Children of the Healer

by Barbara Ann Wright

  Simon grinned, thinking about love, about Horace. He was happy, and Cordelia was happy because she had Nettle. His mind began to wander again. He’d never seen a naked drushka…

  “How’s that work?” he asked. “Sex?”

  She spat her mead across the table. “Seriously? What’ve you and Horace been doing? Holding hands?”

  “With a drushka!” He shoved her shoulder, but it felt like trying to move a rock.

  She grinned. “I’ll tell stories if you will.”

  He slapped the table. “Done!”

  “Right.” She glanced around and pulled over two condiment jars someone had left on the table. “Okay, say I’m the salt, and she’s the spicy mustard.”

  He watched her maneuver the jars into position, both of them giggling away.

  “Simon?” someone said behind him.

  He turned too fast but managed to spot Horace through his hazy vision. “Hello, my love!”

  Cordelia was still laughing, and now Simon started up again.

  “Are you drunk?” Horace asked.

  Simon nodded helplessly, trying to breathe. “Thank God you’re here. You can tell me whether you want to be the salt or the spicy mustard.” He lost it, and Cordelia followed suit.

  “I’m sorry,” Horace said loudly, “but I’m going to have to spoil your evening.”

  Simon gasped as Horace’s power washed over him, cleansing the mead from his system and clearing his head with a snap.

  “Oh, fuck yeah to that, too!” Cordelia said. She stood and seemed as sober as Simon felt. “That’s it. You two are my permanent drinking buddies from now on!”

  Horace was frowning, though, and that drove away the last of Simon’s exuberance. “What’s wrong?”

  “The envoys we sent to the mine while you were gone have just returned, and they’ve got quite a story to tell. You should both come.”

  * * *

  Lydia watched Fajir from across the fire. It had been a stressful couple of days, even after Samira and Mamet had joined them. When Fajir had regained consciousness, they’d ridden on, Lydia trying to get them to steer clear of the Engali who were no doubt following, and Samira arguing that they should go back.

  But Lydia kept thinking of the fight she and Fajir had interrupted. The day after the initial attack, they’d seen another group of plains dwellers bearing the symbol of Naos while attacking a Sun-Moon farm. Even with their goddess cut off from them, it seemed some were still determined to fulfill the last command she’d given them: to destroy the Sun-Moon worshipers.

  Samira and Mamet had handled that fight while Fajir watched, still bound. She’d railed at Lydia to let her go, but Lydia didn’t want to risk that again. Her throat still ached, though Samira said the bruises had faded a little. They’d decided to keep Fajir tied up until they needed her.

  From her place across the fire, Samira said, “We need to go back,” for the hundredth time.

  Lydia sighed. “We can’t go anywhere while the plains dwellers are killing people out here, not while we can stop them.”

  “We’re not responsible for the Sun-Moons!” Samira said.

  Fajir sneered at her. “So much for all your talk about protecting innocents.”

  Samira sat forward as if she might lunge, but Mamet held her back. She jabbed a finger in Fajir’s direction. “If you let this monster loose, Lydia, she’ll kill you.”

  Lydia sighed again. “Is that true, Fajir?”

  Fajir smiled, her teeth glinting in the light. “Of course not.”

  “The farmers we rescued will tell the guards in Celeste what happened,” Samira said. “Then they’ll send patrols. The three of us do not need to get involved.”

  “Four,” Fajir said.

  Samira glared at her, but Lydia ignored her. “The people being attacked are not the same ones you fought in Celeste. They’re ranchers and farmers, not warriors. I can’t just go home knowing they’re in danger.” And it was true. She’d come out here to guard people against Fajir, and now she’d seen that more of them needed help, and she couldn’t simply turn her back on them.

  “Okay,” Samira said, a sigh in her voice. “I do feel bad about the farmers, but it’s still not our problem. They have their own people to guard them! I mean, surely someone will get here soon.” But as she said it, it seemed as if she didn’t fully believe it.

  “Would you kill these Naos followers?” Mamet asked Fajir. “They’re not Engali.”

  “Oh, I’ll kill them,” Fajir said. “Set me loose, and I’ll show you.”

  Lydia wanted to smack her for not helping. She was certain Fajir would defend her people, but the question was, how to keep her from going after everyone else? Well, having three people watch her was better than one.

  “We know there are people out here being hurt, Samira,” Lydia said. “And I believe that makes them our responsibility. I know you want to help them, too.”

  Samira frowned hard, almost comically so, a sign she was weakening. “For the Storm Lord’s sake, Lydia! Stop trying to make me into a better person!”

  They stared at each other before laughing. “You’re already a good person,” Lydia said. “And it’s certainly not for the Storm Lord’s sake. If we stay out here just a few more days, think of the lives we could save.”

  “You’re right,” Mamet said softly. “And there are more than just the people out here to consider. Children might go hungry if their parents die.”

  “Ugh!” Samira cried. “Using imaginary starving children in your argument is not fair.” But Lydia could see her weakening further. If Mamet had enough sympathy to care for a people who’d once tortured her, what argument could Samira have?

  “All right,” Samira said. “A few more days on the outskirts of Sun-Moon territory, but if we see an armed band from Celeste patrolling, we tell them what we know and go home. Deal?”

  Mamet nodded happily. Lydia tried to do the same, but there was no telling what the future would bring.

  “And we keep her on a leash,” Samira said, pointing at Fajir.

  That also seemed like a good idea, but what Fajir thought of it, Lydia didn’t get to know. She stared into the fire, gaze inscrutable. But Lydia bet wheels were turning inside that murderous mind.

  * * *

  Fajir lay still and listened to the wind blowing through the grass. Every now and again, her nemesis would snore from across the fire. Fajir’s temper flared every time she heard it. If they were going to leave her trussed up like solstice dinner, the least they could do was be quiet.

  The other two had finally stopped gabbling. One was awake; Fajir heard someone shifting around, but she couldn’t see anyone from where she lay. Nemesis snored again, and Fajir sighed, stretching as best she could against her bonds. What was she to do? She’d been so set on murdering as many Engali as possible before they killed her. Alone, it had seemed the best course. But when she’d seen her people being killed by plains dwellers, the exact thing she was supposed to protect them from as a widow, her heart had sung. That was a much better purpose, at least for the time being.

  And if she could keep circling Celeste, killing the vermin, Nico might come back. Her Lords might take her to their bosoms again. She could forget her solitary days as a bad dream. But Nemesis and friends didn’t trust her, wouldn’t let her protect her people. They would wait and talk and talk and talk before dragging her back to the hated Engali, and her nightmare would start again.

  And these three were so bad at killing. Nemesis didn’t want to do it. The vermin was somewhat skilled but thought too hard about it, and though Samira grumbled like an angry geaver, she had yet to let her power loose and trample anyone. What good were they if they couldn’t get the job done?

  She would kill all three one day, but before that, she had to convince them to let her loose. And she had to do it soon. Perhaps if she convinced them to let her fight, then returned like an ossor to her bonds, they would let their guard down. She would not be able to fight all three while
they watched her closely. She would ask to be their sword, protect her people, and when they had come to trust her a little, she would kill them all.

  A comforting thought, but how was she to convince them of anything? She didn’t have Cordelia’s glibness or Nico’s calm. She reached for the Lords again but felt no answering thoughts. Even this close to their city, they were ignoring her out of fear. She ground her teeth, trying to summon more rage to drown out the self-pity, but sorrow crept over her like fog. She bit her lip as hard as she could, trying to use the pain to center herself. She had to recall all the times she’d seen or heard one person trick another. There had to be some lesson she could use. Halaan had been able to charm people. Maybe there was a way to summon his spirit inside her and remember his words.

  She opened her eyes, and he stood before her. His dark hair, just long enough to curl over his ears, ruffled in the wind, and his hazel eyes smiled at her.

  Fajir gasped and tried to sit up, but her bonds were too tight. “How?” she whispered. Of all the times she’d imagined seeing him again, she’d never dreamed…

  Her heart pounded, but her rational mind drowned out her awe. This couldn’t be. It had to be a mind trick. Were the Lords so cruel?

  “You must steer your captors west,” Halaan said. “There you will find your destiny.”

  His lips didn’t move in time with his words. Oh, she wanted this to be him, wanted this to be real, but life had taught her well. “Who are you?” she whispered. No one else came to see. Either they couldn’t hear, or whoever had sent this apparition didn’t want them to. “You are not my beloved.”

  The fake Halaan put his hands on his hips. “Look, just go west, okay?”

  “You’re a trick. The Lords didn’t make you. Who did? Someone from Gale?” She sneered, looking at the facsimile up and down. It was a little faded around the edges, just like her memories of Halaan. Someone was reading her mind, thinking Halaan could sway her. Someday, she’d kill them for this dishonor. “You’re not as clever as you think you are.”

  “Listen, asshole, I’m the best there is. I’m just a little…scattered, okay?” Halaan’s form blurred and became that of a tall, wild-haired woman with a gaping hole where her right eye should be.

  “Naos,” Fajir said, impressed. She’d heard the goddess had been too wounded to use her powers. Or maybe that was just the power she’d used to possess one of the plains dwellers. She clearly retained the power to talk. That was all anyone did nowadays.

  But maybe she retained other powers as well. “Free me,” Fajir said, “and I will go west for you, killing as I go. I’ll start with these three.”

  Naos laughed. “And look how quickly they jump ship when you offer them something! And it just so happens, I’m in need of a killer. So go west, find Patricia, and beat some sense into her. And if that won’t work…” She drew a finger across her throat.

  “All right.” But once she was loose, maybe she’d go kill this Patricia, and maybe she wouldn’t.

  Naos darted forward, looming in front of her. “I caught that, sneaky! Don’t want to be my sword, fine. See if I care! I’ll do it myself.” She sneered. “Have fun with the ropes and the morality gang.” With a bark of a laugh, she faded, the afterimage lingering in front of Fajir’s face.

  Fajir struggled not to groan. She should have kept her thoughts quieter, should have been thinking of what Halaan would say before she said or thought anything. It wasn’t fair! Talking wasn’t her purpose! But talking would keep her imprisoned for the rest of her life, it seemed.

  However long that might be.

  * * *

  Cordelia leaned back in the captain’s chair inside the Paladin Keep. Ever since she’d become a paladin, she’d thought of this office as Carmichael’s, even though it didn’t bear her stamp anymore. Brown had added her own touches: a clear desk, empty of Carmichael’s ceramic inkwell; an extra chair against the wall. Now Cordelia supposed she’d have to do the same. Most of the paladins knew she’d been Carmichael’s choice as successor. There had been a few grumbles, but she could sort those out. The new recruits seemed to accept it, and it occurred to her that for those who’d joined since she’d come back, she was the only captain they’d ever known.

  Spooky.

  The sounds of revelry had followed her inside the keep, slowing her steps. She couldn’t drink herself into oblivion and wait for someone else to make decisions anymore. That was nearly as terrifying as what she was now hearing.

  Ines, the stocky sergeant who regularly made trips to the mine to gather ore and check on the miners, stood in front of the desk. She’d already gone through her story twice. She’d gone to the mine and discovered a new wall, new defenses, and a usurper who’d taken over and claimed the loyalty of everyone.

  The whole situation reeked of mind fuckery. Who could it be?

  “And you didn’t see this person who claimed to be in charge?” Simon asked from where he stood against the wall with Horace.

  Ines shook her head. “I spoke to one person, and I didn’t get a good look at him, either, but he referred to a mistress.”

  “This mysterious usurper might be fake,” Liam said from where he sat on Ines’s other side. He looked a little disheveled, and Cordelia couldn’t help a small smile. His evening with Shiv must have gone well. She’d had to send someone to track him down for this meeting. “Maybe the miners have banded together and taken over.”

  “All of them?” Cordelia asked.

  “They could have done away with any dissenters,” Simon said quietly. “With the wall in the way, we have no idea what’s going on.”

  “How big is the wall?” Cordelia asked.

  “Six feet or so,” Ines said. “Made of wood with metal bands. They used stone for the base. And there’s a ditch in front of that.”

  Cordelia sat forward sharply. “A wall and a ditch around the whole damn town?”

  “And every bit of it built since the last time I went,” Ines said.

  Horace whistled, and Cordelia had to fight to keep her mouth closed. There couldn’t have been that many dissenters if they’d built that big a wall in a few weeks. Maybe there was more than mind powers at work. Someone with micro powers, who could augment strength and replenish the energy of the workers.

  “It’s got to be a yafanai,” Cordelia said. “Or someone from the Atlas.”

  Simon stared at nothing and chewed on the end of his thumb. With Pool so near, Cordelia could feel hints of emotions from him, and she was certain he was getting a headful from all of them.

  Liam crossed his arms and uncrossed them. “Could this mistress be a plains dweller chafa? There might be more people like Pakesh out there.”

  Ines shrugged. “I saw some plains dweller tents.”

  Cordelia stretched. She hoped it was just someone with too much ambition. That kind of fight she could handle, even if she didn’t like fighting her own species. But an unknown power user? Either way, she supposed it didn’t matter. She’d have to go look. “Get some rest,” she said to Ines. It was already late. “Tomorrow we gather the gear and put together a team, then leave first thing the following morning.”

  Ines nodded sharply. “Captain.” She left the room, and silence descended.

  Liam was smiling at Cordelia, and when she glared at him, he winked. She knew he was proud of her, and she hoped it wasn’t too hard to see her sitting in his mom’s place. Of course, he’d never exactly had a fun time in this office.

  “So, now I have to deal with this,” Cordelia said. She pointed to Simon and Liam. “You two going to stay here and keep being co-mayors?”

  They stared for a moment before they started babbling, each saying the other had done more for the city and waving away the other’s compliments.

  Cordelia groaned. “Would you two please stop jerking each other off and answer the question?”

  Horace sputtered a laugh. The other two frowned. “We should hold an election,” Liam said.

  “You’re running uno
pposed,” Simon said. “I don’t want to be mayor.”

  “You’re living in his house,” Liam said. It only sounded slightly petulant.

  “Now that I don’t have a hundred children to care for, I’d be happy to find somewhere else.”

  Liam waved that away with a bit of a blush, as if embarrassed he’d even brought it up. “We should still have a vote, but I’m all for being the new mayor if the people will have me.”

  “Good,” Cordelia said. “Set it up.”

  “You can’t boss me around if I’m the mayor,” he said with a smile.

  She snorted. “You’re not the mayor yet.” She nodded at Simon. “And you? The temple’s always had an unofficial leader.”

  “As long as no one calls me God, and I don’t have to wear robes of state, I don’t care. Jacobs has been helping the yafanai find homes. We’ll need to speak with the new mayor about building something.”

  “Already being planned,” Liam said, looking smug.

  Cordelia lifted her hands and dropped them on her desk. “Perfect. You two run the city, and I’ll take care of the grunts. And the first thing I have to do is figure out what’s going on at the damn mine.”

  “Going yourself?” Liam asked. “Sounds like a job for lieutenants, not the captain.”

  “Screw that! I’ll take some paladins, but it’s my show.”

  Everyone chuckled, and she grinned. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Horace lifted a hand. “I’ll go, too.”

  Everyone looked to him, Simon with a stricken expression.

  Horace cleared his throat. “From what we heard, you might be looking at telepathy and micro-psychokinesis, and I have both. And the soldiers are used to me.”

  “Do you…” Simon trailed away and glanced at everyone. Cordelia bet there’d be more words between them later. “You’re going to need other yafanai as backup.”

  Horace smiled softly. “I’ll make some requests.”

  “What about the drushka?” Liam asked.