Children of the Healer

by Barbara Ann Wright

  Cordelia had to smile. “He’s a little weirdo.”

  Shiv sucked her teeth.

  Cordelia waved a hand to say it didn’t matter. “It’s a term of affection.”

  “You will not let them hurt him, Sa?” Shiv asked. “Shawness Simon says he will help protect us, but I would prefer it if you would, too.”

  Cordelia’s heart went out to her. She knew Pool wouldn’t harm this child, but she also recognized the need in Shiv’s eyes. “I won’t let anyone hurt him. Now, let’s go. Best to get all the serious conversations out of the way so we can do some serious drinking.”

  Lyshus swung up around Shiv’s shoulders, and Cordelia walked with her to where Pool stood near the gates of Gale, talking to Liam. Shiv looked between them as if she didn’t know who she was most afraid of talking to.

  Cordelia put a hand on her back so she couldn’t run. “Pool!”

  Pool turned and wrinkled her nose at her daughter. Even Liam had a hopeful smile. Shiv didn’t waste any words. She swung Lyshus around into her arms and swept a hand through his hair, shaking loose some of the dye and dirt until she’d revealed the green underneath.

  Pool’s face went still, her eyes wide. She stepped closer to peer at the child, her expression unreadable. Cordelia’s belly went cold. No matter how sure she’d been of Lyshus’s safety, she stiffened and took half a step closer. She wouldn’t raise her hand to Pool, but she would grab Lyshus and run if Pool was overcome with some kind of drushkan instinct to kill a male queen.

  “How?” Pool said at last.

  “I had hoped you would know, Shi’a’na,” Shiv said.

  Pool sucked her teeth, scowling. Lyshus had gone very still, like a tiny animal caught out in the open. Nettle approached from Pool’s other side and studied the child the same way, the same look of confusion on her face.

  Cordelia looked between them. Everything seemed poised, just as when Fajir had decided to take a child’s life. Cordelia didn’t know which way to turn this time, and she really resented being this tense after her mission was over. She wanted to yell, “Say something or hit someone!”

  Before Cordelia could snap, Nettle stepped closer and smiled. Cordelia had a flash of conversation she’d nearly forgotten: Nettle saying she’d lost her child fifty years ago. Cordelia grieved for her again. With a soft smile, Nettle lifted the child’s nini and held it in front of his face. He sank his teeth into it without hesitation and chewed away, wrinkling his nose at them all.

  “He seems a normal enough child, Queen,” Nettle said. Cordelia grabbed her hand and squeezed it, loving her.

  “Normal?” Pool said. “Nothing about him is normal.”

  Shiv took a step back. “The old drushka no doubt thought the same of you, Shi’a’na.”

  Pool stared her in the eye. “Did you feel it when the Shi died, daughter?”

  “N…no, Shi’a’na.”

  “Curious. Is it because your tree is not connected to the whole, or is it for other reasons?” She looked to Lyshus again. “He was not a queen when he was born.”

  Shiv glanced at Cordelia as if wondering what to say. Cordelia gave her a reassuring smile even though she didn’t know where Pool was going with this, either.

  “No, Shi’a’na,” Shiv said. “His hair fell out soon after and regrew as a queen’s.”

  Pool frowned hard, but she didn’t seem as if she might hurt anyone. “You will not be able to have a tribe if this happens to every child you bear. A tribe of queens? There will never be enough trees! And they would be able to invade one another’s minds as well as speak to them? To fight as queens fight? An entire tribe?”

  “Please, Shi’a’na!” Shiv said, a frightened wail. “Do not speak of such things! Can you help him? Make him normal? As normal as the rest of us, ahya?”

  Pool’s stony façade cracked. She smiled and reached out. Part of her had to know what her child was going through, how it felt to be considered strange by her own kind. “You would give him to me, daughter? Trust me to know the right course?”

  Cordelia looked between them with no idea what advice to give. Shiv stared into Lyshus’s trusting eyes. She could refuse, but would that mean turning her back on her people? She could live in Gale; Cordelia would see to that, but no drushka did well when separated from the whole, even with a sidekick. It had made Reach really grumpy, or so Cordelia remembered.

  At last, Shiv drew herself up. “I trust you, Shi’a’na.” But she stepped forward with Lyshus. “I will go with you. I am his queen, and he is in my hands. Also, I must learn what to do if ever this problem rises again.”

  It was a nice speech, and Pool seemed to appreciate it. Cordelia wanted to whoop when Pool led them to the tree.

  Nettle wrapped an arm around Cordelia’s shoulders. “You were worried, Sa.”

  “A little. Too much drushkan politics for one lifetime.”

  “You can say that again,” Liam said. He’d watched Pool and Shiv together, and now he wandered away from the group. She expected to see even more sadness in his slumped shoulders, but he seemed thoughtful. Maybe he was just happy Shiv was finally getting help.

  Nettle spread her hands. “The old drushka asked that Shiv go to them and learn. I wonder if she will go without argument. No matter what Pool is able to do for Lyshus, Pool may insist he stay here while Shiv visits the old people.”

  “You think they’d hurt him?”

  “Who can say? Better to be cautious.”

  “Well, we can forget cautious for a little while,” Cordelia said as she wrapped an arm around Nettle’s waist. “For now, there’s drinking to be done.”

  Nettle gestured down the street. “You have taken the words from Liam’s lips. He has already started.”

  They headed for a barrel of mead someone had set up in the road. Liam waited in line. Simon and Horace stood nearby, Horace cooing over the baby in Pakesh’s arms. When they had mead in hand, Liam and Nettle got pulled into conversation with Horace.

  Cordelia found her way over to Simon and nodded toward the baby now in Horace’s arms. “What’s the story there?”

  Simon took a long pull from his mug. “That is Evan, the Storm Lord’s firstborn. He’s got no other family, so…”

  “You volunteered?”

  “Got drafted.”

  “Yikes.” She shuddered.

  He chuckled. “I’m so glad I’m not the only one who thinks that way when it comes to children. I was beginning to think I might be the grumpiest man in Gale.”

  “Babies aren’t for everyone.”

  “Hear, hear.” He toasted her, and with a chuckle, she toasted him right back. Her shoulders had begun to relax already, and she wondered if that would be some cue for the universe to fuck with her again. Any minute now, Fajir would ride a flaming geaver into town, followed by a mad, armor-clad god shooting two railguns.

  As she pictured that in her head, she only laughed harder, then went to fill her cup once again.

  * * *

  Shiv sat cross-legged in her mother’s tree, Shi’a’na across from her, and Lyshus between them. Someone had fetched her sapling, and it stood behind her, all of them connected through the trees to one another. Even though it went against Shiv’s very nature, she allowed Shi’a’na into Lyshus’s mind, desperate for any help.

  His emotions were simple, and he did not seem to care who else could touch his mind as long as Shiv was there. He played with a few sticks and radiated happy contentment. Shiv heard nothing from her mother except watchful curiosity. Shiv fought the urge to frown. She kept her irritation inside, not wanting to flood her mother or her tribemate. She had hoped to be learning something about how to treat tribemates if needed, but so far, nothing.

  At last, Shi’a’na opened her eyes. “His is like no mind I have encountered, even your mind as a child, unique as you are. His thoughts are simplistic, ahya, but there is something else.”

  Shiv bit her lip, the urge to tell all rising within her. She could not help but dislike lying, a
nd leaving out facts seemed the same. Surrendering, she said, “He…touched my tree with his mind, made it grow. I have never seen the like.”

  Shiv felt her mother’s confusion and disbelief. She stared at Lyshus, then at the sapling.

  “The sapling was in danger of slipping down stairs,” Shiv said. “When I went to aid it, Lyshus seemed to sense its need as well.”

  “Through you, no doubt, the same as when all attached to me feel any damage done to my tree. But to change it as Simon Lazlo can do?” She stood.

  Not knowing what else to do, Shiv followed. Shi’a’na crossed to the sapling, then held her hand out to Lyshus, giving him a mental nudge to indicate what she wanted. He obeyed, laying his hand in hers. Shi’a’na was still a queen, even if she was not his queen. She knelt at his side.

  “Did you make the tree grow, little one?” Shi’a’na asked softly. Though she bore all her tribe’s children in her branches, she did not spend much time with any one of them. Through most of her childhood, Shiv had run free, tended by every adult. Shi’a’na had to worry for the entire tribe, something Shiv never understood until now.

  Lyshus smiled at her soft tone. When Shi’a’na placed a hand against the sapling, he watched it carefully, waited a moment, then put his hand atop hers. Shiv felt her own connection to Lyshus, and her connection to Shi’a’na, tree to tree, queen to queen. Then she felt something else, small but there, a connection of Lyshus to the sapling that did not go through Shiv. It should not have been possible. Queens connected to trees one at a time. They could speak to one another through their trees, through the connections that bound them all, but this was different, like a tendril of ivy twisting where it did not belong.

  And it was not the only one. Barely visible, but there for the looking, was a newly formed connection that led from Lyshus to the Anushi tree, Shi’a’na’s tree.

  Shi’a’na rose quickly, breaking the connection, and Shiv felt her mental defenses go up. She backed away from them, eyes wide. No emotions came from her now; her defenses were too tight, but Shiv knew she must be thinking of her recent fight with the Shi. She would not risk anyone who seemed as if they might try to control her.

  “Can you sever it?” Shiv asked hurriedly, not liking the way Shi’a’na stared at Lyshus. He knew something was wrong, but had no idea what he had done.

  Shi’a’na breathed deep, coming back to herself. She was silent for a few more moments before touching her forehead as if it pained her. “No, I cannot see a way, not without injury to Lyshus. Take him from my tree, daughter, and let me think on this.”

  Shiv obeyed hurriedly. When she reached the ground, she scooped up Lyshus and her sapling and hurried through the raucous crowd. Despair built within her. Her mother had tried to help and failed, and now she was sending Shiv away. It did not matter that Shi’a’na had offered to help, it still felt like a rejection. She headed toward the mayor’s house, not knowing what else to do, where to go. She thought to look for Sa or shawness Simon, but the revelers made her scowl; their happiness mocked her despair.

  “Shiv!” someone called.

  She almost did not slow, but she felt a wave of happiness from Lyshus. She turned to see Reach approaching with Little Paul, and Lyshus reached for his friend.

  “Shawness,” Shiv said.

  Reach tilted her head. “Your mother could not help you?”

  But of course everyone would know. They were all connected. How many of them would shun her? “She…wishes to think on it.”

  “Wise.” Reach rested a hand on Shiv’s shoulder. “Do not despair. Answers are coming. Teach yourself patience.”

  “I am tired of patience!” Despair melted into anger, and she wanted to hit and kick and bite, wanted to be able to throw herself into something besides worry. She wanted to melt into someone. She wanted Liam.

  Reach grabbed her chin and gave her head a little shake. “As a queen, you are far too serious.”

  “I have a duty!”

  “And obeying it is admirable, but if you are heartsick, your tribe will be also. You still have yourself to care for.”

  Lyshus was looking at her. Little Paul was trying to get him to play, but he seemed caught up in Shiv’s misery. “I know you are right, ahya. But…”

  “Go,” Reach said. “Rest, eat, or join the fun, perhaps. You must give the queen time to ponder, and nothing will be gained by spending that time in despair. Seek out new friends.” Her glance shifted to the side. “Or old.”

  Shiv followed her gaze and caught sight of Liam on the edge of the crowd. She took a step in that direction without meaning to, caught up in visions of his body pressed against hers.

  Reach leaned close. “I will watch the children, and Lyshus will come to no harm while in my hands. Even queens have lovers.”

  Shiv knew that was true. Queens could never belong to just one person, but one did not have to belong to be close. She squeezed Reach’s hand and wrinkled her nose. Reach did owe her some time watching the children. And Shi’a’na did need time to ponder.

  Shiv nearly ran to Liam, but as he turned, she hesitated. What if he did not welcome her anymore? What if his anger was too strong?

  When his green eyes lit up in a smile, she leapt for him. Though he seemed surprised, he caught her, stumbling. She wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him deeply, finding his lips welcoming and pliable and as soft as she remembered.

  His arms tightened around her, and he did not bother with words as he carried her away from the party. She did not care where they were going as long as it was private, and the two of them could find each other again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Simon’s world was fuzzy. How long had it been since he’d gotten drunk? How many hundreds of years? He’d had so much mead with Cordelia that even his power couldn’t keep up, and he had no desire to fight it. On the Atlas, he never would have been so vulnerable, but sitting across the table from Cordelia in a happy Gale, it seemed right to embrace life.

  And alcohol.

  “Havin’ fun?” Cordelia asked, more than a little slurry herself.

  Simon nodded too fast, and dizziness washed over him, making him laugh. “Oh yeah. Yep, yep, yep.” He looked into his empty mug. “More?”

  She drained hers, then grabbed his mug and strode to a nearby keg to fill them both. How could she still walk so steadily? He didn’t know if he could even get up. She set his mug in front of him with a thud, and the red mead sloshed over his hand.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  He tried to say it was okay, but the light glinted off the red, winking at him. “Looks like blood.” The words made him sad, the feeling rising as if he had a pit of sorrow inside looking for an excuse to bubble over.

  Cordelia leaned forward to peer at his hand. “Blood’s brighter.” She winked slowly. “I’ve seen it.”

  “Me, too. Too much.” He waved around, but no one was bleeding anymore. He tried to cheer himself up, but the sadness wasn’t done with him that easily. “What d’ya think happened to Dillon’s body? The Storm Lord, I mean.”

  Cordelia shrugged. “Carrion birds?”

  Simon sputtered a laugh. “They couldn’t be so fast! I saw him die. He was right there, then he wasn’t. What…what’s up with that?”

  “Dunno.”

  “He died.” And that seemed really important at the moment.

  “I know.”

  “But…you don’t get it. He died.”

  “And so he’s not here now.” She slapped the table. “You’re drunk. I’m drunk. We’re happy. Relax. You sound like old me. Learn to let shit go, Simon, like new me.”

  “Old you?” She couldn’t be much older than thirty. He shook his head, too tired to work out what she was saying. “We woulda never worked out anyway, as a couple, I mean.”

  She grinned crookedly. “You and me? You got that right.”

  He sputtered another laugh, and then they were laughing together, cackling. “No, me and Dillon. I loved him, but it never
woulda worked.”

  She nodded, and some of her dark hair slipped loose from her ponytail, hiding one of her eyes. “If he didn’t love you back, he wasn’t right for you. You weren’t compita…compada…thingy.” She leaned forward and whispered loudly. “He was an asshole. And you’re not. Well, maybe you were, but you’re not now. You couldn’t have ever made him a…non-asshole.” She sat up and pointed an unsteady finger at him. “And now you’re the most powerful person on the planet, and he’s dead, and other people love you, so there.” She drank her mead with a proud look, as if she’d proven a point.

  Simon had no idea what that point might be, but he liked hearing that people loved him. “Yeah!”

  “Fuck yeah!” They clanked their mugs together loudly and drank deep.

  “Have you ever loved an asshole?” Simon asked. Then that mental picture washed over him, and he laughed until he felt sick. He coughed, and Cordelia crossed around the table to sit beside him and thump him on the back.

  “Loved this girl once,” she said, “long time ago, teenage love, ya know? But she didn’t love me back. She liked this tiny little woman.” She held her hand up, thumb and forefinger only an inch apart.

  Simon pointed at her hand. “That’s impossible.”

  She ignored him. “Dainty, that’s what the asshole called her. Not like me, more…” She waved a hand.

  “Cute?”

  Cordelia blinked then stared, a frown building. “You callin’ me ugly?”

  Even through all the drink, his belly went cold. She could break him in half. “No! I think you’re beautiful, stunning, lovely. If I liked women—”

  Her frown cracked, and she burst out laughing. “Can’t believe you fell for that!”

  He had to watch for several seconds before he realized he’d been duped. “You’re a prick!”

  She only laughed harder. “Anyway, I only meant some people aren’t right for other people.” She frowned then shrugged. “Or something. Close enough.”

  “You’re right. And anyway, I’ve got Horace.”

  “Fuck yeah!” She toasted him again. “Let’s drink to love.” They both tipped their glasses back, then she got them more.