it focused her power, both its location in the center of the house and its lack of ceiling or roof, which strengthened her connection to the natural world. The supplies she stashed there were well organized and sturdy so that nothing would blow away in the breeziness of the open room. “What are you still standing there for? Hurry along!” She snapped me back to reality and I realized I had just been loitering, watching her tidy like a fool.